A/N: And here's chapter 7. I apologise for the delay, but my computer's being faulty at the moment and it's a couple weeks until I get a new one. Nevertheless, I hope this chapter is to your satisfaction. This was actually one of my favourite chapters to write, as it sets off some plot and… well, you'll have to wait and see. Reviewers and readers, thank you so much!
Enjoy~
Disclaimer: APH = not mine. /tear slides down cheek
Arthur Kirkland sighed and rubbed his bleary eyes tiredly as he sat up in his chair. Why had he fallen asleep? What could have possibly - Oh. Arthur remembered the 'cookie' incident with a grimace, slamming his hand down on the desk before him angrily. It just wasn't fair! He had meant to tell the Butler off, or at least snap at him, but then he'd gone and embarrassed himself in front of both his butler and maid by laughing! He'd tried to mask his unfortunate fit of giggles from Alice, but he had a feeling she'd been able to tell something was up. Sure, it had been funny at the time, but now all that was left was a sinking feeling of shame. He shuddered inwardly; what a bloody great way that little performance was to give a good impression - not.
'Little brother, stop laughing. You sound so stupid when you laugh!' A voice shot through Arthur's memory like a bullet, and he hissed in annoyance as he clutched his head. Oh great, now they were popping back up again just to spite him. Everyone had always hated his laughing - they said it was too feminine and silly, and now Alfred had heard that side of him too… Ugh. So much for being a strong, gentlemanly role model.
Now Alfred probably thought he was bipolar or something; yelling at him one moment and giggling with him the next!
He wondered briefly if his hormones had decided to thus return to him from his teenager years - his mood swings certainly seemed to portray that. Now, however, he just felt tired and irritable - and it was all to do with that blasted American. What was with that guy anyway? He was obnoxious, American, rude, stupid, American… and attractive. Arthur slammed his head down on the desk furiously. No, he couldn't start thinking like that!
You made a promise to yourself, Arthur Kirkland, he growled fustratedly in his mind. He was not gay! Not... anything. He didn't do any sort of love; the word was bitter and stupid and he hadn't considered it in a long, long time. Hadn't needed to. Splendid isolation indeed.
Now, though… he groaned as bright, crystal-clear blue eyes beamed at him in his head, filled with happiness and hope - and, of course, straightness. Because Alfred was straight. Arthur had seen from his window the way the boy had stared at Amelia's chest when she'd burst through the front doors; there was no way the lad could be gay.
Not that Arthur cared.
Huffing, he heaved himself up from his tidy desk and straightened his suit. He'd just go out there, be calm and civil, and maybe even apologise for laughing in that ridiculous manner -
"Sir Kirkland! Your Butler's gone missing!" Alice's shrill voice rang out from the hallway. Arthur stiffened. Oh god - had his laughter really been so offensive that the boy had run away? As this train of thought was building up in his mind with horrifying clarity Alice burst into his office, her normal calm and stern exterior gone. She blinked at him nervously, and he was worried to see her green eyes shine with unshed tears.
"A-Arthur…I think I scared your Butler off! I yelled at him - and he was really upset! I… I'm sorry, you can fire me, I don't -" he interrupted her babble with a surprisingly calm wave of his hand. He was shaking on the inside, however, with a mixture of slowly bubbling anger and a pinch of peppered panic.
"Well, I do believe it's my fault if he has indeed left us," he murmured shamefully, but then looked up briskly at her stifled sob. "But... let's not panic until we've searched the house fully. If he has run… Ah, if he has run away, then we shan't let it bother us. We've had people leave before!"
Alice chewed her cheek worriedly, but nodded and stepped out into the hallway brusquely. She called Amelia quickly, and the Gentleman watched as the two maids began to search the house, calling out apologies and his name. Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily when the girls returned empty handed. It wasn't new. His entire servant fleet had left him just a few weeks ago - so why did this feel worse? Hollowly, he commanded the maids to retire for the night, planning to stay up himself just in case the American returned in the night.
Not that Arthur cared if he didn't return. No, he couldn't care less if the American had run off into the night, abandoning him and leaving him devoid of any new male company once again…
It was going to be a long night.
"Right, let's make this night as short as possible. I wanna get pissed, and I wanna do it quick," Alfred snapped, slamming his fist down on the table and glaring at his trio of friends determinedly.
Francis raised an eyebrow curiously. "Have you already been fired, mon ami?" he enquired smoothly, looking down his fine nose at the dishevelled man before him.
Alfred sighed, and shook his head. "Not yet - but I'm not gonna leave either. I just sort of… messed up any relationship me and my 'master' are ever gonna have," he groaned pitifully, grabbing the first tankard as the bartender placed it lazily down onto the table.
Antonio grinned. "Ah, so you wanted a relationship with him? A friends-with-benefits, or something more, amigo?" he joked, trying to wind the American up about his presumed sexuality - something Alfred had always been a bit touchy about, never ruthlessly denying being gay but never admitting to it either. Therefore, the Spaniard faltered slightly when Alfred just shook his head vehemently, waving his hand for another drink as he processed the Spanish man's comment.
"I'm not gay. Why would you think I'd be one of them?" the former rich boy scoffed. Francis sneered at him.
"Two of them happen to be sitting right next to you, débile," he said dryly, gesturing to himself and Antonio, who helpfully held up a small photo of a scowling Italian as proof.
"Yeah, I'm gay! And so's my darling Lovi," Antonio crooned, stroking the picture lovingly as Gilbert made gagging and throwing up noises behind his back. The Prussian had been engrossed in drinking up until this point, and was only now joining the rather heated conversation.
"Oh great," he groaned in annoyance, "So now, instead of just two pillow-biters, I get three? Guess I'm left to hold out the straight-base," he cackled, throwing an arm around the dejected American.
"I told you, I'm not gay!" he cried dramatically, throwing up his arms and taking another good wig of beer. He hiccoughed rather loudly afterwards, and the trio noted with interest the rosy cheeks and glazed eyes that accompanied the lad. "Although… that Artie dude is kinda pretty, in a totally platonic way" he mumbled to himself.
Francis handed him another drink with a sympathetic sigh. "Oui, I can certainly see your point there," he murmured wistfully. "Malheureusement, he is oh-so prickly as well… it is not a good match, I am afraid."
Alfred frowned as he turned to the Frenchman. "…Have you hit on him before?" he growled suspiciously, and Francis shrugged with an airy grin.
Gilbert stifled a snigger. "Ah, getting protective now, are we Butler?" he chortled, and Alfred half-heartedly hit his arm.
"Just hand me another drink. I've had enough of prissy Gentlemen for one night," he muttered with decidedly less bite than earlier.
As he passed over yet another beverage, Gilbert just grinned. And thought.
"ARTHUR. That name…it's…it's cute. Really cuuute. Artie wartie. Artie fartie. Fart… hehe," Alfred blathered three hours later, giggling drunkenly as he downed yet another mug in a ridiculously short space of time.
Francis sighed as he shook his head. "Ah, love does indeed to strange things to people," he lamented, tracing his finger around the rim of his tankard almost mournfully.
Antonio snickered at the dramatic declaration from Alfred, also nodding in agreement to the Frenchman's thoughtful statement. "And drinks," the green-eyed man added mischievously as he nudged Gilbert, and frowned at Gilbert's rather suspicious silence. "Gil, what's wrong? You aren't sad as well are you?" he asked curiously, poking the albino.
Said albino looked up cheekily, a smirk oozing from his handsome features. "Nah, as if the awesome me could ever be sad about anything! I just laugh my problems off," he grinned proudly, shoving the American to his left jovially. "Unlike some people…"
Alfred, now well on the way to becoming intoxicated, just giggled haplessly. "Y-yeah! I do that too! HAHAHAHAHA! Shee?" he slurred, wiping a hand across his mouth as he frowned suddenly. "But… but there are other ways to fix problems, y'know? Like, I dunno... romance. See... I need - I need to get laid. Like, SHERIOUSHLY dudes," he proclaimed, ignoring Gilbert's knowing leer at the comment.
"So… who would you screw? I mean, what gender?" he asked naughtily, mentally high-fiving himself at Alfred's confused expression - normally he would instantly say a girl. Now, though, he just frowned in thought, pursing his lips as he pondered.
"I don't… I mean I do know what gender," he grinned. "Yeah… A DUDE! I WANNA DO IT WITH A DUDE!" he yelled happily, completely oblivious to the glares being sent to him by the bartender and shocked, repulsed looks from the other pub visitors.
Francis cringed, waving a finger over his lips. "And I am happy for you Alfred, but I highly doubt that fair young mademoiselle over there wishes to know that," he hissed, wincing at the haughty expressions of each pub member being sent their way. And he thought he'd had a chance with that girl across the bar… any hope of that was gone now. And she was oh-so beau...
Gilbert just rolled his eyes skeptically at the sudden leer that appeared on Francis' face. Yeah, he knew that look. Ignoring it with a short sigh, he huffed and continued to think.
A plot was forming in the albino's mind. Just from this evening, he could tell that Alfred fancied the pants off of his new master, and he also knew that the lad was earning money… to pay off a debt. Gilbert had a revelation as he drank that Alfred would probably do anything for a bit of extra cash - especially in the state he was currently in. The Prussian leered sneakily as he realised this could lead to him getting money from Alfred - and thus it was time for a bet. And oh, did Gilbert love a good bet.
"Oi, Alfie… you like money don't you?" he ventured innocently, glancing to the American to view his reaction. Sure enough, the boy's eyes lit up as he gave a confident grin.
"You betcha!" he crowed, pointing a finger towards himself as he spoke. "I'm a rich man, dude… Or at least I was. What even happened to that stuff?" he mumbled, and Gilbert just beamed.
"Well then dude, how about I tell you of an awesome plan of mine? It's… a bet of sorts. If you win, you get loads of money…" he persuaded, waving his hand conversationally as Alfred frowned.
"Well, what are the rules? I'm not stuuupid you knooow~" he crooned in a sing-song voice, and Francis rolled his eyes at the two gamblers. Honestly, they had no class…
"Well, here's the deal - You, Alfred Jones, have to seduce your stick-up-his-ass master, Arthur Kirkland, into a false relationship within two months. If you do it, I'll give you my wages for those two months. However, if you don't manage to, it works the other way: you give me your job money for two months," he said convincingly, placing his hand suggestively on the American's. Alfred winced, and pulled away.
"B-but dude…I don't wanna hurt Fart - uh, Artie. Won't it hurt him?" Alfred said, rubbing his bleary eyes drunkenly.
Gilbert sighed, shaking his head. "And to think you care more about this weirdo man than your awesome old friends…" he whimpered dramatically, wiping a hand across his eyes in mock misery. Alfred cringed in shame.
"Never mind that - what's the forfeit gonna be? You can't just get away with failing or refusing," Antonio intervened with an evil grin, causing Alfred to flinch even more.
"Ah, but that's not fair-"
"Ah, but of course it's fair - the forfeit is trés important, you know," Francis interrupted the American, mirth dancing in his blue eyes. "So what will it be, Gilbert?" The Prussian gave a harsh laugh.
"Let me think…" he smirked, and his eyes lit up a second later. "Tell you what, Alfie. If you don't do this dare, I'll tell the entire world about your biggest secret," he whispered evilly, his red eyes flashing with cruel intent as he watched for Alfred's reaction. The American didn't disappoint, his jaw turning slack as he glared at the German before him.
"You wouldn't," he breathed disbelievingly, sobering up somewhat at the prospect of danger. Gilbert snickered bitchily.
"Wanna bet?"
"Noooo!"
Gilbert huffed and looked around. Quickly, he hauled himself up so he stood on the barstool, teetering precariously and ignoring Alfred's look of pure horror.
"NO! Gil, if you dare -"
"HEY! EVERYONE! DID YOU KNOW ALFRED F JONES IS ACTUALLY A V-"
Alfred shoved him off the barstool. Gilbert slid off sideways, landing awkwardly in the lap of a nearby lady and making her scream bloody murder. He giggled haplessly as he struck up a smirk.
"Hey, sexy. Wanna come and check out my 5 meters of awesome?" he murmured to her huskily. At least, that was what he'd intended to do, but instead just leaned over her and promptly…
Belched. In her ear.
The lady screamed again, and Francis groaned, standing up hastily as the bartender pointed moodily to the door. Antonio quickly followed in pursuit, leaving the two troublemakers to fend for themselves.
"C'mon Gilbert - let's go and save the day!" Alfred crowed tipsily, grabbing the other man's hand after an awkward moment of silence, and ran for the door. Gilbert followed as he was dragged, sending one last hasty wink to the disgusted lady opposite him, and then stumbled out of the door alongside the American.
The night was quiet; it was a large and rather disconcerting contrast to the bustling pub, and Alfred shivered slightly at the cold atmosphere. The other two men had already left, their cars disappearing into the distance.
Alfred groaned. "Aw, I was gonna get them to gimme money for a lift home. Gilly?…" he pouted hopefully.
Gilbert just cackled and clapped a hand on the American's shoulder. "Aren't you forgetting something?…" he asked childishly, and Alfred glared at him.
"Please," he added hurriedly, realising he was shivering his balls off out in the Autumn chill. Gilbert smirked.
"Wrong answer. You're meant to say whether you're gonna do my awesome bet or not," he replied nonchalantly. "Of course, if you say no you might wanna check my blog tomorrow, 'cause I'll have posted you big secret."
"Fuck you," the other lad mumbled under his breath, but then resignedly shook his head. "Yeah, sure, whatever. I'll do it - that Brit will be easier to flirt with than a hooker," he agreed, holding out his hand to secure the deal. Gilbert's eyes flashed again, and spat into his palm as he joined it with Alfred's, cuing a grimace from the other man and making him draw away. Gilbert just snorted.
"Anyway, how would you know how easy a hooker is to flirt with? You haven't ever -"
"Oh, as if you could say otherwise," Alfred pouted, and then nodded to the German. "Right, I'm gonna… you know, call my cab now, and head back - back to my Artie," he added as an afterthought, his drunken behaviour returning sluggishly now that the drama had subsided. "See ya, dude."
"And you too, my dear accomplice," Gilbert chuckled to himself under his breath, head filled with money as he watched the young man disappear into the night.
Hook, line and sinker, he thought confidently, sure that his two-months-of-extra-cash fate was sealed. After all, it was near impossible that the stuck up Gentleman would ever fall for the walking disaster called Alfred. It just wasn't that likely.
Arthur paced up and down in front of the main door, eyeing it with disdain. He was there to see if it needed replacing, and to see if the wood was in perfectly fine condition, because he'd noticed some woodwork marks earlier and - oh, who was he kidding? He was there for his Butler. His idiotic, moronic Butler.
Who you happen to find yourself in the predicament of being attracted to, his mind reminded him persistently. Arthur sighed and batted the side of his head with a gloved fist, realising as he did so what a madman he must look like. He was standing in the hallway at 2:00 in the morning, waiting almost desperately for a man that was never going to come back to return whilst hitting himself in the side of the head. The Gentleman groaned out loud, turning around with the intentions of departing for his warm, cosy bed - for the fifteenth time that night. However, his feet, never failing to surprise him, turned him round yet again so he was yet again facing the front door. He slapped a hand to his forehead. The sensible part of him knew it was utterly ludicrous to wait out in the hallway till the early hours of the morning, but there was still that niggling fear that Alfred would indeed return, and he would be too busy sleeping to hear his knocks and so the boy would go away again, feeling unwanted and alone…
"Gah! I don't need him! Shut up shut up shut up!" he chanted out loud, stamping his foot irritatedly on the polished floor as he tried to persuade himself to go to bed. It was dark out, and far too early in the morning; there was no way that Jones would just magically come back even if -
There was a knock at the door. Arthur's heart leapt up into his throat, and he swallowed it back down hastily, mentally lecturing himself on his desperate response. As calmly as he could manage, he steered himself towards the door, opening it a fraction and peering into the darkness outside.
"YOU STAYED UP FOR ME!" A yell greeted him, and Arthur could only give a strangled yelp as he was suddenly swept into strong arms that squeezed him so tightly he could barely breathe. He choked on air, shoving at the arms around him frantically, but to no avail.
"C-can't…You…urgh…" he felt his head go light, and gasped in relief as he was finally released.
"Artie! You stayed up… for meee?" Alfred crooned, and Arthur's gaze levelled into a hard stare as he noticed the flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, and slack jawed expression on the American's handsome face. Not that he thought it was handsome! It was just... a nice face, that was all. Arthur could appreciate nice faces.
Nice one, Kirkland. Ugh.
"You're drunk," he said flatly, crossing his arms in annoyance. Well, this certainly wasn't the reunion he'd been anticipating.
Alfred whined pathetically.
"Naw, babe, it's just, you know, first night celebrat… celebrati… partying!" he yelled, waving his hands around dramatically as he ignored the Brit's stony glare.
"Don't you dare call me that disgusting form of a name, you inebriated bastard," he growled impatiently, his foot tapping of the wooden floor in irritation. Honestly, it was like caring for a two year old!
But at least he returned… his mind crooned persuasively. He shook his head hurriedly to rid of the positive thoughts. No, this was bad. Alfred was drunk, and he was stupid, and he was… wait, what was he doing?
Arthur shuddered violently as he noticed the American's face hovering inches from his own. Alfred grabbed his face to prevent him from moving, and slowly brought his own face in closer. Arthur spasmed, his heart fluttering frantically and his own brain betraying him by refusing him the power of movement.
Alfred came even closer, and Arthur breathed heavily as his lips neared -
"Who's a mishter gwumpy face den?" Alfred cooed in a horrific example of a baby voice.
Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when he realised what he'd just been expecting to happen. Bloody hell! He must be insane…
Alfred grinned sneakily and suddenly swooped down, making Arthur jump as he wrapped his arms around the Britain's arms and middle and smashing his face against his chest. Arthur flushed bright red, trying desperately to shove the American away with his trapped arms.
What on earth had gotten into him! …And was he referring to himself or the Butler there? Gods, he needed to sleep.
…That is, if a heavy American wasn't currently holding him in an embrace.
"You prat! Get off me! Stop… stop molesting me this instant!" he cried, trying to kick the moron where it counts as a last resort.
"Aw, doesn't Artie want some smexy times with his Buuutler?" Alfred whined, squeezing the Englishman harder and rubbing his face against him as that stupid piece of hair that always stuck up nodded in agreement. The blood drained from Arthur's face, and his jaw dropped in horror as he realised that blood was heading into The Danger Zone Down South.
"Alfred. Alfred. Get off. Now," he choked out, refusing to let his stifled sexuality get in the way of the drunken behaviour from the American youth. This was really not good, and he needed to get away from him now before -
There was a snore from below.
Arthur stared.
Oh god no. He hasn't… has he?
He had. Of course he had. That imbecile, that stupid wanker had bloody well fallen asleep on him. Whilst hugging him. Provocatively.
"Oh for the love of God…" Arthur groaned feebly, trying to shove the heavy man off without much luck. He really was clinging on tightly, wasn't he? Sighing resignedly, Arthur quickly said goodbye to his dignity, watching it wave cheerily at him as it packed its bags and buggered off. "MAIDS! GET HERE NOW," he yelled with force, half praying that the cry would wake the brat hugging him up.
Of course it didn't, and seconds later the maids arrived with shocked expressions on their faces. Amelia, ever the childish one, instantly burst into giggles, leaving the pale-faced Alice to assess the situation.
"Can you… get up the stairs?" she whispered thoughtfully. "Because then you could… ahem, drop him off in his room… or something." She coughed, her cheeks flushing daintily as she averted her gaze.
"I suppose I could, but I'd probably end up rupturing my spleen lugging his fat arse around," he growled. "And you can stop looking so bloody well amused!" Arthur roared at the American girl, causing her to flinch and step away.
"Yes sir!" she saluted him sarcastically; he rolled his eyes and with Alice's determined assistance, took a careful step backwards. Alfred fell forward predictably, waking up slightly with a grunt and standing up.
"Woah… *hic!* Oh, hey there Artieee," he hiccoughed carelessly, patting Arthur's shoulder affectionately. "Whazza guy like you doin' in a place like this, huh?"
"You. Come with me, now," Arthur ground out, and Alfred obliged obediently, clinging onto his master's arm as he was guided through the hall and up the stairs. Arthur cursed, grumbled, and kicked Alfred's feet up every step until they eventually arrived at his room. Arthur stopped in front of the door, carelessly shoving the tipsy lad into his room and leaving quickly with just a short and flustered 'goodnight'.
As soon as the lights turned out in the hallway, Alfred grinned to himself. He was pleased with his night's achievements - nothing like a little liquid courage to make him be shameless and flirtatious - and mentally high fived himself. Oh, this bet was gonna be a piece of cake.
