Where in the World is Alfred Jones?

Chapter 1

The United Kingdom

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Today, Matthew mused sipping a large cup of hot chocolate, was going to be a good day.

At the precise moment this thought went through his head, a hand grabbed around his collar, pulling him backward. He yelped, struggling against his attacker, but to no avail. Another hand had clamped around his mouth, silencing his yells for help.

"Matt!" A voice hissed into his ear. He looked over his shoulder where the bright blue eyes of his brother bored into him. The whites of his eyes were cracked by blurry veins. "I'll explain in a second. Just come with me."

Alfred dragged Matthew down the hallway and into a closet, shutting and locking the door behind him. Canada sat up, feeling around in the air until his hand closed around the chain hanging from the ceiling. As the light burst into life, it swung around wildly, making the shadows on his brother's face flicker. He appeared mad in the shaky light.

"Is there a reason for all this?" He asked. Alfred waved one hand at him, making a shushing gesture with his other. Lowering his voice, he continued, "Really, Alfred, what are you doing?"

When Alfred spoke, it was in a strained whisper. "Ivan's been bugging me about 'becoming one' with him lately, I dunno, I wasn't really paying attention. I challenged him to a game of hide and go seek saying that if he found me in three days, I would join him and that if I managed to stay hidden, he'd leave me alone."

Matthew said nothing, but the look on his face said it all. "I know it was a stupid idea. But it seemed smart at the time. Just hide out at Arthur's place for a couple of days and I wouldn't have to deal with that Red ever again!"

Arthur looked up from his book as his doorbell faded into silence. "Coming!" He called, moving to his entranceway. He took his time; the person who interrupted the first peace he had since Alfred had taken refuge in his home could wait.

He opened the door and suddenly the sunlight seemed to disappear. The dark silhouette towered above him. Taking a step back, Arthur stumbled slightly, falling over.

The figure moved closer. "Hello!" It said in a friendly voice, offering a large hand. It had finally moved out of the sun, and now England recognized the hulking shape.

"Ivan?" He asked, taking the hand and allowing himself to be pulled roughly to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for Alfred. Have you seen him?"

For one moment, Arthur considered lying. He considered telling the behemoth that he had not seen America for weeks and, last he heard, his brother was currently touring Africa

And then he realized, he just wasn't that nice.

"Alfred!" he called, "Someone's here to see you!"

There was no response. Arthur shifted slightly, crossing his arms. Any second now…

A maid popped her head out of the kitchen. "Mr. Jones just left. Shall I call him back, Lord Kirkland?"

Trying to hide his disappointment, Arthur shook his head. "No, that's alright. Just put on a pot of tea." He turned to Ivan, "Sorry, you just missed him. Do you want some tea instead?"

Ivan hesitated for a moment and then bowed his head. "That would be nice. A cup, no more." He followed Arthur into the parlour, taking a seat in the couch while England took his place in his favourite armchair.

In the next room, the maid was putting the kettle on the stove. It fell, spilling water all over the tile. The housemaid blushed, getting to her knees and trying to mop up the water. Arthur got to his feet, intending to help the girl, but a look from Russia forced him back into his chair. "So…" He prompted, his mind rather blank in the presence of the bigger country.

"Do you have any popsicles?"

The United Kingdom narrowed his eyes. "Pop…sicles?"

"Yes. I like cold things." Ivan's smile seemed to strain slightly and Arthur thought it better than to question him.

He waved the maid over, asking her to check if there were any popsicles and to hurry up with the tea. She came back a few minutes later, the tray shaking in her hands as she placed it on the table. Ivan pounced on the frozen stick, ripping off the paper as Arthur stirred the sugar into his tea.

The cup was halfway to his lips when he almost dropped it. Fumbling with the porcelain, the green eyes were fixed on Ivan's mouth. He was moving the popsicle in and out of his mouth with a deliberate slowness. A string of saliva connected his lips to the frozen cherry pop as he offered it to the slack jawed country. "Want some?"

"N-no, I'm f-fine, thank you." Arthur said, tearing his eyes away from the Russian. He focused on the swirling sugar in the bottom of his cup as Ivan shrugged and placed the frozen ice back into his mouth. Just when Arthur had finally gathered enough self-control to face Russia, the Northern nation began to groan. He doesn't mean to, Arthur tried to convince himself as the groans grew rough and gutteral, the ice has frozen to his tongue. He's only trying to peel it off. Yes, that's it. And groaning makes his breath...hotter.

"Arthur?" He snapped out of his thoughts and looked up. The violet eyes were watching him while the tongue gently caught the end of the ice. "Is something wrong?" Oh, he was screwed now. No matter how hard he tried, Arthur couldn't stop watching Ivan. Everything about him seemed so much more... suggestive than it did five minutes ago. The soft blond hair, the strong, hulking body, the smoldering lilac...

His mind suddenly revved back into life. Smoldering lilac? Did I really think that?! Arthur cleared his throat, attempting to get the behemoth's attention. Russia paid him no heed, apparently totally engrossed in the motion of the popsicle sliding in and out... No! Bad Arthur!

"Is that really necessary?" He blurted out. A hand played at his collar, attempting to relieve the heat that was building in the pit of his stomach.

The quiet moan as Ivan pulls the half-finished popsicle out of his mouth made the blush on Arthur's cheeks spread to the tips of his ears. His fingers tugged a little more frantically at his shirt collar. "What?"

"The…sucking…" The request hung in the air, slightly lame.

Ivan frowned at him. "How do you eat them?"

"N-not like that!" He got to his feet, striding away, worried that the small bulge in his pants would give Ivan the wrong impression. Staring out the window, Arthur waited for the sucking noise to stop and for the stick to clattered against the tray. Only when he was sure Ivan was done, did he look over. The lips were tinged a bright pink. "I have to go now. Goodbye." The giant left the room without another word.

Arthur quickly moved to the kettle, pouring himself a fresh cup. His hands trembled violently as he prepared his tea. The maid crept into the room, her eyes looking into every corner and back hunched, as though ready to shield herself from an attack. He took no notice, there was only one thing he needed right now and that was a steaming hot cup of tea.

"Wait a second…" He sniffed the tea and then looked at the maid. She shifted under his scrutinizing gaze, her blue eyes not quite meeting his. Her hand tugged at the blond hair while the other pulled her skirt down, trying to hide her legs. Her very hairy legs. Very muscled, hairy legs...

The cup fell from his limp hands. "ALFRED!? WHAT IN GOD'S NAME ARE YOU DOING IN A MAID OUTFIT?" Arthur bellowed, springing to his feet. As Ivan and his goddamned popsicle wasn't bad enough...

"Forgot my pipe," Ivan walked back into the room just as Arthur finished yelling. He looked up, hand slowly closing around the metal and a smile spreading across his face. "There you are."

With a small scream, Alfred gathered his skirts and fled from the room, "Thank you for the popsicle!" Ivan said to Arthur, accompanied by a small wink, and hurried away.

Arthur waited for a few moments before sinking into his chair and burying his face in his hands. It was over. No more maids, no more sucking, no more Alfred and definitely no more Ivan. There was nothing else that could possible go-

"Lord Kirkland!" He looked up at the distraught voice. His maid was standing in the middle of his parlor, stark-naked save for a brown bomber jacket. "You'll never guess what just happened!"

Matthew stared at his brother. He had done some idiotic things before, more than Canada cared to remember, but there was always a line that Alfred knew not to cross. No matter of thickheaded he appeared, that line was important and he knew never to cross it. The line was the difference between calling Ivan 'big-boned' instead of 'fat.' The line was the difference between eating Arthur's food and saying 'not good' as opposed to 'vomit-inducing crap.' The line was the difference between going to France's house and telling him the Eiffel Tower was a 'masterpiece' rather than 'a giant, iron compensation.'

That was until today. Today, the line had been crossed.

"Alfred. You are an idiot." Matthew had never said these words aloud, though they often ran through his head. It felt good.

And to his great surprise, America hung his head. "You're right Mattie. I'm an idiot." He quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "A big, stupid, fat idiot."

The one time I wish I had a recorder... "But you're still my brother, and I'm going to help you. Okay?"

The mood shift was instantaneous. Alfred was hugging him and his big grin was back on his face. "You are the best little brother... EVER!" He praised, holding him at arms length. He had tears in his eyes. "You still might manage to become as awesome as I am one day."

"Found you~" A voice said from behind them, interrupting Alfred's celebrating. Turning around, they saw Ivan standing in the closet doorway, pipe in hand. America squeaked and pushed Matthew out in front of him, ready to use him as a meat shield if Ivan chose to get violent.

"Oh fuck," said Matthew.

Author's Note

What ho!? Could that be some semblance of a plot I see on the horizon?

Wait, my bad, it's just imminent Russia!rape.