Oh man, this took soooo long to write. I'm so sorry! After school started, I had like zero time to do anything.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetaria

Roderich waved as the two men set off for Laramie."Thank you so much for doing this!"

Arthur kept shooting glares at Alfred, but the cowboy was too happy and too dense to notice. The trip to the more populated city would take days, but Arthur didn't really mind all that much. He was just brooding over how Alfred forced him into it.

The pair talked about anything and everything to pass the time. Alfred ended up teaching Arthur how to ride Western and how to reload a double-barreled shotgun with one hand. The American pointed out several animals and plants unknown in England. Arthur, on the other hand, tried to get Alfred into the habit of correctly pronouncing his words, but couldn't break his old ways. During a short break, Arthur wrote the alphabet in the dirt and taught him how to pronounce and write each letter.

"Take a look at what I wrote!" Alfred said as he examined his work. On the ground were a few simple words that looked like someone wrote it with their eyes closed.

'ALFRED F. JONES' The American beamed proudly. It was one of the few things he could write without having to think too hard about it.

'GUM' "That should be an 'N', not an 'M'," Arthur corrected.

'GO AWEY GOSTS' The Briton couldn't help but laugh. The man wasn't afraid of bandits or explosive wagons, but he was absolutely terrified of the supernatural.

'ARTHER IS A FART' The 'fart' turned around to scold the cowboy, but instead found him already running. The enraged gentleman ran after him. When Alfred started to stumble from laughing too hard, Arthur tackled him and slapped him several times.

"You immature American!" he yelled as he continued to slap the giggling man.

When Alfred finally contained himself, he flipped Arthur over so that the Briton was now under him. Arthur was taken by surprise by the man's strength and looked up at dangerous looking blue eyes. They matched the sky that filled the space behind the American. His wrists were being pinned down by the cowboy and for a moment, they could only hear each other panting from the chase.

Alfred broke the tension by smiling and pushing himself off of the smaller man. He offered Arthur a hand and laughed.

"Ya shoulda seen yer face!" he said.

"You should have seen yours," Arthur hissed. "It was-" attractive "-stupid like always."

Alfred responded by sticking his tongue out. From the corner of his eye, he saw his horse lifting her tail.

"Freedom! No! Not on my name! Ya can shit on Arthur's all ya want, but not on mine!" he yelled as he ran toward the mare.

Arthur lagged behind. What was that back there? He wondered as he recalled the odd feeling in his stomach when beneath the American. It was a feeling he had never felt before. He brushed it off as the heat and started to yell at Alfred for trying to make his horse defecate on his misspelled name.

"Alfred, why are you making me do this?"

"To show ya how it's done."

"I'm not sure if I'm fully comfortable with this."

"Relax. First time always sucks."

"Will there ever be a time where it'll be comfortable?"

"Well... Probably not. I'll promise to go slow for ya. Ya ready?"

"Ready as ever... Ah!"

"Sorry!"

"Are you sure it's supposed to bend that way?"

"Yup. I'm a cowboy, I know how it's done."

"Oh Lord!"

"Relax, will ya?"

"How am I to relax if it hurts? It's too tight, Alfred."

Alfred wiped the sweat off his brows. He looked down at the Englishman under him and smiled.

"Ya look cute, ya know," he teased, knowing that Arthur wouldn't be able to put up a fight.

"Wanker," Arthur cussed.

"Dunno what that means, bud. I don't speak British."

"I don't like you at the moment."

"Do ya ever like me? Now stay still, gotta finish up."

"Bloody blazes!"

"Mr. Gentleman is usin' rough language, ain't he? Let's see if I can make him talk dirty."

"Oh fu-..."

Alfred stepped back to examine his work.

"And that, my friend, is how ya hogtie someone," he declared.

Arthur was lying on the ground, rendered immobile by the rope.

"I don't even know why I agree to your absurd American lessons," he said as he tried to get out of the ties.

Alfred teased him even more. When he gave Arthur a chance to practice what he had just showed him, the vengeful Englishman left Alfred tied up and made him watch as he ate supper alone.

The men were walking at a leisurely pace when Alfred made a sudden break to the side. Arthur was quick to follow.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, annoyed at the sudden change of course. "The man said to go straight ahead."

"I gotta pee," Alfred briefly answered.

Arthur was skeptical. The cowboy had relieved himself not too long ago. "You're lying."

Alfred gave him a forced smiled. "Yeah, gotta take a shit."

The Briton still didn't believe him. Something was off. "No you don't. Why aren't you telling the truth?"

The American did something that Arthur had never seen before. "Just drop it, alright? Shut the fuck up and follow me," he barked. His voice was commanding and sharp with anger. Arthur had never seen him in this emotional state.

"Alfred..."

"Goddammit, Arthur! Don't fucking worry about it!"

The Briton couldn't bring himself to argue like usual. He was scared. What was Alfred hiding from him?

When Alfred slowed down to a stop, they were already miles away from their route. He looked away from Arthur, not wanting to make eye contact. Arthur stared at him, wondering what was going on.

"I'm sorry for snappin' at ya like that," the American finally muttered.

"It's alright," Arthur replied gently.

Alfred looked at the ground and wondered, is it really okay to be doing this?

The men let the incident pass and resumed their journey. When they entered a town to rent a room for the night (much to Arthur's persistence), they heard soft crying in the dark.

The hair on the back of Alfred's neck stood up as he jumped to conclusions.

"A-are ya a g-ghost?" he quivered. The wailing continued.

Alfred's eyes darted around, searching deperately for a logical explanation. "Arthur, I think we should l-leave. I ain't stayin' in n-no haunted town."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I doubt that's a ghost crying." He dismounted his horse, struck a match, and searched for the origin of the noise. Alfred reluctantly followed.

Trembling in the darkness was a woman, curled up and crying.

"Excuse me, miss," Arthur said softly as he placed a hand on her shoulder. The woman looked behind her with a tear streaked face. Arthur gasped. The light of the match revealed a swollen eye surrounded by a large bruise.

Alfred peeked through the fingers covering his eyes and immediately pushed Arthur aside.

"Ain't right for a lady to have a half-mourning!" he said as he crouched down in front of her.

The woman only sniffed and continued to cry.

"Who did this to ya? I'll give 'em hell, miss," he said as he helped her up.

Meanwhile, Arthur was too bewildered to speak. Her shins were showing.

"A drunk man dragged me out and did this," the woman sniffled.

"Where? Ain't no man got the right to hit such a fine woman like you!" Alfred proclaimed.

The woman smiled weakly and wiped tears away from her good eye. "I don't mind the black eye much, but he called me whore."

The cowboy put a hand up to his mouth in disbelief. "No," he gasped, "He had the misjudgment to call ya that?"

The woman nodded. "He's long gone by now."

"Hey, cheer up, darlin'." Alfred could not bear to watch the woman cry. "How 'bout I make ya laugh? Whaddaya say?" After a small nod of permission, he tried to think of the best jokes he knew. "Okay, okay," he said while wearing a goofy grin, "What advice to cows give?" The man's enthusiasm was too much to ignore, and the woman found herself smiling as well. "What?" she asked.

"Turn the udder cheek and mooooove on!" Alfred laughed as he slapped his knee. The woman giggled at his childish behavior.

Arthur forced his eyes away from her bare limbs. "We should walk you back to your home," he offered.

"I think I'll be okay. Thank you though," she said as she gave a small bow before walking away. The two men watched as she disappeared into the darkness, making sure that nobody would attack her.

Two days later, Alfred was idly running his fingers through the sand. Even though the sound of crickets seemed almost deafening, it was a quiet night. Arthur was curled on top of his overcoat as usual. Alfred was especially restless that day. He looked up at the starry sky. When a gust of wind caused Arthur to shift in discomfort, Alfred smiled and shed his shirt. The cowboy placed it over the gentleman, its warmth enveloping him.

When Alfred looked up, he saw a light race through the sky. A shooting star, huh? I'm supposed to make a wish, aren't I? He thought about the endless list of things he could wish for. A new hat, some more tobacco, to be a little smarter, he thought about everything and anything that he wanted. When he had decided what to wish for, he looked back up at the stars.

"I wish Arthur would go home," he told them.

Arthur heard this. He wasn't yet asleep. The warmth that had come with Alfred's shirt suddenly felt cold as his stomach dropped in sadness.

Arthur woke up to the sunrise. Deciding that what he heard last night was a dream, he brushed off Alfred's painful words. He methodically folded his clothes and set up a fire. Not too soon after, Alfred woke up and went out to catch something to eat. After arguing for twenty minutes over who would cook, the two settled on eating at the next food establishment they found.

"Howdy!" Alfred hollered upon bursting through a saloon's doors. The men inside all took their eyes off a brawl on the floor to glare at the two entering the establishment.

"What's wrong? Did ya'll squat on yer spurs or somethin'?" Alfred asked.

"Alfred, read the mood," Arthur whispered.

The American looked at him with a slight pout. "Ya know I ain't no good at reading!"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. How could someone be so oblivious? Americans.

Right then, a glass flew across the room. It would have hit a man square in the face if he had not moved. The saloon grew louder and rowdier as several more glasses and punches were tossed about.

"Alfred, let's go!" Arthur hollered. Alfred, though, was absorbed in the excitement. After a chair struck him in the back, the cowboy launched himself into the fight.

"Alfred! Please!" the Englishman shouted. When a glass hit him in the head, his vision went white for a moment. When his eyesight came back, he saw a burly man hurling himself at him. Arthur dove to left, causing the man to knock into another person. Meanwhile, Alfred was wrestling someone. He tossed him onto a table, where they continued their scuffle. When the other man had the upper hand, Alfred was flipped so that he was under his opponent. Just then, a rogue plate went flying and crashed into the man's head. Alfred then tossed the dazed man to his left, which was where Arthur happened to be standing. Arthur caught the man and staggered into a fight where a man was just about to throw a punch. The man Arthur was holding served as a human shield from the punches, but he did not protect Arthur from the fellow behind him. The Briton was hit in the head, which caused him to drop the man.

Alfred saw this and threw himself at the man who had hit Arthur. He held him up by sticking his arms under his armpits, rendering his opponent's arms immobile."Arthur, I got him for ya!"

Arthur gathered himself together and put up wobbly fists. "Is this okay?" he croaked.

The man being held started to fight back and Alfred was losing his grip on him. Arthur swallowed hard and swung at his face.

"Woohoo!" Alfred hollered.

Arthur's fist hurt, but at the same time he felt great. Adrenaline was coursing throughout his body and it was amazing. His body was more energetic, his muscles felt stronger, and-

Someone hit the back of his head and he stumbled forward.

"Arthur!" Alfred called as he dropped the man he was holding and picked up his fallen friend.

Arthur moaned as he was picked up by Alfred. "What the dickens..."

"Looks like it's time to go. See ya later, boys!" Alfred said. He grabbed Arthur by his wrist and ran toward the door. When they thought they had escaped by breaching the doors, they were proven wrong by a couple of men who were hot on their trail. They ran and ran, Alfred laughing and Arthur screaming. After a few hundred yards of running, Alfred saw a mansion with red lanterns on either side of the doorway. He slid to a stop and yanked Arthur down with him. They scrambled into the doorway and slammed it. They sat against it and panted heavily for a few seconds, and then burst into laughter.

"Didja see their faces?" Alfred whooped.

Arthur laughed wildly. "They were so mad!"

"Well I'd be mad if I was being used fer boxing practice!"

The boys clutched their stomachs and wiped tears from their eyes. But something was off. Why hadn't their pursuers pounded on the door yet? Arthur looked up and discovered the answer.

"Oh heavens!" he shouted as he threw his hands up to cover his eyes. He could see their thighs.

"Watcha doin' here, boys?" a scantily dressed woman asked.

"Sorry, ma'am's," Alfred apologized to the group of confused women standing around them, "We came here fer shelter. I'm guessin' that we're in-"

"A parlor house?" one of the women completed.

"Nawww. I was gonna say heaven. Ya'll are so pretty that I thought that ya were all angels," Alfred charmed. The women giggled. Now that the atmosphere calmed down, the pianist resumed his playing and girls went about singing.

"Is it your first time in a Laramie parlor house, honey?" a woman asked as she knelt down and allowed her hands to wander down Alfred's chest. Arthur looked up at these words. Laramie? Parlor house? Jackpot.

The cowboy smiled, but not with his regular touch of childishness. Instead, his face took on something adult, something inappropriate.

"No," he whispered into her ear, "but I'd be glad to make today my first time in you."

The woman giggled as her cheeks took on a slight red color. Arthur was getting impatient. "But," the Englishman interceded, "we'd like to see the Madame for... erm... Business purposes."

All the women stared at Arthur for a bit, sizing him up.

"Ya know," a younger prostitute said, "Maître only takes customers that have an appointment."

"We just need to talk."

The women shook their heads. "No can do, boys. We don't do conversation here. Personally selected customers only."

"Personally selected, huh? How can she know if she's never even seen me?" Alfred questioned.

"We help choose," the young woman said. She helped both men up and guided them upstairs. The piano music and singing slowly faded as they followed the woman further down a hallway. She stopped at a door and led the men into a room. It was an elaborately decorated, complete with dressers, bottles of alcohol, and a bed.

"Care for a drink?" she asked.

Alfred would definitely not mind a swig from one of the fancy-looking bottles, but he knew that they needed to get to the house-owner and being drunk would only decrease their chances of ever reaching her. "No thank you, ma'am."

The prostitute turned to face the men. "Well then, shall we get started?"

"Get started with wha-" Arthur was interrupted when the girl started to push his coat off.

"Inspection," the woman smiled mischievously.

As she moved on to work on his shirt, Arthur grew redder and redder with each button undone. This is unholy! He'll go to hell for this! Alfred was able to detect his discomfort (or he just wanted some action for his own) and stopped the woman. He pulled her so that she was facing him.

"Not to be rude or nothin', but Arthur's mine. You could try me, though."

The woman looked at Arthur, who was bewildered, slightly offended, and backed up into a corner. He certainly did not belong to Alfred! If anything, the cowboy belonged to him!

Alfred grabbed her by the jaw and gently turned her face so that she was facing him.

"Don't mind him. He's from England," he reassured.

What the bloody hell was that supposed to mean? The prostitute received whatever message lay in the words and gave her full attention to the American. Alfred leaned in to kiss her, but kept his eyes open. He stared at Arthur intensely. The Briton grew even more nervous. What was he trying to do?

Hold on, to be chosen to see the Madame, Arthur assumed that one had to live up to relatively high standards. Seeing that he himself would refuse to do an act so dirty and Alfred's charm would wear off once he said more than ten words, then sneaking into the Madame's quarters would be the only way to reach her. Alfred would serve as a distraction while Arthur would slip away unnoticed. How did the oblivious cowboy comprehend such a complicated idea? As uncomfortable as it was imagining Alfred reproducing, Arthur silently thanked him for saving him from eternal damnation. Still, the plan made him feel a something akin to anger for whatever reason. What had to be done had to be done, though. It'd be a shame if they journeyed to Laramie just to return fruitless.

Whatever supernatural occurrence took place in order to make Alfred somewhat insightful, Arthur did not question it. When Alfred broke the kiss to coax the woman into bed, the Briton stole out of the doorway as quietly as possible. He walked down to the next door and knocked. The lack of response signaled him to open the door. He quickly apologized and slammed it when he saw a woman's bare legs holding onto a naked man's back. He tried the next door and was cussed at. The next one held two people doing something that Arthur was sure was illegal. He kept trying all the doors, but none of them looked any different from the last. Where the hell was the Madame's quarters?

After running around two stories of hallways, Arthur almost gave up completely. He leaned on the banister and watched the people interacting on the first floor. Girls sang around the piano while customers sat on luxurious couches, smoking cigars offered by scantily dressed prostitutes. He heard a door shut and the chandelier shake. His green eyes looked around for the origin of the disturbance and settled on a woman walking away from a door he had not noticed earlier. She was wearing brighter, more elaborate clothing than the rest of the women and stuffed a key into her stocking. Was she the Madame?

The Briton tore down the staircase in hopes that he would make it to the first floor before she disappeared. When he reached it, he walked briskly toward the woman, but then stopped and walked away just as fast. What was he going to say? Could he just bring up Elizaveta casually? Was that acceptable? Or should he pretend to be a customer and bring up the topic naturally? He opted with the last choice, just in case she would call for the bouncer to throw Arthur out for wasting her time. Besides, he remembered what they had said earlier about not having conversations. But if she didn't see him fit for her services, what was he going to do? He figured that he'll cross that bridge when he got there.

He closed his eyes, said a quick prayer, and headed straight toward the woman. "H-hello," he croaked.

"Oh, hello, sir," she returned, looking at him from top to bottom.

Arthur cleared his throat. "You look lovely."

"Why thank you," she giggled as she wrapped her arms around the blushing man's neck.

"As the Madame, you certainly outshine every other woman in this establishment." At this, the woman ceased moving and cocked her head in confusion.

"Oh, sir, you must be mistaken. I'm merely higher in ranking than the other girls. I don't own the parlor house."

Blast! Where was the Madame, then? Arthur had to think of a way to get this information from her.

"Really?" he began, "Don't tell me there is a woman more beautiful than you! I must chat with the Madame myself. Perhaps she will consider having you head the parlor. Where can I find her?"

The woman was unsuspecting of any of Arthur's tactics. She merely laughed and pointed at the door she emerged from. "But Maître only sees people by specially selected appointments."

Dad blame it, he would have to get the key from her. It was safely beneath her stocking and Arthur was far from being a skillful pickpocket. That only left one option. Arthur asked for forgiveness from all holy figures he knew before making his next move.

"Well," he said as he pushed her onto a nearby table, "I'm glad God doesn't need an appointment for me to be graced by one of his angels." He parted her legs as he leaned in to close the space in between their bodies. With his heartbeat racing and the devil surely grabbing onto his soul, Arthur kissed the woman and let his hands trail down from her shoulders to her thighs. His face grew warmer and warmer from what he was sure was the fires of hell as he rolled down each stocking.

The woman broke the kiss. "No rough stuff downstairs, pretty boy."

Damn. He was so close to the key.

"I won't be rough," he said. He went right back to what he was doing before the interruption.

Arthur felt a firm tap on his shoulder and a shadow cast over him. When he turned around, a large and definitely not polite looking bouncer was glaring at him.

"You heard the lady. No rough stuff downstairs."

Arthur smiled sheepishly and allowed himself to be pulled up the stairs and into the woman's bedroom. Oh Lord, nonononono. NononoNONONO. The Englishman was panicking. He was alone with a woman in her private quarters! He'll be tainted, blackened with sin, rejected from the Heavenly Father! He'll never be able to see the light of Heav-

"Yeehaw!" a certain cowboy's voice leaked from the other room.

Alfred was in the next room over? Wait, why on earth was he yelling out things like that during copulation? Whatever, this was a matter between eternal damnation and eternal salvation for Arthur. He continued on with his dirty act from downstairs. Feeling the outline of the key, he rolled the woman's sock down further and further until...

she moaned.

The Briton froze dead in his tracks. Did he cause that pleasure? Oh no, he was practically dancing with the devil right about now. He shut his eyes tight and kept going. Right when he managed to sneak the key out, the woman pulled him closer. Could he just leave? No, then the woman would be suspicious. B-blast! What was she doing, grinding on him like that? The Bible did not prepare him for a situation like this!

"A-Alfred!" he moaned loudly.

"If that's what you want to call me," the woman said wantonly, still moving her body against his.

Damn! Where was he?

"Alfred!" he called even louder.

"...Arthur?" a voice said through the walls. The prostitute was trained to pay no mind to the ruckus of the rooms next door. Within ten seconds, the American burst through the doorway. "Arthur!" he shouted. A couple looked up from their position in horror. Shit. Wrong room.

"Arthur!" the cowboy tried again, this time in the correct room.

The Briton turned to look at him with an expression of thankfulness and slight terror. "Alfred! Could it be?" Sweet acting skills, Arthur.

"Well duh," Alfred said, completely missing the context.

"I haven't seen you in years!" Arthur cried.

Alfred merely stared at him blankly. Wait, what? He saw him a few minutes ago.

"Years, Alfred, years! Surely you're just speechless from our encounter," Arthur pushed. The woman was just as confused as Alfred.

"But I just saw ya-"

"YEARS!" the frustrated Englishman shouted. He coughed awkwardly from the sudden outburst. "Ahem, years," he repeated.

The American furrowed his brows. "Right. Years."

"We must celebrate, Alfred! You're lost and now you've returned!" Arthur pried himself off the dazed woman and discreetly slipped the key into his pocket. He shooed the confused cowboy out as he tossed some money at the prostitute.

"Thank you, ma'am, for allowing my former lover and I to reunite! May your days be prosperous!" he called as he hurried out of the door.

"What the hell?" Alfred said.

Arthur sighed and led him down the staircase. "It was an act, you imbecile. I figured out where the Madame is, but the door was locked. I had to steal the key from the woman I was with a few moments ago."

The American took some time to process the information. "Ooohhhh," he said.

"Say," Arthur began with a growing blush spreading across his face, "Did you... sin with the woman?" Something in him just wanted to ask, but didn't really want to know the answer.

"Me? Naw, we just did some stuff. After ya left, I figured a few of them fancy cigars wouldn't hurt. We went along farting around after the mood died. Didja know that she could put her whole fist in her mouth?" The cowboy thought about how he tried and almost unhinged his jaw. "Wait, so why didja leave in the first place?"

Arthur looked at him in disbelief. "To get to the Madame, of course. I thought that was our unspoken plan. That's why you were staring at me, correct?"

Alfred merely laughed. "Wow, Arthur, yer smart! I never woulda thought about that. I was lookin' at ya because I wanted ya to steal some of their fancy alcohol."

The Briton's jaw dropped. All this time... Alfred had no idea what was going on... He just wanted some alcohol... And this entire time... Arthur had thought of him as a genius... Incredible...

Before Arthur could wallow in his puddle of incredulity any further, the pair reached the Madame's door. Arthur looked around for anybody watching, and when he figured that the coast was clear, he fished out the key and unlocked the door.

When they entered, they were greeted by elaborate chandeliers, gorgeous portraits, and beautiful rugs. It reminded Arthur a tad bit of his home in England. After looking around for a few seconds, Arthur's eyes landed on a person lounging on a couch.

"Bonjour," he said.

A/N: Again, I apologize for updating this fic practically everyday and then stopping and updating it several months later lol

School sucks yo

I also apologize because I feel like this chapter is sub par, but I'll make up for it I promise!

Half-mourning: Black eye

Madame: owner of a parlor house

Parlor house: whore house

Maître: Master