[fanfic] What Makes The Ride Worthwhile
Title: What Makes the Ride Worthwhile
Author: me~
Characters/Pairings: US/UK, Portugal (OC), Belgium (OC), Japan
Rating: PG
Warnings: cuteness
Summary: America's surprisingly successful attempt at surreptitiousness leaves England somewhat anxious. Or very anxious.
Notes: A late birthday gift for my dear sakuratsukikage and because she deserves it after the hard work she's been doing lately. <3 Keep it up dear, I believe in you~
Arthur was careful in pulling his warm jacket around him, tightening it to keep in the warmth and staying carefully on the part of the park bench that his body had already made warm. He tucked his multi-colored scarf-which smelled wonderfully of Alfred’s house, and Alfred himself, and he was discreet but greedy in inhaling off of it whenever he wore it, which was often-over his nose, breathing a puff of hot breath into it to warm his face.
Alfred was acting strange. Of course, ‘strange’ was an adjective that could almost always be applied to Alfred, particularly by Arthur’s standards. But this was an entirely different level of strange which was familiar to Arthur in the maddening way that déjà vu made it-he knew he’d seen it before, but couldn’t, to save his life, think of when or where.
Alfred had been staying at his house for more than two weeks now, and Arthur felt strangely as if he’d seen little more of Alfred than he would if they weren’t staying together. They always spent evenings together, of course-sitting together on the couch, watching a bad film or simply talking-but Arthur did have to go out for work every once in a while, and it seemed to him that every time he got home, Alfred wasn’t there.
He didn’t feel neglected or anything of that sort, because after all Alfred was there, and not having him around every second of every day wasn’t devastating, not when they spent so much time apart as it was-but their anniversary was drawing near, and it made Arthur disgustingly sentimental. He found himself watching Alfred for hours when he slept, mesmerized by his expressionless face and musing over the past two years, the years they’d been together. They had been tumultuous years, and by no means easy for either of them, but Arthur found he was grateful for that. He came out of their ordeal loving Alfred more than he perhaps ever had before, and he knew they were both stronger for it, that their union was stronger for it.
He felt selfish and silly wishing that Alfred would spend more time with him-Alfred might even be planning something for their anniversary, Arthur thought, and wouldn’t he feel silly if all his worry turned out to be for naught.
Arthur turned his head to watch Alfred emerge from the red phone booth, blowing on his gloved hands to warm them as he jogged over, the redness of his cheeks and ears matching beautifully with the red of the embroidered scarf around his neck.
“Sorry about that,” he said, as Arthur stood up to join him, giving Arthur a sweet smile that, shamefully, made Arthur instantly forgive him.
“Who were you calling, anyways?” he asked, more curious than accusing and he shyly grabbed for Alfred’s hand. Alfred immediately swallowed Arthur’s palm into his, rubbing it a bit with his frozen fingers to warm it.
“Secret,” Alfred said with a little smirk, pulling his scarf up over his face and nuzzling into it a bit. Arthur only realized he was pouting when Alfred turned and gave him a little kiss on the forehead, tugging at his hand gently.
“Let’s get home, yeah? ‘S fuckin’ cold out here.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“But, America-san… I thought Igirisu-san didn’t have a-”
“He didn’t,” America explained, his arms moving the controller itself as he desperately tried to guide his character to one side. “I gave him one. As a wedding present.”
“Ah,” Japan said quietly, a smirk coming over his face that America didn’t notice as he furiously mashed the buttons on his controller. For a moment, the only sounds in the room were the clicking of buttons and the crashes and shouts of the game.
“So you’ll be there, right?” America asked, turning to Japan with a hopeful look on his face as the level scores rolled over the screen.
Japan smiled, a secretive sort of smile that told of a connotation to his answer that America’s didn’t detect. “I will, yes,” he replied. “I would not want to miss it.”
“Awesome. You’re the best, Japan, really.” America grinned with glee as the next level began on the screen, and Japan hit the buttons to begin the round, the smile lingering on his face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alfred, for once, wasn’t pasted to the television screen. Some rubbish reality show was on, but his eyes were fixed on his open laptop screen, at an unmoving email window.
“What are you doing, Alfred?” Arthur asked innocently. Alfred looked up at him briefly, then back to the screen.
“Waiting for an email,” he replied simply, slouching back against the couch and staring his computer down.
“From who?”
“…my boss.”
There it was. The little quirk of a frown over Alfred’s mouth, the tightening of his fists around the edges of his computer. Alfred was a horrific liar, Arthur knew, always wore his heart on his sleeve, and they both knew it. Arthur was tempted to let it drop, but Alfred had been acting much too strangely lately, and his curiosity overcame him.
“Your boss, eh?” he asked, striding casually to the back of the couch to stand behind Alfred and peer over his shoulder at the computer.
Alfred turned the screen down hastily. “Yeah. Secret… uh, American stuff. So… mind your own business.”
Just then, the computer gave a beep, alerting to a new email. Alfred turned up the screen momentarily to look at it, then promptly shut it. But the damage had been done.
“Adelgonde?” Arthur inquired, perplexed. “Why are you emailing Belgium?”
“No reason,” Alfred whined, curling up around his closed computer. “We’re just talking, why are you so damn nosy?”
Arthur stood back up, indignant. “I think I deserve to know why my good friend is having such a secret conversation with my husband,” he huffed, reaching over to ineffectually pry the computer from Alfred’s lap.
“No,” Alfred squealed, laughing now. “You can’t see! I told you, it’s private American stuff! Go away!”
“We’re allied now, Alfred,” Arthur said, unable to resist the smirk that grew at Alfred’s laugh. “Your information is mine, remember?”
They were at a stalemate, the computer tugged in both directions between them. Arthur tried his best Empire Glare, but it faltered in the face of Alfred’s goofy pout.
“Is it so bad that I can’t see?” Arthur tried, and Alfred’s nose scrunched up.
“It’s not bad,” Alfred sighed, pulling with a fraction of the strength that Arthur knew he had to not only retrieve the laptop but vault him across the room as well. “You just can’t see yet.”
“Yet?”
“Yes. Yet.”
Arthur’s glare intensified, suspicious now, but Alfred’s face was honest, and he heaved an exasperated sigh, finally letting go of the computer.
“Do you trust me?” Alfred mumbled, looking guilty.
Arthur leaned over the back of the couch to kiss Alfred’s forehead upside down, with a grumpy huff. “Of course I do,” he growled, and Alfred smiled softly, turning on the couch cushion to lean up and press a soft, apologetic kiss to England’s lips. England sighed, but returned it.
“Love you,” Alfred mumbled against his lips.
“Love you too,” Arthur grumbled, and stalked out of the room at that, as sulkily as he could manage with a slight pleasant flush over his cheeks.
It was probably all silly, he thought to himself. It was probably some harebrained scheme of Alfred’s, a surprise for him. But it didn’t stop the little nervous, uncomfortable rumble in his stomach. What could Alfred be keeping from him?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Ay, mio! Really, Amerrica?”
America stirred his coffee with a knowing smirk and sparkling eyes that reflected Portugal’s glee. “Really really.”
Portugal laughed, deep and hearty with joy, his hair ruffling over his forehead as he shook his head. “Dis is an idea so wonderrful, caro.”
“Will you be there?”
Portugal rolled his eyes, reaching over the small café table to pat the top of America’s hand with his own. “Claro, of courrse I will. You may depend on me.”
“Thanks Gabe,” America said, looking somewhat flattered by the praise of the older country. “I know Arthur will be really happy to have you there.”
Portugal stood from his seat and placed a friendly kiss in America’s hair. “I would not miss it for de worrld.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alfred pushed his aviators further up on his nose-“those blasted glasses,” Arthur called them, claiming that they hid Alfred’s eyes and hence everything he was thinking-to block out the weak sunlight, swinging his hand and Arthur’s in between them and grinning like an idiot.
It was rare that Arthur decided to allow Alfred to hold his hand in public, and Alfred wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and ask what the occasion was.
“Oh, look at that,” Arthur gasped suddenly, and Alfred felt a simultaneous tug at their joined hands. He stopped, looking back to where Arthur had his face pressed against a glass window, his eyes wide like a child in front of a candy counter, and a small, almost undetectable grin tugging at his mouth.
Alfred approached, recognizing the store as an antique dealer. He tried to follow Arthur’s gaze to what he found so amazing, but nothing in particular caught his eye.
“What?” he said dumbly, pressing his face to the glass next to Arthur’s. The breath coming from his nose left a wide cloud of fog on its cold surface.
“That pocket watch, there,” Arthur said, pointing. Alfred saw it, a small silver watch set on the edge of an antique chair, its long chain dangling elegantly over the drop cloth. “Isn’t it lovely?”
Alfred turned to watch as Arthur blew his breath over the glass in some measure of awe and admiration, the look on his face something Alfred had only seen sparingly before.
“I don’t see what’s special about it,” Alfred admitted, and Arthur pushed off from the window slightly, his gaze remaining transfixed.
“It’s a Victorian, you silly sod,” Arthur admonished, as if it should have been obvious. “In beautiful condition, for its age. I’ve only seen a few before with that particular engraving.”
“So it’s old,” Alfred stated bluntly, and Arthur shot an ‘I’m-fed-up-with-you-being-uncultured’ glare.
“You simply have no appreciation for the antique,” Arthur huffed, turning back to gaze at the watch once more.
Alfred tugged lightly on Arthur’s hand-which surprisingly hadn’t been yanked from his grip-teasingly. “You’re antique, and I appreciate you.”
Arthur whacked Alfred’s arm smartly, prompting a cheeky giggle. He sighed and moved from the window, walking on with some reluctance. “What a lovely piece,” he muttered to himself. “Bet it’ll sell within the week.”
“Do you want it?”
“I’d love to have it,” Arthur spat, his eyebrows drawing down in scowl. “The boss has cut my spending money again. The economy, you know.” He scoffed. “Apparently the pursuit of priceless antiques is not a worthy endeavour in the current climate.”
Alfred nodded in understanding, biting his lips against a small, giddy grin. He was suddenly glad for the glasses to hide what he knew must be a devilishly excited look in his eye.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
America made several false starts into the room, pacing awkwardly at the door before finally entering, sitting in the wing chair that England sat in most often, embroidering or talking to his invisible friends as he so often did when he thought America wasn’t looking. He sat back into it for a moment before feeling abruptly uncomfortable and standing instead by its left side.
“So, um…” he started, dumbly, hoping that there was at least someone in here and he wasn’t talking to himself like a deranged person. “I can’t see you, but listen up, if you can hear me.
“I’m-we’re throwing England a party… for his birthday, you know. It’s gonna be a week from today, and… I know it would be great for England if you all were there… whoever you all are.”
He stood silently for a moment, looking around for any sign of someone listening to him. There was none, but he thought of that smile, the one England wore when chatting to the same air America was chatting to now, and he continued.
“It’s gonna be a surprise, so don’t tell him anything. And, uh-tell your friends, ‘cause… I don’t know how many of you are in here…” America looked around again, for any telltale aura of light or shimmer of gossamer wings. “…if any at all.”
He silently prayed someone had heard him, that he hadn’t just embarrassed himself for no reason, and with a small sigh retreated from the room, unheeding of the small, tinkling giggles of gossip and excitement that followed him out the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When England pulled his Bentley into his driveway after work, he looked up to see all the lights in his house out. He sighed, a bit tiredly, thinking America had gone to bed early, tired from his jet lag. England resolved to get a cup of tea and join him.
He unlocked his door with the key under the mat-America had locked the doors in his absence, like he’d asked-and opened it to darkness. “Cobweb,” he called out, not seeing the familiar glow of fairies come to greet him. None came at his call, and he hung his coat up. “Mustardseed?” he tried again, but the house was thick with silence.
England sighed, toeing his shoes off and shuffling into the kitchen, groping along the wall for the light switch and flicking it on when he-
“SURPRISE!”
“Oh, hey.”
“Y-yes?” Arthur says, his hands stilling where they’re rubbing at Alfred’s shoulders.
“I’ve… got a wedding present for you.”
England shrieked, unflatteringly, and plastered himself against the wall, his heart beating painfully in his chest at the shock. The smiling, shining faces of America, Portugal, Belgium, and Japan looked at him from over the table, laughing at his surprise and beckoning him. The fairies were shimmering and squealing with excitement, buzzing around the chandelier.
“What-what’s all this then?” England breathed, his anger at being frightened dissipated into puzzlement.
“A-a-you do?”
“Yeah,” Alfred says, flushing in his face and squirming slightly, nervous. “It’s… it’s kinda stupid, but…”
“I doubt it,” Arthur says, fondly, his eyes bright with childish excitement and anticipation. “Well,” he prompts, “what is it, then?”
America blew at a noisemaker he snatched from the table, its loud, grating scream echoing in the house. “Happy birthday, England!” he squealed, waving his arms excitedly, and Portugal and Belgium cheered in agreement, blowing at their noisemakers as well.
“I-birthday?”
Alfred’s smile is wide and shy, and he ducks his head a bit against Arthur’s neck, hiding his face.
“It’s… it’s a birthday.”
“A birthday?” Arthur reaches out curiously to hook his palm under Alfred’s jaw, turning his head up to look at him, puzzled. “But, Alfred, I don’t have a birthday-”
Alfred bites his lip, his cheeks growing deeper in color. “I know. That’s… that’s what I’m giving you.”
America tilted his head, his grin patronizing but sweet. “You don’t remember?”
England thought for a moment, and then gasped, his hand flying up to his mouth. “Oh, good heavens,” he muttered, muffled in his hand. “My birthday.”
Arthur’s blush is growing now, his cheeks burning red. “What day is it,” he asks softly. “Today?”
Alfred squirms once more. “It’s… um, September 13th,” he mumbles. “It’s… halfway between that-” a parched laugh “-that day I showed up on your doorstep in the rain…”
Alfred hugs Arthur close, wrapping his arms fully around him. “…And today.” He buries his face against Arthur’s neck.
“The day you became mine forever.”
America rounded the table, a soft smile on his face, and stood beside England, his hand rubbing at England’s arm gently.
“Goodness,” England gulped, hating how thick his throat felt. “I… America, forgive me. I completely forgot about it. I-I’m-”
“Baby,” America laughed gently, his smile wide and loving and forgiving. “You’ve never had a birthday before. I didn’t expect you to remember.”
England sighed, looking up into America’s face and drinking in the acceptance he found there, using it to smother his shame and guilt.
“Besides,” America chuckled. “It made the surprise a lot easier.”
Arthur’s eyes are brimming over with affection and love, and his smile is angelic as he draws Alfred close, his hands on Alfred’s face and his lips over Alfred’s mouth.
“That’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me,” he murmurs, fondness deepening and softening his tone.
“Really?” Alfred asks, his smile hesitant.
“Truly,” Arthur says, brushing his thumbs over Alfred’s cheekbones. “I’ll celebrate it from now on.”
“Mm,” Alfred hums, content and relieved. “Me too.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Thank you, Port,” England smiled, chuckling a little as he turned the wine bottle in his hands, admiring it. “This is just the one I liked.”
“Of courrse, meu caro,” Portugal purred. “I would not forrget.”
England flushed slightly, pleasantly, setting the wine on the coffee table. “Thank you,” he said again.
“Okay, my turn!” America yelled, setting down his half-eaten slice of cake-from England’s favorite bakery in London, whom he’d called ahead of time-and grabbing the small box from the table, shoving it at England.
“What’d you get him, Alfie?” Belgium cooed from her seat on the floor beside Portugal’s legs. “Lingerie?”
England growled and threw a sticky wrapping bow at her as Portugal laughed and Japan flushed, but she simply caught it and stuck it in her hair, making kissing noises at England.
England undid the tape fastenings on the wrapping and pulled it carefully off, glancing at America before opening the box.
“Oh-oh my,” he breathed, pulling an engraved silver pocket watch from the velvet-lined jewelry box. “It’s-”
“That watch you saw in the window,” America said, satisfied. “I went back that day and got it.”
England leaned into him slightly, admiring the watch. “It… it must have cost you a small fortune.”
America grinned. “The shop owner gave me a discount when she heard who it was for.”
England’s face was a deep red, and he brushed his thumb over the engraved silver surface of the watch, holding it, lovingly delicate, in his palm.
“Thank you, Alfred,” England whispered, flushed and flattered and happy, and America leaned in with a grin to kiss his cheek.
“Oh, come on, Engeland,” Belgium whined loudly. “He’s your husband, your liefde! Give ‘im a kiss!”
England glared at her, but turned his head up to peck America’s lips, while Belgium and Portugal cheered and cat-called.
“You’re a pervert, Belgium,” England admonished, quickly ducking his face to hide the furious blush. “France is a terrible influence on you.”
Belgium simply shrugged and grinned, her eyes twinkling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur collapsed back against the pillows with a light sigh, stretching and curling into them, burying his face in their light scent of laundry detergent and Alfred’s shampoo.
The lights were extinguished, and in the dark Arthur could see the fairies, twittering and flitting about and only just now coming down from the high of excitement they got from feeding off the energy of the party. Their lights flickered and dimmed as they perched on Arthur’s dresser and in the drawers for sleep.
Alfred lay down beside him after a long moment, shifting slightly so their sides were pressed together, and Alfred’s mouth could reach Arthur’s cheek, where he left a warm, damp kiss.
Arthur curled slightly into him, turning his face up to look into Alfred’s, and Alfred gazed back, his eyes soft and affectionate and clouded with drowsiness. Arthur slid his hand up to Alfred’s cheek, stroking there for a moment.
“You really planned that whole thing?”
Alfred grinned, his eyes shining warmth. “Yup.”
“And that’s why you were emailing Adelgonde?”
“Yeah.”
“And acting secretive and strange?”
“Uh-huh.”
Arthur ducked his head to tuck it under Alfred’s chin, and Alfred successfully read the silent request to be held, wrapping his arms around Arthur and tugging him in close.
“Thank you,” Arthur mumbled, curling one arm around Alfred’s side and squeezing. “It was… everything I’d imagined a birthday would be.”
“You really liked it?”
“I-I did. It was wonderful. I-especially the watch, Alfred. Thank you. I truly do love it.”
Arthur could feel the curve of Alfred’s smile as Alfred kissed his forehead, then his eyebrows, and down the bridge of his nose to Arthur’s lips. “I’m so glad,” he said, between kisses. “I wanted it to be-perfect for you.”
Arthur felt the words growing on his tongue, and, unable to stop them, simply turned his head down. “It’s… perfect if you’re there, anyway,” he grumbled, feeling his cheeks sting.
Alfred sighed through a grin, pulling Arthur closer and hugging him tightly. Arthur propped himself onto his elbows to lean in and kiss Alfred, and Alfred gratefully opened his mouth to it, touching their tongues together lightly. Arthur sighed, stroking his tongue along Alfred’s for a long moment, mesmerized by the heat, before pulling away slightly to kiss the corners of his mouth, the upper lip, the lower. Alfred smiled into the kisses, nuzzling his face against Arthur’s as they tapered off and became sweeter, softer.
“Do you want-”
“We’d… best not,” Arthur said gently, with some regret. “Port is just next door. If he hears us, it will be miserable tomorrow morning.”
“A good point,” Alfred said, and just lay back against the pillows, pulling Arthur somewhat on top of him. “This’s just as good, though, huh?”
“Quite,” Arthur nodded, curling up into Alfred’s wide chest, inhaling the smells of soap and old leather and cake frosting and fresh grass, and feeling his eyes gently drift closed in the circle of warmth provided by Alfred’s strong arms.
Adelgonde = Belgium
Gabe = Gabriel = Portugal
The title comes from a quote by Elizabeth Browning: "Love doesn't make the world go round, love is what makes the ride worthwhile."
I'm sorry Japan got so little face time. ;_____;
Enjoy dear. ♥♥♥
Author: me~
Characters/Pairings: US/UK, Portugal (OC), Belgium (OC), Japan
Rating: PG
Warnings: cuteness
Summary: America's surprisingly successful attempt at surreptitiousness leaves England somewhat anxious. Or very anxious.
Notes: A late birthday gift for my dear sakuratsukikage and because she deserves it after the hard work she's been doing lately. <3 Keep it up dear, I believe in you~
Arthur was careful in pulling his warm jacket around him, tightening it to keep in the warmth and staying carefully on the part of the park bench that his body had already made warm. He tucked his multi-colored scarf-which smelled wonderfully of Alfred’s house, and Alfred himself, and he was discreet but greedy in inhaling off of it whenever he wore it, which was often-over his nose, breathing a puff of hot breath into it to warm his face.
Alfred was acting strange. Of course, ‘strange’ was an adjective that could almost always be applied to Alfred, particularly by Arthur’s standards. But this was an entirely different level of strange which was familiar to Arthur in the maddening way that déjà vu made it-he knew he’d seen it before, but couldn’t, to save his life, think of when or where.
Alfred had been staying at his house for more than two weeks now, and Arthur felt strangely as if he’d seen little more of Alfred than he would if they weren’t staying together. They always spent evenings together, of course-sitting together on the couch, watching a bad film or simply talking-but Arthur did have to go out for work every once in a while, and it seemed to him that every time he got home, Alfred wasn’t there.
He didn’t feel neglected or anything of that sort, because after all Alfred was there, and not having him around every second of every day wasn’t devastating, not when they spent so much time apart as it was-but their anniversary was drawing near, and it made Arthur disgustingly sentimental. He found himself watching Alfred for hours when he slept, mesmerized by his expressionless face and musing over the past two years, the years they’d been together. They had been tumultuous years, and by no means easy for either of them, but Arthur found he was grateful for that. He came out of their ordeal loving Alfred more than he perhaps ever had before, and he knew they were both stronger for it, that their union was stronger for it.
He felt selfish and silly wishing that Alfred would spend more time with him-Alfred might even be planning something for their anniversary, Arthur thought, and wouldn’t he feel silly if all his worry turned out to be for naught.
Arthur turned his head to watch Alfred emerge from the red phone booth, blowing on his gloved hands to warm them as he jogged over, the redness of his cheeks and ears matching beautifully with the red of the embroidered scarf around his neck.
“Sorry about that,” he said, as Arthur stood up to join him, giving Arthur a sweet smile that, shamefully, made Arthur instantly forgive him.
“Who were you calling, anyways?” he asked, more curious than accusing and he shyly grabbed for Alfred’s hand. Alfred immediately swallowed Arthur’s palm into his, rubbing it a bit with his frozen fingers to warm it.
“Secret,” Alfred said with a little smirk, pulling his scarf up over his face and nuzzling into it a bit. Arthur only realized he was pouting when Alfred turned and gave him a little kiss on the forehead, tugging at his hand gently.
“Let’s get home, yeah? ‘S fuckin’ cold out here.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“But, America-san… I thought Igirisu-san didn’t have a-”
“He didn’t,” America explained, his arms moving the controller itself as he desperately tried to guide his character to one side. “I gave him one. As a wedding present.”
“Ah,” Japan said quietly, a smirk coming over his face that America didn’t notice as he furiously mashed the buttons on his controller. For a moment, the only sounds in the room were the clicking of buttons and the crashes and shouts of the game.
“So you’ll be there, right?” America asked, turning to Japan with a hopeful look on his face as the level scores rolled over the screen.
Japan smiled, a secretive sort of smile that told of a connotation to his answer that America’s didn’t detect. “I will, yes,” he replied. “I would not want to miss it.”
“Awesome. You’re the best, Japan, really.” America grinned with glee as the next level began on the screen, and Japan hit the buttons to begin the round, the smile lingering on his face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alfred, for once, wasn’t pasted to the television screen. Some rubbish reality show was on, but his eyes were fixed on his open laptop screen, at an unmoving email window.
“What are you doing, Alfred?” Arthur asked innocently. Alfred looked up at him briefly, then back to the screen.
“Waiting for an email,” he replied simply, slouching back against the couch and staring his computer down.
“From who?”
“…my boss.”
There it was. The little quirk of a frown over Alfred’s mouth, the tightening of his fists around the edges of his computer. Alfred was a horrific liar, Arthur knew, always wore his heart on his sleeve, and they both knew it. Arthur was tempted to let it drop, but Alfred had been acting much too strangely lately, and his curiosity overcame him.
“Your boss, eh?” he asked, striding casually to the back of the couch to stand behind Alfred and peer over his shoulder at the computer.
Alfred turned the screen down hastily. “Yeah. Secret… uh, American stuff. So… mind your own business.”
Just then, the computer gave a beep, alerting to a new email. Alfred turned up the screen momentarily to look at it, then promptly shut it. But the damage had been done.
“Adelgonde?” Arthur inquired, perplexed. “Why are you emailing Belgium?”
“No reason,” Alfred whined, curling up around his closed computer. “We’re just talking, why are you so damn nosy?”
Arthur stood back up, indignant. “I think I deserve to know why my good friend is having such a secret conversation with my husband,” he huffed, reaching over to ineffectually pry the computer from Alfred’s lap.
“No,” Alfred squealed, laughing now. “You can’t see! I told you, it’s private American stuff! Go away!”
“We’re allied now, Alfred,” Arthur said, unable to resist the smirk that grew at Alfred’s laugh. “Your information is mine, remember?”
They were at a stalemate, the computer tugged in both directions between them. Arthur tried his best Empire Glare, but it faltered in the face of Alfred’s goofy pout.
“Is it so bad that I can’t see?” Arthur tried, and Alfred’s nose scrunched up.
“It’s not bad,” Alfred sighed, pulling with a fraction of the strength that Arthur knew he had to not only retrieve the laptop but vault him across the room as well. “You just can’t see yet.”
“Yet?”
“Yes. Yet.”
Arthur’s glare intensified, suspicious now, but Alfred’s face was honest, and he heaved an exasperated sigh, finally letting go of the computer.
“Do you trust me?” Alfred mumbled, looking guilty.
Arthur leaned over the back of the couch to kiss Alfred’s forehead upside down, with a grumpy huff. “Of course I do,” he growled, and Alfred smiled softly, turning on the couch cushion to lean up and press a soft, apologetic kiss to England’s lips. England sighed, but returned it.
“Love you,” Alfred mumbled against his lips.
“Love you too,” Arthur grumbled, and stalked out of the room at that, as sulkily as he could manage with a slight pleasant flush over his cheeks.
It was probably all silly, he thought to himself. It was probably some harebrained scheme of Alfred’s, a surprise for him. But it didn’t stop the little nervous, uncomfortable rumble in his stomach. What could Alfred be keeping from him?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Ay, mio! Really, Amerrica?”
America stirred his coffee with a knowing smirk and sparkling eyes that reflected Portugal’s glee. “Really really.”
Portugal laughed, deep and hearty with joy, his hair ruffling over his forehead as he shook his head. “Dis is an idea so wonderrful, caro.”
“Will you be there?”
Portugal rolled his eyes, reaching over the small café table to pat the top of America’s hand with his own. “Claro, of courrse I will. You may depend on me.”
“Thanks Gabe,” America said, looking somewhat flattered by the praise of the older country. “I know Arthur will be really happy to have you there.”
Portugal stood from his seat and placed a friendly kiss in America’s hair. “I would not miss it for de worrld.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alfred pushed his aviators further up on his nose-“those blasted glasses,” Arthur called them, claiming that they hid Alfred’s eyes and hence everything he was thinking-to block out the weak sunlight, swinging his hand and Arthur’s in between them and grinning like an idiot.
It was rare that Arthur decided to allow Alfred to hold his hand in public, and Alfred wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and ask what the occasion was.
“Oh, look at that,” Arthur gasped suddenly, and Alfred felt a simultaneous tug at their joined hands. He stopped, looking back to where Arthur had his face pressed against a glass window, his eyes wide like a child in front of a candy counter, and a small, almost undetectable grin tugging at his mouth.
Alfred approached, recognizing the store as an antique dealer. He tried to follow Arthur’s gaze to what he found so amazing, but nothing in particular caught his eye.
“What?” he said dumbly, pressing his face to the glass next to Arthur’s. The breath coming from his nose left a wide cloud of fog on its cold surface.
“That pocket watch, there,” Arthur said, pointing. Alfred saw it, a small silver watch set on the edge of an antique chair, its long chain dangling elegantly over the drop cloth. “Isn’t it lovely?”
Alfred turned to watch as Arthur blew his breath over the glass in some measure of awe and admiration, the look on his face something Alfred had only seen sparingly before.
“I don’t see what’s special about it,” Alfred admitted, and Arthur pushed off from the window slightly, his gaze remaining transfixed.
“It’s a Victorian, you silly sod,” Arthur admonished, as if it should have been obvious. “In beautiful condition, for its age. I’ve only seen a few before with that particular engraving.”
“So it’s old,” Alfred stated bluntly, and Arthur shot an ‘I’m-fed-up-with-you-being-uncultured’ glare.
“You simply have no appreciation for the antique,” Arthur huffed, turning back to gaze at the watch once more.
Alfred tugged lightly on Arthur’s hand-which surprisingly hadn’t been yanked from his grip-teasingly. “You’re antique, and I appreciate you.”
Arthur whacked Alfred’s arm smartly, prompting a cheeky giggle. He sighed and moved from the window, walking on with some reluctance. “What a lovely piece,” he muttered to himself. “Bet it’ll sell within the week.”
“Do you want it?”
“I’d love to have it,” Arthur spat, his eyebrows drawing down in scowl. “The boss has cut my spending money again. The economy, you know.” He scoffed. “Apparently the pursuit of priceless antiques is not a worthy endeavour in the current climate.”
Alfred nodded in understanding, biting his lips against a small, giddy grin. He was suddenly glad for the glasses to hide what he knew must be a devilishly excited look in his eye.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
America made several false starts into the room, pacing awkwardly at the door before finally entering, sitting in the wing chair that England sat in most often, embroidering or talking to his invisible friends as he so often did when he thought America wasn’t looking. He sat back into it for a moment before feeling abruptly uncomfortable and standing instead by its left side.
“So, um…” he started, dumbly, hoping that there was at least someone in here and he wasn’t talking to himself like a deranged person. “I can’t see you, but listen up, if you can hear me.
“I’m-we’re throwing England a party… for his birthday, you know. It’s gonna be a week from today, and… I know it would be great for England if you all were there… whoever you all are.”
He stood silently for a moment, looking around for any sign of someone listening to him. There was none, but he thought of that smile, the one England wore when chatting to the same air America was chatting to now, and he continued.
“It’s gonna be a surprise, so don’t tell him anything. And, uh-tell your friends, ‘cause… I don’t know how many of you are in here…” America looked around again, for any telltale aura of light or shimmer of gossamer wings. “…if any at all.”
He silently prayed someone had heard him, that he hadn’t just embarrassed himself for no reason, and with a small sigh retreated from the room, unheeding of the small, tinkling giggles of gossip and excitement that followed him out the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When England pulled his Bentley into his driveway after work, he looked up to see all the lights in his house out. He sighed, a bit tiredly, thinking America had gone to bed early, tired from his jet lag. England resolved to get a cup of tea and join him.
He unlocked his door with the key under the mat-America had locked the doors in his absence, like he’d asked-and opened it to darkness. “Cobweb,” he called out, not seeing the familiar glow of fairies come to greet him. None came at his call, and he hung his coat up. “Mustardseed?” he tried again, but the house was thick with silence.
England sighed, toeing his shoes off and shuffling into the kitchen, groping along the wall for the light switch and flicking it on when he-
“SURPRISE!”
“Oh, hey.”
“Y-yes?” Arthur says, his hands stilling where they’re rubbing at Alfred’s shoulders.
“I’ve… got a wedding present for you.”
England shrieked, unflatteringly, and plastered himself against the wall, his heart beating painfully in his chest at the shock. The smiling, shining faces of America, Portugal, Belgium, and Japan looked at him from over the table, laughing at his surprise and beckoning him. The fairies were shimmering and squealing with excitement, buzzing around the chandelier.
“What-what’s all this then?” England breathed, his anger at being frightened dissipated into puzzlement.
“A-a-you do?”
“Yeah,” Alfred says, flushing in his face and squirming slightly, nervous. “It’s… it’s kinda stupid, but…”
“I doubt it,” Arthur says, fondly, his eyes bright with childish excitement and anticipation. “Well,” he prompts, “what is it, then?”
America blew at a noisemaker he snatched from the table, its loud, grating scream echoing in the house. “Happy birthday, England!” he squealed, waving his arms excitedly, and Portugal and Belgium cheered in agreement, blowing at their noisemakers as well.
“I-birthday?”
Alfred’s smile is wide and shy, and he ducks his head a bit against Arthur’s neck, hiding his face.
“It’s… it’s a birthday.”
“A birthday?” Arthur reaches out curiously to hook his palm under Alfred’s jaw, turning his head up to look at him, puzzled. “But, Alfred, I don’t have a birthday-”
Alfred bites his lip, his cheeks growing deeper in color. “I know. That’s… that’s what I’m giving you.”
America tilted his head, his grin patronizing but sweet. “You don’t remember?”
England thought for a moment, and then gasped, his hand flying up to his mouth. “Oh, good heavens,” he muttered, muffled in his hand. “My birthday.”
Arthur’s blush is growing now, his cheeks burning red. “What day is it,” he asks softly. “Today?”
Alfred squirms once more. “It’s… um, September 13th,” he mumbles. “It’s… halfway between that-” a parched laugh “-that day I showed up on your doorstep in the rain…”
Alfred hugs Arthur close, wrapping his arms fully around him. “…And today.” He buries his face against Arthur’s neck.
“The day you became mine forever.”
America rounded the table, a soft smile on his face, and stood beside England, his hand rubbing at England’s arm gently.
“Goodness,” England gulped, hating how thick his throat felt. “I… America, forgive me. I completely forgot about it. I-I’m-”
“Baby,” America laughed gently, his smile wide and loving and forgiving. “You’ve never had a birthday before. I didn’t expect you to remember.”
England sighed, looking up into America’s face and drinking in the acceptance he found there, using it to smother his shame and guilt.
“Besides,” America chuckled. “It made the surprise a lot easier.”
Arthur’s eyes are brimming over with affection and love, and his smile is angelic as he draws Alfred close, his hands on Alfred’s face and his lips over Alfred’s mouth.
“That’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me,” he murmurs, fondness deepening and softening his tone.
“Really?” Alfred asks, his smile hesitant.
“Truly,” Arthur says, brushing his thumbs over Alfred’s cheekbones. “I’ll celebrate it from now on.”
“Mm,” Alfred hums, content and relieved. “Me too.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Thank you, Port,” England smiled, chuckling a little as he turned the wine bottle in his hands, admiring it. “This is just the one I liked.”
“Of courrse, meu caro,” Portugal purred. “I would not forrget.”
England flushed slightly, pleasantly, setting the wine on the coffee table. “Thank you,” he said again.
“Okay, my turn!” America yelled, setting down his half-eaten slice of cake-from England’s favorite bakery in London, whom he’d called ahead of time-and grabbing the small box from the table, shoving it at England.
“What’d you get him, Alfie?” Belgium cooed from her seat on the floor beside Portugal’s legs. “Lingerie?”
England growled and threw a sticky wrapping bow at her as Portugal laughed and Japan flushed, but she simply caught it and stuck it in her hair, making kissing noises at England.
England undid the tape fastenings on the wrapping and pulled it carefully off, glancing at America before opening the box.
“Oh-oh my,” he breathed, pulling an engraved silver pocket watch from the velvet-lined jewelry box. “It’s-”
“That watch you saw in the window,” America said, satisfied. “I went back that day and got it.”
England leaned into him slightly, admiring the watch. “It… it must have cost you a small fortune.”
America grinned. “The shop owner gave me a discount when she heard who it was for.”
England’s face was a deep red, and he brushed his thumb over the engraved silver surface of the watch, holding it, lovingly delicate, in his palm.
“Thank you, Alfred,” England whispered, flushed and flattered and happy, and America leaned in with a grin to kiss his cheek.
“Oh, come on, Engeland,” Belgium whined loudly. “He’s your husband, your liefde! Give ‘im a kiss!”
England glared at her, but turned his head up to peck America’s lips, while Belgium and Portugal cheered and cat-called.
“You’re a pervert, Belgium,” England admonished, quickly ducking his face to hide the furious blush. “France is a terrible influence on you.”
Belgium simply shrugged and grinned, her eyes twinkling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur collapsed back against the pillows with a light sigh, stretching and curling into them, burying his face in their light scent of laundry detergent and Alfred’s shampoo.
The lights were extinguished, and in the dark Arthur could see the fairies, twittering and flitting about and only just now coming down from the high of excitement they got from feeding off the energy of the party. Their lights flickered and dimmed as they perched on Arthur’s dresser and in the drawers for sleep.
Alfred lay down beside him after a long moment, shifting slightly so their sides were pressed together, and Alfred’s mouth could reach Arthur’s cheek, where he left a warm, damp kiss.
Arthur curled slightly into him, turning his face up to look into Alfred’s, and Alfred gazed back, his eyes soft and affectionate and clouded with drowsiness. Arthur slid his hand up to Alfred’s cheek, stroking there for a moment.
“You really planned that whole thing?”
Alfred grinned, his eyes shining warmth. “Yup.”
“And that’s why you were emailing Adelgonde?”
“Yeah.”
“And acting secretive and strange?”
“Uh-huh.”
Arthur ducked his head to tuck it under Alfred’s chin, and Alfred successfully read the silent request to be held, wrapping his arms around Arthur and tugging him in close.
“Thank you,” Arthur mumbled, curling one arm around Alfred’s side and squeezing. “It was… everything I’d imagined a birthday would be.”
“You really liked it?”
“I-I did. It was wonderful. I-especially the watch, Alfred. Thank you. I truly do love it.”
Arthur could feel the curve of Alfred’s smile as Alfred kissed his forehead, then his eyebrows, and down the bridge of his nose to Arthur’s lips. “I’m so glad,” he said, between kisses. “I wanted it to be-perfect for you.”
Arthur felt the words growing on his tongue, and, unable to stop them, simply turned his head down. “It’s… perfect if you’re there, anyway,” he grumbled, feeling his cheeks sting.
Alfred sighed through a grin, pulling Arthur closer and hugging him tightly. Arthur propped himself onto his elbows to lean in and kiss Alfred, and Alfred gratefully opened his mouth to it, touching their tongues together lightly. Arthur sighed, stroking his tongue along Alfred’s for a long moment, mesmerized by the heat, before pulling away slightly to kiss the corners of his mouth, the upper lip, the lower. Alfred smiled into the kisses, nuzzling his face against Arthur’s as they tapered off and became sweeter, softer.
“Do you want-”
“We’d… best not,” Arthur said gently, with some regret. “Port is just next door. If he hears us, it will be miserable tomorrow morning.”
“A good point,” Alfred said, and just lay back against the pillows, pulling Arthur somewhat on top of him. “This’s just as good, though, huh?”
“Quite,” Arthur nodded, curling up into Alfred’s wide chest, inhaling the smells of soap and old leather and cake frosting and fresh grass, and feeling his eyes gently drift closed in the circle of warmth provided by Alfred’s strong arms.
Adelgonde = Belgium
Gabe = Gabriel = Portugal
The title comes from a quote by Elizabeth Browning: "Love doesn't make the world go round, love is what makes the ride worthwhile."
I'm sorry Japan got so little face time. ;_____;
Enjoy dear. ♥♥♥