Summary: Arthur thought he wanted payback after Alfred's friends humiliated the student president at a party by fooling him into eating magical brownies. But it turned out all he really wanted was Alfred. And maybe just a bit of revenge. High School AU.

Pairing: USUK with a fluffy, happy ending.

Rating: T for swearing, drug use, and drinking. No seriously, don't read if any of those things bother you, because this story has a lot of them. Especially the drug use, although it's all fairly humorous.

Part I: Cork High and Bottle Deep

Alfred Jones didn't really like parties. He felt the need to go to them on occasion to maintain his reputation, but largely he blamed his lack of attendance on strict parents. His parents weren't actually strict, they were aging hippies who wore sandals with socks and didn't even bother to set a curfew for their sons. Fortunately, they didn't care if he used them as an excuse to avoid yet another weekend party. Honestly, he preferred video games most of the time.

He hadn't been to a party in a long while, so he told himself that now would be a good time to go. He'd claim that he snuck out and then he could later complain that his parents caught him and grounded him again when it came time to avoid the next party. It helped that Francis Bonnefoy was hosting the party. Francis was kinda fun and he always had good food. Alfred didn't really care about the choice of music or the décor, but he loved tasty eats.

But the real reason Alfred was planning to go was because Francis had a stepbrother. Arthur Kirkland. The student council president. The handsome, caustic, intelligent, mature, stuck-up, witty, spitfire student president. They didn't really talk at school, but they did have lockers in the same hallway and Alfred liked what he saw. Alfred wanted a chance to talk to Arthur in a casual setting and he hoped Arthur would be more relaxed at his stepbrother's party.

He was wrong.

He saw Arthur as soon as he entered the living room. It was hard to miss the glaring Brit who was still wearing his school uniform. Alfred absent-mindedly wondered what Arthur looked like in street clothes. The entire atmosphere of the room felt tense and Alfred normally couldn't sense the mood to save his life. If glares could kill, Arthur would be a serial killer.

"Jones, don't you dare break anything!" the student president barked as soon as he spotted the American entering the room. Alfred stumbled, but caught himself on the couch. They were off on the wrong foot again. Alfred couldn't help it that he always felt clumsy in Arthur's presence.

Alfred faked a laugh. He thought his fake laughs sounded obnoxious, but it was better than showing that the words hurt.

"Dude, don't get your panties in a twist. I won't damage your precious unicorn figurines. 'Sides, the only thing we have to worry about is that you'll try to make something in the kitchen." The others laughed and Arthur's glare deepened. The entire school knew the story of Arthur Kirkland's disastrous first day in Home Ec. Normally, a student that started a fire that freed students from a full hour of class would have been hailed as a hero. But Arthur wasn't popular, so students simply re-told the story to humiliate him at every chance. Alfred knew he shouldn't use the story, but every time Arthur criticized him, he wanted to push back and this was the only way he knew how.

Still faking laughter, Alfred made his way to the kitchen. For some reason, the food didn't taste as delicious as he had hoped.

Alfred estimated that one hour would be enough time to satisfy the demands of reputation. Maybe if he got home early enough, he could play a few more rounds of Diablo III with Kiku. He spent half an hour in the kitchen, before wandering around the rest of the first floor. It was nice. Classy. The kind of place you'd expect from Bonnefoy's mother. She was an international fashion designer, which explained a lot about Francis Bonnefoy. Alfred doubted that she knew her son was throwing a party while she was out of the country.

Alfred said hello to a few classmates and kept glancing at his watch. The exit path from the house would take him through the living room again, which meant another confrontation with Arthur. He couldn't decide whether it'd be better if Arthur made a snarky comment or if he'd rather that Arthur just ignore him. At the end of the hour, he took a calming breath and made his way back to the living room.

He wasn't prepared for what he found.

Arthur lounged on the couch, smiling and giggling uncontrollably. At some point he'd removed his tie and wrapped it around his forehead. The school's group of potheads sat nearby, passing around a bottle of beer. Some of Alfred's shock must have shown on his face, because his expression made Gilbert chortle.

"Dude, isn't it hilarious? Ned offered him some of those brownies he brought and he didn't even realize they were 'special.' Turns out he's a total lightweight."

"I can't decide what we should write on his face when he passes out," Antonio added, rubbing his hands with glee.

Arthur, oblivious to the discussion about him, waved and giggled. "Alfred, join the party. It's fuuun." He accepted the bottle of beer and chugged a good amount before passing it on to the next person.

"I think we need awesome blackmail photos," Gilbert added.

Alfred thanked his lucky stars that he arrived before Antonio and Gilbert had made good on their plans. Fortunately, they were too lazy to act quickly and Francis was busy making out with an Asian chick in the front closet. Alfred needed to come up with his own plan to move Arthur somewhere safe, without making it seem as though he cared. It would be embarrassing to deal with the teasing, especially if Arthur ever found out.

"Beer and weed? He's going to puke," Alfred complained. He stayed away from the stuff himself since he was worried about getting kicked off the basketball team, but he'd learned a bit about it from his brother Matt and his parents.

Gilbert frowned. "Scheiße! You're right."

"If he's going to puke, he should do it in his own room," Alfred added for good measure. He was glad that Gilbert and Antonio were easily manipulated while crunked.

"I'm not carrying his heavy-ass upstairs," Antonio muttered.

"Make Alfred do it. Dude can't weigh much more than a basketball." They all glanced at Arthur, who blinked and toppled over on his side, giggling all the while.

"If he pukes on me, you're paying for it," Alfred complained outwardly, while celebrating on the inside. Arthur would be safe in his bedroom and Alfred could go home with the warm glow of knowing that he had been a secret hero for his secret crush. He walked over to the couch and lifted Arthur up by one arm, which he slung around his shoulder. Arthur managed to stumble a few steps forward, but Alfred soon found himself supporting most of the Brit's weight as they climbed up the stairs.

"Have you ever noticed that stairs go both up and down?" Arthur asked in a wondering tone. "There's no one-way staircase." He giggled and smiled.

Now that they weren't surrounded by mocking students, Alfred decided that he liked Arthur's smile. It made his face look relaxed and happy, instead of tense and serious. He just wished he'd been given a chance to see the smile in better circumstances.

They made it to the second floor without incident. Alfred breathed out a sigh of relief. He'd been worried that Arthur would actually puke.

"Where's your bedroom?" Alfred asked.

"Second star and straight on past morning," Arthur attempted to gesture and would have fallen over if not for Alfred's strong grip on his waist.

"Yeah, I suppose you are in Never-Never Land at the moment. Did you notice how I understood a literary reference, even though you mangled the words?" Alfred asked.

A sober Arthur would have been impressed. Then again, a sober Arthur wouldn't be slouched against him, giggling like a madman and occasionally trying to grope his ass. Alfred decided not to mention that he only understood the reference because of the Disney film. Even this Arthur would probably mock him for that. He did move Arthur's hand from his butt. Normally, he would have welcomed the touch, but it just felt weird while Arthur kept giggling. He couldn't decide if it meant that Arthur actually liked him or if Arthur just got horny while high.

"Left and right are just names. For things," Arthur replied with a dignified giggle.

Alfred resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to try the closed doors until he found the right one. At least a 1 in 6 chance wasn't that bad. The first was a bathroom. Good to know in case Arthur did end up puking. The second looked like a normal adult room and the pink panties on the bed suggested it didn't belong to Arthur or Francis unless they had been keeping major secrets from Alfred. The third was a linen closet. At the fourth door, Alfred found what he was looking for, but not what he expected. He really doubted that Francis listened to the Sex Pistols, but he wouldn't have expected it of Arthur either. Fortunately, the unicorn plushie on the bed set his mind to rest. This was the right bedroom.

Arthur stumbled his own way over to his bed and plopped down. "Alfie!" he said happily.

Alfred nearly choked. "What?" he asked incredulously.

"His name is Alfie," Arthur explained, holding up the unicorn. "Alfred the Great. Alfred the Cake. Alfred burnt the cakes."

Well, that didn't explain anything.

"He's almost as cute as you," Arthur added while nuzzling the unicorn.

And that explained a great deal.

Alfred realized at that moment that he could ask Arthur just about any question he wanted and probably get an honest answer. It wouldn't necessarily be a straight answer, but he could definitely learn something important. He could ask, 'why do you act like you hate me?' He really wanted to know. But it felt wrong to take advantage of Arthur's altered state of consciousness just for his own purposes. He inwardly cursed his strong sense of morality. Stupid hippie parents.

If he couldn't interrogate Arthur, at least it would be okay to take a peek at his room. It was much cleaner than the room of a high school student had any right to be. Many things he had expected: the stack of schoolwork on the table, the shelves filled with books. Others were more surprising: Sex Pistols and Clash posters, not to mention the guitar in the corner. He gratefully noticed that Arthur still had a CD player. It was a good thing Arthur was so technologically inept. Most regular teenagers would use an MP3 player or their computer. Alfred popped in a CD and lowered the sound enough so that it couldn't be heard from the hallway. If he'd learned anything from experiences with his brother, it was that Arthur would happily stay in his room listening to music for the next hour.

"That sounds amazing," Arthur breathed, closing his eyes to better enjoy the music. "It sounds like purplish-green."

Alfred glanced around the room one final time and decided he'd done what he could for the student president. He needed to get back downstairs before anyone drew inferences from his absence. They'd probably assume that he was drawing figures on Arthur's face, but he didn't want that sort of rumor flying around the school either.

"Al, this is a gooood party. I'm glad you came." Arthur smiled with his eyes still closed, a smile of heart-breaking loveliness. Alfred wanted to wrap his arms around Arthur. He wanted to reassure the smaller blond teenager that everything would be okay. He wanted to stay and listen to the Clash with Arthur, even though he liked country music best.

But he did none of those things.

"Me, too," Alfred responded quietly as he closed the door behind him.

All the way down the stairs, Alfred worried about what he was going to tell Gilbert and Antonio to explain the reason for his delay if they asked. It turned out he didn't need to bother. Elizabeta had arrived with her boyfriend Roderich and they were currently in a three-way shouting match with Gilbert.

By the end of it, Elizabeta was single again and Roderich and Gilbert had stormed in opposite directions. Liz's eyes lit up when she spotted Alfred. He recognized her look of "I'm planning to make my not-boyfriends jealous" and for once he was willing to entertain her advances. If he did something really outrageous, perhaps everyone would forget the hilarious mental image of their student president. Alfred didn't have a lot of dignity, but he was willing to sacrifice it for Arthur.

"Lizzie, you look gorgeous tonight," he said with a wink.

"I guess being single agrees with me," she replied, fluttering her eyelashes. As the head of the school's GSA, Elizabeta had earned her way into Alfred's confidence. She also knew that he was in the closet because he didn't want to deal with their homophobic basketball coach. She probably suspected that Alfred wanted to use her as cover and was perfectly willing since it matched her ends perfectly.

Alfred crossed the floor boldly until there was almost no space between them. For the sake of the gathering audience of students, he whispered into her ear, "I've got a favor to ask. You want to go upstairs and pretend to make out?"

"That sounds wonderful," she agreed.

To Elizabeta's great pleasure, Alfred swept her up into his arms and carried her upstairs. The students gasped (either in shock or in glee, he couldn't tell), but no one interfered.

"You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet," Liz commented dryly when he gently deposited her on the landing. "So what's the favor?"

Alfred quickly explained how Arthur had unknowingly eaten the special brownie, his subsequent giggle-fest, and Alfred's hasty rescue attempt. "So, I figure that since you deal with Gilbert, you'd know how to make sure he's okay. I didn't want to leave him up here alone."

"Alfred, sweetie, you're so kind." Lizzie smiled tenderly. "Arthur's lucky to have a friend like you, even if he doesn't know it yet."

They entered the room to find Arthur exactly where Alfred had left him, still enthralled by the music. Elizabeta wrapped Arthur in a blanket and encouraged him to drink a glass of water, explaining that it would make him feel better the next day.

"Eliza, Eliza, this is the music of an Englishman," Arthur replied.

"That probably means thank you," Alfred translated.

Lizzie laughed. "No, I think it means that he's too high for coherent conversation. But don't worry, I appreciate the sentiment. Take off his shoes, will you?"

They put Arthur to bed and Alfred really wished he could take a picture to remember the moment forever. He had a sense it might never come his way again. Arthur looked adorable curled up with his unicorn, faced pressed into the pillow, his hair spread out in all directions, still smiling and giggling. Lizzie reassured Alfred that she would make Francis promise to check in on his stepbrother or else she would beat him with a frying pan. And if he told anyone, she would also beat him with a frying pan. In fact, she might just beat him with a frying pan anyway.

As they left, Elizabeta ruffled Alfred's hair and pushed the strap of her dress over her shoulder. "Try and look post-coital," she suggested.

"What?"

"Smug and satisfied."

Alfred thought about the fact that Arthur had named his unicorn Alfred and Lizzie declared that the resulting smile was perfect.

Part II: In High Dudgeon

The next Monday, the school buzzed with rumors.

Elizabeta breaking up with Roderich or Gilbert was too commonplace to be interesting, but her immediate tryst with Alfred caught the school's attention. The girls swooned over how he had carried her bridal style. The boys placed bets on how long it would take before Gilbert challenged him to a duel. Roderich played music. Alfred congratulated himself on the fact that no one was talking about Arthur.

He listened to the rumors and denied anything when asked directly. That was always a good way to keep rumors fresh. Alfred had basketball practice on Mondays, which saved him from a potential run-in with Gilbert after school. Given what Gilbert had been willing to do to blackmail the student president, Alfred wasn't feeling particularly charitable towards his erstwhile friend.

At the end of practice, Alfred went to retrieve his physics book from his locker. He waved goodbye to his teammates and entered the darkened school. He always hated how empty the hallways sounded after-hours. He shivered, imagining all the ghosts of angry schoolchildren that could haunt the place. Kids who had literally died of boredom in English class.

The sight of a dark figure near his locker made Alfred nearly jump in fright, until he realized that the person was alive, breathing, and very angry.

"You're lucky I didn't call the police." Arthur stood leaning against the locker, his arms crossed and his eyebrows scrunched in a terrible scowl.

"What?" Alfred asked. He felt his confusion was pretty understandable, given that the last time he'd seen Arthur, the student president had been face-down, giggling into a mattress.

"You drugged me!" Arthur accused.

"What?!" Alfred shouted in shock. He had never considered in a million years that Arthur would blame him for the brownie. His stomach dropped to the floor. He thought he was going to be sick. Arthur narrowed his eyes after seeing Alfred's pale face, taking it for a sign of guilt.

"I remember Gilbert, Antonio, and you talking about blackmail. But if you so much as breathe a whisper of this to anyone, I will report you."

Alfred shook his head in disbelief, finding it hard to put his scattered thoughts into words. He had been so happy to realize that Arthur thought he was cute and now he felt terrible because Arthur thought he was a complete jerk.

"Arthur, there aren't any blackmail photos and I honestly didn't know about the brownies. All I did was help you up to your room. You can ask Lizzie if you want."

Arthur snorted. "Of course, hiding behind your girlfriend already."

"She's not my girlfriend!" Alfred exploded. He couldn't decide if he wanted to cry or shout. He settled for yelling because it was marginally more dignified. "God, Arthur, what did I ever do to make you think I was such an asshole? Did I run over your cat or something? Why do you hate me so damned much?"

For a moment, Arthur looked confused and a little shaken. He unbent his arms and allowed them to fall to his side. "You always mock me," he finally replied, his voice low and cold.

"Well, you always criticize me," Alfred retorted, crossing his arms. "But I don't go around accusing you of committing crimes."

It was Arthur's turn to shout. "What was I supposed to think? You and your friends invaded my house and I woke up the next morning with huge blanks in my memory. I remember you and blackmail and for some reason the color greenish-purple."

"You thought that a Clash song sounded like purplish-green," Alfred explained.

"I see. Well, I suppose that answers nothing," Arthur snarked.

Alfred suddenly realized that Arthur was scared. He didn't have any reason to trust Alfred or believe that Alfred wanted to help him. Why would he? They squabbled every time they talked. Arthur disliked most of Alfred's friends. For all Arthur knew, Alfred would be happy to humiliate him if given half a chance. And the party had presented chances aplenty. Arthur probably thought that he was just a jerk with a nice face, which was why he had never made a move before.

Alfred sighed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt tired. He hadn't expected Arthur to come up to him to say 'oh thank you my hero for saving me!' because it wouldn't have been in-character for the fiercely independent student president. He liked Arthur because he didn't take guff from anyone. But he couldn't handle the idea that Arthur actually blamed him and he didn't know how to convince Arthur of his innocence.

"I decorate my bedroom ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stickers. I even move them around every month so they stay accurate," Alfred offered.

Arthur looked confused.

"Ghost movies terrify me. Even Casper the Friendly Ghost. I play Dungeons and Dragons. I read Star Wars expanded universe novels. I'm actually bisexual, but I stay in the closet because Coach Akins is a total bigot."

"I don't understand your point," said Arthur. He looked worried, confused, and a touch intrigued.

Alfred leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "I'm offering you security. You don't trust me to stay quiet, but now you can retaliate if I don't. Hell, if you want, I'll even let you get me drunk."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Alright. My place, this Friday. 3:30pm. Don't be late or I will tell the world about your fear of Casper." He walked to the edge of the hallway and then turned back to make one parting shot. "By the way, Jones, did anyone ever tell you about the girl who got trapped in the locker next to yours and died?"

Alfred shivered. "You're an asshole, Kirkland!" he shouted back.

After quickly grabbing his books and shoving them into his backpack, Alfred slammed the door shut. He swore he could hear a noise coming from inside the nearby locker. It seemed to say, 'help me.' Terrified, he sprinted out of the building.

Part III: It's High Time

Alfred began to drag his feet as he approached the brick and wood Tudor-style mansion. He had blown past second thoughts long ago. He was on his fifth thoughts now. Arthur had stopped his usual criticisms during the past week, but then again, they had barely spoken all week. Alfred couldn't decide if this was an encouraging sign or not.

He knocked on the door and held his breath. He felt like they'd turned a corner, but he knew that the corridor ahead presented all sorts of traps. Unfortunately, real life wasn't like D&D, so he couldn't just depend on his rogue to spot all the traps.

Arthur opened the door almost immediately and cocked an eyebrow. "You're late." He turned on his heels and walked up the stairs, clearly expecting Alfred to follow. Alfred did.

Arthur's bedroom looked the same as Alfred remembered, except for the lack of the plush unicorn. Arthur took a seat on the bed and gestured Alfred towards the seat at the desk. Instead of school work, the table now supported a bottle of rum. Alfred sat down and awkwardly reached for the open bottle. He didn't really go for the hard stuff.

Alfred hesitated and glanced at Arthur. He was on his sixth thoughts now. "Geez, a whole bottle of rum? Are you trying to kill me? And don't I get a shot glass? It seems weird just drinking from the bottle like an alcoholic at 3 in the afternoon."

"This was your idea and I don't want the bother of cleaning a glass. So stop whining and start chugging."

Alfred closed his eyes, gathered his courage, and took a quick gulp. He expected the liquor to burn down his throat. It did nothing of the sort. Instead it tasted like… water.

"Hey, this is water!" he protested.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course it is. Providing alcohol to a minor is also a crime. I just wanted to see if you'd actually match your boast. And you did. Good job, congratulations. You can now show yourself out."

"That's it?" Alfred asked. "You believe me now?" he added with a hopeful smile.

Arthur's expression was the epitome of inscrutable. "Sure," he replied with a shrug.

Alfred readily admitted that he had trouble reading people. He tended to take people at their word, even when the nuances of tone would have been clear to another person. His parents had even had him tested for autism as a child. The doctor informed them that there, sadly, wasn't a cure for obliviousness. But Alfred had learned that "sure" and "fine" were minefields when accompanied by a flat tone and a shrug. So he did what he normally did when faced with a delicate situation. He plowed ahead. Fools and angels and all that jazz.

"Nope, that's not good enough."

Alfred walked out of the room and took the stairs two at a time, hearing Arthur exclaim in surprise and follow closely behind. Thanks to the party last Friday, he knew exactly where to find his goal. He opened up the liquor cabinet in the dining room and whistled in appreciation.

"What are you doing?" Arthur protested from the doorway.

Alfred spied the bottle of butterscotch Schnapps and decided that it sounded the tastiest. He grinned at Arthur and held up the bottle. "I promised you that I would get crazy drunk and act ridiculous, and I mean to keep my promises. Plus, you'd like me when I'm drunk. I'm told I act like myself, but more so."

Arthur moved to grab the bottle from Alfred, but the taller blond used his basketball experience to dodge to the side and move the bottle out of Arthur's reach. Arthur growled from the back of his throat. "I didn't invite you here to drink my father's expensive liquor!"

"Pfft. You didn't invite me at all." Alfred stuck out his tongue and then ran back to the bedroom. He laughed in excitement—his normal laugh, a low and throaty chuckle. He really had no clue what he was doing, but it felt amazing because he finally had Arthur's full attention, even if Arthur thought he was a nutcase. Arthur followed, cursing him out with all sorts of strange British terms. Good thing Arthur's parents weren't going to be home for another hour and Francis had practice with his band.

Alfred leapt into the bed as he cradled the bottle in his arms. He glanced around. "So where's Alfie the unicorn?" he asked innocently.

Arthur made a choking noise. "Don't tell me you believe that ridiculous rumor," he protested angrily.

"Well, I didn't. But then you introduced us last Friday night. He's cute. And you're cute when you're holding him, y'know? Although I still don't get what you meant about burnt cakes. I'm not the one who burns food."

Arthur paled, even as he maintained his scowl, which Alfred thought was a pretty impressive feat. No one expressed anger quite like Arthur. He looked so sexy when he was angry, which was probably why Arthur looked sexy all the time.

"Give back that bottle and get out!" Arthur yelled. Alfred thought he might have taken things too far, but he saw no way but forward now.

Alfred waved the bottle from side to side. "You know," he began casually, "I think that people are more honest when they're drunk… or high. So the way I see it, we should both get sloshed and have a talk."

Arthur frowned, as he stepped back and leaned against his desk to steady himself. "That's what this is about, isn't it? I said something I shouldn't have and you're angry."

"Do I look angry?" Alfred replied so cheerfully that Arthur lifted his head. "You only said things we shoulda-coulda said months ago. Oh, and you groped my butt."

They stared at each other—Alfred trying to look confident and calm as Arthur's face flashed through a series of expressions (embarrassment, confusion, exasperation, and what Alfred really hoped was hopeful desire). He finally settled on a rather thoughtful and ambiguous expression and Alfred resolved to never play poker with Arthur.

Arthur extended his hand. "Pass the bottle," he said. Alfred did. The student president gave it a long look, before placing the butterscotch Schnapps on the table next to the fake rum. "We've got one hour before my parents get home," he explained, then he pushed himself off the desk, walked over to the bed, cupped Alfred's jaw, and kissed the other boy soundly. "Let's make up for lost time."

Alfred had never smoked before (despite his ex-hippy parents). He was too worried that the random testing at school would force him off the basketball team. But at that moment, with Arthur pressed against him, kissing him senseless, he had a good idea what it felt like to be as high as a kite. And it felt wonderful.

Author's Notes

Yep, the moral of this story is that you don't need drugs, so long as you have yaoi! I think American drug programs would be way more successful if they took this approach :)

Don't worry, I'm sure Arthur and Alfred had a deep and meaningful conversation about their relationship status after their make-out session. But I didn't really feel like writing it. Besides, we all know they have better uses for their tongues than words ;)

Literary References

Did you catch all of the literary references Arthur made while high?

Alfred burnt the cakes. King Alfred the Great burning the cakes is a famous English myth. While sheltering with a peasant family, he was supposed to watch the cakes, but ended up thinking about his war problems and let the cakes burn. Remind you of someone? XD

Greenish-purple is how Terry Pratchett describes octarine, the color of magic. According to me, purplish-green is how Arthur interprets the color of magic.

Eliza Cook wrote a famous poem called "The Englishman." Its stanzas end with the line, "This is the (noun) of an Englishman." It doesn't really mean anything, other than that Arthur thinks about English literature all the time.

Idiom Meanings

And here are what the idioms mean:

Cork High and Bottle Deep = very drunk.

In High Dudgeon = a feeling of offense or deep resentment.

It's High Time = it's the right time to do something. It's always the right time for USUK :)