Categories > Original > Romance > USUK Oneshots
Arthur fished his keys out of his pocket, starting for the door. This party had been an absolute horror. He didn’t even remember why he had agreed to come. The dim lights, the drunk coworkers, the garish Christmas decorations…all of it was terrible. The Englishman had never before felt so embarrassed before.
“Hey, Arthur, where you going?” He felt a hand grip his shoulder and whirled around to face the three men responsible for his humiliation. Francis had been the one to call out and grab the Brit, and he now leaned on his two slightly less tipsy friends for balance with a devilish smirk on his face and a vile gleam in his blue eyes. His two companions, Antonio and Gilbert, snickered at the look on Arthur’s face, which was a slight shade of pink. “Don’t you want to talk to your old friend, mon cher?” The Frenchman asked, his words slurred from excess alcohol.
“Get the hell away from me, you bloody git!” Arthur snarled, feeling his face heat up at the memory of what Francis had done just mere moments ago, before the British man had tried to exit. He knew Francis wasn’t usually like this. Sure, he would endlessly tease the Brit, but the two Europeans were actually very close friends, and the Englishman knew this was the alcohol talking.
The Frenchman stepped closer to Arthur, cupping his chin in his hands so that the smaller blonde couldn’t turn his head. “Mon ami, you and I were in the middle of something, non?” Francis smirked and pulled the Brit’s face closer to his own, until he could smell the wine on the French man’s breath.
Arthur, filled with outrage, reflexively shoved both of his hands into the Francis’s chest. The taller blonde hit the floor, and struggled for a few moments to regain his breath. Antonio and Gilbert stared at the Brit in awe, totally shocked by his outburst. The Englishman felt a few seconds of guilt, but then shook it off and fled. You can say sorry later, when he’s not completely drunk, he told himself.
The small blonde ran towards the doors, trying to disappear into the crowd of coworkers as he did so. He was five feet from the door when a hand grabbed his wrist. He whipped around to face the person who’d gripped him; sure Francis had followed him again, but instead he found himself facing Alfred Jones, the host of the party and the one who’d personally invited him.
“Hey Arthur, what’s wrong? You’re not leaving, are you?” his American coworker asked. The Brit felt himself go a slight shade of pink just hearing him speak directly to him. Arthur had been a bit obsessed with Alfred when he had first joined the company, and while he hated admitting it to himself, the Englishman had a terribly large crush on the taller blonde. This fact, however, didn’t stop the small European from considering the American a complete git, and acting accordingly.
“Bloody hell yes, I’m leaving!” Arthur spat at his coworker, completely flustered. The American hadn’t let go of his hand. The Brit’s heart and mind were racing at top speed. Why is he still holding my hand? He shouldn’t still be holding my hand. Not that I mind that he’s still holding my hand. But still.
“Why’s that, Artie?” The taller blonde asked, blue eyes gleaming with concern.
“I just am. I’ve had more than I can handle tonight.” The Brit summoned up quite a bit of willpower and pulled his hand away from Alfred’s and walked over to the door, only to once again become trapped in the American’s grasp.
“Honestly, Arthur, what happened? I can help you if you want!” The Englishman was surprised at the anxiety in the American’s voice. He actually sounded as if he was worried for the small blonde. It couldn’t be, however. The American was always hanging around his crowd of rowdy coworker friends, constantly in the center of attention. He and Arthur rarely got the chance to talk, not that they were trying to make time for chatting in the first place.
“Nothing happened, it was just…Well, I was…And Francis…” The Brit’s voice trailed off, not wanting to finish the humiliating story. He felt his face grow hot and looked down, embarrassed. Alfred seemed to sense his discomfort, and took his hand again, which, of course, just made the Englishman blush harder.
“I’m sorry, dude. At least let me take you to your car.”
“Oh, no, I’m not drunk.” He really wasn’t. It had been living hell; resisting the assortments of alcohol that that sat temptingly on the tables, but he knew if that he had even a little he had a two hundred percent chance of making a drunken fool out of himself. “I’m just fine. Actually, I think my car’s parked near the other door, and I don’t want to trouble you, so I’ll just-“
Arthur’s flow of nervous speech came to a halt. The taller blonde didn’t appear to be listening to him. Instead, his eyes were focused on the top of the doorframe they were standing in. The Brit was about to ask him what the big idea was, but then he looked up and saw the cluster of mistletoe stationed above the two men. The Englishman’s face promptly turned a brilliant shade of red. At this point, you could have mistaken him for Rudolph’s nose.
Alfred looked back from the mistletoe to Arthur, who began to stutter wildly. He seemed to have lost the ability to form words. After a few moments of senseless chattering, he had the sense to close his mouth. The American studied the small blonde for a moment, and then laughed softly. All the Brit could do was stare.
After a few moments of silence, the Englishman began to speak, “I-“ but was immediately rendered speechless again when his blue-eyed coworker took his chin in his hand and pulled him in until the two blondes’ faces were mere inches apart. Arthur’s eyes grew wide as he stared into his coworker’s topaz-blue eyes. He had noticed their beauty a million times over before, but only now had he gotten the chance to see them up close: big and blue and beautiful. Inside his head, a million mini-Arthurs were running around screaming, throwing things, and setting other things on fire. He simply didn’t know how to respond. Luckily, he didn’t have to. Alfred did it for him.
The American leaned in and pressed his lips to Arthur’s.
The Englishman’s green eyes widened in complete shock. Was this happening? Yes, it was happening… the warmness and softness of the taller blonde lips was more real than anything Arthur could have daydreamed. After a few seconds of trying to comprehend exactly what was happening, the Englishman gave up and leaned into the American’s warm embrace, trying to let himself savor the moment instead of getting excited and ruining it. For several moments, the two coworkers stood there, under the mistletoe, kissing. And it was perfect.
Eventually, Arthur felt Alfred pull away from him, and while he was disappointed that the embrace had to end, he let the American withdraw. The Brit opened his eyes and noticed that his blonde coworker also looked a bit flushed. Upon seeing the smaller man’s face, Alfred gave a small smile.
“Have a safe trip, Artie.” He spoke softly. “Merry Christmas.” With that, he disappeared back into the crowd.
“Merry Christmas.” Arthur breathed back, still in a daze from what had just happened. “Yeah. Merry Christmas.” He distractedly walked out of the door, forgetting that he had parked his car on the other side of the building.
“Merry Christmas.”
“Hey, Arthur, where you going?” He felt a hand grip his shoulder and whirled around to face the three men responsible for his humiliation. Francis had been the one to call out and grab the Brit, and he now leaned on his two slightly less tipsy friends for balance with a devilish smirk on his face and a vile gleam in his blue eyes. His two companions, Antonio and Gilbert, snickered at the look on Arthur’s face, which was a slight shade of pink. “Don’t you want to talk to your old friend, mon cher?” The Frenchman asked, his words slurred from excess alcohol.
“Get the hell away from me, you bloody git!” Arthur snarled, feeling his face heat up at the memory of what Francis had done just mere moments ago, before the British man had tried to exit. He knew Francis wasn’t usually like this. Sure, he would endlessly tease the Brit, but the two Europeans were actually very close friends, and the Englishman knew this was the alcohol talking.
The Frenchman stepped closer to Arthur, cupping his chin in his hands so that the smaller blonde couldn’t turn his head. “Mon ami, you and I were in the middle of something, non?” Francis smirked and pulled the Brit’s face closer to his own, until he could smell the wine on the French man’s breath.
Arthur, filled with outrage, reflexively shoved both of his hands into the Francis’s chest. The taller blonde hit the floor, and struggled for a few moments to regain his breath. Antonio and Gilbert stared at the Brit in awe, totally shocked by his outburst. The Englishman felt a few seconds of guilt, but then shook it off and fled. You can say sorry later, when he’s not completely drunk, he told himself.
The small blonde ran towards the doors, trying to disappear into the crowd of coworkers as he did so. He was five feet from the door when a hand grabbed his wrist. He whipped around to face the person who’d gripped him; sure Francis had followed him again, but instead he found himself facing Alfred Jones, the host of the party and the one who’d personally invited him.
“Hey Arthur, what’s wrong? You’re not leaving, are you?” his American coworker asked. The Brit felt himself go a slight shade of pink just hearing him speak directly to him. Arthur had been a bit obsessed with Alfred when he had first joined the company, and while he hated admitting it to himself, the Englishman had a terribly large crush on the taller blonde. This fact, however, didn’t stop the small European from considering the American a complete git, and acting accordingly.
“Bloody hell yes, I’m leaving!” Arthur spat at his coworker, completely flustered. The American hadn’t let go of his hand. The Brit’s heart and mind were racing at top speed. Why is he still holding my hand? He shouldn’t still be holding my hand. Not that I mind that he’s still holding my hand. But still.
“Why’s that, Artie?” The taller blonde asked, blue eyes gleaming with concern.
“I just am. I’ve had more than I can handle tonight.” The Brit summoned up quite a bit of willpower and pulled his hand away from Alfred’s and walked over to the door, only to once again become trapped in the American’s grasp.
“Honestly, Arthur, what happened? I can help you if you want!” The Englishman was surprised at the anxiety in the American’s voice. He actually sounded as if he was worried for the small blonde. It couldn’t be, however. The American was always hanging around his crowd of rowdy coworker friends, constantly in the center of attention. He and Arthur rarely got the chance to talk, not that they were trying to make time for chatting in the first place.
“Nothing happened, it was just…Well, I was…And Francis…” The Brit’s voice trailed off, not wanting to finish the humiliating story. He felt his face grow hot and looked down, embarrassed. Alfred seemed to sense his discomfort, and took his hand again, which, of course, just made the Englishman blush harder.
“I’m sorry, dude. At least let me take you to your car.”
“Oh, no, I’m not drunk.” He really wasn’t. It had been living hell; resisting the assortments of alcohol that that sat temptingly on the tables, but he knew if that he had even a little he had a two hundred percent chance of making a drunken fool out of himself. “I’m just fine. Actually, I think my car’s parked near the other door, and I don’t want to trouble you, so I’ll just-“
Arthur’s flow of nervous speech came to a halt. The taller blonde didn’t appear to be listening to him. Instead, his eyes were focused on the top of the doorframe they were standing in. The Brit was about to ask him what the big idea was, but then he looked up and saw the cluster of mistletoe stationed above the two men. The Englishman’s face promptly turned a brilliant shade of red. At this point, you could have mistaken him for Rudolph’s nose.
Alfred looked back from the mistletoe to Arthur, who began to stutter wildly. He seemed to have lost the ability to form words. After a few moments of senseless chattering, he had the sense to close his mouth. The American studied the small blonde for a moment, and then laughed softly. All the Brit could do was stare.
After a few moments of silence, the Englishman began to speak, “I-“ but was immediately rendered speechless again when his blue-eyed coworker took his chin in his hand and pulled him in until the two blondes’ faces were mere inches apart. Arthur’s eyes grew wide as he stared into his coworker’s topaz-blue eyes. He had noticed their beauty a million times over before, but only now had he gotten the chance to see them up close: big and blue and beautiful. Inside his head, a million mini-Arthurs were running around screaming, throwing things, and setting other things on fire. He simply didn’t know how to respond. Luckily, he didn’t have to. Alfred did it for him.
The American leaned in and pressed his lips to Arthur’s.
The Englishman’s green eyes widened in complete shock. Was this happening? Yes, it was happening… the warmness and softness of the taller blonde lips was more real than anything Arthur could have daydreamed. After a few seconds of trying to comprehend exactly what was happening, the Englishman gave up and leaned into the American’s warm embrace, trying to let himself savor the moment instead of getting excited and ruining it. For several moments, the two coworkers stood there, under the mistletoe, kissing. And it was perfect.
Eventually, Arthur felt Alfred pull away from him, and while he was disappointed that the embrace had to end, he let the American withdraw. The Brit opened his eyes and noticed that his blonde coworker also looked a bit flushed. Upon seeing the smaller man’s face, Alfred gave a small smile.
“Have a safe trip, Artie.” He spoke softly. “Merry Christmas.” With that, he disappeared back into the crowd.
“Merry Christmas.” Arthur breathed back, still in a daze from what had just happened. “Yeah. Merry Christmas.” He distractedly walked out of the door, forgetting that he had parked his car on the other side of the building.
“Merry Christmas.”
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