Arthur fumbled for his keys in bag. He was fuming with anger and desperate for being as far as it was possible from this blasted circus they've called world conference. After finally opening door to his apartment he discarded his jacket to coat hanger, cursing loudly as it missed and felt to the floor. Loosening his tie which was previously made into perfect Windsor knot he made his way to the kitchen. He was tired of keeping a stiff upper lip and the feeling of always being on verge of self-combustion while he was constant victim of Francis' maliciousness and Alfred's idiocy.
He looked through cabinets searching for his "calming tea". He stopped with his hand in mid-air.
"In fact what I need right now may not be to try stay calm but a release" he thought. It was ages since he was last on a good concert. He quickly opened his laptop and search for tonight entertainment. But sadly as lucky as he was none of the modern bands he could stand wasn't holding any show tonight. He sighted and walked to the shelf with his CD and vinyl collection.
"Better keep to classics" he thought picking one of 60s vinyl. The cover was almost unreadable but he smiled as he set the needle on the plate. Maybe it wasn't the hardest punk rock he had on his shelf but just what he needed right now. He turned up volume to almost maximum level. Just to keep any disposable thoughts out. As the first note resonated through apartment he went back to the kitchen to make some dinner for himself.
Minute after minute he was being immersed into music. He was shuffling frying pan by the handle to the rhythm. He was swaying his hips while he walked to the fridge, making spin while closing door. First he was humming. Next he was quietly singing. As he flipped half burned meat onto a plate and poured half of the vinegar bottle on in, the track changed. Arthur smirked recognising the song, remembering many nights he spend in 60s. Wild nights.
"I can't get no…" he turned off the oven.
"… satisfaction" he purred with Mick Jagger, almost throwing the plate on the table.
"'Cause I try" he whirled around, keeping his hands on the chair now behind him, "and I try" he bended his knees, "and I try" lower, "and I try!" his knees was now almost touching the ground.
"I can't get no!" he slide his hand up under his shirt. Few buttons snapped under pressure. "I can't get no!" he jumped to his feet, spun with chair in his one hand and sat on the table. He arched his back almost screaming while pouring his heart out with singer.
Alfred wasn't trying to peek. He went to England's apartment with papers from conference that the nation has forgotten. Just as he was going to knock he heard a voice. Someone was screaming with clearly British accent. At first he thought that the Englishman might have a company, but he quickly laughed that thought off, because Arthur was too "proper" to have some casual sex, at least not so loud. He knocked once and twice, but nobody answered, so he let himself in. He wasn't prepared for what he was about to see.
As he opened the door it became clear, that screaming was in fact singing to some weird old-fashioned British punk band. But it wasn't what got Alfred with jaw hanging. He saw England completely immersed in the song, jumping on his sofa, playing air guitar and doing… Wait? Was that sexual moves? Really?!
As he looked closer at Arthur's dishevelled form, his hair in more disarray that normally, face flushed and clothes rumpled he started to get uncomfortable. He felt as he was intruding, but he couldn't stop watching the stuck-up Brit acting so freely. Was Arthur always like this? Was he just acting proper? Was it what his "punk years", that France was always teasing England about, looked like?
He couldn't stop his imagination from going wild, giving him pictures of Arthur with green hair, matching his eyes, piercing in his eyebrows and lip, with even less and more tattered clo-…
"STOP! What am I even thinking?!" he mentally screamed at himself.
He watched the man little more and when the pause before the next song came he loudly cleared his throat. England spun around to the source of the sound so fast, that one could think he broke his neck. He made strange noise between screaming and yelping, and run with the speed of lighting to the gramophone, almost breaking the machine while ripping the vinyl from it. He then turn around to face America.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?!" he screamed at younger nation. This was a complete disaster. He was beyond embarrassed, and the fact that it was America that have found him like that was adding fuel to the fire.
"Pssss~ Awesome me came to give you your files. No need to yell at me old man" America smirked, not showing that he was at all bothered by the show he'd just watched.
"Then you should have at least minimum decency to knock and wait for me to let you in, you wanker!" Arthur was infuriated.
"Funny thing. You talk about decency, while you are running around room looking like one of Backstreet Boys" Alfred laughed pointing to England's almost bare chest and loose tie.
If Arthur's face would have gone any redder, it would. He couldn't stand looking at America's wide grin, while he himself felt humiliated like never in his long life.
"Wha- What?! Get out!" he yelled.
"Why? What did I-" Alfred asked shocked, holding his hands up.
"I've said – GET OUT!" Arthur ripped the folder, which Alfred was holding, from his hands. He pushed the nation out of apartment and slammed the door.
Getting back to reality, he sighted heavily and returned to the table, where his cold meal was waiting.
Alfred leaned his head on the door to Brit's apartment. Despite what he's told just a second ago, he couldn't stop feeling that Arthur was looking extremely sexy. He didn't know why he was even feeling like that, but he was sure of one thing – he wanted to see more of this side of Arthur. And he will make god damn sure of it!