Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters belong to our papa, the troll king: Himaruya.
Summary: Young heir of a multi-million dollar company, Alfred F. Jones' hedonistic way of life was threatened by the arrival of his parents' newest watchdog in the form of a traditional British butler. Of course, resentment quickly turned into infatuation when he found out that Arthur the butler, despite being older a few good years than him, was a man with boyish good look and adorable hissy personality perfect for Alfred's teasing pleasure. US/UK.
A/N: A grateful hug to both Eva Hazuki and Star Anise who survived yet another week of my bad writing. You two are such wonderful betas.
And to anon reviewers who I can't thank personally:
LoverofCrucio12: I'm sure anyone else could also come up with such improvisation, since I'm not that creative, lol. But thank you for liking Arthur's little performance there!
LOVIN ANON IS BAAACK: ALRIGHT, WHO ARE YOU AND WHERE DO YOU LIVE? Because I'm gonna give you the warmest, tightest hug of love in the world!
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The Butler
Chapter 5
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Every time those long elegant fingers struck the piano, a bar of symphony by Schubert flowed gently, though sometimes it switched into a more vigorous manner and quickly back again to soft, almost teasingly. The pianist, young with aristocratic feature, nodded his head along with his version of Piano Sonata No. 16. The beauty of the clear piano sound that echoed throughout the performance hall was enough to captivate the whole audience—
"ZZZZZ...ZZZ...ZZZZZZ"
"GROOK...snort...GROOOOOOOOOOK..."
—except for those two blonds in the third row who had the audacity to fall asleep in the midst of a beautiful Austrian composition. Curious to see the identity of the uncultured plebeians, the pianist threw a few-seconds glance at the sleeping pair. The tall one (cowlick hair, glasses that hung askew at the very edge of his nose, and a snore that could rival the sound of a truck—Jones, of course), had his head slightly tilted back. His mouth was hanging open with a dribble of saliva decorating its corner. Meanwhile, the other blond (the unfamiliar one with the much-needed-trimming eyebrows) was resting his head comfortably on his companion's shoulder, hiding half his face in Alfred's lapel.
Roderich Edelstein sighed and attempted to refocus on his concert. The music from his piano kept trying to drown the horrendous snores, but alas, it was futile. He began to press the keyboard with more force than necessary, frowning and gritting his teeth all the while. The musical notes in front of him were starting to resemble blurry black blobs as his concentration cracked. Finally having enough, he stood up to give the sleeping duo a proper scolding. However, before even one syllable was out of his lips, a miniature frying pan was hurled through the air. It landed right on Jones' forehead with a painful bang, jolting him awake in the process. This, of course, also awoke the man who was previously leaning on the loud American.
"...the fuck? A frying pan?" Alfred took the cooking utensil that was now on his lap, examining it while trying to find the connection between the thing and the bump on his forehead with a still-groggy mind. But it should not take long, especially for someone in their social circle, to identify a person based on his/her choice of weapon.
"Liiiiz!" Alfred groaned in protest. His blue eyes zeroed in on the curvaceous brunette who was sitting at the very front row.
"You know the rule, Young Master Jones," Elizabeta Hedervary stood up and faced the blond with her infamous I-am-not-amused-young-man expression. "You disturb Master Roderich's concert, you can get the fuck ("Elizabeta, language please." Roderich reminded his personal maid, more out of habit than anything else) out of here."
"Wait a tick, Miss," Alfred's friend also rose from his seat with a slight panic look. "Don't you think it's rather severe to kick us out just like that?"
"Yeah, I mean look at Gil," Alfred pointed at the albino sitting next to Elizabeta. "He's sleeping too!"
"Oh, don't you mind about him." Elizabeta smiled proudly as she turned Gilbert's limp head to the side so that Alfred could see his face better. The German man had a tape on his mouth, as well as a clothes pin on his nose. "See? He's not making any noise."
"Ano, Elizabeta-san..." Kiku, who sat beside Gilbert, spoke up. "I think he isn't breathing either."
"Nem, he's just sleeping."
Kiku examined Gilbert again: pale face, half-lidded eyes without pupils in sight, slightly foaming mouth…
Close enough.
"Now, would you two kindly leave please, so we can carry on with the concert?" The girl's emerald eyes returned to the two men.
"But—"
"You know what, Young Master Jones? I think you should take your friend to your usual nightclub," Elizabeta smiled like the sweet girl she was usually known to be when her temper was not being tested. "I'm sure he'll enjoy it." She winked.
A look of understanding dawned on the American's face, and he was suddenly grinning from ear to ear. "Gosh, Lizzie, I…you're the best, really."
"I know." The girl laughed as she playfully tossed her beautiful wavy locks to the side.
"Let's go, Artie!" Alfred took the rather confused man's hand and pulled him along towards the exit.
"Mind explaining what the bloody hell just happened, sir?" Arthur finally asked, feeling a tad irritated for being out of the loop, as the pair stepped out of the building and into the street.
"Well, both Roddie and Lizzie know I don't like going to a concert like that—no offense to Roddie's skill, of course." Alfred let out his usual cheerful and slightly obnoxious laugh. "So basically Lizzie was giving us a jail free card. Or else, it would be rude if we just leave, right?"
"And being asked to leave is not?"
"Nah, they send people out all the time, mostly Gilbert." Alfred looked around the busy street, before blowing a harsh whistle to attract the cabs.
"I don't understand," Arthur scrunched up both of his eyebrows together. "If that is the case, why did you insist on going to the concert tonight, sir?"
"Cause I thought you would enjoy it." Alfred puffed out both his cheeks, looking much like a disappointed child who found out that his mother did quite not like the birthday gift he got her. "Aww dammit, I knew I should've just gone with the usual dinner and a movie for our date."
Arthur sharply turned toward Alfred, "Date?"
"Oh, y'know," Alfred nudged Arthur's side, winking. "That thing with two people involved in a social activity together, more often than not due to a romantic interest."
"I know what a date means, you twit." Arthur returned the nudge with twice the force. "I just didn't realize that this was supposed to be a date." He mumbled, while turning a few shades of red.
"Well, I suppose it is rather one-sided." Alfred grinned a bit guiltily.
"Perhaps next time, you would be more considerate and consult both me and my preferences before deciding on a date."Arthur huffed, crossing his arms on his chest.
"Next time? You mean you'll go if I ask you again?" Alfred immediately brightened up. His blue eyes widened in anticipation, his lips formed an open mouth smile, and coupled with the way his cowlick swayed from the night wind, Arthur could see the resemblance between the American and an excited oversized puppy.
"So will you go to this awesome nightclub with me, Artie? Will ya? Will ya?" The image of a puppy wagging his tail was getting much stronger in Arthur's mind than he would want it to be.
"Of course." He said automatically, before realizing the words that came out of his mouth, and immediately added, "I-it's not like I have a valid reason to refuse you or anything." Arthur averted his eyes from his young master, turning an even darker shade of red.
"Artie, you're the best!" That was the only warning Arthur got before he found himself trapped in a big bear hug, courtesy of the American.
"Let go, you git! People are staring!" The Englishman tried to retaliate by hitting Alfred's broad back, although the punch did not hold any real power. He was a bit distracted by the extra body warmth and the taller blonde's musky cologne in his senses. "J-just hurry and get the cab!"
"Yes, dear." Though Alfred did not let go; he merely spun around with Arthur in his arms so he was facing the street, and waved his hand to an incoming cab.
There was a sense of dread crawling into Arthur when he and Alfred arrived at the nightclub. Perhaps this was due to the fact that he had not been in a nightclub for years, hence he was feeling a bit claustrophobic amongst the swarm of bodies. To make it worse, it seemed like everywhere his gaze landed, the whole lot of them were those young ones in their early or mid-twenties. Most of them were out in the dance floor, shedding sweat by grinding their bodies against each other to deafening techno music.
Suddenly Arthur felt much older than he really was, and that he did not quite belong in this place where youthful energy was overflowing. While in contrast, Alfred looked very much in his element. The young heir was swaying his body to the music as he walked through the crowd, sometimes smiling and replying to a few typical 'what's up, bro?' and some flirtatious 'It's been too long, Alfie'.
And, no, he did not want to wring certain individuals' necks because they were acting too familiar with his young master. Of course not. Ha. Ha. Ha.
"Let's sit at the bar," Alfred tugged at Arthur's tuxedo coat to get his attention, and shouted near his ears to beat the noises. "It's less crowded there."
The butler nodded and followed the American, instinctively grabbing into the other's arm due to the large number of people and the horrible flashy-colored lighting, making it bloody difficult to tell where he was going.
Alfred pulled Arthur's hand away from his arm, and in one alarming moment, the Brit thought that the young man did not welcome the gesture. But then Alfred took Arthur's hand into his own, squeezing it affectionately. Arthur made a mental note not to make this blushing business a habit.
The bar was situated in a high platform, overseeing the dance floor, although the music was not as loud. They took two seats at the very end of the bar, a bit further away from the very few people who were opting to waste their times simply drinking instead of dancing the night away.
It was not long after they ordered their drinks when two girls, who were beautiful enough to be on the cover a fashion magazine, approached them. Alfred seemed to know both of them as he cheerfully called their names, along with giving a friendly hug to each girl.
Not that Arthur gave a damn, of course. It was not like the bloody git needed his permission to fucking touch anyone, especially twittering birds with too much make-up on. However, his body betrayed him by tightly grasping his glass of rum and coke until his knuckles turned white as a reaction to the two girls asking Alfred for a dance.
"Thanks but no thanks, ladies," The American smiled like the charming bastard he was. "I don't wanna leave my dear Artie here alone." He patted the butler's shoulder.
"Ask him to join us, then!" One of them said with too much interest directed his way.
Arthur shuddered inwardly. "Although I am flattered, I'm afraid my dancing technique is rather outdated." He gave his best gentlemanly smile. "You beautiful ladies should choose someone who will not dampen your charms on the dance floor."
The two girls giggled excitedly among themselves, but (fortunately) decided to drop the subject.
"You should go with them and enjoy yourself, sir."
"Are you saying you don't mind if I dance with them?" There was an unreadable expression crossing Alfred's features.
"No," Arthur turned his gaze to the dark alcoholic liquid in front of him, stirring it with his straw. "Why should I mind, sir?"
There was a slight pause before finally Alfred said, "Alrighty then." He took off his tuxedo coat and put it on the seat next to Arthur. "Don't be too lonely without me." He gave the smaller blonde a reluctant smile before allowing himself to be dragged away by the girls.
After the three figures disappeared into the sea of moving bodies, Arthur had the strongest urge to knock his own head on the hard wooden table, and he did just so ("Ouch, bloody fuck!"). His glass slightly jumped at the impact, and a few curious glances were thrown his way. The miserable man did not care, though. He was too busy contemplating his own foolish action. Twenty eight years, and he still did an arse job of playing this love game. Thus, like most men in his situation, he preferred to drown his sorrow with his drink.
From time to time he would glance at the dance floor, trying to identify which cluster of bodies his young master belonged to. It was not a particularly difficult task, considering the man was prominently tall (especially with that single upright hair), and Alfred was dancing rather close to the bar as if he was purposely wanted to be seen. Then by chance, Alfred lifted his gaze and met Arthur's.
Arthur did not like the wretched feeling he experienced when he stared into those baby blues, and fully realizing that their owner was currently being pressed rather intimately by someone other than him. However, the Brit could not avert his eyes. He was entirely mesmerized with the way Alfred's hand roamed almost teasingly on his dance partner's every curves, half imagining it was his body that the strong big hand was exploring. The hallucination was pushed further by Alfred's intense stare, which never left Arthur throughout the seductive action.
The butler finally cut the eye contact when he suddenly felt much too hot. He downed the rest of his drinks (how many glass did he already have, again?), trying to cool down, although the effect turned out to be the opposite of what he hoped for. Arthur decided to take off his coat and loosen his collar. He already looked disheveled nonetheless, with his hair returning to its usual untamed style like the gel was never there in the first place—such was the power of the Kirkland's hair.
"You okay, Artie?"
Arthur jumped in his seat when suddenly Alfred's face appeared in his line of vision.
"You're face is red." The man, who was previously bending over sideways to face Arthur, straightened his back and took a seat next to him. "Don't tell me you're drunk already?" He laughed noisily, as usual.
Arthur turned his head away from the American, sulking. "It's not like I have any other choice since alcohol is my only companion." To make a point, he waved his glass in the air and bellowed to the bartender, "Keep the rum coming, mate!"
The bartender nodded and obeyed. But as Arthur reached for the newly filled drink, Alfred (the bloody yankee) swooped in and took the glass away. "I think you had enough drinks for tonight."
"Hey, give that back!" Arthur immediately flailed his hands towards the other man to reach for the drink.
"Nope." Alfred grinned impishly, showing a row of neat pearly whites. He stretched out his arm and held the glass above his head.
"Wanker!" Without much thought, mostly due to the large intake of alcohol that was beginning to cloud his judgement, Arthur stood up and climbed onto Alfred's lap. One of his knees dug into the small empty space between the other man's inner thighs, unintentionally brushing against his vital part. Arthur was far too busy trying to recapture the drink to notice Alfred's panicked look.
"W-wait, Arthur—" Alfred tried to push the man down while keeping the drink out of reach, which turned out to be a bad idea as the drink spilled and splashed the two blonds with the brownish gold liquid.
"Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" The younger man quickly rose from his seat and put down the glass on the table before further damage could be done. Meanwhile, instead of removing himself from Alfred's lap when he felt the sudden shift of position, Arthur automatically encircled his arms and legs around his young master, clinging to him. The additional weight pulled Alfred back into the stool.
"Err...Arthur?" Alfred seemed unsure on what to do as he suddenly found himself with Arthur sitting on his lap, straddling him.
"Hnnn," Arthur mumbled, leaning on the other's shoulder almost lazily. "Perhaps this way you won't leave me alone again, young master."
It took awhile for Alfred to process the situation and the smaller man's words. When it finally clicked, the sunny blond let out his widest and brightest smile. "So you were lonely."
Again, Arthur mumbled something (this time it sounded close to 'idiot') while burying his face deeper into the crook of the American's neck.
"You should've just told me the truth, Artie." The young heir nuzzled his butler's wet messy locks, breathing in Arthur's scent that was now mixed with the exotic aroma of spiced rum. His hands were rubbing the Brit's back gently. "I'd do anything you want me to."
At this, Arthur sat up straight. For a moment, green met blue in silence, both were drowning in each other's beauty. Finally the Englishman spoke,
"Then let me kiss you."
TBC
Hungarian Translation:
Nem: No
A/N: So here's a glimpse of drunk!Arthur, whose antics will continue in the next chapter. I hope you like him so far. And just a bit of a real-life rant: I went to Hyper Japan in London today and spent most of the time hunting Hetalia cosplayers. It was awesome and I regret nothing.