I am really horrid at summeries...Anyway, this crappy little thing was inspired by this magnificent work of art; www dot deviantart dot com/art/APH-AHOY-Cap-n-Arthur-147615741

Don't you just want to drool?! o.o

I in no way own Hetalia or any of the characters herein. If only, if only...

Alfred stood hunched over the seemingly empty steamer trunk, in the dusty attic, with a old, rough piece of parchment stretched out in his hands. If anyone were in the attic with him they would kindly point out that the United States' mouth was hanging open and there seemed to be a tad bit of drool. There was no one, thank God, for if there was it would be Arthur since it was in his attic that Alfred found himself, and it was a remarkably good sketch of the UK that Alfred was drooling over.

To be specific, it was an old sketch of him when he was known as Captain Kirkland. The man sat looking straight ahead, with a finger almost, almost, touching the tongue that peeked from between smug lips. A captain's hat pressed down his dark blonde spikes. He looked so utterly confident that Alfred thought he would step from the page and begin slicing away at him with the cutlass he noticed was nestled on the man's hip. His eyes were intense and, fuck, Alfred would give anything to have the man look at him like that, so in control and so sexy-

"What the bloody hell are you doing up here!?"

"A-Arthur!" Alfred shot straight up, quickly shoving the sketch behind his back and hurriedly attempting to fix his pants so as to not show the tightening he had begun to feel. From a goddamn picture. What the hell was wrong with him-?

"Alfred, why are you in my attic? I could understand you wandering around downstairs, you never could keep your damn hands to yourself, but why the attic? There's nothing up here except - What's that in your hands?" Arthur interrupted himself when he noticed Alfred was hiding something. He should have seen it before, the younger Nation was displaying all the old signs of guilt. Arthur felt a pang of remembrance for the time when this man was his. His younger brother, his colony, his…his everything. Arthur shook his head to clear the silly aches from him, for Alfred was speaking again,

"Nothing! I was just curious. The door was open, and I'd never been up here before, and-"

He was cut off as Arthur took a step forward. He took a step back. "Do you have a fever? Your face is bright red…" The shorter Nation lifted a hand and pressed it to Alfred's forehead. "You are burning up!" He leaned forward to press his lips to the man's forehead as well, because he had read somewhere that that was a more accurate way than using the back of the hand, when Alfred jerked back again and immediately hit the old trunk, falling on his rear end. Arthur's eyes narrowed at the trunk before he swept down and picked up the parchment Alfred had dropped.

"I haven't seen this thing in years…" He glanced down at the younger man who hadn't moved from the floor. Arthur's eyes widened comically as he took in the now obvious tightness in Alfred's slacks and the soft panting coming from his mouth. He had no time to say anything before Alfred had jumped up and fled from the room, down the elaborate stairs of Arthur's home and to the large front door. Once Arthur made it down he saw that Alfred was fumbling with the locks in his panic.

"Oi! Calm down, lad."

Clearly hearing his voice was not the best way to calm him down, because Alfred made a sort of "Eeep!" sound and twirled around, back against the cool door, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Or an animal about to be eaten by a jungle cat. Or maybe he wanted Arthur to eat him, nice and slowly and - No! Bad Alfred! he thought to himself.

"We need to talk about this," Arthur was saying as he walked toward him. A hand was lazily ruffling hair, and his luscious lips were turned down in a frown. No, he thought again. Not luscious. The old man is NOT luscious. Or sexy. Or…or…Rape-able…

"No we don't! Not at all. I'll be going now." Alfred managed to force out in his still growing panic. He had to get out of here before he did something foolish.

"No. We do. It's…It's perfectly natural thing, and we really need to do it. Talk about it, I mean!" Now Arthur's face began to heat as he inadvertently said something that could be taken entirely wrong. "A-about this, your, ahem, reaction, and-"

"You make me horny!"

The silence echoed around the entryway. Alfred stared at the ground, desperately hoping it would swallow him whole, and certainly not entertaining any thoughts of Arthur swallowing him whole, no, of course not. And Arthur…Well. Arthur was trying to keep the shock and embarrassment from showing on his face.

"It's your own fucking fault." Arthur looked up in shock. "That damn picture. Who the hell were you looking at like that?! You looked like you were about to fuck the brains out of some lucky sonuva-" Alfred clamped his mouth shut as he realized what he'd said. His mouth opened to correct what he'd said, to justify it, to -

"Oh, do shut up." Lips were pressed against lips and Alfred thought he must be drunk and having a dream because this couldn't be happening, not after all those years of hoping for Arthur just to look at him with a little bit of longing. Alfred's tongue slid along Arthur's lower lip. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. Oh god. He fucking mewed.

Tongues fought for dominance as Arthur's lips slid open. Alfred nipped at one of those luscious lips - Yeah he fucking said it. Luscious. He was only vaguely aware that he was being pressed back against the door. Arthur's lips and his leg between his, and the sweet, sweet friction were the only things Alfred was aware of. His hips bucked inadvertently and suddenly Arthur was pulling back, away from him and Alfred wondered what had happened, what he'd done wrong.

"One moment," Arthur whispered with kiss swollen lips. Then he was gone, back up the stairs, and Alfred was left with a raging hard on in the front of Arthur's house.