Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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England winced, because he knew America thought what he was saying was true. When America got aggressive, there was nothing passive about it. And England knew it was his own fault that it had gotten to the point that America was his closest friend but was still under the impression that England didn’t take every instance of America’s expressed approval and store it away for safekeeping in a little mental lockbox that he’d never, ever admit that he kept. “Bollocks,” he said quietly. “If you admit I did something right, it’s a sign that I did something pretty fucking right, isn’t it?”
“Or maybe it’s just me trying to make you feel better since you’re sitting on the floor being a mopey jerk,” America countered. England leveled a blank stare on him, and America simply returned it.
Finally England sighed and said, “I’m in a bad mood because China hit me in the head with a serving spoon.” And because Greece and Japan are acting like they caught the fucking bouquet and I haven’t gotten any since… since before you came along. But whatever. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re in a bad mood.”
“I’m not,” America countered. England could tell that he was lying because his nose always twitched a little when he did.
“What’d you come over here for, then?”
He expected America to either point out that at this point they hardly needed a pretense to hang out or answer that he’d come to make England cheer up, but he did neither. Instead he just took another drink of the wine, taking his time doing so, and finally answered, “That card you picked up.”
“What ca-” Oh hell. England had almost forgotten about the little list of obscenities in his jacket pocket. He’d been significantly drunker at that point in the evening - drunk enough to think that there was a chance of no one seeing him steal it. He hadn’t looked at it yet, but he was quite sure that there would be nothing of enough interest on it to make the blush that he could feel creeping over his face now worth it. “Oh. That one.”
“I used to not believe anyone when they said you were kind of a pervert,” America said. His voice was low, but no one else in the room was paying attention to them in the first place. “I mean, I realize now that it’s true-”
“It’s not!”
“Yes, it is.” America seemed to have been totally prepared for the denial and seemed to just brush past it. “I just never understood because I didn’t ever think you had anyone to… well, you know.” Sometimes America’s puritanical sensibilities prevented him from achieving completely inappropriate levels of bluntness. “I mean, as long as I’ve known you. I know before I knew you there must’ve been-”
England groaned at the thought. At this point in his life, all of his past relationships - or just relations, as it may have been - seemed very foolish. “Oh god, America, don’t ask me about-”
“I wasn’t going to,” America said quickly, and for that England was grateful. “I’m just saying that I know that you can’t possibly just be celibate forever. We all have, you know. Needs, or whatever they call it.”
It was a sensible statement, but it made England bristle and he had to stop himself from gritting his teeth. America wasn’t supposed to have needs. America was supposed to be happy just building factories and making movies and being fashionably late to every war. And of course it was dumb to feel that way, and England knew that wasn’t so. America had never confided in him about anything like that, but he’d had a few suspicions about him and Japan after the second war and more than a few suspicions about the whole time with Lithuania after the first one. “So what’s your point?” he asked, his voice almost inaudibly low.
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