Summary: We kissed with the music of the fireworks exploding. I saw nothing but the stars behind my eyelids and heard nothing but your heartbeat as it pumped against mine.

Warning: Language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

A/N: Happy July 4th America!

Sparks like Fireworks

There was so much alcohol, Alfred didn't know how he was still standing. His head started hurting from all the shouting and the stereo on blast.

Between the enthusiastic round of shots from Ludwig and Gilbert, and the occasional toast with Mathias or some other person, Alfred needed to take a breather outside. He pushed his way through the crowd towards his patio door, and on his way out, he almost tripped on a pyramid made of beer cans on the floor. He left the door open. God only knew when he's gonna have to run back in there for damage control.

Alfred took his shoes off and dipped his feet into his pool with a small splash, the only sound around the patio aside from that of the house stereo. God, that felt good; Californian summers were hot! He leaned back on his hands and turned his head skywards to see a glimpse of a fireworks setting off in the distance, sparks raining down and disappearing. He's been hearing them since dusk, but with all his guests, he only had time now to slip away and watch one blaze into the night. That's probably the last one of the night. It's not exactly legal to set them off in his neighborhood.

With a glance back at the house, he knew the inside was trashed. His parents had allowed him to use the house to host the party and use it until the weekend, instead of his cramped dorm room. Their gift to him: no parental supervision. They even offered to take care of his cat, Hero, for the meantime. They were off to Canada, visiting some relatives.

Alfred groaned. It'll be a bitch to clean up come morning and the party's still far from being over. He doesn't even know how much more booze those guys were packing!

"Damn Europeans, the lot of them," Alfred mumbled. "The crazy, littering, drunk lot of them. What ever happened to a good BBQ-ing and old-fashioned family fun?"

Like, dude. Invite them to his birthday and they turned his July celebration into Oktoberfest!

Not that he's complaining. Not at all. They brought free booze that he wouldn't have gotten without his fake ID. With this much alcohol, they were set to keep drinking until dawn.

Exactly how the forefathers of his great country intended to party.

Because, dude, it's July Fourth.

It's practically a crime against his morals to not to go all out during the BIGGEST AMERICAN HOLIDAY OF THE YEAR.

He knew the rest of his street continuously chanting "USA, USA, USA" shares his sentiments.

("Amurica, FUCK YEAH!" as one patriot eloquently put it.)

Thank god he had the foresight to remove any of his mom's vases from the living room. What had started as an innocent get-together during the afternoon quickly escalated to a game of who-gets-drunk-off-their-ass-first. They had gotten the presents, cake, and birthday song over during the day. All everyone was doing now was getting tipsy and cheering on an inebriated Antonio, wiggling his assets all up on Alfred's countertops.

Unsurprisingly, his brother Matthew was down for the count. Last he saw him, he was nuzzling a house plant, murmuring his affections to it and asking why it didn't love him back. He wouldn't be surprised if he was stoned. Bro hangs out with Lars way too much.

From inside the house, Alfred heard Gilbert cackling. "Ludwig, Ludwig c'mere check this out – Roddy passed out! Kesesesese!"

Alfred chuckled. Poor Roderich. The Austrian doesn't drink, so he probably opted for the fruit punch – the same one that was spiked by Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis.

A hand landed on Alfred's shoulder. "Mon ami, what are you doing out of your party?" Speak of the devil. Francis squatted down next to him.

"Just needed to clear my head for a bit. It was getting a little too loud for me."

Francis gave him a pitying look. "Alfred, is this about Arthur? You know he said he'll come. He wouldn't lie about that."

"I'm not worried about that," said Alfred lightly. "Besides, if Artie was here, he'd drink them all under the table. Then probably strip again like last year and pass out." Alfred snickered. "No one wants to see that!"

Francis's face didn't change for a moment then he smiled. "Ah yes. The infamous waiter outfit of '12." He didn't push Alfred. Alfred inwardly thanked him for that. "Personally, I thought that was a good look for sourcils. Who knew he had some muscles underneath those fashion disasters he calls clothes?" Francis's look leered. "Though it's a shame he doesn't show off his legs more often. Did you know he's actually very flexible? You should see him when he stretches before a football game!"

"Eww, Francis, you pervert!" Alfred gave a half mortified laugh, partly wondering how he was friends with Francis and half curious at what location he peeps at Arthur so he could take a look at said legs next game.

"Ahh, say what you want, but behind the bleachers offer the best view. Just get there before he starts warming up so he doesn't see you. You're welcome. " With a wink, Francis dusted himself off and got up, leaving a flustered Alfred.

"He-Hey, now, I didn't ask for that!" He shouted, but Francis already disappeared back into the house. Alfred slumped on himself.

Is it really obvious he's got it hard for Arthur? Dammit. And he tried so hard to be casual about it too! Asdfghjkl.

Fireworks shot up and crackled in the sky again, their sparks raining down and disappearing. Alfred dared to look at his watch. It was nearing eleven. He's gotta start kicking people out if he doesn't want the cops on him. He sighed. Guess Artie wasn't coming, after all.

He was about to stretch himself out from the pool when he heard Matt stumbled in his drunk-stoned way into the patio while flailing and screaming and fucking giggling.

"Alfie," he giggled maniacally, swaying on his feet. "Al, listen, hahaha, no, stop moving. Wait, there's three of you. But I only need one… Ah whatevah. Anyway, Al, c'mere. Guess what? I'mma tell ya a secret."

Alfred had no choice but to slowly nod, surreptitiously inching away from his lunatic brother.

"Oh boy, you are gonna laugh your ass off. 'Kayyy you ready? You ready? I'm ready. Get ready because-"

Then Matt's stopped giggling and his voice dropped to a serious tone. He looked around and whispered conspiratorially: "The British is coming."

What in the actual fuck.

Did Matt just do a Paul Revere?

Matt threw his head back in a wild laugh. "Get it? Get it? 'Cuz Art's British and-"

Arthur?

Suddenly, they both heard a door opening and an exasperated Francis was standing at the other side. Behind him, surprisingly, was the aforementioned British. Arthur. Alfred stared.

"Mathieu," Francis approached him like one would a toddler – bearing an offering in the form of a stuffed polar bear. He sighed. "We told you not to tell Alfred. Come here, I think it's time you lie down. Yes, I have Kuma-kuma-something here. To bed with you. Let's leave them alone."

Within seconds, Mother Francis got his Mattie to shuffle his way back into the house and shut the patio door for their privacy, muffling the stereo inside. Silence descended between Alfred and Arthur.

Alfred, never one for the quiet, began awed. "You came."

"…Yeah, I did." Arthur shrugged. "Not that it means anything now. Your party's about over."

Alfred wanted to say that it meant everything. Instead, he said, "Well, yeah, you're super late."

Arthur had the decency to pink. He fidgeted. "I'm sorry about that. I really have no excuse."

Conversation died again.

This wasn't awkward at all.

Arthur fidgeted a bit more before straightening his resolve. He walked over next to Alfred at the edge of the pool, took off his shoes, and dipped his feet into the water. From their proximity, Alfred could smell beer on Arthur. He was sure Arthur could smell booze on him too. Arthur closed his eyes and sighed in contentment, kicking his feet a bit.

In his movement, he accidentally nudged Alfred. He paused, as if contemplating, and did it again.

And again.

And again, putting more force each time, until Alfred was bumping him back, just as hard. Both were trying to hide their smiles and puffs of laughter.

Soon, their movement synchronized and they were swaying softly with the mellow waves from the water. Up above, late fireworks crackled in bursts of colors.

This time, Arthur began. He faced Alfred and offered a charming, lopsided grin. "Hey, Al? Happy Nineteenth Birthday," he whispered.

Alfred's eyes softened and so did his heart. He looked down at his lap, feeling the blush coming on his cheeks. "Thanks," he shyly whispered back.

He heard Arthur shuffling around with a piece of paper and his ever-handy pen. A note was then thrust into his face. He looked at Arthur for answers, but the Brit wouldn't meet his eyes. His only comfort was that he was blushing too.

"It's an IOU," Arthur said, red-faced. "I, uh, didn't have time to get you a present. A-and not giving you one when I attended your party would be extremely rude of me, on top of, uhm, almost completely missing it in the first place…" He rubbed his shoulder in embarrassment. "So, I owe you. I'll make it up to you, so ask for anything. Hamburgers, ice cream, my English homework, anything! Uh, as long as it's not up Francis's alley!" he jokingly finished with a nervous twitch of the corner of his mouth.

Alfred was silent for some time.

Great job, Kirkland, you cocked it up again, thought Arthur. "You know what, this was a stupid idea, Al. Forget about it-"

"What if it's up Francis's alley?"

Arthur gaped at Alfred. "…what?"

Alfred swallowed the lump at his throat and refused face Arthur, the note crumpled in a fist. "What if – what I want – what if it's up Francis's alley?" Damn it all to hell, but he was gonna go for it. There was something to be said about drinking his weight in liquid courage. He braved himself and met Arthur's puzzled eyes. He willed Arthur to understand him, please. He leaned in as close as he could without touching and his breath mingled with Arthur's in short nervous puffs, matching his pounding heart. He peered at Arthur with hooded, dark eyes and his glance flickered from his green eyes to his red lips. "Will you still give it to me?"

Arthur felt as if his heart jumped up to his throat and he caught his breath. His stomach twisted itself into intricate knots. He felt as if he was gonna be sick, but in a good way, as stupid as that sounds like. He couldn't form words. He felt as if his tongue was swollen and English was a foreign language. He knew he looked like an idiot, with his mouth agape. He could only stare at Alfred and only Alfred.

"Hey Arthur, can I cash this in now?" Alfred's lips moved mere centimeters away from Arthur.

Arthur realized what Alfred offering, what Alfred was willing to risk. He wouldn't kiss Arthur without his permission. This small distance between them was a choice for Arthur to walk away from this if he wanted to. It was a bridge that he could either cross or burn down, and Alfred wouldn't hold it against him. Pleasant warmth swelled within his chest, and he felt affection pour out of his every pore for this wonderful, beautiful boy who wanted him. And he wanted him too, so goddamn much. He lost himself in Alfred's sea of blue and, with surprising ease, gave in.

Arthur couldn't deny himself any longer.

In one fluid motion, Arthur threw his arms around the startled Alfred's neck with enough force to knock him down his side, his fingers tangled in blond locks and carefully cradling his head from the harsh impact with the ground. The position wasn't ideal, but his lips pressed hard against Alfred's in a wild frenzy, tongues tangling in sweet strokes, savoring his taste yet wanting more and more. For the first time since he'd dreamed of it, he tasted Alfred and he couldn't get enough. His mind went blank. Instinct took over and he craved the touch of skin on skin, of heat on heat, of pulse on pulse.

With a bang, Alfred reciprocated without restraint, gripping Arthur's jaw and putting so many words in his actions to make Arthur understand because to Alfred, this meant everything. Faintly, they both recognized the fireworks showering the night sky. Their hands went unchecked, wandering around familiar yet new territory, charting each other's contours to memory.

The gentle warmth in Arthur's chest sparked aflame and the intensity of an inferno crackled within him. He saw nothing but exploding stars behind his eyelids, and all he could think of was kissing the life out of Alfred, this wonderful beautiful boy that shined so bright. He heard nothing but their synchronizing heartbeats, matching with ease. Arthur didn't want to stop touching him, wanted to touch anything - something - all of him.

On the hard ground in a tangled web of limbs, they kissed.

And kissed.

And kissed until their lungs were furiously begging for air.

And Arthur, like a dying man, took Alfred's breath away, again and again and again.

Off-screen Scene: Francis called Arthur to come.

A/N: English is my second language. If you find any grammar mistakes, please PM them to me! Otherwise, tell me what you think.

First time writing Romance. How'd I do?

Haruhasu