AN: When I wrote this, I was watching Burlesque. I absolutely love that movie- I really do. The cookie scene was the best, do I had to do it with my babies. It was necessary.
So, enjoy yourselves and let's see what becomes of our dorks, yes?
Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia or Burlesque. Nope.
Cookies
It was the annual party for the countries and all of the personified versions of the countries were partying together at a club. It had been America's idea of course, and it was a great one. Many countries were there (no humans were allowed)- with the exception of a few middle eastern ones and Russia- but otherwise most everyone came.
Some countries needed convincing, like Japan for instance, but he ended up coming anyway. Mostly because of America's convincing argument- "C'mon Kiku, there'll be free sake!" -Alcohol wins the battle yet again. The party was held in America, of course, at one of the more prominent clubs in LA that the American had rented out just for this occasion.
A certain green-eyed Briton was currently alone at the bar, watching the other countries dance their drunken asses off. It was honestly amusing and gave England quite the laugh. Currently, a drunken Spain and France were dancing together to a flamenco-type dance and were butchering it greatly.
If Spain had been sober, he would have fainted from how badly they were dancing. The Briton took a sip of his second piña colada as he watched, an amused smirk upon his face. He glanced around as he subconsciously searched for the bane of his existence - America. Alfred F. Jones.
Arthur spotted him half-way across the room, talking animatedly with Lovino, who honestly just looked pissed off at the world. The Briton didn't know how the two countries could be friends- they were polar opposites for crying out loud! But somehow, Alfred managed to get along with most everyone. He even tried to get along with Arthur, but of course, the Englishman never would let him. When Alfred's gaze met his, Arthur quickly looked away and drank some more of his drink. It was looking really appealing right now.
Despite his inner pleas, - oh God, don't let him come over here, oh please - America made his way over to where England sat, a bottle of champagne in his right hand. Ultra fancy stuff. Half of the bottle was empty, so he had obviously been drinking a lot; A feat that was unusual for him. He had a nice buzz going on, that's for sure.
"Heya! Iggy!" Alfred said as he walked up to him, his arms spread wide for a hug which was ultimately rejected by the sober Englishman. "Heaven Above, Jones," he sneered, placing his drink down. "I have not had enough to drink to be able to deal with you and your-" he paused and frowned. "How much have you had to drink, Alfred?" His "motherly" senses were coming on again. America, despite being a country, was honestly so young still.
Alfred stared at the bottle with a slightly slurred laugh and showed it almost proudly to the other. "Uhhh... Like... Like.. like halfa bottle British dude! Ahahaha- this is such fancy shit, man, you've gotta try it!" His words were kind of slurred together. Was America really that light of a drinker?
England's eyes narrowed and he quickly swiped the bottle away. "All right, I think that you've had quite enough, America." He said in a firm tone, placing the bottle of champagne. "Nooooooo!" America protested childishly, reaching for the bottle, only to be blocked by England himself. "You're drunk, Jones."
"I'm nyot drunk, how daare you, Iggay!" The sunny blonde slurred, a pout gracing his lips. Arthur raised a delicate eyebrow. "Oh really? Walk in a straight line. Go on. If you can do it, I'll give you the bottle back." This was bizarre to England.
Normally America would be the one trying to take away his drink, not the other way around. America got a determined look on his face and he tried to walk across one of the lines on the patterned floor, failing miserably. He might not have been the drunkest person, but he was drunk. A cute drunk. Arthur quickly shook the thought away. No. Not cute.
England sighed exasperatedly and stood up, grabbing the other's arm. "Come on, Jones, I'm taking you home." He began to pull the American toward the front door of the club. America protested of course, but if he had really wanted to stay, he could have pulled away.
"But but Iggy, this is my party!" He protested. England rolled his eyes. "What would you Americans say? 'Screw' your party," he said in a slight mocking tone, "You are letting me take you home, you daft, drunk idiot and there's nothing that you can do about it." His word was final. Absolute. And even drunk, America knew that there was no way that he'd change the other's mind.
So England practically dragged America to his car- an older Mercedes that looked as new as the day it was bought. It was a rental, since they were in America, but England had always liked to drive in style.
"Get in and buckle up," he ordered, getting in the car himself and starting it up. America opened the car door and got in on the passenger side. He closed the door and started fumbling with the seatbelt. "Damned round holes," He muttered senselessly as England buckled himself up. When he saw the American and his fumbling, England huffed and buckled the seat belt for him. "Honestly, you're hopeless, Jones."
With that said, Arthur started the car and drove off, following the main highway to Alfred's home. If he remembered correctly, the American owned at least one house in each state of his- so he owned over fifty.
Luckily, Arthur had been to this one before (for some other party or another?) and remembered the way. "America, what in God's name possessed you to get this drunk?" Arthur asked as he drove, keeping one eye on the road and one eye on the American next to him.
Alfred seemed to ignore him and turned up the radio to the station that Arthur had been listening to earlier. The drunken sunny blonde grinned when one of his favorite songs came on. "Artie- this is mah freakin' jamm!" He shouted as he turned it up and began to sing at the top of his lungs.
"EVERY ROSE HAS IT'S THORN! JUST LIKE EVERY NIGHT HAS IT'S DAAAAAAAAWWWWWWN! JUST LIKE EVVVEERRY COWBOY SINGS A SAD SAD SONG! EVERY ROSE HAS IT'S-"
Arthur groaned lightly, wanting to cover his ears. Alfred wasn't a good singer when he was drunk. Before the American could sing more, he shut off the radio with a curt, "Shut up, America."
America pouted but didn't reach for the radio again. Instead, he simply crossed his arms and slumped down in his seat for the rest of the ride home. England sighed inwardly with relief- he was glad for the silence. The American was as annoying as they came. Soon he pulled up to America's home.
It was the typical 'American Dream' type house on the outside. Perfectly white- two stories, red door, a few bay windows and a perfectly maintained yard. The driveway was empty since America's car (a green Jeep that he had named 'Artie' just to annoy the Brit) had been left at the party, so Arthur parked his rental car in the driveway, got out and proceeded to help Alfred out of the car, since he knew that if he didn't help, the sunny blonde would probably hurt himself or something.
Arthur brought the drunken American to his front door and reached in the other's front pocket to grab his keys. He knew the American all too well- he was cocky enough to keep his keys in his front pocket. Heh, heh cocky.
The Brit swiftly unlocked the door and pulled his companion into the house, turning on the light and closing it behind them. "Okay Alfred, off to bed." He ordered, crossing his arms.
America pouted. "But I ain't tired, Iggy." He protested, his glasses slowly slipping off of his face. England huffed. "I don't care if you aren't tired, Alfred. Bed. Now." When more whines came from the other, he sighed. "Honestly, you're still as immature as ever. I remember how hard it was to get you to go to bed when you were little too." And he'd do just what he had to do when the other was a colony.
Arthur promptly picked Alfred up and carried him down the hall to the American's bedroom. Alfred screeched dramatically, a bit stunned that the other could pick him up. Perhaps Arthur was stronger than other people made him out to be. "Oh shush, you git," Arthur scolded him as he pushed the door to Alfred's room open, carrying him inside and tossing him onto the bed.
"Now for goodness sake, go to sleep, Alfred! I will be here in the morning to nurse your hungover arse, but until then, good night!" And with that said, England promptly left America's room and walked back to the living room and sat on the couch.
There were a few minutes of peace before America walked out into the living room wearing a pair of fuzzy pajamas with space cowboys on it. Arthur looked stunned at the childish pajamas. Really? Space cowboys?
An amused smile appeared on his face. "Alfred, what the bloody hell are you doing?" He couldn't even be mad- this was just funny.
Alfred stretched and yawned as if feigning tiredness. "I forgot to lock the door," he said simply, walking over to the front door and turning both locks to the 'locked' angle. "Can't leave the house unlocked! All kindza bad seeds here." Was his explanation. He then proceeded to waddle back to his room, throwing a "good night, Iggy" over his shoulder.
Arthur let out a small laugh when the other had disappeared from sight. How ridiculous could the other get? And just when he thought the hilarity was over, Alfred walked back out. He had stripped off his pajama top so his broad and well sculpted chest was revealed. Arthur found himself staring at it, a light blush appearing on his face.
The American was pompous, but he had a damn good body. He quickly cleared his throat and looked away. "A-ahem... What... What now, Alfred? I thought that you were going to sleep?"
Alfred walked by, a slight grin on his face. "Thirsty," he offered as an explanation. "Water- wouldn't wanna have a huge hangover tomorrow!" He walked to the kitchen and came back out with a cup filled with water.
Arthur kept his lecherous gaze away from the other. He's drunk. Don't even think about jumping him, Arthur. Stay the fuck down. "Good-night Iggy, again!" Alfred said before he retreated into his room once again, shutting the door with a subtle 'click'.
"...good night again." Arthur sighed in relief and leaned back against the couch, hoping to finally be able to relax. There wouldn't be another reason for the American to come out, right? He was proven wrong when a few moments later, Alfred walked back out, past the other.
When Arthur looked after him, all he saw was Alfred's bare back and the delightful curvature of the American's bare ass. The Briton's face flushed a bright red as he grabbed the nearest pillow and buried his face in it. "ALFRED!" He screeched, blushing profusely as the other walked back in.
"I was hungry," Alfred said. When Arthur peeked out from the pillow, he saw Alfred standing there, eating from a box of cookies. Said box of cookies was oh so conveniently covering his junk so that Arthur couldn't see it.
Alfred ate a cookie and wiggled his eyebrows at Arthur. "Wanna cookie, Artie?" He pointed the box toward the other suggestively.
England's lecherous mind only went to his dirty thoughts and he quickly shook his head. "No..no thanks." He replied shakily, covering his now bleeding nose.
How tempted he was to take that offer! Didn't the American realize what he did to him? Alfred grinned slyly and walked back toward his bedroom.
"Well- if ya change your mind, ya know where I am." He simply said before he retreated into his bedroom once again. His voice had been husky- almost longing.
Arthur sat there in utter silence before he groaned lightly and bit his lip. He'd be a fool not to take the bait. He'd probably never get another opportunity like this again. So with a blush still on his face, he quickly shot off of the couch.
"W-wait, Alfred, I'm coming!" He yelled before he followed the American into the bedroom where a long night awaited him.