It Started With a Caffeinated Calamity
Authors Note: Inspired by a Tegaki doodle thing I saw. Written on a whim. This will likely never be finished, but since I started it I figured to share it with everyone.
WARNING: Slight crack ahead. Read at your own risk loves.
There was a reason that the irritable Englishman didn't like anyone shuffling though his cabinets. Sure he was a clean freak and he liked to keep his place spick and span. This did not mean he was an organized man by any definition of the word. On the contrary, magical potions were shoved in the same shelves as alcohol, pixie dust by the salt and pepper shaker, newt tails beside the cinnamon sticks, and so forth. In the man's mind this was organized for him, a system that worked well for the prim gentleman for centuries. Arthur judged himself as a man with more than enough sense to not make the mistake of mixing dubious magical ingredients with his food. He was a bachelor after all, so he doubted he would ever have a problem with a girlfriend slipping through his fridge to find something to eat then accidentally turn herself into a troll. That would do nothing for his sex life. Besides, it wasn't like he ever entertained guests much at his home since maybe the early eighties, which was depressing now that he thought about it.
The point is, Arthur Kirkland never foresaw the possibility that someone would be as uncouth as to ruffle through his things without his consent. However he failed to consider the anomaly that was Alfred F. Jones in this equation.
It was after a particularly crazy G20 get-together at a local London pub before the meeting in the morning no less. In hindsight it was a bad idea to go out drinking right before a meeting, but those there were already jetlagged and irritated; so a night of drinking, though not advisable wouldn't really change their moods much the next day anyways. So true to his alcohol-loving nature as well as being the host for the G20, Arthur decided to tag along consuming far too much and passing out at the bar.
Arthur Kirkland let go of a long crackly groan as he was awakened by frantic movements downstairs. It took him a while to process what the sound might be. His sleep addled mind managed to inform him that Alfred must have decided to stay the night to watch over his inebriated friend instead of heading back to his hotel. It was common enough for the man to do that after all. Though the American had a reputation for being an irritable wanker it was rare that he would stampede around so early in the morning like a baby elephant he seemed to be imitating. Unless he was late.
"Shit!" the man swore sitting up and disentangling frantically himself from the sheets. He didn't bother to shower, instead stripping off his clothes throwing on fresh boxers and nearly tripping on his newly shed clothes when he stopped abruptly before the clock after fetching his suit from the closet. The digital contraption informed him it was 5 am. The meeting didn't begin until 9. He sighed glad that he wouldn't have to pull a ridiculous mad dash out the house. Running his hand through his unruly blond hair he lay his suit back on his bed for later and plucked his robe off the back of his bedroom door. Slipping both arms into the sleeves he grumbled and he hobbled down the stairs. He would give the damn American brat a good talking to. There was no reasonable explanation to be causing so much noise this early. The boy knew right well that neither of them got much sleep after the fiasco at the pub last night. The stairs creaked with effort and the irritated Brit made a mental note to get that fixed. Nearing the kitchen –which seemed to be the source of the commotion- he became acutely aware of two muffled voiced. Arthur raised a rather substantial eyebrow in question. Who could the other person be? The Englishman's face flushed in embarrassment as the name of a meek Canadian came to mind. 'Ah, it must be Canada. He probably helped America to get me home. Was I really that out of it yesterday? I must have been, I don't even remember how I got home last night,' he thought guiltily. He must have caused quite a ruckus if both the North American brothers had to lug him home. He knew he would have to apologize to Matthew for causing him so much trouble; he would not afford Alfred the same courtesy, the boy deserved any sort of trouble thrown his way as far as he was concerned. As England turned the corner to enter his kitchen his apology died in his throat.
Standing before him and obviously at ends with one another were two very confused looking blonds. One he recognized and one he didn't. There was America arguing with a strangely familiar looking young woman. He was certain he never seen her in his life but he couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity as his gaze traveled between them. They didn't seem to notice him enter as they continued to bickering with one another. America was speaking in a thick southern drawl though her inflections on different words were not specific to any state, at least not as far as Arthur could tell as he was talking far too fast. The girl on the other hand seemed to be switching between accents as well, mid-western accent one second and slick fast talking Brooklyn cab driver the next. Arthur was having trouble picking up on what they were talking about exactly. America had his fists clenched around the woman's shirt collar while she had her hands grasped around his neck as if to choke him—or at least she tried to with their substantial height difference. The Englishman noticed with a faint blush that the mystery woman wore a much too baggy dress shirt which engulfed much of her frame and nothing else.
Arthur wondered vaguely if he was still dreaming. What was this half-naked stranger doing in his kitchen with his half-naked Alfred. His stomach churned. Alfred didn't bring her there did he? He didn't sleep with her... in his house of all places! The Englishman couldn't deny that she was a very attractive from where he stood but that still didn't do much to alleviate the horrible feeling building inside him. His still sleep fuddled mind couldn't make sense of what was going on right in front of him.
"...America?" he found himself saying in almost a whisper.
Authors Note: Ahh shit Alfred, whatcha doing? Anywho, like I mentioned earlier this is a slightly crack fic because it contains (highlight the space for a spoiler. It's not a big spoiler mind you) Fem!America . So yeah, I know most people don't like that but I put my own little twist on it to make it entertaining. If there are any mistakes sorry, I don't have a beta. This is a really short chapter for my standards, originally the second chapter was connected with this one but I figured this was as good a spot as any to stop and give you guys a little cliff hanger. Next chapter will be up soon!