Just A Little Tender Lovin' Care, Part 2
anonymous
September 10 2009, 05:05:02 UTC
America followed England into the kitchen and watched as he fumbled around in the cabinets for tea and the kettle. It took him longer than usual. His shoulders were slumped, too, and he was still shaking.
He walked up behind England (being as stealthy as only he could, like an awesome ninja), and slung his arms around his waist, pushing his lips into the space under his ear.
England yelped, and jumped, and smacked back into him hard. “Ow!” America exclaimed involuntarily-England’s head had slammed right into his mouth, damn it!-but he didn’t let go, still pulling England tight against his chest.
“Let go, you bloody wanker,” England growled. America just hugged tighter.
“Don’ wanna~” he said playfully, teasing.
“Get off!” England practically shouted, and twisted out of his arms, or tried to. America could feel how he was trembling, shaking, practically, and he let go.
What the hell; what was England shaking for? America watched, rubbing his aching mouth, as England braced himself on the counter and seemed to struggle to catch his breath, then reached up to rub at his forehead, wincing and exhaling roughly, as if he were in pain. He watched as England filled the tea kettle, his head down and his shoulders drooping, wearily rubbing water droplets out of his eyes and sighing every once in a while.
America made up his mind. He stepped forward and touched England’s shoulder, just a gentle, friendly clasp this time. England still jumped, and rounded on him, “America,” he bit out, his cheeks bright red, “I’m just not in the mood, all right? I’m sorry, but-”
“No worries!” America said, and grinned. “I know just what you need!”
“What might that be?” England said, warily, his jaw clenching in that way it did when he was preparing to shoot one of America’s ideas down in flames.
But he wasn’t going to shoot this one down. Because he’d like it, America was sure he would. His course of action was clear, and like a true hero, he would provide exactly what England needed.
“You just need a little tender lovin’ care, that’s all!” America said brightly. He leaned down and kissed England’s forehead, nudging the wet tendrils of clinging hair back off of England’s chilled skin with his mouth. “And lucky for you, you’ve got an awesome boyfriend here to do it, like a real American hero! Seriously, England, you’re gonna be blown away.”
“I doubt it,” England muttered, but that was just England being depressing, like usual, so America ignored it.
“To start out with,” he said, “you just go on upstairs and take a shower, okay? Nice and warm and long, you got it?”
England looked at him with doubt written plainly in his eyes. “I just wanted a spot of tea,” he said, warily.
“Nuh-uh!” America said. “You gotta take a shower, or you’ll get all cold and sick and stuff, ‘cause you’re all wet. I’ll stay down here and take care’a the tea.”
“I don’t believe you even know how to make tea,” England said, but when America shook his head and pushed England in the direction of the stairs, he sighed and started toward them under his own power. “It had better not be hideously sweet,” he said. “One lump of sugar and no more.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “And make it strong . . . .” He shook his head and sighed, stumbling up wearily up the stairs and out of sight.
America turned back to the stove and grinned, smacking his fist into his palm in triumph. Step one accomplished.
England wasn’t going to believe how awesome a boyfriend America could be.
He walked up behind England (being as stealthy as only he could, like an awesome ninja), and slung his arms around his waist, pushing his lips into the space under his ear.
England yelped, and jumped, and smacked back into him hard. “Ow!” America exclaimed involuntarily-England’s head had slammed right into his mouth, damn it!-but he didn’t let go, still pulling England tight against his chest.
“Let go, you bloody wanker,” England growled. America just hugged tighter.
“Don’ wanna~” he said playfully, teasing.
“Get off!” England practically shouted, and twisted out of his arms, or tried to. America could feel how he was trembling, shaking, practically, and he let go.
What the hell; what was England shaking for? America watched, rubbing his aching mouth, as England braced himself on the counter and seemed to struggle to catch his breath, then reached up to rub at his forehead, wincing and exhaling roughly, as if he were in pain. He watched as England filled the tea kettle, his head down and his shoulders drooping, wearily rubbing water droplets out of his eyes and sighing every once in a while.
America made up his mind. He stepped forward and touched England’s shoulder, just a gentle, friendly clasp this time. England still jumped, and rounded on him, “America,” he bit out, his cheeks bright red, “I’m just not in the mood, all right? I’m sorry, but-”
“No worries!” America said, and grinned. “I know just what you need!”
“What might that be?” England said, warily, his jaw clenching in that way it did when he was preparing to shoot one of America’s ideas down in flames.
But he wasn’t going to shoot this one down. Because he’d like it, America was sure he would. His course of action was clear, and like a true hero, he would provide exactly what England needed.
“You just need a little tender lovin’ care, that’s all!” America said brightly. He leaned down and kissed England’s forehead, nudging the wet tendrils of clinging hair back off of England’s chilled skin with his mouth. “And lucky for you, you’ve got an awesome boyfriend here to do it, like a real American hero! Seriously, England, you’re gonna be blown away.”
“I doubt it,” England muttered, but that was just England being depressing, like usual, so America ignored it.
“To start out with,” he said, “you just go on upstairs and take a shower, okay? Nice and warm and long, you got it?”
England looked at him with doubt written plainly in his eyes. “I just wanted a spot of tea,” he said, warily.
“Nuh-uh!” America said. “You gotta take a shower, or you’ll get all cold and sick and stuff, ‘cause you’re all wet. I’ll stay down here and take care’a the tea.”
“I don’t believe you even know how to make tea,” England said, but when America shook his head and pushed England in the direction of the stairs, he sighed and started toward them under his own power. “It had better not be hideously sweet,” he said. “One lump of sugar and no more.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “And make it strong . . . .” He shook his head and sighed, stumbling up wearily up the stairs and out of sight.
America turned back to the stove and grinned, smacking his fist into his palm in triumph. Step one accomplished.
England wasn’t going to believe how awesome a boyfriend America could be.
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