Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters belong to our papa, the troll king: Himaruya.

Summary: Young heir of a multi-million dollar company, Alfred F. Jones' hedonistic way of life was threatened by the arrival of his parents' newest watchdog in the form of a traditional British butler. Of course resentment quickly turned into infatuation when he found out Arthur the butler was, despite being older a few good years than him, a man with boyish good look and adorable hissy personality perfect for Alfred's teasing pleasure. US/UK.

Warnings: Yaoi, obscene languages, sexy times.

The Butler

Chapter 1

"A fucking what?" The dashing, albeit a bit disheveled after all night partying, young master of the house screamed at his newest generation iPhone while pouring his sixth cup of coffee this morning. The gadget was visibly safe sandwiched between its owner's ear and shoulder. "You got me another watchdog? I thought the three of us had learned by now that the only bitch I would be willing to keep is if it's A: furry with tail and the whole set, or B: naked and moaning my name. Other than that is a big no-no."

"Please don't speak to your mother like that," a soft feminine voice tsked from the other side of the line. "And you knew there would be consequences when you had your usual uniquely-Alfred idea that a visit to a game arcade is the perfect entertainment for prospective business clients."

"Right, sorry Mom. No dirty word." Twenty-year old Alfred F. Jones turned sheepish, being a decent enough son to feel bad and apologize. "But what are ya talkin' about? The Japs love the arcade. Ask Kiku." His best friend even had his own mini arcade filled with classic game machines, after all. Just a perk of being the CEO's second son.

"Elderly Japanese clients, Alfred. One of them almost died from a heart attack when you forced him to play that god-awful dance machine." The man could vividly imagine his mother rolling her pretty blue eyes. "I'm sure something as basic as 'when hosting clients do pay attention to their interest, age, and this little thing called heart condition' covered in those expensive business etiquette classes your father loves to enroll you in so much."

"I dunno. I might not catch that since I'm a retard, or at least that's what dad keeps telling me."

A tired sigh, "Don't start this again, dear. You're too old for a petty grudge against your father."

Petty? "Oh, c'mon, Mom," he paused to gulp down his caffeine noisily, both because he needed the boost and to buy time to check his temper. "Don't tell me you're not pissed at dad after all the shit he'd done to us. I mean he's just, oh say...fucking divorced you because Mattie is mute and he thought I have a backward IQ?"

He was dyslexic and slightly ADD, not idiotic, thank you very much.

"Alright, alright. You're dad is a mega asshole. Happy now we've established that?" Alfred swore he could detect a smile throughout the sentence.

His own lips quirked upwards, "Feels heavenly. So now spill why are you the one calling me about this watchdog thing? I miss you by the way."

"I miss you too, Alfie. But please don't refer to your new butler as a dog. He's a good man, and he'll be different than your father's usual brainless lackeys. I wouldn't engage in a goddamn verbal war with your dad to push this matter for nothing. Trust me."

Silence, except a few mechanical sound effects.

"...err, Alf?"

"Huh? Yeah, sure." The blond's mind already shifted sometime during the verbalization of the sentences above, which quite a record time considering his attention span condition, opting to focus on a zombie-killing crusade curtesy of his PSP.

There was another tired sigh before the call ended with a "Remember, behave! Good bye, Alfie." and a click from his mother's side. Alfred followed by shutting his own phone, carelessly putting it down next to him on the black leather couch in the living room of his spacious apartment. Two deep blue eyes were still following the movement displayed on the game in front of him, but his mind started to roam on the topic of a certain butler that was due to arrive today.

This was nothing new of course, the attempt to control-and he quoted his dad—'the wayward son'. Not that he was particularly horrible or anything. The old man just liked to blow things out of proportion. Alfred was the perfect angel of a son; angel who enjoyed getting smashed at parties and plastered his (still handsome, dammit) drunken mug all over the tabloids came morning, enforced his ridiculous ideas that might or might not, directly or indirectly, causing bad business for his dad's multimillion dollars company (some of them were just sort-of harmless jokes, really), and definitely loved some sexy time with either gender (see? He was only partially gay, so the old man really had no need to blow his top off when Al kind of 'came out' by having a picture of him with a certain male model in a passionate compromising position on some gossip magazines). But that was a tangent, so back to the butler dude dilemma: His Union Jack boxer-wearin' ass might pose as a slight hitch in the young born-and-breed American's pursuit of happiness and freedom, and that was simply unpatriotic. Hell, Alfred even dared to say that it could probably bring about another Boston Tea Party. For sure.

Alright, what he needed was a plan. Perhaps something similar to the diabolical plot he set up to make a certain German military buff willingly quit being his doberman? Man, the memory of the seemingly straight-laced dude threatened to drown himself in Alfred's bathtub after his racy photo with a cute Italian was leaked via Al's personal blog and the German's hacked Facebook account was as fresh as a burger hot from the grill; it was deliciously hilarious. Although, it couldn't be all that evil since now Ludi was obviously happy with his sexuality and little Feliciano. Well, what could he say? He was a hero, and that meant even his cruelest plan had the potential to help people. Was that awesome or was that awesome? HAHAHAHAHAHA-ack, got side-tracked again. Damn! Anyway, a plan...

...he'd think of one after he saved the world from zombie infestation.

Life wasn't always a fair lady. Sometimes it became a bitch, deciding we had enough sparkles and throwing in a random shit just for the sake of it. This had to be one of those moments. Although surprisingly, Alfred didn't mind it one bit. His eyes were trailing southward of the backside figure in front of him, from the unruly sandy blond locks, to pale neck, small shoulders, straight back, and finally landed on two firm round body parts covered by crisply ironed black trousers. Yeah, he definitely didn't mind it one damn bit.

Confused? Let him re-tracked.

When the buzz in his apartment rang around three in the afternoon, all thoughts about a particular phone conversation had been well forgotten, Alfred forced his ass off the couch and away from the true love of his life: his Xbox 360. Grumbling, he dragged his steps to the front door and pulled it open with more force than necessary. "Whatever you're selling, I ain't interested."

A pair of very bright, very enticing green eyes right opposite him blinked once before one Big Mac-sized eyebrow furrowed. "Beg pardon, sir, but I'm not selling anything. Well, except my service that is, and I believe you've been expecting my arrival?"

Alfred's first (hopeful) thought was 'did I make another drunk hooker call again last night?' 'Cause he was totally cool with that if it meant getting a taste of the man at his doorstep. He was probably ogling right now, but it was hard to ignore the finely pressed black three-piece suit clinging on the lean body, sexy British accent tickling the American's ears, and larger-than-life eyebrows demanding for attention. A closed black umbrella was hanging by its crooked handle on the man's arm, quite like a classy accessory of a proper gentleman. The whole look was way better than the traditional slutty leathers.

The young Jones licked his lips as a natural reaction.

"Ah, yeah...sure, c'mon in." He stepped sideways, allowing the visitor to pass him into the threshold, before following the Brit. The door closed behind him in a soft click. They both paused their steps in the middle of the hallway; it seemed the shorter and European of the two was the first to stop, looking a bit unsure.

"So, Mister Jones," he began.

"Alfred. Just Alfred please." The sandy blond youth interrupted as he offered what he thought was his most charming-slash-flirty grin that many males and females alike had been fallen victims to. Since screaming Mr. Jones during the height of our sexual consummation doesn't exactly work magic on my cock, he added as a mental note. But then his brain supplied an image of the beautiful specimen being underneath him, rosy with slightly labored breath, gazing up at the American through thick dark lashes to match those jungles of eyebrows. Hmm, he wondered where else on the man's body could be as bushy. Down there, perhaps?

His southern region twitched in excitement.

Shit.

"You know what? You can call me anything you like, babe. I don't give a fuck." Alfred took several steps forward, effectively breaching the other man's personal space. They were only a breath away now, both of them realized, with the way the young Jones heir slightly hunching down to level their faces together as if he was a lion trying to entrap its prey with both its large body and its intimidating presence. "But what I do give a fuck, is you," he purposely purred out the last word, eyelids began to drop. "And I meant that quite literally." One last push forward and Alfred's lips found themselves crashing eagerly on the Briton's-or so he imagined.

The first thought that popped up somewhere in the American's thick skull was: damn, does the dude have the Great Wall of China as lips or something? Where's the fucking door? So he cracked open one eye, and blue immediately met five long fingers closing up on him like prison bars...or some huge ass spider's legs. This prompted the kisser to jump back with a rather undignified 'eeeeeekkk'.

"Honestly," the lighter blond of the two sighed heavily. He was now wiping his right hand (wet with his saliva as he tried to pry open what he thought was the man's lips with his tongue, Alfred realized with embarrassment) using a simple white handkerchief that was pulled out from his breast pocket. "With that kind of dirty talk, it's highly a wonder why there are still people who would be willing to, excuse your language, fuck or be fucked by you."

"...err, because I'm cute?" Alfred tried to contribute helpfully. "And isn't it your job? I mean you are a prostitute, right dude?"

The man neatly folded the now-soiled handkerchief back into his breast pocket before shifting his attention fully to the young heir. His green (mint shade, Alfred noted, unconsciously drowning in the beautiful color) eyes regarded the presence before him evenly. A resounding 'thwack' was Alfred's only warning to the incoming blow by said-man's black umbrella on the top of his head, which he instantly replied with a whine and a "-the hell you did that for?" Both his hand had flew up and currently rubbing a good-sized lump that throbbed like a bitch. The rather petite British man smiled for the first time since he stepped foot into the young Jones' apartment, and Alfred almost-almost!-thought the he'd be willing to receive another harassment by an umbrella if it meant he could see that heavenly view again.

"Arthur Kirkland, at your service sir." The sweet innocent smile stuck on those thin-yet-perfectly-kissable lips. "From today onwards I will serve as your butler."

He gave a polite little bow, one that could be expected from a traditional British butler in those historical romance movies the ex-Mrs. Jones loved so much. Once Arthur lifted back his head into his usual straight posture, a smirk that somehow reminded Alfred of a pirate captain and his brutal plundering way of life was now taking its throne on the butler's face, completely erasing the Britannia angel persona he had just a moment ago. The American gulped as his new butler leaned forward, imitating their previous position except that now the roles were reversed. Alfred swore he could felt his heart was drumming a war call against his ribcage when beautiful Arthur blew a puff of warm breath directly on his right ear before whispering in a sultry voice,

"And I do not take bollocks from anyone."

TBC.

A/N: My first Hetalia fanfiction. Lord, I finally able to pull out all my courage and write a USUK (I was so scared because they're so perfect you know?). But yeah, I do hope you at least manage to enjoy this even if it's only for a tiny bit. And if anyone would be willing to be a beta reader for this fic, oh god please please PM me or say something in your review? That would be greatly appreciated since I'm not a native English speaker. Thanks, loves.