Disclaimer: Contrary to popular belief, I do not in fact, own Hetalia.
Pairings: USUK and slight hints at Franada.
Warnings: There will be drinking, perversion, hints at sex, and a lot of sap and stupid jokes.
Alfred had always loved working as a carpenter. He was never good with things like literature or grammar, but numbers? Can do.
Unfortunately, there is a difference between can and will. Alfred was twenty-one years old and in his prime. Why should he waste his no doubt heroic life behind a saw when he could be sitting in front of the TV and watching a game?
His boss, however, did not agree.
Before, Al had no problems. I mean, with his boss being his dad and all. But then one day...
Alfred smiled as he brought out the huge old boombox. He motioned for a few of the guys to gather around as he tuned into the big game.
They gathered around the radio in anticipation, cheering and booing in all the right places. Their saws and rulers were forgotten.
Alfred could feel the heat of the game building up inside of him. Even though he was only listening, he could still see the players as they kicked, oh! A tackle to number fifty three...no wait, he okay folks! New play...they're setting the ball. Oh! Fourteen has got it and he's off, running, running. No one can stop him now! It looks like he's gonna make it folks! And-! And-! Touchdown! The crowd goes wild!
Alfred screamed and hollered with his fellow employees and the crowd on the radio. He whooped and high-fived all of those around him with a much-too-large smile on his face, every so often giving a victory cry.
"Ahem," The small cough broke apart the celebration like a Russian breaks bones. Alfred's fellow employees abandoned him in favor of their posts.
"Al." A stern voice said.
The twenty-one year old suddenly felt fifteen again as he reached up and switched the radio off.
"Hey, Dad..."
Mr. Jones crossed his arms and tapped his foot. "Al," he repeated, "We have been over this many times before. This is real life, son. You can't waste it away drinking beer and watching football. I've stood by a lot of times but this is the last one. I didn't want to do this, but son, you're fired."
Alfred blanched. No. He only had like—seven, maybe fifteen warnings! This wasn't fair at all!
"No, Dad! Please!"
"I'm sorry, Al. But it's just business." Mr. Jones told his son as he began to walk away.
Alfred followed him, his brow furrowing greatly. As much as he slacked off, he really did like his job. Hell, he loved his job.
"Dad! Wait."
Alfred's father turned to face him, looking none too pleased.
Alfred reached under a cabinet and pulled out a worn basketball that he sometimes played with the boys on lunch breaks. "Let's have a game," Alfred said. "If I win, I keep my job. If I loose, then I'll never ask you for money again."
Alfred's father looked at the ball.
"Basketball? That's not exactly your sport."
"Scared, old man?"
Somehow Alfred found himself on a cracking court behind the warehouse. The net wasn't really a net at all, just a rusty old ring. Alfred's white T-shirt was soaked with sweat already, the hot summer air had reached Philly a little early this year.
The score was nine to nine.
Alfred was tired.
His old man really had it out for him. He wasn't exactly in his prime anymore, but basketball was his game. He moved about the court with ease, ducking around Alfred and weaving through spaces to make shots. Alfred, on the other hand, was at little advantage with his clumsy limbs that always seemed to tangle around themselves and dammit, why weren't his legs moving fast enough?
Alfred watched in horror as he failed to block his father's shot. The ball flew past his hand and unmistakably into the 'net'.
"Yes!" His father shouted, taking a victory lap around the graying court.
"No!" Alfred moaned, trying not to fall to his knees.
Mr. Jones came up beside Alfred, clapping him on the back. "It was a fair game, son. But it's life. I know you can work things out."
Two weeks later, Alfred had certainly not worked anything out. "Mattie!" He whined into the phone. "Do you know how hard it is to get a job?"
Matthew sighed on the other end of the line. "Al, I know. You're lazy."
"I am not!"
"Let me guess. Right now you're on the couch, eating pizza, and watching a game."
"No! It's take-out..."
Matthew sighed again. (He'd been doing that often lately, it seemed.)
"You know what, Al? I have the perfect cure for laziness."
Alfred put down his ramen noodles at this statement. "Oh?"
"Complete and utter procrastination. They say what comes around goes around, right? So if we do something crazy it'll be sure to bite you in the ass and cure you."
Alfred sat up straight, smiling. "Mattie, you don't make any sense. But if you mean what I think you mean then I'm in."
On the other side of the line, Matthew was smiling. They both knew what this meant.
"Vegas!"
Hello everyone! This is my new story! I finished an old Prucan, so I decided to write this baby! This was based off a movie called "What happens in Vegas."
Now, I'm not really one for chick flics, but this particular movie was so funny I didn't care. If you haven't seen it, watch it. If you have, don't spoil it for the rest of us ;)
The story will more or less follow the plot of the movie, with a few changes considering the fact the characters will be gay and blah blah. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!
Sorry for any mistakes, I'm American!
-Mallory
