BREAK YOUR LITTLE HEART
I
Pairings: USUK/ Alfred F. Jones with Arthur Kirkland
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Hetalia.
No need of warning since it's in the M section and you all know why you're here.
Scratch that...
WARNING: USUK go for hot actions eventually, Alfred tops, alcohol intake, mentions of drugs/cheesiest pickup lines of the century.
Arthur Kirkland had been kicked out of the apartment by his half-brother who wanted some time alone with his sex partner or maybe partners, he didn't know and probably didn't care. The point was—he was kicked out of his own apartment for the umpteenth because of his brother's whims on a cold night.
His half-brother, a Scott by blood and a devil by heart, Alistair Kirkland declared his rule over their shared apartment on a night when London was apparently extra chilly. And for a best seller novelist like himself, Arthur had to work on his new manuscripts in hopes he would not miss the deadline—not that he did before.
"Bloody weather," he growled as he felt the knife like wind probing his skin when he opened the main door, "Bloody brother." Arthur loved how they rhymed. With quick steps he came across the bookstore few blocks down his apartment. The store had his latest Jones Grey series' fourth instalment racked up in the 'best seller' labelled shelf—seen right through the glass window. In the bizarre cold night, he found his pride giving him quick warmth however the heat died as soon as he recalled that he may be a best seller novelist, the readers will never know 'The Gentleman' was Arthur Kirkland's pen name. Shaking off the regrets and other identical feelings, he shuffled towards his destination.
The novelist preferred to stay indoors when circumstances like he was in occurred. He scrunched up his gloved fists into his coat's pockets and walked fiercely in order to warm up his body quicker. Few block later, he shuffled inside his usual pub located right before an Italian diner. 'German Cross'—it was called and owned by a German imbecile who claimed to be of Prussian lineage—who never failed to spread his egoism that was bigger than the world's population. The bloody twat was Gilbert Beilschmidt, the world's biggest jerk.
He sat the bar counter and waited for the bartender to get his order. His shoulders dropped instantly as he watched the albino pub owner stand behind the bar counter and smirk at him. Arthur practically saw a 'I-AM-EGOISTICAL-DOUCHEBAG' tag on that smirk of his.
"Rather early today, eyebrows…" The albino showed off his canine.
The Brit scoffed at the offense and chose to ignore it. "Johnny Walker Black Label single."
"Someone's extra happy…" Gilbert mused, "Didn't get kicked out by your bruder today, hm?"
"Not quite," Arthur sipped his drink, "Seeing it is superfluously cold this day I wanted something that would warm me up for it."
Beilschmidt chuckled in amusement as he served drinks to other customers. "Why not ju'z get freaking woman to warm your bed?"
"Unlike you, prostitutes are not to my liking. In fact turning to prostitutes damages my reputation as a gentleman. I treat women as they should be not a bed warmer like you do, wanker. Talk about decency…" Arthur took a swig of the black label.
"I never said anything about prostitutes! And oh please—a'z if you had any manly courage to ever get a real woman in your bed. I bet even gays don't want grumpy pants like you… You can just spend the re'z of your life kissing Will I am Shake his spare's ass."
"Shut it, you dunce! Its William Shakespeare!"
The novelist was busy puncturing the German's ego when he didn't notice someone sitting right next to him. Gilbert gave up trying to defend his ego and moved onto another customer with a defeated sigh. It was only then when Kirkland felt being watched and turned his head that he saw a young blond seemingly in his teens but overgrown to six feet had taken a seat beside him. However the man was looking at him funny from above his worn spectacles. The emerald eyed man had his eyes narrowed at the sight of the stranger next to him smiling like a dope and wiggling his eyebrows at the novelist.
Arthur felt a strange whirlpool churning inside his stomach which was making him incredibly uneasy and anxious. He knew it was because he was being watched by the stranger next to him.
Mustering all the strength he could get, he tried to speak but all that got out was a tiny squeak.
"Sir—I think—" He took a mouthful of his drink.
"You know," the stranger next to him muttered, "I ain't a photographer but I can totally picture you and me together."
The drink inside his mouth retreated back but only this time towards the stranger.
The said man ducked out of the way avoiding the sudden tsunami.
Gilbert who was nearby had dropped a glass of vodka that he was handling.
The people around had stopped their buzz and looked over to them.
There were clatters here and there and finally silence.
Arthur had pretty much gagged the stranger mentally. The man had said what he had heard and so fucking vociferously that the whole pub had their heads turned towards them. Believe it or not, the idiotic buffoon had no care of the people staring at him hence was still grinning like an ignorant fool.
"The hell—who the bloody hell are you, you git?!" The Brit snapped at the blond who just tilted his head to his right and gave an innocent puppy look from his blue eyes. And damn, Arthur had to admit the look was enough to make him stammer. By the time, Gilbert had served another glass of vodka while laughing nervously; avoiding any eye contact with the Brit. The crowd who received a deathly aura from the annoyed blond turned their heads away as well, a drop of sweat trailing down their temples.
"Oh yeah!" The man brightened, "How rude of me!" He extended his hand and let his smile widen ear to ear.
"I'm Jones, Alfred Jones."
Arthur did not return the handshake and just glared at the big thick headed idiot who radiated his stupid-ness. The novelist only accompanied his disdain with his nose scrunched up and his eyebrows mussed up with low growling breaths—the thought of the ignorant brat having identical name to his best selling series' main character—Jones Grey—had just pushed him to scowl in contempt.
"Um… dude…"
Kirkland immediately caught how the man's accent wasn't the same as his. Sighing and shaking his head, he spoke with suppressed anxiety trying hard to sound less offensive, "Well, Jones, I-I mean…Alfred Jones…As you may have failed to see, I am not one of your kind and your implications aren't applicable to me." He understood that Jones was hitting on him—not to mention with the cheesiest line of the century. He saw Gilbert snickering in the background from the corners of his eyes.
Alfred looked perplexed. "Uh, dude, what do you mean by my kind?"
"I apologize, Jones, I shouldn't have offended you. I just wanted to convey that I am in no way…um-uh… gay," Arthur knew he went too far with comment.
"Dude!" Alfred lifted his both hands in the air. Arthur could only wince in utmost guilt.
"Dude, I ain't gay either, man!"
The pub owner banged the bar counter furiously while using the other hand to clutch his stomach—his grin had transformed into hysterical laughter too.
The Brit ignored the laughing mess and anxiously faced Alfred, "What do you mean you're not gay? You are bloody hitting on me—with the cheesiest pick up lines at that!"
"I don't have to be gay to hit on a guy!"
Arthur couldn't help but think that even Shakespeare would not see the silver lining in the stupid buffoon.
"That is just illogical!" Arthur shot back and in the process he got a glimpse of gold label in Jones's hand, "You are an obnoxious bratty and awfully rich kid trying to show off to your seniors!"
"Pfft—you are one teenage having the nerve to call me a kid and yourself as my senior," Alfred gave a big pout.
"A teenage? I-I-do I look that young?" Arthur murmured in shock but shook his head soon enough, "I mean—you cannot insult your senior, young man! I am your senior! You are…maybe eighteen or something?!"
Alfred laughed as he watched the Brit confused. "Oh come on! Do I look that young?" he asked, taking a huge gulp of his gold label. Arthur followed suit and finished off his black label.
Raising his eyebrow, the novelist thought of clearing the bewilderment, "How old are you then, hm?"
"Twenty three."
"Twenty three? My dear lord! Six years younger than myself!" Arthur cried.
"What?! Dude, you're twenty nine! I thought you're…I dunno…nineteen or something!"
"Will you stop referring me as 'dude'? I have a name. It is Arthur Kirkland."
Alfred gave a mock salute and Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at the man's childishness. "What are you doing in London, Alfred? I have already guessed you are not familiar to our environment…" Jones smiled as he sipped his drink, "Oh, yeah right…I came all the way from US of A! I dunno just to check whether London is as awesome as New York…" The novelist shook his head smiling and overlooked the petty slur. "All the way from the States…All by yourself, hm?"
"Um, no… Actually I came up with my buddy," Alfred turned back where as the Brit's eyes followed.
A large man with intimidating built, ash blond hair and violet eyes holding a bottle of premium Vodka, sat beside the American who was apparently—by the seems of it—hitting on the pub owner. Arthur widened his eyes as he watched the albino German flush at the other man's comment and stammer with no way of any egoistical comebacks. The Brit couldn't fathom how the man had punctured the pub owner's ego on such short period of time.
"This is Ivan Braginsky from Russia and…" The American frowned as he found his friend busy flirting with the pub owner, "And is currently busy with some flirting business."
Alfred and Arthur kept staring at the two who were busy flirting—well, Ivan was doing all the flirting and Gilbert ducking his head to hide his embarrassment. The albino was stuttering in pure mortification and a tiny bit of pride of being hit on after god knows how long.
"Who-who the hell are you, you fa-fat yeti?!"
Ivan had a flirty grin on his face, "I'm a thief and I'm here to steal your heart, da."
Gilbert practically had his heart back flipping. "Vh-vhat?!" His German accent caught up his throat.
Red danced over his face as the Russian winked at him and gazed at his scarlet eyes, "Da, the only thing your eyes haven't told me is your name, little кролик…"
"Kr-krolik? Vhat does that mean? Are you insulting the awesome me?!"
"Nyet, I was just calling you a little bunny… Da, you're beautiful silver hair, smooth skin and your eyes….they all make you look like a bunny…"
The two continued their flirty marathon while the Brit and the American turned their heads to resume their own flirt marathon—or just a man to man conversation as Arthur had thought it to be.
"I see that your friend is advanced in pick up lines," Arthur commented in bewilderment, "Like yourself."
"We both are the disciples of the same teacher," the other explained.
Arthur had his eyes still widened in shock but quickly retreated to their normal size. "Well, have you been sightseeing?" Alfred scratched his neck but answered, "Not much but yeah I did see the Big Brain…" The Brit scrunched up his eyebrows, "You mean the Big Ben?" He nodded but stopped as soon as he noticed his new acquaintance was empty handed. "If you may, I'd like to offer you a drink, Arthur."
The said man couldn't help the flutters in his heart when he heard the American call out his name. His black coat that was usually baggy was now tighter than ever or maybe it was his chest rising to its fullest. Jones may have been an American idiot but that didn't make the Brit hate the lad. Actually speaking of the lad, Arthur had never found an interesting personality ever before. Comparing the undercover detective Jones Grey, his character and the American idiot Jones—he found the real life one had far more colours and hues in his life than the fictional one.
"Earth to Arthur…."
The man snapped out of one of his writer's instincts of losing himself in imagination and faced the blond. Now he was consumed by another of his writer's instincts—close examination. The American had pretty slick golden hair and untameable cowlick at the parting. The lad had clear, beautiful, beyond description—blue, slightly cerulean and light azure, eyes. The well sculpted nose and the masculine lips just added the glam in the slightly tan face. That cologne—that bloody fucking husky and fresh cologne sent shivers down his nose. His body was indescribable yet Arthur knew behind that bomber jacket and the t-shirt, there was the body of a Greek god.
"Arthur…Arthur…Arthur…"
The intruding pokes on his cheeks suddenly snapped him out of his magical exploration. He wasn't drunk, just…intoxicated by the American. A sudden pang of red splotches hit cheeks and Alfred must've seen them for he bit his lower lip and smiled, "Man, did you just cover your face in honey?"
Arthur blinked, "What? Honey?"
"You look so damn sweet."
The red splotches now spread all throughout his face and then targeted his innocent ears. "You—you git!"
Alfred couldn't help but tease the petit Brit. Just then a glass of Johnny Walker's finest Gold Label was served before Arthur. "Arthur, I offer you a glass of limited edition gold label," Alfred watched the man widen his eyes.
"Well make that two, no...three…no four glasses of that limited stuff!" Arthur pouted, "I intend to make you pay for the comment my dear Alfred—and literally by the way!"
"Sure, sure...my pleasure, my dearest Arthur," he turned to the flushed albino, "Three more please!"
First glass, second and then came the third.
"You know…hic—you're just so bloody flirty!" Arthur twirled the empty glass in his hand. "I like you!"
"I know…I know…"
"You know? You don't know!"
"What, hm?" Alfred pushed his spectacled to his face.
"You're the cutest thing I've ever met! I've never questioned my sexuality until…" Arthur stared at the American, "Until I met you."
Alfred's arm was succumbing to the fatigue of holding his phone and recording the Brit's drunken state. After the huge but sweet blow from the Brit, his breath instantly stopped for a moment. "Oh really now?"
"Yep! Hic!" He fumbled over his words, "If-if I asked god to give me the cutest, the most handsome and the sexiest thing on earth, he'll hand you over, Alfred."
"The flirt here is you, Arthur…"
The Brit gave a hysterical laugh and before Alfred could foresee what would happen, Arthur fell off the tall chair and landed on the floor.
Author's Note: Hello dear readers. I have finally found satisfaction in this chapter for I had deleted seven previous drafts due to depressive discontent. However I strive to improve with each chapter. I just hope this one will end in 15-16 chapters because I recently discovered during such long chaptered works, my plot used to go way out of track. So, this time I have a roughly sketched plot in my mind and I look forward of how it will go. This chapter should've been posted yesterday but my internet died.
As mentioned in the summary, this is centred on the USUK pairing with a side pairing of RuPru (my OTP so if you don't like this pairing just give it teenie-weenie chance, eh?) and Yes, Arthur is a novelist! Jones Grey was just a random name I thought for an adventure genre book…like Nancy Drew or Sherlock Holmes and stuff. Alfred is a flirt/American idiot, Gilbert a pub owner and Ivan a huge flirt (who could've guessed he had it in him?)…but there's more to that. Stick around for the next chapter maybe? I have placed the fic in Crime section for a reason. You'll eventually figure it out in the following chapters. It has something to do with Alfred and Ivan (wink wink).
I have tried my best and if there's anything you want to share, criticize my work, take out the Grammar Nazi in you or just give a constructive reply, there's nothing stopping you. If you're possibly super lazy like me, hit fav or follow if you think the eighth draft deserves it. If you want to write flames on RuPru pairing then don't litter the review section but kindly send a PM.
P.S. I'LL BE UPDATING EVERY THURSDAY SO HOPE YOU LOOK FORWARD TO THE NEXT CHAPTER. Have a wonderful day ~ SuPa4Natural