Insert A/Ns here, blah blah: " " "

yeah I procrastinated for nearly two or so years. Might be longer. Writing is fucking hard, and I realize this now. No one has beta'd this yet so forgive me for the super bad errors and the super short chapter. I hope it doesn't lead to that from here on.

EDIT: A Huge thanks to Verlerious for being my new AND official beta girl from here on. hope i'm not being too harsh. i know there have been some of you who have been wanting to beta my chapters as making it a naughty excuse to read the chapters before the other readers do. ANYWAY check out Verlerious' fanfictions as well. She's great. And please don't ask her dumb questions that's already been answered in her story. Just... don't be dumb.

Axis Powers-Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya (fuck my life)

BFFF: Love Will Make it Certain

-'Fuck Favors'-

00000000

"Super Heroes Verses Super Villains."

"We did that last year."

"Oh, yeah..."

"What about Cops and Robbers?"

"We did that also. Four times during the following year in fact."

"Cowboys and Indians."

"Cowboys I don't see a problem. But wouldn't it be offensive to dress as Indians, seeing how none of us are Native American?"

"Lance is half Native American."

"I am... but still. Don't fucking do that."

Companies like International Club of Men, a male strip club, took their work seriously. Passionately. They would go out of their way to satisfy each and every customer if possible. They would also have weekly mandatory meetings to make the club so successful it would even make Macy's go out of business.

"CandyLand."

"Aw, hell naw. Y'all ain't gonna catch me wearing candy stripe tights and a fucking cherry on my bald head."

"Shit, I wish America were here. He was good coming up with new themes for the club."

They would go so far in their career that they refused to end the meeting until they came up with a perfect theme for the next event. Mr. America, the former male stripper, was brilliant with the best ideas and the best plans to keep ICOM alive. Since he left six months ago, the excitement was bland. The customers were restless. The dancers' tips were stacked high enough to purchase a pack of bubble gum at the ninety-nine cent store. Things were not looking up for the crew. They needed help, and quick.

"Fellas, c'mon," the manager and founder of the joint bellowed. He was frustrated after being stuck for an hour and a half inside the closed club with his best men. The air condition was on, and without a crowded room, it would get uncomfortably cold. He was ready to leave. Even though he was in his early forties, he was a highly attractive dark skinned male. Tall, lean, and wearing his favorite short sleeve shirt to show off his incredible muscles. He was once a stripper in his early years. Kwamba Mtu was his stage name. His real name was still unknown to his coworkers. He liked it better that way since he was always a mystery to his customers. It wasn't long before he settled down with a lovely wife, his twins of two months, and a pair of Rottweiler pups. He had been sharing his wisdom and knowledge of stage performing to his younger co-workers ever since.

Kwamba pressed his face into his palms. Though massaging the tension off was bliss it didn't make things better. Shit was going to hit the fan if they didn't come up with a fucking theme for this coming weekend. "We've been doing alright long before Alfred became part of the team. He's doing his own thing, now."

"And we've been much better since Alfred was part of the team," Ying added.

"Boss," Ying's twin Yang spoke, "it really couldn't hurt to just give him a call an-"

"Forget the damn call, Yang," the boss objected pointing his finger directly at his coworker like he was a dog getting ready to take a piss on the carpet. "We need to do this on our own. We can't count on him. It just wouldn't be fair."

The men grew quiet.

Kwamba reached behind him fluffing the heart shaped pillow before settling back on the comfy, leather couch. He rested his ankle on his knee, placed his laced fingers on his stomach, and cleared his throat looking at them all. "Okay then..."

Silence still greeted the room.

The owner sighed rotated the thumb ring a few times. No talking. Everyone's brains were a total blank. Kwamba clenched his teeth with anger. He held out his hand. "Someone give me my damn phone."

With no hesitation, Ying dashed to the bar and fetched the owner's smart phone and tossed it to him.

Kwamba caught it and immediately scanned through the screen for a specific phone number. "This don't make us selfish punks right?" he asked. "Just this one fucking favor, and after that we're on our own... right?"

The crew silently nodded agreeing.

"'Man-squerade.' Has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?"

Kwamba slowly looked up from his phone at the entrance followed by the other club members.

The new voice who spoke from the doorway approached them. It was almost as if a light was haloing around him being the answer to the club's prayers. The person grinned adjusting his glasses. "Of course we could add a little bondage to it," he continued, "seeing how most of us are into that kind of thing."

"Holy shit!" both Ying and Yang cried out in unison.

"Alfred?" Kwamba said carefully making sure he wasn't going crazy even though the other members were seeing the man in front of him as well.

The blonde man stood straight, heels together, giving them a perfect salute. "ICOM member number 50! Mr. America at your service! Well... for a few days at least."

All members including the owner sprang from the couches and crowded the former member, patting his back, giving him high fives and daps, and even warm hugs. Kwamba looked around realizing he hadn't seen the crew this happy and excited in months. Since Mr. America joined the club he had brought the whole team together. Before he joined most of the crew had beef against one another. Some were even jealous with each other. Something about Mr. America's free spirit, personality, and vibes made the crew forget that they couldn't stand one another. Kwamba had to admit. Because of Alfred, his club was a whole lot better with him around.

"Man, you said you weren't sure when you'd come back," said Demarcus, elbowing the blonde man in the ribs.

Alfred grinned, rubbing his ribs slightly. "I wasn't," he replied. "Thanks to a friend of mine I was talked into coming back for a visit."

"Ah-ha! To spend some quality time with your English king I see!" Demarcus elbowed him once more while the others were in a fit of snickers.

Mr. America face fell slightly for a second before he laughed at his crew, giving Demarcus a slight punch on the shoulder. Kwamba caught the blonde's expression.

"So," spoke Leroy with a grin, "the guy who was a V.I.P. guest that you were all grinding up on is your boo, huh?" The other members all looked at Alfred, waiting for an answer.

"I never would have passed you off as being gay, man," spoke another member, Joshua. He held up his hands in defense. "Not like there's nothin' wrong with that. I mean... you don't act-"

"Not every gay guy is feminine, Joshua," Ying defended. "And what does it matter?"

"Hey, man. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying."

"So are you bisexual?" Yang interrupted.

Alfred blushed adjusting his glasses feeling all eyes on him. "Technically, yeah," he answered. "At... the time I didn't know I felt that way towards men. Arthur-he..." the blonde chuckled slightly looking down. "Even if he were a woman I'd still love him..."

More members were talking all at once until Kwamba broke through the crowd and whistled loudly to quiet them. "Alright, fellas! At ease," he cried, pushing a few members to the side. "We got our theme: 'Man-squerade!' I want you guys to brain storm and come up with last minute things we need to set up this club. Ya'll can reunite with Mr. America later." The owner patted the blonde on the back slightly while gesturing his head to the back of the club that lead to his office. Alfred followed him happy to get away from the curious mob.

The owner unlocked the door letting the blonde inside first. This would probably be at least Alfred's sixth time seeing his office, and nothing really changed. Kwamba loved velvet things, from the carpet to his personal recliner in the corner of his room. The blonde could still remember when he was first interviewed. There was the slight smell of the cherry wood walls mixed with ferns that had been properly taken care of. There was a fireplace covered in different small African theme statues, oil paintings of African women, and the bookshelf that was filled with mostly sci-fi and fantasy stories and very little politics and biographies. That made the blonde chuckle every time.

"Ah," Alfred grinned going over to the desk and picking up a small picture frame of his old boss with his wife and two new born twins at the hospital. "This is new. They're really beautiful, dude."

"It's funny how life changes you," Kwamba replied offering his old employer a seat before going around his desk and sitting. "Those three girls are my world. Wouldn't give them up for nothing."

"Yeah. Life is funny." Alfred was still staring at the photo but appeared to be deep in thought.

The owner stared at the former dancer carefully. "There's nothing wrong with being gay, man."

Alfred broke away from his trance and stared at Kwamba. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, I..." the owner began, sitting up a bit to make himself comfortable, "I hope the fellas didn't make you feel uncomfortable. My brother... when he came out and told me and my parents things just weren't the same. I still love my big brother. Mom and pop though..." Kwamba reached over and took the photo from Alfred and placed it back where it was. "Well... it is what it is."

"That night when I saw you performing, there were a few angry customers demanding that I stop you. I told them it was clearly obvious that you two were having a good time, and if they didn't agree they could go find some other club. Ya'll weren't hurting anybody."

"No, it's cool," the blonde reassured, holding up his hands. "Funny, 'cause I actually had this same discussion with Arthur once. He realized he was attracted to me, and kept denying it."

"Did you two have a fight?"

"Aw, man! Did we! I was pouring out all my feelings to him, and he would push me away saying he wasn't gay and-"

"No I mean," the owner interrupted, "did you two fight recently? Yesterday or something?"

The blonde grew quiet for a second. He gave his old boss a small smirk. "Things have been complicated, K. A big misunderstanding."

"Alfred," Kwamba leaned back in his chair placing his intertwined fingers on his chest, lightly flinging out his feet, and resting them on his desk before continuing. "On that day when you shocked the club, announcing that you were leaving... just out of the blue, I won't lie when I say I was a little concerned. The first thought that came to mind was you were about to get 'whacked.' My second guess was there must have been family issues back home... well, considering you never really talk about your family. So-"

"What the heck made you think someone is out to whack me, man?" the blonde asked with a raised brow.

"I played both sides-but that's not the point," the owner quickly pressed on, clearing his throat and placing his feet back on the floor to get comfortable again. "Alfred, you're my boy and I care about you as much as the others that came before you. You told me in this exact room, days before Medieval night, that you had to earn as much money as possible at your performance. I didn't say anything when I noticed how distant and nervous you looked. I know whatever this situation was it had nothing to do with your boyfriend."

"K..."

Kwamba held up his hand, not finished. "I have never seen you like that before. I'm used to laid back, adventurous, all American hero Alfred. That day I saw a... 'I'm scared off my balls' Alfred, and today a quick 'could things get any worse?' Alfred." Kwamba pulled out his drawer fetching for something. He pulled out a three ring binder and placed it on the desk. "You have nothing to feel embarrassed about, Alfred. You wouldn't believe me if I told you that others up front are struggling just as bad. The stories they told me could make a grown ass man cry. And they have my word when I say it's between me and them. So..." the mysterious former dancer opened the binder revealing blank checks. Two clicks were heard, and a fancy black ink pen began filling out today's date.

Alfred shook his head sitting up. "K, man-"

"How much do you need, Jones?" Kwamba asked, eyes still glued to the off blue colored blank check.

"I didn't come here to beg for money."

"I'm aware of that. I'm also aware that you're under a lot of pressure no matter how fucking good you are hiding it from your homeboys out there. In case you've forgotten, I'm older, and I've been there."

Alfred reached over and closed the binder. "I can't let you do this."

Kwamba slowly opened the binder back up. "I can do whatever I fucking please. You're taking this check. Is five thousand okay for you?"

"I'm not struggling."

"You're not convincing me. Do you need ten thousand?"

The blonde frowned and angrily closed the binder on the man's hands once more. "I don't need your goddamn charity, Kwamba. I just came to visit my friends."

"You know what my mom told me once?" the owner opened the binder back up, continuing to fill out the entire check, "If someone offers you something fucking take it. You may never get that opportunity again."

"Wanna know what my dad once told me?" Alfred said getting up. "You're a piece of shit, you don't deserve happiness, and you'll never amount to anything. Your mother's a whore and your half-brother's a retard."

Kwamba looked up at the frowning blonde for what seemed like forever. Whatever the fight between the blonde and his boyfriend was about, Kwamba could see it did not end well. Then again, if it was a so-called misunderstanding the blonde wouldn't be fuming this much. Something else was going on with Alfred. The owner could clearly see it. Finally, he went back to writing the check. "I'll put you down for fifteen thousand," he said calmly.

"Fuck these favors," Alfred roughly pushed the chair to the side, letting it fall over and grabbing the binder, tossing it across the room in the process, knocking several of the knickknacks off the fire place. "And fuck you." He made a beeline toward the door, angrily twisting the knob. It opened only halfway. A dark hand was placed on the cherry wood forcefully closing it shut, the wind blowing the blonde's bangs. Mr. America turned seeing the black man towering over him, more muscular and big enough to block his path. The blonde's slightly freckled nose was barely touching the brown one.

"I don't care if you're employed here or not," he said in a low, threatening voice. "Don't fucking disrespect me, don't fucking disrespect my check book, don't fucking disrespect my statues and furniture that I paid for with my own money, and don't you fucking dare take your anger out on anyone else like that ever again. Do you fucking understand me, number 50?"

Alfred just stared hard into the man's dark eyes, no fear, not shrinking down and cowering at him. Defeated, he trailed his eyes down to the floor and nodded. "Yes sir," he murmured.

The boss turned to the side and forcefully pointed at the mess the blonde made. "Put my shit back to where it was and sit your white ass back down."

The blonde quietly obliged. With perfect memory he placed the statues back to the exact places they'd been standing, picked the binder off the floor and gently placing back on the desk. He sat the chair back up, and sat back down facing the owner who was already seated and waiting.

Quietly Kwamba opened the binder back to the unfinished check. He placed intertwined fingers on the desk and made deep eye contact with the blonde. "Start from the very beginning," he said calmly.

The blonde only stared, not saying a word.

The African American held up his hands with a chuckle and sat back on his chair. "We can sit here all day. I could care less if you miss your flight in the next few days. I'm not letting you leave until you tell me what's been going on. And don't fucking lie to me. I will find out. Once we're done I'll give you a check, you can leave the office, and no one has to know but you and me. You have my word."

Alfred reached for his bifocals, slipping them off before rubbing his tired eyes with his thumb and index finger. He was exhausted. He wanted out, but there was no other way. Giving in, he placed his glasses on the desk and turned back to his former boss. "Alright," he murmured with a tiny shrug.

Sorry for the abrupt ending as always. I felt it was best to stop here. I coulda went on and started off with Arthur's pov after this part, but I'm still brain storming. This is the best I can do for now guys, but I appreciate for the ones still being patient and checking in up on me to see if I'm still alive. So much has happened in the past year and a half. I'm just so happy I managed to get a new update even if it is short. Well as always hang in there thanks for reading and be safe!

-Hoggy