A Book of Tales Ch 4
Title: A Book of Tales
-or- How America Saved Canada With Porn
Author(s): yours truly XD
Genre: Humor, Romance
Characters/Pairing(s): US/UK
Rating: NC-17; this chapter PG-13
Warnings: Sex. Lots and lots of sex, and people talking about sex.
Summary: Various US/UK/US scenarios. Some in canon, some AU.
Alternate Summary: In order to save his brother from yet another fangirl mob, America does the heroic thing and writes all sorts of PWP for the masses with England's help. Side-Story for “Author!Anon”.
This chapter: Christmas special~
~
CH 1: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/3973.html
CH 2: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/4336.html
CH 3: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/4626.html
Time Stamp: December 24, 2009 10:00AM EST
The weather, America decided, was mocking him. Today was a perfect day, with sunny rays and clear blue skies marred only slightly with a few wispy clouds. It was a fucking gorgeous day, and that what was pissing America off. Oh sure, it could be perfect and lovely on the day before Iggy was supposed to show up, but tomorrow it was supposed to rain buckets of ice down, turning the roads and airport runways into a freezing hell. America wasn't stupid. Traveling in those sort of conditions was a bad idea, especially since the DC Metro area wasn't well equipped for handling the cold stuff. (You would think the area would have learned its lesson after '96, but oh well.) Already, both he and England had made arrangements (including exchanging plane tickets) to postpone their Christmas get-together for the 26th.
Of course, at the moment, there wasn't a sign of the incoming bad weather in that beautifully painted sky. It made America wish that he and England had decided to meet on the 24th, but England had already made a prior commitment to spend the 24th at home with his siblings. America groaned in defeat, and slumped his body over the kitchen table. Stupid weather. Stupid siblings. At least Mattie would be having a good time on Christmas, seeing as he was spending it with Ukraine. Hopefully, Russia and Belarus would stay the fuck away.
“You look like you got run over,” Tony commented idly as he wandered out of the basement and into the kitchen. America turned his head slightly to glare at the alien as Tony began rooting through the fridge.
“Merry Christmas to you too,” America grumbled, without bothering to lift his head up from the table.
“You gonna make a Christmas feast tomorrow?” Tony inquired, sitting down at the table with milk and a bowl of cereal, “If you are, aren't you supposed to thaw the flesh?”
“Meat,” America automatically corrected, “Dinner's being postponed until the 26th. And I am thawing the chicken and the beef. They're on the bottom shelf of the fridge.”
“You and the fucking limey going to do some awkward mating rituals?” Tony asked, stabbing his spoon into his bowl, “Because if you are, you can fucking do it outta my sight. That shit's disgusting. Or better yet, don't fucking do it at all.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you'll vaporize us and whatever,” America yawned, having heard the same spiel from Tony a hundred times before.
“Not you, just the limey, ” Tony corrected, “What sorta friend do you take me for?”
Same old Tony. America grinned wryly, “Whatever. In any case, if you just stay in the basement, we won't bother you. We'll stay upstairs.”
“I was planning on spending the next few days with the damn whale anyway. Fucker owes me twenty bucks,” Tony huffed, finishing up the flakes in his bowl, “But I want some of that fucking feast, you hear me? And a can of soda.”
“We have soda,” America pointed out.
“Not in a can,” Tony responded rebelliously, “Crap from a bottle and crap from a can taste different. I like the metallic tang of a can. The soda burns more when it goes down. Reminds me of home.”
“Fine, fine...picky,” America muttered as he grabbed a scrap of paper and a snub of a pencil from where they hung on the refrigerator to start scribbling down a last minute shopping list, “Anything else you want?”
“What are you making?” the alien asked.
“Beef, chicken, gravy, and biscuits,” America listed off with his fingers, “Maybe eggs and shrimp if there isn't enough food.”
“No vegetables or desserts?”
“Iggy's bringing the veggies,” America shrugged, “I figured I'd make him feel like he's doing something for dinner. I mean, the only one eating them will be him, and he actually likes his evil cooking. He's also bringing dessert, and hopefully he'll bring a store bought pie instead of making his own.”
“...You're an idiot,” Tony deadpanned, smirking a bit when America yelped in protest, “The limey is going to bring his fucking burnt up scones, poisoned apples, or something else equally un-delicious. No fucking way. You're making me sweet potatoes with marshmallows, or else I'm shrinking you two into the size of ants.”
America stuck his tongue out at his longtime roommate, but wrote down the ingredients on his list, “Jerk. Do you want me to make homemade truffles too?”
“Good idea,” Tony nodded, missing America's sarcasm completely, “Chocolate is better than choking on whatever the limey brings for dessert.”
“B-but, those take hours to make!” America whined, “And I was already going to make a batch for my coworkers.”
“Tough,” the alien snorted, crossing his thin gray arms, “If you don't want me interrupting your mating rituals, you'll do it. And don't give me any crap about how your economy is shit. Everything will only be fifteen bucks at most.”
America grumbled, but not even an hour later, he was out the door with a shopping list in hand. If Tony wasn't the most awesome partner in Call of Duty, Halo, and World of Warcraft, America would have probably had the alien go and live with his boss instead...Okay, America was lying (Tony was the coolest roommate and best friend he ever had) but still.
~
On most days, America would say Walmart was one of the most fucking awesome stores on the face of the Earth (mostly because it was his, but also because they were cheap). But today, on Christmas Eve, Walmart could suck America's balls. America nabbed a parking spot at the back of the store. (The one thing America learned from his giant megastores was that it was just a fucking pain to try parking up front. They were almost always filled to the brim, and were fucking deathtraps for pedestrians. Parking on the side or back of the store was much easier, and the distance between it and the front doors wasn't actually that far.) As he proceeded to get out, he nearly slipped and fell face first on a patch of ice, causing him to start re-cursing the fucking weather in his head (hey, there were kids nearby).
As soon as he got inside, he made a beeline for the food section. Walmart was typically cheaper than the grocery, so America hoped to get a great deal for the stuff on his list. Unfortunately, due to the fact that nearly all the Walmarts were practically identical, he had forgotten that this particular Walmart did not have a produce section. So he was shit out of luck for his potatoes. No worries, they were sure to have marshmallows...or maybe not. Wandering up and down the isles for thirty minutes revealed hot chocolate, but no marshmallows. Ooooookay, maybe there would be chocolate chips. And yes, yes there was! One bag of...milk chocolate. Fuck. The recipe required semi-sweet. Heavy cream, maybe? But just as America spotted the dairy isle, someone grabbed the last carton of heavy cream. Shit. After that, America didn't even bother looking for the nuts.
“You should have gone to a grocery, you fucking twat,” a distinctly British voice scolded in his head, complete with cold dripping sarcasm.
“Shut up, voice of reason,” America muttered under his breath, before heading over to the inside McDonald's. Maybe a Big Mac would make him feel better...
“One Big Mac, please!” America chirped happily to the lady behind the counter, flashing her one of his hero grins. She frowned slightly before answering.
“We don't have Big Macs here, sir.”
It felt as if she had slapped him. “W-what? Uh...um. Oooookay. Then I'll have a chee-”
“No cheeseburgers or quarter pounders,” the woman intoned back, in a voice that sent icy bands to wrap around America's heart, “No burgers. We're all out.”
N-No burgers? No burgers?! America's world fell out from underneath him. A McDonald's without burgers? I-it couldn't be! It had to be some sorta trick or nightmare! Only some truly evil individual (coughRussiacough) would deprive a man from his burgers!
“We only have chicken,” the woman continued, oblivious to the Nation's plight.
America's mouth worked helplessly for a few seconds before he was able to pull together enough of his thoughts to say, “C-can I have a club sandwich, then? Uh, the meal? Crispy chicken?”
“One number six, crispy!” the lady called over her shoulder as she handed the blond a cup. America took it with slightly trembling fingers. No burgers. Oh God, there were no burgers...What was this world coming to?!
By the time he had gotten his meal and sat down at a small table, America's mind was racing at breakneck speed. This was a sign. It had to be. A lack of burgers at McDonald's was a sign of something terrible to come, like Armageddon, or more bad weather.
“Or maybe it's a sign that it's the day before Christmas, and everyone is buying their fucking gifts last second, and as a result, they eat all the bloody burgers because they get fucking hungry while shopping. Ever think about that, you pea-brained git?” America's oh so ever helpful voice of reason sneered at him. (Interestingly enough, America's voice of reason sounded not exactly like England, but more like Yahtzee from Zero Punctuation.) In typical American fashion, America ignored it, finished up his fries, and headed to his car. It was time to try the grocery.
By the time America made it to the grocery store doors, he had made the decision that boots were the most fucking awesome invention of all time. While he had slid a little on the icy patches, the traction of his footwear kept him from any sort of painful spills. Idly, he mentally made note to thank whichever old dude invented boots. Probably China...he was old enough.
Upon entering the store, America grabbed a basket, and began hunting for the things on his list. The chocolate and cream were easy to find, as were the walnuts. The marshmallows were on sale for a dollar, and there was a huge mound of sweet potatoes in the produce isle...emphasis on the huge part.
“Have I been feeding my farms steroids?” America muttered under his breath as he picked up a larger than normal sweet potato. As he rooted through the batch for the best looking ones, he had to snicker at some of their shapes. He was sorely tempted to buy the one shaped like a dong, but experience reminded him that the uneven shape wouldn't cook properly, so he tossed it back. In the end, he bought four slight-dumpy shaped tubers that he fondly nicknamed in his mind the United Kingdom. Iggy would probably get enough of a kick out of boiling and mashing up “Scotland” that he'd ignore that “England” was going through the same thing. Then, he'd smack America upside the head. After he finished paying for his items, America headed to the vending machine outside to buy Tony his demanded soda can. Really, there wasn't that much of a difference between plastic and metal, and-holy fuck did that machine just eat his dollar?! Grumbling in irritation, America had to go through two bills to get the drink. Stupid alien and his stupid demands. At least America could trust Tony to keep his word and not interrupt the two Nations on Saturday.
As America drove back home, the radio began playing a piece from the Nutcracker. America grinned brightly as the song brought back memories. A few years ago, England had dragged the younger Nation to a performance of the Nutcracker at one of America's own performance halls. America had fully expected to fall asleep during the ballet, but as soon as the curtain had lifted, he had been entranced. The entire performance had been re-imagined to take place during the late colonial period in America's own history. The clothing, the setting, everything looked like it had come straight out of the 1700s. (Well, not exactly, because of the ballet shoes and the “issues” America had with Christmas back then, but still...) But the real kicker was when the rat army came out dancing in those infamous lobster back uniforms, and the Nutcracker (now dressed as George Washington) valiantly fought them off. Oh, the look on England's face! He looked like he had swallowed a lemon...no, make that ten lemons. America could barely choke down his laughter. The only reason why the older male hadn't done something drastic (a.k.a. murderous) was because sitting right next to them was a family of Asians with a little girl of no more than six. England always had a soft spot for children. In any case, the whole thing was almost as good as when England had taken America to a London showing of “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (abridged),” and had come face to face with a trio of irreverent Americans. It had taken England a year before the words “Hamlet, my biological clock is ticking, and I want a baby now!” didn't make him react in the most amusing way. Really, England should have learned by now to check the summaries of the stuff he went to watch.
America frowned slightly as the song on the radio ended and he pulled up into his driveway. He was starting to reminisce (again) like an old man! It couldn't be helped, not after all the years America had lived, but if he ever got as bad as England did with his memories, then America would jump off a bridge. America was a thousand years too young to let the smallest of things drag him down into memory lane.
Tony had vanished downstairs again by the time America had gotten his groceries inside. America easily shrugged it off, put away half of the purchases, and got start working on the chocolates. They were simple (most of the “cooking” for them had to be done with a microwave) but they took forever and they were fucking messy. Thank God most of that time was just waiting for the candies to cool, but still, he had started a little after lunch time, and by the time they were done, it was dinner. Oh well, they were worth it, and America could give some away as gifts at work.
Pleased with the out come of the sweets, America decided to reward himself with a little online surfing and gaming once they were done. It had been a long day (especially after making all those chocolates) and America felt like he should be allowed to kick back and relax.
At around 9:00PM, America finally decided to head over the the NORAD Santa Tracker site. Most of the digital map was covered with small gifts indicating where Santa had already been. In fact, the only places not dotted with the small presents were the North and South American continents, seeing as it was still the 24th, while the rest of the world had already hit midnight. Mousing over to north of the European continent, America frowned when he noticed that England was hidden from view by the the gift-icons indicating where Santa had visited. Luckily, the icon labeled “London, United Kingdom” was sitting on the top of the heap. Upon clicking it, he was treated to a short film of Santa and his sleigh zooming around England's famous city. It made America smile wildly as he wondered what England would say if he saw the film. Underneath the film was a link that read “Zoom in on this location.”
*CLICK*
Instantly, a satellite image of London splayed itself on America's screen. As America fiddled around, he found he could zoom in an out of the image, everywhere from the extreme of seeing tiny dots of people on the streets, to just seeing a total image of the United Kingdom, un-obscured with icons. Reverently, he skimmed a fingertip across England's coastline, a sappy smile working its way onto his face. After a few clicks, he was again staring at an overhead of London's streets and the River Thames. As America switched back and forth between map view and satellite view, he eagerly searched out familiar landmarks, like the Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abby, all while trying not to feel like a peeping tom. It was a little kinky, but it wasn't as if he was looking at just anybody, and as long as Iggy didn't find out at that moment, then what was the harm?
Today had been tiring, and more than a little annoying, but somehow, watching the Thames snake across London in a tiny satellite image for a few hours made everything worth it.
“Merry Christmas, England,” America whispered to images of tiny buildings, streets, and the River Thames, before closing the website and going to bed.
~
Time Stamp: December 25, 2009 12:15 AM EST
Suddenly, in the middle of the night, America shot straight out of bed, his face pale.
“Fuck,” he swore, as he flopped back down on the bed covers, one arm haphazardly thrown over his face, “I forgot to buy Iggy a present. Fuck!”
~
Time Stamp: December 25, 2009 8:30 AM EST
America had nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well, he did have those homemade chocolates, but those were kind of a weak gift for a boyfriend, especially since they weren't initially intended to be used in that way. America tried thinking of anything that he could do or make to get a present by the 26th, but nothing good came to mind other than cutting a hole in a box and stuffing his dick in it. Iggy'd probably laugh his ass off or slap America upside the head. Probably the later. When it all came down to it, America was a fucking idiot.
America was suddenly, drawn out of his angry brooding when the phone rang. Figuring it was probably Canada (maybe Mattie would have an idea on what to give Iggy) America picked it up, and forced a smile onto his face.
“Hello?”
“Happy Christmas!” a distinctly not Canadian voice greeted.
“England!” America yelped, almost dropping the phone in shock, “W-Wha...”
“Oh sorry,” England coughed, “I thought you would be awake by now. Did I wake you up?”
“Yes, I mean, no, I mean,” America stumbled, before collecting his thoughts, “Uh, Merry Christmas, Iggy.”
“Have you started opening your presents yet?” England asked conversationally.
“Not yet,” America admitted, fiddling slightly with the phone, “What about you?”
“Hmph. What do you mean? As if I got any gifts from these twats,” England sniffed. In the background, America swore he heard a Scottish voice yell, “Burn in hell, bastard!”
“Your siblings are still there?” America was surprised. Normally, the British Isles could barely spend one full day together, let alone two.
“Yes, well, Scotland got fucking pissed on my dinning room table, and couldn't be bothered to drive home. Then, Wales did something stupid, and is currently caught in my bushes, the bloody bastard!” England ranted as he turned slightly away from the phone, causing his voice to become slightly fainter as he screamed at someone in the distance, “You dolts, don't pull him, you'll ruin the...oh, fuck you too, Ireland!”
“Well, now I feel even worse,” America sighed, deciding to bite the bullet and tell the truth, “I don't have a present for you either, other than some chocolates.”
There was a moment of pause on the other line, during which America swore he heard someone (likely Scotland) mutter “I knew our nephew had some hope in him after all.”
Feeling even more guilty, America started to babble, “I'm really sorry, Iggy! I wanted to get you something, but it just slipped my mind with the weather and the preparations and Tony's fucking soda can...The only thing I can think about getting you on short notice is a dick in a box, but then you'd probably-”
“That's all right, America,” England finally said, his tone gentle and sincere.
“R-really?” America asked, biting his lip slightly, “But...”
“Honestly, I would rather just spend the day with you. That's more than enough for me,” England laughed softly. America was flabbergasted. That was...unexpectedly sweet of England. He didn't know what to say...
“Yes, yes, feel the sap coming out of the phone,” England snapped with very little heat as he tried to go back to his usual waspish self, “I don't do it everyday, so enjoy it, brat.”
America felt his face crack into a wide grin, “Merry Christmas, old man.”
“Happy Christmas. I'll see you tomorrow. And-oh fuck, my bushes! You bloody tossers, I ought to-”
When the phone suddenly cut off, America just kept on grinning. Even though the skies outside his window were a cloudy gray to mark the rain that was no doubt going to start soon, he could see it was the start of a wonderful Christmas Day.
Author's Note: I still feel like a dick. A dick with the best boyfriend in the world, but still a dick. A dick in a box? /bricked I should take him out to a movie. Sherlock Holmes maybe? Either that or write him porn. Or both. XD
In any case, if I'm lucky, I won't be posting anything other than responses until New Year's because my boyfriend and me are going at it like rabbits I'm going to be too busy to write anything longer than a paragraph.
Happy Holidays, everyone!
-or- How America Saved Canada With Porn
Author(s): yours truly XD
Genre: Humor, Romance
Characters/Pairing(s): US/UK
Rating: NC-17; this chapter PG-13
Warnings: Sex. Lots and lots of sex, and people talking about sex.
Summary: Various US/UK/US scenarios. Some in canon, some AU.
Alternate Summary: In order to save his brother from yet another fangirl mob, America does the heroic thing and writes all sorts of PWP for the masses with England's help. Side-Story for “Author!Anon”.
This chapter: Christmas special~
~
CH 1: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/3973.html
CH 2: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/4336.html
CH 3: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/4626.html
Time Stamp: December 24, 2009 10:00AM EST
The weather, America decided, was mocking him. Today was a perfect day, with sunny rays and clear blue skies marred only slightly with a few wispy clouds. It was a fucking gorgeous day, and that what was pissing America off. Oh sure, it could be perfect and lovely on the day before Iggy was supposed to show up, but tomorrow it was supposed to rain buckets of ice down, turning the roads and airport runways into a freezing hell. America wasn't stupid. Traveling in those sort of conditions was a bad idea, especially since the DC Metro area wasn't well equipped for handling the cold stuff. (You would think the area would have learned its lesson after '96, but oh well.) Already, both he and England had made arrangements (including exchanging plane tickets) to postpone their Christmas get-together for the 26th.
Of course, at the moment, there wasn't a sign of the incoming bad weather in that beautifully painted sky. It made America wish that he and England had decided to meet on the 24th, but England had already made a prior commitment to spend the 24th at home with his siblings. America groaned in defeat, and slumped his body over the kitchen table. Stupid weather. Stupid siblings. At least Mattie would be having a good time on Christmas, seeing as he was spending it with Ukraine. Hopefully, Russia and Belarus would stay the fuck away.
“You look like you got run over,” Tony commented idly as he wandered out of the basement and into the kitchen. America turned his head slightly to glare at the alien as Tony began rooting through the fridge.
“Merry Christmas to you too,” America grumbled, without bothering to lift his head up from the table.
“You gonna make a Christmas feast tomorrow?” Tony inquired, sitting down at the table with milk and a bowl of cereal, “If you are, aren't you supposed to thaw the flesh?”
“Meat,” America automatically corrected, “Dinner's being postponed until the 26th. And I am thawing the chicken and the beef. They're on the bottom shelf of the fridge.”
“You and the fucking limey going to do some awkward mating rituals?” Tony asked, stabbing his spoon into his bowl, “Because if you are, you can fucking do it outta my sight. That shit's disgusting. Or better yet, don't fucking do it at all.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you'll vaporize us and whatever,” America yawned, having heard the same spiel from Tony a hundred times before.
“Not you, just the limey, ” Tony corrected, “What sorta friend do you take me for?”
Same old Tony. America grinned wryly, “Whatever. In any case, if you just stay in the basement, we won't bother you. We'll stay upstairs.”
“I was planning on spending the next few days with the damn whale anyway. Fucker owes me twenty bucks,” Tony huffed, finishing up the flakes in his bowl, “But I want some of that fucking feast, you hear me? And a can of soda.”
“We have soda,” America pointed out.
“Not in a can,” Tony responded rebelliously, “Crap from a bottle and crap from a can taste different. I like the metallic tang of a can. The soda burns more when it goes down. Reminds me of home.”
“Fine, fine...picky,” America muttered as he grabbed a scrap of paper and a snub of a pencil from where they hung on the refrigerator to start scribbling down a last minute shopping list, “Anything else you want?”
“What are you making?” the alien asked.
“Beef, chicken, gravy, and biscuits,” America listed off with his fingers, “Maybe eggs and shrimp if there isn't enough food.”
“No vegetables or desserts?”
“Iggy's bringing the veggies,” America shrugged, “I figured I'd make him feel like he's doing something for dinner. I mean, the only one eating them will be him, and he actually likes his evil cooking. He's also bringing dessert, and hopefully he'll bring a store bought pie instead of making his own.”
“...You're an idiot,” Tony deadpanned, smirking a bit when America yelped in protest, “The limey is going to bring his fucking burnt up scones, poisoned apples, or something else equally un-delicious. No fucking way. You're making me sweet potatoes with marshmallows, or else I'm shrinking you two into the size of ants.”
America stuck his tongue out at his longtime roommate, but wrote down the ingredients on his list, “Jerk. Do you want me to make homemade truffles too?”
“Good idea,” Tony nodded, missing America's sarcasm completely, “Chocolate is better than choking on whatever the limey brings for dessert.”
“B-but, those take hours to make!” America whined, “And I was already going to make a batch for my coworkers.”
“Tough,” the alien snorted, crossing his thin gray arms, “If you don't want me interrupting your mating rituals, you'll do it. And don't give me any crap about how your economy is shit. Everything will only be fifteen bucks at most.”
America grumbled, but not even an hour later, he was out the door with a shopping list in hand. If Tony wasn't the most awesome partner in Call of Duty, Halo, and World of Warcraft, America would have probably had the alien go and live with his boss instead...Okay, America was lying (Tony was the coolest roommate and best friend he ever had) but still.
~
On most days, America would say Walmart was one of the most fucking awesome stores on the face of the Earth (mostly because it was his, but also because they were cheap). But today, on Christmas Eve, Walmart could suck America's balls. America nabbed a parking spot at the back of the store. (The one thing America learned from his giant megastores was that it was just a fucking pain to try parking up front. They were almost always filled to the brim, and were fucking deathtraps for pedestrians. Parking on the side or back of the store was much easier, and the distance between it and the front doors wasn't actually that far.) As he proceeded to get out, he nearly slipped and fell face first on a patch of ice, causing him to start re-cursing the fucking weather in his head (hey, there were kids nearby).
As soon as he got inside, he made a beeline for the food section. Walmart was typically cheaper than the grocery, so America hoped to get a great deal for the stuff on his list. Unfortunately, due to the fact that nearly all the Walmarts were practically identical, he had forgotten that this particular Walmart did not have a produce section. So he was shit out of luck for his potatoes. No worries, they were sure to have marshmallows...or maybe not. Wandering up and down the isles for thirty minutes revealed hot chocolate, but no marshmallows. Ooooookay, maybe there would be chocolate chips. And yes, yes there was! One bag of...milk chocolate. Fuck. The recipe required semi-sweet. Heavy cream, maybe? But just as America spotted the dairy isle, someone grabbed the last carton of heavy cream. Shit. After that, America didn't even bother looking for the nuts.
“You should have gone to a grocery, you fucking twat,” a distinctly British voice scolded in his head, complete with cold dripping sarcasm.
“Shut up, voice of reason,” America muttered under his breath, before heading over to the inside McDonald's. Maybe a Big Mac would make him feel better...
“One Big Mac, please!” America chirped happily to the lady behind the counter, flashing her one of his hero grins. She frowned slightly before answering.
“We don't have Big Macs here, sir.”
It felt as if she had slapped him. “W-what? Uh...um. Oooookay. Then I'll have a chee-”
“No cheeseburgers or quarter pounders,” the woman intoned back, in a voice that sent icy bands to wrap around America's heart, “No burgers. We're all out.”
N-No burgers? No burgers?! America's world fell out from underneath him. A McDonald's without burgers? I-it couldn't be! It had to be some sorta trick or nightmare! Only some truly evil individual (coughRussiacough) would deprive a man from his burgers!
“We only have chicken,” the woman continued, oblivious to the Nation's plight.
America's mouth worked helplessly for a few seconds before he was able to pull together enough of his thoughts to say, “C-can I have a club sandwich, then? Uh, the meal? Crispy chicken?”
“One number six, crispy!” the lady called over her shoulder as she handed the blond a cup. America took it with slightly trembling fingers. No burgers. Oh God, there were no burgers...What was this world coming to?!
By the time he had gotten his meal and sat down at a small table, America's mind was racing at breakneck speed. This was a sign. It had to be. A lack of burgers at McDonald's was a sign of something terrible to come, like Armageddon, or more bad weather.
“Or maybe it's a sign that it's the day before Christmas, and everyone is buying their fucking gifts last second, and as a result, they eat all the bloody burgers because they get fucking hungry while shopping. Ever think about that, you pea-brained git?” America's oh so ever helpful voice of reason sneered at him. (Interestingly enough, America's voice of reason sounded not exactly like England, but more like Yahtzee from Zero Punctuation.) In typical American fashion, America ignored it, finished up his fries, and headed to his car. It was time to try the grocery.
By the time America made it to the grocery store doors, he had made the decision that boots were the most fucking awesome invention of all time. While he had slid a little on the icy patches, the traction of his footwear kept him from any sort of painful spills. Idly, he mentally made note to thank whichever old dude invented boots. Probably China...he was old enough.
Upon entering the store, America grabbed a basket, and began hunting for the things on his list. The chocolate and cream were easy to find, as were the walnuts. The marshmallows were on sale for a dollar, and there was a huge mound of sweet potatoes in the produce isle...emphasis on the huge part.
“Have I been feeding my farms steroids?” America muttered under his breath as he picked up a larger than normal sweet potato. As he rooted through the batch for the best looking ones, he had to snicker at some of their shapes. He was sorely tempted to buy the one shaped like a dong, but experience reminded him that the uneven shape wouldn't cook properly, so he tossed it back. In the end, he bought four slight-dumpy shaped tubers that he fondly nicknamed in his mind the United Kingdom. Iggy would probably get enough of a kick out of boiling and mashing up “Scotland” that he'd ignore that “England” was going through the same thing. Then, he'd smack America upside the head. After he finished paying for his items, America headed to the vending machine outside to buy Tony his demanded soda can. Really, there wasn't that much of a difference between plastic and metal, and-holy fuck did that machine just eat his dollar?! Grumbling in irritation, America had to go through two bills to get the drink. Stupid alien and his stupid demands. At least America could trust Tony to keep his word and not interrupt the two Nations on Saturday.
As America drove back home, the radio began playing a piece from the Nutcracker. America grinned brightly as the song brought back memories. A few years ago, England had dragged the younger Nation to a performance of the Nutcracker at one of America's own performance halls. America had fully expected to fall asleep during the ballet, but as soon as the curtain had lifted, he had been entranced. The entire performance had been re-imagined to take place during the late colonial period in America's own history. The clothing, the setting, everything looked like it had come straight out of the 1700s. (Well, not exactly, because of the ballet shoes and the “issues” America had with Christmas back then, but still...) But the real kicker was when the rat army came out dancing in those infamous lobster back uniforms, and the Nutcracker (now dressed as George Washington) valiantly fought them off. Oh, the look on England's face! He looked like he had swallowed a lemon...no, make that ten lemons. America could barely choke down his laughter. The only reason why the older male hadn't done something drastic (a.k.a. murderous) was because sitting right next to them was a family of Asians with a little girl of no more than six. England always had a soft spot for children. In any case, the whole thing was almost as good as when England had taken America to a London showing of “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (abridged),” and had come face to face with a trio of irreverent Americans. It had taken England a year before the words “Hamlet, my biological clock is ticking, and I want a baby now!” didn't make him react in the most amusing way. Really, England should have learned by now to check the summaries of the stuff he went to watch.
America frowned slightly as the song on the radio ended and he pulled up into his driveway. He was starting to reminisce (again) like an old man! It couldn't be helped, not after all the years America had lived, but if he ever got as bad as England did with his memories, then America would jump off a bridge. America was a thousand years too young to let the smallest of things drag him down into memory lane.
Tony had vanished downstairs again by the time America had gotten his groceries inside. America easily shrugged it off, put away half of the purchases, and got start working on the chocolates. They were simple (most of the “cooking” for them had to be done with a microwave) but they took forever and they were fucking messy. Thank God most of that time was just waiting for the candies to cool, but still, he had started a little after lunch time, and by the time they were done, it was dinner. Oh well, they were worth it, and America could give some away as gifts at work.
Pleased with the out come of the sweets, America decided to reward himself with a little online surfing and gaming once they were done. It had been a long day (especially after making all those chocolates) and America felt like he should be allowed to kick back and relax.
At around 9:00PM, America finally decided to head over the the NORAD Santa Tracker site. Most of the digital map was covered with small gifts indicating where Santa had already been. In fact, the only places not dotted with the small presents were the North and South American continents, seeing as it was still the 24th, while the rest of the world had already hit midnight. Mousing over to north of the European continent, America frowned when he noticed that England was hidden from view by the the gift-icons indicating where Santa had visited. Luckily, the icon labeled “London, United Kingdom” was sitting on the top of the heap. Upon clicking it, he was treated to a short film of Santa and his sleigh zooming around England's famous city. It made America smile wildly as he wondered what England would say if he saw the film. Underneath the film was a link that read “Zoom in on this location.”
*CLICK*
Instantly, a satellite image of London splayed itself on America's screen. As America fiddled around, he found he could zoom in an out of the image, everywhere from the extreme of seeing tiny dots of people on the streets, to just seeing a total image of the United Kingdom, un-obscured with icons. Reverently, he skimmed a fingertip across England's coastline, a sappy smile working its way onto his face. After a few clicks, he was again staring at an overhead of London's streets and the River Thames. As America switched back and forth between map view and satellite view, he eagerly searched out familiar landmarks, like the Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abby, all while trying not to feel like a peeping tom. It was a little kinky, but it wasn't as if he was looking at just anybody, and as long as Iggy didn't find out at that moment, then what was the harm?
Today had been tiring, and more than a little annoying, but somehow, watching the Thames snake across London in a tiny satellite image for a few hours made everything worth it.
“Merry Christmas, England,” America whispered to images of tiny buildings, streets, and the River Thames, before closing the website and going to bed.
~
Time Stamp: December 25, 2009 12:15 AM EST
Suddenly, in the middle of the night, America shot straight out of bed, his face pale.
“Fuck,” he swore, as he flopped back down on the bed covers, one arm haphazardly thrown over his face, “I forgot to buy Iggy a present. Fuck!”
~
Time Stamp: December 25, 2009 8:30 AM EST
America had nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well, he did have those homemade chocolates, but those were kind of a weak gift for a boyfriend, especially since they weren't initially intended to be used in that way. America tried thinking of anything that he could do or make to get a present by the 26th, but nothing good came to mind other than cutting a hole in a box and stuffing his dick in it. Iggy'd probably laugh his ass off or slap America upside the head. Probably the later. When it all came down to it, America was a fucking idiot.
America was suddenly, drawn out of his angry brooding when the phone rang. Figuring it was probably Canada (maybe Mattie would have an idea on what to give Iggy) America picked it up, and forced a smile onto his face.
“Hello?”
“Happy Christmas!” a distinctly not Canadian voice greeted.
“England!” America yelped, almost dropping the phone in shock, “W-Wha...”
“Oh sorry,” England coughed, “I thought you would be awake by now. Did I wake you up?”
“Yes, I mean, no, I mean,” America stumbled, before collecting his thoughts, “Uh, Merry Christmas, Iggy.”
“Have you started opening your presents yet?” England asked conversationally.
“Not yet,” America admitted, fiddling slightly with the phone, “What about you?”
“Hmph. What do you mean? As if I got any gifts from these twats,” England sniffed. In the background, America swore he heard a Scottish voice yell, “Burn in hell, bastard!”
“Your siblings are still there?” America was surprised. Normally, the British Isles could barely spend one full day together, let alone two.
“Yes, well, Scotland got fucking pissed on my dinning room table, and couldn't be bothered to drive home. Then, Wales did something stupid, and is currently caught in my bushes, the bloody bastard!” England ranted as he turned slightly away from the phone, causing his voice to become slightly fainter as he screamed at someone in the distance, “You dolts, don't pull him, you'll ruin the...oh, fuck you too, Ireland!”
“Well, now I feel even worse,” America sighed, deciding to bite the bullet and tell the truth, “I don't have a present for you either, other than some chocolates.”
There was a moment of pause on the other line, during which America swore he heard someone (likely Scotland) mutter “I knew our nephew had some hope in him after all.”
Feeling even more guilty, America started to babble, “I'm really sorry, Iggy! I wanted to get you something, but it just slipped my mind with the weather and the preparations and Tony's fucking soda can...The only thing I can think about getting you on short notice is a dick in a box, but then you'd probably-”
“That's all right, America,” England finally said, his tone gentle and sincere.
“R-really?” America asked, biting his lip slightly, “But...”
“Honestly, I would rather just spend the day with you. That's more than enough for me,” England laughed softly. America was flabbergasted. That was...unexpectedly sweet of England. He didn't know what to say...
“Yes, yes, feel the sap coming out of the phone,” England snapped with very little heat as he tried to go back to his usual waspish self, “I don't do it everyday, so enjoy it, brat.”
America felt his face crack into a wide grin, “Merry Christmas, old man.”
“Happy Christmas. I'll see you tomorrow. And-oh fuck, my bushes! You bloody tossers, I ought to-”
When the phone suddenly cut off, America just kept on grinning. Even though the skies outside his window were a cloudy gray to mark the rain that was no doubt going to start soon, he could see it was the start of a wonderful Christmas Day.
Author's Note: I still feel like a dick. A dick with the best boyfriend in the world, but still a dick. A dick in a box? /bricked I should take him out to a movie. Sherlock Holmes maybe? Either that or write him porn. Or both. XD
In any case, if I'm lucky, I won't be posting anything other than responses until New Year's because my boyfriend and me are going at it like rabbits I'm going to be too busy to write anything longer than a paragraph.
Happy Holidays, everyone!