Alfred shoved the last of his dishes in the dishwasher, yawned, and stretched. He was going to shower and then sleep, after all, tomorrow was a big day. This was exactly why he didn't need that annoying doorbell ringing over and over.
'Hero hero hero hero' it chorused, and Alfred was almost sorry he'd programmed it to say that. Almost. He walked over and opened the door to see Francis, Arthur, and Matthew.
"Hello, git."
"Salut!"
"Umm… Hello?"
"What're all of you doing here?" Alfred scowled, trying to shut the door. He needed rest, dammit, and had had a bit of a headache for the whole day. He just wanted some rest. Heroes couldn't be sick on important days! Even though he couldn't really remember what tomorrow was, his boss had just warned him to be extra-patriotic for some reason. When wasn't he extra-patriotic? That boss didn't realize how Heroes acted.
"Well," Matt quavered, but was interrupted when Francis (groping Arthur's butt on the way) shoved into the front hall.
"We wanted to stop by. We were going to dinner when, sacre bleu! Angleterre's horrid driving murdered our vehicle. So we decided to stay with you." Francis grinned brightly, pulling Iggy and Matt with him and closing the door with a foot.
"So, where're we sleeping, wanker?" Arthur slumped onto a chair, brows pulled low over his eyes.
"I know where I'm sleeping," Francis punctuated his comment with a wink directed at Arthur.
"Umm, please, can you…"
"Do the nasty elsewhere," Alfred finished Mattie's plea. "Sleep on the couch or pull out a sleeping bag. I need a shower. Mattie, you can have the extra bedroom."
"Why does he get it?" Arthur demanded, slapping at Francis' hand, which was inching its way up his thigh.
"Because he won't be sharing it with anyone. Less mess to clean up in the morning." And with this, the Hero with the distinctly un-Hero-like mood stomped upstairs. Francis chuckled.
"I taught him well. Now, get everything ready!"
Matt raced up the second flight of steps at the back of the house while Alfred was getting a change of clothes in his room. He ran to the bathroom, emptying half of the shampoo in the toilet and filling the rest of the bottle with something else and giving it a shake to mix the contents together. Matt quickly flushed the toilet to get rid of any other evidence.
"Who's there?" Alfred knocked on the bathroom door.
"Oh, it's, um, me," Matthew called back, turning the tap on so it would seem like he was washing his hands.
"Don't you remember that there's another bathroom downstairs?"
"Yes, well, Francis was busy combing out his hair in it. He's umm… well, I don't want to sound mean, but he's a bit fussy with his hair."
"Ok then." Alfred gave Matt a pat on the back when he came out of the bathroom and smiled like he usually did. "Good luck dealing with the two numbskulls downstairs." Matt smiled half-heartedly in return, feeling a little guilty.
"Th-thanks."
"No problem, bro!" Alfred swung into the bathroom and closed the door.
Matthew walked downstairs, and saw Francis and Arthur in a rather compromising position on the living room couch.
"I… umm… I should… leave now…" he turned to go, only to have Francis leap off Arthur and pat his shoulder.
"You did it, non?" he quirked an eyebrow, waiting for his response. Behind him, Arthur hastily buttoned his shirt and smoothed his rumpled hair.
"Yes, I did. Are you and Arthur getting ready?"
"Oui, I suppose you could call it that." Francis snorted, pulling a can out of his pocket. The label read sunscreen, though it was really filled with something else... "Angleterre, are you done with the towel yet?"
"I finished in the car on the way here," the touchy Brit retorted. He held up a long towel with horizontal strips cut out of it. "It should work just fine. Did you remember the lamps?"
"Of course, mon lapin. I hid them behind the chair when we made our entrance!" Francis seemingly produced two large lamps out of nowhere. "Now, he should notice right about… now!" Francis' last word coincided with another word, one that is not welcome in polite company, screamed from the floor above.
"MY HAIR!" Alfred shrieked, clattering down the stairs with only a towel around his waist. "MY HAIR!"
"Yes, I can see," Arthur remarked, hiding a smirk behind an upraised fist. "It looks quite nice."
"IT'S TURQUOISE, YOU IDIOT!"
"Non, I would say more of a navy. Oui, Mathieu?"
"Umm, I think so."
"MY. HAIR. IS. BLUE!"
"Yes, yes, we can all tell, now shut up, you wanker."
"So, umm, what should we do?" Matt was quite the actor, Francis thought, the look of concern and surprise on his face was stunningly believable.
"I believe I have an idea," Francis strutted to the closet he had stashed the materials in when Alfred found out about his hair. He pretended to rummage for a bit before pulling everything he needed out. "Here. If we set you up on one of your folding lawn chairs and put these lamps above you and below you, it should bleach your hair back to normal." Francis was lying through his teeth, of course; this was all just the next stage of the plan.
"You think?" Alfred's volume had returned to normal, probably because Matt was clinging to his arm, pleading for him to stop yelling.
"Interesting," Francis murmured. He filed this little tidbit away; information on relationship statuses was always useful.
"Whaddya say?" Alfred flicked Francis on the forehead.
"I said mistrusting, my dear Alfred. You are completely and utterly mistrusting! Why else would I offer my friendly suggestion if not to aid you?"
They set up Alfred on his lawn chair, positioning lamp #1 beneath the plastic slats and lamp #2 above him.
"We'll put a towel over you so you don't accidentally tan or anything, git. And the frog found sunscreen, so Matt'll put that on your stomach." Arthur stood to the side, leaning against the wall with a bored expression on his face, unaware of what he'd just done.
"Bon," Francis smirked. His Angleterre could be tres bête occasionally, but sometimes he helped things along without even realizing.
"Fine," Alfred sighed and flopped onto the chair. Arthur dumped the towel on his back unceremoniously; straightening the edges like one would on a tablecloth. Matt wiggled under the chair and uncapped the not-sunscreen, spraying a glob on his hand and hesitantly rubbing it on the stripes of Alfred's chest not covered by the chair.
"There, I, umm, think I got all of it," Matthew blushed. He secretly promised never to admit how glad he was that it was him and not Arthur that got to touch Alfred, even if it was just for an elaborate prank.
Meanwhile, Alfred was glad it was Matt and not Francis touching him. At least, that's what he told himself.
"Tres bien, Mathieu," Francis snagged Arthur around the waist and, squeezing his (firm) butt, dragged him and Matt out of the room. "We'll leave you alone, Amerique."
"What do you think you're doing, frog?" Arthur nearly screeched when they had left the kitchen. "Get your hand away from-"
"Angleterre, Angleterre. You do not complain when I do this at home."
"Yes, well- you wanker, shut up! Not in front of the kids!"
Yeah, definitely glad it wasn't Francis.
Alfred, having decided that as long as he was going to lie down, he might as well sleep, woke up to a most… Unpleasant surprise. It was 1 am, and he was…
"STRIPED! YOU IDIOTS PUT RED PAINT ON ME INSTEAD OF SUNSCREEN!" Alfred, full of a Hero's righteous indignation, walked in on Francis taking advantage of the fact that he had backed up Arthur into a corner and Mattie sitting in a chair, reading and desperately trying to ignore the scene playing out in front of him.
"You finally noticed, Amerique." Francis backed off his molestation of Iggy to smile broadly.
"NOTICED WHAT?" Alfred was pissed.
"Joyeux anniversaire,"
"Happy damn birthday, you wanker."
Francis and Arthur turned to Matt, who had stood up with a determined expression on his face. He walked over to Alfred and, stretching to his tip-toes, planted a kiss on Alfred's now pink cheek.
"Happy birthday. We turned you red, white, and blue." What Mattie said was true, but no one acknowledged that truth, because Alfred was too busy burying his tongue in Matthew's mouth, and Francis and Arthur were sneaking discreetly out of the house to give the two some private time.
"Here," Francis pulled something out of his coat pocket and threw it on the table. "You'll need them."
Later
Arthur moaned, wiggling to give Francis a better angle. "You," he gasped, "you left something with the kids." He tried to keep his thoughts together, reminding himself that he had the rest of the night to succumb to the pleasure coursing through him.
"Well," Francis was also panting, "I left them-" He bent down to lick Arthur's chest. "Condoms," he whispered. "I thought they might need them."
"Good-" Arthur inhaled sharply, then groaned in ecstasy. "Idea."