I Want *Him* - Part 1a
anonymous
November 10 2009, 20:57:27 UTC
A/N: the rest in a bit
*
-Ding Dong-
-Ding Dong-
-Ding Dong- -Ding Dong- -Diiiiiiing Dong-
“Well why the hell aren’t those yanks answering the door, then? Awful hosts, the lot of them. Forgot the dinner was tonight did they?” John Bull huffed out.
England tried to find the strength not to roll his eyes at his elder counterpart as they stood on the pleasantly swept doorstep. The welcome mat was springy under his feet.
When they had pulled up in America’s driveway, the British nation had noticed a wide array of smoke pluming up from somewhere in the backyard, and there was loud hip hop music playing as well. It was likely America was still outside grilling, preparing for the ‘family dinner’ they were having tonight.
“I’m sure he just hasn’t heard us.” England reassured his relative. “I’ll just give him a quick ring on my cellular.”
“Not those bloody, finicky contraptions again. If the young man is competent he would have been expecting us by now.” John Bull replied obstinately, punching the doorbell with his thumb a few times again.
‘Bloody hell. It will be a miracle if this dinner goes well.’ England thought, feeling the throb of a headache already beginning at his temple.
Suddenly the green-eyed personification heard the thumping of running and the front door was finally thrown open. England spirits lifted slightly when America spotted him and the blue-eyed man looked as relieved as England felt. The two blonds shared a small smile.
“Hey.” America said softly, his eyes smiling.
“Hey yourself.” England murmured back, trying not to blush.
“Well it’s about time, innit?” John Bull interjected impatiently.
The comment made America break his gaze with England and take a step back, gesturing with a flourish for the two Britons to enter the home.
“You’re right on time, you’re here, and… so is my-.. yeah… come in, come in!”
“All right then, thank you lad.” John Bull nodded importantly and pushed his way inside, followed closely by a now-full blown headachy England.
*
“America! Hey boy, what’s that, are they here?!” A loud voice boomed as soon as they stepped into the foyer, and England turned to see America’s Uncle Sam come over and begin boxing his younger counterpart in the side and stomach.
“Hahaha!” America tried to fixed his skewed glasses as he punched the old man back.
“Hohoho--!!” Uncle Sam’s nose hair made his laugh whistle as he tried to put America in a head lock.
England stood staring, aghast and unsure if they should break up the fight.
“Ooh sonny that will hurt tomorrow.” The odd old man crowed and then turned a keen eye on the newcomers. “Anyway, so you’re this ‘England’ I take it?”
America’s Uncle Sam was a tall, spindly man with what seemed like more white wispy hair on his chin than on his head. He had bright eyes and a long nose, and was wearing a very flashy pair of trousers.
England had seen pictures of him before, but had never met him in person. Now he knew for sure that the man was really as outrageous as he appeared to be.
England could easily see how the two American personifications could have been related. If somebody had stuck a couple crayons (red, white, and blue) in a child’s hand and let the kid go wild, England was sure America’s features could be stretched and warped weirdly just like his Uncle’s - not unlike those bizarre looking cartoon drawings he was so fond of.
England and his own distant relative on the other hand…
In almost direct contrast to the island nation, John Bull was a portly man whose waistline seemed to need to take up as much room as his robust and abrasive personality did. He was on the short side and, when he took off his smart boulder hat, it was apparent his head was no stranger to balding. (It was also shiny enough that England could almost see his reflection frowning back at himself as he stared at the back of that big noggin.)
“Yes, hullo.” England replied to Uncle Sam.
A loud snort from beside England drew everyone’s attention to John Bull.
*
-Ding Dong-
-Ding Dong-
-Ding Dong- -Ding Dong- -Diiiiiiing Dong-
“Well why the hell aren’t those yanks answering the door, then? Awful hosts, the lot of them. Forgot the dinner was tonight did they?” John Bull huffed out.
England tried to find the strength not to roll his eyes at his elder counterpart as they stood on the pleasantly swept doorstep. The welcome mat was springy under his feet.
When they had pulled up in America’s driveway, the British nation had noticed a wide array of smoke pluming up from somewhere in the backyard, and there was loud hip hop music playing as well. It was likely America was still outside grilling, preparing for the ‘family dinner’ they were having tonight.
“I’m sure he just hasn’t heard us.” England reassured his relative. “I’ll just give him a quick ring on my cellular.”
“Not those bloody, finicky contraptions again. If the young man is competent he would have been expecting us by now.” John Bull replied obstinately, punching the doorbell with his thumb a few times again.
‘Bloody hell. It will be a miracle if this dinner goes well.’ England thought, feeling the throb of a headache already beginning at his temple.
Suddenly the green-eyed personification heard the thumping of running and the front door was finally thrown open. England spirits lifted slightly when America spotted him and the blue-eyed man looked as relieved as England felt. The two blonds shared a small smile.
“Hey.” America said softly, his eyes smiling.
“Hey yourself.” England murmured back, trying not to blush.
“Well it’s about time, innit?” John Bull interjected impatiently.
The comment made America break his gaze with England and take a step back, gesturing with a flourish for the two Britons to enter the home.
“You’re right on time, you’re here, and… so is my-.. yeah… come in, come in!”
“All right then, thank you lad.” John Bull nodded importantly and pushed his way inside, followed closely by a now-full blown headachy England.
*
“America! Hey boy, what’s that, are they here?!” A loud voice boomed as soon as they stepped into the foyer, and England turned to see America’s Uncle Sam come over and begin boxing his younger counterpart in the side and stomach.
“Hahaha!” America tried to fixed his skewed glasses as he punched the old man back.
“Hohoho--!!” Uncle Sam’s nose hair made his laugh whistle as he tried to put America in a head lock.
England stood staring, aghast and unsure if they should break up the fight.
“Ooh sonny that will hurt tomorrow.” The odd old man crowed and then turned a keen eye on the newcomers. “Anyway, so you’re this ‘England’ I take it?”
America’s Uncle Sam was a tall, spindly man with what seemed like more white wispy hair on his chin than on his head. He had bright eyes and a long nose, and was wearing a very flashy pair of trousers.
England had seen pictures of him before, but had never met him in person. Now he knew for sure that the man was really as outrageous as he appeared to be.
England could easily see how the two American personifications could have been related. If somebody had stuck a couple crayons (red, white, and blue) in a child’s hand and let the kid go wild, England was sure America’s features could be stretched and warped weirdly just like his Uncle’s - not unlike those bizarre looking cartoon drawings he was so fond of.
England and his own distant relative on the other hand…
In almost direct contrast to the island nation, John Bull was a portly man whose waistline seemed to need to take up as much room as his robust and abrasive personality did. He was on the short side and, when he took off his smart boulder hat, it was apparent his head was no stranger to balding. (It was also shiny enough that England could almost see his reflection frowning back at himself as he stared at the back of that big noggin.)
“Yes, hullo.” England replied to Uncle Sam.
A loud snort from beside England drew everyone’s attention to John Bull.
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