Re: Step by Step [2/3]
anonymous
April 2 2010, 16:24:17 UTC
-- What was with him? He had plenty of relationships before England, of course he had. He wasn’t a virgin either, so why was he acting like a 10 year old on her first date? I mean, running away from just holding hands? And… how could he even begin to think about putting that face on Arthur?
His heart hurt to recall England’s expression. What was wrong with this? Why did he feel so uneasy? Why couldn’t he answer any of these questions? But most of all, he never wanted England to ever be unhappy because of him again, so brought up the most important question of all.
Why did he run away? Heroes didn’t run, especially not like the damsel in distress from a villain, especially not from their lover, of all people.
He steeled himself to go back, purposely ignoring the way his heart startled and his fingers grew cold in pure alarm, the way his arms and legs awkwardly moved in sync, and continued ambling forward until he was in eyeshot of his lover. His heart crushed, and he felt a stupid grin slipping onto his face.
That is, until he noticed England’s frantic face, looking all over for him but not quite spotting him just yet.
When England finally caught his eyes in his own, (Oh God, why did those bright green eyes have to sparkle like that?) he remembered England’s wide grin, but everything after that was a blur.
All his resolve just died. Only faintly did he recall his own footsteps beating against the cement walk, England shouting after him, and his blood rushing to his head in tandem. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor of his hotel room with the door securely locked, England nowhere to be found.
America blinked. Burying his face into his hands, he groaned.
By far, the worst first date of all 200 years of his life. He was definitely not looking forward to that meeting tomorrow. --
“What the hell was that about you bloody wanker?” England hissed, glaring at him.
Okay, so maybe running from his lover twice in a row on the same day wasn’t the smartest course of action. But to be fair, he didn’t get what was with England either.
“What about you?” He asked back a bit desperately, he couldn’t stand the way England was staring at him - disappointed, unhappy… fervidly. “Why are you acting so different?”
“Don’t make up excuses!” England hissed.
“I’m not!” America cried, and England narrowed his eyes.
“What are you going on about?”
“You… Yesterday you were… uh… well…” America paused, lowering his head a little. “…smiling.”
England looked annoyed. “And?”
“I just didn’t expect it.”
“…Are you saying you prefer me brooding all the bloody time?” He looked at him, frustrated. America felt his heart thudding, and God, it was happening again! Why on earth did Arthur have to look at him like that?
“No! But… God… um…” What do I say? What… I don’t… Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and his resolve of looking like a hero crumbled to pieces. Even if he couldn’t make out his actions, it didn’t mean he shouldn’t be honest about it.
“You’re… well, you’re brooding half the time, and even then, it makes me smile.” England raised an eyebrow, but his expression visibly softened.
“But when you smile, my chest hurts and my heart beats like crazy, I… and it… and I just don’t know what to do.” Don’t hate me, don’t hate me, don’t hate me. America felt his eyes water, what if - what if England got bored with him because of what he was doing? He wanted to, he truly, deeply, really wanted to be Arthur’s awesome boyfriend hero who England could rely on, but now, it was just the opposite.
Unreliable. Weak. Untrustworthy. The words pounded in his ears and wouldn’t go away.
Re: Step by Step [3/3]
anonymous
April 2 2010, 16:25:55 UTC
Vaguely, he wondered if England was still there. His head was lowered, so he couldn’t see Arthur’s face and there seemed to be no reply coming.
That’s when he felt Nantucket flutter and he jolted, ready to jump up with the pressure on the top of his head clamped him back down, patting his hair down and rubbing his the top of his head. Then he heard Arthur’s voice.
“You’re so awful with words, Alfred, I don’t know what to do with you.” England smiled, pulling him closer. America blushed. What did that mean? Was England tired of him already? With all the power in his body, he tried to yank his head back.
Apparently, England expected this and kept his grip firm. Every time America tried to pull back, England pulled him tighter and his head thudded against England’s chest painfully each time. Eventually America stopped struggling, unable to move his head from England’s chest, and finally listened to the way it beat. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Rapidly and in secession. “A’e you ne’vous too?” America finally mumbled, bringing his head up to look at England.
“I am.” America looked on, with the wide eyes of a purely curious child, his cheeks wet.
“But I don’t let that stop me, because I’d rather be with you much more than running away at the sight of you,” America flinched, and England continued with his face red, “and…”
“I know you love me too.”
America finally let a grin slip onto his face, a small one, but it still suited the American much more. “And… you love me back.” He whispered. It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement.
He pulled in closer to his lover, cuddling his head to his chest. Maybe hesitantly (but he’d later deny that), he wrapped his arms around England’s torso and felt his body heat through the thick layers of fabric and cotton.
“More than anything?” England asked jokingly, reaching to pet America’s head.
“More than you even know yourself.” America grinned, catching England’s wrist and bringing it up to his lips, where he ran his mouth over the smooth plane on the back of his hand to the chubby corners where the thumb connected with the rest of the palm. “And I love you just the same.”
“Given. Who else dashes off like that just because they‘re embarrassed?”
England laughed, the chuckle cut off short by America’s lips on his.
- “Ve, Germany?”
“What is it, Italy?”
“Shouldn’t we tell England and America they’re still in the meeting room?”
Re: Step by Step [3/3]
anonymous
April 2 2010, 16:49:46 UTC
:DDDD I'm so glad someone finally filled this! This was actually quite embarrassing to read -- and please do take that as a compliment! -- because America's embarrassment and frustration with himself was just contagious, frankly. It seemed really believable that he was aware of the ridiculousness of his own reaction and thoughts but was still unable to change them; his resolve just kept crumbling, as you said. XD;
And I love how you chose to end this; poor Germany! XD Somehow I don't think Italy really minds that much.
Re: Step by Step [3/3]
anonymous
April 2 2010, 23:16:26 UTC
Ahahaha. Amazing. I loved the whole thing and it was so cute and then you... the meeting room... hahaha. Wonderfully written writer!Anon, you made me giggle. ♥
captcha: Dustpan said. Apparently I am a dustpan. I am not pleased. :I
What was with him? He had plenty of relationships before England, of course he had. He wasn’t a virgin either, so why was he acting like a 10 year old on her first date? I mean, running away from just holding hands? And… how could he even begin to think about putting that face on Arthur?
His heart hurt to recall England’s expression. What was wrong with this? Why did he feel so uneasy? Why couldn’t he answer any of these questions? But most of all, he never wanted England to ever be unhappy because of him again, so brought up the most important question of all.
Why did he run away? Heroes didn’t run, especially not like the damsel in distress from a villain, especially not from their lover, of all people.
He steeled himself to go back, purposely ignoring the way his heart startled and his fingers grew cold in pure alarm, the way his arms and legs awkwardly moved in sync, and continued ambling forward until he was in eyeshot of his lover. His heart crushed, and he felt a stupid grin slipping onto his face.
That is, until he noticed England’s frantic face, looking all over for him but not quite spotting him just yet.
When England finally caught his eyes in his own, (Oh God, why did those bright green eyes have to sparkle like that?) he remembered England’s wide grin, but everything after that was a blur.
All his resolve just died. Only faintly did he recall his own footsteps beating against the cement walk, England shouting after him, and his blood rushing to his head in tandem. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor of his hotel room with the door securely locked, England nowhere to be found.
America blinked. Burying his face into his hands, he groaned.
By far, the worst first date of all 200 years of his life. He was definitely not looking forward to that meeting tomorrow.
--
“What the hell was that about you bloody wanker?” England hissed, glaring at him.
Okay, so maybe running from his lover twice in a row on the same day wasn’t the smartest course of action. But to be fair, he didn’t get what was with England either.
“What about you?” He asked back a bit desperately, he couldn’t stand the way England was staring at him - disappointed, unhappy… fervidly. “Why are you acting so different?”
“Don’t make up excuses!” England hissed.
“I’m not!” America cried, and England narrowed his eyes.
“What are you going on about?”
“You… Yesterday you were… uh… well…” America paused, lowering his head a little. “…smiling.”
England looked annoyed. “And?”
“I just didn’t expect it.”
“…Are you saying you prefer me brooding all the bloody time?” He looked at him, frustrated. America felt his heart thudding, and God, it was happening again! Why on earth did Arthur have to look at him like that?
“No! But… God… um…” What do I say? What… I don’t… Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and his resolve of looking like a hero crumbled to pieces. Even if he couldn’t make out his actions, it didn’t mean he shouldn’t be honest about it.
“You’re… well, you’re brooding half the time, and even then, it makes me smile.” England raised an eyebrow, but his expression visibly softened.
“But when you smile, my chest hurts and my heart beats like crazy, I… and it… and I just don’t know what to do.” Don’t hate me, don’t hate me, don’t hate me. America felt his eyes water, what if - what if England got bored with him because of what he was doing? He wanted to, he truly, deeply, really wanted to be Arthur’s awesome boyfriend hero who England could rely on, but now, it was just the opposite.
Unreliable. Weak. Untrustworthy. The words pounded in his ears and wouldn’t go away.
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Vaguely, he wondered if England was still there. His head was lowered, so he couldn’t see Arthur’s face and there seemed to be no reply coming.
That’s when he felt Nantucket flutter and he jolted, ready to jump up with the pressure on the top of his head clamped him back down, patting his hair down and rubbing his the top of his head. Then he heard Arthur’s voice.
“You’re so awful with words, Alfred, I don’t know what to do with you.” England smiled, pulling him closer. America blushed. What did that mean? Was England tired of him already? With all the power in his body, he tried to yank his head back.
Apparently, England expected this and kept his grip firm. Every time America tried to pull back, England pulled him tighter and his head thudded against England’s chest painfully each time. Eventually America stopped struggling, unable to move his head from England’s chest, and finally listened to the way it beat. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Rapidly and in secession. “A’e you ne’vous too?” America finally mumbled, bringing his head up to look at England.
“I am.” America looked on, with the wide eyes of a purely curious child, his cheeks wet.
“But I don’t let that stop me, because I’d rather be with you much more than running away at the sight of you,” America flinched, and England continued with his face red, “and…”
“I know you love me too.”
America finally let a grin slip onto his face, a small one, but it still suited the American much more. “And… you love me back.” He whispered. It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement.
He pulled in closer to his lover, cuddling his head to his chest. Maybe hesitantly (but he’d later deny that), he wrapped his arms around England’s torso and felt his body heat through the thick layers of fabric and cotton.
“More than anything?” England asked jokingly, reaching to pet America’s head.
“More than you even know yourself.” America grinned, catching England’s wrist and bringing it up to his lips, where he ran his mouth over the smooth plane on the back of his hand to the chubby corners where the thumb connected with the rest of the palm. “And I love you just the same.”
“Given. Who else dashes off like that just because they‘re embarrassed?”
England laughed, the chuckle cut off short by America’s lips on his.
-
“Ve, Germany?”
“What is it, Italy?”
“Shouldn’t we tell England and America they’re still in the meeting room?”
“…It‘s fine.”
---
Making out in meeting rooms is oh so fun.
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And I love how you chose to end this; poor Germany! XD Somehow I don't think Italy really minds that much.
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captcha: Dustpan said. Apparently I am a dustpan. I am not pleased. :I
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German's even greater here! <3
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Brilliant job, anon! And I loved Germany and Italy's cameo at the end. ♥
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