Piano-men: America X Reader X England

Piano-men


~an America X Reader X England fiction~



~the boys~


Two young men stood near the piano in the back corner impatiently. They looked like brothers, with almost the same shade of dirty blonde hair, though one's eyes were emerald and the other's were a deep blue. The latter was speaking animatedly (using American intonations) to the former, who was clearly agitated by his energy.

"Dude! You promised that I'd be able to choose the songs this week, and Billy Joel is the MAN!!!"

"Yes," the green-eyed man sighed. "I did say you could choose, but I was hoping we could at least compromise."

"Why, Artie? Didn't we play some David Bowie, and The Cure, last week?" The young American pouted.

"Alfred. HOW many times have I asked you to at least call me Arthur?" He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, tension clear. "And to answer your question, git, I wanted to play some of their songs that you bloody Americans don't appreciate."

Yes, they were the brothers England and America. Arthur Kirkland and Alfred Jones.
They had been frequents at this bar for as long as anyone could remember. Music was one of their favorite things, and they wanted to share their points of view with their friends, the other regulars. Of course, sometimes the two argued, but there was always a good song choice in the end. Arthur shook his head and looked up at the younger man.

"Fine, Billy Joel. But I'm going to sing like C.M. Carlsson in his cover, yes?" The American looked at his brother and stuck out his hand.

"You've got yourself a deal," he muttered. Arthur shook his brother's hand, sealing
it. They knew that it wouldn't be the end of that argument. It was going to be a rough night, full of anger, yet the music always came first. So… agitation would be masked by music. Seems fitting, no?



~the girl~

Tears and rain streamed down your face as you stumbled along the busy streets, not looking for anything in particular. It had been only two hours ago that you came across your fiancée, Antonio, bedding another woman in your shared apartment. It's no wonder you called off the engagement, throwing your ring out into the mud of dirty walkways outside, angry words spilling from your shocked lips. Now, you just looked for salvation and solitude that you felt was somewhere in the water-soaked city.

Why were you so surprised? Your friends had called him out, telling you he was a womanizer within the first few months of your relationship. You waved off the claims, trapped in the seemingly endless 'honeymoon phase'. Toni had given you no reason to doubt his loyalty, except for maybe the few times you came across some shirts that you knew weren't yours…

Blinking back tears, you remembered his proposal to you- in Paris, atop the Eiffel Tower, after almost two years together. You two had been vacationing for two weeks, and you had agreed straight away. Paris was the 'city of love', and, after all, miracles could happen. Showing your ring to all your friends back at home, they were forced to admit to being wrong about your brown- haired 'amore'. Now, you knew the truth, why he was so estranged in the few months after the engagement.

Tripping over a large crack in the sidewalk, you fell to your knees, sobbing at the harmful turn of events. From nearby, you heard a familiar song begin to play, applause drowning out a few notes. A voice sung out the beginning, a Brooklyn accent catching your attention-


It's nine o'clock on a Saturday-
The regular crowd shuffles in.
There's an old man sitting next to me,
Makin' love to his tonic and gin.


"Piano Man?" you whispered, following the notes of the piano as another voice piped up, a smooth English inflection that lead you to a pub down the block. Glancing at the sign beside the open door, you learn that two men that call themselves 'Overseas' play regularly, there that evening.


He says, "Son, can you play me a memory?
I'm not really sure how it goes,
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete,
When I wore a younger man's clothes."


Stepping into the bar, you saw the two blonds sitting together at an old baby grand piano, humming "La la la, di da da… La la, di di da da dum…" Sitting on a stool at the counter, you started to sing under your breath along with them. Several of the regulars were already drunk out of their minds, belting out of key to the chorus.


Sing us a song, you're the piano man,
Sing us a song tonight.
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody,
And you've got us feelin' all right.


Smiling at the rowdiness, you turned to the man at the counter, politely asking for a boilermaker. He cocked a brow at your request- beer and a shot of whiskey for a pleasant young lady? Nevertheless, he brought it to you with a sympathetic look, not commenting on your red-tinged –your eye color here- eyes. You offered him some cash for your drink, but he waved it off, smiling knowingly. The men continued playing, with the handsome young American's voice ringing out above the crowd.


Now, John at the bar is a friend of mine-
He gets me my drinks for free,
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke,
But there's some place that he'd rather be.
He says, "AL, I believe this is killing me."
As his smile ran away from his face,
"Well, I'm sure that I could be a movie star,
If I could get out of this place."


You had been sipping at the combination in front of you through the verse, fully knowing that it wouldn't be the first drink of the evening. You now sang aloud with them, voice still quiet and broken from your bout of tears earlier. "Oh, la la la, di da da. La la, di da da da dum…" Relaxing at last, you reached the end of your boilermaker, asking for one more. Just one more… The Englishman began to sing now, expression in his words. His voice soared, and you couldn't help but look up, brushing stray –your hair color here- locks from your face.


Now, Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife,
And he's talkin' with Davy, who's still in the Navy,
And probably will be for life…
And the waitress is practicing politics,
As the businessman slowly gets stoned.
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness,
But it's better than drinkin' alone.


You heard that last line, staring at your drink in a confused manner. Truly, you felt he was right, whoever he was. Grabbing your drink, you staggered closer to the piano, sitting at a table with some other people who looked as buzzed as you were. They were loud, but it was okay, because you all sang together at the chorus.


Sing us a song, you're the piano man-
Sing us a song tonight.
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody,
And you got us all feeling alright.


Your voice was sickly sweet, reaching out farther than the others as you finished your second mixed drink. You were done thinking about that idiot Spaniard who broke your soul, heart torn to pieces. You were done with him, free to do what you liked, free to make your own choices... and you loved it.



~the boys~


There was a new voice among the regulars'. They caught each other's eyes, emerald meeting sapphire, not stopping their fingers' movements across the stained ivory. The lessons from Roderich surely helped with not having to look where they were going. It had become second nature. Looking around, the men noticed the rather beautiful young woman sitting at a nearby table. Changing their routine, the men switched off verses, starting off with Arthur.


"It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see,
To forget about life for a while."

"And the piano, it sounds like a carnival,
And the microphone smells like a beer…
And they sit at the bar, and put bread in my jar
And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?"


Together, they sang, fingers ever stroking the keys. "Oh, la la la, di da da… La la, di da da da dum." A pause was written into the song, but it was normally a short one. Holding this one out, the two visually prompted the regulars to have a go. Not one of the regulars raised their voice to begin. Not one…

Suddenly, a voice as clear as day called out, notes flowing from a pure source. They smiled, anger miraculously disappearing between the two, obliging to the young woman's passion in her singing.


"Sing me a song, you're the piano man-
Sing us a song tonight.
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody…"


She faltered, as if self-conscious, and Arthur sang out the words with her, meaning every last one. "And you got us feeling alright…"



~the story~


You looked sadly at your empty stein as the men stood up from the piano and bowed. Alfred was whooping with joy, and Arthur stood serenely, looking around the room. A quick glance at each other with unspoken understanding, and they hurried off towards you. You weren't paying attention to them, instead chatting amiably with a loud, drunken albino and his tall, serious-looking brother. An arm slid around your shoulder, and you looked up into deep crystal blue eyes semi-hidden by rectangular glasses and a grinning face.

"Hey, babe, nice pipes," the man said. "Ow, Artie!" He instantly shrunk back, rubbing the back of his head. The green- eyed man scowled at him, but looked at you with kindness. His eyes so reminded you of your ex-fiancée's before… before…

"Hey- hey. Don't cry, love," he knelt beside your chair, concern in his face. "What is it? Al didn't-" You were shaking your head violently, 'no'. The American joined his brother beside you, feeling pity.

"You sure it wasn't me? I normally do stupid things, but-" You shook your head again, tears still falling, burying your face in your hands.

"Love…? I'm Arthur, Arthur Kirkland. My brother's name is Alfred Jones. Please…" he was distraught at your raw emotion, not sure what to do. "T-tell me what's wrong, love."

"Yeah, tell us!" Alfred chimed in, eyes serious. "I wanna know whose ass I have to kick into next Tuesday." You felt hands against yours, pulling them gently from your cheeks. Each of the brothers held one, stroking your palms.

"Tell us what's troubling you, love…" Both sets of eyes, emerald and sapphire jewels, were pleading with yours…

And that's how you ended up on the brothers' couch, with a mug of –your favorite warm drink here- in your hands. Arthur was to your right, Alfred to your left, both listening intently. Abandoned cups of tea and coffee sat on the short table in front of you, tissues
strewn haphazardly around them, trailing even to the ground.

"And t-then…" you sniffled a bit. "I heard this music, a p-piano from one of the buildings on the d-deserted block. I followed your voices t-to the pub, and then I was okay, and…" A tear slid down your cheek. You took a sip of your drink and leaned forward to set it down. Looking at the brother to your right, your mouth set itself into a bittersweet smile.

"It's… your eyes, Arthur…" He looked confused, thick brows furrowed into a profuse
line. Alfred tapped your shoulder, and you turned your head to face him. He was smiling sadly, pulling you into a hug that you had no energy to resist.

"They remind you of that ass… Don't they, babe?" You nodded, one final tear spilling down your cheek. He pulled you closer, to let your head rest on his chest. Arthur looked hopelessly at you two, crushed. He never meant to hurt your feelings… especially not with just one look at him… Standing, the Englishman began gathering the discarded Kleenex and mugs.

"Y-you don't have to do that. I will, I mean, I'm the one who's been troubling you..." You began to shift, but were stopped both by Alfred's arms still wrapped around your waist and Arthur's words.

"-your first name here-, I insist. My brother and I have you as our guest, so you need not worry about something so minute." With that, the green-eyed man disappeared to the kitchen. Alfred smiled as you stared at the empty place where Arthur had sat just moments before, kissing your forehead.

"Hmm? Alfred, why did you…?" He smirked, hugging you tighter. The American's grip was firm, and he had no intention of letting you go. You looked up into his sapphire eyes, their beauty catching you by surprise.

"So I could get your attention, babe." Alfred whispered slyly into your ear, causing a blush to form on your cheeks. He nuzzled your neck, continuing. "That Antonio was a total idiot for letting you go. You're fun, talented, smart, beautiful… and you deserve better than him."

"Alfred…" His eyes were full of passion, and so were his lips as they barreled into yours, making you gasp. Squirming, trying to get free, you started to get lightheaded. The kiss was deep, and he licked at your lips, asking for entrance. A fuzzy feeling spread through your body; Toni had never kissed you like this, at least, not within several months. Resistance was futile while caught in his grip, so you succumbed, kissing back to appease the animated American.

"A-Alfred? W-what are you doing to our guest?" You had forgotten about Arthur for those few moments, and you blushed profusely as he approached the couch. The man who had just kissed you stretched out a bit, his grasp lessening in roughness. He grinned cockily at his older brother.

"Just some fun, ya know? I didn't hurt her; you're just too stuffy all the time." Arthur looked furious, slamming down a bowl of popcorn onto the table. He slumped down onto the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose, simultaneously with Alfred's release of you. The American began to devour the popcorn, and sad smile slid onto your face. You inched over to the Brit, who still rubbed his temples out of frustration. You didn't like seeing him upset over his brother's actions; though, why did you care? After all, you two just met…

"A-are… you okay, Arthur?" He looked up at you expectantly, a twinge of pink in his cheeks. Throwing up his hands in a defensive position, Arthur stuttered out a response, all bitterness gone.

"No… I- I mean, y-yes, I'm fine, -your first name here-." His thoughts were racing wildly, about all that occurred that evening. That argument with Alfred now seemed pointless. Who is this girl; how can she alleviate my feelings of rage and guilt? Your eyes implored him to tell the full truth. "Really, love. I'm fine…"

"Okay, Arthur," you said, smiling again. He looked so cute while flustered… NO! No, no, no, nonononono. He may call you 'love', but it's just an Englishman thing! ……right? Alfred kept munching away, speaking with his mouth full, causing you and his older brother to cringe. It was one of your biggest pet peeves, right next to cleaning up your younger siblings' clothes when you were younger.

"Hey, hey dudes! *munch* We should, like, *crunch* watch a movie!" You looked between the two of them, caught in their own world, speaking without a word. Arthur voiced his thoughts aloud, seemingly for your benefit, as the American just nodded in agreement.

"Sounds lovely, Al. Let's allow –your first name here- to choose tonight understood?" More nodding came from Alfred, as the Brit playfully nudged you with his shoulder. "After all, she is our guest." You laughed, lightly elbowing him in return.

"Understood, Mr. Britain, sir." you teased. Pausing, you thought back to all the good action movies you once watched with your friends before you started dating the Spaniard. "How about… The Italian Job? I haven't seen it in ages."

The boys looked at you, grinning from ear to ear, putting aside their differences. When they spoke, it was in perfect tandem, accents clashing in a beautiful melody.

"Anything for you."