Re: My Blue-Eyed Boy (7/?)
anonymous
September 26 2010, 11:45:17 UTC
America woke up before England the following morning, and smiled as he cuddled into him, listening to the other nation’s soft exhales as he slept. He felt a great burden lifted off his chest since last night, and was now sure England felt the same way about his charge as America did himself. As England stirred, slowly opening his eyes and flexing his fingers to wake them up, he frowned when he felt an arm round his waist and hot breath on the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned when he saw America there, clinging to him. “What are you doing?” He raised a thick eyebrow and America grinned at him sheepishly. “Cuddling.” England scratched his head as he sat up, staring around the room blankly.
“About last night-.” They said in unison and America blushed. “You first.” England sighed. “Whatever happened last night, it doesn’t mean anything. I just wanted to shut you up and get some rest.” “Sure it doesn’t,” America smiled knowingly and England narrowed his eyes. “I mean it Alfred.” America stared at him, head cocked slightly to the side. “I know you like me. And I know you like boys who are like me.” England felt his heart in his throat, and he looked away, cheeks flushing pink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I heard some of my citizens talking about you,” America crawled into his lap, his face oh-so close to his caretaker’s. “About how you like young boys.” England ground his teeth together. “That’s nonsense. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” “And someone else told me that you like blonde, blue-eyed boys,” America continued, noticing how awkward England looked. “So I think that kiss did mean something, Arthur.” England looked America in the eye, mouth set in a firm line. “You thought wrong.”
America couldn’t hide the fact that England’s stubborn denial hurt him. He pouted, not moving out of England’s lap, his blue eyes darkening. “You taught me not to lie, Arthur,” America lifted his chin arrogantly. “You said it was wrong.” “Liking young boys is wrong too,” England glared at him furiously. “Are you accusing me of being a gentleman with no morals?” America thought for a moment before shrugging. “I know you meant something with that kiss. You shouldn’t be so afraid to admit your feelings for me. You said I was your favourite, after all.” England shook his head firmly. “America, that’s enough,” he pushed the teen away, sighing exasperatedly. “Stop it.” America huddled close to England again, burying his head in his neck. England’s eyebrows came together in concern and America exhaled shakily as he listened to the other nation’s heart beat, thudding against his ribcage. “I can’t help myself, A-Arthur,” America stammered. “I love you.” England took a deep breath and put one arm around America. “You’re my brother, America. You should know I love you too.” “But not as a brother,” America corrected him. “I love you as something else.” England felt his throat tightening with nerves, and he slowly started to shift away from his colony. “It’s getting late into the morning, Alfred. We should get some breakfast.” America grinned up at him, his stomach rumbling on cue. “That sounds like a good idea.”
England breathed a sigh of relief as America left him to get breakfast ready. He’d been so close to giving in to him, to his indecent, silent requests. England shook his head sadly. Every teenager went through these ‘crushes’. It was a natural part of growing up. And in some cases, England knew some teens even had feelings for relatives. It was perfectly normal. It was the same for his Alfred. It was a silly little crush he’d realise, soon, was utterly irrational, and give up on. He’d grow out of it. Somewhere in the back of England’s mind, however, he doubted that was the case with America. The boy - yes, he was still a boy, not yet a man - was foolish and often let himself get carried away. He was also stubborn. If America believed he loved his father-figure, then he did.
England served up breakfast to his hungry, eager colony, who got stuck into it right away. He never took his eyes off America as he sat down to eat, gingerly poking the charcoaled food. He needed to talk sense into the boy, otherwise the feelings would just get more intense over time.
Re: Fanart
anonymous
September 29 2010, 19:07:05 UTC
:D
Oh, wow! First fill, first art! It's a good picture! ^^ I SHALL continue now, with a volcano built and history assessments on the Industrial Revolution trampled into the ground! (don't ask..)
My Blue-Eyed Boy (8/?)
anonymous
September 29 2010, 19:30:27 UTC
England looked up from prodding his food half-heartedly and licked his lips nervously as America stared up at him, head tilted slightly to the side. “I need to talk to you…” England trailed off, looking away. A smile grew on America’s face, and he shuffled forward in his seat to lean forwards against the table, head propped in hands. “About what?” “You can’t love me,” England shook his head firmly and as America went to protest, held up his hand to silence him. “Not in that way.” America stared at his feet. “I can’t help how I feel Arthur. I know you feel the same way, too.” England’s eyes widened slightly, before they narrowed to slits. “No, Alfred, I don’t. I care about you, like a good brother should.” America sulked, and made no effort to hide the fact. His arms folded across his chest, pouting, as he shot ‘evils’ at his caretaker across the table. “Alfred, you’re at a table. Now sit up straight and behave,” England chided. “You’re not a child.” America smirked, sitting up properly and wrinkling his nose. “Then don’t treat me like one.” England shook his head in disbelief, picking up America’s empty plate and stacking it underneath his near-full one. He headed back to the kitchen and set them on the side, frowning as he turned around and saw America smiling at him, having followed him into the room. “What?” England cleared his throat as he felt it grow tight with nerves. America stepped closer to England and gingerly reached out a hand to stroke his cheek. England stared at it, horrified, and just as his colony’s fingers brushed his skin, he slapped them away harshly. His eyes burned furiously as he glared at America. “And just what do you think you are doing?” England snapped. America blushed and stepped closer again. “Kiss me again England, like you did last night.” England skirted around him, but America blocked his path again quickly. “Why won’t you kiss me?” America whined, his cheeks flushed and eyes flickering up and down England’s body. “Because it’s immoral,” England lifted his chin defiantly and pushed him aside gently. America grabbed his arm, pulling him towards him. England felt his breath slip from him at the shear strength of the boy - no one was quite like his boy. He stared into America’s eyes, almost in a daze, before coming back to his senses as the teen pressed a kiss to his cheek. England pushed against him, hissing at how wrong and lewd the act was, but other than that didn’t do a great deal to protest. Whether or not America’s strength aided him, the teen basked in triumph at being able to kiss England again. His face smothered in sloppy, inexperienced kisses, England found himself leaning to kiss America back, reaching up to entangle his hands in his hair before using his experience and manoeuvrability to gain the upper hand, pulling his colony into his own arms. “If you’re going to do this,” England frowned at the younger blonde. “At least do it properly, and put me in charge.” American grinned enthusiastically and nibbled along England’s jaw line, sucking on the skin to bring out rosy love bites. England had to bite on his lip to keep himself from moaning at the blissfulness of it. For someone with little experience in the area, America was very good with his mouth. Seemed all the exercising it through talking non-stop paid off, after all.
Suddenly, America was shoved away, and stared at England as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and his face with his sleeve. “No,” he said firmly after he’d finished rubbing away every last kiss America had set on him. America glared back defiantly, but eventually gave in, lowering his gaze to the floor and shuffling away.
England felt his heart thudding against his ribcage, threatening to burst out. He couldn’t let the boy do this to him; ruin his reputation and make him an indecent fool. England was, after all, a genuine father-figure to him.
(Would OP prefer smut to follow? I am easy either way, so if you really want smut, feel free to request. My apologies if this is a fail update, Anon is just...failing at the moment tehe.)
Re: My Blue-Eyed Boy (8/?)
anonymous
October 1 2010, 01:52:06 UTC
not!OP would love smut ;)
I really like this, authoranon. I love this Alfred who knows what he wants, and this England in denal who is, for once, not a tsundere but actually has good (if failed) motives for repressing his feelings and desires. This is why I'd love to see a bit more of Alfred torturing his caretaker before the sex, when Arthur can't take it anymoreXD
My Blue-Eyed Boy (9a/?)
anonymous
December 31 2010, 14:30:36 UTC
(A!A apologises for the wait...I sort of got side tracked and forgot about this ^_^' Anyway, I hope this is alright!)
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England lay in bed that night in his normal position - resting slightly on his side with his back to the door. The curtains weren't fully shut and the window open just enough to allow a breeze to roll in and catch the fabric, making it billow out. England watched the shadows of the room with his face twisted into some sort of frustrated scowl. He had two decisions, he knew that; firmly tell America how stupid he was being and punish him for any more behaviour of the like, or go along with his crude suggestions and his own sick intentions for the lad. That is all he is - a boy. He wouldn't understand the consequences of following through with such actions.
England knew that some point in the night, America would come into him, and possibly try to start things up again; he knew him all too well. So England needed an excuse, a reason, an argument, should the situation arise. Anything to try and smooth things out no matter what he chose.
So lost in his thoughts, England didn't notice the door silently open and the figure creeping across room to his bed. As the mattress sunk slightly, England sighed exasperatedly. "Get in then," he growled, massaging the bridge of his nose as America slipped under the covers. There was silence for what seemed to be forever, when eventually America spoke up.
"Arthur?"
"What is it now?" England groaned, sitting up. "Am I a good kisser?" The teen cocked his head to the side, eyes wide. England's cheeks flushed a dark scarlet. "I don't know," he sniffed.
I don't know where you learnt to use your mouth like that.
"Do you like us kissing? I do," Alfred pressed, each time sliding closer to his caretaker.
I bloody well do.
"This is not up for discussion, alright?" England snapped, fighting back the response he wished he could give. "It feels different with you in control...it feels better, more natural. I wonder if it'll be the same when we have sex," America mused. England started at this, eyes wide. "America! You can't say that! We are absolutely not having sex or whatever you want to call it!" England spat. "Not another word." America sulked, pouting as he stared at England. The older nation groaned and rubbed his face. “It’s late,” he sighed. “It’s not that late,” America corrected. “It’s only eleven, actually.” “I’d still like to sleep.”
As England rolled over so his back was to America, the teen glared at him furiously. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Couldn’t he just take him already?
England wanted to, though. So badly. But his own morals stopped him - if he was older, perhaps. But he was still a child, technically. He wasn’t finished growing and changing. Granted, his voice had long since broke - and what an amazing, husky voice it was - and he was almost as big as England, but that meant nothing. If England dared to touch him now, it could do unseen damage to the boy. And the last thing the irritable, lonely island wanted to do was hurt his beloved America.
“England?”
England glanced over his shoulder at America to see the boy wipe a tear from his watery blue eyes. “Why are you crying?” England frowned, sitting up again. America hugged his knees, burying his face into his legs to hide the smile on his face as he sobbed. “It’s ok. I understand. You don’t want me like you want your rent boys and other lovers. France was wrong. You don’t really like me like that.” England rolled his eyes. “America you know that’s not true…” he paused, panicking. Did I just say that? England, compose yourself! “I do love you, but…not how you want me to. You see? I never want to hurt you, and I do anything for you-” England winced. Wrong choice of words, again. “What I mean is, you’re special and always have been,” England explained.
My Blue-Eyed Boy (9b/?)
anonymous
December 31 2010, 14:39:21 UTC
(Damn character limit!)
America looked up, biting his cheek to keep himself for smirking. England was such putty in his hands once he turned on the tears. “If I’m special, then treat me like it,” the colony murmured. “I know what you like England. I can make you happy.” “I don’t want you to-.” England tried to protest, but America sat himself between his legs again. “I know you like blue-eyed boys. Just like me. And dirty blonds, just like me. And I’m young, and untouched, doesn’t that make you just…go crazy?” America emphasized his last few words, bringing his face so close to England’s, their lips were almost touching. England studied the boys face, his heart throbbing.
“Yes.”
America backed away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Then that’s what I don’t understand.” “Don’t do this, America,” England hissed. America looked up again, eyes wet. “I want you, too. It hurts me more to be without you. Hurts me more than you can imagine.”
This time though, at the thought of England leaving him, the tears became more realistic. England’s guilt swelled immensely.
"America..." he purred, pulling the teen into his lap and stroking his soft, messy blonde hair. How he'd love to mess it up even more...
"England, I miss you so much when you leave," America cried into the older male's chest, clinging to the fabric of his night shirt. "It's torture, it really is." England sighed, tilted America's head up to stare down at him. He hesitated, then placed a gentle kiss on the boy's salty, wet cheek. The tears stopped flowing and America threaded his arms around England. The older blonde stared down longingly at his charge, wishing and willing that some how he could make his feelings moral, right, decent...easy to act upon. America stared back at the Empire, chewing on his lip, wishing England would make a move again.
"I have to go home tomorrow," England sighed, looking away. "But you just got here!" America pleaded, placing his hands on England's shoulders. "I know, I know..." England shrugged, brushing America's hands off of him. He looked out the window. "It feels like a storm is brewing though, so I doubt I shall be leaving on schedule."
I hope you never do, America added silently. If only the storm made it impossible to sail, if only it destroyed England's ships. It would cost money, of course, but if it meant more time with England then America willed it so badly to happen.
England exhaled slowly and shakily, stroking America's head before lying back down again, pulling the teen with him. Sprawled out next to his caretaker, America felt sleep grip him. He leant up to kiss England goodnight, only to find he was already asleep.
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Sorry it's so short, but it's all Anon can work up for now ^_^
He felt a great burden lifted off his chest since last night, and was now sure England felt the same way about his charge as America did himself.
As England stirred, slowly opening his eyes and flexing his fingers to wake them up, he frowned when he felt an arm round his waist and hot breath on the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned when he saw America there, clinging to him.
“What are you doing?” He raised a thick eyebrow and America grinned at him sheepishly. “Cuddling.”
England scratched his head as he sat up, staring around the room blankly.
“About last night-.” They said in unison and America blushed. “You first.”
England sighed. “Whatever happened last night, it doesn’t mean anything. I just wanted to shut you up and get some rest.”
“Sure it doesn’t,” America smiled knowingly and England narrowed his eyes.
“I mean it Alfred.”
America stared at him, head cocked slightly to the side. “I know you like me. And I know you like boys who are like me.”
England felt his heart in his throat, and he looked away, cheeks flushing pink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard some of my citizens talking about you,” America crawled into his lap, his face oh-so close to his caretaker’s. “About how you like young boys.”
England ground his teeth together. “That’s nonsense. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“And someone else told me that you like blonde, blue-eyed boys,” America continued, noticing how awkward England looked. “So I think that kiss did mean something, Arthur.”
England looked America in the eye, mouth set in a firm line. “You thought wrong.”
America couldn’t hide the fact that England’s stubborn denial hurt him. He pouted, not moving out of England’s lap, his blue eyes darkening.
“You taught me not to lie, Arthur,” America lifted his chin arrogantly. “You said it was wrong.”
“Liking young boys is wrong too,” England glared at him furiously. “Are you accusing me of being a gentleman with no morals?”
America thought for a moment before shrugging. “I know you meant something with that kiss. You shouldn’t be so afraid to admit your feelings for me. You said I was your favourite, after all.”
England shook his head firmly. “America, that’s enough,” he pushed the teen away, sighing exasperatedly. “Stop it.”
America huddled close to England again, burying his head in his neck. England’s eyebrows came together in concern and America exhaled shakily as he listened to the other nation’s heart beat, thudding against his ribcage.
“I can’t help myself, A-Arthur,” America stammered. “I love you.”
England took a deep breath and put one arm around America. “You’re my brother, America. You should know I love you too.”
“But not as a brother,” America corrected him. “I love you as something else.”
England felt his throat tightening with nerves, and he slowly started to shift away from his colony. “It’s getting late into the morning, Alfred. We should get some breakfast.”
America grinned up at him, his stomach rumbling on cue. “That sounds like a good idea.”
England breathed a sigh of relief as America left him to get breakfast ready. He’d been so close to giving in to him, to his indecent, silent requests. England shook his head sadly. Every teenager went through these ‘crushes’. It was a natural part of growing up. And in some cases, England knew some teens even had feelings for relatives. It was perfectly normal.
It was the same for his Alfred. It was a silly little crush he’d realise, soon, was utterly irrational, and give up on. He’d grow out of it.
Somewhere in the back of England’s mind, however, he doubted that was the case with America. The boy - yes, he was still a boy, not yet a man - was foolish and often let himself get carried away. He was also stubborn. If America believed he loved his father-figure, then he did.
England served up breakfast to his hungry, eager colony, who got stuck into it right away. He never took his eyes off America as he sat down to eat, gingerly poking the charcoaled food. He needed to talk sense into the boy, otherwise the feelings would just get more intense over time.
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Loved it!
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thank you both for your words of appreciation and encourgement! it means a lot to this first-time filler :)
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I drew u a picha~
http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e110/Chocobosh/USUK.jpg
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Oh, wow! First fill, first art! It's a good picture! ^^ I SHALL continue now, with a volcano built and history assessments on the Industrial Revolution trampled into the ground! (don't ask..)
ReCaptcha: taticate feel.... wtf?
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“I need to talk to you…” England trailed off, looking away.
A smile grew on America’s face, and he shuffled forward in his seat to lean forwards against the table, head propped in hands. “About what?”
“You can’t love me,” England shook his head firmly and as America went to protest, held up his hand to silence him. “Not in that way.”
America stared at his feet. “I can’t help how I feel Arthur. I know you feel the same way, too.”
England’s eyes widened slightly, before they narrowed to slits. “No, Alfred, I don’t. I care about you, like a good brother should.”
America sulked, and made no effort to hide the fact. His arms folded across his chest, pouting, as he shot ‘evils’ at his caretaker across the table.
“Alfred, you’re at a table. Now sit up straight and behave,” England chided. “You’re not a child.”
America smirked, sitting up properly and wrinkling his nose. “Then don’t treat me like one.”
England shook his head in disbelief, picking up America’s empty plate and stacking it underneath his near-full one. He headed back to the kitchen and set them on the side, frowning as he turned around and saw America smiling at him, having followed him into the room.
“What?” England cleared his throat as he felt it grow tight with nerves.
America stepped closer to England and gingerly reached out a hand to stroke his cheek. England stared at it, horrified, and just as his colony’s fingers brushed his skin, he slapped them away harshly. His eyes burned furiously as he glared at America.
“And just what do you think you are doing?” England snapped.
America blushed and stepped closer again. “Kiss me again England, like you did last night.”
England skirted around him, but America blocked his path again quickly.
“Why won’t you kiss me?” America whined, his cheeks flushed and eyes flickering up and down England’s body.
“Because it’s immoral,” England lifted his chin defiantly and pushed him aside gently. America grabbed his arm, pulling him towards him. England felt his breath slip from him at the shear strength of the boy - no one was quite like his boy. He stared into America’s eyes, almost in a daze, before coming back to his senses as the teen pressed a kiss to his cheek.
England pushed against him, hissing at how wrong and lewd the act was, but other than that didn’t do a great deal to protest.
Whether or not America’s strength aided him, the teen basked in triumph at being able to kiss England again. His face smothered in sloppy, inexperienced kisses, England found himself leaning to kiss America back, reaching up to entangle his hands in his hair before using his experience and manoeuvrability to gain the upper hand, pulling his colony into his own arms.
“If you’re going to do this,” England frowned at the younger blonde. “At least do it properly, and put me in charge.”
American grinned enthusiastically and nibbled along England’s jaw line, sucking on the skin to bring out rosy love bites. England had to bite on his lip to keep himself from moaning at the blissfulness of it. For someone with little experience in the area, America was very good with his mouth. Seemed all the exercising it through talking non-stop paid off, after all.
Suddenly, America was shoved away, and stared at England as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and his face with his sleeve.
“No,” he said firmly after he’d finished rubbing away every last kiss America had set on him.
America glared back defiantly, but eventually gave in, lowering his gaze to the floor and shuffling away.
England felt his heart thudding against his ribcage, threatening to burst out. He couldn’t let the boy do this to him; ruin his reputation and make him an indecent fool. England was, after all, a genuine father-figure to him.
(Would OP prefer smut to follow? I am easy either way, so if you really want smut, feel free to request. My apologies if this is a fail update, Anon is just...failing at the moment tehe.)
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I really like this, authoranon. I love this Alfred who knows what he wants, and this England in denal who is, for once, not a tsundere but actually has good (if failed) motives for repressing his feelings and desires. This is why I'd love to see a bit more of Alfred torturing his caretaker before the sex, when Arthur can't take it anymoreXD
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-----------------
England lay in bed that night in his normal position - resting slightly on his side with his back to the door. The curtains weren't fully shut and the window open just enough to allow a breeze to roll in and catch the fabric, making it billow out. England watched the shadows of the room with his face twisted into some sort of frustrated scowl. He had two decisions, he knew that; firmly tell America how stupid he was being and punish him for any more behaviour of the like, or go along with his crude suggestions and his own sick intentions for the lad.
That is all he is - a boy. He wouldn't understand the consequences of following through with such actions.
England knew that some point in the night, America would come into him, and possibly try to start things up again; he knew him all too well. So England needed an excuse, a reason, an argument, should the situation arise. Anything to try and smooth things out no matter what he chose.
So lost in his thoughts, England didn't notice the door silently open and the figure creeping across room to his bed. As the mattress sunk slightly, England sighed exasperatedly.
"Get in then," he growled, massaging the bridge of his nose as America slipped under the covers.
There was silence for what seemed to be forever, when eventually America spoke up.
"Arthur?"
"What is it now?" England groaned, sitting up.
"Am I a good kisser?" The teen cocked his head to the side, eyes wide.
England's cheeks flushed a dark scarlet.
"I don't know," he sniffed.
I don't know where you learnt to use your mouth like that.
"Do you like us kissing? I do," Alfred pressed, each time sliding closer to his caretaker.
I bloody well do.
"This is not up for discussion, alright?" England snapped, fighting back the response he wished he could give.
"It feels different with you in control...it feels better, more
natural. I wonder if it'll be the same when we have sex," America mused.
England started at this, eyes wide.
"America! You can't say that! We are absolutely not having sex or whatever you want to call it!" England spat. "Not another word."
America sulked, pouting as he stared at England. The older nation groaned and rubbed his face.
“It’s late,” he sighed.
“It’s not that late,” America corrected. “It’s only eleven, actually.”
“I’d still like to sleep.”
As England rolled over so his back was to America, the teen glared at him furiously. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Couldn’t he just take him already?
England wanted to, though. So badly. But his own morals stopped him - if he was older, perhaps. But he was still a child, technically. He wasn’t finished growing and changing. Granted, his voice had long since broke - and what an amazing, husky voice it was - and he was almost as big as England, but that meant nothing. If England dared to touch him now, it could do unseen damage to the boy. And the last thing the irritable, lonely island wanted to do was hurt his beloved America.
“England?”
England glanced over his shoulder at America to see the boy wipe a tear from his watery blue eyes.
“Why are you crying?” England frowned, sitting up again.
America hugged his knees, burying his face into his legs to hide the smile on his face as he sobbed.
“It’s ok. I understand. You don’t want me like you want your rent boys and other lovers. France was wrong. You don’t really like me like that.”
England rolled his eyes. “America you know that’s not true…” he paused, panicking. Did I just say that? England, compose yourself!
“I do love you, but…not how you want me to. You see? I never want to hurt you, and I do anything for you-”
England winced. Wrong choice of words, again.
“What I mean is, you’re special and always have been,” England explained.
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America looked up, biting his cheek to keep himself for smirking. England was such putty in his hands once he turned on the tears.
“If I’m special, then treat me like it,” the colony murmured. “I know what you like England. I can make you happy.”
“I don’t want you to-.” England tried to protest, but America sat himself between his legs again.
“I know you like blue-eyed boys. Just like me. And dirty blonds, just like me. And I’m young, and untouched, doesn’t that make you just…go crazy?”
America emphasized his last few words, bringing his face so close to England’s, their lips were almost touching.
England studied the boys face, his heart throbbing.
“Yes.”
America backed away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Then that’s what I don’t understand.”
“Don’t do this, America,” England hissed.
America looked up again, eyes wet. “I want you, too. It hurts me more to be without you. Hurts me more than you can imagine.”
This time though, at the thought of England leaving him, the tears became more realistic. England’s guilt swelled immensely.
"America..." he purred, pulling the teen into his lap and stroking his soft, messy blonde hair.
How he'd love to mess it up even more...
"England, I miss you so much when you leave," America cried into the older male's chest, clinging to the fabric of his night shirt. "It's torture, it really is."
England sighed, tilted America's head up to stare down at him. He hesitated, then placed a gentle kiss on the boy's salty, wet cheek. The tears stopped flowing and America threaded his arms around England.
The older blonde stared down longingly at his charge, wishing and willing that some how he could make his feelings moral, right, decent...easy to act upon.
America stared back at the Empire, chewing on his lip, wishing England would make a move again.
"I have to go home tomorrow," England sighed, looking away.
"But you just got here!" America pleaded, placing his hands on England's shoulders.
"I know, I know..." England shrugged, brushing America's hands off of him. He looked out the window.
"It feels like a storm is brewing though, so I doubt I shall be leaving on schedule."
I hope you never do, America added silently. If only the storm made it impossible to sail, if only it destroyed England's ships. It would cost money, of course, but if it meant more time with England then America willed it so badly to happen.
England exhaled slowly and shakily, stroking America's head before lying back down again, pulling the teen with him. Sprawled out next to his caretaker, America felt sleep grip him. He leant up to kiss England goodnight, only to find he was already asleep.
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Sorry it's so short, but it's all Anon can work up for now ^_^
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