This is my first ever Hetalia fanfiction! Wowee. This little thing is just a oneshot… It started out mostly as a drabble that I wrote in class one day, but I decided to expand on it and make it a short USUK oneshot. I wasn't going for anything extravagant; I just wanted to write what had been stuck in my head for awhile and now I'm posting it. Review if you'd like, lemme know how you like it. C:
Kissing: to join lips in respect, affection, love, or passion. Oftentimes, Alfred noticed growing up, that a kiss could be used as a greeting between mere acquaintances; he'd seen Francis, for example, use a kiss to greet practically everyone—even Matthew. In fact, Francis' kisses to Matthew appeared much more intense than normal kisses; of all the five or so times Alfred had witnessed the action between them, the older country had had his tongue deep inside the other's mouth. (When Alfred later asked Matthew in private what they had been doing, the latter replied in a mumbling voice, meek and shy, "French kissing.") The two seemed so entranced with each other when this took place that neither of them noticed anything else that happened around them.
Being an early teenager and living under the rule of someone like Arthur, Alfred was happy. Arthur was handsome and wise. He always had a tale to tell or a lesson to teach (many of which Alfred found boring, but overall, they had good endings), and there was always something new and different for the two to find together. The younger country liked Arthur very much most of the time, so he felt he should receive affection similar to Matthew's, if not better. They were twins, after all. Because of these things, Alfred came to the decision that he wanted a kiss—and only from Arthur.
He was certain the sometimes-lofty older one knew what a kiss was; even Arthur himself had greeted others this way in the past. There, of course, was no tongue involved, but it was definitely a start. So as the days passed and Alfred didn't get the kiss he wanted out of thin air, he began to grow impatient. Maybe, he thought, he should bring it up in conversation sometime. And so that is what he did.
"Arthur?" he asked as the two were sitting down for tea one day. Alfred figured this to be the best time to ask, as the older country was always the calmest while he drank his boring hot water.
"Yes?" Arthur replied before taking a small sip from his teacup, obviously not thinking what Alfred was.
"Is there such a thing as British kissing?" the younger one asked bravely but casually as the other raised a rather bushy eyebrow in curiosity.
"British kissing? What in the world would give you an idea like that?" And so it sounded as if, no, there wasn't such a thing. Feeling a little disappointed, Alfred sighed.
"Well," he began, taking a deep breath to explain it all, "you know how Francis kisses everybody? He saves special kisses for Matthew… I saw it one time. Well, more than one time, actually. He had his tongue shoved really far into Matthew's mouth. When I asked him what it was called, he said it was a French kiss. If Francis saves his special French kisses for Matthew, what've you saved for me, Arthur?"
Alfred's long-winded explanation, topped off with such a question at the end, nearly shocked Arthur right out of his armchair. The elder's face flushed, and it did not go unnoticed by the junior.
"Alfred!" Arthur chided, his voice somewhat of a squeak and quite scolding.
"Don't 'Alfred!' me!" the American demanded, his voice upset but not as childish as usual. "It's an honest question!"
Arthur set down his cup of tea on the end table next to his chair and one hand rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Looking up to still see Alfred's pleading expression, the elder groaned. "Alfred, to begin, Francis is what one might call a whore, or a pedophile… He shouldn't be kissing a child like that to begin with!"
"But they love each other, don't they?" Alfred asked. "Don't you love me, Arthur?"
Arthur had completely forgotten about his calming tea at this point and was ready to toss a chair out the window in hopes it would reach Francis' face, wherever it was currently.
"I… Of course I love you, Alfred…" the older one returned after a few seconds of trying to quell his frustration, "but it's a far different kind of love. The kind of love that Francis shares with Matthew… well… as strange as it is, it's romantic love."
"I have those feelings for you, Arthur…" Alfred said, his voice now small and full of disappointment. This wasn't something he'd given any half-assed thought; he'd considered this long and hard and Arthur was absolutely the only person he wanted a kiss from.
"No, you don't! You're far too young to know!" The guilt in Arthur's voice was clear.
Alfred was so frustrated that he wanted to cry—but he wasn't going to show Arthur such a weak side of him.
"I'll prove it to you!" the younger country said, scooting forward in his armchair, a determined look washing over him. "We were meant to be together! Kiss me, you'll see!"
"Alfred, stop this nonsense!" Arthur commanded, standing up and full ready to walk away from the situation.
"Kiss me, Arthur!"
Alfred stood up in his spot and cursed the world, wishing for all he was worth that he was taller; he only came up to Arthur's shoulder, or he would kiss the older one himself. They stood a foot apart from each other as Arthur stared the other down, trying desperately to think of what he should do.
Finally, Arthur leaned forward and Alfred froze, surprised beyond cognitive understanding that the elder was giving in. Almost immediately, he let his eyes fall shut and he prepared himself for what he'd been anticipating for what felt like his whole life.
When he felt a pair of warm lips press lightly against his cheek for a few seconds and promptly pull away, Alfred's heart fluttered and he opened his eyes. It was completely different than what he'd seen between Francis and Matthew, but it felt exactly how he'd imagined.
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