AN: Both nation and human names used. Humor/Romance. Apologies for any OOC-ness. (America is also a bit of a-OKAY, he is kind of a complete and total moron in this—apologies—I do love you Alfred, you're just too fun to mess with.)
Characters: England/Arthur/Iggy/Angleterre; Prussia/Gilbert/Gil/Prusse; America/Alfred/Al/Amérique; Canada/Matthew/Mattie/Birdie; France/Francis/Frog
Relationships: Established USUK/UKUS (main couple focus), Established PruCan, mention of GerIta.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia (obviously, since my precious little OTPs haven't tied the knot yet). I also do not own Star Wars, James Bond, Shark Week or Subarus.
Rated M: Because there is some light Yaoi (boys love/boyXboy) but in later chapters it will be LOTS of Yaoi. Also some drinking and language because—well, England, Prussia and France (need I say more?) Even America drops a few swear words.
As for the title...I like puns…so sue me. Reviews are appreciated! Reviews are love!
An UnBEARable Slight
Arthur and Gilbert sat on the couch watching the pile of camping equipment grow before their eyes. It was an impressive collection; both nations had to admit at least that much. To be honest, neither of them were quite sure exactly where their respective boyfriends managed to store so many tents, hiking boots and kerosene lanterns. How many sleeping bags did one nation need anyway?
"Why do you have eight different sleeping bags a piece?" England voiced the question going through both his and Prussia's minds.
"Because they're all awesome!" America pumped his fist in the air and grinned. "Look," he grabbed one out of the mounting pile, "this one looks like a Wampa!" Alfred shook his Star Wars themed sleeping bag at Arthur's face, not noticing that the blonde Brit was scowling even deeper than before. He dealt with Alfred's Star Wars obsession on a daily basis after all. He also knew that this particular sleeping bag stayed in America's room so he could curl up inside every time he watched Empire—No way would the energetic nation bring his 'snuggle bag' on a camping trip.
"What's a Wampa?" Prussia cocked his head to the side and looked at the American quizzically.
"No," England rolled his eyes interrupting, "You don't want to know. We neither of us want to know. Please for the love of God, do not explain Alfred." America let out a small sigh and placed his precious Wampa sleeping bag back on the floor.
All three nations jumped as a throat cleared behind them, turning to see the source of the noise. "Good heavens Matthew, how long have you been there?" Arthur questioned.
"Yeah dude," America chimed in. "You can't just sneak up on people like that."
"I've been here the whole time Alfred," Canada sighed. "You just forgot…like usual."
"Nah, I could never forget my little bro," America insisted.
"But you did," Gilbert pointed out. "You even asked me ten minutes ago where Mattie had gone and he was standing right next to you handing you a tent."
"Oh yeah," America scratched his head and looked at his brother. "Sorry bro, won't happen again."
"Sure," Canada mumbled. He then turned to England and stated, "To answer your question Arthur—I can't speak for Al—but I have different bags for different climates and activities. Like that one," he pointed toward a light blue bag, "is for temperatures below freezing. And that one," he picked out a bright red sleeping bag, "is super light so I can take it hiking or canoeing without adding too much weight."
"Oh," England raised his large eyebrows and looked appraisingly at Canada. "That is actually quite sensible."
"Birdie is great with the outdoors!" Prussia crowed with pride.
"Mine are useful too!" America broke back into the conversation and sent a small glare at his brother as he picked through his various sleeping bags, most of them adorned with super heroes.
"Yes, yes, Alfred, I'm sure they are," England sighed. "So when exactly are you chaps going to come home?"
"Just a quick three-day trip I think," Canada responded. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"
"Yeah Iggy," America brightened. "Please come with us! It'll be so fun—you'll love it!"
"No," England snapped.
"Nein," Prussia agreed. "I've spent too much time sleeping on the ground and in the cold during my life."
"Exactly," Arthur nodded toward his friend. "I think both Gilbert and I would prefer to stay here—where there are pubs and heat and comfortable beds."
"And beer," Prussia smiled.
"I believe I covered that with the 'pubs,' you twit," England elbowed the white-haired nation next to him, but they both laughed good-naturedly.
Prussia stood and slung his arm around Canada's broad shoulders, "Don't you worry about us Birdie. Arthur and I have a whole weekend to do whatever we want. It will be awesome!"
America laughed, "Yeah Mattie, don't worry about 'em. They're just too old to keep up with us!"
Both Prussia and England looked a bit surprised at America's little jab, but neither country did anything beyond a quick side glance at each other. The look went un-noticed by both of the younger nations as Alfred continued laughing, and surprisingly Matthew joined in.
"Must be hard," America kept going. "Seeing the world pass you by cause you're too busy gardening and knitting and playing instruments and doing other weird old people things."
"There's nothing wrong with playing instruments," Prussia shot a glare at the tall American.
"And there is most certainly nothing wrong with gardening," England insisted. "You know you enjoy sitting in the garden."
"That's not all I enjoy doing in the garden," America winked saucily at his lover whose eyebrows shot up so high they practically disappeared—which was quite a feat in itself.
"Don't feel bad Iggy," Alfred kept grinning, not picking up on the slow simmer of tension in the room. "It's not your fault you guys can't keep up with us—what did you call me last week—'whippersnappers." Canada and America both burst out laughing as England sputtered and insisted "I said no such thing!"
"Yeah I guess you're right Al," Canada chuckled quietly. "Those 'comfortable beds' you mentioned Arthur—doesn't have anything to do with an aging back, does it?"
America guffawed and grabbed England from behind, wrapping his large arms around his boyfriend's narrow shoulders. He placed a quick kiss on England's neck and smiled at his brother saying, "Probably. Iggy's all obsessed with his 'perfect mattress' and his neck massager."
Despite his mounting irritation, Gilbert couldn't resist that opening and Arthur's face went bright red as Gilbert snorted and said, "I doubt it's a neck massager." This caused all three nations to burst into laughter as England pushed America away roughly, his eyebrows knit together as he shouted, "You insufferable brat!"
"Ah, Iggy, you know I'm just teasing you," America captured his Brit once more and nuzzled into his neck. England didn't push his lover away, but he stood stock still with his arms at his sides to deny any satisfaction toward America's attempts at forgiveness. The longer Alfred held on, running kisses up his neck, the more Arthur's resolve shrank and he ended up mumbling under his breath; "It's fine you blasted git. Just stop—stop! Damnit Alfred." America spun him around and England let himself get lost in their kiss.
The British nation despised public displays, however, they were in a private residence, so it wasn't exactly 'public.' Canada and Prussia had to be used to Alfred's wandering hands by now considering that the two of them had been together for decades. Canada had actually walked in on them a few years ago—not that either America or England remembered it happening. Canada did though. He remembered.
Arthur felt Alfred's hands in his hair pulling him closer to the larger man's chest. England couldn't help himself and let out a small moan, and gripped America's shoulders tightly. He loved kissing America. No matter what idiotic, or hurtful thing that came out of the boy's mouth England could never resist him for long. He could feel Alfred pushing him back toward the wall which he hit quicker than he planned. America lifted his arms holding them against the wall behind Arthur, effectively pinning England into position, never once breaking the contact of their lips.
In the back of his mind, Arthur thought about stopping. But that was ridiculous. America was leaving for three whole days. He should at least get a goodbye kiss.
"Um, Al?" Canada attempted to break up the incredibly steamy encounter going on in his living room. It brought back memories he didn't need. No one needed to see their brother getting a blowjob. Canada shuddered and tried again. "Please," he requested. "We should really be going soon."
Shooting a look at his own boyfriend who was watching in amusement, Canada smacked Prussia across his ass with the gloves he was holding. Prussia immediately turned toward Canada with a lascivious grin on his face, but was shut down by Matthew with a mere look. Pointing at the kissing nations across the room Matthew looked at his lover and hissed, "Please stop them before it gets weirder."
"America!" Prussia shouted, jolting the two entwined nations out of their momentary interlude.
"Oh god," England muttered, his face going a deep pink.
America was completely unfazed and just grinned at the other two before winking, "The hero needed a goodbye kiss." He grabbed Arthur's lips for one more kiss and pulled away from the wall, grabbing the bag that Matthew had finished packing for him. "Ready bro? We're losing daylight," America laughed as though he hadn't been the hold up.
"Watch out for bears," Prussia sarcastically warned, still a little hurt by the American's earlier jabs.
Giving a snarky little salute to Gilbert and blowing a kiss to the still red and sputtering Arthur, Alfred was out the door.
Canada shook his head chuckling. His brother was insane. He loved him, but America was insane. "You shouldn't tease him about bears Gil," Canada smiled, "I'm the one who is going to have to deal with him freaking out at every single noise during the night." Gilbert simply grinned, letting the Canadian know that his description was the exact scenario that the Prussian was hoping for. Smiling and reaching over, Matthew pulled Gilbert into a tight squeeze and gave him a soft kiss on the lips before following his older brother out the door.
"Well," England huffed as soon as the door was closed. "Look at this mess they've left behind!"
Prussia grinned at him, "Yeah, it used to piss me off, but I think I'm getting more chill in my 'old age' as those two jerks would say. West always wanted everything super clean and I guess it rubbed off on me. But," Prussia shrugged, "If I freaked out every time Birdie tracked mud or snow or leaves into the house I'd lose my verdammt mind. Kid's a disaster. Don't even get me started on that weird bear of his—did you know he trained it to use a litter box? Creepy."
Immediately England's head swiveled a bit, he had forgotten about Canada's miniature polar bear. "Yes well," the island nation stuttered a bit, "We should probably get this cleaned up for them."
"Leave it," Prussia waved his hand dismissively. He squinted a bit at England who was now peering intently out the window as though he was weighing something in his mind. Setting his jaw, Prussia decided to go for it. "England?" he questioned.
"Yes? What?" England looked at him a bit caught off guard.
Prussia decided that it would be best to just dive right in, no beating around the bush. "Were you as pissed as I was about the whole 'old men' thing?"
England's eyes narrowed, "Yes."
"I mean, I know they're joking," Prussia began. "But sometimes…" the former nation trailed off.
"Sometimes it still hurts," England finished. "Yes, I know. Alfred is always bringing up my age. Mostly just in fun. Sometimes I take the bait and we end up in a screaming match, which is always pleasantly resolved." England and Prussia both grinned at what the Brit was insinuating. "Other times I ignore him and remember that it just means I have done a whole lot more than that little brat." Arthur smiled a little. Each nation was well aware that England was using the word 'brat' as a term of endearment.
"Yeah, I guess," Prussia murmured.
England knew that if he didn't distract the albino soon that he would have a depressed nation on his hands who would spend the rest of the night moaning about how he didn't have a capital any longer. Drunk Prussia was always fun; Excited Prussia could be dangerous; and Mischievous Prussia usually ended up with bench warrants—But Depressed Prussia was not something that England (or any other nation for that matter) enjoyed or wanted to see.
"Well," he attempted, "What would you like to do now—we have three days with no 'babysitting.'" Awkward as usual, England's attempt at humor fell a bit flat. Prussia just stared at him for a beat before pulling his phone out and holding the screen out toward Arthur.
"Guess what?" Prussia asked. He didn't even wait for a response from the blonde before continuing. "Francis just texted. He's in town and wants to hang out."
"Bloody hell," England groaned. "I'd rather watch Alfred toss my tea into the ocean again than see that stupid Frog."
"Seriously?" Prussia actually looked surprised.
"No, not really," England grumbled, looking at the ground. "That was very expensive and delicious tea and he should not have done such a thing! It was really very—"
Cutting off his friend, Gilbert held up both of his palms. "Okay, let's change the subject," he gave a half-hearted laugh. Prussia was well aware of how England was—the two were friends after all. If England knew the former nation had a soft spot about his land being dissolved, then Prussia knew how England felt about his former empire.
He knew that once the ball was rolling on the Revolutionary War—or as Arthur referred to it after six shots of rum as, "That Stupid Ungrateful Wanker's Hurtful and Inappropriate Break-Up With Me!"—there would be no talk of anything else for the rest of the night. And most likely, England would cry. Prussia didn't like crying. Crying was not awesome and a real downer.
"Anyway," Prussia motioned for England to follow him as he wandered into the kitchen. "He's at this great little place down the street that Birdie and I like so maybe we could meet up with him." Prussia filled a glass with something from a decanter on the counter as Arthur braced his shoulder against the doorway to the kitchen. "We do need dinner," Gilbert continued. "You know, neither of us are the best cooks; and I'm a bit out of practice since Italy moved in with my brother."
The change of venue worked enough that England blinked and accepted the glass that Prussia handed him without question, ignoring the mention of his prowess in the kitchen. "Doesn't it get a bit rote eating pasta all the time though?" he questioned, raising the glass to his lips.
"Hell no! That crazy little guy is amazing with food!" Prussia exclaimed. "I mean, for a moment I thought it might since no meal is really complete without some sausage," the white-haired man winked. "But no. Everything he makes is delicious."
It may have been the Prussian's comment, or his saucy wink, but England was pretty sure the culprit was the drink unexpectedly burning his throat, when he coughed and sputtered out the amber liquid.
"What the bloody hell was that?!" Arthur exclaimed.
"Bourbon," Prussia stated simply. "Birdie keeps it around for Alfred, I thought it might loosen you up a bit."
"Wha—What!" England's bright green eyes opened wide in shock.
Gilbert's laugh echoed off the walls of the kitchen. "You should see your face!" he crowed. "I just figured it would help…since France should be here—" he paused as the doorbell chimed—"Now!"
Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes as Gilbert ran to the front door and let the blonde Frenchman into the house. 'Well, nothing to lose,' Arthur sighed and downed the entire glass. He hated bourbon—it was common and tasted of burning—but he despised being sober around Francis. When he was three sheets to the wind, the froggy wine bastard was slightly more tolerable.
Oozing into the room, France smiled prettily at England and did a little finger wave saying, "Oh, Angleterre, it is so wonderful to see you—it has been too long."
England rolled his eyes again and went to refill his empty glass. "Really Francis?" he growled. "We saw each other yesterday."
"Oh, oui," Francis winked at both England and Prussia. "I forgot about our little meeting."
"It was a World Conference. All the nations were there!" England snapped. "I don't like you insinuating that it was a private meeting between the two of us!"
"Oui, I do not care for that insinuation either mon ami," France nodded, seeming, for a moment, to be serious. But only for a moment. "I would prefer it to be a fact." He let out a small giggle as England clenched his hand into a tight fist.
"Ah, don't piss him off too quickly France," Prussia clapped his old friend on the back. "He's already mad that you're here and Al will have my balls if Arthur isn't in one piece when he and Birdie get home."
France waved his hand airily and smiled, "No worries my friend. Angleterre adores me."
England's response was to growl angrily and down another full glass of bourbon. He actually was feeling quite good at the moment despite France…breathing.
"Now," France turned to Prussia, "I know I suggested meeting at that charming little bistro earlier but I have a better idea. I will cook for both of you here!"
Gilbert's eyes lit up. He loved having people cook for him and if it couldn't be his wonderful Birdie and his delectable pancakes or his brother's 'little Italy,' then France was an excellent backup. "Ja!" he exclaimed. "That sounds wunderbar! What do you think England?" Both nations turned toward the Brit who looked a bit bleary and just smiled and made an odd little dip of his head. France and Prussia recognized the signs. England was well on his way to being incredibly drunk.
Random Vocab:
Nein—No; Verdammt-Damn; Angleterre—England; Oui—Yes; Mon ami—My Friend; Wunderbar—Wonderful
AN: I like to think of England and Prussia being buddies. They would kind of have to be if they were dating the North American bros. They probably spend a lot of holidays together. That's why I have a headcanon that both of them are well aware of the other's 'hot spots' or 'touchy subjects' if you will, and know how to diffuse their melancholy or ranting quite well.
I also ship USUK so hard it may break my heart, however I don't automatically dismiss FrUk at all. I don't like to think of France as a douchey ex—more along the lines as "maybe we hooked up back in the day, who knows how serious it was, and we've known each other for centuries" and that they're more like frenemies who may have occasionally boned and that France likes to annoy the crap out of England for fun. I think France and England really do care about each other, just not romantically any longer. Although I have read some damn good FrUk fics…I will admit that.
:) Hope you enjoy! Chapter 2 is coming soon!