#usuk.

Tied together with love and emotional bonds. Except England.

Inner Alfred: “... How will I tell Francis that I’m actually dating England? This isn’t a good time I guess”.

USUK chat fic for Marissa. Pffft.

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Americana Jones says: *Fucking finally! Where have you been? Arthur says: *Working. Like every other responsible adult. Americana Jones says: *Whatever. How was work? Anything exciting happen? *Particularly interesting pile of papers? *Heart-pounding race to pick up the phone? *Scald your boss' tongue with his coffee? Arthur says: *Piss off, Alfred. Americana Jones says: *I missed you, too. Arthur says: *What? Americana Jones says: *Hey, are you free this Sunday? Arthur says: *I am. Why? Americana Jones says: *I dunno. I was thinking we could head down to the beach or something, since it's almost summer. Arthur says: *Oh, splendid idea. Will you pack the butter and lemons or should I? Americana Jones says: *Oh, come on, Artie. That was one time. I swear I'll bring the sunblock this time. SPF a bajillion, just for you. Please? Arthur says: *They don't make SPF "a bajillion" sun lotions, Alfred. And don't call me Artie. Americana Jones says: *Whatever. Please? I promise not to embarass you. Arthur says: *Why do I not believe that. Americana Jones says: *Arthurrr. Arthur says: *Don't whine, Alfred. I can hear your voice in my head. Americana Jones says: *But Arthurrr. Please? Pretty please? Arthur says: *Alfred, every time I go out with you, something ludicrously embarrassing happens. I'm not going to the beach to be humiliated and cooked to death. Americana Jones says: *Not every time. Arthur says: *At the mall, when you tried to catch your slinkie and fell down the up escalator for two minutes. *In that restaurant we went to for high school graduation, when you tripped and all but ripped the dress off of that poor woman you grabbed hold of. *When you tried to play frisbee with those hooligans at the park and knocked me into the fountain. Americana Jones says: *I apologised for the concussion! Arthur says: *At that water park you all but kidnapped me to go to, when you were too eager to go down the slide and ruined it for the both of us. Americana Jones says: *Hey. I was trying to forget that enema. Arthur says: *One doesn't forget something like that, Alfred. Americana Jones says: *Are you done? Arthur says: *No. Americana Jones says: *Arthur, please. Arthur says: *Bloody hell, Alfred! No means no! Americana Jones says: *ok Arthur says: *... *Alfred? *Hello? Americana Jones says: *I'm here. Arthur says: *You're being quiet. Americana Jones says: *Sorry. Arthur says: *Stop being petulant, Alfred. The silent treatment won't work on me. You can't guilt me into going. *Alfred? *Oh, for pity's sake. Americana Jones has signed off. (5:44 PM)

USUK. Apologies in advance.

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After a long day at work, Arthur steps into his house and shakes the water off of his umbrella, heaving a tired sigh; he hates cars, so he doesn't own one. Alfred is waiting for him as he always is, brilliant smile on his face and blue eyes full of delight. Arthur returns the smile and gives Alfred a kiss before he starts on dinner. He can't cook, but Alfred doesn't mind and isn't hungry, so Arthur only makes tea and toast. Arthur eats as he pores over bills and talks idly to Alfred, asking his opinions on the rising price of this and his brilliant ideas about that.

Collin, their dog, finally gets up when Arthur goes into the bedroom, tail wagging and big brown eyes looking mournfully up at his master. Arthur smiles and gives the old dog a fond pat before he makes his way into the bathroom to shower. He brushes his teeth and climbs into bed, grateful for the warmth and Alfred atop him. He gives Alfred a good-night kiss and holds him close to his chest; Alfred doesn't return his embrace, but Arthur doesn't mind.

In the morning, Arthur musters up the strength to get up and makes the bed, showering and brushing his teeth. He irons his socks and combs his hair and straightens his tie, putting food out for Collin and giving Alfred a kiss goodbye. Alfred only smiles and looks back at Arthur through the glass, quiet and still as the house has been for the last two years.

USUK part tresss. The finale.

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(Puppy Dogs' Tails)

The years flew by like a bird with an injured wing: just fast enough to bear and never fast enough. Alfred was star quarterback and Arthur made Head Boy, but every time they were surrounded by smiling faces and warm congratulations, they would look to the crowd where the other should have been and their smiles became just a little brittle at the edges.

Alfred, ever ambitious, started mowing lawns the summer that Arthur left, becoming fast friends with the families in the neighbourhood and developing a list of regular customers. As he grew older, he went from school to football practice to work, doing everything from flipping burgers and bagging groceries to factory work and construction, firing off an email to Arthur whenever he could.

Arthur, on his end, did his best to study and earn good marks, determined to get a job just as good as Alfred promised he would so he could one day pay him back. When offered scholarships in England, he smiled fondly and shook his head, firmly telling his professors that his place was in America. Their disappointment never touched him; he knew where he belonged.

There were nights when it got rough. There were nights when Alfred and Arthur rubbed their eyes as they struggled to remember complex maths formulas and make sense of textbooks whose narratives were about as riveting as golf commentary, each heaving a tired sigh and pushing himself forward with thoughts of the other.

There were nights when it was bliss. Both Alfred and Arthur invested in webcams and spent every spare moment talking, comparing faces to the ones from their memories and drinking in the changes and the eyes that stayed so very much the same. They weren't perfect; they had their disagreements, but they'd come too far to give in, so--like everything else--they worked hard on their relationship.

Eighteen came and went. Both of them knew that they wouldn't be able to leave the nest so soon. Alfred's enthusiasm for house-hunting was infectious; Arthur was soon just as consumed and chuckling as Alfred scrolled through dozens of listings, rattling off ones that sounded like a good match. They finally settled on a nice two-story with an attic that they could fill with useless and interesting knick-knacks (because they liked the idea of going through it one day and finding forgotten treasures) and Alfred was soon signing papers and painting walls.

Arthur purchased his plane ticket, arranged his papers and belongings and set off, his heart hammering in his throat the entire flight. When he stepped into the airport, he expected to see Alfred waiting for him. He didn't, however, expect him to be standing on a chair and waving a huge, glaringly neon sign with his name on it. Arthur chuckled wetly and hurried over, dropping his luggage as Alfred beamed and dropped the sign, practically pouncing on Arthur and spinning him right off his feet.

Alfred helped Arthur load his things into the trunk of his car and held his hand the entire way, grinning in such a way that made Arthur's heart stutter. When they arrived, Alfred gave him an outside tour of the house--it was impressive, Arthur had to admit, and genuinely felt... cozy--before holding the door open for him, smiling a little apologetically. Arthur didn't know why until a little bundle of yips and fluff barreled into his shins, scrambling at his trouser legs with excited barks and a furiously wagging tail.

"Alfred, you didn't," said Arthur, but the writing on the bow around the puppy's neck deflated any exhasperation he might have felt.

USUK part deux.

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(Snails)

Alfred had never particularly cared for rainy days. They'd made playdates with Arthur impossible in preschool and they made it very difficult to get permission to skateboard to his best friend's house after school now that he was twelve. He sighed and thunked his head against the half-fogged school bus window, his glasses clinking against the reinforced pane. Stupid rain ruined everything.

When the bus slowed to a stop in front of his house, Alfred slung his backpack on and plucked up his skateboard, trudging down the bus aisle and past the slumped bodies of other kids who were finding the downpour just as depressing. He thanked the bus driver and bid her a farewell until tomorrow as he always did, taking the rain-slick steps one by one (he'd slipped on them once and his tailbone did not want to repeat the incident), splashing onto the sidewalk and holding his skateboard over his head so he could see as the bus rumbled away.

Arthur was on his front steps, umbrella in hand and a frown on his face.

Alfred beamed and waved, only narrowly escaping skinning his knuckles on the sandpapery grip tape of his skateboard in his eagerness to do so. His trainers squished as he ran to Arthur's side, hurrying past the gate in his fence and up the walkway. He only made it halfway before Arthur rushed over to him, throwing his arms around Alfred with such force that Alfred dropped his skateboard, the wood hitting Arthur's head and Alfred's shoulder before it tumbled away along the grass. Alfred's hand immediately came up to rub away the pain on Arthur's head, his brows furrowing with concern.

Before he could speak, Arthur burrowed against Alfred's shoulder and blurted a muffled, "I'm leaving."

Alfred's brain ceased all coherent thought. "What?"

"My grandmum is sick," Arthur replied, his hands curling in the back of Alfred's sodden t-shirt tight enough that the handle of his umbrella dug into his palm and Alfred's back. "We're going back to England so my mum can take care of her."

"But..." Alfred was having trouble speaking. "When will you be back?" When Arthur next spoke, the rain nearly drowned out his voice, but Arthur had Alfred's undivided attention--the pattering of rain and the rumbling of thunder were muted to him--so Alfred heard him anyway.

"Never."

Alfred's breaths hitched. "Never?" he echoed, his voice small in his own ears.

Arthur shuddered against him--he'd been trembling the entire time, Alfred realised, so he wrapped his arms around the shorter boy (Alfred had his growth spurts sooner than Arthur did) tightly--and croaked, "We're not coming back, Alfred. Not ever." Alfred felt as though the ground had been yanked out from beneath his feet, his stomach sinking and lurching all at once and his heart floundering like a fish out of water. He hadn't cried for a long time but he cried now, clung to Arthur like a lifeline in a monsoon of confusion and fear. He knew that Arthur was crying, too, though Arthur would never admit it; he knew from the sound of Arthur's sniffling.

Alfred sank into despair, his mind and heart struggling to cope with the sudden unraveling of his perfect little world. He couldn't remember the last time Arthur'd cried--maybe he never had; maybe he'd always been too proud--and crying now just made Alfred feel worse. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say when Arthur needed him most. Alfred stared blankly at his front steps, his glasses flecked with rain and fogged from his harsh breaths against Arthur's hair and his hair stuck to his cheeks and lenses. His gaze followed--but didn't really see--a snail making its way along the walkway, slow and steady and heedless of the danger it faced while traveling across the cement.

And just like that, determination replaced and overwhelmed his despair.

He jerked away from Arthur and curled his hands on the startled boy's shoulders, staring down into wide, puffy green eyes with a look so fierce that Arthur's next breath hiccupped. "I'll write you," Alfred said firmly. "E-mail, snail mail, carrier pigeon--whatever. I'll write you."

Arthur looked pained, trying to brush Alfred's hands off. "Alfred--"

"I'll get a good job," Alfred continued unwaveringly, giving Arthur a little shake--because sometimes you had to shake Arthur to get him to listen--and becoming more incensed as he went on, "and I'll buy a big house and you can come live with me forever."

Arthur frowned, staring up at Alfred incredulously. "Have you gone mad?"

Alfred only grinned his infuriatingly wonderful grin. "Yeah. But your parents can't keep you with them forever." His grin disappeared and his determination resurfaced, his hands coming up to cup Arthur's cheeks. "When you're old enough, Arthur. Come live with me. Please."

Arthur looked up at Alfred, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. He took in the look in Alfred's eyes--glinting with resolve, desperately pleading and achingly hopeful--and promptly crumbled, his mouth shutting with a soft click and his head nodding mutely.

"Promise," Alfred pleaded.

"I promise," Arthur croaked.

"Swear it," Alfred begged, his lip trembling as he fought another wave of despair.

Another USUK fic, since Saudadee seems to like them. ;//u//; I made them the same age herp derp so we could see the boys growing up, yeah?

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(Frogs)

Arthur didn't like his new preschool. His mummy told him that he would have no trouble fitting in; he was a nice boy and he would surely make fast friends. But this country they'd moved to was silly and the children were rude and they smelled. Well, not that last one, really, but they may as well have and Arthur didn't like them, so he didn't make friends with the silly American children who teased him for his accent and the way he always frowned. He didn't want anything to do with them. In fact, he would've been perfectly content to go throughout his entire preschool years without speaking a single word to them.

And then one went and fell on him.

It happened during recess. Arthur avoided the jungle gym and sat under the tree by what they called the pond (Arthur called it a puddle, because that's what it was and they were all silly for thinking otherwise), far enough away from it so the teachers wouldn't toss a fit. He was fiddling with a few sticks in the dirt when a boy came barreling out of the nearby bushes and smacked right into him, sending them both sprawling in a tangle of pudgy limbs and startled squeals.

"Geddoff!" Arthur cried against the wriggling boy's shoulder, giving him a good shove; he was wet! The boy went easily enough, blinking blue eyes owlishly at Arthur with his blonde hair sticking out in all directions, plastered with muck and twigs. His uniform was ruined, too, Arthur noted, and he took some small satisfaction knowing this clumsy boy's mummy would be very cross with him indeed.

And then he heard the croak.

Arthur's narrowed eyes flicked down to the boy's hands, where a frog struggled against pudgy little fingers in a desperate bid for freedom. "A frog? What are you doing with a frog?" The question was out of Arthur's mouth before he could stop it. He would have regretted it, except the boy smiled.

"I caught 'er," he said proudly, holding the poor writhing thing up for Arthur to see.

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Oh, good."

Obviously not catching the lack of enthusiasm in Arthur's voice--or choosing to ignore it entirely--the boy grinned and stood up, nearly losing his balance. "Yup! M'gonna name 'er Phillip."

Arthur's nose wrinkled again. "Phillip is a boy's name," he pointed out, wondering now if the boy was daft as well as clumsy.

The boy only blinked at him. "Girls can have boy things if they want 'em."

Arthur chose not to comment on that, instead looking again at the frog. "You can't keep her, you know," he said matter-of-factly. "She has to stay with her family."

"Family?" The boy looked stricken; he probably hadn't thought of that before.

"Yes," said Arthur, warming to his role of teacher. "Frogs have babies. My mummy says they're called tadpoles. Who'll feed them if you take away their mummy?"

Now the boy was horrified. He promptly turned around and marched to the edge of the pond, tossing the frog gracelessly in the water with a wet 'plap'. Arthur watched him put his hands on his hips and nod, smiling like he'd done the most wonderful thing on earth. And then he turned his smile on Arthur and Arthur felt his stomach do silly little flips. The disheveled boy came right back to Arthur and stuck out his hand, grinning from ear to ear. "My name's Alfred F. Jones," he announced, chin held high with a sort of arrogance that looked silly on a child his age.

Another USUK fic. I couldn't help myself, after writing my first fanfic yesterday. This idea kept floating around.

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