[Secret Santa] Operation L'Amour-(1/6)
A Secret Santa Fic for Satirical_dream. Hope you like it!
Alfred and Arthur are both quite in love with one another, but they're stuck dancing around each other and can't seem to get together. Arthur makes a deal with Francis in an attempt to get help with the problem, but when Alfred sees them together, he becomes jealous.
This chapter: It starts.
The original prompt was: 1)America and England have been dancing around each other for a while, both can't seem to ask each other out. England then starts to spend too much time hanging out with France (when in reality, he's trying to get help from him) and America gets jealous.
Chapter 1
Sheriff Jones swung off his horse and ran towards the train tracks. He could hear the whistling sound of a locomotive off in the distance, and he knew that he only had minutes to act. Quickly, he arrived by the side of a body that was tied to the tracks.
Green eyes opened wide in surprise at the sight of him, as Sheriff Jones hurried to untie the trapped man. The man was gagged, but he tried to speak just the same.
“Be quiet for a moment, would ya? It’s not helping me free you any.” Sheriff Jones told him, flashing a winning smile.
Suddenly the whistle sounded again, much closer this time. The green eyes widened once more, this time in fear, but Sheriff Jones kept his cool. He flipped his gun out of its holster, and shot at the final rope. Just as it severed, Sheriff Jones swept the man into his arms and out of the way of the speeding train.
They stood silently together until the train had passed, and then the man seemed to remember him self. He pulled the gag away from his mouth, and sputtered.
“Why did you save me? You’re a sheriff and I’m an outlaw, you’ve been chasing me for years. Why would you do that?”
“Haven’t you ever stopped to wonder, Kid Kirkland, just why I’ve been so keen on followin’ ya’?” Sheriff Jones grabbed the smaller man by the shoulders and stared dramatically into his eyes.
“Sheriff Jones, I don’t understand…”
“Do ya’ understand this?” He pulled the smaller man closer, joining their lips together. It was a kiss full of passion and love; Kid Kirkland’s lean body pressed against the Sheriff’s broad chest, and he placed a thin hand against Jones’ rippling pectorals. He looked up into the Sheriff’s manly gaze and said:
“Alfred, are you paying attention?”
“Huh, what?”
“Are you paying attention? China is discussing his economy and, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s rather important to you.”
Alfred looked up from his paper in mild confusion. He glanced around the meeting room and saw Yao up at the front gesticulating at charts. Probably talking about how Alfred owed him bajillions of dollars or something.
“You are covered in lead.” Arthur said tiredly.
The younger nation looked him self over. The side of his right hand was completely gray, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had some on his face as well.
“It’s not lead. It’s graphite.” He answered blandly.
“Well, you look like a fool either way. It’s all over your forehead and the tip of your nose. What were you drawing so intently anyway?”
“Nothin’!” Alfred said quickly, tearing out the page of his notebook and stuffing it into his pocket.
“I am trying to speak here, aru! Quiet, please!” Yao snapped in their direction.
Alfred slunk down in his seat, pretending to look embarrassed, when really he was just relieved. He would have died if Arthur had seen what he was drawing.
When the meeting came to a close Arthur pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and turned towards Alfred, “You’re filthy, come here.”
“No. You don’t have to clean my face. That’s just weird.”
“You’d rather wander around looking like you fell face first into a pile of dust? I certainly won’t be seen with you like that,” Arthur said, his large brows furrowing.
“I have to walk around with you all the time, and you’ve always got those ridiculous caterpillars chilling on your forehead.” This was the wrong thing to say.
“Oh shut up! That’s the last damn time I try to help you!” Arthur stood up quickly, slammed his papers into his briefcase, and stormed out of the room. Alfred opened his mouth to call after him but couldn’t think of anything decent to say.
“You upset him again, didn’t you, Al?”
Alfred turned and looked over his shoulder; Matthew was looking down at him in concern.
“He started it.”
“I doubt that,” Matthew said raising an eyebrow.
“He was talking down to me again, you know? Treating me like a kid. I hate it when he does that, and he does it all the time!” Alfred stood up angrily and slammed his chair in. Being indignant was easier than being upset anyway.
“You’re not that mad, Al. You’re just… frustrated, because he still thinks of you as a little kid and you want him to think of you as a man.” Matthew said, trying to be helpful. Alfred was not in the mood for being helped.
“I don’t really care what the stupid old man thinks. I don’t know why you think I would.” Matthew didn’t respond. He had bent down to pick up a piece of paper and was currently looking it over. He then looked at Alfred as though he was trying not to smile.
“I can see you don’t care about what he thinks from the way in which you’re carrying him off into the sunset in this picture.”
“That’s… What? I mean, that’s not me an’ Arthur. That’s just some cowboys riding off into the sunset.”
“With one of them riding sidesaddle with his arms around the other guys neck?” Matthew questioned.
“Yeah…” Alfred mumbled, “So?”
“The little one has got some serious eyebrows going on, and the taller one has got glasses and a very familiar cowlick,” Matthew pointed out.
“Shut up! No one likes your face!” Alfred said angrily, snatching his artwork from his brother’s hands and holding it close to his chest.
Matthew rolled his eyes. “The only difference between your face and mine is that mine isn’t covered in pencil lead. I’ll see you later, Al. I’ve got a lunch date.”
“It’s graphite!” Alfred called out to his brother’s retreating figure, and then he was left alone.
OoOoO
Arthur slammed his briefcase down on the counter of the bar before sitting moodily on the stool. He ordered a beer and waited, fuming.
“See, look Francis, you got a drinking buddy.” Arthur sighed at the sound of the snickering voice that he knew belonged to a certain albino.
“He looks a little pissy, non?” Fuck, the frog was there too.
“All the better to bother, then. ‘sides I got lunch plans.”
“Of course, of course. Go along. And remember what I told you. Be polite with Mattieu. Be courteous, hold doors open, or you’re not getting anywhere.”
“I know. I know. Jesus H. Christ, you’ve told me like twelve times already.”
“It is my job to give advice on L'amour. It is my most sacred duty.”
“Yeah, sure, whatevs. See you later, man.”
Arthur heard a set of quick retreating footsteps, and then, much to his horror, he heard another set of footsteps heading towards him.
“What do you want Frog?” he asked without turning around.
“Just to drink with one of my oldest friends. Is that so wrong?”
“Yes,” Arthur said angrily. Francis leaned down, forcing himself to the Englishman’s line of sight.
“It is problems of the heart, is it not?”
“Why don’t you keep your love advice to the realm of pimping out your former colonies?”
“I beg your pardon, Angleterre,” Francis said, the smoothness of his voice becoming a little ragged around the edges, “but I believe I lost the right to being Mattieu’s brother, when you stole him from me.”
Arthur shrugged and ordered another beer.
“But besides that, I see nothing wrong with helping my friend and my old colony achieve a loving relationship. Mattieu is never going seek to the love and attention that he really needs, and Gilbert is never going to seek love and attention in the right way. Why shouldn’t I be a little helpful?” Francis took a moment to order himself a glass of wine and sat besides Arthur.
“You don’t see anything wrong with trying to get your innocent child laid?” Arthur said tersely. He was still refusing Francis’s gaze, choosing instead to glare down at the golden surface of his beer.
“Nonsense! Mattieu is a grown man. I would not be surprised if he has enjoyed the company of another’s bed before. I’m sure you don’t look at Alfred, say, and still see him as a little boy.” Francis spoke with nonchalance, but Arthur’s face flushed and he became terribly interested in his fingernails. He could see the Frenchman out of the corner of his eye. A knowing smile was spreading very slowly across his bearded face.
“You don’t think of him as a little boy at all, do you? Although I don’t think you’ll be offering him up to anyone else anytime soon. The only person whose bed you’d like to see him in is yours.”
“Shut up!” Arthur spluttered, finally turning towards Francis. “Take it back! I’m not so sick as all that. I wouldn’t want to do anything with him. I raised him. It would be wrong! Even if he might have an infectious charm, the muscles of Greek god, and the smile of a toothpaste model. By which I mean, of course … Go die!” Arthur got up quickly, and attempted to make an escape.
“Oh, Anglettere, such denial I have never seen, and never have I seen anyone so in need of my assistance. Let me help you.” Francis said grabbing him by the arm.
“Why would you want to do that?”
“It is what I was made for. Besides, it might make you more pleasant to be around when I succeed.”
“When?”
“I never fail in matters of love,” Francis said waggling his eyebrows, “Now will you let me help?”
Arthur paused before answering. The last thing he wanted was to spend more time with Francis, but he really did need help. He had been harboring feeling for Alfred since World War II, at least, and it was getting ridiculous. He knew that it wasn’t all a reaction to the boy’s age either, although the thought did make him feel slightly guilty. He just didn’t know how to express himself around Alfred, and he was always making everything worse. It was easier to hide behind an excuse than do anything.
“Fine,” he said quietly, and Francis lit up, “But you’ve got two weeks. I’m not spending any extra time with you after this conference is over.”
“A time limit, hmm. Well, I was in the mood for a challenge. Let us do it.” Francis reached out his hand, and Arthur shook it nervously. He had the strange feeling of selling his soul.
Alfred and Arthur are both quite in love with one another, but they're stuck dancing around each other and can't seem to get together. Arthur makes a deal with Francis in an attempt to get help with the problem, but when Alfred sees them together, he becomes jealous.
This chapter: It starts.
The original prompt was: 1)America and England have been dancing around each other for a while, both can't seem to ask each other out. England then starts to spend too much time hanging out with France (when in reality, he's trying to get help from him) and America gets jealous.
Chapter 1
Sheriff Jones swung off his horse and ran towards the train tracks. He could hear the whistling sound of a locomotive off in the distance, and he knew that he only had minutes to act. Quickly, he arrived by the side of a body that was tied to the tracks.
Green eyes opened wide in surprise at the sight of him, as Sheriff Jones hurried to untie the trapped man. The man was gagged, but he tried to speak just the same.
“Be quiet for a moment, would ya? It’s not helping me free you any.” Sheriff Jones told him, flashing a winning smile.
Suddenly the whistle sounded again, much closer this time. The green eyes widened once more, this time in fear, but Sheriff Jones kept his cool. He flipped his gun out of its holster, and shot at the final rope. Just as it severed, Sheriff Jones swept the man into his arms and out of the way of the speeding train.
They stood silently together until the train had passed, and then the man seemed to remember him self. He pulled the gag away from his mouth, and sputtered.
“Why did you save me? You’re a sheriff and I’m an outlaw, you’ve been chasing me for years. Why would you do that?”
“Haven’t you ever stopped to wonder, Kid Kirkland, just why I’ve been so keen on followin’ ya’?” Sheriff Jones grabbed the smaller man by the shoulders and stared dramatically into his eyes.
“Sheriff Jones, I don’t understand…”
“Do ya’ understand this?” He pulled the smaller man closer, joining their lips together. It was a kiss full of passion and love; Kid Kirkland’s lean body pressed against the Sheriff’s broad chest, and he placed a thin hand against Jones’ rippling pectorals. He looked up into the Sheriff’s manly gaze and said:
“Alfred, are you paying attention?”
“Huh, what?”
“Are you paying attention? China is discussing his economy and, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s rather important to you.”
Alfred looked up from his paper in mild confusion. He glanced around the meeting room and saw Yao up at the front gesticulating at charts. Probably talking about how Alfred owed him bajillions of dollars or something.
“You are covered in lead.” Arthur said tiredly.
The younger nation looked him self over. The side of his right hand was completely gray, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had some on his face as well.
“It’s not lead. It’s graphite.” He answered blandly.
“Well, you look like a fool either way. It’s all over your forehead and the tip of your nose. What were you drawing so intently anyway?”
“Nothin’!” Alfred said quickly, tearing out the page of his notebook and stuffing it into his pocket.
“I am trying to speak here, aru! Quiet, please!” Yao snapped in their direction.
Alfred slunk down in his seat, pretending to look embarrassed, when really he was just relieved. He would have died if Arthur had seen what he was drawing.
When the meeting came to a close Arthur pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and turned towards Alfred, “You’re filthy, come here.”
“No. You don’t have to clean my face. That’s just weird.”
“You’d rather wander around looking like you fell face first into a pile of dust? I certainly won’t be seen with you like that,” Arthur said, his large brows furrowing.
“I have to walk around with you all the time, and you’ve always got those ridiculous caterpillars chilling on your forehead.” This was the wrong thing to say.
“Oh shut up! That’s the last damn time I try to help you!” Arthur stood up quickly, slammed his papers into his briefcase, and stormed out of the room. Alfred opened his mouth to call after him but couldn’t think of anything decent to say.
“You upset him again, didn’t you, Al?”
Alfred turned and looked over his shoulder; Matthew was looking down at him in concern.
“He started it.”
“I doubt that,” Matthew said raising an eyebrow.
“He was talking down to me again, you know? Treating me like a kid. I hate it when he does that, and he does it all the time!” Alfred stood up angrily and slammed his chair in. Being indignant was easier than being upset anyway.
“You’re not that mad, Al. You’re just… frustrated, because he still thinks of you as a little kid and you want him to think of you as a man.” Matthew said, trying to be helpful. Alfred was not in the mood for being helped.
“I don’t really care what the stupid old man thinks. I don’t know why you think I would.” Matthew didn’t respond. He had bent down to pick up a piece of paper and was currently looking it over. He then looked at Alfred as though he was trying not to smile.
“I can see you don’t care about what he thinks from the way in which you’re carrying him off into the sunset in this picture.”
“That’s… What? I mean, that’s not me an’ Arthur. That’s just some cowboys riding off into the sunset.”
“With one of them riding sidesaddle with his arms around the other guys neck?” Matthew questioned.
“Yeah…” Alfred mumbled, “So?”
“The little one has got some serious eyebrows going on, and the taller one has got glasses and a very familiar cowlick,” Matthew pointed out.
“Shut up! No one likes your face!” Alfred said angrily, snatching his artwork from his brother’s hands and holding it close to his chest.
Matthew rolled his eyes. “The only difference between your face and mine is that mine isn’t covered in pencil lead. I’ll see you later, Al. I’ve got a lunch date.”
“It’s graphite!” Alfred called out to his brother’s retreating figure, and then he was left alone.
OoOoO
Arthur slammed his briefcase down on the counter of the bar before sitting moodily on the stool. He ordered a beer and waited, fuming.
“See, look Francis, you got a drinking buddy.” Arthur sighed at the sound of the snickering voice that he knew belonged to a certain albino.
“He looks a little pissy, non?” Fuck, the frog was there too.
“All the better to bother, then. ‘sides I got lunch plans.”
“Of course, of course. Go along. And remember what I told you. Be polite with Mattieu. Be courteous, hold doors open, or you’re not getting anywhere.”
“I know. I know. Jesus H. Christ, you’ve told me like twelve times already.”
“It is my job to give advice on L'amour. It is my most sacred duty.”
“Yeah, sure, whatevs. See you later, man.”
Arthur heard a set of quick retreating footsteps, and then, much to his horror, he heard another set of footsteps heading towards him.
“What do you want Frog?” he asked without turning around.
“Just to drink with one of my oldest friends. Is that so wrong?”
“Yes,” Arthur said angrily. Francis leaned down, forcing himself to the Englishman’s line of sight.
“It is problems of the heart, is it not?”
“Why don’t you keep your love advice to the realm of pimping out your former colonies?”
“I beg your pardon, Angleterre,” Francis said, the smoothness of his voice becoming a little ragged around the edges, “but I believe I lost the right to being Mattieu’s brother, when you stole him from me.”
Arthur shrugged and ordered another beer.
“But besides that, I see nothing wrong with helping my friend and my old colony achieve a loving relationship. Mattieu is never going seek to the love and attention that he really needs, and Gilbert is never going to seek love and attention in the right way. Why shouldn’t I be a little helpful?” Francis took a moment to order himself a glass of wine and sat besides Arthur.
“You don’t see anything wrong with trying to get your innocent child laid?” Arthur said tersely. He was still refusing Francis’s gaze, choosing instead to glare down at the golden surface of his beer.
“Nonsense! Mattieu is a grown man. I would not be surprised if he has enjoyed the company of another’s bed before. I’m sure you don’t look at Alfred, say, and still see him as a little boy.” Francis spoke with nonchalance, but Arthur’s face flushed and he became terribly interested in his fingernails. He could see the Frenchman out of the corner of his eye. A knowing smile was spreading very slowly across his bearded face.
“You don’t think of him as a little boy at all, do you? Although I don’t think you’ll be offering him up to anyone else anytime soon. The only person whose bed you’d like to see him in is yours.”
“Shut up!” Arthur spluttered, finally turning towards Francis. “Take it back! I’m not so sick as all that. I wouldn’t want to do anything with him. I raised him. It would be wrong! Even if he might have an infectious charm, the muscles of Greek god, and the smile of a toothpaste model. By which I mean, of course … Go die!” Arthur got up quickly, and attempted to make an escape.
“Oh, Anglettere, such denial I have never seen, and never have I seen anyone so in need of my assistance. Let me help you.” Francis said grabbing him by the arm.
“Why would you want to do that?”
“It is what I was made for. Besides, it might make you more pleasant to be around when I succeed.”
“When?”
“I never fail in matters of love,” Francis said waggling his eyebrows, “Now will you let me help?”
Arthur paused before answering. The last thing he wanted was to spend more time with Francis, but he really did need help. He had been harboring feeling for Alfred since World War II, at least, and it was getting ridiculous. He knew that it wasn’t all a reaction to the boy’s age either, although the thought did make him feel slightly guilty. He just didn’t know how to express himself around Alfred, and he was always making everything worse. It was easier to hide behind an excuse than do anything.
“Fine,” he said quietly, and Francis lit up, “But you’ve got two weeks. I’m not spending any extra time with you after this conference is over.”
“A time limit, hmm. Well, I was in the mood for a challenge. Let us do it.” Francis reached out his hand, and Arthur shook it nervously. He had the strange feeling of selling his soul.