[Fanfic] Real Gone [1/2]
Washington D.C. United States.
July 1950.
Five years since the official end of the war. 1950, July now, to be precise. It was a pleasant summer, more pleasant certainly than those that the world had recently been through. The world as a whole was still insecure, especially after the end of the Nazi party regime and tensions in the political landscape. For nations, one by one, declining dramatically was a fear that in some form or another they would all undertake. They were falling - the weak depended on the strong, and people were forced to sacrifice their pride and prejudices in order to survive. Slowly, the rift between the Soviet East, and the capitalist West were beginning to form.
It was like the international system was playing a chess game versus itself, and they - the nations that existed in our minds and those that walked the Earth - were the unfortunate pieces. Suddenly unease and dependency were splitting them apart, tearing the world into two opposing blocs. Their fortunes were being changed, manipulated as if the world was moving them forwards, twisting their paths - anticipation and unrest was like a finger, stroking their sides, as they decided upon their next moves.
The Black Queen lingered hopelessly as he watched the empire he had built slowly fall to pieces with the break-down of colonialism. After the many years he had spent collecting it - after all of the wealth he had accumulated was lost. Yet for once, his heart was not filled with anger nor resentment. For once, the Black Queen knew that he was powerless to stop it. Like the sand surrounding his borders, it all trickled out of his hands. The empire was broken.
Now, dimmed green eyes flicked up and lingered, almost unseeing. A thinned body was wrapped up well in layer after layer of grey, blue, and pinstripes. He squeezed his fists under the table, and tried to listen in on the conversation unfolding in front of him. The setting - Post-war United States, a meeting with two important men and their counterparts. The summer was warm, but it left an uncomfortable feeling inside his ever more frail body. A sickness, or a feeling of loss. His mind was elsewhere.
Across from the English nation and his Prime Minister sat a rather small old man, his glasses as thick as soda bottles rested heavily on his nose as he looked through a pile of papers and sighed softly. Grey eyes looked tired as he shifted in his seat, the chair creaking slightly at his movements and he settled quickly, not liking the loud noise the chair made. It only made it obvious how overwrought and tense it was in the room.
President Truman smiled at the two across from him and folded his hands over the oak table of the meeting room. "Let me say again, how sorry I am that we were not able to hold this meeting at the White House. It's not exactly... appropriate for guests at the moment." He glanced away when he heard a snort come from the large blonde in the chair next to his.
"It's okay. Arthur doesn't like it anyway, what with the burning it down and all." The American nation pulled a pack of Lucky Strike out of his pocket and shook it so that it produced a thin white stick. His skin, hair, and manner were all bright as day. The gloom of the war had barely touched him. Now, in the aftermath, it was him that was the most healthy - and didn't that just give him some pride? "Anyone have a light? I forgot mine in the car."
"I hardly think that is appropriate, Alfred. The remark, that is," Arthur said in a stern but controlled tone - he was trying not to snap sarcastically at Alfred in front of their bosses. That would be even more inappropriate behaviour. With a reluctant sigh, however, Arthur reached into his pocket and drew out a silver lighter, which he flicked open to light Alfred's cigarette regardless. "Careful. One false move, and obviously I'll set this entire room alight."
Detecting a frown from his Prime Minister, Arthur obediently sat back down in his place and tucked the lighter away for later use. He mindfully fingered the cigarettes in his pocket, but refused to light up. Alfred was more obsessed, if that were possible, with those smoky sticks. He eyed the American up, somewhat absent-mindedly, as the two political leaders begun their talks.
Alfred smirked and took a small inhale from the cigarette between his fingers, then leaned back as he let the wisps of smoke pool out from his mouth artfully. He licked his lips at the taste and could feel the need for the small stick fade away just slightly. He watched the Prime Minister carefully, intense blue eyes tracking every movement that the man made and it make him smile inside at how quiet and business like the Briton was.
As for Arthur and him. There was nothing Business like about them.
He took another drag off of the cigarette and moved his eyes over to Arthur, blowing the smoke expertly out of his nose. He gave the other nation a small smile and a quirk of his eyebrow to show that he wasn't really even listening to their bosses discussion. Arrogance. It dripped off the American nation like thick honey as he shifted to cross his legs and the English nation felt something brush against his leg.
Arthur flinched. That cocky bastard.
Did Alfred truly believe that it was not worth his time to pay attention? That said, it was not like the Englishman was concentrating to any particular extent either. He was there for formality, to make sure that there was nothing said that he had major objections to. These days, however, he was forced to have an open mind. He was expected to lean towards what was most advantageous for him, and his people. That was why he was tucked away in the smartest suit they could wrangle upon him in these times of relative vulnerability. It was all designed as an appealing proposition, a bid to continue an ever-strong alliance.
Basically, it was to pretend that he was not becoming weaker and less influential as the days go by. A purposeful delusion. Heaven knows, Arthur would not let anyone pity him.
It took him till blue eyes met their equivalent pair of jade before Arthur realised that he had been staring at the American for a few minutes now. The tickling sensation that trailed against his leg made his muscles stiffen, both below and above the desk. His eyes darted to their leaders to see if they had noticed his suddenly tense posture. Not that Arthur would slough regardless. He was a disciplined man, and able to feign interest in anything. Deliberate complacency, however, was unacceptable. Arthur shook his leg and gave a sharp look to the American across the desk - a silent warning.
Not here.
Alfred frowned as his touch was pushed away but he smiled coolly and took another long drag of his Strike before moving his foot back towards the Briton. This time it was easy to tell that Alfred had toed off his dress shoe because when he touched Arthur's clothed calf, it was soft. Not hard and pointy like his shoes.
Alfred let the smoke out of his mouth slowly, acting like he was watching the white plumes roll around and fade when his eyes were trained on the other nation. He laughed when Truman joked about having Alfred meet the King one day, even going as far to make a comment about the lovely Miss. Elizabeth and how he would not mind being shown around England if it was by her. Alfred could tell that comment about Arthur's Princess had made everyone in the room grow deathly quiet, but he really didn't care.
He smiled handsomely at Arthur, his foot moving higher.
Had Arthur been any more straight-laced, he might have stated out loud that he was uncomfortable and wanted Alfred to stop touching him up. However, the fact remained that Arthur did not mention a word. As the foot moved up higher, Arthur's trousers lifted a little too, exposing his legs to the air. A disapproving glance was sent Alfred's way, and he reached under the desk to slap his foot away manually.
His eyes darted to their bosses, before they settled on the handsome American once more. 'Stop that right now', he mouthed. His eyes flicked from the bosses and back to Alfred again, hinting something. Hiding something else.
The American frowned deeply at his advances being swatted off a second time and he rolled his eyes as he moved back in his seat, actually listening to Arthur's warning this time. When Truman asked him his opinion on a matter that he hadn't quite been listening to he smiled slightly and shrugged. "I think I would be able to focus better after a good meal and some sound sleep. Don't you think, Boss?" He tilted his head cutely at his President and watched with satisfaction as the man unwillingly gave in.
"Yes, I guess we have been in here for awhile now." To prove his point Truman turned to look at the ornate clock on the oak table and nodded. "Yes. Good, how about we break for today. Come back tomorrow around eight?" Both Americans, Nation and person, glanced over at the two Britons, looking for their nod of approval. Blue eyes held green as he waited for their answers.
Self-righteous boy. Alfred oozed charisma, and got exactly what he wanted. Now, since Alfred had rocketed to the top, he had grown cocky on victory. Perhaps that was what got Arthur's heart pumping. Whether he wanted to or not, he was drawn to power. Drawn to the protection and security that it provides.
C. R. Attlee nodded, and approved the end of the meeting for today. They gathered their briefcases and stood, preparing to leave the office. Arthur was unusually quiet. As his Prime Minister looked over at him to see if he was about to follow, Arthur shook his head and explained that he wished to have a moment to speak with Alfred. If they were suspicious, they did not impose, allowing them to have the room to themselves by leaving ahead of them to attend to their own business.
As soon as they left - Arthur banged his briefcase back down on the desk and scowled at Alfred, pressing his hands to the wood too. His shoulders were hunched and tense, body language expressing annoyance more than any other emotion. "What the Dickens were you doing that for? You could rumble us."
There was a long pause before Alfred let out a soft snort of laughter at the others temper and he leaned across the table to stub out his cigarette in the ash tray before he spoke. "I could rumble us? Oh, dear. Not that," he replied sarcastically and moved to press a button on the small intercom at the end of the table. When it made a loud click he smiled widely and leaned in close to the small speaker, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly. "Betty, sweetness. Will you bring me and Mr. Kirkland something to drink? Our meeting was pretty rough."
There was another click. "Of course, Mr. Jones." The sweet voice poured from the small machine. "Whiskey or Gin?" Alfred glanced over at Arthur to silently ask what the man preferred, but before Arthur could even say Alfred just smiled and clicked the button again. "Surprise us."
Arthur watched him with a vague air of suspicion, especially after the way he asked for their drinks. So playful in tone, cheeky almost. Arthur recognised it - it was confidence, believe in himself, haughtiness more than anything else. Too right. Right now, Alfred was unrivalled. How Arthur missed that constant energetic feeling. With his mind in the past, the Englishman took his seat again, looking up at Alfred on the desk with a condescending stare. "You are abusing your strength, do you know that? Alfred, you certainly cannot go around doing whatever you would like. Not to mention - feeling me up during a meeting? What are you, four? Please."
Alfred's eyes trailed after Arthur unabashed as he moved back from the intercom and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He smirked as he pulled another cigarette from his pocket and put it in his mouth as he leaned over the broad table, blonde eyelashes fluttering slightly as he looked at Arthur. "I highly doubt a four year old would be feeling you up, unless there is a new epidemic sweeping the children in England," he smiled coyly, his lips curving around the slender stick as a few strands from his oiled blonde hair fell to frame his young face.
"Light me up again would you, Baby doll?"
"Yes, obviously. My children are perverse, well sexed Americans," Arthur rolled his eyes. What a stupid thing to say. He almost criticised himself for saying such an unrealistic age in the first place, but he persevered in his attempt to make Alfred's supremacy crack just a little bit. He hated that he was attracted to it.
Arthur reached into his pocket again, pulling out his own cigarette before the thin Briton lent over Alfred and lit his. He then popped his own stick into his lips, and let the end touch Alfred's till his was lit up as well. He took a deep inhale, and sighed the smoke out through his mouth. "Don't call me 'Baby doll'. It's indecent."
Blue eyes lit up when Arthur leaned close to light his cigarette with the tip of Alfred's and he let out a soft happy sigh. "Well, then what am I supposed to call you? Not Sugar, Sweetie, Sweetheart, Doll face, Kitten or even Baby. What the hell am I supposed to call you, Artie?" He inhaled on his stick and held the smoke in for a bit as he thought, then let it out in a rush. That Brit, so stubborn. He just wanted to be a little endearing. Besides, the British had way more pet names at hand. "Why not let me call you pet names? I mean we have already fucked enough times where I think it's appropriate."
Arthur's eyes opened as if now on high alert, and coughed up some of his cigarette smoke that had gone the wrong way. He looked over to the door, afraid that perhaps there might have been someone outside that would hear. Then his accusing glance was back on the American. "Don't say that so easily!" He said in a warning, perhaps even afraid tone. "Look, Jones, you're lucky I don't clobber you for all of those pet names-I'm not one of your flimsy little… I don't know, women or something. Do not treat me like that."
Alfred opened his mouth to retort but the small knock on the door made him shut it quickly and turn to look at the small pastel colored door. "Yes?" He called as he frowned at the Briton for being so difficult, taking another inhale then smiling and letting the smoke glide out of his mouth when he saw the door open.
Brilliant auburn red hair poked its way through the crack in the door way, while cherry red lips smiled softly."I brought the drinks, Mr. Jones." The woman at the door said softly and moved into the room when Alfred motioned her to come in. Her silky curls were pulled into a neat up do that showed off her pretty white neck while her red Chanel dress hugged her slim figure attractively. She smiled politely at Arthur and handed him his glass of whiskey before moving over to Alfred and handing him his own glass.
"Thank you, Betty." Alfred smiled widely, his perfectly straight and white teeth gleaming in the fluorescent light as he took a sip, and then put a hand on her waist not hiding the fact that he was looking her over. "You look very nice today, Sweetie. Is that a new dress?"
She giggled softly and placed her hand over his, a playful look coming into her light blue eyes as she moved a little closer to the sitting American. "Yes, it is. How nice of you to notice. It's from France."
There was a roll of eyes, before a very long breath of smoke was exhaled into the room. Arthur seemed to be more preoccupied with his cigarette than watching Alfred undoubtedly flirt with the lady. Well. Excuse him for being proper, but he did not believe in showing off one of his lays in front of another. If Alfred claimed he had not slept with that Betty, Arthur would have accused him quite readily of lying. He stubbed his cigarette out aggressively, and took his drink.
"Thank you. Betty, was it?" Arthur said in an admittedly non-courteous voice. Yes, perhaps he was usually a gentleman. Perhaps. But not when Alfred's eyes were enthusiastically drinking her in, his nose and throat gargling at her perfume. Whatever happened to chivalry, or at least pretending that you were not all over each other as much as you clearly were? He hid his own endeavours plenty well, thank you very much. Very much indeed. "If you don't mind, Mr. Jones and I would like to return to our business."
He faced Alfred and gave a false, obviously forced smile. Oh, that berk. Could he faciliate a madder feeling in him if he tried? So, Arthur was prone to jealousy and Alfred knew that. Why else would be act like this? To punish him for not caving into his endearing phrases? 'Sweetie'. That was his name.
His.
The pretty little red head blinked and then smiled apologetically over at Arthur. "Yes, of course. I'm very sorry, Mr. Kirkland." She nodded her head to him in apology and turned back to Alfred with a soft smile. "I should get back to my desk."
Alfred nodded then stood up to walk her over to the door himself, hand remaining at her waist. He gave her a peck on the cheek and whispered something about next Thursday before she blushed and walked out.
By the time she had left, Arthur was standing stiffly on the other side of the desk, looking fixatedly at the ash tray. His face was redder than usual, and the reason why was clear. No one should have to listen to someone they were having sex with hook up with another person. It just devalued them - made him one of many. "So... so you're still having sex with other people." Arthur said, drumming his fingers almost nervously on the desk.
Alfred closed the door softly and then turned to look at Arthur, not even worrying when some ashes fell from his cigarette on to the carpet floor. "I don't see how that is any of your business." He replied in a bit of a clipped tone before he moved back to the table to stub out his second cigarette. "Besides, it's not like Francis is the best at keeping your escapades a secret." Alfred screwed up his face slightly, raising his eyebrows and cocking out his hip to the side. "Oh, you should have seen Arthur the uzer night. He had so much in 'im that 'e was willing to do anything I wanted. Oh, 'ow fun it was," Alfred mocked, the overly French accent he used making it sound like he was hacking up a hairball.
Arthur would have laughed, if he was not the butt of the joke. He sat atop the desk - oh, shoot him if you dared - and watched the American act. The jutting out hip taught Arthur's attention, and his eyes focused on the prize before he could remember the line his eyes held and shook it off. "At least I limit myself to you and Francis. Besides, the only reason I bother with him is because we're in an open relationship. You were the one that said that you were going to see other people. What am I supposed to do, keep chaste for you if you're going off with some pretty bird?"
Alfred's face turned sour when Arthur brought up that up, opening his mouth to tell Arthur what was what but then he just closed it with a soft snap and fixed his jacket. "Whatever, I don't want to fight with you. It's stupid anyway." He picked up his drink and downed the rest of the golden drink, not even flinching when it burned down his throat. He set the glass down and licked his lips then glanced over at Arthur and his own drink that the Briton had only been nursing. "You going to finish that?" He asked as he fished his car keys from the pocket in his jacket, running his fingers along the cool metal ridges.
Arthur gave Alfred an uncomfortable stare, before he knocked his head and the glass back, downing his whiskey in a few quick gulps. Slam, the glass was back on the desk, and he hopped off of it in order to follow after the American.
"Does that answer your question?" He asked plainly. Their relations had gone vaguely cold now. Mostly out of uncertainty. Arthur could not help but wonder if Alfred flaunted his prowess in front of him on purpose. He already knew that he was sexy. He was already hooked. He did not need to reminded of his decreasing worth, and it annoyed him to be reminded.
Alfred sighed at Arthur's attitude and knew it was going to be a long night if that stupid stick did not come out of Arthur's ass. He rolled his shoulders as he walked over to the door, opening it up for Arthur to pass through. After they had moved to the lobby Alfred let Betty know that they were done for the day and that she was able to leave if she wanted.
"Come on, I'll take you to Le château bleu. Because I know how much you love the French."
If it was a dig at Arthur hating everything French or a comment about him and Francis's late night activities, Arthur not know. The American quickly followed the comment up with chatter about his brand new buick, circling his arm around Arthur's waist - only for it to be slapped away again.
Dinner was better that Arthur had expected. At least Alfred had introduced him to a fairly good restaurant, and he refused to let him pay for anything - though he did get a cheeky few snubs in, like how he would be paying for it anyway since Arthur's money mostly came from him, the bloody fecker. There were some comments about weight too. Concerns rather than amusements and titbits. Arthur had tried to refuse the situation by turning the focus of attention away from himself, in pointing out that right now, there were people that were most certainly worse off. The conversation had not lingered.
"I told you to get coloured key caps. Without them I'd never know which is for my cabinet in my house, and which is for the cabinet in parliament," Arthur scoffed, hand on hip.
Alfred frowned slightly when he fumbled for the right key. God, it wasn't like he was drunk. He had only had two Tom Collins and a Mint Julep, but he was still struggling to figure out which key on his ring fit into the house lock. "Ah! Got it!" He cried happily when the key slipped into the lock soundlessly and turned. Pulling it out of the lock, Alfred smiled at the Briton over his shoulder as he turned the knob and opened the door. "Welcome to my humble abode."
It was anything but humble.
When Alfred brought Arthur into his house - one that was larger than he had expected to see in these times. The reminders that Alfred was still doing well, perhaps even thriving, were cropping up everywhere. While Arthur was resentful, deep down, it was not unaccompanied by acceptance. Honestly, he was impressed. Proud, maybe - though the more he thought about it, it did strike him quite deeply. Alfred had only really done so well after Arthur had lost his grip on the boy and his policies. Still, he had opened his arms to a genius and a hero - there was something golden about that boy from many years ago. Was it really a surprise that he had flourished so well?
Instead of maintaining his bitterness, Arthur caved in. He kept a relatively pleased expression on his face and stepped inside, slipping off his shoes in the hallway out of manners. He looked over at Alfred, watching the American and wondering how he felt now - living in a world where he was the main actor in control of everything, atop the highest stool. Arthur knew that seat well, but somehow, he thought that Alfred would be far more courteous. "You're doing well for yourself."
Alfred smiled as he slipped his shoes off as well, tugging on the knot in his tie as he moved further into the living room. He always loved coming home and walking on the plush carpet with his sore feet, it made him feel like all the problems were being left outside the door. "Mmm? You think? I still have tons of Jews coming over, so I guess it's not that great. But hey, you know what people say, they are good with their money so hopefully they apply that with their new home."
The carpet was a beautiful stainless beige that looked very soft to the touch, while the wall on the adjacent side to them looked rough and harsh in contrast. The fireplace was neatly kept with the television off to the side, a newer model - of course, Arthur could tell. He was not shy in demonstrating how well he could manage himself. Above the fireplace was a multicolored sunburst clock which read eight fifty, far too late for anything good to be on air.
Alfred made his way over to the small bar on the left side of the room and got them two glasses. "Something to settle dinner?" He offered as he started to pour some rum into the glasses, then reached down to the small fridge and opened a bottle of Cola. "Though maybe we'll start to see them in a different light someday, like we did with your brother and Romano's lot that kept flooding in here."
"Oh don't remind me," Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes. He had only just left the area two years ago when the Israeli state was formed. Relations in that area were tense. Eventually he just had to declare that it wasn't his problem. "So many identities, fighting other the same bloody patch of land. I'm surprised that you let them all in. I'm glad to see the back of that sodding part of the world,"
As Alfred moved them on, Arthur came to join him at his bar. He lingered as Alfred poured cola into his glass, and took a hefty sip. "Ah," he exhaled, smacking his chilled lips. "Well, you'll get used to them. Not like you're new to sudden influxes of people. Nor am I, really."
"Mmm...I guess so." Alfred poured his with cola and then sipped the drink thoughtfully, moving to push his glasses up with his middle finger. "So, what do you want to do? I have some board games." Blue eyes flashed quickly in warning, telling the older Nation not to dare make a 'child' comment about him owning board games. "There's also some magazines you might like. Got the ladies one for you cause they show you new patterns for sewing and they have some cooking stuff as well."
"Is that a jibe against my masculinity, or a jibe against my cooking?" Arthur said, giving Alfred an annoyed look. He huffed and took another strong sip of his drink. "The magazine will do lovely, I thank you. I'm not doing it for you, I would just like to see if there are any additional crocheting techniques for me to pick up," he said matter-of-factly and looked up, daring Alfred to make another leer.
Alfred smirked slightly as he sipped his drink slowly, eye never leaving Arthur's bright green ones. He put his glass down and moved over to the Briton smoothly, his feet barely making a sound against the carpet. Alfred sat on one of the small stools set up by the home bar and reached out, looping his arms around Arthur's waist and pulling the Briton in-between his legs.
He smiled as he watched the sandy blonde and leaned up to peck those thin pale lips, hand moving to rest on Arthur's rear. "So... Did you miss me, Baby?"
Arthur gave a small grunt as Alfred pulled him right in. As Alfred squeezed his arse, he rolled his eyes a little to disguise how he really felt. At first, he had been uncertain of being treated in this way by the man, as a man - but the feeling slowly became subdued. He began to appreciate that wide hand clasping his buttock through his clothes and without them. Not that he was willing to admit it. No, he would not cave in so easily. Still, as Alfred pecked him on the lips, Arthur could not help but kiss back.
"I told you not to call me that..." Arthur trailed off, as he rested his hand on Alfred's shoulder. "It's only been a few months since we last got together, Jones... Of course, I've missed you."
Alfred smiled widely when he heard that the other had missed him - hopefully just as badly - the smile showing exactly how young the man actually was. "Well, that makes me very happy." The American purred softly and moved to kiss at Arthur's neck, soft pecks at first but they slowly grew in pressure until Arthur felt something wet slide across a patch of skin on his neck. "How much did you miss me?" Alfred cooed into his ear, both hands gripping Arthur's butt as he pulled him closer.
Arthur took a sharp intake of breath as he was dragged ever closer to Alfred. He shut his eyes tightly, concentrating on the feel of those wide hands resting on his plump flesh. Yes, Alfred had let those hands get very acquainted to that area, and it was like Arthur was powerless to resist. There was something about Alfred. Something that he appreciated, and wanted to treasure. A sparkling hope in questionable times. Arthur, however, was conscious of dignity. Much as he liked the hands on him, he smacked one away. "The night is still more youthful than I am, and you already are thinking of darker things," he commented, and his hands grabbed handfuls of Alfred's jacket. "I missed you, Jones. I missed you."
Alfred pouted when his hand was smacked away, but he smiled against when Arthur grabbed his jacket and he leaned in closer. "Mmmm... why won't you let me touch you? I know you like it..." He kissed Arthur's neck again, letting one of his hands slide up and down Arthur's side. "So... what have you been up to while we have been apart?" Alfred's hand was starting to work on Arthur's belt buckle. "Anything big," He smirked as his hand brushed against Arthur's crotch through his slacks. "Going on in England?"
So they were getting randier - getting more in the mood. Arthur gave Alfred an uncertain look, and he shivered as those hands roamed his body over his clothing - a taste of what would come next. "Careful," he muttered as Alfred fidgeted with his belt buckle, only dawdling to play with him, surely. "Nothing special. Politics, the build up to elections, sorting out the rest of Europe, a few dinners with Francis..."
Larger hands stilled for only a second when he heard the French man's name but Alfred swallowed the lump that had quickly formed in his throat and kept moving to undo the English nation's pants. "Oh? That sounds... nice." He could help the stab of jealousy that grew heavier as he thought about the two of them. "What all did you two do?" He bit down a little bit on Arthur's neck.
Arthur winced as Alfred bit his neck, though did not force him away. As he liberated him by undoing his flies, Arthur had to respond by tightening his legs shut to stop them falling down. He had lost weight since he first bought them, but the 'make do and mend' philosophy was still heavily with him since the war era. Even now he was still suffering from lack of rations and commodities. But he was not one to complain, especially when faced with Alfred, who seemed to be doing so well.
Back onto the subject of Francis, Arthur was uncertain of what to say. "I don't see... ngh. I don't see why it is your business," Arthur muttered. "He's not you, so why don't we forget about him for now?"
Motion stopped all together as the American went very still.
"None of my business?" He whispered softly and suddenly his hand was in Arthur's hair, gripping it tightly and forcing the blonde head back roughly. Alfred stood quickly and pressed the Briton back against the bar, a soft growl rising in his throat as he glared down at the man. "None of my business, my ass." He yanked on Arthur's hair a bit, forcing the Nation's head back further in an almost painful way. "Did you forget who's helping you fucking stand, Arthur? Did you forget that without me right now you would have barely anything? So, I think it's in my right to say that what you do with that sick pervert is my god damned business."
As Alfred shoved him to the bar and started uttering these sharp, hate-filled words, Arthur could barely believe what he was hearing. He stared at Alfred, completely astounded. How dare he-? "What the Hell, Alfred!" He pushed him forwards, managing to get the American to let go of his hair. Arthur flattened it with his hands. "Why do you care what I do with Francis? It's just occasional sex! Besides-I don't ask what you do when you're off with your many... I don't know... floosies! Why did you rub it in my face earlier that you were clearly sleeping with that woman at the office, hm? And don't bring politics into this! Why can you flounce about with whoever you want, and then feel justified in doing this to me? I'm just one of many to you."
Alfred threw his hands up into the air and turned around, moving more towards the middle of the living room so he could get away from Arthur, but still not his words. "Are you serious? You're bring this up again?" The larger nation turned back to glare at Arthur heatedly. "Why does this always come up as an issue? Last time we talked you were perfectly fine with the open relationship! I remember your words exactly!" Alfred raised his nose in the air and huffed, his body posture moving more stiffly as he rolled his eyes upward.
" 'Alllfred, I would very much like it if we could keep this between us. I do not want anyone to think that the nation of England has to whore himself out in order to keep afloat.' God, and you said that right after we fucked! Like it meant nothing!"
"Oh, don't-! The fact is that you showed off in front of me earlier that you were hooking up with that Betty person!" Arthur pointed out strongly. "Now, as soon as I mention that I have had a dinner or two with Francis, you go bananas at me for letting someone else have a piece of me! Whose view is bigoted here, Alfred? I told you that it was none of your business because I don't want to bring whatever I do with Francis into this. Are you comfortable with me seeing other people or not? Because I'm sorry - I don't want to be just another one of your bed partners, here to be your woman and to cater to your needs while you won't let me see other people too!"
"No!" Alfred roared loudly, not caring if the neighbors heard him because he was pissed. "Don't you think it's pretty fucking obvious I don't like seeing you with other people!" He raked a hand through his oiled hair, making the strands hang more into his face than before. "But I'm not the one who right after we had a pretty amazing night together gets up and says that you don't want anyone to know about 'us'! I'm sorry, but usually when you're not seeing someone you see other people!"
The 'no' had made Arthur take a step backwards in weakness, shying away from the noise and the ferocity in his voice, before Arthur became quickly frustrated with himself and his partner. He gathered his strength back, and stepped up to Alfred. "You know what? I said that, Alfred, because I was worried that others will think that I'm with you for the money - and I'm not. I value what we have - no, had - higher than that, you tosser!" Arthur snapped, trying to justify his point. His shoulders quaked with upset and rage, face going slightly red.
"The only reason I ever even thought of letting Francis fuck me is because you wanted to see others!" He pushed Alfred stubbornly in his chest, exerting some of his anger. "Do you get it yet-?"
Something snapped inside the large Nation when he felt those small hands forcefully push against him. Quickly every single thing he had learned about control and being decent slipped away, leaving only the animal instincts he had as a small child and he saw red. Without any warning to the Briton, Alfred stepped closer and then roughly shoved the smaller nation back using every bit of strength he had. Arthur flew backwards and the small of his back met the bar counter painfully with a sickeningly loud thud.
The whoosh of the air had momentarily confused Arthur, and then there was a loud thud. It took only milliseconds for his body to realise that it had been him that had made it when he collided with the front of the bar. Arthur cried out in pain and found himself buckling - he grabbed the bar stool to try keep himself off of the ground, and pulled a terribly pained face as he recoiled in pain. Had Alfred done that even months earlier, Arthur might have reopened a wound that had not recovered well post-war. Green eyes, which Arthur had to fight against to stop from watering, looked over at Alfred in shock. He was dumbfounded. He opened his mouth to speak, as he dragged himself back up to standing and winced from the horrible ache, but no sound came out.
Alfred blinked for a moment and when he saw Arthur's face contort in pain guilt quickly washed through him as he started to calm down. He stood still for the longest time, not knowing what to do. He, one of the strongest nations in the world, had just pushed Arthur, a nation who was only starting to heal from everything that had happened during the war. He curled his hands into fists as he looked down at his feet, not quite sure what to do. He should apologize and do whatever Arthur asked of him, but his pride kept him where he stood.
"I..." He scowled when his voice cracked softly and he cleared his throat loudly. "I think we should go to bed. You know where the guest room is." He didn't want to be around Arthur right now, not like this. So, with that he went into the kitchen and out the back door, quickly pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up with the lighter he kept out there.
Arthur stared at him as he ran out. If he were an animal, Arthur suspected he might have had his tail between his legs and his ears scooped low. Slowly, Arthur gathered himself onto the stool. He covered his mouth, and reached behind to rub the sore spot where his back had hit the bar. Alfred was horrifically strong. Horrifically. He took a few long, deep breaths to calm himself down. Then, he looked over at where the American had been, reminiscing those moments. It scared him to remember how annoyed Alfred had looked.
"Dammit, Arthur," he murmured to himself, and pressed his hand to the bar. "You don't want to be scared of someone that you love."
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