Re: USUK - Security Blanket (4/?)
anonymous
November 8 2010, 04:01:14 UTC
“No,” England replied with a venom-laced, exhausted tone, “but if you don’t lie still and shut up I’m sending you to the couch! Now sleep!” Had he been more aware of what he was doing and saying, he would have realized that America hadn’t been moving all that much, and he had been, in fact, still - just very stiff. But, he just wanted to sleep so desperately, and America was being ridiculous about something and wouldn’t let him. England sighed in victory when he felt America hunker down, albeit awkwardly, beside him. Arthur snuggled back into America’s arm and nuzzled his face against the pillow. “Good night,” he muttered in a tone of relief - and warning.
America frowned slightly, but nevertheless slid an arm over Arthur. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead into England’s back gently. “Night,” he replied half-heartedly, shifting once before going still. It only lasted a minute before he wriggled again and tried to settle. Two minutes passed until the boy had to, once again, readjust himself to his liking. It got to the point where he was slowly, but surely, pushing England towards the edge of the bed so he could try to have more room to get comfortable.
Had he leaned over to see his boyfriend’s face, he would have stopped. Arthur’s eyes were open wide with murderous intent and weary bags of exhaustion beginning to shadow under his eyes. He was becoming stiffer as America moved and shifted and bounced longer, until he finally had taken enough. Once he came close to the edge of the bed, Arthur shot a hand that was meant to grab one of America’s wrists but instead hit him in the face. The Yank yelped and rolled to the other side, but England wasn’t going to let him escape so easily (even if he felt a gnawing guilt for hitting him). He rolled over and was sitting up quickly, glaring at America. “For God’s sake, Alfred, I understand that you’re young but how can you not be tired?” He momentarily glanced at the clock, which read 12:58. ’This is ridiculous,’ he mentally moaned.
Jones seemed much more intent on making sure his nose wasn’t broken. “I - ow! - am tired!” he pressed while closing one eye and keeping the other on England. “I just can’t sleep witho - I think you broke it!” With a whine, he drew his knees up and covered his face with both hands and closed both eyes tightly. He felt England shifting beside him and felt hands on his wrists, gently prying his face free of cover. Alfred glared with a pout at the guilty looking England, and huffed. “I am tired,” he repeated.
Arthur glanced at the boy’s nose and sighed softly. “You’re just being overdramatic,” he diagnosed. He still held Alfred’s wrists as he stared at him drowsily. “Before I pass out,” he insisted, “tell me what’s bothering you. You can’t sleep without what?”
The moonlight streamed through the window in the room just enough so that America’s small blush was easily seen. “Uh.” He blinked once, twice, then three times while trying to find an excuse for saying what he had said. ‘Okay, so if you tell him he’s gonna laugh at you for the rest of forever.’ He frowned slightly. ‘That’s out. Umm… c’mon, America, you’re a hero! Just think of somethin’!’ “I can’t sleep without…” He trailed off weakly. Of all his dire times when he needed to tap into his inner hero, this was one of his neediest moments. It was a matter of pride, and he wasn’t about to risk bruising his ego because of an embarrassing secret.
The waiting game was getting old, and England was getting tired again. “Yes?” England pried, scooting a bit closer. He tilted his head and leaned in with curiosity and a side of lasting frustration. “Spit it out already.”
“A - a glass of warm milk!” America suddenly sputtered, leaning forward in anxiety to become nose-to-nose with Arthur. His beau jolted back in reflex, and looked at him with confusion. Thinking he had performed the most beautiful lie in recorded history, America grinned and snuggled back into the bed and waved a hand. “Alrighty, now you go back to bed and I’ll go get that glass of milk!” He would probably end up going downstairs to watch TV in hopes of passing out, but otherwise he made no plans to get his warm diary product this late at night.
Re: USUK - Security Blanket (5/?)
anonymous
November 8 2010, 04:02:15 UTC
England, however, frowned in an unconvinced manner and lightly snatched America’s arm in his fingers. “Alfred.” The boy looked back over with a sheepish expression, almost as if he knew he had been caught red-handed in a lie. “You’ve slept over at my house many times, and you’ve never asked for a glass of milk before.” The smile on America’s face immediately fell, and Arthur quirked a brow. He sighed soon after and released the nation from his tired grasp, turning to lay on his side with his back to America. “Please don’t move around so much, and try to stay quiet.” It was no use trying to help him if he would be so resistant. Arthur felt a hand touch his side, but he scooted away feeling rather unappreciated. Perhaps he was the one being overdramatic then, but he was sleepy and frustrated, and when his help went otherwise unwanted, it only spoiled his mood further.
America, unsure what to do, watched England with a guilt-ridden expression. It wasn’t his fault; he was only trying to help. What was he going to do, though? Telling Arthur the truth paved the way for a lifetime of ridicule, but Alfred wasn’t a fan of either of them going to bed in a bad mood. Looking at the covers in one of his hands, he frowned and, for once, pushed aside his heroic pride. With a surrendering sigh, America closed an eye and his face turned pink. “I - I can’t sleep without… w - withoutmyblanket.” The three words tumbled out in a fast-paced stammer, and America laughed quietly when he had said it, watching England sit back up. “So, there’s that! Let’s get to bed and … why are you sitting up?”
The incredulous look on England’s face was a simple one: half-closed eyes, mouth in a line, and his brows furrowed in bemusement. “… come again?” he muttered, unsure if his weariness had really deafened him, or if America had truly said what he thought he had. “Did you say that you need … a blanket?”
Alfred raised a finger in a matter-of-fact way, a sheepish smile on his flushed visage. “A - actually, I said my blanket, but, uh, yeah.” His hand reached around and caressed his neck in a nervous massage. “That’s… that’s basically it.”
Silence settled in the room, and outside the rain continued to pour. Arthur watched his anxious beau as he fiddled with the comforter over their bodies. A blanket? That’s what all the trouble was about? England didn’t know how to feel. Part of him was still frustrated with all the brouhaha the situation had caused; he also felt unconvinced that it was all for something as stupid as a blanket. Most of all, he felt 100% tired, a feeling that was nothing knew to him that night. “You’re saying that for the last half an hour, all you needed was a blanket.”
America nodded in a meek manner, avoiding England’s gaze with an embarrassed huff. Arthur’s brows rose when he realized that Alfred wasn’t making it up. His disbelief disappeared and turned into amusement, and a slow smirk came to his face. Oh, that was too much. A blanket - of all things, a blanket! His amusement boiled into momentary anger when he realized how stupid that was, but it quickly amused him again. “Alfred,” Arthur spoke while he chortled and looked at his significant other with a small grin, “you‘re a bit old to be sleeping with a security blanket, aren‘t you?” His chortle became a laugh. It was likely the lack of sleep that was making him so loony, but the more he thought about the simplicity and stupidity of America’s need, the funnier it got. “What could possibly be so special about a blanket that you can’t sleep without it?” More importantly, what was so important about it that Jones had to keep him up for half a bloody hour?
Re: USUK - Security Blanket (6/?)
anonymous
November 8 2010, 04:04:13 UTC
Sitting and seeping in his humiliation, the American let his British boyfriend get a hoot out of his confession, all the while turning more and more red. He liked to make England laugh, but didn’t like it when he was the butt of the jokes (even if he recurrently did it to the man). Being laughed at for something like this made Alfred feel like he was being cornered or jeered at. He tightly shut his eyes and gripped his hands on the comforter, blurting aloud, “It was a blanket you made me a long time ago!” England’s laughter quickly died, but Alfred kept hollering. “You made it for me when I was a kid! I’ve slept with it ever since, okay?! So … so quit laughin’ already!” It was now he who turned away from his companion, sitting while facing the wall with his arms folded and his face contorted into a flushed pout.
Arthur, yet again, wasn’t sure what to make of all of it. This time, however, astonishment seemed to be the most dominant feeling (although he was still exhausted). “Wh…” He felt a tightness clamping his throat shut, a knot he couldn’t swallow. “… Which blanket are you talking about?” His voice was quiet, and he scooted a bit closer to his upset partner. It couldn’t be the blanket he was thinking of, could it? That sheet had to have been two or three hundred years old, if that was the case.
The once tense America loosened his muscles and sagged his shoulders with a small, almost sad sigh. “You gave it to me probably around 1700 or somethin’. It’s pretty small now, but it was perfect back then!” A tiny smile was forming on his face as he remembered the feeling of glee when he had been presented with it. “It’s red and real soft, and…” Timidly, he looked over his shoulder at the now entranced empire. “W - well, you took a real long time visitin’ me, okay?” he defended himself in disgruntlement. “It kept me warm ‘n stuff.” Alfred looked forward again, and a frown replaced his smile as he recalled the temptation to burn the blanket after the revolution had been won. He opted instead to try and sleep without it for a night, since he was a nation and couldn’t have such childish habits. However, after tossing and turning for hours, he gave in and held the blanket near his heart like he had for nearly a century before. And every night that followed, he had grabbed the blanket and held it in his arms.
He could have laughed at himself for sounding so childish if the blanket didn’t mean so much to him. “Now,” he spoke after his moment of recollection, “I still use it every night, but when we don’t get to see each other for a really long time, it kind of helps, y’know?” He turned so he faced England again, a slightly ashamed look on his face. He hung his head somewhat, looking at the space between them. “Sorry fer keepin’ you up like this, Artie,” he apologized, his eyes flickering up to look at the tired nation before him.
The persistent knot in his throat kept Arthur from replying. His mouth had been ajar for some time, but he quickly closed it since looking so slack-jawed wasn’t the way of a gentleman. Even if he was tired, he was now conscious enough to prim his appearance a bit. Nevertheless, the shock he felt shone through his eyes and the blush on his face. Memories filled his mind of the few weeks he struggled to make the blanket, pricking his fingers and grumbling that it was almost harder than embroidery. He recalled the feeling of appreciation when he first gave the perfect-sized, red blanket to the small boy. He could almost feel the ghost of America’s hug around his waist. He remembered on a few visits having to carry a tuckered out Alfred upstairs, and gently wrapping him in the blanket beforehand. The yank had kept it all that time - even after the revolution? England had no idea back then that the simple token to his charge would be so cherished.
Re: USUK - Security Blanket (7/7)
anonymous
November 8 2010, 04:05:54 UTC
It took a moment for America’s apology to register in England’s mind. He was still settled on the whole root of the problem. He shook his head and finally found his voice, although it cracked temporarily. “N - no, it’s alright.” Swallowing thickly, Arthur took a breath to compose himself. He felt incredibly touched by the notion, and his exhaustion didn’t keep him from expressing it. England reached forward and tugged America forward into his arms, but his weariness made him nearly tumble backward. He caught himself quickly and kept America in his embrace. “Really,” he huffed softly, nuzzling against his beau’s cheek in affection, “you don’t need that blanket anymore. At least, not with me.” Arthur felt Alfred open his mouth to either groan or protest, so he quickly cut off whatever he would have done by speaking again. “ Even if we sometimes go a long while without seeing one another, you don’t have to bring that blanket with you.”
“Why?” America asked in an almost childish way, glancing slightly to England.
A fond, little smile formed on England’s face. He closed his eyes and rested the side of his head lightly against America’s temple. “Because,” he explained, “I can keep you warmer, and give you better company than any blanket could.”
More heat warmed Alfred’s cheeks, and his eyebrows rose. Looking at England for a moment, he took in the sight of him before a warm smile tugged his lips up. His arms wrapped around England, and he nuzzled into his neck in a loving manner. The lonely nights away from the Englishman were the nights he held the blanket especially close; the fulfilled nights in England’s company were the ones where he had his arms around the man and not the token he created. He hid his face in the man’s shoulder, emotions of his childhood affection for the empire and his adulthood love for him intermixing. Happily, America nuzzled him one last time then broke their contact, looking into the face of the man whom he loved more than he thought was possible. He smiled brightly; England let a content and loving smile grow as well. Leaning forward, Alfred chastely pressed his lips onto his beau’s. His appreciation and love for Arthur grew every day, it seemed.
Once they parted, America couldn’t help but let his characteristic, Cheshire-esque grin grow widely. “That was kinda cheesy,” he commented with a snort. An annoyed hand hit his temple lightly, and he laughed with one eye closed and the other looking at his pouting lover. “Not that I mind! Hollywood makes millions outta bein’ cheesy.” Turning away and sliding back to his side of the bed, England snuggled back down on the bed in reply. America had no intention of sleeping away from him, and he laughed quietly while hunkering down as well. “C’mon, you know that was a joke, right?”
“Hrmph.” (That was a ‘yes’.)
America grinned again. “Good!” His expression became soft, and England looked over his shoulder with an equally loving glance. “Thank you,” Alfred commented while stealing another kiss from his thoroughly exhausted boyfriend. England nodded in response, likely too tired to formulate a ‘You’re welcome.’
Assured that he would sleep just fine without the soft, red token of two hundred years, Alfred’s arms wrapped around England and he made sure there was little room between them. Placing one last kiss on England’s bare shoulder, America lay his head down on the pillow with a tiny smile still on his face. “Love you,” he murmured, weariness clouding his mind faster than he thought it would.
“Mm,” England agreed. “Love you too.” His managed mumbles were the last thing America heard before he fell into dreamland, and England was fast to follow, thankful that the entire ordeal had been sorted out and he could finally, finally sleep in the arms of the Yank he adored.
Outside, the soft pattering of the rain on the windowsill lulled the two into a restful slumber - no red blanket needed.
(Again, sorry it took so long OP if you ever find this. Didn't mean for it to be so long, either. orz ;;; I hope you enjoyed! )
America frowned slightly, but nevertheless slid an arm over Arthur. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead into England’s back gently. “Night,” he replied half-heartedly, shifting once before going still. It only lasted a minute before he wriggled again and tried to settle. Two minutes passed until the boy had to, once again, readjust himself to his liking. It got to the point where he was slowly, but surely, pushing England towards the edge of the bed so he could try to have more room to get comfortable.
Had he leaned over to see his boyfriend’s face, he would have stopped. Arthur’s eyes were open wide with murderous intent and weary bags of exhaustion beginning to shadow under his eyes. He was becoming stiffer as America moved and shifted and bounced longer, until he finally had taken enough. Once he came close to the edge of the bed, Arthur shot a hand that was meant to grab one of America’s wrists but instead hit him in the face. The Yank yelped and rolled to the other side, but England wasn’t going to let him escape so easily (even if he felt a gnawing guilt for hitting him). He rolled over and was sitting up quickly, glaring at America. “For God’s sake, Alfred, I understand that you’re young but how can you not be tired?” He momentarily glanced at the clock, which read 12:58. ’This is ridiculous,’ he mentally moaned.
Jones seemed much more intent on making sure his nose wasn’t broken. “I - ow! - am tired!” he pressed while closing one eye and keeping the other on England. “I just can’t sleep witho - I think you broke it!” With a whine, he drew his knees up and covered his face with both hands and closed both eyes tightly. He felt England shifting beside him and felt hands on his wrists, gently prying his face free of cover. Alfred glared with a pout at the guilty looking England, and huffed. “I am tired,” he repeated.
Arthur glanced at the boy’s nose and sighed softly. “You’re just being overdramatic,” he diagnosed. He still held Alfred’s wrists as he stared at him drowsily. “Before I pass out,” he insisted, “tell me what’s bothering you. You can’t sleep without what?”
The moonlight streamed through the window in the room just enough so that America’s small blush was easily seen. “Uh.” He blinked once, twice, then three times while trying to find an excuse for saying what he had said. ‘Okay, so if you tell him he’s gonna laugh at you for the rest of forever.’ He frowned slightly. ‘That’s out. Umm… c’mon, America, you’re a hero! Just think of somethin’!’ “I can’t sleep without…” He trailed off weakly. Of all his dire times when he needed to tap into his inner hero, this was one of his neediest moments. It was a matter of pride, and he wasn’t about to risk bruising his ego because of an embarrassing secret.
The waiting game was getting old, and England was getting tired again. “Yes?” England pried, scooting a bit closer. He tilted his head and leaned in with curiosity and a side of lasting frustration. “Spit it out already.”
“A - a glass of warm milk!” America suddenly sputtered, leaning forward in anxiety to become nose-to-nose with Arthur. His beau jolted back in reflex, and looked at him with confusion. Thinking he had performed the most beautiful lie in recorded history, America grinned and snuggled back into the bed and waved a hand. “Alrighty, now you go back to bed and I’ll go get that glass of milk!” He would probably end up going downstairs to watch TV in hopes of passing out, but otherwise he made no plans to get his warm diary product this late at night.
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America, unsure what to do, watched England with a guilt-ridden expression. It wasn’t his fault; he was only trying to help. What was he going to do, though? Telling Arthur the truth paved the way for a lifetime of ridicule, but Alfred wasn’t a fan of either of them going to bed in a bad mood. Looking at the covers in one of his hands, he frowned and, for once, pushed aside his heroic pride. With a surrendering sigh, America closed an eye and his face turned pink. “I - I can’t sleep without… w - withoutmyblanket.” The three words tumbled out in a fast-paced stammer, and America laughed quietly when he had said it, watching England sit back up. “So, there’s that! Let’s get to bed and … why are you sitting up?”
The incredulous look on England’s face was a simple one: half-closed eyes, mouth in a line, and his brows furrowed in bemusement. “… come again?” he muttered, unsure if his weariness had really deafened him, or if America had truly said what he thought he had. “Did you say that you need … a blanket?”
Alfred raised a finger in a matter-of-fact way, a sheepish smile on his flushed visage. “A - actually, I said my blanket, but, uh, yeah.” His hand reached around and caressed his neck in a nervous massage. “That’s… that’s basically it.”
Silence settled in the room, and outside the rain continued to pour. Arthur watched his anxious beau as he fiddled with the comforter over their bodies. A blanket? That’s what all the trouble was about? England didn’t know how to feel. Part of him was still frustrated with all the brouhaha the situation had caused; he also felt unconvinced that it was all for something as stupid as a blanket. Most of all, he felt 100% tired, a feeling that was nothing knew to him that night. “You’re saying that for the last half an hour, all you needed was a blanket.”
America nodded in a meek manner, avoiding England’s gaze with an embarrassed huff. Arthur’s brows rose when he realized that Alfred wasn’t making it up. His disbelief disappeared and turned into amusement, and a slow smirk came to his face. Oh, that was too much. A blanket - of all things, a blanket! His amusement boiled into momentary anger when he realized how stupid that was, but it quickly amused him again. “Alfred,” Arthur spoke while he chortled and looked at his significant other with a small grin, “you‘re a bit old to be sleeping with a security blanket, aren‘t you?” His chortle became a laugh. It was likely the lack of sleep that was making him so loony, but the more he thought about the simplicity and stupidity of America’s need, the funnier it got. “What could possibly be so special about a blanket that you can’t sleep without it?” More importantly, what was so important about it that Jones had to keep him up for half a bloody hour?
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Arthur, yet again, wasn’t sure what to make of all of it. This time, however, astonishment seemed to be the most dominant feeling (although he was still exhausted). “Wh…” He felt a tightness clamping his throat shut, a knot he couldn’t swallow. “… Which blanket are you talking about?” His voice was quiet, and he scooted a bit closer to his upset partner. It couldn’t be the blanket he was thinking of, could it? That sheet had to have been two or three hundred years old, if that was the case.
The once tense America loosened his muscles and sagged his shoulders with a small, almost sad sigh. “You gave it to me probably around 1700 or somethin’. It’s pretty small now, but it was perfect back then!” A tiny smile was forming on his face as he remembered the feeling of glee when he had been presented with it. “It’s red and real soft, and…” Timidly, he looked over his shoulder at the now entranced empire. “W - well, you took a real long time visitin’ me, okay?” he defended himself in disgruntlement. “It kept me warm ‘n stuff.” Alfred looked forward again, and a frown replaced his smile as he recalled the temptation to burn the blanket after the revolution had been won. He opted instead to try and sleep without it for a night, since he was a nation and couldn’t have such childish habits. However, after tossing and turning for hours, he gave in and held the blanket near his heart like he had for nearly a century before. And every night that followed, he had grabbed the blanket and held it in his arms.
He could have laughed at himself for sounding so childish if the blanket didn’t mean so much to him. “Now,” he spoke after his moment of recollection, “I still use it every night, but when we don’t get to see each other for a really long time, it kind of helps, y’know?” He turned so he faced England again, a slightly ashamed look on his face. He hung his head somewhat, looking at the space between them. “Sorry fer keepin’ you up like this, Artie,” he apologized, his eyes flickering up to look at the tired nation before him.
The persistent knot in his throat kept Arthur from replying. His mouth had been ajar for some time, but he quickly closed it since looking so slack-jawed wasn’t the way of a gentleman. Even if he was tired, he was now conscious enough to prim his appearance a bit. Nevertheless, the shock he felt shone through his eyes and the blush on his face. Memories filled his mind of the few weeks he struggled to make the blanket, pricking his fingers and grumbling that it was almost harder than embroidery. He recalled the feeling of appreciation when he first gave the perfect-sized, red blanket to the small boy. He could almost feel the ghost of America’s hug around his waist. He remembered on a few visits having to carry a tuckered out Alfred upstairs, and gently wrapping him in the blanket beforehand. The yank had kept it all that time - even after the revolution? England had no idea back then that the simple token to his charge would be so cherished.
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“Why?” America asked in an almost childish way, glancing slightly to England.
A fond, little smile formed on England’s face. He closed his eyes and rested the side of his head lightly against America’s temple. “Because,” he explained, “I can keep you warmer, and give you better company than any blanket could.”
More heat warmed Alfred’s cheeks, and his eyebrows rose. Looking at England for a moment, he took in the sight of him before a warm smile tugged his lips up. His arms wrapped around England, and he nuzzled into his neck in a loving manner. The lonely nights away from the Englishman were the nights he held the blanket especially close; the fulfilled nights in England’s company were the ones where he had his arms around the man and not the token he created. He hid his face in the man’s shoulder, emotions of his childhood affection for the empire and his adulthood love for him intermixing. Happily, America nuzzled him one last time then broke their contact, looking into the face of the man whom he loved more than he thought was possible. He smiled brightly; England let a content and loving smile grow as well. Leaning forward, Alfred chastely pressed his lips onto his beau’s. His appreciation and love for Arthur grew every day, it seemed.
Once they parted, America couldn’t help but let his characteristic, Cheshire-esque grin grow widely. “That was kinda cheesy,” he commented with a snort. An annoyed hand hit his temple lightly, and he laughed with one eye closed and the other looking at his pouting lover. “Not that I mind! Hollywood makes millions outta bein’ cheesy.” Turning away and sliding back to his side of the bed, England snuggled back down on the bed in reply. America had no intention of sleeping away from him, and he laughed quietly while hunkering down as well. “C’mon, you know that was a joke, right?”
“Hrmph.” (That was a ‘yes’.)
America grinned again. “Good!” His expression became soft, and England looked over his shoulder with an equally loving glance. “Thank you,” Alfred commented while stealing another kiss from his thoroughly exhausted boyfriend. England nodded in response, likely too tired to formulate a ‘You’re welcome.’
Assured that he would sleep just fine without the soft, red token of two hundred years, Alfred’s arms wrapped around England and he made sure there was little room between them. Placing one last kiss on England’s bare shoulder, America lay his head down on the pillow with a tiny smile still on his face. “Love you,” he murmured, weariness clouding his mind faster than he thought it would.
“Mm,” England agreed. “Love you too.” His managed mumbles were the last thing America heard before he fell into dreamland, and England was fast to follow, thankful that the entire ordeal had been sorted out and he could finally, finally sleep in the arms of the Yank he adored.
Outside, the soft pattering of the rain on the windowsill lulled the two into a restful slumber - no red blanket needed.
(Again, sorry it took so long OP if you ever find this. Didn't mean for it to be so long, either. orz ;;; I hope you enjoyed! )
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