A/N: Four words: Work. Kicks. My. Ass. But because you guys are so important to me and to the survival of this story, I've managed to write you yet another chapter. I'm sorry it's not all that great, though. Nothing really funny or important happens. But I tried to write at least something and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to review and favorite. It means the world to me to know what you guys think. :)
No one wanted to play board games anymore - not even Alfred. The four nations had exhausted their tolerance for dealing directly with one another after the fifth (and the most violent) round of Jenga. Which is exactly how they had ended up in their current position; shivering beneath blankets around the small, crackling fire, sitting as close to one another as they could without actually touching the nations around them. The blocks from the game sat in the center of their close-knit circle, stacked into the neatest little tower any of them had ever seen.
Until Alfred got bored.
He reached out slowly, so as to not alert the other three nations to his sudden movement, and tapped one of the blocks near the base of the tower. It slid out quietly, quickly, sticking out of the side of the tower like a growth.
Arthur's eye caught the movement immediately. His gaze flickered to the offending block before traveling up to Alfred's half-hidden face. Thick eyebrows furrowed in agitation at the mischievous smirk dancing across the American's face.
Slowly, Arthur reached out and slid the block back into place, his gaze never once leaving Alfred's face. He brought his hand slowly back beneath the thick blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders.
Alfred's smirk grew as he reached out again, tapping one block out towards the top. He kept his hand free from the blanket this time, laying it innocently in the center of the space created by his crossed legs.
Arthur huffed in annoyance, disentangling his hand from the blanket once again. As he was reaching out for the block Alfred had poked out of place, the American reached forward as well, poking out another block towards the center of the tower.
Arthur growled. He could feel Francis's and Matthew's questioning gazes on him as he poked both of the blocks back into place, but he chose to ignore them. Instead, he focused on Alfred, watching as the American lifted his hand slowly once more, reaching out towards the now-pristine block tower.
He hadn't thought of the block tower getting in his way. He hadn't thought of the blankets tangling further around his legs and tripping him. All he'd thought about was stopping that hand from displacing anymore blocks. So when Arthur lunged forward and grabbed Alfred's hands, when the blankets had constricted his movement, when he had fallen forward and crash-landed on top of the block tower, he had blamed it all on Alfred.
"Look what you did, you bloody git!" Arthur snapped as he picked himself up off the floor. A few of the blocks had dug into his sides and stomach, creating angry red indents in his pale skin. He rubbed the sore spots gently, pouting angrily and glaring at Alfred.
He was cackling. Like a maniac. Alfred's face was red from the lack of oxygen, tears of joy pricking at the corners of his eyes. Francis struggled to choke back his laughter, hiding the shaking of his shoulders as best he could. At least Matthew had the decency to appear concerned, even though he was also trying to hide a smile behind his fingertips.
Arthur's anger subsided quickly into embarrassment. His cheeks burned with growing intensity, forest green eyes flashing as Alfred continued to cackle breathlessly, laying on his side and wiping his eyes with the corner of the comforter still wrapped around his body.
"It's okay Arthur..." Matthew mumbled from the other side of Francis. He leaned forward and tried to meet Arthur's eyes, but the Englishman averted his gaze, eyes burning as intensely as his cheeks.
Matthew whined at Arthur's rejection, turning his gaze to the still-laughing Alfred. "Okay, Al, you can stop now. It wasn't that funny," he tried to reason.
Alfred, surprisingly, stopped laughing immediately. He straightened up and wiped at his eyes, shoulders still shaking from the force of his laughter. "It was actually hilarious, Matt," Alfred corrected breathlessly.
Arthur shot him a nasty scowl, lip curled in distaste.
"Why did you fall, Arthur? Finally lost control of your old legs?" Francis asked, chuckling softly.
Arthur pouted childishly. "Because Alfred kept messing up the tower I built," he corrected, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the blocks scattered across the cabin floor.
"Well it's not my fault your OCD kept messing with my fun," Alfred teased, leaning forward and sticking his tongue out at Arthur.
Francis rolled his eyes, mouthing the word "children" to Matthew. The Canadian chuckled behind his hand.
"Now Alfred," Matthew began, locking an accusing gaze on his brother. "You hurt Arthur's feelings. Apologize." Alfred snorted, but at the withering look Matthew gave him, he turned towards Arthur, bottom lip jutting out in a prize-winning pout.
"I'm sorry you're so stuffy," Alfred mumbled, his eyes narrowed and face turned towards the window on his right. The snow was still falling in heavy sheets, blocking the view of the outside world.
Matthew threw up his hands in defeat.
"But if it makes you feel better, I'll help you build your stupid tower again..." Alfred finished.
Arthur's eyebrows raised in surprise. "And you won't ruin it again?" He highly doubted it, but if he got Alfred to say that he'd leave the tower alone then he would have something against him when he messed it up again.
Alfred nodded slowly, lips pursed. Arthur fancied he was thinking of a way to knock it down without it appearing to be his fault.
"I won't touch it..." Alfred mumbled.
Arthur nodded. "Good." As he leaned over and began picking up the blocks, Alfred did the same, grumbling about stupid Brits and their stupid OCD the whole time.
Alfred and Arthur were banned from the main room after yet another altercation had broken out between the two nations about the blocks. Eventually, they had stopped arguing about who's fault it was, but they both still firmly believed it was the other's fault. And they were both still grounded.
Grounded.
Fucking grounded.
"I am the bloody United Kingdom! No one has the right to ground me!" Arthur fumed from where he sat cross-legged on his bed. He had the blankets and sheets wrapped tightly around his body. The large comforter he stole from the closet in the hall covered half his face, protecting his nose and lips from the bitter chill of the room.
"So go tell Francis that," Alfred mumbled dejectedly from his spot on his own bed. He was stretched out on his stomach, face buried beneath his pillow and body covered with the large comforters he had stolen from Francis's and Matthew's room for being so mean to him.
Arthur growled, slumping against the wall of the cabin. The chill of winter that had settled into the unheated walls seeped through the blankets' protection, and he jerked away with a cry of surprise. Shivering violently, Arthur laid down and curled up on his side, burying his into his pillow. "No," he muttered, voice muffled by the thick pillow.
"That's what I thought." Alfred rolled over, groaning and tucking his knees up to his chin. "Hey, Arthur?"
"Hmm?" The Brit turned his head and stared at Alfred through half-lidded eyes.
Alfred lifted the pillow off his face, turning his head towards Arthur. "I'm sorry."
"'S not big deal," Arthur grumbled, burying his face back into his pillow.
A few silent moments passed between the two. They had been laying in their own beds for what had felt like hours, hoarding the heat that the blankets wrapped around them had created. However, that heat lasted for only a short amount of time compared to how long they thought they had been locked in their room. So when a violent shiver tore its way through Alfred's body, he groaned and rolled back over to face Arthur.
"Hey, Art?" He began tentatively, wondering if the Englishman had fallen asleep as he stared at the still, deep-breathing form beneath the blanket.
There was a sound of recognition form across the room, and the lump shifted as Arthur turned towards Alfred's voice.
"I'm cold and lonely..."
Arthur sighed. He raised his arm, lifting the blanket up enough for Alfred to know he was being invited over.
With a squeal of thanks, Alfred gathered his blankets around himself and rushed over to Arthur's bed, cocooning both him and Arthur underneath the many blankets they had collectively.
The warmth that now surrounded them was almost overwhelming, but they dealt with it. Compared to the blast of cold air that greeted them every time one of them shifted position, the heat was a welcome alternative.
Alfred and Arthur stayed cuddled up underneath the blankets, sharing body heat as they waited for Francis or Matthew to come tell them when they were allowed back out.
A/N: That Jenga incident with Alfred knocking the blocks out of place just to piss Arthur off? Yeah, that's definitely my brother. It's so aggravating. But anyway, I apologize again for the length and the content not being that great, but I tried and this was the best I could come up with. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and please review and let me know what you think. It's greatly appreciated. :)