Moving My Hips Like Yeah

America could blame it on a lot of things but, when it came down to it, all he'd wanted was to see Britain dancing in a hula-skirt. It hadn't been an apparent obsession or even a kink that Alfred F. Jones had been aware of at that time. It all began when Alfred received a distressed call at six in the morning two days before the world conference from the head of the UN office.

Barely awake to recognize the burning pain in his arse, let alone the phone ringing, it was actually Arthur who answered the phone. "'llo?"

"Mr. America?"

"Hold on." Arthur pressed a hand to the speaker of the phone and nudged the man beside him.

"It's for you, love."

Alfred rubbed a hand across his face as he rolled over to face him, fighting back a groan, "I'm not here."

"Git, then why on earth am I here?"

"You're my deranged stalker who likes to sleep in my bed when I'm not here," the American reasoned and rolled over. 

"Ow! Dude, get your knee off! It hurts bad enough down there," he cried sitting up.

Alfred could almost hear the smug smirk on his boyfriend's face. "That's what you get for not letting me stretch you out more last night. Too eager for you own damn good." Arthur growled into the American's ear, "Now answer the bleeding phone."

Alfred glared half-heartedly at his long time boyfriend before taking the phone from him.

"America here, what's so important someone had to call me this early?" At that hour of the morning, he felt no need for the usual formality he answered political calls with. After a few seconds of silence from the other end, he felt his stomach drop and the colour drain from his face. 

"Is the White House okay? Did something happen? Did we have another 9/11? Is everyone alright?"

"No, no, no. It's nothing like that, Mr. America," the woman on the other side of the line assured.

Alfred felt his whole body relax and noticed the man beside him did too. "Okay," his tone swapped from relieved to annoyed, "then why the hell am I being called this early in the morning?!"

The line was silent once more and for a few moments, he thought the woman had hung up on him. 

"Hello?"

"Uhm... I was told to call you and tell you we have a little, tiny problem, Mr. America."

"What's the problem?"

Silence.

"Whatever it is, it can be fixed, right? I mean the World Conference meeting's in a few days and..."

The line was quiet again and Alfred released a low groan of frustration.

"Miss, can you just tell me what happened instead of being quiet every ten seconds? So not cool to leave a dude dangling like that!"

The woman sighed before continuing, "The fifth, eleventh, twenty-second, and thirty-eighth floors are flooded. That doesn't include the busted pipes in the conference room, the water stains covering every other floor and the fact the whole building smells like mildew and sewage. On top of that, the elevator isn't working because it's filled with water."

Once more Alfred felt a groan escape from him that had nothing to do with the pain in his arse. "What happened? Can you fix it?"

"We're not sure how it happened but I can promise it'll be fixed. We should have it done in a week but—"

He wanted to shout, no scream, no; he wanted to kill someone. They'd had this date locked in since the last meeting three months ago (what more, it'd been the first time he'd actually remember the meeting! Obviously it was a help that his boyfriend and brother both hadn't let him forget it). It'd almost be okay if it'd happened earlier in the week, because with this short notice, it'd be a miracle for him to find a place to settle 192 countries, especially with hotels. Alfred ran a hand over his face. And there was no way he could lump them all into one. He had it set up before so nothing could go wrong and no one would kill each other. It took a pure genius to come up with that setting. Then again, Arthur had been in charge of that part.