Thanks for all the support guys! Please enjoy this next installment!
Warnings: previous warnings apply, emphasis on OOC-ness, fail, lack of knowledge on a variety of subjects, AU
Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew, mentioned others
Disclaimer: I don't deserve to own Hetalia. I don't own Billy Idol either.
"So…" Belle began, a sly smirk dancing on her lips. The pretty blonde had one elbow on the cheap plastic table and her chin resting in her upturned palm as she stared down Arthur, green eyes devilish.
"What." The sandy-haired teen replied, flatly, not once looking up from his copy of Wuthering Heights.
"Oh nothing." The girl chirped, already pulling out a Tupperware container of salad and an enormous chocolate bar.
"Bollocks." Arthur snapped, eyebrows furrowing, as he frowned over the edge of his novel, his concentration finally snapping. "Out with it, woman."
Belle frowned, her glossy lips pressing together. "You're such a charmer." She muttered, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted to know how it went with Matthew."
"It went fine." The teen said curtly, his expression clearly telling her that her interest was unnecessary. "We discussed fund-raising and music."
"So you two got along?" She pressed, pointing at him with a fork. "His very existence doesn't grate on your easily inflamed patience?"
"Interestingly, no." Arthur gave her a strange look. "I fail to see how our interaction would butter your parsnips, so why—"
"Because Will took a shine to him and he called Matthew his 'kindred spirit' the entire way home and he was too busy fawning over him that he didn't even make lecherous advances towards the neighbor's daughters!" Belle rushed out. "He's found a new, healthier obsession in Matthew and maybe now he'll stop using those stupid binoculars of his to—"
Arthur raised his hand sharply and shook his head. "I do not need to know about your brother's illicit activities."
Belle slumped back. "Okay, okay." She took a steadying breath. "Matthew is a sweet boy. Gilbert, Will and even Lovino were all on their best behavior yesterday! He's a good-luck charm."
Arthur snorted and reached over to twist open his thermos to take a deep swig of Earl Grey. "Get on with it, Belle."
"Invite him to our gig tonight." Belle said seriously. "That way Will has a reason to not babysit the neighbor's kids."
"Are you barking mad?" The other teen asked incredulously.
"Matthew is a good guy."
"He's related to Francis and is Jones' best friend."
"And look at how normal he is!" Belle implored.
"And if he decides to spy for Jones?" Arthur countered. "Think of the band—"
"You said that we had nothing to worry about." The girl scowled. "And Matthew is just too nice to do something so underhanded." She angrily stabbed into her salad and pulled up a tuft of romaine to her lips. "Besides, you also said you'll be working together on the Student Council this year."
She angrily munched on her lunch, glaring at Arthur the entire time.
Arthur exhaled loudly, already knowing full well that it was futile to argue with Belle when she worked herself up enough. "Why don't you ask him?" He grumped, giving her a sour look.
Suddenly Belle blushed and looked down at her food. "O-oh I couldn't…" She said softly, now suddenly painfully girlish and shy. "It would be too forward of me…"
Arthur refrained from gagging.
"Matthew." Tino said pleasantly. "Why is Arthur Kirkland watching us practice? Specifically, why is he watching you practice?"
Matthew skidded to a halt, ice flying up around him. He looked back at Tino, a little confused. When the smaller teen pointed up at the stands, he followed the other's gesture and, indeed, there was Arthur, looking absolutely miserable in the cold temperature of the rink.
"Did you decide to go along with Alfred's crazy scheme?" Tino demanded, expression becoming less pleasant.
The entire team had stopped moving and now watched the proceedings with varying degrees of concern and interest.
"Um." Was the ever so eloquent response that slipped from Matthew's mouth.
"Does this mean you're going to start showing more leg?" Matthias called out.
"Abs'lutely n't." Berwald grumbled, shoving the knob of his hockey stick into the other's gut, eliciting a yelp.
Face pink, Matthew reluctantly skated over to Arthur, pulling off his helmet as he went.
"Hey." He said a little nervously, tapping the blade of his stick against the ice.
Arthur nodded at him and looked away, arms crossed. "We have a show tonight." He began awkwardly. "At Midtown. You should come. I mean…if you want or whatever." The older teen looked at the blond, then, green eyes now sharp. "But don't tell Jones."
"We totally have to go!" Alfred shouted, grabbing Matthew's shoulders and shaking the other teen roughly. "Lets recon the shit out of this opportunity!"
Matthew sighed. "We'll both be fucked if anyone sees you Al."
Blue eyes looked thoughtful for a brief moment. "I have an idea." Alfred said slowly, a grin spreading across his face.
Matthew felt a horrible sense of foreboding.
"This is, quite possibly, the weirdest idea you have ever had." Matthew said blandly.
"Shut up and help me adjust my tits." The other blond snapped, frustrated. "I'm lopsided."
Matthew sighed, long-sufferingly, and proceeded to grasp one of Alfred's 'breasts' (balloons filled with liquid gelatin) and tuck it back into the bright red bra his best friend had dug up from somewhere (probably a souvenir from a past girlfriend). Then, he did the same with the other 'breast'. With a critical eye, he grasped both and adjusted them a bit. "I'd say you're around a B-cup."
"Do either of you boys want…any…snacks…?"
Both boys' heads jerked to look over at the doorway where Alfred's father stood with wide eyes. Glancing at both boys (his son wearing a Booty Pop and bright red bra and the boy who might as well be his other son who was groping Alfred's chest), the older man just sighed quietly. "Just remember, if you ever need to talk, I'm here for both of you. No judgment."
And then he shut the door quietly, leaving both teens to stare at the door.
"Well, that went well." Alfred said cheerfully, not at all phased. "I'll get the straightening iron and you pick out some eye shadow. Remember, I'm a summer."
"You're insane."
"Okay, here's the plan." Alfred whispered, leaning over the console and tugging Matthew close. "I go in first and you follow after. I'll hang in one of the dark corners. You go be your sexy self and we'll meet up, here, after the show." He paused, before adding. "Unless something goes horribly wrong, then we hightail it out ASAP." He grinned. "Okie dokie?"
"…Are you wearing perfume?"
The other blond rolled his eyes. "Matt. I'm in a dress, my hair is in clips, I have fake boobs, I'm wearing mascara, and you're unnerved by a little perfume?"
Matthew sighed, hanging his head, his blond locks shielding his face. "Alfred—"
"Alison."
The Canadian let his forehead slam against the steering wheel. "How far are we actually going to go?" He whined, pressing harder against the leather.
Alfred sighed and reached over, tilting back his friend's head and soothingly rubbed the reddening spot where Matthew had hit his head. "Bro…just say the word."
Leaning his head against the headrest, Matthew chanced another look at his friend who was idly picking at a loose string on his cardigan.
"What really happened?" He asked softly. Granted, he knew the gist of it, but he always felt like what he knew wasn't a good enough explanation.
"I got kicked out of the band. Artistic differences and no compromise." Alfred answered tonelessly.
"Al."
"Apparently I didn't take it seriously enough. I didn't want it enough." The other snorted derisively. "The only thing I didn't want was that dick's fascist bitchiness. So I left."
Not enough reassurance that this wasn't uncalled for, but enough for now.
Matthew purposely turned off the ignition. "Lets go and show him how much you want it, then."
"You're here!" Belle cried as soon as Matthew wandered his way up to the front of the club/bar/thing (no one was really sure to be honest, but it was 17 and up). The brunette ran up to him and threw her arms around him.
"Too forward my arse." Arthur scoffed, idly drumming the table.
"Hi Belle." Matthew said, somewhat shyly. He wasn't really faking. He really did get shy around Belle (she tended to be very touchy).
"I thought you said Alfred wasn't allowed here?" Antonio asked.
"That's not Jones." Will stood up, his orange shirt garish despite the dim lighting. "Matt." He not so gently dislodged his sister and pulled the shorter teen to his side. "Don't mind Antonio. He's an idiot."
"Hey!"
Lovino, dressed sharply in a grey button down and dark slacks, snickered.
"Come on, stop fannying around." Arthur interrupted, standing up and brushing off his leather duster. "We'll be on in a bit."
"Good to see you too, Arthur." Matthew said with a magnanimous smile, inwardly annoyed by the other's brusqueness.
The senior, caught by the frostiness in the other's violet eyes, paused before a vaguely apologetic look crossed his face. Nevertheless, he walked off without a word.
"Don't mind him." Belle said quietly. "He always gets like this before a gig. He's not that bad. If you get to know him—"
Alfred liked to joke that Matthew should use take over the world with how cute and unassuming he seemed.
(Matthew usually punched him in the face before saying, "How's that for cute, eh?")
Maybe it was time to try out that little idea.
"I'd like to." Matthew said innocently. "But I don't think he likes me very much." And, with that, he glanced down at his worn sneakers, sighing a little dejectedly.
Belle was looking at him, as though her own heart was breaking for him.
"Don't feel bad, not-Alfred." Antonio soothed. "He doesn't like anyone very much."
Even Lovino looked a little sympathetic and Will muttered, "that bastard" and pulled Matthew closer.
"You know what? I'll talk to him." Belle nodded, a frighteningly determined look in her eyes. "Right before we go on. Come on, Antonio."
And with that, she stormed off with the curly-haired boy in tow.
"Do you have to be such a jerk!" Belle hissed from behind her drum set as the group waited for the curtain to be raised. "He looked like a kicked puppy! A kicked puppy!"
"Stupid bird." Arthur muttered under his breath. "You think I'm trying to be an arse on purpose?" He growled.
"Yes!"
"For fuck's sake! I'm not!" He whirled around, glaring. "The bloke's just so soft-looking like a bunny-rabbit or something! Then he argues with me over The Clash and now he's turned back into some cute, pretty little thing. I don't know how the bloody fuck I'm supposed to treat him."
"How about nicely?" Belle suggested, a sardonic twist to her voice.
"I haven't called him a 'git' yet have I?" The singer challenged. "What else would you have me do?"
"Get to know him."
"We're already working together—"
"—THE RIPPERS!"
Swearing lightly, Arthur turned forward again as Belle quickly started up a beat.
"Why, hello, hello, my lovelies." Arthur purred, a dashing smirk on his face.
The crowd, which had been steadily growing, burst into applause and a few more excited people (women, mostly) burst into shrieks as soon as the Brit spoke.
"So he has a following." Alfred mumbled moodily, slurping his drink and discreetly fixing his bra. "Big-fucking-whoop."
"Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door. Last night a little angel came pumpin' cross my floor." Arthur began, green eyes narrowed, foot tapping in time to Belle's drums. "She said ' come on baby I got a license for love…and if it expires pray help from above.'" He shouted, "In the midnight hour she cried—'more more more'" His voice was so low, snaking throughout the audience.
And the crowd seemed to love it.
And Arthur seemed to love that the crowd loved it.
With Will's arm protectively around his shoulder, Matthew watched as Arthur, hands gripped around the microphone clip, swayed with the throbbing music, forcing himself onto the stand, one lean black-denim clad leg wrapped around it, as he leaned closer to the crowd.
"With a rebel yell she cried—'more more more'!"
Belle's face was intensely focused. The other males didn't mirror her concentration however. Antonio, perhaps dressed the more conservatively of the three, was mouthing something at the crowd (and whatever it was, Lovino looked pissed).
Arthur, who had abandoned his leather duster by this point, was wearing a skin-tight black shirt as he prowled the stage, dark and dangerous and too much charisma and Matthew felt his cheeks heat up when heated eyes swiveled towards him.
"I'd sell my soul for you…babe. For money to burn with you, I'd give you all, and have none, babe."
"I…I need some water!" Matthew said hurriedly, shooting to his feet as Will gave him a concerned look, spinning on his heel and dashing towards the back where the lights weren't flashing like lightning and the music didn't thrum like thunder and where he could finally breathe.
He nearly fell against the counter, gaining a concerned look from other teenagers and the workers.
"J-just water." He smiled shakily, hopefully charmingly.
"He's got one helluva stage presence, huh?" A husky voice giggled from beside him.
"Allll—ison." The violet-eyed teen tried not to look too relieved when Alfred (still incognito and not lopsided, amazingly) winked heavily done eyes at him (in what he assumed was a flirtatious manner, but it could've been a twitch).
Behind them, the crowd chanted "more, more, more".
"So…what's the word, hummingbird?" Alfred asked with a bright smile. "They're good, aren't they?"
"…He couldn't transition into some of the lower notes that smoothly." Matthew said quietly. "Antonio plays too slowly sometimes. Belle plays too fast other times. But all that is negligible."
"We have to up our game." The other blond agreed, a slight pout on his face. "They have two more guaranteed songs after this. More than likely, the crowd will demand a third—I mean, they did with us."
Alfred and his band had played a few weekends ago, under a temporary name ("The Alfred Clam Society Experience").
(Not their best name. It was after this gig that the rest of the band learned not to trust Alfred with naming anything.)
"Now, Mattie." Alfred slugged the other teen lightly in the arm. "Man up and get your ass back there."
Arthur is a pimp. Trufax.
Author!notes:
Haha, so, I was looking up character heights the other day. America (and Canada because they're sorta twinsies) is only an inch or so taller than England. France and England are around the same height. NO ONE IS A SLIP OF A MOE-BLOB UKE. -world crashes around her- So I decided to run with that to make Arthur as sexy as you can possibly make a huge eyebrowed, foul-tempered former delinquent.
Thank goodness he went through that punk phase and once owned most of the world. Whew~
Anyways, Matthew apparently can't deal with a little sex appeal. -evil smirk- By the way, Matt and Alfred will have a glorious bromance, in this fic, that is so BEAUTIFUL, STRONG & MANLY that it comes only once every three hundred decades. Yes.
Oh and Matt will struggle with what he's doing. And, yes, Belle wants Matthew to be a good influence on her little girl chasing, druggie brother. She will push those two together, even if she has to strong-arm Arthur. (Arthur is too much of a gentleman to tell her to fuck off.) Also, I will make light of issues that shouldn't be treated lightly. I hope that doesn't offend anyone. Also, there will be few if zero flashbacks. Normally my stories employ flashbacks heavily. This time, I won't include past scenes. Characters will just reveal the past, so you'll never really have the full story.
By the way, I worked in cross-dressing. Except its Al who will do anything to take England down. (1776 all over again, bi-atches). Maybe Matt will wear a dress soontimes. -evil smirk- I've been listening to French radio for the past week. My inner pervert is clawing to get out. Seriously, anyone who reads "Want You to Want Me"...GET EXCITED.
By and by, feel free to throw in music suggestions (lest we all tire of Billy Idol soon) and music help in case I'm failing a lot. I once played the violin...and that's it. I'm musically retarded but I do have a good ear. I'm just inept at playing things. So I write instead...yay?