English Leather Boots and Western Lemonade

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters.

"Hey Arthur, let's go horse-back riding sometime. I got some new duds and I want to try them out."

An innocent enough request, Arthur had thought, though he had to look up what "duds" meant. "Sure. Why not?" he had said, twisting the cord of the phone idly around one finger.

So here he was, standing on Alfred's front porch in his boots and breeches and riding jacket with his crop and helmet tucked under his arm, and his prized black stallion waiting in the front garden.

And there Alfred was, opening the door and then standing there looking at him cockily in a tasseled shirt and jeans and chaps and cowboy boots with a cowboy hat in one hand.

"You're kidding me, right?" said Arthur, raising a significantly-sized eyebrow. "You're not going riding like that."

Alfred grinned happily at him. "I wouldn't go riding in anything else. Ain't you ever seen a cowboy before?"

"Not in my life," Arthur said dryly. "What can possibly be the point of all that? You look like a clown."

"Hey, well, you looked ridiculous yourself. No need to go insulting me. Oh, check 'em out! Awesome, right?" He stuck out a heel and Arthur looked disdainfully at the gaudy spurs attached to his boots.

"The poor horse," he said. "You shouldn't need all those spikes to control it – but then again, you've always been lacking in finesse."

"Alright, alright, get your skinny butt onto that wimpy saddle of yours and show me what you got." Alfred grinned and had to resist the urge to pat said part of Arthur, but he had the feeling that if he didn't control the impulse he would be beheaded, shot, or beaten to death with Arthur's riding crop.

Arthur shook his head and walked back to his stallion's side, mounting it elegantly. He picked up his reins and collected himself, but when he looked up he saw Alfred still leaning against the side of his porch, watching him. "Are you coming or not?"

"Right. Just a moment." Alfred disappeared around the side of the house, jingling as he went. He reappeared leading a tall, big-boned chestnut. On its back was the worst perversion of the saddle Arthur had ever seen.

"Are you really that bad at riding?" asked Arthur, honestly shocked this time. There had to be at least two very thick pads underneath a mammoth of a saddle that looked like it would take actual effort to fall out of. There were tassels and silver decorations on the sides and a strange thing that poked up at the front.

"No, Arthur, I'm actually quite good, if I do say so myself." The horse tried to eat the tassel on his shirt and he heaved the horse's head off of him. "This here saddle is made for bucking broncos. My horses have power." He mounted the horse and tapped it eagerly with his spurs. The horse leaped forward.

"Over-eager as always," Arthur muttered, and followed in an elegant, controlled gait.

Alfred had reined his horse in and was waiting as impatiently as his horse for Arthur to catch up. When he did, Alfred urged his horse forward more smoothly than before and they matched their paces – though they were using different gaits, which irritated them both a bit until they figured out how go at the same speed regardless. When they'd finally matched their speeds, Alfred called out to Arthur, "I like the boots."

"What?"

"Your boots. I've always been a little jealous of them."

"Why don't you just wear proper clothes then?"

"They don't suit me."

"Proper clothes have always suited you."

"You kidding?" he yelled, laughing. "Way too uncomfortable. And you've always looked way better in black leather than me."

Arthur turned bright red. "What?" he yelled over the wind.

"You're so proper and polished. I can't be bothered with that kind of thing at all. Way too restricting."

"I know that."

"Hey, how 'bout a race?"

"My racing horse against that thing? Bring it on," said Arthur, but Alfred had already spurred his horse and yelled "Ye-haw!" Arthur swore and followed him. Since he didn't know where the finish line was supposed to be, he lost.

"You can't just make up the rules so you win," he told Alfred crossly.

"Oh, but I can," Alfred said with a wink. "Enough of that, though. Let's just walk." Arthur nodded and tightened up his form. He glanced over at Alfred.

"Alfred, at least sit up properly. And are you seriously not wearing a helmet?"

"Whatever. It's not like I'm going to die from falling off a horse."

"Tsk." Arthur had never understood how Alfred could be so careless. There was a certain charm about it, he supposed, but it was so . . . illogical. He really could die. It was unlikely, but that wasn't what mattered.

"Ah, fresh air. I love living here." Alfred was smiling contentedly as he gazed at the rolling plain around them and the gorgeous blue sky.

"It is pleasant." Arthur thought it looked a little too big, to be honest, but he did love the sunshine. A warm breeze rolled over them and ruffled his horse's mane. "Did cattle ranchers really used to wear what you're wearing?"

"Well, I don't think they were dressed quite as nicely, and I doubt they had spurs as nice as these ones" – he wiggled his feet – "but pretty much. Living on horseback in the wide-open range. . . . The day that the frontier was announced closed was a sad one."

"I can imagine." And Arthur could. Being told that he could no longer grow at a break-neck pace must have been hard for Alfred.

"We should start heading back. It's too hot out."

"Alright." Arthur would never admit it, but he was starting to sweat a bit more than he liked. They wheeled their horses around.

"Oh, so I heard from Antonio that France was trying to steal Romano. Can you believe Francis tried to seduce Romano?"

Arthur scoffed. "You weren't around then, but France had his eye on him ages ago."

"But who would want him! He's a little brat!"

"You were something of a brat yourself," Arthur said. "Correction: Are." He drew out the syllable, knowing his accent always made Alfred smile. To his surprise, he saw Alfred shiver and . . . blush? Oh God, he thought. I hope he didn't think was drawing a comparison between myself and Antonio too. Shit. "I mean, you know how Francis is. He'll go after anything."

"Yeah, I don't know why I'm surprised." Alfred laughed.

Arthur felt relieved. Crisis averted. "So you really ride horses that try to buck you off on purpose?"

"Yeah. It's a real thrill." Alfred grinned. "I'd like to see you try it."

"It sounds ridiculous. Horsemanship is about control."

"You and control. Not everything is about obeying rules, Arthur. Come on! The world's so big!" He threw his arms out enthusiastically.

"I prefer quality to quantity. I know you prefer it the other way."

"But mastering something that's wild is a way better measurement of power than following rules."

"Mastering something wild and making it obey you is the proper measure of power."

"You're wrong. Once you can get the horse to obey you, where's the challenge?"

"In perfecting your control of it."

Alfred made a derisive noise. "Whatever. Look, we're home." He stopped his horse and hopped off. He gave it a pat on the neck and murmured, "Good girl."

"You know," Arthur said as he slipped off his own horse, "You're still wrong, of course, but I almost see the appeal of doing things your way. You do seem very happy."

Alfred smiled quietly and started to lead his horse back to his barn. "Bring yours around when you're done. I've a spare stall."

Arthur nodded and gathered his reins before following Alfred. They both untacked their horses in silence and Arthur watched Alfred work. He certainly did know what he was doing, and was very effective with his movements. He had a lot more muscle than when he had been a rebellious teenager.

"Ha, beat you!" Alfred said as he carelessly tossed his curry-comb in a bucket. "See ya inside."

Arthur took his time putting away his horse's tack. When he was finished, he removed his helmet. His hair was matted and sweaty, but he tried to ring out the worst of the moisture and fluff up his hair. He was just making it worse, so he gave up. He didn't know where to put his helmet and riding crop, so he took them inside and put them by the door. He realized he was still wearing his gloves and spurs (smooth metal, not spiked like Alfred's), so he took them off and set them with everything else. He looked up to see Alfred staring at him. He blushed and patted his hair self-consciously.

"Fresh lemonade," Alfred said, raising a glass. Arthur came over and took it, sitting down next to him. Alfred leaned back against the couch with a sigh and took a long drink from his lemonade, throwing his head back. "Tsk," said Arthur, and he sat up straight, crossing his legs. He took a delicate sip of the lemonade (strange; it wasn't bubbly) and saw Alfred watching him. "Man, you are so uptight all the time."

Alfred was really starting to get on his nerves. "Excuse me for having manners."

"It's not always a bad thing. You've got . . . class."

Arthur had to blush a little at that. What was up with the almost-complements all of a sudden? He looked down and saw that Alfred had taken off his chaps but he was still wearing his boots, complete with spurs. "You aren't going to remove your spurs?"

"No way. They're awesome." He took another gulp of his lemonade. "So be honest – what did you think of my outfit?"

Arthur thought for a moment. "Very much your style," he said finally. "It does seem like it would be more utilitarian than proper attire, what with the the cattle-ranching. I honestly can't imagine you wearing what I wear anyway." He drew out the "can't" just a little bit, feeling the word roll on his tongue. He glanced at Alfred; he was looking at him strangely. "What?" Arthur asked crossly.

"Do you do that on purpose? Draw out your accent like that?"

"What? No. Well, a little. Why? You used to think it was funny." Arthur frowned at his glass of lemonade.

"You really don't know what kind of effect that has?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Never mind." Arthur made a noise of frustration but Alfred ignored it. "How's the weather been at your place?"

"The usual. We had a sunny day last week, though."

Alfred shook his head with mock-dismay. "My goodness, a sunny day."

"It was very pleasant," said Arthur haughtily, pretending to be offended. "We even had afternoon tea in the garden."

"With scrumpets?"

Arthur gave up pretending to be serious and rolled his eyes. "Crumpets, Alfred."

"Right, right. Those things. Hey, do want a snack? I think I have something somewhere." He disappeared into the kitchen, heels clicking on the floor, and then reappeared with a plate of –

"My goodness, are those biscuits? They're enormous."

"They're not dog biscuits, they're cookies."

"I wasn't talking about dog biscuits –" He leaned forward to take one and saw Alfred staring at him again. "What?"

Alfred grinned. "It's just too tempting. You're just leaving yourself wide-open."

"For what?"

Alfred slid onto the couch, still holding the tray in one hand. He put his other arm on the back of the couch and leaned in close to Arthur, looking at him over the top of his glasses. "You know, everything's bigger in the United States."

Arthur blushed and tried to cover it up by scowling. "Alfred, you're an idiot."

He laughed. "I know, right? Have another cookie."

"No thanks."

"Aw, you're not mad, are you? I wasn't being serious. Here, I'll be serious now, okay?" He put the tray down.

Arthur looked at Alfred. He was looking back at Arthur, and his blue eyes really did look serious. His hair was tousled and his bangs were slightly damp, but he didn't look as uncomfortable as Arthur felt in his jacket and breeches. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, and Arthur could see the tendons in his neck move as he turned to face Arthur. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his forearms were nicely muscled. "You really have grown up," Arthur said finally. "There was a time when I thought you weren't capable of being serious."

Alfred's expression changed very slightly. He no longer looked slightly concerned, but rather focused. He leaned forward and put a hand on the back of Arthur's head, and Arthur let him because he knew that whatever Alfred was doing, he wasn't joking. Alfred kept leaning forward, and then very, very slowly, kissed Arthur.

Arthur had always supposed that kissing Alfred would feel like the sloppy kisses Alfred had given him on the cheek when he was barely old enough to know what kissing meant. But somewhere in between then and now, apparently, Alfred had figured it out, because he was doing a very nice job.

Their lips separated but Alfred didn't pull away. Instead he leaned in closer and breathed very softly into Arthur's ear. Arthur felt a fire start there and run down the length of his body, settling somewhere below his stomach. When Alfred did pull away, they were both flushed, and Alfred was grinning in an unbearably happy manner.

"What now?" demanded Arthur, suddenly extremely self-conscious.

"You definitely kissed me back," said Alfred, and before Arthur could respond, Alfred practically tackled him.

"I thought I taught you how to be a gentleman," Arthur said dryly when he got a chance.

"Obviously it didn't work." Alfred began to kiss Arthur's jawline, breathing on his skin softly as he did so.

"Obviously. Oh, be careful, you're going to knock over the lemonade."

LemonAde. Alfred shivered and stopped what he was doing. He sat back and looked Arthur. "Ok, you have to be doing that on purpose now."

"Doing what?" demanded Arthur.

"The accent thing."

"What accent thing? This is how I talk!"

"Tahlk," said Alfred, butchering his accent unintentionally. "You're killing me here."

"Seriously, Alfred! This is getting ridiculous!"

"You and Francis have known each other for a long time, right? Hasn't he ever made a pass at you?"

"What? He's just joking." Arthur was quickly turning bright red. "You know how he is."

"What kind of things did he say to you? Didn't he ever tell you that your accent is damn sexy?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Seriously? You don't know that?"

"Alfred!" Arthur was practically squirming underneath him.

"Well, it is," said Alfred, and he kicked off his cowboy boots.

Five minutes later, Arthur was flat on his back with Alfred on top of him. His riding jacket was in a crumpled heap on the floor, and Alfred was studiously working his way through the dress shirt he wore underneath it. Arthur slid Alfred's glasses off his nose and stretched backwards to place them on the side table. Alfred took the opportunity to start kissing the part of his collarbone that was exposed.

"Hey, wait, Alfred," said Arthur. "Let me get my boots off."

Alfred pinned his arm to the arm of the couch. "Don't you dare take those boots off," he growled.

"Gosh, Alfred," said Arthur, looking at him with a smirk. "I didn't know things like that ah-ffected you so."

Alfred made sure that was the last either of them said for quite some time.

- Fin -

Author's note: I'm working on another USxUK at the moment, but it's multiple chapters, so I just needed to do something quick to get it out of my system. ;) Gotta love those leather boots.