Blame It On The Alcohol

This is a repost using a different account because I don't use the old one anymore. Nothing's changed, accept I cut out a small part that repeated the same information and fixed a few grammar mistakes.

Warnings: bad language, failed Google translate, my sense of humour and boyxboy love

Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine

It was strange, Arthur realised, just how often he found himself in situations eerily familiar to the one he was currently facing. Then again, when you spent the majority of your free time with Prussia of all people, life was destined to be anything but peaceful. Not that Arthur particularly minded; he wasn't the boring stick-in-the-mud that everyone else seemed to see him as. He'd let them hold onto that illusion though because it's not like he really cared what they thought about him, and it meant that they had a habit of underestimating him. He'd have thought that his empire would have sorted that problem, but apparently not.

"Hey, Art? It looks awesome, right?" Gilbert called from the other end of the wall they'd been working on for the better part of four hours. Arthur had been feeling decidedly rebellious after a certain Frenchman had insulted his beloved Queen Bess and Gilbert had been up for helping let those frustrations out. Of course, what the Prussian had had in mind was more... physical and less creative, but that would come later. Between the two of them they'd managed to spray paint a scene from Peter Pan onto the wall, the brick replaced with swirling reds and greens that gradually faded into blues, greys and browns. It was an image of Peter and Captain Hook fighting it out in the sails of a pirate ship, the Jolly Rodger flapping in the breeze behind them, and it wasn't entirely clear who was winning. Memories of his privateer-come-pirate days (he'd been both, depending on his mood) were enough to make him grin and he glanced at his companion.

"Looks lovely, dear." Arthur finally answered mildly, the glower Gilbert sent him making his grin grow just a little bit wider.

"Don't fuckin' patronise me, asshole." They'd met in the middle and both turned to gaze at it before the blonde placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I'm not. It truly is beautiful." Gilbert chuckled and bent to pick up the bag of paint cans that Arthur kept in case the mood hit them. As with everything they'd ever painted together, the pair pulled phones out of their pockets and quickly snapped pictures to add to their collection of others that were a mix of both nations' cultures. Gilbert glanced at it one last time before following Arthur down the street, the Brit sighing almost sadly when he caught up. "It's a shame really, that it will be gone soon. The local council will have someone in to remove it, I'm sure."

"Or maybe all of your rain will wash it away!" The Prussian laughed, only to let out a curse when Arthur punched his shoulder. "Ow!"

"Belt up, it didn't hurt that much. And it doesn't rain all the time, you wanker." They walked in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts, before Gilbert spoke.

"Arthur?"

"What, git?"

"Are you up to going to the after-meeting party?" Arthur smirked. He didn't feel like he was ready to punch anyone in the face anymore and if Francis or Alfred pissed him off then he'd remind them just who he was. The alternative, of course, was that he could purposefully make a scene with Gilbert, just to shock them. He was sure Prussia wouldn't mind.

"Why not?" There wouldn't be any time to change, meaning they'd have to look like they'd walked in off of the street. But then, neither of them had really been ones for convention, now had they?

~xoxo~

The pub that the after-meeting party was being held in was the same one that they'd been using for years and it hadn't changed much in all the time that they'd been going there. The top half of the wall was a pristine white that started to hurt the eyes once a person was too drunk, which Arthur could vouch for from experience, and the bottom half was a stark contrast of wood so dark it almost looked black. Pictures of England's countryside and London's skyline littered the walls, which England himself didn't really look at any more, but every time, a few tipsy nations would waltz up to him to tell him that he was pretty, the alcohol giving them the courage to say it to his face. Because of the familiarity of the place, most nations had fixed places near others that they were at least civil with and away from those that they disliked. Of course, things shifted from time to time; if two countries who had once been friendly were at war the next time a meeting was in London, they sat as far away from each other as possible. Francis had decided long ago that the booth closest to the entrance should be his table because it suited his 'inquisitive nature', or as Arthur put it "the Frog being a nosy bellend." and it wasn't unusual for America to be sat there with him, because the two of them like to share ways of winding the Englishman up.

"So, he totally hates it when you call him Iggy." Alfred finished with a grin, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his left index finger and lifting a handful of peanuts to his mouth with the other hand. Francis smiled in return and leant back to rest his head against the leather of the sofa they were sat on, letting out a soft sigh. L'Angleterre was painfully absent and the Frenchman was beginning to wonder if he was even going to show up.

"Well zen, God bless Japon for that useful piece of information." Whatever he was about to say next was cut off when the front door opened and Prussia strolled in with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. That in itself was odd because Gilbert rarely went to world meetings now that he wasn't a nation, choosing instead to get drunk on Ludwig's beer in his basement. What was even odder was that Arthur trailed in after him and smiled at him on their way to the bar. After the initial shock had worn off, France, being France, noticed that both men were wearing skin-tight grey jeans and equally tight t-shirts underneath leather jackets, and started virtually drooling at the sight.

"Dude, is that Britain?!" America questioned when the pair were stood at the bar and seemingly chatting up the barmaid, if the woman's flushed face and happy smile were anything to go by. After she'd moved away to fetch their drinks Arthur turned to face Gilbert and the movement caused the light to reflect off of the blonde's lip and nose rings.

"Oui, zat is Arthur." The Brit laughed at something Prussia had said and Francis' trained eyes noticed that he was even wearing his tongue bar. Mon Dieu, it seemed like Arthur was trying to kill him with his unintentional sexiness. That was the thing about Arthur; he shouldn't have been nearly half as attractive as he was, with eyebrows as big as his were and a personality that was often just as miserable as his famed rain. The pretty red head behind the bar handed over two pints of ale with a smile and a wink. Without a word Arthur and Gilbert agreed to move down towards the small cluster of stools that were currently empty. Gilbert turned to glance around the room quickly once they were seated and met Francis' eye for a second before the albino grinned, a mischievous glint forming in his red eyes.

~xoxo~

"Did you see their faces?" Gilbert asked with a grin as he raised his glass to his lips and took a sip of the amber liquid. England smirked back, raising his own glass in a silent toast and lifted an eyebrow, motioning towards where the two blondes were sat staring at them. The Prussian turned in his chair to check who had actually turned up and caught Francis' eye because the blonde wasn't exactly being subtle in his staring. "For the country of 'l'amour', he's pretty obvious, isn't he?"

"Of course he is. He's never sly or subtle when it comes to me, because he thinks that if I drink enough, it won't matter anymore." Arthur reasoned, absently watching Gilbert's movements as he played with the beer mat in front of him.

"Does it? Matter anymore, I mean." Prussia seemed genuinely intrigued by the answer and in a way, seemed apprehensive about what it would be.

"Sometimes. It depends on what I've been drinking; some things get me drunk a lot faster than others." Arthur had noticed Gilbert's worry and, watching France and America's reactions out of the corner of his eyes, put his left arm around the platinum haired man's shoulders. He barely suppressed a chuckle when two pairs of eyes shot to his bare forearm, catching the brief flash of a white rose surrounded by thorns before it disappeared against the Prussian's shoulder. The identical red rose on his right hip was hidden, although he subconsciously scratched at it with his free hand as the man sat beside him picked up his glass and took a sip.

"I thought you got drunk on everything?" Gilbert joked, trying to diffuse the sudden tension and the Brit snorted as he picked up his own glass.

"I just let you think I do. You'd be amazed at what people tell you when they think you're pissed. The only thing that ruin's me quickly is vodka, but it's to be expected; it's Russia's."

"So all this time you were lying?" The albino asked with a mischievous grin.

"There are worse things I could be lying about in this world. But, if you tell anyone about this, I will send you to Davy Jones' locker." Arthur replied casually, tilting his head back as he drank and missing the other's wince. Although he'd been a nation with a limited need for a navy, he'd still heard the stories about the legend of Davy Jones from Antonio, Francis, and Arthur himself at one point or another and had no intention of ever meeting him. By this point, the two blondes a few feet away weren't the only ones who had noticed the difference in the Englishman; Australia and New Zealand sat grinning at their table in the corner, Canada, almost forgotten, sat with them although from his position he couldn't see what they found so amusing. A number of other nations kept their distance even if they were at the bar to order more drinks, the Baltic's being the most obvious examples, despite having lived with Ivan for a number of years.

"Are they ignoring us?" Gilbert questioned when, for the fifth time, someone walked past both of them without so much as even glancing in their direction.

"You mean the ex-nation and the former pirate?" Arthur responded sarcastically, draining what was left of his ale and leaning back on his stool. He laughed bitterly and rolled his eyes when Prussia looked at him. "Don't be dense, Gil. Of course they're ignoring us. Even if we weren't dressed like we are, they'd ignore us."

"But why? Verdammt Art, I am way too awesome to be ignored by the likes of Lettland." He scowled darkly and resisted thumping a clenched fist on the bar in front of him.

"Because, the last time you and I were at a world meeting together, we stole Hungary's underwear, planted it in Roderich's suitcase and hotwired Vash's car, before crashing it into the statue of Jean-Jaques Rousseau?" They both sniggered at the memory of an enraged Austria when he'd discovered the bright red lingerie and had had the excruciatingly embarrassing trial of giving it back to her, in front of most of the world no less. Prussia pondered the possibilities for a few minutes, gazing into the bottom of his pint glass and resting his head on the Brit's shoulder, who didn't seem to particularly mind.

"They just can't deal with our level of awesome." He finally decided and Arthur laughed loudly, causing at least half of the bar's customers to watch them apprehensively. He shook his head in amusement and lifted a hand to platinum hair, his fingers dancing through the strands gently which caused their owner to sigh in contentment. Behind them, he was vaguely aware of hearing someone choking and turned to see Alfred spluttering around a mouthful of beer. Smirking, he raised an eyebrow in question and was rewarded with the American glancing away guiltily, his face flushed in embarrassment.

~xoxo~

Three pints each, two packets of salt and vinegar crisps and a bowl of pork scratchings later, and Gilbert and Arthur were a lot merrier than they had been. To the annoyance of France, the more alcohol they consumed, the closer they sat to each other and the louder their conversations got before dropping into hushed whispers again.

"So, who's your best friend in the whole wide world?" Prussia asked with a grin, glancing around quickly to make sure no one else was listening to what they were saying. Arthur pursed his lips, counting the cracks in the ceiling directly above him.

"Portugal." Gilbert was looking at him with varying expressions of disbelief and disgust. "What?"

"Fick dich. Don't 'what?' me. The awesome me is right here and you choose Portugal."

"Of course João is my best friend; we've got the one of the longest alliances in history, muppet. You don't spend over six hundred years with someone, without them becoming an extremely close friend and ally." When the platinum haired man went to say something else, Arthur held up a hand. "Let me finish, wanker. I also wanted to say that I don't see you as just a best friend, so don't have a mental on me, okay?"

"You don't?" The question was suspicious, and the Brit somehow managed to keep from rolling his eyes.

"No, I bloody don't. We do things together that no one else would do with me, so you're special. Tosser." The last word was said affectionately and Gilbert smiled happily, the booze having made both of them slightly more sentimental than usual.

"That's alright then." A light cough came from behind them and both of their head's snapped around to glare at the intruder, who flinched but looked unperturbed nonetheless.

"'ello, Prusse. It's been a long time, non?" Francis knew what he was doing would most likely end with Arthur punching him in the face, but he just couldn't resist getting closer to the pair of them. As much as he might verbally deny it, the two of them were ridiculously attractive at that particular moment, and the Frenchman did like pretty things. It's why he spent so much time with Antonio and could tolerate Alfred most of the time.

"Sod off, Frog face; you're ruining my good mood." Arthur growled, his eyes flashing dangerously at the blonde stood before him. The lofty smile he wore just made the Brit want to remove it, preferably with his fist, but he wasn't particularly fussy on how it happened.

"Now, now, Rosbif. Zere is no need for such anger."

"With you around, there's every need. Years of seeing your ugly mug will do that to a person." France sniffed delicately and self-consciously rubbed at his nose, which Arthur had long ago discovered he thought was the worst of his facial features and used it to his advantage as often as possible.

"You are 'ardly one to talk, Monsieur Eyebrows." It was childish, and they all knew it, but when it came to Britain it was almost impossible not to resort to insults. Gilbert placed a reassuring arm over Arthur's shoulders, shooting a satisfied smirk at the Frenchman when he narrowed his eyes slightly at the movement. He questioned on whether to take it a step further, but that decision was made for him when England leant forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"Get lost, frog breath." Arthur mumbled, his face pressed into the crook of Prussia's neck, although by the huffed breath that he could feel, Gilbert knew he was laughing. The Frenchman muttered angrily and stormed off; annoyed that he had been insulted in front of so many other nations, much to the amusement of Alfred who just smiled sympathetically at him when he sat back down.

"You're not drunk." Gilbert realised when the laughter didn't stop and he could feel himself about to join in. Blonde hair tickled his chin as the Brit shook his head.

"Not in the slightest. I told you, didn't I? It takes a lot to get me drunk."

"But, you just- You don't do 'public displays of affection' when sober." The blonde sat up straight again and grinned.

"Maybe I wanted to. I'm nothing if not unexpectedly unpredictable. It keeps things interesting, I've found." Arthur answered, suddenly unsure as to whether Prussia was reacting well to the kiss or not. "Look, I'm sorry-." He was suddenly cut off by a pair of soft lips covering his own and he froze briefly, before his brain registered that, actually, Gilbert couldn't have hated it because he was kissing him. He could feel the eyes of what felt like everyone in the room, staring at them as he raised a hand to wrap around the back of the Prussian's neck and pulled him closer. Before the kiss could go any further, Gilbert pulled back only to rest his forehead against the blonde's and they smiled at each other.

"Let's get out of here. This place is pretty dead and Ich will dich ficken." Arthur laughed, hopping off the barstool and pulling his leather jacket on, waiting patiently as Gilbert did the same. The albino could see his brother's eyes on the verge of popping out of his head as they walked past him on the way to the door and he smirked. Before leaving, they both turned to survey the reactions of those who were left inside, the Englishman winking at his former colonies when they grinned at him knowingly.

"Do you have to be so crude?" Arthur took a step closer, aware of Alfred and Francis glaring daggers at them, and gripped one of the slightly taller male's hands in his own, their fingers intertwining.

"Fine, I'll say it in English. I want to fuck you. See, this way, there're no misunderstandings."

"I knew what you meant, git."

"I know. I meant misunderstandings for anyone else." Prussia grinned, leaning down and kissing the blonde again, his free hand automatically resting on his hip. Tongues met and fought for dominance, although it quickly faded into a familiar dance that they were both used to and they took their time to enjoy it. They broke apart and were suddenly gone, leaving everyone else to stare after them, dumbfounded at what had just happened. Alfred was, of course, the first to break the silence.

"Did Iggy just...?"

"With Prussia, yes." Francis grumbled, swirling his wine glass and glaring at the wall opposite him.

"But, why him? I mean, Gilbert's the biggest troublemaker there is and Artie isn't like that anymore, right?" France just stared at him as if he was an idiot.

"Are you really zat stupide? Do you really trust in the sophisticated façade L'Angleterre wants us to believe?" The Frenchman gave a dark chuckle and placed a hand on the American's shoulder, before standing himself. "Arthur is no more a gentleman now zan 'e was four 'undred years ago." After he had disappeared, Alfred started at the table and twisted the beer bottle he was holding around his hands.

"He was drunk. Definitely drunk."

A/N: I was in the mood to write a fic where Arthur is still a nation but is also still a bit of a badass (read 'punk') because I'd had enough of people making him out to be a weak little tsundere that can't take care of himself… -_- Who better to use as his partner-in-crime than his real life partner-in-crime, Gilbert? It's a personal headcanon of mine that Arthur isn't actually the lightweight he makes out to be, and just pretends because he can learn a lot of information that way – MI6, anyone? He's not known for his spies for nothing. It's also part of my headcanon that countries know each other's languages depending on how long they themselves have been around and how long they've known each other, hence why Arthur understood German – he's known Gil for a very long time.

Informative notes:

"bellend" - it literally means the end of one's penis, although it's mostly used as an insult. We're a classy bunch ^_^

"the two rose tattoos" - Represents the War of the Roses, one of England's many (on Wikipedia's list there are 10) civil wars, which led to the creation of the Tudor dynasty. The white rose was the symbol for the House of York and the red rose the House of Lancaster. It lasted for 30 years and resulted in Henry Tudor of Lancaster winning the final victory, who later married Elizabeth of York to unite the two houses. The Tudors ruled England and Wales for the next 117 years, so I think Arthur would want a reminder of that somehow. Plus, roses are our national flower.

"we've got one of the longest alliances in history" – The Anglo-Portuguese Alliance was ratified in 1386 and is still in force today. The English aided Portugal way before that though (along with other European Crusaders, but we'll forget about them) in 1147 by helping King Afonso Henriques to conquer the capital in the Siege of Lisbon. Philippa of Lancaster married John 1 and their children were known as the "marvellous generation", who led Portugal into its golden age.

"Verdammt" – in this context it means damn it.

"Lettland" – Latvia

"Jean-Jaques Rousseau" – A statue in Geneva of the political philosopher who believed in the idea of general will. His belief was rooted in his experiences of direct democracy but was abused by totalitarian French revolutionaries. I chose this statue in particular because it would piss both Switzerland and France off, because if the name isn't a big enough clue – Rousseau was French.

"Fick dich." – Fuck you

"don't have a mental" - don't get annoyed or get in a mood - I don't how many people actually use this apart from me and my friends O.o

"Prusse" – Prussia

"Ich will dich ficken" – I want to fuck you

Mind you, most of these translations are from Google, so correct me if I'm wrong :)

Anyway, review and let me know what you think or if there's something I've neglected to inform you of – like any Briticisms I may have put in without realising and no one knows what they mean

~V