Author's notes:
What can I say? I enjoy England being badass instead of the typical girly uke. It's a breath of fresh air, I think. That's pretty much all that inspired this story. I enjoy constructive criticism, underline constructive, so if you must say something bad about the story, then at least be ready to help me figure out what I did wrong. Also, forgive the title, I'm not that creative apparently.
Alfred's typical weekend routine was almost completely constant week by week. On Saturday he would lounge around at home, playing videogames and winding down from being hounded by other nations for debt money, and on Sunday he would sleep in until noon before heading off to the gym to let off some pent up stress. He would spend close to four hours at the gym, same routine: stretches first, then weights, then treadmill and finally the punching bag, using the gym's shower to rinse off in refreshing cold water before he would head home to rest. On his way back home, he would stop by the drive through at McDonald's, grabbing a double quarter pounder, a large soda and a large sleeve of fries (once again mourning the fact that he couldn't simply say "super size me" any more since the catch phrase had been done away with), and as soon as he finished eating it all on the couch, he would usually leave the bags on the coffee table, laying down to watch television until he slipped off to sleep to repeat the tedious and grinding week again. It was a tidy system that worked for him, and he saw no reason to change it any time soon.
That was where he found himself that Sunday afternoon: standing on the front steps of the local gym, dressed in sweats and listening to the chatter of people going in and out of the sizeable building. The gym was always nice and cool, a courtesy to the hot and sweaty people inside and Alfred was always eager to duck through the double-doors, glad to avoid the sweltering summer heat. Sweat was forming on his brow even before he'd ambled in, the result of his walking to the gym to enjoy the sunshine, and so when the chilled air of the building swept across his skin his posture visibly relaxed. He felt comfortable there among the workout equipment, it was an environment he'd grown accustomed to, and contrary to the mindset of more than a few other nations, Alfred didn't mind exercising. It was calming, a great stress reliever, and he met some pretty nice people who would occasionally strike up a conversation from the next treadmill over. Gym days were always a nice break from his normal life, and it always put him in a good mood.
The trip was mostly uneventful that day, even if he did work up a healthy sweat, and going back over his mental check-list, the muscled American had gotten to everything but what he always saved for last: the punching bags. He made the experience more enjoyable by pretending that they were Russia, or on some days his boss (the President was getting horribly demanding lately). Wiping the sweat off of his neck with a small towel he'd brought, Alfred leisurely made his way towards the punching bags, scouting the area for anyone he knew or anyone he thought may be interesting to chat with. He didn't see anyone much to his disappointment (nothing interesting had happened the whole day), but as he began to approach one of the weighted bags near the rear, a familiar sounding voice let out a grunt.
It took him all of two seconds to glance around and spot a head full of choppy blonde hair bobbing in and out of view, the body of the owner hiding behind the large, red, cylindrical weights, and he stumbled back when a slender yet slightly toned leg whipped around the edge and slammed into the abused heavy bag, rattling the chains it was suspended on and forcing it to sway just enough where Alfred could see the face behind it. He'd know those eyebrows anywhere. Face twisted into concentration, hair matted to his forehead with sweat, the man didn't seem to notice that Alfred was there and, figuring that as a good thing, Alfred sidled around to find a different angle. Rarer things had happened, he was sure, but the appearance of Arthur's slight form, the usually so composed Englishman slamming his fists and feet into the swaying red heavy bag so uncharacteristically made him smile and he sat there for a few moments, admiring the other male's technique. It made sense, really. Arthur was a nation as well, the United Kingdom in fact, and he'd been around long enough to pick up a few skills. Alfred would never admit it but he really admired Arthur's fighting.
Alfred leaned against the wall, watching Arthur for a good while, looking over the way the Englishman's muscles would flex slightly when he'd brace himself for another strike, or smiling when he saw the man take a short moment to peel the dampened tank top away from his sweat-soaked skin. The guttural grunts of exertion coupled with the dull thunk of limb against leather was a sound that Alfred got chills over. He wouldn't say it turned him on exactly, that wasn't quite true, but it excited him and made him feel energized, ready to punch a few of those heavy bags himself.
"Just how long do you plan on staring at me..?" The voice was breathless and Arthur turned around to face him at last, expression tired and relaxed. Alfred's face went a mild shade of pink. He'd only wanted to watch for a little bit... It was interesting, watching Arthur work himself into a sweat for once, and Alfred had been, admittedly, a bit transfixed.
"Aw, don't be that way, I was only watchin'! I wanted to see how long you could last before throwing out your hip."
"I don't plan on getting old yet, America, I hope you realize that."
"You're already old!" The glare that was shot to him could have cut through a bank vault with its intensity. "What're you doing at a gym anyway? Especially my gym! Kind of a weird place for you to be, isn't it?"
It was Arthur's turn to blush. The tint to his cheeks was only slightly darker than Alfred's had been, but Arthur saw fit to avoid eye contact as well. The American pretended not to notice.
"I was actually hoping to catch you here. You've told me several times about this place when I fuss at you for your weight and so I decided to pop by for a visit. Call it a bit of a silly whim if you'd like."
"You got business with me or somethin'?"
"Of course I have business. I can't afford to take casual trips to the United States simply because I feel like it! My government is on a budget, as yours should be..."
Alfred rolled his eyes, having heard that lecture far too many times before. Arthur really needed to stay out of his monetary affairs. It wasn't exactly like it was his business anyway. Alfred knew he had to steer the conversation elsewhere before Arthur started on a rant.
"We're working on it." It was the same cover everyone in his government used when asked about the financial state of the nation. He was used to spouting it off carelessly when asked about the nation's finances, almost as if it were his automatic response to the question. Alfred had come to the gym to relieve himself of the stresses from work, he didn't need Arthur nagging at him during his off day.
"I'm so sure." The reply was oozing with sarcasm but that was nothing unusual, coming from Arthur. "But I truly do have business with you and I'd like to get to it before the day's end. Were you finished here?"
"If I were I would have left already instead of coming all the way back here to the heavy bags! I was gonna punch 'em around a little to wind down from the more strenuous exercises, but then I saw you here and figured I'd watch for a minute or two."
"Just how long have you been here?" Emerald eyes looked Alfred over, almost like they were trying to make an estimate based on the number of sweat droplets clinging to him.
"Um...not sure. A few hours? I mean I guess if you need to talk to me I could leave a little early today, but I'm bot missing my after-workout burger break."
Those same emerald eyes stopped roaming his body to give him a roll.
"It's no wonder you never lose weight... Fine. I don't suppose it would do me harm to join you just this once. Does this place have a shower area, or am I going to have to wait until we get back to your place to wash off?"
"Oh yeah, don't worry, they have showers! They don't supply towels though so I hope you have your own."
"I brought one just in case. Shall we?"
There was severe hesitation in his answer. The shower stalls were all open, there was no privacy, and Alfred may have been boisterous and open about many things, but being naked with Arthur was something that he felt a bit uncomfortable doing. He could feel his face heating up and he knew he was starting to blush, and he decided that he had to get Arthur to stop looking at him before it got too noticeable. The single clump of hair sticking up from his scalp bobbed when he nodded and he turned on his heels to lead the Briton towards the showers.
"Hey England, maybe next time we could work out together! I don't always have someone to talk to and it gets boring sometimes."
"I told you," Arthur snorted, "I can't afford to take leisurely visits to the States, especially ones where I'm only doing it to work out."
"Well yeah I know, but I mean-"
"But...if I ever happen to be in the area, there's no reason why we couldn't if we both had free time. If you're lucky you may get to see me throw my back out."
As soon as the words left Arthur's lips Alfred let out a laugh, nudging the Brit with his elbow. That was one of the great things about Arthur: even if he were being sarcastic he could still take a joke, so long as his mood was pleasant. A side-long glance was shot to the shorter nation and a teasing smirk curled the lips of the taller.
"Don't expect me to pay your doctor bills, old man."
"Wouldn't think of it, chap."
Alfred laughed again, loud and cheery as they disappeared behind the door to the showers. Maybe shower time wouldn't be as awkward as he thought.