I began this last Friday the 13th, and finished it last night although I didn't get the chance to post it until today. More personal updates and notes below. I hope you enjoy this!
Warning: This contains swearing and heavy make-out sessions of a homosexual nature. Read at your own risk!
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers or any of these characters. Although sometimes I wish I did.
Alfred Jones was a superstitious man.
By all means, he had no reason to be. Born and raised by two of the most analytic, down-to-earth professors at the World Academy W, Alfred had been brought up in a strict and scientific home. He was even studying Astrophysics at that same university. His whole life revolved around research and fact, math and science.
And yet, that morning when the salt shaker toppled over on the table, he swept the salt into his hand and tossed it over his left shoulder.
He stepped out into the pouring rain and was already drenched by the time he got his umbrella open.
He was too busy staring in surprise and abject fear at the ladder he had just walked under to notice the black cat bounding in front of him.
And when he asked someone for the date – well, then it all made sense.
"It all makes sense!" Alfred exclaimed feverishly, waving his hands around wildly as he nearly jumped to his feet. Gilbert stared at him skeptically, eyebrows furrowed as he tried not to laugh.
"You've gotta be kidding me," he said, but Alfred ignored him in favor of rambling about his "unlucky" morning. Their other friend Kiku tried desperately to hush him, but it was too late.
"You are in a library, now act like it!" Miss Camille hissed sharply, as her hand made contact with the back of Alfred's head. Alfred flinched and ducked his head, trying to pout at her in what he thought was an adorable way. Gilbert failed at stifling his laughter, and Kiku merely looked contrite.
"Miss Camille almost never hears us," Alfred hissed impatiently as the librarian stalked away. "It's Friday the 13th at work!"
Gilbert rolled his eyes and lifted his feet to prop them on the table, but then thought better of it upon seeing Miss Camille glaring at him in a "If you do that I will be sure to make your life a misery" fashion.
"I think you are exaggerating, Alfred," Kiku said quietly, trying to get back to his studying.
Alfred frowned at him. "I am not! Guys, the date is clearly like, cursed or something!" He insisted.
Gilbert flicked his white hair out of his eyes and snickered at him obnoxiously. He stood up suddenly, making the other two look up at him in surprise.
"We'll test it," he proclaimed.
Alfred was confused for just a moment before his whole face lit up in surprise and glee. Gilbert was almost taken aback by how excited the blond looked – but then again, this was Alfred they were talking about. The man was pretty positive his idea of "testing" was not what Alfred was thinking about, though.
A mischievous grin split across his face. "I'm having a party tonight, my place. Come and we'll see if you end up lucky or not!" He winked and wiggled his eyebrows outrageously.
The American's expression fell faster than you can say "Gilbert is a lying asshole".
"That's not what I thought you meant!" He whined, while Kiku hid his smile behind his book. Gilbert shrugged noncommittally, rummaging through his pockets.
"Well, it's what I meant. Seriously, though, Jones, you better be there." With a flourish, he pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and slipped them on. Once his eyes were shaded, he fixed Alfred with a stern look. "Ten-thirty, my house, just bring your sweet ass and pills for the hangover in the morning! Oh, and you better be there too Honda. See ya!"
Gilbert's loud obnoxious laughter trailed after him as the man swaggered away, only to be cut off as he abruptly tripped over a chair and tumbled to the ground. With a garbled swear, the man jumped "awesomely" to his feet.
Alfred stared after him, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Friday the 13th, dude!"
"Fuck off, you're wrong!"
Miss Camille shot a glare at Alfred, who whisper-screamed it again. "Friday the 13th!"
But no matter how disappointed Alfred was that he wasn't going to actually do any testing, he still showed up at Gilbert's house that evening, to the man's drunken glee.
"Dude, I'm so awesome you came!" He crowed, grabbing Alfred and dragging him into his house.
"That didn't even make sense," Alfred complained, yet he let himself be manhandled inside.
The place was a wreck, as to be expected. Snacks and trash and socializing people were everywhere, the pounding dance music nearly deafening. The whole house reeked of alcohol, and Alfred wrinkled his nose as he shoved past a particularly sloshed girl.
"Yo, Ludwig's not gonna be happy with you," he said. Gilbert's older brother was a lawyer who was currently on vacation with his Italian lover, and he had entrusted the house to Gilbert. Even he hadn't thought it was a good idea.
"Eh, who cares," Gilbert called back at him, grabbing a handful of cheese puffs out of a bowl and chucking them at him. Alfred laughed and instinctively took the beverage someone shoved in front of him, before he took a closer look at it and gave it back. He didn't want to get drunk – especially not on German beer, thank you very much.
Weaving through the crowds of college students (Alfred was surprised he even knew that many people), Alfred scanned the faces and saw no familiar ones besides Gilbert's. He hurried closely after his friend until they reached the Beilschmidt's spacious living room, which was filled with people.
"Isn't this awesome?" Gilbert said loudly, mostly because he wanted to be loud.
Alfred shrugged. "Eh, it's okay. Not worth risking my life coming out here on Friday the 13th, but whatever."
Gilbert frowned at him and snatched someone's unopened soda off the table, winking at their loud protest and handing it to Alfred.
"Just let it go, bro," he drawled. "Maybe you'll get lucky! Hehe, come on, the boys are waiting."
"The Boys", as Gilbert referred to them as, were the other two members of their self-proclaimed Bad Touch Trio. Both Francis and Antonio were already out of school and Alfred often wondered how Gilbert had met them, but with these three, you didn't want to know.
And there they were, sprawled with their posse of friends on Gilbert's sofa. Francis had some random girl sitting on his lap, Antonia and Emma Peeters were snuggling in a sickeningly adorable fashion, and -
And holy shit.
Despite it being Friday the 13th Alfred was now thanking God for his luck, because there was empty space next to this guy and Alfred definitely wanted to sit next to this guy. If there was one word Alfred would pick to describe his look, it was dangerous, and it fit him to a tee.
Alfred wondered inanely if he ever got cold with all those holes in his black skinny jeans. To compliment them, he had on a black leather jacket and a white shirt advertising a band Alfred had never heard of, and a bandana that looked suspiciously like a flag. His hair was choppy and flopped over his left eye and was a strange yet appealing mix of muted green and ash blond, as if he was slowly letting it return to its natural color.
He was everything that the popular jock Alfred should have avoided and shunned, and damn if he didn't find it hot.
"Took you forever, mon ami," Francis drawled. Then his face lit up with the delighted glee of a drunk. "Oh! You brought a friend!" The Frenchman stretched his arms out wide. "Come, Alfred! Let me greet you in the proper manner that is befitting such a magnifique specimen such as yourself!"
Alfred was surprised that the man had been able to articulate that, instead of just saying "Get over here so I can grope you". His grin sparkled. "Nah, I think you've got your hands full," he sniggered as Francis' attention drifted to where his hands were and where they could be, namely on the girl on his lap.
A quiet chuckle snatched his attention and Alfred's blue eyes met startling green. Don't curse me, Friday the 13th, he thought. Mkay, Alfred. Start small.
"I like your hair."
The guy tilted his chin to flick said hair out of his eyes, and he raised one admittedly large eyebrow as his gaze raked Alfred down like one would inspect a car before they buy it, with unveiled interest. "Thanks," he replied, and oh god he was British, just my luck, all the hot ones are foreigners
The left side of his mouth twitched up into a lopsided smirk, and Alfred had the thought that it had the potential to become a beautiful smile. He lifted one hand and, eyebrow still quirked, gestured to Alfred's standing figure aimlessly. "I like... well, I like whatever you've got going on here," he said.
And didn't that stroke Alfred's ego, as a spark of desire licked down his spine. The guy was totally flirting back, he had to be; there was the little glimmer of defiance, the show me what you've got look that Alfred was oh-so-familiar with, albeit with much less eyelash fluttering. Which was nice.
Alfred grinned and strode over to drop onto the couch next to him. "I'm Alfred," he introduced although it was unnecessary and stuck his hand out.
The man took it, and Alfred was almost surprised by the strength in his grip. "Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."
"Well!" A voice interrupted them and Alfred glanced at all three smirking members of the Bad Touch Trio. Gilbert kicked his feet up onto the table. "Kirkland and Jones have hit it off. How sweet!"
"Francis shall be the wedding planner," Antonio chirped.
"I would be a great wedding planner," Francis pouted, causing the other two idiots to start reassuring him that yes, he would because he knew cream from eggshell white.
Alfred rolled his eyes and glanced to Kirkland, but his gaze was disrupted when Kirkland suddenly rose to his feet. He glanced up in confusion and definite disappointment. "Huh?"
"I'm not going to take any of your shit tonight," Kirkland declared. Then he grabbed Alfred's arm and dragged him to his feet, digging in his nails as if that would help the blond from losing his balance. Everybody looked on in drunken confusion and Alfred gaped as he said, "Now, if you'll excuse us, Jones and I are going to get to know each other."
Then he stalked off, dragging a fumbling Alfred behind him like a rolling suitcase. Eventually Alfred gained control enough over his balance to faintly try to pull away but it wasn't very strong. His desire to leave wasn't very strong.
Kirkland led them upstairs, dodging couples that seemed to be intent on swallowing each other's tongues on the way, and strolled into a guest bedroom where he closed the door, leaving them in silence.
Alfred wasn't sure if this was Friday the 13th at work or not, because he wasn't really sure what this situation entailed. "Um..."
Kirkland crossed the room and pulled out a chair, swinging around to sit in it backwards and lean against the back. He stared at Alfred almost boredly, but there was a hint of a smirk on his lips.
"Alfred F. Jones," he drawled, and Alfred wasn't sure if he liked how he had said it. "Who would've guessed..."
"Who would've guessed what?" Alfred bristled.
Kirkland didn't answer him, merely crooked a finger and beckoned to him.
Fuck. What the fuck is going on? Alfred thought, yet took a step forward nonetheless. He stopped there, hesitated in his confusion, and Kirkland threw his hands up in the air.
"Bloody hell," the man growled impatiently and got up, accidentally kicking his chair over as he stalked over to the stunned Alfred. Kirkland grabbed his collar and used that as leverage to simultaneously pull Alfred down and climb onto his tiptoes, their faces now desperately close to each other.
Then he smirked and whispered, "I'd prefer more of a hands-on approach," and kissed Alfred.
The bad luck that followed this date must have decided to give Alfred a break, for he was just now reflecting on how incredibly lucky he was that he was currently kissing this guy, and Kirkland was a great fucking kisser and he tasted of cigarette smoke and red tea and hints of German beer and it was sort of unappealing yet so so intoxicating. He shoved Alfred back against the wall and Alfred was only too willing to submit as he wrapped his arms around Kirkland and pressed back, feeling the heavy breathless haze drift over him.
And oh! There it was, his bad luck: the door opened.
Alfred broke away just in time to see a couple of girls at the door, clutching each other and giggling as they observed the scene, just before slamming the door and their footsteps stomped away. The spell broken, Alfred breathed heavily and rested his head against the wall.
"There goes my reputation," he muttered.
"What reputation?" Kirkland asked sardonically, just as breathless. He ran a hand through his colored hair and glanced up at Alfred, before kissing him again.
And Alfred was just getting back into it – Kirkland really was a great kisser – until god damnit, the door slammed open again.
"Well, well, what have we here?" Francis's drunkenly amused voice commented.
"Scheiße, never an image I wanted to have in my brain."
"Mis ojos!"
Kirkland broke away from him roughly, the full force of his acidic glare on the three men as Alfred fought to regain his breath. "You motherfuckers," he snarled. "Can't you ever leave me alone for once?" He grabbed Alfred's shirt in a fist and dragged him behind, shoving through the Bad Touch Trio and leading Alfred down the stairs angrily.
Alfred struggled to keep his balance as he was dragged through multiple crowds. "Hey, what's the idea?" he said loudly.
Kirkland glanced back at him sharply, taking a step back towards him so his quiet, vehement words were only audible to Alfred.
"I am going to find a quiet place to snog you if it kills me, Jones," he said. Then he resumed shoving through the crowds, and Alfred could do nothing but follow him, eyes bright.
And they tried. Oh, how they tried.
They tried the bathrooms and the many guest rooms and other random rooms and even Gilbert's pantry, which smelled like cake and sausage. Every single time, the two were interrupted or their ideas had been stolen by other couples seeking a bit of privacy.
Alfred was annoyed and unlucky and sexually frustrated. Eventually, he gave up.
"Come on," he shielded his eyes from the... interesting scene they had walked in on, tugging on Kirkland's sleeve to make him budge.
"Hmm, how does she get that flexible?" The man mused, making Alfred blush as he closed the door firmly and pulled him along. He shoved through people and out the front door, shuddering at the cold breeze that swept across his skin and ruffled his hair as he shut the door, leaving Gilbert's party behind.
Kirkland zipped up his leather jacket and arched an eyebrow at Alfred, green and blond hair stirred up by the wind. "Very creative solution, Jones. Get us arrested for public indecency. Then we'll be in a cell alone – ingenious."
Alfred blushed. "Shut up." He pulled Kirkland down the steps and towards his car, a really shitty two-door he had gotten for his eighteenth birthday from his parents, and all it ever did was stall and get really cold during the winter.
It was sort of embarrassing, seeing as Kirkland seemed more the type to ride a motorcycle or something really expensive, but it was private and that was all that mattered at this point.
"Very impressive," Kirkland drawled behind him. Alfred rolled his eyes and opened the door, sliding the passenger seat up before climbing in and flopping over onto his back, beckoning to Kirkland with an easy, confident smile.
Kirkland raised an eyebrow at him, then snorted. "Draw me like one of your French girls," he said, and Alfred laughed loudly even as the man climbed into the backseat next to him and slammed the door.
It was much different being alone with Kirkland in a cramped backseat of a silent car, compared to the buzzing noise of Gilbert's house. Alfred found his breath came a little quicker and his heart beat a little faster when Kirkland leaned over his figure.
Of course, Kirkland noticed this and a smirk spread across his face. "Nervous?"
"Of course not," Alfred said. His expression betrayed him and Kirkland scoffed, satisfaction gleaming in his emerald eyes as he pressed their lips together once again.
It was easy to kiss Kirkland, simple to open his mouth and let them mesh together seamlessly. Alfred found himself drifting away in the taste of cigarette smoke and cold friction of leather against his hands and the shifting of denim and the cold play of fingers beneath his shirt.
He hadn't meant to stare when they pulled apart to catch their breath, but he did.
Kirkland's features were breathtaking, to say the least although that may have just been Alfred; his jaw was strong and his cheekbones were high and his lips were almost feminine in their pinkness and his eyelashes swept softly across his porcelain skin and his eyes -
Oh, his eyes were staring at Alfred.
Alfred felt his face burn in embarrassment, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from Kirkland's, couldn't stop staring.
Finally Kirkland looked away, looked down in an almost shy way. "Like what you see?"
"Um, yeah," Alfred said honestly. "Otherwise I wouldn't be making out with you in the back of my car."
Kirkland chuckled and began to press a heavy trail of kisses and bites down Alfred's neck, and fuck if that wasn't one of his turn-ons. Alfred groaned lowly and tensed under him and Kirkland smirked and Alfred's glasses slipped off his nose and -
"Yeah-eah-ea-eah, it's a party in the USA!"
- and Alfred's phone went off.
"Damn my luck," he mumbled breathlessly and worked his hand into his back pocket, where he extracted his phone and threw it to the front seat. Miley Cyrus kept singing and Alfred took no notice as he whimpered and arched his back from Kirkland's ministrations.
The man broke away slightly to laugh at him. "Miley Cyrus, Jones?"
Alfred groaned. "I'm... proud to be an American."
"You're an idiot."
"Shut up and give me a hickey," Alfred muttered.
Kirkland chuckled again. "Gladly."
But Friday the 13th was firmly against them, by now. Kirkland had just pressed back into Alfred when muted music began to interrupt them, and it wasn't from Alfred's phone. Kirkland swore and reached into his pocket, flipping his phone open.
"… Is that... is your ringtone the Spice Girls?"
"Shut up, Jones," Kirkland muttered. Alfred laughed incredulously and admired the red flush that spread across the man's face as he checked his phone, until he suddenly paled and his expression became serious.
"I can't ignore this," he said, and Alfred was about to protest when Kirkland redialed and held the phone to his ear, looking worried. Alfred wondered what it was about when he began to speak.
"Hey, mum..." His eyebrows drew together, and Alfred reflected on how incredibly strange it was that Kirkland was still straddling him. "What?"
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he said, glancing down at Alfred. "And I was having fun."
Well, that was... nice to hear. It made Alfred flush and fidget, causing Kirkland to smirk even as he spoke. "Fine... yes, woman. Damn. I'll be there in a bit. Alright. Bye." And with that, he hung up and looked down at Alfred. "Well, that's unfortunate."
"It's probably Friday the 13th working against us," Alfred said vehemently. "That's probably why we couldn't find any other place. The bad luck is plotting against us to keep me from making out with you."
Kirkland quirked an eyebrow. "And why would it do such a thing?"
Alfred shrugged. "It's Friday the 13th. My day was absolutely horrible until you came along."
He blushed after he said it, as a surprised look came over Kirkland and he eyed Alfred carefully. "Is that so..." the man mused, before smirking. "Well, then, Jones. Maybe a day will come when your bad luck doesn't screw you over."
He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, unfurling a crumpled scrap of paper, wrote something on it with a pen and then abruptly slipped it into the waistband of Alfred's jeans, causing the blond to gasp.
Kirkland climbed off of him and opened the door, about to climb out when Alfred gathered his wits and stopped him.
"Um... where are you going? Can I give you a ride?" He offered.
Kirkland glanced back at him and rolled his eyes. "Don't push your luck," he smirked, and then winked and climbed out of Alfred's car, leaving the door open as he ambled down the sidewalk.
Alfred stared blankly for a moment before scrambling out of the car to watch him. He couldn't help the grin that split his face. "I'll call you!" He shouted.
Kirkland waved a hand at him, not looking back. "You'd better!"
Alfred grinned, watching him leave, and then closed the door of his shitty car, walking around to the driver's side. So he hadn't quite gotten lucky – but that hadn't been far off. And Kirkland was a damn good kisser.
He slid into the seat, closed the door, and turned his key.
Nothing.
Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Alfred tried again. This time the car started up, but after a moment of rumbling, it sputtered out.
He exhaled in frustration and leaned down to pick up his phone. The screen had cracked from the collision and the power button wouldn't work.
"God damn it, Friday the 13th!"
So. Hi. I'm alive.
Couple of updates: I've discovered that I really only can write USUK. Anyway, this past November I began to rewrite my epic fantasy pirate USUK thing, but its document came to a horribly tragic end through data corruption. It really sucks. Good news - the new draft is a lot better than the old draft.
More good news - I'm participating in WriYe 2014, with a goal of 350k words. This means I should be posting more fanfiction, and my ultimate goal is to finish Sky of Blue, Sea of Green so I can post it here. That thing is my baby.
Thanks for reading, and review if you'd like - constructive criticism is always welcome. Also, if you have a request for something, go ahead and PM me; I'm fighting to get my momentum moving again before 2014, so I'll see what I can do. :)