A/N: So recently, I heard someone say that the reason they hated USxUK was because everywhere they saw it portrayed in a way that was very unhealthy for both of them. I'd also noticed that we always see stories of these two set during WWII or modern times, but never in between. So I decided to write this story to portray the way I see their (very healthy) relationship in the latter half of the 20th century. Enjoy!
Alfred would never forget the evening of July 17, 1976.
He'd just returned from France, and found home still pumped from his own bicentennial. He was finishing up some work for a budget meeting Monday, trying to get done so he could enjoy his weekend.
Just as he set aside his work and prepared to go in search of dinner, the phone on his desk rang.
"…Alfred." The voice was slurred and very British. That thicker accent that Arthur always slipped into after a few drinks.
Alfred grinned. "Hey Artie!" he answered cheerfully. "You're drunk aren't you?"
"Mmm…I might be a little buzzed. Anyway, there's a reason I called you."
Alfred valiantly fought back his laughter and managed in an even voice, "Yes, of course honey," he could just picture Arthur bristling at the nickname, "and what was that?"
"I juss though' I would inform you…" he slurred, "that I'm getting a tattoo."
Alfred only hummed in agreement and mentally ran through the known contents of his kitchen, used to Arthur's drunken schemes.
Alfred blinked at that. "Wait, what? Arthur where are you?"
There was another pause while Arthur's alcohol-soaked mind processed the question before he responded, "Outside the shop."
The American snorted. "So let me get this right," he managed through the laugh straining his voice. "You're drunk, calling me from a payphone outside a tattoo parlor at…" – he checked the clock – "almost two in the morning, to tell me you're getting a tattoo when we hang up."
Alfred shook his head. "Just remember what year you're in, babe. It'll kinda kill the mood if I have to see Francis's name tattooed across your chest every time I take your shirt off."
Arthur made a sound of indignation and muttered something along the lines of "As if I'd…bloody frog..." and the line went dead.
Alfred set down the phone and continued to the kitchen, amused , a little worried, and very curious.
[Two Weeks Later]
"Come oooon, Arthur," Alfred whined, despite the giggles threatening to escape at any moment.
Arthur firmly batted away Alfred's hands from their attempts to untuck his shirt.
"No. I refuse to show you just so you can laugh at me."
Alfred rolled his eyes. "You know I'm going to see it anyway, Arthur. Unless you think you can just manage without sex forever." He grinned, "And somehow I think you'd be even worse at that than I would."
Arthur blushed and huffed before unbuttoning his trousers and shifting them down slightly and lifting the bottom of his shirt – pointedly not meeting Alfred's eyes – to reveal a bold black six-string guitar on his right hip.
Alfred stared at it for a moment then grinned up at Arthur. "Sexy." Arthur rolled his eyes and Alfred chuckled but insisted, "No really, it's badass. I like it."
Arthur still wasn't meeting his gaze, but Alfred didn't give him much time to respond before moving to show Arthur just how much he liked his tattoo.
A/N: Like it? Subscribe for more! I have two more chapters almost ready to publish and a whole list of ideas. Also, the title of the story comes from a song of the same name by 38 Special. There's really no relation between the story and the song though. I just like the sound of it :3 Please review.