Axis Power Hetalia does not belong to me. Michael Bublé belongs to himself, and so does Can't Help Falling In Love.
I'm not really satisfied with that fic. It feels a bit repetitive and too fluffy to me, but meh, I'm not rewriting it right now.
Feel free to correct any mistakes I might have made, as English is not my first language. Also, in the sentence right before the second page break, I used "lay" as the past of "lie" (as in "to lie down") but I'm really not sure if it is correct (should I have used "laid"?) so if someone could help me, it'd be nice...
Dance is a little insanity that does us all a lot of good.
A true gentleman knew how to dance, Arthur had always said so, even if he failed to teach Alfred how to dance properly.
However, how the Englishman danced in public was very different from how he danced when he was alone, as America discovered one day, as he was coming over to the Englishman's house for a surprise visit.
He had knocked at the door, for once, since Arthur always scolded him for entering without permission, and walked in the empty living room, as Arthur was obviously not in the hall. "Iggy?" he called, in hopes that the island nation would just come to him, sparing him the trouble of searching the big mansion to find him.
Arthur didn't answer, and, with a dramatic sigh, Alfred walked over to the library -the elder was always there, reading his boring (in Alfred's opinion) books about fairies, talking animals, insane hatters having tea parties with hares or gifted inspectors catching criminals, when he was not in the kitchen, making his horrid tasting scones and meat pies.
But, to the American's surprise, it was just as empty as the living room, the only thing unusual being the disparition of a book off one of the bookshelves (Arthur could have brought it to read and forgotten it, Alfred supposed, not worried.)
As he was walking towards the kitchen, even though there was very little chances Arthur was there since there was no smoke or atrocious scent coming from behind the half-closed door, Alfred swore he had hear the faint echoes of music.
Michael Bublé's Can't Help Falling In Love, to be precise. One of Matthew's artists.
And so he followed the sound to the backyard, where he stopped dead on his tracks.
A book, Peter Pan, was lying on the round table where Arthur liked to sit with a good book or his embroidery when it wasn't raining, -which was very rare, to say the least- still open, along with a lit candle, which he probably used to read despite the darkness, as it was already dark, and an old radio, playing the music Alfred had heard.
And there he was, Arthur, waltzing with an imaginary partner, a small smile on his face and his eyes closed, humming along with the music.
He had not noticed the younger's presence, yet, and Alfred hesitated for a short moment -should he say something? Leave him alone? He looked so relaxed, completely absorbed in his dance.
But then, Alfred looked at Arthur's face, at the stars shining over them, and thought that it really didn't matter that Arthur would kill him afterwards and grabbed the other's hand, pulling him close and proceeded to dance with him.
"What the bloody hell!" Arthur exclaimed, cheeks burning. "What are you doing here, you git!"
Alfred gave him a bright smile, forcing his ally to keep dancing. "Just visiting an old man in need of a hero," he giggled. "And look what I found~"
"It is not funny, Alfred," Arthur grumbled, looking down. "Besides," he added sourly. "You can't even dance a proper waltz, you wanker."
"Then teach me!" Alfred exclaimed brightly, stopping abruptly.
Arthur's face was practically glowing in the dark. "A-all right, you git, b-but don't get too excited, it's only so I finally can make a gentleman out of you!"
Alfred just laughed, and the Englishman grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "son of a tart."
"O-okay," Arthur coughed, recomposing himself. "Put your hand on my hip."
The younger obeyed, silently noticing that Arthur was letting him lead willingly.
"Good, now take my other hand and-" he interrupted himself as Alfred, overly enthusiast, started dancing again. Arthur then settled for counting the steps under his breath, barely loud enough for Alfred to hear.
They stayed like that for a long moment, until Alfred decided to break the silence, his lips so close to Arthur's ears he could feel the heat radiating from the elder's cheeks.
"Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can't help falling in love with you..." he murmured, grinning as he felt Arthur tense in his arms and the arm around his neck subconsciously pulling him a little closer.
"Some things are meant to be... take my hand, take my whole, my whole life too, if I can't help falling in love with you.. if I can't help falling in love with you..."
As soon as the music ended, and at Alfred's greatest regrets, Arthur pulled away,, blushing furiously.
Their eyes met, and Alfred smiled.
He took Arthur's hand and sat on the floor, despite the slight wetness of the grass, pulling the elder down with him.
With a surprised yelp, the Englishman fell right on the American's lap.
He tried to get away but Alfred held him still, putting his chin on the other's head.
After a moment of vain struggling, -Alfred was and had always been much stronger than him- Arthur finally relaxed against the younger nation's chest and they lay there for the rest of the night, until their eyelids slowly started feeling heavier and heavier and the scent of the other, conforting and almost soothing filled their noses and...
Arthur, eyes still closed, pressed closer to the comfortably warm body next to him, frowning at the cold drops that fell on his face.
"Bloody hell!" he yelled, pulling away from Alfred, who was quite obviously the one he was previously snuggling up to, now completely awake.
The other opened his baby blue eyes, glancing sleepily at Arthur. "What?" he asked, rubbing his eyes like a child.
"We must have felt asleep like that! And now it's raining!" the Englishman answered, scowling. "We'd better get inside before we're completely wet!"
"Breakfast!" Alfred chirped, bouncing on his feet and dragging Arthur with him.
"Yes, breakfast," Arthur agreed, a tiny smile on his lips.
But before he could reach the door, or even the table, to save his precious book form the rain, Alfred had pulled him into a spontaneous kiss, not caring at all about the cold rain falling on their heads.
For some reason, Arthur found himself unable to push him away, even though this was extremely inapropriate and just enjoyed the feeling of the American's lips against his, kissing back, vaguely aware of the semi-romantic atmosphere and not at all of the cold weather.
Dance was indeed a little insanity leading to a lot of good...