Sleeping Beauty

Disclaimer: Hetalia characters are not owned by me.

Notes: This is based on the story of Sleeping Beauty.

Warnings: Strange Humor and Crack

Pairings: AmericaxEngland

It was the perfect task for a valiant knight to do. And for one Sir Alfred F. Jones, nothing could be awesomer than setting out to battle monstrous fire-breathing dragons, rescue damsels-in-distress (along with the occasional cross-dressing prince), and otherwise be the coolest hero ever.

But this particular adventure was turning out quite differently from what he had expected. To start with, the townsman in charge of spreading the news of the ravaging dragon had fallen asleep on his feet – literally. Causing Alfred to have to wait forever (two hours, in fact) for the guy's cats to start mewing for their kibbles.

And then the dragon. Well, at least it was fire-breathing and generally frightening, but "Wales?" Seriously? It didn't even have flippers!

There wasn't even a cool, blood-and-sweat-and-tears (all from the opponent, of course) fight. Sir Alfred had just finished proclaiming his noble intentions to rescue the princess from her one-hundred-year sleep when the dragon started giggling.

Giggling.

Alfred could feel his self-esteem go down to its pre-caffeine levels.

Man, his day just couldn't get any worse (he didn't even get to pull out his awesome sword, Burger-biterTM!).

As Alfred pushed the door open to the princess's chamber – whoever thought rose bushes would be easy to get through even after their super prickly curse was taken off should be dragged out into the streets and shot – he realized that he probably shouldn't have said (or thought) that. Murphy's law or something like that.

Whatever it was, the universe seemed really set on screwing Alfred's awesome life up.

First of all, the princess was unmistakably a male (those eyebrows looked like they were waging a war against the rest of the guy's face and winning).

Secondly? There was a pool of drool next to him. Which made Alfred suddenly remember that he was supposed to kiss this guy.

Thirdly, well…the princess was kinda…cute.

In one of those oh-my-god-where-is-my-coffee-I'm-seeing-dead-things ways.

Glancing out the window, Alfred noticed that the sun was almost at the horizon. He could either try kissing the princess now or leave before it got dark (when the g-g-g-g-ghosts started coming out). Never the one to refuse a hero's task (and the princess' lips looked really soft), Alfred puckered up his lips and bestowed The Kiss of Love (cue pink sparkles and glowy…thingies) on the (fortunate!) male.

The princess' eyes slowly opened, and Alfred waited breathlessly (hey, fifty staircases to the top of the tower was no mean feat, even for someone like Sir Alfred F. Jones) for the sweet words of the sleeping angel.

Whatever Alfred was expecting (or could you really expect something normal to occur in this kind of screwed up situation), getting kicked (the guy was shouting something that sounded like "Brannia Kick!", whatever that meant) into the wall wasn't it.

Rubbing the back of his neck (luckily Alfred was very durable), Alfred craned his neck backwards to look up at the princess, who had by this time climbed onto the bed and was ranting at him in some sort of weird (but hot) accent.

"–YOU GIT!!! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING? ON SECOND THOUGHT, I DON'T CARE! GET OUT OF HERE OR I'LL KICK YOU OUT THE WINDOW!"

The guy had a pretty nice physique – which was pretty noticeable through his nightgown (a design on the frilly lace caught his eye. Unicorns? What kind of crazy old lady would take the time to make lace with little unicorns on them?).

"DON'T THINK I WON'T JUST BECAUSE YOU K-K-KISSED ME, YOU BLOODY WANKER!"

The blush was actually really cute. And it was starting to be cute in a hey-I've-just-had-coffee way, even if the continual use of the caps-lock was really starting to wear Nantucket down (it was drooping!).

Evidently Alfred's luck had deserted him at approximately 2:00 am the day before, because the princess had just noticed the way his eyes were going.

"AND WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE LOOKING AT, YOU PERVERTED SOD!?!"

The shrieking was really beginning to get on Alfred's nerves.

It was also probably going to kill the birds outside (Alfred hadn't heard any of them singing in the past five minutes).

So, for the sake of the world – Alfred doubted that the princess' voice had missed anyone, not even that creepy-smiling guy with that funny sunflower he met in Far, Far Away – and his own poor, aching head, the hero dragged the princess down and kissed him.

With tongue.

After the brief making-out/NOT-SHAGGING! session had passed, Alfred looked down at the bundle of blushing Brit he had in his arms. "Are you alright, princess?" he grinned (Hey! The birds were singing again! He was the awesomest hero ever!).

One of the eyebrows twitched (Alfred really had to get out of that stuffy tower before the "cute" label he had attached to those fuzzy abominations had changed into "adorable"), but instead of another ear-splitting outburst, Alfred had to strain his ears to hear the mumbled reply.

"It's Arthur – Prince (the princess stressed) Arthur Kirkland of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland."

The sudden quiet in the room suddenly cued Alfred in to the sun's very low position in the sky. Never the one to leave a job done (at least when he might have to spend an entire night in a drafty, old castle with the g-g-ghosts), Alfred hoisted his catch up over his shoulder with care – Arthur was actually kinda heavy – and strode out the door.

The screeching immediately resumed.

"WHAAA– PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT, YOU GIT-FACE!"

A couple of birds passed out.

Smiling cheerfully, Alfred patted his burden – whoops! That was entirely accidental. A hero would never aim for that part of his charge's anatomy, even if it was wiggling about like that – and declared, holding his right arm out to flash his horse a thumb's up, "Don't worry, princess! I'm a hero!"

His Colgate-approved grin felled the last of their feathered friends.