England can hear the bloody sod’s stereo from his bedroom when he pulls up a little more than half an hour later, blaring that fucking rap music so loud his windows shake until he finally kills the engine and gets out. He is not in a charitable mood when America stumbles into his room (taking the longest time to do it, turning on every light switch he can reach before he moves on to the next unlit space, then lighting it up also and continuing on - is he really still afraid of the dark?) and even the look on his face (childish terror masked poorly by fake bravado) on his face barely softens England’s temper. “Just get in bed,” he snaps, walking past America through the door to turn out all the lights he left on. “Sorry,” Alfred drawls sarcastically, kicking his shoes off. “Say that again like you mean it,” England says when he returns, “or I’m throwing you out. D’you realize how inconsiderate this is, waking me up twice tonight so you could come over - which, really, Alfred, how do you always manage to break something the minute you set foot in my house? You just walked through and broke one of my lamps - and then you show up with your sodding stereo on so loud I’ll have noise complaints from China, and you have the nerve to be disrespectful to me? In my own house? Hoestly, I -” “Sorry.” England crosses his arms. “And?” America stares at him for a moment. “Look, you know what? Fuck you. So I shouldn’t have seen the movie, fine, but you know how I am, and it’s not like I planned this ‘cause I thought it’d annoy you or something. I really just wanted to spend the night ‘cause I thought - pardon me for thinking so! - that you’d at least do that much for me, even if you hate me so fucking much just being around me sets you off. It’s funny, huh? One minute we get along fine, and then I ask for a favor or something and it becomes this huge argument about my character and how I’m so arrogant and disrespectful and for chrissakes, I ask to sleep with you and I might as well mount an invasion for all the reception I get. Hell with this. I’ll just find a coffeeshop or something and stay up till it’s light.” “Do that, then,” Arthur says coolly. “I will not be taken advantage of by the likes of you.”
“T-take-” Alfred splutters. ““No, I can see very well that you have no regard for me whatsoever.” “You were the first person I called! You’re the one I rely on!” That knocks the argument out of his mouth. “I… really?” “Yes! You’re the one I trust for shit like this!” America blusters. He gets quieter as he continues, losing steam. “You’re the one that always ends up forgiving me when I do something stupid, or - or backs me up when I need you - and I do need you, sometimes.” By this point, his voice is quiet and small. He looks at the floor. “You said your days of needing me were over," Arthur says softly. "A long time ago.” “Well, fuck,” Alfred mutters. “I’m always saying stupid shit.” There is a long, uncomfortable pause. “You don’t have to-” England starts, at the same time America says, “I guess I’ll just-” and they end on ‘go’ together. Alfred is the one to find his voice again. “I don’t have to stay. I can find somebody else.” “No. No, I insist.” Alfred brightens some. Arthur can’t help a small smile in return. “After all, one of us has to be a gentleman.” “Oh yeah?” Alfred laughs. “Do all gentleman sleep with their exes?” “Is that what we are.” Arthur tries to laugh too, to cover the sting. “Sure. That’s a good word for it, right?” “As you say.” After a moment, “All right, get in bed already, I don’t want to be up all night.” “Sweet.” America throws himself onto England’s bed. “Which half do I get?” “Whichever one has fewer monsters under it,” Arthur jokes. Alfred tucks his knees up to his chest, but keeps his smile on. “And I guess you’d be able to count them for me?” “Certainly.” He dips down theatrically, and then gives a dramatic gasp. “What’s that?!” Alfred actually squeaks a little, standing swiftly in the center of the mattress. “You had better just be fucking with me,” he says tensely. “And if you are fucking with me, I’m gonna kick your ass in a minute.” “Of course there’s nothing there,” England says. “Honestly, Alfred, what do you - oh. What are you doing under there?” “What do you mean ‘what are you doing under here’”, Alfred hisses. England waves him off. “It’s a pixie, it’s fine. Just what were you there for?” It coughs at him and flutters its wings weakly, sending little clouds of dust into the air. “Here.” He offers a finger, which it holds firmly. He blows on it gently, getting the worst of the dust off. It shakes its head, much more a healthy pale green than grey now. “I can’t imagine why you thought that was a good place to hide, but be gone now. I have a guest, you see?” He holds the pixie up. Alfred is staring at him incredulously. The pixie makes a face at him. “Be polite, now. Here, go and find Maribel. She’ll look after you.” It gives its wings a shivering shake and flies to the windowsill. Arthur opens the window and watches it go. “…That was random,” America announces. England turns around.
“Ah, sorry. It’s so strange to think you don’t see them.” “No, it’s fine. What was it?” He sits back down on the bed. “Just a pixie. Asleep under my bed, for some reason. Sometimes I don't understand the creatures myself.” “…huh.” "Oh, stop giving me that look. It's gone, now, anyway, and there are no monsters, so just go to sleep already," he grumbles. "I'd like to get at least two hours' rest tonight." "Sure. 'Kay." Alfred pulls his jeans off and sits on the edge of the bed. "You wanna lend me some jammies?" "Hm." England turns to one of his drawers. "I suppose you could borrow this." He pulls out a set that looks like it will fit him. "Oh, come on," America laughs. "Even your PJs are button-down?" He takes them (perfectly normal striped pajamas, nothing formal about them) and holds them up. "Jeez. You don't ever sleep in just boxers and a t-shirt or something? I could go to a meeting in this. Is that a crease in the leg?" "Look, I don't care what you sleep in," England growls, "as long as you do it quietly. For goodness' sake." "You're telling me. I'm seriously considering just sleeping Italy-style," he says, even as he's pulling them on. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not nearly so permissive as herr Ludwig." "Hah. Not even if I kiss you and call you amore?" "That's French, and no." He gives Alfred a wary look as he climbs into bed. "I'm not sure if Ludwig or I have it worse in terms of sleeping partner." "He does. At least I don't cling." "Yes you do. And you'd better not." "Fine." "Fine." England rolls over. "Go to sleep." "Fine." There are a few blissful minutes of near-quiet, interrupted only by Alfred shifting and rolling like he has Parkinson's. England doesn't want to give him an excuse to talk again, though, so he doesn't complain. America finally settles. He begins to fall asleep. "What was that." England jolts awake again. "Hm?" "I heard something." "Chrissakes. It was the house. It was a fairy. It was your bloody imagination." "Can it. I'm listening." Arthur listens too, just in case. Nothing. A small creak. Alfred tenses noticably. "'d you hear that?" he whispers. "Yes. It was nothing." "It was something. You don't have ghosts, do you?" "Of course I do. They're not dangerous." "…that'd better be fucking sarcasm, England, I swear to God…" "About there being ghosts, or that they're dangerous?" "Fuck." Alfred scoots closer to him. "You and your fuckin' occult bullshit. Tell me you're just making that up."
"Fine. I'm making it up." "You don't sound serious." "Listen, Alfred," Arthur says tiredly. "They're nothing to be afraid of. The worst thing that could possibly happen tonight is Gregory will hide your keys for a bit, or a sprite will sleep in your shoe or something." "Gregory?" "The ghost." "You are shitting me." America scoots closer. "You didn't tell me you had a ghost. You have got to be shitting me about the ghost." "He's perfectly harmless. He's less dangerous than a cat." "Don't talk about it like it's a cat it's gonna hear you." Alfred clutches his arm. "Oh fuck. Did you hear that?" Arthur did. He sighs. "Don't encourage him. He likes the attention." "Fuck." America (home of the brave!) is shaking. There is a thud and the sound of footsteps in the hall. "Do you fucking hear that." "He's just making noise. Ignore him and he'll stop it." For good measure, he sits up and calls, "Gregory, stop all that ruckus. Have you any idea what time it is?" "Don't make it angry." Alfred wraps his arms around Arthur's waist. "Oh, it's fine - now, stop that, you!" he adds at another (louder) bang. "You're not a bloody poltergeist, have some self-respect!" "Oh god oh god oh god." America sits up to press his face into England's shoulder. "This is not fucking happening." "Just hold on a minute, all right?" "Don't fucking leave me here - fuck - Arthur -" He follows England as he gets up and strides to the door. "Gregory, what in the Queen's name are you doing out here - put that down you bloody sod I will exorcise you from this house -" "Can you do that?" Alfred asks behind him. "Now, honestly," he says, ignoring the trembling git altogether. "I've got my chalk and my salt and my books all sitting in the other room, if you'd really like to make a fight of it." A crash. He rolls his eyes. "I'm going, Gregory," he warns. "On the count of three. One." Silence. "Good. Now," he says, turning back to Alfred. "Will you please get back in bed and stop giving me that look." "…yeah." He does not, however, cease looking at Arthur like… well, it's a look very similar to the one he used to get as a child, not quite admiration but close, sorely close.
Arthur sighs as, for the third time that night, he lays his head on his pillow. "Hey, that was really cool just now." "Compliment me in the morning when I've slept a little," England gripes, not feeling any of the annoyance in his voice. "It's not as if I did anything worth praising." "Are you kidding? You kicked some ghost ass. That was awesome. Like, hero-awesome." "Stop talking like you're impressed. You're not a child anymore." Arthur turns away from him some more to hide his happy blush. "And that ghost, I'll have you know, has lived here since this house was built, and we've always have a fairly pleasant rapport. He just got excited because you were reacting to him." "Yeah, well." America slides up close to him. "I still thought you were really cool." "Mm." He tries not to grin, not sure if Alfred will see him. "Thank you, I suppose. And I'll thank you to please -" "Go to sleep. Right. Okay." Alfred slings an arm over Arthur's waist. "'Night." "Goodnight." He waits until he is sure Alfred is asleep to take his hand. One-thirty a.m. He sleeps better than he has in years.
So cute! This was really enjoyable, I loved their bickering and the way their interaction eventually softened out. Don't worry about the html, it's still perfectly legible. Great job!
I lost count of how many times I burst into giggles and "awww"s, because your characterisation was just pitch perfect. And the ghost incident. XD I wanna sleep over at England's.
This was too much win. I loved EVERYTHING. The set up is awesome, their dialogues are hilarious and the random pixie under the bed was so great and clever and funny, and everything was perfect. I was trying to count my favorite lines but I lost the count after the third chapter. =D
“You said your days of needing me were over," Arthur says softly. "A long time ago.” “Well, fuck,” Alfred mutters. “I’m always saying stupid shit.”
You know, I think this must be the best discussion about this matter that I´ve ever read.
(Amore is french? o.o I thought it was italian...)
He is not in a charitable mood when America stumbles into his room (taking the longest time to do it, turning on every light switch he can reach before he moves on to the next unlit space, then lighting it up also and continuing on - is he really still afraid of the dark?) and even the look on his face (childish terror masked poorly by fake bravado) on his face barely softens England’s temper.
“Just get in bed,” he snaps, walking past America through the door to turn out all the lights he left on.
“Sorry,” Alfred drawls sarcastically, kicking his shoes off.
“Say that again like you mean it,” England says when he returns, “or I’m throwing you out. D’you realize how inconsiderate this is, waking me up twice tonight so you could come over - which, really, Alfred, how do you always manage to break something the minute you set foot in my house? You just walked through and broke one of my lamps - and then you show up with your sodding stereo on so loud I’ll have noise complaints from China, and you have the nerve to be disrespectful to me? In my own house? Hoestly, I -”
“Sorry.”
England crosses his arms. “And?”
America stares at him for a moment. “Look, you know what? Fuck you. So I shouldn’t have seen the movie, fine, but you know how I am, and it’s not like I planned this ‘cause I thought it’d annoy you or something. I really just wanted to spend the night ‘cause I thought - pardon me for thinking so! - that you’d at least do that much for me, even if you hate me so fucking much just being around me sets you off. It’s funny, huh? One minute we get along fine, and then I ask for a favor or something and it becomes this huge argument about my character and how I’m so arrogant and disrespectful and for chrissakes, I ask to sleep with you and I might as well mount an invasion for all the reception I get. Hell with this. I’ll just find a coffeeshop or something and stay up till it’s light.”
“Do that, then,” Arthur says coolly. “I will not be taken advantage of by the likes of you.”
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“You were the first person I called! You’re the one I rely on!”
That knocks the argument out of his mouth. “I… really?”
“Yes! You’re the one I trust for shit like this!” America blusters. He gets quieter as he continues, losing steam. “You’re the one that always ends up forgiving me when I do something stupid, or - or backs me up when I need you - and I do need you, sometimes.” By this point, his voice is quiet and small. He looks at the floor.
“You said your days of needing me were over," Arthur says softly. "A long time ago.”
“Well, fuck,” Alfred mutters. “I’m always saying stupid shit.”
There is a long, uncomfortable pause.
“You don’t have to-” England starts, at the same time America says, “I guess I’ll just-” and they end on ‘go’ together.
Alfred is the one to find his voice again. “I don’t have to stay. I can find somebody else.”
“No. No, I insist.” Alfred brightens some. Arthur can’t help a small smile in return. “After all, one of us has to be a gentleman.”
“Oh yeah?” Alfred laughs. “Do all gentleman sleep with their exes?”
“Is that what we are.” Arthur tries to laugh too, to cover the sting.
“Sure. That’s a good word for it, right?”
“As you say.” After a moment, “All right, get in bed already, I don’t want to be up all night.”
“Sweet.” America throws himself onto England’s bed. “Which half do I get?”
“Whichever one has fewer monsters under it,” Arthur jokes. Alfred tucks his knees up to his chest, but keeps his smile on.
“And I guess you’d be able to count them for me?”
“Certainly.” He dips down theatrically, and then gives a dramatic gasp. “What’s that?!”
Alfred actually squeaks a little, standing swiftly in the center of the mattress. “You had better just be fucking with me,” he says tensely. “And if you are fucking with me, I’m gonna kick your ass in a minute.”
“Of course there’s nothing there,” England says. “Honestly, Alfred, what do you - oh. What are you doing under there?”
“What do you mean ‘what are you doing under here’”, Alfred hisses.
England waves him off. “It’s a pixie, it’s fine. Just what were you there for?”
It coughs at him and flutters its wings weakly, sending little clouds of dust into the air. “Here.” He offers a finger, which it holds firmly. He blows on it gently, getting the worst of the dust off. It shakes its head, much more a healthy pale green than grey now. “I can’t imagine why you thought that was a good place to hide, but be gone now. I have a guest, you see?”
He holds the pixie up. Alfred is staring at him incredulously. The pixie makes a face at him.
“Be polite, now. Here, go and find Maribel. She’ll look after you.” It gives its wings a shivering shake and flies to the windowsill. Arthur opens the window and watches it go.
“…That was random,” America announces. England turns around.
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“No, it’s fine. What was it?” He sits back down on the bed.
“Just a pixie. Asleep under my bed, for some reason. Sometimes I don't understand the creatures myself.”
“…huh.”
"Oh, stop giving me that look. It's gone, now, anyway, and there are no monsters, so just go to sleep already," he grumbles. "I'd like to get at least two hours' rest tonight."
"Sure. 'Kay." Alfred pulls his jeans off and sits on the edge of the bed. "You wanna lend me some jammies?"
"Hm." England turns to one of his drawers. "I suppose you could borrow this." He pulls out a set that looks like it will fit him.
"Oh, come on," America laughs. "Even your PJs are button-down?" He takes them (perfectly normal striped pajamas, nothing formal about them) and holds them up. "Jeez. You don't ever sleep in just boxers and a t-shirt or something? I could go to a meeting in this. Is that a crease in the leg?"
"Look, I don't care what you sleep in," England growls, "as long as you do it quietly. For goodness' sake."
"You're telling me. I'm seriously considering just sleeping Italy-style," he says, even as he's pulling them on.
"Unfortunately for you, I'm not nearly so permissive as herr Ludwig."
"Hah. Not even if I kiss you and call you amore?"
"That's French, and no." He gives Alfred a wary look as he climbs into bed. "I'm not sure if Ludwig or I have it worse in terms of sleeping partner."
"He does. At least I don't cling."
"Yes you do. And you'd better not."
"Fine."
"Fine." England rolls over. "Go to sleep."
"Fine."
There are a few blissful minutes of near-quiet, interrupted only by Alfred shifting and rolling like he has Parkinson's. England doesn't want to give him an excuse to talk again, though, so he doesn't complain. America finally settles. He begins to fall asleep.
"What was that."
England jolts awake again. "Hm?"
"I heard something."
"Chrissakes. It was the house. It was a fairy. It was your bloody imagination."
"Can it. I'm listening."
Arthur listens too, just in case.
Nothing.
A small creak. Alfred tenses noticably.
"'d you hear that?" he whispers.
"Yes. It was nothing."
"It was something. You don't have ghosts, do you?"
"Of course I do. They're not dangerous."
"…that'd better be fucking sarcasm, England, I swear to God…"
"About there being ghosts, or that they're dangerous?"
"Fuck." Alfred scoots closer to him. "You and your fuckin' occult bullshit. Tell me you're just making that up."
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"You don't sound serious."
"Listen, Alfred," Arthur says tiredly. "They're nothing to be afraid of. The worst thing that could possibly happen tonight is Gregory will hide your keys for a bit, or a sprite will sleep in your shoe or something."
"Gregory?"
"The ghost."
"You are shitting me." America scoots closer. "You didn't tell me you had a ghost. You have got to be shitting me about the ghost."
"He's perfectly harmless. He's less dangerous than a cat."
"Don't talk about it like it's a cat it's gonna hear you." Alfred clutches his arm. "Oh fuck. Did you hear that?"
Arthur did. He sighs. "Don't encourage him. He likes the attention."
"Fuck." America (home of the brave!) is shaking. There is a thud and the sound of footsteps in the hall. "Do you fucking hear that."
"He's just making noise. Ignore him and he'll stop it." For good measure, he sits up and calls, "Gregory, stop all that ruckus. Have you any idea what time it is?"
"Don't make it angry." Alfred wraps his arms around Arthur's waist.
"Oh, it's fine - now, stop that, you!" he adds at another (louder) bang. "You're not a bloody poltergeist, have some self-respect!"
"Oh god oh god oh god." America sits up to press his face into England's shoulder. "This is not fucking happening."
"Just hold on a minute, all right?"
"Don't fucking leave me here - fuck - Arthur -" He follows England as he gets up and strides to the door.
"Gregory, what in the Queen's name are you doing out here - put that down you bloody sod I will exorcise you from this house -"
"Can you do that?" Alfred asks behind him.
"Now, honestly," he says, ignoring the trembling git altogether. "I've got my chalk and my salt and my books all sitting in the other room, if you'd really like to make a fight of it." A crash. He rolls his eyes. "I'm going, Gregory," he warns. "On the count of three. One." Silence. "Good. Now," he says, turning back to Alfred. "Will you please get back in bed and stop giving me that look."
"…yeah." He does not, however, cease looking at Arthur like… well, it's a look very similar to the one he used to get as a child, not quite admiration but close, sorely close.
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"Hey, that was really cool just now."
"Compliment me in the morning when I've slept a little," England gripes, not feeling any of the annoyance in his voice. "It's not as if I did anything worth praising."
"Are you kidding? You kicked some ghost ass. That was awesome. Like, hero-awesome."
"Stop talking like you're impressed. You're not a child anymore." Arthur turns away from him some more to hide his happy blush. "And that ghost, I'll have you know, has lived here since this house was built, and we've always have a fairly pleasant rapport. He just got excited because you were reacting to him."
"Yeah, well." America slides up close to him. "I still thought you were really cool."
"Mm." He tries not to grin, not sure if Alfred will see him. "Thank you, I suppose. And I'll thank you to please -"
"Go to sleep. Right. Okay." Alfred slings an arm over Arthur's waist. "'Night."
"Goodnight."
He waits until he is sure Alfred is asleep to take his hand.
One-thirty a.m.
He sleeps better than he has in years.
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Land of the brave, eh?
That was wonderful author!anon. Thanks for sharing this with us.
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I lost count of how many times I burst into giggles and "awww"s, because your characterisation was just pitch perfect. And the ghost incident. XD I wanna sleep over at England's.
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This was too much win. I loved EVERYTHING. The set up is awesome, their dialogues are hilarious and the random pixie under the bed was so great and clever and funny, and everything was perfect. I was trying to count my favorite lines but I lost the count after the third chapter. =D
“You said your days of needing me were over," Arthur says softly. "A long time ago.”
“Well, fuck,” Alfred mutters. “I’m always saying stupid shit.”
You know, I think this must be the best discussion about this matter that I´ve ever read.
(Amore is french? o.o I thought it was italian...)
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