Thank You - USxUK

"My cooking isn't that bad!"

"Dude, eating your food is like chewing on a rubber band ball."

This was an argument Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones shared on a regular basis. It was routine. Familiar. Arthur liked routine. He liked familiarity.

"That's a little harsh..." Arthur mumbled, silently scraping the pile of lovingly-crafted scones into his bin, as he did most days, whenever he cooked for Alfred. "At least I'm not stuffing my face with crap."

"Crap? These burgers are nothing but goodness, man!" Alfred grinned, sinking his teeth into the fast-food item he held in his hand, as he did every time he rejected Arthur's cooking.

"Vulgar..." Arthur muttered. He swore to God, if that American fool got a single crumb on his kitchen floor, he'd hit him – hard – with a croquet mallet. "You are disgusting."

"At least my eyebrows don't look like caterpillars," Alfred retorted through a mouthful of food – as he did most days, whenever he couldn't think of anything new to offend Arthur with (which was most days).

Arthur's hands flew to his forehead, as they did every time Alfred insulted them. It wasn't his fault his eyebrows were so... prominent – or caterpillar-like. He did trim them. Occasionally.

Arthur just snorted and returned to the water that was simmering gently in the kettle, waiting to be made into a steaming cup of tea. Alfred irritated Arthur... They used to be so close, almost inseparable – they had always bickered, but nowadays it was relentless, a constant and unceasing pounding in the temple of the Englishman's head. He knew that America had moved on, had gained independence... But sometimes he missed being close to him.

He sluggishly reached for a bottle of rum, casting aside the half-made tea. Drowning-of-the-sorrows time. Another regular occurrence.

"Care to join me?" he offered, brandishing the bottle. It was only polite, right?

"Nah, I have better things to do. Like cleaning out my garage..." Alfred muttered.

"Pff, suit yourself..." Arthur grumbled, slightly ticked off.

"You're boring anyway. Who would want to hang around with you?"

That was it. That was it. He'd had enough. Maybe today was the day that Arthur Kirkland would finally snap. His eyebrow twitched in exasperation, and he slowly turned around to face Alfred, grinding his teeth.

"You used to! What happened, Alfred? What happened to us?!" he growled, glaring at the man sat at his kitchen table.

"I grew up! I let go of the past, something that you have yet to do!" Alfred retorted, switching from his usual goofy tone into a far more serious one.

Arthur paused for half a second, stuck for words to say. "You bastard, you can't speak to me like that in my own bloody kitchen! I've had enough of this. All your life I've looked after you-"

"I've looked after myself; I never needed your help!" Alfred cut in fiercely.

"And you've taken me for granted!" Arthur barked, marching over to where Alfred was sitting, towering above him. Alfred stood up rapidly, causing the legs of the chair to grate on the floor. The two men's chests were touching, sparks of hatred fizzling between their faces. "All that I've done for you... I practically raised you! And you know something?!"

"What?" the American snarled.

"You've never..." The anger in Arthur's voice was beginning to crack and break. "You've never once thanked me."

Alfred's eyes widened and his expression softened, lined vaguely with guilt. "N-not once?"

"Not once."

Silence hung heavily in the air, but the men did not lose each other's gazes. Arthur was preparing himself to storm out - and take the bottle of rum with him - but before he knew what was happening, he felt something warm pressing against his lips and was suddenly paralysed with a brand new emotion. The anger had been abolished and left a sort of tenderness in its place. Was... was he kissing him? Oh, God no... This definitely wasn't regular. This wasn't routine, this wasn't customary, habitual, expected, conventional, common or familiar. But - nevertheless - in a strange sort of way, Arthur kind of liked it...

Alfred's mouth worked gently against Arthur's until all his muscles uncoiled and they relaxed into each other. Still not daring to move (whether that meant moving apart or even closer to him), Arthur just let the American man's surprisingly lithe tongue explore his mouth for a while in a sort of rhythmic pulsating. After the initial shock, he relaxed even further and began kissing back gingerly. There wasn't a single sound except for the rhythmic connection of their lips and the shuffle of clothing as they wrapped their limbs around each other tighter, not wanting to let go of the moment.

Even when they eventually let go of each other, Arthur could still feel the kiss lingering on his lips.

"What was that...?" he asked softly, blushing a deep shade of burgundy.

"That...? That was my 'thank you'."