The Art of Seduction, as Executed by Two Anglophones [01/??]
anonymous
June 16 2011, 21:08:03 UTC
On normal days (unlike today, which America has decided is Very Not Normal) America notices how drab England looks. He doesn't mean drab in a horrible way, but he doesn't exactly mean that England is helping his case out. Suits at meetings? Fine. Suits or tuxs for formal flings? Sure. But wearing dress pants and old-man sweater vests at home? Drab! It's not like England's necessarily unattractive, once you get past the eyebrows. (Which, America cedes, might add to England's ... charm..? If that's what they're calling it nowadays.) America's never thought England is ugly; quite the contrary. He acknowledges that England is handsome, and rugged in his own stodgy British way, while still ... lean? (Is lean really the right word? America often considers the word slender, but it has too many effeminate connotations.) Granted, America has seen England dress down. He's completely capable of wearing regular old t-shirts, and jeans, and he has caught him wearing pajama pants the entire day, before. (Photos courtesy of Hungary, and filed away in America's top-secret Blackmail File.)
Despite this, America's never used the word attractive; at least not in a conscious manner.
Yet, he's also never used, consciously or subconsciously, the word-
Oh, he can barely bring himself to use it just in thought.
But right now, on this Very Not Normal day, England stands next to America at one of America's Dunkin Donuts. That's fine. That's normal. What's not normal is how the skin of England's arm is a literal hair's breadth apart from America's. The light hair on their arms tickles their skin, and America bites his tongue. Normally, England stands a decent half-foot away. Maybe … maybe it's just because of how crowded it is! Yeah, that's definitely it! America looks around the donut shop at all ... three other customers.
…Three's a crowd, right?
England moves just a little bit and their skin actually touches. America feels a light tease of heat pillow under his cheeks. Not enough to color them, but enough to make him glance away and focus, focus, FOCUS on the donuts. (Donuts are amazing, after all, and deserve reverent attention.)
"Can I help you, Sirs?"
America snaps out of his donut-induced reverie, and feels England step up in front of him to the register where a girl stands, awaiting their order.
Also on this Very Not Normal day, England isn't wearing his usual … ensemble. He has jeans on with a simple, black, leather belt (fine), and a t-shirt (also fine). He's wearing a fake dog tag necklace emblazoned with the UK's union flag (whatever) and he's wearing boots of some sort (that's fine, too!). He's got some kind of leather vest on, but it's nothing fancy! It's just … a plain, black, leather vest! And his t-shirt is just a plain, forest green, cotton t-shirt! It's probably a Hanes t-shirt! But England is gripping the counter so his fingers hang over the edge, and his shoulders rise up, leaving America to (subconsciously, of course), imagine the contours of England's back. Especially since England's jutted his hips back just enough, and he's crossed one leg behind the other.
The jeans, while not tight, aren't leaving very much to America's imagination. Then, England commits the worst crime.
He talks. He fucking talks.
America has no idea what's wrong with him. There's nothing wrong with how England's dressed. There's nothing wrong with how he's posed. There's nothing wrong with how he speaks! (Well, he supposes everything it up for debate, but this is more on a fundamental level.)
"Good morning, Luv," he says.
England is-for sure!-laying the accent on thick, and he's playing into American stereotypes. Stereotypes he repeatedly attempts to wipe out. He's speaking to this girl using colloquialisms America pretends to not understand most of the time, and the girl looks ready to explode as her eyes widen and her cheeks become so red that America can feel the heat from where he stands.
Despite this, America's never used the word attractive; at least not in a conscious manner.
Yet, he's also never used, consciously or subconsciously, the word-
Oh, he can barely bring himself to use it just in thought.
But right now, on this Very Not Normal day, England stands next to America at one of America's Dunkin Donuts. That's fine. That's normal. What's not normal is how the skin of England's arm is a literal hair's breadth apart from America's. The light hair on their arms tickles their skin, and America bites his tongue. Normally, England stands a decent half-foot away. Maybe … maybe it's just because of how crowded it is! Yeah, that's definitely it! America looks around the donut shop at all ... three other customers.
…Three's a crowd, right?
England moves just a little bit and their skin actually touches. America feels a light tease of heat pillow under his cheeks. Not enough to color them, but enough to make him glance away and focus, focus, FOCUS on the donuts. (Donuts are amazing, after all, and deserve reverent attention.)
"Can I help you, Sirs?"
America snaps out of his donut-induced reverie, and feels England step up in front of him to the register where a girl stands, awaiting their order.
Also on this Very Not Normal day, England isn't wearing his usual … ensemble. He has jeans on with a simple, black, leather belt (fine), and a t-shirt (also fine). He's wearing a fake dog tag necklace emblazoned with the UK's union flag (whatever) and he's wearing boots of some sort (that's fine, too!). He's got some kind of leather vest on, but it's nothing fancy! It's just … a plain, black, leather vest! And his t-shirt is just a plain, forest green, cotton t-shirt! It's probably a Hanes t-shirt! But England is gripping the counter so his fingers hang over the edge, and his shoulders rise up, leaving America to (subconsciously, of course), imagine the contours of England's back. Especially since England's jutted his hips back just enough, and he's crossed one leg behind the other.
The jeans, while not tight, aren't leaving very much to America's imagination. Then, England commits the worst crime.
He talks. He fucking talks.
America has no idea what's wrong with him. There's nothing wrong with how England's dressed. There's nothing wrong with how he's posed. There's nothing wrong with how he speaks! (Well, he supposes everything it up for debate, but this is more on a fundamental level.)
"Good morning, Luv," he says.
England is-for sure!-laying the accent on thick, and he's playing into American stereotypes. Stereotypes he repeatedly attempts to wipe out. He's speaking to this girl using colloquialisms America pretends to not understand most of the time, and the girl looks ready to explode as her eyes widen and her cheeks become so red that America can feel the heat from where he stands.
Still behind England.
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