Prologue:
The stink of sweat and cheap booze sits thick in his nostrils. A yellow fog, cast down from the dirty bar lights above surrounds him. Bets hollered out – the crowd is a mess of limbs and leers, swarming around the ring. And he, in the center of it all: the eye of the tornado.
"Oh man, you're a scrawny thing, ain't cha? This should be freaking cake…"
A deep breath. He turns his eyes up to face the other man:
Tall, bare-chested. Blond hair spiked with gel. Moronic, cocksure grin. And on his bicep, a tattoo of a flag: red with a white cross.
A bloody Dane.
"Right, well that settles it…" he mutters dangerously. "You'll be going down fast and hard, git"
Cocky laughter from the other man: "Hahaha! Pretty sure of yourself, eh Mister British Gentleman? What do you think you are, invincible?"
A bloodthirsty smile curls itself around his lips. His growled reply is just barely loud enough to hear over the ring of the first bell:
"Absolutely"
A/N: Hi all! Welcome to my story. The setting is a modern day AU in the fine city of Boston. Expect much fluff, with a little action and angst thrown in too for kicks!
Haha, I feel bad for Denmark...