Ball and Chain (9/?)
anonymous
January 10 2011, 14:30:13 UTC
“I’m washing my hands! See, clean! Nothing wrong with talking about food while cleaning up.” America wiped his hands on the hand towel and they started to go down to the kitchen.
“Yes, I’m the odd one for not wanting to discuss dinner plans next to a toilet.”
“Hey! I have a name, you know.” America exclaimed in mock indignation. He turned and gave England a grin when they reached the bottom of the stairs.
England’s felt a strange pang at America’s joke. His heart seemed to stutter inexplicably.
America rummaged through various cupboards in the kitchen as well as he could with one hand, and found a few boxes of macaroni. England felt quite dejected when America refused his help in preparing it. He knew that not everyone had a high opinion of his cooking abilities, but it was a box of pasta, for goodness sake! America stood over the stove and cooked while England quietly fumed.
Dinner was a silent affair. The food was actually decent, and England immediately resented it. They sat on two different edges of the table, resting their restrained arms in the middle and eating one-handed. England was cold towards America, but when he noticed that some of the cheese had fallen on America’s chest, he couldn’t prevent a few inappropriate images from invading his mind, and almost choked.
Though neither one of them wanted to wash dishes, they stood around in the kitchen longer than they needed to. It was evening, but they still had several more hours to go before sleep became a viable option.
“I just wish we could do something, you know? Like, actually do something.” America’s energy didn’t seem at all diminished by being full.
England pushed aside some perverted thoughts that came to mind. “You know the options better than I do. It’s your home.”
America slapped his hands together, jolting England to the right. “Let’s play a video game! Hell yeah!”
England eyed him incredulously, but America started walking to the living room. “You know I’m not…adept at that,” he said, being dragged along. “It wouldn’t be much fun for either of us. And I’d probably shoot you by accident.”
“We don’t have to play one of those games. Oh, we could play Rockband! You’ve played it before, right? At the Halloween party?
England had begrudgingly tried some of the musical games, and found that he actually enjoyed them quite a lot. He wasn’t sure how thrilled he was at the idea of combining America’s exuberance with video games while they were bound together.
“Yes. It’s been a while, though.”
“Aw, you don’t forget how to jam.” America started to humming Baba O’Riley and strumming an air guitar. It soon became apparent that there would be a problem, as America’s unnecessary flailing interfered with England’s freedom of movement.
“We can’t both play the guitar. You’ll sabotage me.”
America’s cheer was persistent. “Then I can play the drums or sing. It’ll work.”
“You can’t sing because the neighbors will think we’re torturing someone. And you are not playing the drums because you’ll end up killing us both.”
America sighed. “Fine. We can just take turns. Does that work, your highness?”
England sniffed. “I suppose. Just try not to dislocate my arm.”
This seemed a sufficient term, and America started to look through the stack of games by the TV. “How about Guitar Hero instead? I’ve got it right here.”
“Just put something on so we can get this over with,” England said, bristling with irritation.
“Boy, England, you sure do know how to ‘have fun’,” America replied dryly. “Don’t worry, we’ll only do a few. I don’t want you to bust a hip or something.”
England gave a sneer and followed while America put the game in and got a guitar controller from the closet. The increasing awkwardness returned with the silence. He suddenly felt more naked than before, and drew his free hand around his bare stomach.
Ball and Chain (10/?)
anonymous
January 10 2011, 14:37:13 UTC
America turned on the game and starting making comments about the graphics. He played first, choosing the loudest songs possible and, of course, paying no attention to the effects of his flailing. There was something endearing about the way that he bit his lip and froze during the more intense parts of the song. He bobbed his head and shook in time with the music, but when a complex maneuver came up, he would become eerily still and sharply focused.
England had to pay close attention to make sure that he didn’t get hit in the face, or worse. After every song, America would shoot him a grin, awaiting some comment of praise. When he finally got tired, England was extremely grateful. It had gotten very hard to concentrate on protecting himself, especially when he became distracted by the sweat rolling down America’s back.
The guitar was passed to England, who adjusted the strap and put it over his neck with some excitement in his eyes. On the one hand, standing in the middle of the room with so much skin showing was off-putting, even if there wasn’t anyone else watching them. On the other hand, it wasn’t the worst activity they could have chosen.
England picked his song and waited as it loaded, shifting his weight. When the opening notes came through the speakers, something changed.
He wasn’t always up to date on the latest technology, and many movements of youth culture eluded him. But music. Oh, music was something he did right, and no one could deny that.
In an instant, he knew exactly how to hold himself. His hips rolled and tilted with no regard to decency. The music moved through him like energy, like life. It didn’t matter that the guitar was made of wires and plastic. It didn’t matter that he was standing in America’s living room with no pants. He swayed expertly, letting the music take him over, flowing through his fingertips, giving power to the song.
Before he knew it, the song was over. He turned to America with a smile, subtly acknowledging his impressive score.
Then he listened to hear if the heater had turned on during the song, because America’s face was inexplicably flushed, and his expression strangely unreadable.
“That was pretty cool,” America breathed out, voice smaller than normal.
England wasn’t sure what it was about that look, but his chest felt warm, and he had the sudden need to do something less stressful.
“I’m a bit tired,” he said. He pulled the guitar off his shoulders and handed it back to America, who looked vaguely disappointed, and whose cheeks were still very red.
“Okay. It’s kind of early for bed, though,” America replied, shuffling his feet. “Maybe a movie?”
As sick as he was of staring at the TV screen, it seemed like a reasonable choice. He nodded his approval and stayed out of the way while America turned off the game. America led them to a portion of his media cupboard, which was stuffed with more DVDs than England had ever seen in one person’s house. Though, in a way, he had expected as much. He cautiously descended to his knees.
“So, what do you think?” America asked as he quickly flipped through boxes with his fingers.
“If only we had more choices,” England replied.
America browsed through the collection at an incredibly fast pace, so much so that England doubted he was even reading the titles. England sighed and started to dig his way through the stacks in front of him.
They’d been searching for several minutes without coming to a consensus, and England’s knees were starting to feel raw. His eyes scanned the myriad garish colors as they passed by with a flick of his finger.
And then he stumbled onto something significant. A secret row hidden behind all the rest. They were obviously grouped together by their shared theme, and nestled so far back that it had to be intentional. A smile crossed his lips as he realized exactly what they were.
Ball and Chain (11/?)
anonymous
January 10 2011, 14:43:49 UTC
Many of the nations knew about America’s guilty pleasure. Most of them never brought it up outright, if only because the teasing elicited a much more satisfying response from the otherwise dense and blustering nation. The smile curled into a smirk.
“America, why do you have a copy of My Fair Lady?”
The result was instantaneous. America froze where he was, eyes wide and lips pursed.
After another moment of absolute stillness, he shook it off. “I-I’ve got lots of different stuff.” His face was scarlet. He started talking quickly, as was his typical defense. “See, here’s Blazing Saddles and Clerks and Die Hard and-“
“West Side Story?” England interjected. The blush had spread all the way to America’s ears. “And what looks to be a well worn copy of Grease.”
America’s response was almost unintelligible. “HeyIknow let’s just take whatever this one is oh look it’s Pulp Fiction okay let’s watch it.” He laughed nervously and tucked the movie under his arm.
England wanted to prod a little bit more, but America had already started closing the cupboards. Ah well, there was time enough. Especially now that he knew where the musicals were kept. He barely had a chance to scramble to his feet before America was on the move again, turning off lights in readiness. The idea of sitting in the dark was quite appealing, after being exposed for most of the day.
Again, England was surprised by how many movements were required to prepare for a movie. By the time they sat down, he was thankful for the opportunity to be still. America began fiddling with the remote, and England felt the urge to make a well-placed comment about his movie choice. Something along the lines of “pornographic violence” and “self-absorbed cinematic wank-fest”.
“You know,” he began, almost taken aback by his own scathing tone, “I find Tarantino to be-“
“Look,” America interrupted with a casual wave of his wave, rattling the chain, “I know you secretly like him, so you can drop the critic thing. We’re just killing time before bed, okay?”
“Oh. Well, fine, if you can’t deal with my insight.” England crossed his arms, or tried to, and frowned.
Throughout the movie, England found himself watching America almost as much as the screen. His emotions seemed to be completely subject to the peaks and valleys of the film, even though he’d seen it countless times. It wasn’t just this particular movie, either. America had always reacted this way to fictional works. England suddenly found it rather fascinating.
It didn’t hurt that the softly glowing light highlighted his jawline, and that even through the glare on his glasses, his eyes shone with a captivating youthful energy.
After everything was said and done, the day hadn’t gone as badly as it could have. He’d managed to make it through with a good amount of dignity, considering the circumstances. Preparing for bed was a little difficult, especially after an argument somehow led to them both brushing their teeth at the same time.
Finally, they stood in the bedroom, in the light of the bedside lamp. America had stopped as soon as they entered the room, and now appeared to be doing something very strange with his hands.
“Oh hey, do you mind if I take the chaps off? I mean, France said we could, and they’ll chafe something awful if I wear them all night.”
“Ah. A-alright.” He turned away as America got to work on the belt, and he eventually started removing the accessories to his own costume. He wondered why he hadn’t done that from the beginning, but soon realized that he felt much more naked without them. With a gulp of discomfort, he touched his throat where the collar had been. Before he could reflect any further, he was almost pulled to the ground.
“Sorry!” America said, hopping on one foot and trying to remove the material from his leg.
England sighed and gestured for America to sit down on the edge of the bed. From there, America was able to shimmy out of the chaps easily. He left them on the floor and grinned at England, who had suddenly renewed his vow not to look at America.
Ball and Chain (12/?)
anonymous
January 10 2011, 14:50:54 UTC
America started to scoot across the sheets, over to his side of the bed. England followed and couldn’t avoid the view of America’s arse and bare legs under the comforter. He felt a shockingly strong urge to touch the back of America’s thigh. He was probably sensitive there. England wondered what sorts of noises America would make if he traced his finger across the skin just below his tight cotton briefs.
“I said, ‘could you put Texas on the table’.” America’s arm was extended, clutching his glasses. “Maybe some sleep will do you good, England. You’ve been out of it since you got here.”
“I’m fine,” England mumbled as he put the glasses down next to the lamp. He turned the light off, and the reality that he was sleeping in America’s bed hit him hard. He’d certainly never imagined it would be like this.
America gave a small moan, and England’s pulse jumped.
“It feels good on my skin. The sheets. I mean, the chaps are comfortable and all, but they’re supposed to be worn over stuff.” America wriggled under the sheets, sighing with relief.
“Right. That’s lovely.” England twisted uneasily, and tried not to think about America rubbing against things.
They lay in relative silence for a little while. The calm of the dark room was harshly interrupted by America.
“England, did you ever finish that blanket you were working on? The one with the dorky flowers?”
The noise was jarring, but he was used to America’s voice. “Yes, some time ago. It was a gift.”
“For who?” America sounded slightly offended by this.
“You don’t know them,” England replied shortly.
“Oh.”
Silence descended for several awkward minutes. England had almost managed to drift off when America’s voice rang through the darkness once more.
“Hey, England, you awake?”
“Yes, America,” he replied through gritted teeth. “What is it now?”
A pause. “What do you think it would feel like to have boobs?”
England sighed and said nothing, hoping that America might realize how ridiculous his question sounded. After more silence, he realized that America seriously expected him to respond “Er…I expect it would feel like you have something hanging off your chest.” He had inadvertently imitated the shape of breasts with his hands, but stopped as soon as he realized what he was doing. “Why?”
“I dunno. I just think about it sometimes.”
It struck England how odd it was that the topic of musical theater was off limits, presumably due to an insecure masculine identity, but discussing hypothetical aspects of being a girl was perfectly acceptable to America. “Well, what do you think it would feel like?” he asked finally, hoping that there was a small chance America might have a well-reasoned response.
America paused for a beat. “Awesome.”
England could almost hear the grin on his face, and let out an audible sigh. “Goodnight, America.”
The quiet settled yet again.
England shut his eyes and tried to clear his mind, but his thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.
Several more minutes passed, and he didn’t feel tired at all.
“America?” he said softly in the darkness. He thought that perhaps talking to America would tire him out. However, he received no response.
He lay for a time, staring up at the ceiling, its surface illuminated by cracks of streaming light from the curtains.
“I’m sorry.”
The words came from his own lips, but he couldn’t say why. They hung in the stillness of the room.
He felt America move just a little bit, readjusting in sleep. The panic in his heart wasn’t quelled until he heard an accompanying snore.
He didn’t want to think about it anymore. About why he’d said such a thing, or even thought it.
Slowly, as the minutes went by, he passed from intense thought into a comfortable sleep.
Ball and Chain (13/?) - Day Two
anonymous
January 10 2011, 14:59:12 UTC
A particularly loud snore startled him into waking. The light of day was shining dimly behind the drawn curtains. England blinked several times and tried to sit up, but was hampered by his tether. His sleeping companion was sprawled out next to him, mouth open as he snored away.
The clock on the bedside table claimed that it was already 11 in the morning.
England grunted and stretched his back, but couldn’t move very far from his spot. He looked at America and shook the chain above the bed. America’s arm swayed limply in the air, so he let the chain fall again.
With growing irritation, he shoved America’s shoulder as hard as he could. His snoring ally barely budged, and seemed no nearer to waking. England considered slapping him across the face, but decided to wait a little while longer before resorting to outright violence.
He lay back in bed and made a valiant attempt to return to sleep, though he knew it wouldn’t work. His head tilted back and he opened his eyes, studying the wall, whose colors were muted by the faint light.
The room was rather cold, and England guessed that the weather had not improved any since the previous day. He was about to pull the comforter over his exposed chest, when he felt something warm and solid graze his nipple. The touch was just substantial enough provoke a flash of delicious sensation. He gasped and looked down to find the back of America’s hand resting against his chest. America still appeared to be quite asleep.
England pulled the covers around his body and turned onto his side, clutching desperately at the sheets to hold them in place. He knew it had been an accident, but he couldn’t help feeling slightly violated. Eyes shut tight, he tried to occupy his mind while protecting his near-naked form against any more sleep-molestation.
And then a thought occurred to him. He was vulnerable in a way he hadn’t considered. Not only was the situation shameful, with plenty of opportunity for embarrassing situations to manifest themselves. No, that wasn’t all.
America could take him, if he wanted to. And England wouldn’t have any hope of escape.
America could pin him against the wall of his living room and loom over him, smiling devilishly. He could leave a trail of bruises on England’s neck and torso, abusing his flesh with possessive lovebites. England would plead and whine, railing fruitlessly against the restraint as America marked his body. America would raise his leather-clad thigh between England’s leg, rubbing slowly and torturously until his captive was consumed by the ache of passion, America’s grin growing wider with every reluctant whimper torn from England’s lips-
England’s eyes shot open. He could feel the stirring in his lower half, and immediately fought against it. To snuff it out, he bit down hard on his lower lip, nearly enough to draw blood, and filled his mind with violent, unpleasant thoughts. He kept it up until he was sure that the threat had passed, and let out a heavy sigh.
He did not feel relieved for long. He had fantasized about America. Not a single pervy image or a flippant little thought. He’d all but gotten off on the idea of his young ally taking him by force. He had constructed a vivid fantasy, wherein he was the blushing captive. To America. Good god.
His heart calmed and his eyes eventually turned back to America, whose cheeks puffed out with a heavy exhale. It wasn’t an issue, of course. Such a reality would require two impossibilities: that America was actually attracted to him, and that America was secretly evil. Both were equally unlikely.
England sighed, staring at America’s sleeping face with a light blush across his cheeks. A loud snort brought America out of his sleep, blinking slowly before he sighed and rolled his neck.
America looked at England silently for a moment before breaking into a boyish grin. “Did I snore?”
England sighed again and rolled onto his back.
So now he would have to face America all day with a dark sexual fantasy still fresh in his mind. Perfect.
Re: Ball and Chain (13/?) - Day Two
anonymous
January 10 2011, 17:31:44 UTC
God, this fic is so damn entertaining, but this situation? Well, I'd say poor England's life is pain, but America must have getting pretty hot and bothered himself while England was dancing around and playing the guitar. XDDD
I'm sort of surprised England didn't tease more with the (American) stereotype about men who like musicals that much, but I guess that would have been too damn awkward.
Author!Anon
anonymous
January 11 2011, 09:19:46 UTC
Glad you like it. <3
Cause it's more fun to watch him squirm! If he makes blatant gay jokes, America gets angry and defensive. But if he just prods him about owning musicals, America gets flustered and paranoid, worrying about the implications instead of fighting the accusation. Uh, if that makes sense. *thinking about this too much*
Heeeeee! I love this update so much!! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your hard work! It is coming along so very well, I'm so excited! Heee!~^^♥
Haha I love the fact that England is such sore loser! It amused me a lot that he was the one retrieving all the lost marbles and that he threw part of the game on the couch in a huff!
I like how you handled the toilet trip, and oh man the bit about England rebuking himself for thinking about Americas bits made me laugh so much, seriously, I gave myself belly ache over it, it really tickled me! :D and his comment about America washing his hands forever, I love it!
Haha I notice that they have learned from their last meal, was probably wise to sit like that, wouldn't want any nasty pasta burns! And ha, England's really struggling with that mind of his! Hohoho. I totally approve! ~.^
And oh your entire description of England playing Guitar Hero was seriously lovely, I really enjoyed reading it. almost as much as America enjoyed the view!
The bit about the musicals made me laugh and the image of them both brushing their teeth at the same time is just too adorable!
Hehe England just keeps spacing out, his mind and that fantasy are taking over, especially in part 13, poor sod :P and oh my god Americas question about the boobs! Haha! Trust America! Gah i'm becoming more and more incoherent so i'll take that as my que to shut up!
I love it! Thank you so much for taking the time to fill :):):)
Re: Ball and Chain (13/?) - Day Two
anonymous
January 31 2011, 15:06:55 UTC
MOAR.
MOAR.
PLEASE ANON.
This is constructed perfectly. Kinky as hell but you've infused the confusing feelings and relationship that is USxUK. Can't get enough of this!! England is in such denial and yet he keeps looking!! $_$ need moar.
“Yes, I’m the odd one for not wanting to discuss dinner plans next to a toilet.”
“Hey! I have a name, you know.” America exclaimed in mock indignation. He turned and gave England a grin when they reached the bottom of the stairs.
England’s felt a strange pang at America’s joke. His heart seemed to stutter inexplicably.
America rummaged through various cupboards in the kitchen as well as he could with one hand, and found a few boxes of macaroni. England felt quite dejected when America refused his help in preparing it. He knew that not everyone had a high opinion of his cooking abilities, but it was a box of pasta, for goodness sake! America stood over the stove and cooked while England quietly fumed.
Dinner was a silent affair. The food was actually decent, and England immediately resented it. They sat on two different edges of the table, resting their restrained arms in the middle and eating one-handed. England was cold towards America, but when he noticed that some of the cheese had fallen on America’s chest, he couldn’t prevent a few inappropriate images from invading his mind, and almost choked.
Though neither one of them wanted to wash dishes, they stood around in the kitchen longer than they needed to. It was evening, but they still had several more hours to go before sleep became a viable option.
“I just wish we could do something, you know? Like, actually do something.” America’s energy didn’t seem at all diminished by being full.
England pushed aside some perverted thoughts that came to mind. “You know the options better than I do. It’s your home.”
America slapped his hands together, jolting England to the right. “Let’s play a video game! Hell yeah!”
England eyed him incredulously, but America started walking to the living room. “You know I’m not…adept at that,” he said, being dragged along. “It wouldn’t be much fun for either of us. And I’d probably shoot you by accident.”
“We don’t have to play one of those games. Oh, we could play Rockband! You’ve played it before, right? At the Halloween party?
England had begrudgingly tried some of the musical games, and found that he actually enjoyed them quite a lot. He wasn’t sure how thrilled he was at the idea of combining America’s exuberance with video games while they were bound together.
“Yes. It’s been a while, though.”
“Aw, you don’t forget how to jam.” America started to humming Baba O’Riley and strumming an air guitar. It soon became apparent that there would be a problem, as America’s unnecessary flailing interfered with England’s freedom of movement.
“We can’t both play the guitar. You’ll sabotage me.”
America’s cheer was persistent. “Then I can play the drums or sing. It’ll work.”
“You can’t sing because the neighbors will think we’re torturing someone. And you are not playing the drums because you’ll end up killing us both.”
America sighed. “Fine. We can just take turns. Does that work, your highness?”
England sniffed. “I suppose. Just try not to dislocate my arm.”
This seemed a sufficient term, and America started to look through the stack of games by the TV. “How about Guitar Hero instead? I’ve got it right here.”
“Just put something on so we can get this over with,” England said, bristling with irritation.
“Boy, England, you sure do know how to ‘have fun’,” America replied dryly. “Don’t worry, we’ll only do a few. I don’t want you to bust a hip or something.”
England gave a sneer and followed while America put the game in and got a guitar controller from the closet. The increasing awkwardness returned with the silence. He suddenly felt more naked than before, and drew his free hand around his bare stomach.
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England had to pay close attention to make sure that he didn’t get hit in the face, or worse. After every song, America would shoot him a grin, awaiting some comment of praise. When he finally got tired, England was extremely grateful. It had gotten very hard to concentrate on protecting himself, especially when he became distracted by the sweat rolling down America’s back.
The guitar was passed to England, who adjusted the strap and put it over his neck with some excitement in his eyes. On the one hand, standing in the middle of the room with so much skin showing was off-putting, even if there wasn’t anyone else watching them. On the other hand, it wasn’t the worst activity they could have chosen.
England picked his song and waited as it loaded, shifting his weight. When the opening notes came through the speakers, something changed.
He wasn’t always up to date on the latest technology, and many movements of youth culture eluded him.
But music. Oh, music was something he did right, and no one could deny that.
In an instant, he knew exactly how to hold himself. His hips rolled and tilted with no regard to decency. The music moved through him like energy, like life. It didn’t matter that the guitar was made of wires and plastic. It didn’t matter that he was standing in America’s living room with no pants. He swayed expertly, letting the music take him over, flowing through his fingertips, giving power to the song.
Before he knew it, the song was over. He turned to America with a smile, subtly acknowledging his impressive score.
Then he listened to hear if the heater had turned on during the song, because America’s face was inexplicably flushed, and his expression strangely unreadable.
“That was pretty cool,” America breathed out, voice smaller than normal.
England wasn’t sure what it was about that look, but his chest felt warm, and he had the sudden need to do something less stressful.
“I’m a bit tired,” he said. He pulled the guitar off his shoulders and handed it back to America, who looked vaguely disappointed, and whose cheeks were still very red.
“Okay. It’s kind of early for bed, though,” America replied, shuffling his feet. “Maybe a movie?”
As sick as he was of staring at the TV screen, it seemed like a reasonable choice. He nodded his approval and stayed out of the way while America turned off the game. America led them to a portion of his media cupboard, which was stuffed with more DVDs than England had ever seen in one person’s house. Though, in a way, he had expected as much. He cautiously descended to his knees.
“So, what do you think?” America asked as he quickly flipped through boxes with his fingers.
“If only we had more choices,” England replied.
America browsed through the collection at an incredibly fast pace, so much so that England doubted he was even reading the titles. England sighed and started to dig his way through the stacks in front of him.
They’d been searching for several minutes without coming to a consensus, and England’s knees were starting to feel raw. His eyes scanned the myriad garish colors as they passed by with a flick of his finger.
And then he stumbled onto something significant. A secret row hidden behind all the rest. They were obviously grouped together by their shared theme, and nestled so far back that it had to be intentional. A smile crossed his lips as he realized exactly what they were.
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“America, why do you have a copy of My Fair Lady?”
The result was instantaneous. America froze where he was, eyes wide and lips pursed.
After another moment of absolute stillness, he shook it off. “I-I’ve got lots of different stuff.” His face was scarlet. He started talking quickly, as was his typical defense. “See, here’s Blazing Saddles and Clerks and Die Hard and-“
“West Side Story?” England interjected. The blush had spread all the way to America’s ears. “And what looks to be a well worn copy of Grease.”
America’s response was almost unintelligible. “HeyIknow let’s just take whatever this one is oh look it’s Pulp Fiction okay let’s watch it.” He laughed nervously and tucked the movie under his arm.
England wanted to prod a little bit more, but America had already started closing the cupboards. Ah well, there was time enough. Especially now that he knew where the musicals were kept. He barely had a chance to scramble to his feet before America was on the move again, turning off lights in readiness. The idea of sitting in the dark was quite appealing, after being exposed for most of the day.
Again, England was surprised by how many movements were required to prepare for a movie. By the time they sat down, he was thankful for the opportunity to be still. America began fiddling with the remote, and England felt the urge to make a well-placed comment about his movie choice. Something along the lines of “pornographic violence” and “self-absorbed cinematic wank-fest”.
“You know,” he began, almost taken aback by his own scathing tone, “I find Tarantino to be-“
“Look,” America interrupted with a casual wave of his wave, rattling the chain, “I know you secretly like him, so you can drop the critic thing. We’re just killing time before bed, okay?”
“Oh. Well, fine, if you can’t deal with my insight.” England crossed his arms, or tried to, and frowned.
Throughout the movie, England found himself watching America almost as much as the screen. His emotions seemed to be completely subject to the peaks and valleys of the film, even though he’d seen it countless times. It wasn’t just this particular movie, either. America had always reacted this way to fictional works. England suddenly found it rather fascinating.
It didn’t hurt that the softly glowing light highlighted his jawline, and that even through the glare on his glasses, his eyes shone with a captivating youthful energy.
After everything was said and done, the day hadn’t gone as badly as it could have. He’d managed to make it through with a good amount of dignity, considering the circumstances. Preparing for bed was a little difficult, especially after an argument somehow led to them both brushing their teeth at the same time.
Finally, they stood in the bedroom, in the light of the bedside lamp. America had stopped as soon as they entered the room, and now appeared to be doing something very strange with his hands.
“Oh hey, do you mind if I take the chaps off? I mean, France said we could, and they’ll chafe something awful if I wear them all night.”
“Ah. A-alright.” He turned away as America got to work on the belt, and he eventually started removing the accessories to his own costume. He wondered why he hadn’t done that from the beginning, but soon realized that he felt much more naked without them. With a gulp of discomfort, he touched his throat where the collar had been. Before he could reflect any further, he was almost pulled to the ground.
“Sorry!” America said, hopping on one foot and trying to remove the material from his leg.
England sighed and gestured for America to sit down on the edge of the bed. From there, America was able to shimmy out of the chaps easily. He left them on the floor and grinned at England, who had suddenly renewed his vow not to look at America.
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“I said, ‘could you put Texas on the table’.” America’s arm was extended, clutching his glasses. “Maybe some sleep will do you good, England. You’ve been out of it since you got here.”
“I’m fine,” England mumbled as he put the glasses down next to the lamp. He turned the light off, and the reality that he was sleeping in America’s bed hit him hard. He’d certainly never imagined it would be like this.
America gave a small moan, and England’s pulse jumped.
“It feels good on my skin. The sheets. I mean, the chaps are comfortable and all, but they’re supposed to be worn over stuff.” America wriggled under the sheets, sighing with relief.
“Right. That’s lovely.” England twisted uneasily, and tried not to think about America rubbing against things.
They lay in relative silence for a little while. The calm of the dark room was harshly interrupted by America.
“England, did you ever finish that blanket you were working on? The one with the dorky flowers?”
The noise was jarring, but he was used to America’s voice. “Yes, some time ago. It was a gift.”
“For who?” America sounded slightly offended by this.
“You don’t know them,” England replied shortly.
“Oh.”
Silence descended for several awkward minutes. England had almost managed to drift off when America’s voice rang through the darkness once more.
“Hey, England, you awake?”
“Yes, America,” he replied through gritted teeth. “What is it now?”
A pause.
“What do you think it would feel like to have boobs?”
England sighed and said nothing, hoping that America might realize how ridiculous his question sounded. After more silence, he realized that America seriously expected him to respond “Er…I expect it would feel like you have something hanging off your chest.” He had inadvertently imitated the shape of breasts with his hands, but stopped as soon as he realized what he was doing. “Why?”
“I dunno. I just think about it sometimes.”
It struck England how odd it was that the topic of musical theater was off limits, presumably due to an insecure masculine identity, but discussing hypothetical aspects of being a girl was perfectly acceptable to America. “Well, what do you think it would feel like?” he asked finally, hoping that there was a small chance America might have a well-reasoned response.
America paused for a beat. “Awesome.”
England could almost hear the grin on his face, and let out an audible sigh.
“Goodnight, America.”
The quiet settled yet again.
England shut his eyes and tried to clear his mind, but his thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.
Several more minutes passed, and he didn’t feel tired at all.
“America?” he said softly in the darkness. He thought that perhaps talking to America would tire him out. However, he received no response.
He lay for a time, staring up at the ceiling, its surface illuminated by cracks of streaming light from the curtains.
“I’m sorry.”
The words came from his own lips, but he couldn’t say why. They hung in the stillness of the room.
He felt America move just a little bit, readjusting in sleep. The panic in his heart wasn’t quelled until he heard an accompanying snore.
He didn’t want to think about it anymore. About why he’d said such a thing, or even thought it.
Slowly, as the minutes went by, he passed from intense thought into a comfortable sleep.
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The clock on the bedside table claimed that it was already 11 in the morning.
England grunted and stretched his back, but couldn’t move very far from his spot. He looked at America and shook the chain above the bed. America’s arm swayed limply in the air, so he let the chain fall again.
With growing irritation, he shoved America’s shoulder as hard as he could. His snoring ally barely budged, and seemed no nearer to waking. England considered slapping him across the face, but decided to wait a little while longer before resorting to outright violence.
He lay back in bed and made a valiant attempt to return to sleep, though he knew it wouldn’t work. His head tilted back and he opened his eyes, studying the wall, whose colors were muted by the faint light.
The room was rather cold, and England guessed that the weather had not improved any since the previous day. He was about to pull the comforter over his exposed chest, when he felt something warm and solid graze his nipple. The touch was just substantial enough provoke a flash of delicious sensation. He gasped and looked down to find the back of America’s hand resting against his chest. America still appeared to be quite asleep.
England pulled the covers around his body and turned onto his side, clutching desperately at the sheets to hold them in place. He knew it had been an accident, but he couldn’t help feeling slightly violated. Eyes shut tight, he tried to occupy his mind while protecting his near-naked form against any more sleep-molestation.
And then a thought occurred to him. He was vulnerable in a way he hadn’t considered. Not only was the situation shameful, with plenty of opportunity for embarrassing situations to manifest themselves. No, that wasn’t all.
America could take him, if he wanted to. And England wouldn’t have any hope of escape.
America could pin him against the wall of his living room and loom over him, smiling devilishly. He could leave a trail of bruises on England’s neck and torso, abusing his flesh with possessive lovebites. England would plead and whine, railing fruitlessly against the restraint as America marked his body. America would raise his leather-clad thigh between England’s leg, rubbing slowly and torturously until his captive was consumed by the ache of passion, America’s grin growing wider with every reluctant whimper torn from England’s lips-
England’s eyes shot open. He could feel the stirring in his lower half, and immediately fought against it. To snuff it out, he bit down hard on his lower lip, nearly enough to draw blood, and filled his mind with violent, unpleasant thoughts. He kept it up until he was sure that the threat had passed, and let out a heavy sigh.
He did not feel relieved for long. He had fantasized about America. Not a single pervy image or a flippant little thought. He’d all but gotten off on the idea of his young ally taking him by force. He had constructed a vivid fantasy, wherein he was the blushing captive. To America. Good god.
His heart calmed and his eyes eventually turned back to America, whose cheeks puffed out with a heavy exhale.
It wasn’t an issue, of course. Such a reality would require two impossibilities: that America was actually attracted to him, and that America was secretly evil. Both were equally unlikely.
England sighed, staring at America’s sleeping face with a light blush across his cheeks. A loud snort brought America out of his sleep, blinking slowly before he sighed and rolled his neck.
America looked at England silently for a moment before breaking into a boyish grin. “Did I snore?”
England sighed again and rolled onto his back.
So now he would have to face America all day with a dark sexual fantasy still fresh in his mind. Perfect.
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I'm sort of surprised England didn't tease more with the (American) stereotype about men who like musicals that much, but I guess that would have been too damn awkward.
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Cause it's more fun to watch him squirm! If he makes blatant gay jokes, America gets angry and defensive. But if he just prods him about owning musicals, America gets flustered and paranoid, worrying about the implications instead of fighting the accusation.
Uh, if that makes sense. *thinking about this too much*
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Haha I love the fact that England is such sore loser! It amused me a lot that he was the one retrieving all the lost marbles and that he threw part of the game on the couch in a huff!
I like how you handled the toilet trip, and oh man the bit about England rebuking himself for thinking about Americas bits made me laugh so much, seriously, I gave myself belly ache over it, it really tickled me! :D and his comment about America washing his hands forever, I love it!
Haha I notice that they have learned from their last meal, was probably wise to sit like that, wouldn't want any nasty pasta burns! And ha, England's really struggling with that mind of his! Hohoho. I totally approve! ~.^
And oh your entire description of England playing Guitar Hero was seriously lovely, I really enjoyed reading it. almost as much as America enjoyed the view!
The bit about the musicals made me laugh and the image of them both brushing their teeth at the same time is just too adorable!
Hehe England just keeps spacing out, his mind and that fantasy are taking over, especially in part 13, poor sod :P and oh my god Americas question about the boobs! Haha! Trust America! Gah i'm becoming more and more incoherent so i'll take that as my que to shut up!
I love it! Thank you so much for taking the time to fill :):):)
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I'm excited to get started on the rest. XD
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So now he would have to face America all day with a dark sexual fantasy still fresh in his mind. Perfect.
Cant wait!! XD
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I'm not that good at writing reviews so I won't make the attempt, but let me express my love for this fic in hearts: &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts&hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts &hearts
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So great, so so great.
You're building up such magnificent tension with this story, omg.
And your humor. Is. Hilarious.
This makes me think of the genius that was Act Natural--are you in any way involved in that, author!anon?
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Whoa. No, I am not. But I'm a big fan, so omg thanks! :D
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MOAR.
PLEASE ANON.
This is constructed perfectly. Kinky as hell but you've infused the confusing feelings and relationship that is USxUK. Can't get enough of this!! England is in such denial and yet he keeps looking!! $_$ need moar.
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