[PART 14] Love is Somewhere Between Sleep and Consciousness (9/??)
anonymous
December 9 2010, 00:02:12 UTC
America stood there, covered in flour and smudges of chocolate, dressed in England’s apron which, to England’s immense amusement, was clearly too small for the larger nation. England grinned, leaning against the door jamb and watched for a few minutes as America went back and forth along the counter. He was singing lightly to himself-some new country track, he supposed, dancing as he moved.
“I do so hope that you plan on cleaning all of this up,” England said, announcing his presence and affixing a scowl on his face. “I spent three hours on my hands and knees scrubbing just the floor.”
America turned sharply, shocked at being caught but then smiled at England’s grumpy frown. “Not at all but I am making chocolate chip pancakes!”
“Is that what this is?” he asked, quirking a thick eyebrow. “That’s funny-my kitchen resembles the Western Front, not a café.” He suppressed a shiver from the memories that dredged up. It looked like America had done the same.
The bowl in his arms drooped a little with his smile. “Aww, but my pancakes are awesome! You liked them last time I made them!” he insisted. His eyes were determined.
Not the eyes, dammit! Not the eyes! “I never said I didn’t like them. I’m simply appalled at the wreckage that is my kitchen.” He stepped into the room, pulling out a chair and wincing at the sound it made upon the tile.
America, meanwhile, mumbled something like, “It wouldn’t be the first time if you’ve cooked in here,” but surely, that wasn’t what England had heard, right?
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, pausing in his motions to sit.
“Nothing!” America chirped, smiling as he turned to finish the cooking.
England observed him for a moment. He didn’t think that bringing up last night was going to really do much good but just remembering the kiss sent a comfortable wrap of warmth around his person and he struggled with keeping the grin off of his face.
“America-”
“England-”
The two stopped after interrupting the other simultaneously. America sighed. “You got this habit of always cutting me off. Why is that?”
“Because whenever you say something it’s bound to be stupid,” England answered eagerly. “Also, it’s, ‘You have this habit,’ or ‘You’ve got this habit.’ I allow you to speak my language-all I ask is that you speak it correctly.” He went to reach for his tea but found, with a feeling of sorrow, that he had yet to pour himself a cup. He sighed, frustrated, and ventured to the cupboard.
“Yeah well at least I don’t use funny words.”
Ah, there it was-his favorite teacup! He took it gently in his hand with the saucer and found, with an extremely pleasant surprise, that America had already readied most of the tea for him. No-England, all he did was get this ready. It’s nothing to color over! Besides-he prepared it completely wrong. “And which words of mine are funny to you?” he asked, pouring the Life Juice into his cup. He leaned against the counter, giving the tea a few swirls in the cup.
“Marvelous attempt, America, truly. Full marks.” He reached into a drawer to pull out a small spoon.
“Oh, shut up-”
“Get on with what you were saying lest I forget you had a point to any of this.” England stirred the tea, the spoon tinking against the porcelain of the cup.
America had a few seconds of impregnable silence, glancing at the pancakes on the griddle. “Well, I was hoping that … if it’s okay … I could stay here until past New Year. I already asked my boss and he said, ‘Sure,’-I mean, I’d have to make a stop back there to pick up some work-” Something about the disgust in which America uttered the word ‘work’ amused England to no end. “-But just one trip.”
“I do so hope that you plan on cleaning all of this up,” England said, announcing his presence and affixing a scowl on his face. “I spent three hours on my hands and knees scrubbing just the floor.”
America turned sharply, shocked at being caught but then smiled at England’s grumpy frown. “Not at all but I am making chocolate chip pancakes!”
“Is that what this is?” he asked, quirking a thick eyebrow. “That’s funny-my kitchen resembles the Western Front, not a café.” He suppressed a shiver from the memories that dredged up. It looked like America had done the same.
The bowl in his arms drooped a little with his smile. “Aww, but my pancakes are awesome! You liked them last time I made them!” he insisted. His eyes were determined.
Not the eyes, dammit! Not the eyes! “I never said I didn’t like them. I’m simply appalled at the wreckage that is my kitchen.” He stepped into the room, pulling out a chair and wincing at the sound it made upon the tile.
America, meanwhile, mumbled something like, “It wouldn’t be the first time if you’ve cooked in here,” but surely, that wasn’t what England had heard, right?
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, pausing in his motions to sit.
“Nothing!” America chirped, smiling as he turned to finish the cooking.
England observed him for a moment. He didn’t think that bringing up last night was going to really do much good but just remembering the kiss sent a comfortable wrap of warmth around his person and he struggled with keeping the grin off of his face.
“America-”
“England-”
The two stopped after interrupting the other simultaneously. America sighed. “You got this habit of always cutting me off. Why is that?”
“Because whenever you say something it’s bound to be stupid,” England answered eagerly. “Also, it’s, ‘You have this habit,’ or ‘You’ve got this habit.’ I allow you to speak my language-all I ask is that you speak it correctly.” He went to reach for his tea but found, with a feeling of sorrow, that he had yet to pour himself a cup. He sighed, frustrated, and ventured to the cupboard.
“Yeah well at least I don’t use funny words.”
Ah, there it was-his favorite teacup! He took it gently in his hand with the saucer and found, with an extremely pleasant surprise, that America had already readied most of the tea for him. No-England, all he did was get this ready. It’s nothing to color over! Besides-he prepared it completely wrong. “And which words of mine are funny to you?” he asked, pouring the Life Juice into his cup. He leaned against the counter, giving the tea a few swirls in the cup.
“Oh, IDK. ‘Bollocks.’ Bint, lorry, telly, boffin. Uh….”
“Marvelous attempt, America, truly. Full marks.” He reached into a drawer to pull out a small spoon.
“Oh, shut up-”
“Get on with what you were saying lest I forget you had a point to any of this.” England stirred the tea, the spoon tinking against the porcelain of the cup.
America had a few seconds of impregnable silence, glancing at the pancakes on the griddle. “Well, I was hoping that … if it’s okay … I could stay here until past New Year. I already asked my boss and he said, ‘Sure,’-I mean, I’d have to make a stop back there to pick up some work-” Something about the disgust in which America uttered the word ‘work’ amused England to no end. “-But just one trip.”
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