Title: A Not-So Usual Drunken Night
Genre: Romance/Friendship
Rating/Warnings: T, minor cursing
Summary: Alfred is Arthur's best friend. Being his best friend, he has to keep tabs with Arthur. Especially when he's drunk. When he fetches a drunk Arthur from Gilbert's party, he doesn't expect the scene he'll see, nor the drunken mumbles he hears after.
Notes: This fic is written for USxUK Summer Camp 2012. The theme is Disney's I 2 I.
"Alfred, you need to get Arthur from here – he's absolutely drunk off his ass," Francis's amused voice rang in the silence of Alfred's bedroom. His hold on the phone was slack, and his sleep-addled brain still trying to comprehend what was said to him.
"Wha – ?"
"Your ill-tempered, unsophisticated, thick-eyebrowed best friend, Arthur Kirkland!" the French accent sang against his ear, which actually wasn't that nice to hear.
"Yeah, okay," Alfred breathed, cursing mentally Francis for ruining his sleep. "Same place, right?"
"Oui, and Alfred, you better hurry, Arthur here is making a fool of himself, which in itself is hilarious, but is also annoying," Francis replied before the line went dead.
The aforementioned blonde stretched on his bed with a groan, rolling on his king-sized bed, arm outstretched to grope blindly for his glasses. Putting them on, he blearily gazed at his blinking alarm clock, trying to make out the numbers reflected on the small screen.
2:58AM.
Once he read them, he cursed out loud and swore that Arthur was going to treat him ice cream for this hassle he had brought him. Again.
He pulled on his jeans, changed his shirt, and shrugged on his bomber jacket. He grabbed his keys and wallet and went to his door. He closed it shut, making sure it was locked. He got into his car and drove to where Arthur - according to Francis, was making a fool of himself. Which wasn't an unusual occurrence.
As he drove through the silence of the night, Alfred had to think about his friend of four years already. Arthur Kirkland. A blonde, green-eyed Englishman who had a very special set of eyebrows. He was a hopeless case – he complained too much of what Alfred did or did not do, he was grumpy at most times and downright evil when provoked. He needed someone to take care of him when he was drunk – and not just anybody could take care of Arthur, it had to be Alfred. Alfred was the only one who could placate the drunk Arthur and was also the only one who could carry him around. Arthur was no lightweight, and Alfred was strong enough to keep Arthur in place.
But Arthur was also sweet and kind, which he rarely showed, but Alfred had seen it more often than others. Arthur was also, surprisingly, a very insecure person – always second-guessing and putting himself down that sometimes it annoyed Alfred, and he had to say things he really didn't want to reveal to Arthur just to make him smile. He knew that despite the Brit's very rough exterior, he was still a good person.
So as he was nearing the house where Arthur was drinking, Gilbert's house, he couldn't stay mad at Arthur in the end. With an exasperated sigh, he parked the car and went out, trudging to the doorsteps and ringing the door bell.
When the door was opened, he was greeted with Gilbert's flushed face, loud music and smoke. He just squinted and went inside, hoping that he could find Arthur fast and get away from the disaster that was Gilbert's party.
Stepping around unconscious bodies was no easy task. That was the reason he hated attending these types of parties, especially with how notorious Gilbert delivered his parties. Too many booze and too many lewd acts going around. He sometimes wondered how Gilbert managed to host a party when his brother Ludwig was a stick-in-the-mud and was obsessed with cleaning.
His gaze searched around the room, hoping for a familiar mop of blonde hair or those massive eyebrows, but to no avail. He decided to search further into the rooms, opening and closing each door as he passed by. He went around, even asked some of the standing guests, hoping that they had seen Arthur. But they just shrugged off and continued drinking.
When he was almost sure that Arthur was nowhere to be found, he checked the bathroom, hoping that Arthur was there. When he opened the door, what he saw made his jaw drop in surprise and something stirred deep in his gut.
Shirtless, Arthur was leaning against the tiled wall, clutched onto the unknown body that was sucking on his neck. He was moaning so loud and encouraging whoever it was to give more. He was rutting against the other man's thigh, clearly pleasure-high. The other man was running his hands on Arthur's abdomen, up to his chest and tweaking one nipple.
When Arthur gave out a very breathy "Ahh-Al~" Alfred couldn't take it anymore. He narrowed his eyes and marched towards the pair, shoving the other man off his best friend, which resulted in a pained moan as the man hit his head on the tiled floor.
Alfred yanked Arthur away, silently fuming at his idiot friend for allowing something bordering non-consensual to happen to him. He was clearly drunk beyond reason. He couldn't even stand straight, his eyes were staring at nothing, and a stupid smile was on his face as if nothing had happened.
And no, he was really concerned with his friend. He was so not jealous of whoever kissed Arthur. Nope.
The taller blonde shrugged off his bomber jacket and forced Arthur to wear it to give him some sort of decency. He needed to find Arthur's shirt because damn him if he would step into his place again!
Since Arthur was unsteady himself, Alfred decided to just throw the drunk on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He deserved that much treatment at least, for all the trouble he had given Alfred. Blue eyes scanned the area, hoping to find the shirt Arthur was wearing lying somewhere, when he noticed Francis waving to him, a white cloth in hand. He went to the Frenchman, holding Arthur's thighs securely as he walked.
Francis looked all smug for someone who was drunk. Alfred was quite annoyed with his face. He motioned for the shirt on Francis's hand and silently demanded to give it to him. Francis then said, "My, how loyal you are to him, Alfred mon ami."
Alfred certainly didn't need some meddlesome Francis to say that to him. He was aware of how loyal he was to Arthur. "Shut it, Francis, and give me that shirt," Alfred snapped.
"Oh, sure I will," Francis's grin was obviously saying I-know-something-that-you-don't and Alfred wanted to punch him to release his pent up annoyance this night. "After all," he continued, "Arthur might be so devastated that his shirt would be lost here and how could you explain to him that it was lost because he was making out with someone?" Francis smiled with mock concern, and Alfred just went with his instinct and punched all his frustrations and his not-jealousy to the Frenchman's face.
He grabbed the shirt and pointed at the lying body on the couch, and with a warning on his voice, said, "You shut up and go to sleep, you drunk snail bastard!"
Alfred walked out of the house, Arthur knocked out on his shoulder, his anger at what he saw and Francis's words still whirling on his head. It wasn't that he didn't want Arthur kissing anybody. He had the right to do that, and he was his own person so could definitely make his own choice! But then another voice in his head reasoned that Arthur was drunk and he didn't know what he was doing, and he was just being his heroic self by saving Arthur from some potential non-con action.
Yep. He wasn't annoyed that Arthur was off kissing some random guys in a party. Nope. He was just protecting his best friend from something he would totally regret the next day. He was just sparring Arthur the humiliation and the 'I want to die's he would totally be muttering underneath his blanket tomorrow morning. There was no jealousy involved, really.
He eased Arthur into his car, half in mind to be rough to show his annoyance, but he decided against it. He got into his car and drove off, choosing to just allow Arthur to sleep in his bed.
He also did not acknowledge the churning, heavy feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach. Neither the little voice at the back of his mind saying oh you love him, you silly boy, you love him!
When Alfred arrived in his room, he dumped the heavy Arthur onto his bed. He removed the shoes and the socks, placing them haphazardly on the floor. He then went to take off the jacket on Arthur's body when he heard him mutter something.
Thinking there was nothing that could surprise him anymore, he humored the drunk Brit with, "Yeah, what is it Artie?" He continued his goal to take the jacket off Arthur when he heard the words the drunk was muttering, more distinct this time.
"Nngghh… Al…"
Curious, Alfred stopped his ministrations and leaned closer to Arthur, wanting to know what his friend would say next. And his curiosity didn't prepare him the slightest for the upcoming words from the British mouth.
"Al… Fred… Ahh… Love… You…"
Upon hearing the words, Alfred ceased all his actions together. The words echoed around his reeling mind, still not believing what he had heard. Arthur loved him? The concept itself brought Alfred in a momentary daze. It seemed like a joke, but Arthur was bordering unconscious. He was drunk. So he was just saying things. But didn't they say that the unconscious is the realm of the desires of the mind? So did it mean that Arthur desired him? That it was true? But Arthur was dead drunk. He didn't know what he was saying. But the way he said it was so distinct, his brain argued. Surely that could mean something?
He squashed immediately the flicker of hope that sprang on his chest. It wasn't heroic to jump on such opportunity, especially when Arthur was drunk, that he couldn't really think coherently.
Arthur groaned again and Alfred mechanically resumed his task of jacket-removal. Which he was so focusing on intently, he was slowly becoming self-conscious of the task he couldn't even do it without his hands suddenly shaking. After getting his jacket back, he just tucked Arthur in and moved out of the room, not looking back.
He couldn't understand why he was so bothered in the first place. It was just a drunken statement right? People said things they didn't really mean when they're drunk. So Arthur surely didn't mean it.
Right. Yep. He's good about this. He'd just forget this night and continue with his life as a university student and Arthur's best friend. Right. That was the plan.
He lay on the couch and didn't sleep a wink. The churning feeling was back with a vengeance, and the voice at the back of his head was outright laughing at him.
The following morning was awkward. For Alfred, that was. He tossed and turned in the couch without getting any more comfortable with his position. He had seen the dawn welcome the morning light as he stared at the window, his eyes not really focusing on the beauty outside. His mind was a maelstrom; continuously crashing ideas and feelings against each other, each of them wanting to be acknowledged. Alfred was confused, that was obvious. He couldn't decide the best course of action he should choose for the current dilemma of his.
He hadn't even made a decision when Arthur came to the living room looking like he was hit by a truck. Good thing he was now wearing his shirt. He glanced to Alfred's direction on the sofa, which somehow made Alfred's heart skip a beat, and turned to go to the kitchen to prepare his morning tea. And maybe get some Aspirin for his headache.
Since it was often that Arthur came crashing on his house, Alfred had made sure to stock some teabags for Arthur's consumption. It was very difficult to deal with an Arthur in the morning without his tea.
Arthur was so at home in Alfred's house that he couldn't help the giddy feeling that was fluttering in his chest. And that feeling was totally not voluntary. Nope. He wouldn't decide to feel giddy all of a sudden. Then suddenly he remembered that Arthur had said… those words last night and everything now was so awkward for Alfred.
When they both sat on the chairs in the kitchen, Alfred was not looking at Arthur at all. He was somehow jittery, and shoulders were very tense. He was holding on his mug a little too hard.
And Arthur noticed all of this.
"Alfred, what is with you?" he asked. Arthur had to ask. Alfred had to mentally groan at that. He did his best to be his charming self.
"Naw, Artie, I'm totally fine. Yup. I'm good. Really. Very good," Alfred grinned at his best friend.
Apparently Arthur was so good in reading him or he was doing a very half-assed effort because Arthur didn't bite on that.
"Bollocks, Alfred! You're not like this, especially in the morning. Did I do something stupid last night?" Arthur snapped. Fuck, why was he so perceptive today? Why did he have to ask me that?
And as Alfred recalled vividly what Arthur had done last night, from the make-out session down to the so-called 'confession', it took him too long to answer the shorter man. He knew Arthur usually had these massive blackouts whenever he was very drunk, like last night.
"So I really have done something stupid," Arthur muttered, and sipped on his tea to hide his now reddening face.
"No! I mean, no you haven't done anything stupid last night – Francis was the one being stupid, not giving your shirt back –" he stopped talking. Damn, why did he mention that? Now Arthur would be enraged and would want to know every detail he can squeeze out of Alfred about last night. Damn.
"Oh?" Arthur casually replied to that outburst. Despite his hangover he could still be very terrifying when mad. "And why was that frog-face holding my shirt hostage?" the underlying message of tell me everything or die was so evident even Alfred in his usual moments of obliviousness could read that. But Arthur wasn't just a usual occurrence, a very annoying voice echoed in his head. Shut up, voice.
"W-well, uhm, it started with Francis calling me around 3AM to say that I must take you home from Gilbert's party," he began. And he fucking stuttered.
"And ah, when I found you later in the bathroom… You were… uhm. Half-naked. Making out. With someone. Though I don't really know how Francis managed to have your shirt. So yeah. That's what happened," Alfred finished lamely. He couldn't afford to look at Arthur now. It was so embarrassing to recall all those things, and now to tell him about his very daring night was just too much for him.
He didn't mention the confession, though. He thought he shouldn't allow himself to get so bothered about it. It was just a drunken thing, nothing more.
Which somehow made him sad, to be honest.
When he finally looked at Arthur, the green-eyed blonde was staring at his lap with such intensity he was sure he could bore holes into his pants. His face was very red too. Maybe he was so embarrassed with what he did last night.
Alfred somehow wanted to make the expression go away from Arthur's face. So he said with reluctance, "Well, you were drunk then. Don't blame yourself over it." He looked away, but his eyes went back to Arthur to observe his reaction.
Arthur stood from his chair and went to where Alfred was seated. He towered over the seated American, and Alfred was curious on what Arthur was about to do. His face was still very red and really adora –
He didn't quite finish his train of thought because Arthur had descended, cupping his jaw and meshing their lips together. Not a second after, Arthur pulled away, his face another shade of red, while Alfred was in a total daze, this time for another reason. His lips still tingled from the brief contact. And he felt his body gone light from ecstatic tingling sensations coursing his veins.
"Y-you were supposed to be t-the one I wanted to k-kiss last night!" Arthur confessed. His eyes were clenched so tight and his posture so stiff like he was expecting Alfred would hit him.
"Y-you were supposed to… to… I l-lo –" but Arthur didn't finished his declaration because Alfred had scooped him up and twirled him in the air, Arthur's hangover be damned. He quite deserved whatever pain his head would give him. He did get drunk after all.
When Arthur moaned out his headache, Alfred let him down, but he just squeezed him tighter. Oh god, Arthur had wanted to kiss him. He didn't actually want that nobody after all. He couldn't be any happier. Well, maybe if he could get a taste of Arthur's lips again. And so he did.
He pressed his lips against Arthur's, chaste and sweet. He angled his head to experience more of Arthur, as the shorter blonde clutched onto his back, slowly opening his mouth. He wanted more, but he knew he could have his fill of those lips later. There was still a pressing matter to be addressed.
He pulled away from those lips, earning a sigh of protest and looked directly into emerald-colored eyes. He cupped one of Arthur's cheeks and caressed it with his thumb, feeling the smoothness of his skin.
"Arthur, I… There is something I have to say first," he looked into those green irises with serious determination. He saw Arthur swallow a lump, his plump lips parting a little. Damn.
"I love you. Only you," Alfred finally said. He then kissed the cheek his thumb was running over, then the eyebrows that he secretly adored, up to the forehead, then he gave an Eskimo kiss, and then finally, he pressed his lips against those pliant ones, pulling Arthur closer to him, smiling as he proceeded to kiss his best-friend-now-lover senseless.
The End! Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoy this one-shot!
Review if you like! OuO