Blackout
Title: Blackout
Characters/Pairing: US/UK
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What can you do when the power goes out during a date?
For usxuk Secret Santa for blulious
America settled down on the couch, smoothing his hair down and waiting. He glanced at his cell phone; it was almost seven. There were two DVDs sitting on the coffee table. America tried to reach them with his foot and only wound up flipping both onto the floor. Stretching even further when getting up would be an easier solution, he eventually retrieved both with his toes: "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre". England knew all the words to one, and slasher films were just great.
Sighing, he tossed the DVDs idly to the side and rose from the couch. Outside the sky was a beginning to darken as the sun set on the other side of America's building. The window covered skyscrapers reflected the dying sun's rays and gave the effect of the whole city being on fire. The concept was beautiful and terrifying at the same time; America leaned against the window frame and watched the flames die down. Then one by one lights appeared in the buildings like stars. He tried to play connect the dots with them until all the lights disappeared suddenly. America blinked several times at the dark skyline, then he turned to the dark of his own apartment. Stumbling to the couch, he picked up his cell phone and checked the time: 7:43. England would be here soon. America frowned in the dark; what could he do now?
---
America checked the time for the twentieth time in five minutes; it was almost 9. The power was still out, and England still wasn't here. Wondering if he'd been stood up, America played with the soft wax of one of the two dozen candles on his coffee table. They coated the surrounding area in a warm glow; a glow that would've been nice to share with someone, Christ, anyone would do by now. America sighed, and the little flames shivered.
Just as America was about to give up and go skulk the night away in bed, England threw the apartment door open with an angry grunt. In the faint light, America could see he was sweaty and disheveled; his shirt was half buttoned, his tie was undone, and he carried his jacket by two fingers over his shoulder. America tried feebly to smile under England's generally murderous gaze.
"Two hours," the Briton snarled, throwing his jacket down, "I had to wait in your fucking subway." America frowned. "Then they tell us we have to get out of the car and walk to the next platform. Do you know how hot it is in those fucking tunnels?" America shook his head. "Well, it's fucking hot, I tell you that. Then I get up to the street, and I look like this," England gestured to his clothes, "And none of your bloody taxis would fucking stop for me! So I had to take the bus." By this point, England was pacing furiously, "I don't know your bloody system, so I spend twenty minutes just trying to get on a bus that'll bring me to this side of town. Then the bus drops me eight blocks away from here, and I decide 'Fuck it, I'll just walk there.'" England flopped down onto the couch and rubbed his temples.
America shuffled along the carpet and leaned against the couch; he planted a couple kisses on England's exposed collarbone and neck and worked his way up to his chin, mumbling into his skin, "Sorry you had such a rough time." England's lips curled into a little smile; as stressful as America the place was, America the person could take all that anger away.
"Thanks," England muttered after giving America a swift kiss. He then turned his head to the candles flickering away. "The candles are a nice touch," the Brit commented.
America nodded. "Spending time with you in the dark in nice, but I thought we could work our way up to that." He rubbed England's cheek with a suggestive smile.
"Well," England shifted to lean on his elbows, "What could we do until then?"
---
"Got any fives?" America asked, squinting at his cards in the dull candlelight. England shook his head as he removed the spoon in his mouth and stuck it back in one of the cartons of soupy, melting ice cream America had brought out.
"Go fish," he replied. America dug into the small 'pond' they had created and pouted at the card he got. "Do you have any kings?" England asked.
"No," America snarled in a playful way, "I hate kings; we fought a whole war over this, don't you remember?"
England threw his cards down and left the room. America stumbled after him, asking what was wrong.
---
"C'mon, England," America called from outside the bathroom door, "I was just kidding, you know that." England sat with his back against the tub, scowling at the door.
"Doesn't matter if you were joking or not," he shouted back, "That doesn't give you an excuse to act like a total wanker."
America banged his head softly against the door frame. He sighed, "England, look, I'm sorry about that, alright? It... It was mean, I'm sorry." England didn't say anything behind the door, but America could picture his face softening. "Why don't you come out of the bathroom, and we can play another game... or, y'know, whatever you want." America waited and could hear England get up.
"Can we play Beggar My Neighbor?" England asked, after opening the door a crack.
---
England learned that night that America didn't know how to play Beggar My Neighbor, so instead, they played war... "Strip War" on America's suggestion.
"W-A-R War!" they chorused. America flipped the King of Hearts and England the ace of clubs. England had lost his shirt, and America was down a bomber jacket. America cackled and started collecting the stack of cards.
"No, no, no," England snapped, "I've got an ace! Aces are high, you said so!" America paused.
"No, I didn't," he replied, clearly lying.
"Yes, you did!" England barked, "Take your shirt off, and give me those cards." America gave him a bemused smile and complied. "Much better." England collected his cards and smiled.
After a couple more wars, America leaned over the coffee table and blew out the candles. The power came back on some time during the night, but neither nation turned on the lights anyway.
Characters/Pairing: US/UK
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What can you do when the power goes out during a date?
For usxuk Secret Santa for blulious
America settled down on the couch, smoothing his hair down and waiting. He glanced at his cell phone; it was almost seven. There were two DVDs sitting on the coffee table. America tried to reach them with his foot and only wound up flipping both onto the floor. Stretching even further when getting up would be an easier solution, he eventually retrieved both with his toes: "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre". England knew all the words to one, and slasher films were just great.
Sighing, he tossed the DVDs idly to the side and rose from the couch. Outside the sky was a beginning to darken as the sun set on the other side of America's building. The window covered skyscrapers reflected the dying sun's rays and gave the effect of the whole city being on fire. The concept was beautiful and terrifying at the same time; America leaned against the window frame and watched the flames die down. Then one by one lights appeared in the buildings like stars. He tried to play connect the dots with them until all the lights disappeared suddenly. America blinked several times at the dark skyline, then he turned to the dark of his own apartment. Stumbling to the couch, he picked up his cell phone and checked the time: 7:43. England would be here soon. America frowned in the dark; what could he do now?
---
America checked the time for the twentieth time in five minutes; it was almost 9. The power was still out, and England still wasn't here. Wondering if he'd been stood up, America played with the soft wax of one of the two dozen candles on his coffee table. They coated the surrounding area in a warm glow; a glow that would've been nice to share with someone, Christ, anyone would do by now. America sighed, and the little flames shivered.
Just as America was about to give up and go skulk the night away in bed, England threw the apartment door open with an angry grunt. In the faint light, America could see he was sweaty and disheveled; his shirt was half buttoned, his tie was undone, and he carried his jacket by two fingers over his shoulder. America tried feebly to smile under England's generally murderous gaze.
"Two hours," the Briton snarled, throwing his jacket down, "I had to wait in your fucking subway." America frowned. "Then they tell us we have to get out of the car and walk to the next platform. Do you know how hot it is in those fucking tunnels?" America shook his head. "Well, it's fucking hot, I tell you that. Then I get up to the street, and I look like this," England gestured to his clothes, "And none of your bloody taxis would fucking stop for me! So I had to take the bus." By this point, England was pacing furiously, "I don't know your bloody system, so I spend twenty minutes just trying to get on a bus that'll bring me to this side of town. Then the bus drops me eight blocks away from here, and I decide 'Fuck it, I'll just walk there.'" England flopped down onto the couch and rubbed his temples.
America shuffled along the carpet and leaned against the couch; he planted a couple kisses on England's exposed collarbone and neck and worked his way up to his chin, mumbling into his skin, "Sorry you had such a rough time." England's lips curled into a little smile; as stressful as America the place was, America the person could take all that anger away.
"Thanks," England muttered after giving America a swift kiss. He then turned his head to the candles flickering away. "The candles are a nice touch," the Brit commented.
America nodded. "Spending time with you in the dark in nice, but I thought we could work our way up to that." He rubbed England's cheek with a suggestive smile.
"Well," England shifted to lean on his elbows, "What could we do until then?"
---
"Got any fives?" America asked, squinting at his cards in the dull candlelight. England shook his head as he removed the spoon in his mouth and stuck it back in one of the cartons of soupy, melting ice cream America had brought out.
"Go fish," he replied. America dug into the small 'pond' they had created and pouted at the card he got. "Do you have any kings?" England asked.
"No," America snarled in a playful way, "I hate kings; we fought a whole war over this, don't you remember?"
England threw his cards down and left the room. America stumbled after him, asking what was wrong.
---
"C'mon, England," America called from outside the bathroom door, "I was just kidding, you know that." England sat with his back against the tub, scowling at the door.
"Doesn't matter if you were joking or not," he shouted back, "That doesn't give you an excuse to act like a total wanker."
America banged his head softly against the door frame. He sighed, "England, look, I'm sorry about that, alright? It... It was mean, I'm sorry." England didn't say anything behind the door, but America could picture his face softening. "Why don't you come out of the bathroom, and we can play another game... or, y'know, whatever you want." America waited and could hear England get up.
"Can we play Beggar My Neighbor?" England asked, after opening the door a crack.
---
England learned that night that America didn't know how to play Beggar My Neighbor, so instead, they played war... "Strip War" on America's suggestion.
"W-A-R War!" they chorused. America flipped the King of Hearts and England the ace of clubs. England had lost his shirt, and America was down a bomber jacket. America cackled and started collecting the stack of cards.
"No, no, no," England snapped, "I've got an ace! Aces are high, you said so!" America paused.
"No, I didn't," he replied, clearly lying.
"Yes, you did!" England barked, "Take your shirt off, and give me those cards." America gave him a bemused smile and complied. "Much better." England collected his cards and smiled.
After a couple more wars, America leaned over the coffee table and blew out the candles. The power came back on some time during the night, but neither nation turned on the lights anyway.