Nervous Talker

'Why won't it stop? Oh god. Stop talking Alfred, stop talking.'

It was like a slow motion scene in a disaster movie, where I was trying to stop everything that came out of my mouth, and I was so close to reaching the words and pulling them back to safety... but then they slipped and fell...and I was doomed.

It happened every time I talked to him.

Arthur Kirkland, light of my life, fire of my loins...gold medal winner of the Alfred Jones sex Olympics. I just ended up lying, and not even small lies like, "I totally knew McBeth* wasn't a type of fast food," or "Sure Arthur, I'd love to taste some of your cooking."

Last week when he mentioned he likes animals, I told him I had a pet ferret called Perkins and that I'd show it to him one day. Problem is, he seemed way to excited when I said I'd show him my 'hairy little ferret' and now if I want to date him, I'm worried I'm going to have to buy one. I should have gone with possums, I prefer possums. I think I would have the commitment to a possum lie, that I could never have to a ferret one.

It was lucky that every time I managed to come up with a reason for us to hang out, we went to Arthur's house and not mine.I don't think I'd be able to explain away the lack of water slide, original Shakespeare manuscript or giant robot butler.

Maybe what I really needed to do was stop lying. But it was just so hard when Arthur's so …perfect. And I'm...well...eugh. Let me put it this way, I had just spent twenty minutes telling him I once got scouted to be an underwear model. Which unless drunken facebook selfies count, is definitely not true.

"Well Alfred?" My thoughts were interrupted by his voice. It's so delicious and posh and Britishy. When I talk to him it's like living in a sexy version of a Dr Seuss book. I just want to hear him say things like 'crumpet' and 'talliwaker' and 'ruffian' and...

Oh shit he just replied and I was too busy horning over his voice to listen. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It's okay Alfred, I thought, just smile and nod. "Yea, yea I totally agree."

He paused. I grinned inwardly; maybe I said something smart for once. Alfred Jones, you are one smoooothhh operator.

Or maybe not.

Arthur pursed his lips, "And you really think that?"

"Of course." I tried to sound nonchalant. Perhaps I should mention politics, Arthur loves boring things like politics...ooh maybe I will come across as v. smart and sexy. I flexed my fingers before continuing, "It's just common knowledge right? I think Obama even made some law about it, it's a pretty massive issue."

Wrong move, now he was looking all grouchy. Probably just really jealous of my awesome, mega-smart political opinions. Can't say that it upset me...Arthur's even more dreamy when he's grouchy, I almost look forward to being told off. Mmm, those eyebrows, all crinkled and frowny.

"You're hopeless." Arthur folded his arms and I sighed, trying to pretend that I was annoyed and not just incredibly turned on.

"Well if Obama thinks it...and he's basically a political wizard," I looked at him knowingly. Can't go wrong with wizards, British people fucking love wizards. Fact. "It's an issue that's important for all American's. You just wouldn't understand cause you're British so all you care about is tea...and scones and er…"

"The ability to articulate?"

"Sarcasm." I finished laughing.

The corners of Arthur's lips tugged upwards for a moment and I smirked.

When Arthur leant forward I had to check I wasn't salivating. I tried to raise an eyebrow at him in a sexy, sophisticated way. To my surprise Arthur frowned.

"Alfred are you okay? Your eyes are twitching...really weirdly."

"What?" I began to panic and it happened again, the slow motion scene. The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them, "These are special eye exercises you can only learn at model-school."

Arthur folded his arms and stood up. He did not look happy. "Alfred I have to say, I'm getting sick of this."

"Of what?" Maybe he was intimidated because he thought I was a model, " You don't have to worry, Arthur, models are normal people just like you - "

"What I'm sick of -" he interrupted me pointedly, "are these lies."

Oh.

Shit.

"Lies, what lies?" I tried to force some conviction into my voice. It was my own fault, my lies might have been good, but I forgot that Arthur watches all those Daniel Craig spy movies. He's practically been trained to detect these things goddammit!

"Really, Alfred, 'what lies?' You just spent the last ten minutes telling me that Obama believes categorically," Arthur began, and I tried to nod firmly, hoping to produce another sexy-grouchy-smouldering stare thing. "That Francis, is in your brother Matthew's words...'sexy-fine."

"Oops."

"Really... I had no idea that Francis' ability to be 'sexy-fine' was such a serious issue for the American people."

"Sorry." I tried not to blush, because I wanted Arthur to think I'm super manly and tough. I mean, I was going for smart and politically informed, but got the feeling that ship had sailed.

"No, no, not at all. What I want to know, is do you have to wear sunglasses when you look at him? Is his beauty blinding like the sun?" Arthur continued, his green eyes twinkling in this unbelievably hot way and I had to cross my legs to hide my crotch, which was trying to poke out of its shell like sleepy turtle.

I raised my hands up in defeat, "Okay, okay I give. I'm a big fat liar. I'm not a model and I'm pretty sure Obama doesn't think Francis is sexy-fine." 'Michelle, might though,' was my afterthought. "How did we even get on to that, anyway."

"Well after you told me about your, er...modelling, " Arthur looked at me meaningfully and I swallowed. "I remarked that I was surprised Francis hadn't tried to force you to bring him along. I have, after all heard many times from Matthew that he is the self-proclaimed definition of 'sexy-fine'."

"You don't think that, do you?" I asked.

Francis is dating my half-brother Matthew and although I've never seen him and Arthur together, Matthew tells me they have these big arguments and they both end up looking all hot and bothered!

To my great relief, Arthur tipped his head back and scoffed, "Me? With that frog. Eugh. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to catch gonorrhea from just looking at him."

I decided not to inform that him gonorrhea is actually a type of delicious cheese.

It took about twenty minutes, but Arthur finally began to calm down. He still looked all cranky, but his eyes were bright and alive, like two pools of green fire.

"Your eyes are like two beautiful…..." I said without thinking. Again. I needed to play this carefully, maybe if I used the right words, he'd forgive me! "Emeralds," I finished tentatively and Arthur looked pleased. Unfortunately, as per usual my mouth kept running…."Framed by hairy, caterpillars."

Arthur sighed looking put upon, "You think my eyebrows are like caterpillars."

"Hungry ones," I added as an afterthought, "Well maybe not all that hungry because they're sort of fat, although I guess that could be because they're hungry all the time. But that works too right? Because you have green eyes, so they could be like, the lettuce." My thought process whilst all of this was happening was just 'shut up, shut up, shut up' - which I think translates to 'you moron, stop talking about his deliciously, plump eyebrows and say something he'll actually like.'

"Oh good. My eyes have gone from emeralds...to lettuce." I looked at him helplessly, but his face showed no emotion. I didn't think he was angry, but he might just have been saving it up. It's hard to tell with Arthur.

"I meant pretty lettuce." I finished half-heartedly.

He stood up folding his arms, "Do you know what your problem is, Alfred?"

"I chew with my mouth open?" I guessed.

"No." He put his hands on my shoulders and leant in, "You don't know when to stop talking."

And he kissed me.

Arthur fucking kissed me!

"Woo hoo!" I shouted out-loud, breaking away from the kiss to fist pump, because this was amazing and I needed to celebrate. "You like me! Haha! In your face."

Arthur raised those eyebrows and I decided now might be a good opportunity to take his advice.

"Yes I suppose I do. I mean you're an idiot, with horrible taste in just about everything - "

"Whatever you say masterchef."

He chose to ignore me and continued, "and an awful nervous talker. But.." He put his legs each side of mine and pressed our lips together once more, "I guess I kind of like that."

We stayed like that for a really long time, just kissing and touching each other. He ran his hand down my chest and through my hair, and I pulled him closer, grinding my body against his. I must be better with actions than words because he made this delicious little groaning sound, which I took as invitation to speed things up. I put my hands on Arthur's hips and I was just about to remove his top when a thought struck me.

"Have you got a condom?" I pulled away from him reluctantly, "Just in case one of us catches gorgonzola."

"Alfred, stop talking."

"You had better keep my mouth busy then," I challenged.

He raised his hand to give me a playful nudge, but instead I grabbed and kissed it, before pressing it to my heart.

I smiled, he smiled... and finally there was silence.

"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."

- Ingrid Bergman

*Macbeth (of course aha).

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: We are currently in the throes of planning a brand new, epic-length, multi-chapter, Hetalia fanfic. So if we don't post anything for a while, it is not because we are dead, or on a hiatus - but because we want to get the vast majority of the fic written before we post.

Hope you enjoyed this fic, feel free (by which I mean I would love it if you did) to review!

A LieutenantProbable One-Shot.