(no subject)
Title: The weekend off.
Fandom: Hetalia.
Genre: Friendship.
Wordcount: 859.
Characters: Alfred & Arthur.
Rating/Warnings: Older teens and adults only, contains swearing and sexual language.
Alfred wouldn't have boarded that flight out of DC for anyone else, the way he was feeling but there was no way he was gonna let a little thing like triple death-flu stop him from seeing his boyfriend for the first time in two months. Alfred rummaged in the medicine cabinet for the bottle of DayQuil, but it was empty and he remembered he'd taken the last dose yesterday to try and look alert for an important foreign policy meeting with Barack and Hillary. He cussed a bit under his breath and then swallowed a spoonful of NyQuil instead, washing it down with a big ol' mug of coffee to try and keep alert enough to actually get to London and not someplace like Rome. He picked up his bag and left the house to hail a cab.
The next thing Alfred knew a stewardess was shaking his shoulder pretty hard and practically yelling in his face. 'Please wake up sir, we've arrived at Heathrow.' she kept saying in a thick British accent until he managed to open his crusted shut eyes and croak out an acknowledgement that set off a coughing-fit. He could almost hear her desperate mental screaming for a gallon or two of hand sanitiser. Alfred took pity on her and got outta there double-quick.
Jeez, Arthur looked as bad as Alfred felt, the American nation thought as he caught sight of his ill-tempered lover. Arthur was waiting in the arrivals area, sipping at a tall cardboard cup and grimacing (Alfred couldn't tell whether it was cus airport tea is apparently lousy or because his throat was hurting) with a nose redder'n Rudolph's and bags under his eyes you could pack an elephant into.
'Gee old man, should you even be out? You look like crap.' Alfred's concern and his usual public manner made his greeting a smidge less romantic than he'd intended.
'Coming from a man who looks like he went ten rounds with Frank Bruno and got dragged through a hedge backwards to celebrate you're one to bloody talk!' Arthur snapped back at him, taking advantage of the moment of distraction to brush past and grab the suitcase from Alfred's hand and he turned his head back towards Alfred with a shy smile. 'It's good to see you, me old mucker.'
The only band that matters were playing on the radio of Arthur's elderly Morris Minor, filling the car with the strains of 'Julie's been working for the drug squad' Arthur humming along with his husky voice. Alfred smiled and could feel himself relaxing under the tartan blanket mother-hen England had tossed over him at Alfred's first shiver. England's place wasn't home like the States were, but he'd rather be here than anywhere else outside of the the good ol' USA. Even if Arthur couldn't make a decent cuppa joe, even if a billion blow-jobs were riding on it.
As Arthur hauled Alfred's suitcase into the house he coughed painfully, Alfred stepping forward to hurriedly help support him and Arthur blushed at all the fuss. 'Sorry about the mess love, I'm shagged out and trying to sort out this Bombardier balls-up on top of everything else is just the absolute living end. Ludwug manages to let his blokes get the big contracts for Heaven's sake and he's a right stickler for the rules!'
Alfred silenced Arthur with a kiss. The Derby train manufacturing firm was a subject he knew inside out thanks the Arthur ranting on about it so much. Al's eyes widened. Arthur was like a damn' furnace in his arms! 'Hey, chill out dude. I don't wanna hear a single word of politics this weekend.'
Arthur managed a rueful smile as Alfred's surprisingly tactful rebuke. 'Me neither actually. I don't even want to leave the house.'
'The house? Arty, I don't even wanna get outta bed if we can help it. Well, not 'less we run out've chocolate body paint and condoms.' He amended hurriedly.
'You grab the nutella and get yourself upstairs then. I'll make us a drink and be up after you.'
Alfred liked the sound of that, only diverting from his path to the bedroom to pick up a spare box of tissues and the bottle of Night Nurse from the bathroom to save them another trip. He tossed his clothes every whick way as he got undressed and practically leapt into the bed, waiting for Arthur.
His bones were aching with weariness as Arthur climbed the stairs to bed, carefully balancing a try of tea, coffee, toast and the extra box of condoms he'd bought on the way to the airport. He came to a halt in the bedroom doorway, chuckling ruefully at the sight before him. Alfred lay in bed, arms flopped out at both sides, legs sprawled to take up more bedspace than seemed humanly possible and snoring like a chainsaw. Arthur stifled a laugh at the sight and set the tray down on the dressing table. He changed into his pyjamas and finished his tea before sliding into bed and falling asleep in his lover's arms. Marvellous.
Notes:
NyQuil/Night Nurse - cold remedies, Night Nurse is a UK brand, NyQuil is US.
Frank Bruno - back in the '90's he was a world-class Heavyweight boxer who since then has sadly been dogged with depression, but has sought help for it.
The only band that matters - The Clash, a nickname they gave themselves, if I remember right.
Bombardier - a train building firm based in Derby, a northern city in England. This summer the government awarded a very profitable contract to their German rival Siemens, saying that EU law prevented them from awarding the contract locally. Looking at how France and Germany interpret the legislation and are able to award the plum jobs to their own manufacturers that's bollocks. It's caused a lot of upset in my area, which will be effected by knock-on job losses.
Nutella - just as spreadable as chocolate body paint, but tastes better and is cheaper and easier to find in the shops without looking like a big old pervert.
Fandom: Hetalia.
Genre: Friendship.
Wordcount: 859.
Characters: Alfred & Arthur.
Rating/Warnings: Older teens and adults only, contains swearing and sexual language.
Alfred wouldn't have boarded that flight out of DC for anyone else, the way he was feeling but there was no way he was gonna let a little thing like triple death-flu stop him from seeing his boyfriend for the first time in two months. Alfred rummaged in the medicine cabinet for the bottle of DayQuil, but it was empty and he remembered he'd taken the last dose yesterday to try and look alert for an important foreign policy meeting with Barack and Hillary. He cussed a bit under his breath and then swallowed a spoonful of NyQuil instead, washing it down with a big ol' mug of coffee to try and keep alert enough to actually get to London and not someplace like Rome. He picked up his bag and left the house to hail a cab.
The next thing Alfred knew a stewardess was shaking his shoulder pretty hard and practically yelling in his face. 'Please wake up sir, we've arrived at Heathrow.' she kept saying in a thick British accent until he managed to open his crusted shut eyes and croak out an acknowledgement that set off a coughing-fit. He could almost hear her desperate mental screaming for a gallon or two of hand sanitiser. Alfred took pity on her and got outta there double-quick.
Jeez, Arthur looked as bad as Alfred felt, the American nation thought as he caught sight of his ill-tempered lover. Arthur was waiting in the arrivals area, sipping at a tall cardboard cup and grimacing (Alfred couldn't tell whether it was cus airport tea is apparently lousy or because his throat was hurting) with a nose redder'n Rudolph's and bags under his eyes you could pack an elephant into.
'Gee old man, should you even be out? You look like crap.' Alfred's concern and his usual public manner made his greeting a smidge less romantic than he'd intended.
'Coming from a man who looks like he went ten rounds with Frank Bruno and got dragged through a hedge backwards to celebrate you're one to bloody talk!' Arthur snapped back at him, taking advantage of the moment of distraction to brush past and grab the suitcase from Alfred's hand and he turned his head back towards Alfred with a shy smile. 'It's good to see you, me old mucker.'
The only band that matters were playing on the radio of Arthur's elderly Morris Minor, filling the car with the strains of 'Julie's been working for the drug squad' Arthur humming along with his husky voice. Alfred smiled and could feel himself relaxing under the tartan blanket mother-hen England had tossed over him at Alfred's first shiver. England's place wasn't home like the States were, but he'd rather be here than anywhere else outside of the the good ol' USA. Even if Arthur couldn't make a decent cuppa joe, even if a billion blow-jobs were riding on it.
As Arthur hauled Alfred's suitcase into the house he coughed painfully, Alfred stepping forward to hurriedly help support him and Arthur blushed at all the fuss. 'Sorry about the mess love, I'm shagged out and trying to sort out this Bombardier balls-up on top of everything else is just the absolute living end. Ludwug manages to let his blokes get the big contracts for Heaven's sake and he's a right stickler for the rules!'
Alfred silenced Arthur with a kiss. The Derby train manufacturing firm was a subject he knew inside out thanks the Arthur ranting on about it so much. Al's eyes widened. Arthur was like a damn' furnace in his arms! 'Hey, chill out dude. I don't wanna hear a single word of politics this weekend.'
Arthur managed a rueful smile as Alfred's surprisingly tactful rebuke. 'Me neither actually. I don't even want to leave the house.'
'The house? Arty, I don't even wanna get outta bed if we can help it. Well, not 'less we run out've chocolate body paint and condoms.' He amended hurriedly.
'You grab the nutella and get yourself upstairs then. I'll make us a drink and be up after you.'
Alfred liked the sound of that, only diverting from his path to the bedroom to pick up a spare box of tissues and the bottle of Night Nurse from the bathroom to save them another trip. He tossed his clothes every whick way as he got undressed and practically leapt into the bed, waiting for Arthur.
His bones were aching with weariness as Arthur climbed the stairs to bed, carefully balancing a try of tea, coffee, toast and the extra box of condoms he'd bought on the way to the airport. He came to a halt in the bedroom doorway, chuckling ruefully at the sight before him. Alfred lay in bed, arms flopped out at both sides, legs sprawled to take up more bedspace than seemed humanly possible and snoring like a chainsaw. Arthur stifled a laugh at the sight and set the tray down on the dressing table. He changed into his pyjamas and finished his tea before sliding into bed and falling asleep in his lover's arms. Marvellous.
Notes:
NyQuil/Night Nurse - cold remedies, Night Nurse is a UK brand, NyQuil is US.
Frank Bruno - back in the '90's he was a world-class Heavyweight boxer who since then has sadly been dogged with depression, but has sought help for it.
The only band that matters - The Clash, a nickname they gave themselves, if I remember right.
Bombardier - a train building firm based in Derby, a northern city in England. This summer the government awarded a very profitable contract to their German rival Siemens, saying that EU law prevented them from awarding the contract locally. Looking at how France and Germany interpret the legislation and are able to award the plum jobs to their own manufacturers that's bollocks. It's caused a lot of upset in my area, which will be effected by knock-on job losses.
Nutella - just as spreadable as chocolate body paint, but tastes better and is cheaper and easier to find in the shops without looking like a big old pervert.