tangled [us/uk]
anonymous
March 9 2010, 08:17:42 UTC
fail!filler anon here hoping that this doesn't suck too much. As much as I love UK/US, the song, according to my knowledge, originated from the US and anon has a weakness for loving!Alfred. Hope OP would like it, even if only a little bit.
It's another night, another movie playing on the screen of America's flat screen television. The voices of the actors onscreen are hushed and urgent, mumbling about some conspiracy or another, tongues tripping over vowels and mispronouncing words so very often that England’s fingers twitch reflexively to hear it. He’s not really paying attention to the movie actually; not in the way America is, staring wide-eyed and slacked jaw, breath bated in his throat. One of America's hands is slung precariously over England’s shoulders, while his feet are on top of the coffee table, socks bunching up and wrinkling over where America’s toes are wriggling. England thinks he should complain about this, but he doesn’t, because technically speaking, England's feet are somewhat on the table too.
This is one of the silent nights-nights when they do nothing more than to slip some movie in or open a good book, get tangled comfortingly into each other’s limbs and lapse into the sinking warm companionship they each sought to find and offer. It’s nights like these that they both reach a treaty; there wouldn’t be any arguments or teasing, England would not cook and America orders take out that doesn’t come in the form of burgers. Both look forward to nights like these the most, a little quiet oasis in madly spinning insanity of what the world had become today, with nothing to bother or irate.
England's head is nestled in the crook of America's neck by now, watching the protagonist’s lips move and vaguely wondering what the movie was about in the first place when he feels vibrations from underneath America's skin. A sound flits above England's head from where America's mouth is and before England realises it, the mouth is pressed on the top of England’s head in a chaste kiss, before resting indefinitely there, the sound resuming and turning into a tune.
America was singing.
It’s soft and strained under the burden of the movie’s own boisterous noises but England doesn’t quite move his head from the (admittedly) comfortable spot it rests on to catch it. Instead, he concentrated, mentally blocking out the movie in favour of hounding the trail of America’s lilting whispering voice. It’s a tune England recognizes, almost barely, and it takes another moment of furrowed concentration for realisation to dawn.
"...my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray;"
England’s ears felt horridly warm and suddenly America’s singing falters to an embarrassed end. He had realized that he was heard. England fiddled with America’s shirt in reply, running a finger around the smooth texture. Don’t stop, went the silent plea. Keep going.
America was silent for a moment, but then he haltingly began picking up from where he had left off.
"You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you."
America’s unoccupied hand found its way to England’s and their fingers looped easily around together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle being brought together.
Oh anon, I don't mind it at all! Personally I end up flipping those two around a lot anyways so yeah. No biggie~
And this is just so incredibly sweet! laksdjflaskasdlfkajsdlfj *flail* <3 I love your writing style and descriptions- it really works well with the atmosphere of this piece. And the beginning, where Arthur was getting all annoyed over the grammar and such had me laughing so hard! And then the ending was just so... lovely, yeah, that's the word. Lovely.
It's another night, another movie playing on the screen of America's flat screen television. The voices of the actors onscreen are hushed and urgent, mumbling about some conspiracy or another, tongues tripping over vowels and mispronouncing words so very often that England’s fingers twitch reflexively to hear it. He’s not really paying attention to the movie actually; not in the way America is, staring wide-eyed and slacked jaw, breath bated in his throat. One of America's hands is slung precariously over England’s shoulders, while his feet are on top of the coffee table, socks bunching up and wrinkling over where America’s toes are wriggling. England thinks he should complain about this, but he doesn’t, because technically speaking, England's feet are somewhat on the table too.
This is one of the silent nights-nights when they do nothing more than to slip some movie in or open a good book, get tangled comfortingly into each other’s limbs and lapse into the sinking warm companionship they each sought to find and offer. It’s nights like these that they both reach a treaty; there wouldn’t be any arguments or teasing, England would not cook and America orders take out that doesn’t come in the form of burgers. Both look forward to nights like these the most, a little quiet oasis in madly spinning insanity of what the world had become today, with nothing to bother or irate.
England's head is nestled in the crook of America's neck by now, watching the protagonist’s lips move and vaguely wondering what the movie was about in the first place when he feels vibrations from underneath America's skin. A sound flits above England's head from where America's mouth is and before England realises it, the mouth is pressed on the top of England’s head in a chaste kiss, before resting indefinitely there, the sound resuming and turning into a tune.
America was singing.
It’s soft and strained under the burden of the movie’s own boisterous noises but England doesn’t quite move his head from the (admittedly) comfortable spot it rests on to catch it. Instead, he concentrated, mentally blocking out the movie in favour of hounding the trail of America’s lilting whispering voice. It’s a tune England recognizes, almost barely, and it takes another moment of furrowed concentration for realisation to dawn.
"...my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray;"
England’s ears felt horridly warm and suddenly America’s singing falters to an embarrassed end. He had realized that he was heard. England fiddled with America’s shirt in reply, running a finger around the smooth texture. Don’t stop, went the silent plea. Keep going.
America was silent for a moment, but then he haltingly began picking up from where he had left off.
"You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you."
America’s unoccupied hand found its way to England’s and their fingers looped easily around together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle being brought together.
"So please don't take my sunshine away."
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And this is just so incredibly sweet! laksdjflaskasdlfkajsdlfj *flail* <3 I love your writing style and descriptions- it really works well with the atmosphere of this piece. And the beginning, where Arthur was getting all annoyed over the grammar and such had me laughing so hard! And then the ending was just so... lovely, yeah, that's the word. Lovely.
*hugs* Thank you so much, anon! I love it! :D <3
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