Full Summary: A mysterious stalker has garnered world attention for stealthily stealing kisses from his famous victims in the most embarrassing, public settings and has announced through an online video that hot actor and singer Arthur Kirkland is next! To protect his boss, lovesick assistant Alfred F. Jones has sworn to keep Arthur's agenda an absolute secret. Much to Arthur's frustration, though, his new assistant Alfred is less of a hero and more of an epic fail…
Disclaimer: My fail drawing skills are proof enough that I do NOT own Hetalia, but just to play it safe!—Hetalia belongs to the amazing Hidekaz Himaruya. That is all.
Prologue
Feliciano is still in therapy. Taping canceled one more day. Tried to reach you, but your assistant said you didn't want to be disturbed. Later, brows.
-Gilbert
"Alfred—" Arthur Kirkland ripped the yellow sticky note from his door, groaning as he took off his glasses and walked into his dressing room, probably a bad idea given the way his left eye was twitching under the bright fluorescent lighting. A headache was the last thing he needed, but already his temples were beginning to throb, so he massaged them gently, his thumbs running soothing circles over the red skin above his thick eyebrows. "Alfred, didn't I tell you just this bloody morning not to screen my calls without my permission?"
The cheerful blue-eyed blonde perked up at the sound of his name, looking up from his messy three-ringed binder only to find that his boss was already taking off his jacket and throwing it on the divan near the refrigerator. He practically bounced into the room, closing the door behind him with a light kick from his heel. "Did ya say something, boss?" he tipped his head innocently, licking his finger quickly before flipping through the pages on his binder. "Need a reminder?"
"Never mind," the shorter man rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.
Arthur didn't need an assistant. He scoffed, throwing himself on the divan with a flourish before grabbing for the refrigerator door, hoping to find something cold. Water. Preferably alcohol after the day he'd had, but he was pretty sure that Gilbert—his manager—had probably already found his stash and drank it all himself with the excuse that Arthur was a recovering alcoholic—total lies, the bastard! But, yeah, Arthur didn't need an assistant. He had an excellent memory.
"Sure you don't need a reminder, boss?" blue eyes sparkled Arthur's way, making the lad look almost like a young school boy holding out a shiny red apple on the first day of school.
At this rate, Arthur was going to develop hypertension.
"No, Alfred, I don't need a bloody reminder. What I do need you to stop screening my calls! I could be home now instead of here…" He sighed, noting the way in which his assistant's face fell, looking almost like a kicked, dejected puppy thrown out into the rain. So he paused, waving him off, "Listen, uh, Alfred, let me explain a few things, only because I know this is your first job and all, but even when I say that I don't want to be disturbed, that doesn't apply to Gilbert, got it?"
"Got it, boss!" the young man nodded excitedly, beginning to scribble Arthur's words down, "doesn't apply to Gilbert. Wait, does it apply to the director, boss?"
"No, Alfred," Arthur let out a deep breath, the twitch now moving close to the edge of his lips.
"No for Mr. Bonnefoy, right, boss? I gave him his own ringtone—"
"NO, ALFRED, I'M AVA—Wait, no, yes, I am NEVER available for Mr. Bonnefoy." Arthur blinked, sitting up momentarily, "But I never told you to…" Slowly, he touched the side of his head. After two weeks, after two horrible weeks, Alfred F. Jones has finally done something right that didn't involve making a trip to McD*nalds or making Arthur a drink.
(A sad coincidence, really, that Alfred's only talent was the reason Arthur kept him around for another week: the lad had previously worked as a bartender.)
"Blimey, you actually did something right for a change, lad! Good job."
Alfred beamed. "Of course I did! I already told you I'm a total hero assistant, boss!"
And then Alfred had to open his mouth and ruin it.
Arthur lay back down. His head lolled back and his hand stretched up, fingers waving in need of something, and immediately, his hearing was filled with the sound of rough movement and loud steps before he could feel the soft, rubber texture of his favorite stress ball shaped like a weird green rabbit with wings.
"Ah, Minty…" he sighed, giving in to the feel of tension leaving the stressed muscles on his arm. He cracked his neck. "Why can't an assistant be like a stress ball…?"
Alfred pouted, crossing his arms as he watched his boss practically curl his toes—not that he could tell with the angry little Brit wearing shoes and all, but he was sure underneath the leather barrier, Arthur Kirkland was deriving lots of pleasure from the stupid green ball. "Need 'nything else, boss?" he tried to sound cool, collected, almost smooth, but his voice only came out whiny, "anything…?"
"Just…" Arthur took in a deep breath, switching Minty to his other hand, "sit somewhere. And don't talk. At all."
Alfred nodded, taking a sit over by a sofa with a bunch of fluffed pillows. He poked them, trying to make more space for himself before opening his binder and sprawling it over his lap to doodle. The sound of pen scratching over the surface of the paper and plastic sliding over jeans was probably one of his favorite mixture of random everyday sounds, and he sat there, doodling with such concentration his pink tongue was beginning to peek out between his teeth.
"And don't move," Arthur's breath hitched.
Immediately, Alfred looked up, noticing that his boss was falling asleep. So, he pursed his lips, closing his binder rather loudly.
"I. Said. Don't. Move."
And Alfred stopped moving, simply shifting his eyes to keep himself entertained. But after a while, he found he was growing increasingly bored, and in his disappointment—because he had many moments like these during which he came to terms with the fact that the Arthur Kirkland in real life was nowhere near as cool as the characters he played on television—he began to sigh. Loudly and consistently, almost like a well-planned pattern of heaves.
"And don't breathe!"
Wait—but…
"Uh, boss…."
"Bloody hell, five minutes, Alfred, just five bleeding minutes and then you can pester me to your heart's damned content, alright?"
The young blonde puckered his lips into a pout until they were almost invisible, and he looked down at his hands, counting in his head by Mississippi's, as he had been taught like most American children in pre-school to adequately keep track of seconds. But somewhere around the 30th-Mississippi, he couldn't hold his breathe anymore and so took in one long gasping heave, which sent him into a fit of coughs so strong that it forced him to bend forward.
"Damn it, Alfred, I said!" Arthur's eyes widened at the sight of his assistant choking and he kicked his legs, rolling off the divan to try and reach the blue-eyed blonde as quickly as he could. "What were you doing now, you git?" he cursed, trying to lift the taller male's arms.
"I was—cough,cough—just doing-cough,hic,cough—as you—"
"Quit talking and just breathe through your nose. I sure as hell didn't tell you to choke, sodding twat! Just to stay quiet and not move for five minutes. FIVE MINUTES. Not even you have ants crawling all over yer arse so badly that you can't hold still, Alfred."
"I don't have ants!" slowly the younger man recovered, "And you told me to not breathe!"
"It's a figure of speech, you dolt!"
"How's I supposed to know when you were really expecting me not to move, huh?"
"It was all about trying to keep you quiet, but somehow last time I told you to just keep things quiet, you started humming the Mission Impossible theme song as you rolled all over my carpet!—To this day I have no bloody idea what you were trying to do!"
Alfred sheepishly bit his bottom lip, "you said my steps are like an elephant so I was trying to be a hero and, uh, not walk?"
Arthur palmed his forehead, slowly letting his fingers slide over his face. "Bloody hell, I need a new assistant, damn it!"
He could immediately feel the body next to him tense much more than he heard the gasp and far faster than he saw the other's bottom lip stick out and his bright blue eyes begin to melt into tears. Really. And almost immediately, he felt guilty. Really. Of all things…Arthur felt guilty.
Only two weeks ago, Alfred F. Jones had kicked his door down and announced that he was there to save his agenda and all that stuff and then resumed to calling him Iggy for the rest of the day and asking him to autograph a napkin. A greasy, disgusting napkin from McD*nalds. It was only after Arthur had threatened to fire him on the spot that Alfred had started calling him boss—because Mr. Kirkland was just too boring for the American. And ever since two weeks ago, Alfred F. Jones had been nothing but an absolute failure as an assistant.
But Arthur had kept him around. Not just because of Alfred's bartending skills, no, but also because Alfred seemed fully intent on pleasing him, doing exactly as he said, no matter how ridiculous the demand. And, well, Arthur was sure he could find someone else like that—not that he needed an assistant—but there was something endearing about the stupidly foolish things Alfred Jones did to try and keep his boss happy. To keep Arthur happy.
"I told you after you almost poisoned Francis that you really shouldn't take everything I say so literally, Alfred," the older of the two sighed, his fingers cringing even as he stretched them out to pat at the lad's blonde hair. "There. There. Stop with the waterworks. Come now. Chin up. Stiff upper lip, now, Alfred."
"Wait, is this one of those times when you're being rhetorical again?"
"No. This time I'm really telling you to belt up! Be a man!"
"You're so mean, boss!" Alfred hid his face between his palms again, turning away from the green-eyed blonde.
"Bloody hell…" Arthur sighed.
Sometimes he really thought someone had it out for him.
Just then, though, Arthur's cellphone began to ring. Slowly, Alfred reached into his pocket, flipping it open to press against his ear, and with a cheerful smile—Arthur knew the lad was just being manipulative!—he chuckled out a quick, "Arthur Kirkland's phone, Alfred F. Jones, number one assistant speaking…"
Arthur would never understand why Alfred referred to himself as his number one assistant. He only had one. Regardless, he waited and watched as Alfred's brows furrowed and he nodded, becoming steely determined on focusing on the phone. He waved his boss aside, pushing through to grab for the laptop on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
"Yeah, thanks. We'll keep an eye on it. Bye now."
Arthur blinked, stretching his neck out, "who was it?"
"It was Birdie, Gilbert's assistant." He paused, flipping the laptop open, "She says I should really should you this."
"Show me what?"
Alfred ignored him, waiting as programs loaded on the computer.
"Alfred." Arthur tried to get his assistant's attention without success, "Show me what?"
The blonde typed quickly before turning the laptop to face his boss and pressing play. On the screen was the website of the Kissing-Thief, a new video loading. It amazed Arthur how famous the Kissing-Thief had become. Really, there was nothing impressive, much less amusing about a stalker, especially one with such a perfect record of success. His first victim had been Tino. Just as the blonde was walking out of his limousine onto the red carpet for the recent PAS-TV awards, a hooded stranger dressed in black from head to toe had almost like a shadow slipped past security, smacked him one right on the lips, and then made a quick getaway into a crowd of overly excitable fans.
In his shock, Tino had fallen butt first into the open window of the limousine behind him, leaving him bright red and embarrassed as paparazzi flashed pictures of him with his legs outstretched, his airs flailing as he tried to pry himself off the limousine.
Arthur wasn't sure how, but the Kissing-Thief was practically a celebrity. Police officers couldn't trace him. His identity was unknown. Well, they thought he was a he… no reason why it couldn't be a female, though. Even with his website, it was impossible to predict when or how the kiss would happen. All anyone knew—and to paparazzi's delight—was that a video would appear from time to time with the name of a new celebrity. And, usually, by the end of the week, the Kissing-Thief would get his kiss. In front of paparazzi, in front of crowds, usually causing deep embarrassments for his victims.
And so far, well, Arthur had been Kissing-Thief free.
But Arthur didn't need to watch the video to know that his time out of the Kissing-Thief limelight was over.
Above the video, on the title, was his name.
He blanched, reading the words slowly, feeling them flash over and over in his mind: Victim # 10 - Arthur Kirkland: Hey sexy brows… you're next. He felt his knees buckle, and before he could stop himself, he felt right on top of his assistant's lap.
A pair of strong arms embraced his waist, and in his panic, he settled his hands on the other's broad shoulders, watching the last couple of seconds of the video. Wait, when had it started playing?
"…So, yeah, hot stuff, tell your sexy eyebrows to expect a kiss from the Kissing-Thief sometime soon. Cheerio, love! Hahaha…"
Alfred was frowning. Arthur could feel it. And as the laptop was closed, he blushed a bright red, beginning to disengage himself from his assistant's arms. He cleared his throat. "Well."
"Don't you worry boss!" Alfred stood up almost immediately, a twinkle shining in his eyes as he gave him a thumbs up, "That's why you hired a hero!"
"What the hell are you going on about now?"
"Easy! He can't kiss ya if he doesn't know how to reach you, duh! It's a fool-proof plan, boss. I just gotta protect your agenda real good!"
"Brilliant!" Arthur nodded, giving him a bright smile.
Wait. He stopped, blinking for a moment before the horror of his assistant's constant failures dawned on him. With Alfred guarding his agenda, he'd be kissed in no time!
Arthur let out a gasping breath, and then a scream, "Nooooooooooooooo!"
Author Note:If you like it, then please review? If you don't like t, then, also review and tell me why...? Please…? The more reviews, the faster I update. Also, I don't have a BETA. If anyone is interested, please let me know. I'd love to make this story as good as possible.