The Battle (for) Britain [2a/?]
anonymous
May 9 2010, 00:05:15 UTC
America woke long before the suns rays tinted the clouded sky, and he had to look around for a long moment before he remembered where he was. The sweet thought of being in bed with England beside him left a dull ache as it fled.
The first of his movements made him immediately aware that his nose had been bleeding again, and he cursed as he wiped it with the back of his hand, and the action reminded him of his sore cheek, which throbbed when he touched it.
The thunderstorms hadn’t stopped until long after midnight, and though he was a hero and was not afraid of thunderstorms, the noise did not make falling asleep any easier. His eyes were slightly sore from a lack of being closed.
He propped himself up slightly on the backseat of England’s Bentley, his bomber jacket falling from where it had been draped over his shoulder. He shivered slightly at the loss of warmth, and stretched his sore back while he stared out the rain-smattered window at the streetlights illuminating the wet pavement.
The knocking at the car window nearly made him screech, and his heart thudded painfully fast in his chest. He breathed a sigh when he realized it was England, and leaned across the seat to open the door.
“Thanks for leaving your car unlocked,” he muttered as England climbed in out of the mist, his jacket pulled tightly over his pajamas.
England was uncomfortable as he sat on the seat next to America, looking at him with some mix of pity and sadness. “You look wretched,” he muttered, producing a small tin from his jacket pocket and unscrewing the lid.
“The thunder made it kind of hard to sleep-jeez, that’s cold!”
“Sorry,” England muttered, warming the ointment in-between his fingers for a moment before continuing to spread it over America’s cheekbone and the bridge of his nose. “It will help with the bruises.”
“It doesn’t hurt that much,” America contested, as England ripped open a plaster. England scowled slightly, and held America’s chin in his hand to prevent him moving as he stuck it gingerly over America’s nose.
“It will, if you don’t keep still.”
America huffed a bit, but sat back quietly for the ministrations, his eyes drooping a bit in tiredness. “What time is it?” he asked quietly after a while.
“About four,” England replied, rubbing the last of the ointment onto America’s forehead. “I had to make sure they’d be asleep. They have me under house arrest.”
“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“Goodness, no,” England scoffed, setting the tin on the floor. “Though I can’t assure that the opposite is true.”
A faint smile passed between them, and England moved slightly closer, running this thumb over the arch of America’s bruised cheekbone. “My poor America,” he whispered, pushing up onto his knees to brush a faint kiss over the aching skin.
“Uh, thanks for… back there,” America said softly, closing his eyes to the light touch of England’s lips. “Not that I’m a damsel or anything, you know. Just don’t want to start this relationship by beating up the in-laws.”
The first of his movements made him immediately aware that his nose had been bleeding again, and he cursed as he wiped it with the back of his hand, and the action reminded him of his sore cheek, which throbbed when he touched it.
The thunderstorms hadn’t stopped until long after midnight, and though he was a hero and was not afraid of thunderstorms, the noise did not make falling asleep any easier. His eyes were slightly sore from a lack of being closed.
He propped himself up slightly on the backseat of England’s Bentley, his bomber jacket falling from where it had been draped over his shoulder. He shivered slightly at the loss of warmth, and stretched his sore back while he stared out the rain-smattered window at the streetlights illuminating the wet pavement.
The knocking at the car window nearly made him screech, and his heart thudded painfully fast in his chest. He breathed a sigh when he realized it was England, and leaned across the seat to open the door.
“Thanks for leaving your car unlocked,” he muttered as England climbed in out of the mist, his jacket pulled tightly over his pajamas.
England was uncomfortable as he sat on the seat next to America, looking at him with some mix of pity and sadness. “You look wretched,” he muttered, producing a small tin from his jacket pocket and unscrewing the lid.
“The thunder made it kind of hard to sleep-jeez, that’s cold!”
“Sorry,” England muttered, warming the ointment in-between his fingers for a moment before continuing to spread it over America’s cheekbone and the bridge of his nose. “It will help with the bruises.”
“It doesn’t hurt that much,” America contested, as England ripped open a plaster. England scowled slightly, and held America’s chin in his hand to prevent him moving as he stuck it gingerly over America’s nose.
“It will, if you don’t keep still.”
America huffed a bit, but sat back quietly for the ministrations, his eyes drooping a bit in tiredness. “What time is it?” he asked quietly after a while.
“About four,” England replied, rubbing the last of the ointment onto America’s forehead. “I had to make sure they’d be asleep. They have me under house arrest.”
“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“Goodness, no,” England scoffed, setting the tin on the floor. “Though I can’t assure that the opposite is true.”
A faint smile passed between them, and England moved slightly closer, running this thumb over the arch of America’s bruised cheekbone. “My poor America,” he whispered, pushing up onto his knees to brush a faint kiss over the aching skin.
“Uh, thanks for… back there,” America said softly, closing his eyes to the light touch of England’s lips. “Not that I’m a damsel or anything, you know. Just don’t want to start this relationship by beating up the in-laws.”
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