notes: /hides away from everyone of my kurobas readers & shrieks and flees through window to dodge tomatoes thrown

um. hello, hetalia. *awkward laugh* i guess you've got a new stupid author in your fandom, eh? i actually got this idea of iggy and al fighting whilst making out from a post on tumblr. and this was supposedly my gift for 69 followers... but then it passed so i tried to make it for 100.. but then it passed again so i guess i'm doing this for 123 followers. hello, loves. this is not nikkicchi, by the way. it's sachie-sama (from tumblr? no? okay.) nikkicchi was the one who escaped through the windows. heh.

headcanon involved: francis, kiku and elizabeta fangirl over america x england. oh, and nantucket. heh.

anyway, enough of my blabber. enjoy, poppets /coos and dotes creepily on you.

"Bloody hell,"

Arthur gritted his teeth in annoyance, glaring ahead at the American standing in front of him. Alfred was glaring back with as much passion, lips tightly pressed together in a scowl, eyes narrowing dangerously. They had both been shoved and locked out of the World Conference room since their usual bickering had escalated from hushed insults to yelling obscenities, almost into fist-fighting, and refused to sit and calm down even though Ludwig had started to scream and lecture at their immaturity.

And since everyone in the room had started to join in with barricades of insults and the attempt to try to calm them down, France (unexpectedly) came into the rescue and pushed both Arthur and Alfred outside to "relieve" their "sexual tension~", as he stated with a mischievous wink.

Needless to say, the unresolved sexual tension had yet to be resolved.

"It's your entire fault, you bloody buffoon!"

Alfred faced him, expression a mix of a pout and a snarl. "How is it my fault?! You were the one who started nagging me about my grammar! It ain't wrong!"

"Because you told me that colour and neighbour and honour did not have a letter u, and it's isn't, not ain't, you git!" Arthur seethed back, eyes narrowing into slits. He placed his hands on his hips and tapped his foot on the carpeted floor, watching at the corner of his eye as the American folded his arms together.

Alfred stepped closer, looming his face over Arthur's. "You should go marry your letter u, old man! It doesn't even need a u when you pronounce it!"

"You know what? I bloody might as well would! Do you even know the damn difference between pronouncing the letter o alone and the letters o and u together?!" The shorter one between the two stepped closer more challengingly.

"I know how to pronounce ou, you old jerk! It doesn't need a damn u in it!"

Arthur scoffed, "You're saying you know how to pronounce ou but then you can't even tell the difference between the sounds of oh and ouh?" Then with sarcasm dripping in his voice, eyes glaring right into the American's blue ones, he added, "Hah, amusing, really. Let's give you a round of applause, absolutely brill."

Alfred glared at him harder, eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. He bent down until Arthur could feel his breath on his own lips, but they never once broke the eye contact "Oh? If you're that obsessed with your stupid u, why not date it?"

"Interesting idea, I might as well bleeding consider it," Arthur hissed, thoroughly irritated (and tired of having to lecture the lad with his terrible grammar skills.) "Who the hell knows, it might as well be better than being in a so-called special relationship with a daft fool."

Alfred flinched in an almost unnoticeable manner, but either way Arthur caught the reaction and paled, suddenly regretting what he had said. In a way of masking his hurt, the American shot him an angry look.

"Right, go ahead then, go marry your beloved fucking letter!"

"I will! You're invited to my bleeding wedding with a fucking letter and watch as I wait in frzont of the altar and vanish away from your life like you've always wanted me to!"

"You better!"

"Well, you won't have to deal with me moping over you ever again!"

"Oh, I can't wait!"

"Then I won't have to deal with your fucking American arse, wanker!"

Alfred cut him off with a hiss of "Fuck you, Artie," and grabbed his tie, angrily smashing their lips together in a rough manner, enjoying the surprised muffled sound coming from the other male.

Surprisingly, Arthur's shock only lasted for a few seconds before his hands, which where angrily gripping his hips, were all of the sudden running roughly through Alfred's locks. Both slipped their eyes close, pushing in towards each other, groaning at the pain as they did so. Alfred wasted no time and tilted his head to the side, bumping their noses together, and bit on the other's bottom lip.

Arthur groaned at the sudden pain, gasping and opening his mouth to let him in. Alfred eagerly slipped his tongue in, moving hungrily, trailing his thumbs up and down Arthur's neck but never releasing the shirt collar in his hand. Arthur fought back, pushing his tongue and even pushing his whole body against the other to try to dominate the kiss but Alfred was insistent. They were at it for a few minutes before the Englishman shoved him away, emeralds peeking under from heavy lids, and breathlessly growled out, "Fuck you more."

Then Alfred dived back in, pushing forward with his body until Arthur's back thumped flat onto a wall, and then gripped his bony hips with both hands. Arthur responded with a hand on the back of his head and another tugging on his locks.

In between kisses he'd felt Texas slipping off the other's nose and bumping into his own, and so he blindly took it off without pulling away, placing it on what he guessed was a small table beside them, and then went on with violently kissing the living hell out of his former charge, unminding of the irritated half-growl emanating from somewhere in the back of the other's throat.

He battled for dominance, they both did—so intense that teeth were literally bumping and scraping on each other's and their lips felt like it was about to bleed. Alfred pulled away from him for a quick second, mumbling "fuck your letter u more," and continued kissing him wildly.

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle into the kiss.

The American made a displeased sound at him in annoyance, pushing his hips back so his arse and back was flat onto the peach walls of the hallway, and then forcing his knees in between the shorter man's thighs, which Arthur had no choice but to spread his leg for. Feeling the American's thighs wedged underneath his arse, the Brit started to feel the tips of his ears turn red.

He untangled his fingers from Alfred's locks to try and push the man away, but instead of backing off Alfred had lifted his thighs right onto Arthur's groin and all he could do was stop that sharp gasp from sounding and it stuck to the back of his throat and—damn.

Arthur had successfully suppressed a flustered noise that threatened to escape his mouth, but the problem was that the growing bulge in his pants would not simply go away no matter how he wished it to do so. He thought he'd felt the edges of Alfred's lips lift higher into his mouth but dismissed it as his imagination keeping it that way until he was forced to believe that Alfred was secretly snickering at him whilst grinding his crotch in a painfully arousing and terribly slow manner, like he was trying to coax a reaction out of him, which was soon going to happen if that goddamned bloody fucking git didn't stop right now.

Arthur, completely delirious and frustrated on the verge of wanting to simply flip their positions and just at least do something out of desperate sexual deprivation, grabs the first thing nearest to his hand to deepen the kiss.

With that, Alfred freezes into the kiss and halts his crotch-grinding with his thigh and just generally stiffens, and gasps into Arthur's mouth when the Brit subconsciously tightens his hold on the strands of hair—in a form of whine when Alfred halts everything. It takes a few moments of listening to the other's panting noises when Arthur realises that the stray strand in his hand was Nantucket . . . and apparently, by all the reactions he'd gotten out of the American, Alfred's erogenous zone.

"T-That hurt, eyebrow bastard!" Alfred stuttered and Arthur opened his eyes to find an unbelievably abashed and red American, panting and squirming and muscles twitching right in front of him. He glared down at the lighter blond, aquamarine-coloured eyes clashing with emerald ones.

In the back of Arthur's mind, he finds humour in how the other was being the more flustered one of them both when he himself is the one being caged into the wall. Instead he couldn't help but respond to Alfred's insults like he normally would, despite their flushed faces and evidence of arousal obvious through their pants (not like they'd admit it, mind you).

"Who are you calling eyebrow bastard, you stupid American?!"

"You, you old man! And being American ain't even insulting!"

Arthur sneered at him despite the constant hammering in his chest and the redness of his ears (which is from anger, mind you) and brought up his hand to wipe his bruised and wet lips. "Heh. Keep telling yourself that,"

"It's not!"

"It is!"

"It's not!"

"Oh, stop this childish argument."

"You started it!"

"You called me an eyebrow bastard, you damned idiot!"

"It's because you grabbed my . . . my hair, damn it!" Alfred huffed, a pink hue reappearing on his cheeks yet again.

Arthur's thick eyebrow arched up and he pursed his lip, still glaring at the other. "You're such a girl, only you would be bothered with me grabbing your hair in the middle of—!"

"It's not just any hair! I told you, Nantucket's special!" the American bit back, lips almost forming into a pout. "And you can't call me a girl when I'm not the one under a man!" He added, embarrassed despite himself.

"And whose fault is that, you git?!"

"Just shut up and kiss me! Hell, is it that ha—?!" And just before Alfred could finish his sentence, Arthur grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him off so hard that he almost tumbled back, if not for the unusually strong pair of hands grabbing him by his arms, flipping their positions and pushing him sandwiched onto the wall.

It was awkward having Arthur trying to pin his arms above his head since he was a few couple of centimetres shorter, but by the way he'd tiptoe to press a rough kiss on his parted lips and how he'd practically fully raised both hands just to keep Alfred's hands and arms flat on the cold surface beneath them, the American was sure this had been the most erotic thing he's ever experience in his life.

[Finis]

おまけ:

"Oh, l'amour! Beau! Fantastique! Magnifique!"

"Shut up, you French bastard. Stop being a fucking creep and get back inside. Same goes for you too, Elizabeta, Kiku," Lovino chastised, trying to pull the peeping Francis away from the door by his hair, shooting Antonio a 'you better fucking help me with this piece of French shit' look.

Antonio happily did as he was told, dragging a screaming Frenchman ("Non! Non! Mes cheveux! Zat's cashmere!") away from the door and onto the other side of the room. Ludwig watched exasperatedly as the chaos began to rise in the room yet again; hell, Arthur and Alfred could even cause trouble even from outside of the room.

And then all of the sudden there were instructions screamed out to get the first-aid kit and another to, he quoted, "get the fucking camera, fucking damn it, I need it right now ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod." His eyebrows shot up in confusion, turning around to eventually find Kiku lying in a pool of his own blood whilst writing something in Kanji on the floor, and Elizabeta fanning her (crazed) face with a pan all while trying to get a camera.

Not to mention Lovino trying to hold the Frenchman back as Francis tried to run for the door screaming something about his precious…"yaowee". Ludwig let out a barely audible groan; he knew what was going on the other side of the door and didn't bother to see what's going on… he had stopped trying to figure things out whenever Kiku's nose starts bleeding pints and France and Elizabeta start going out of their way to get a camera.

It took him a lot of experience and scarring awkward moments to figure that out.

translation: [i didn't have to use google translate for this /smug laugh /gets thrown out window]

amour - love

beau, fantastique, magifique - beautiful, fantastic, magnificent.

francis' third dialogue (?) - "no! no! my hair! that's cashmere!"

notes: i'm sorry but i'm not sorry at the same time whoa (hehehehe yaoui. get it? get it? no? ;A;)

love me, will you? or simply, let me love youuuu.