A Proper Lady
anonymous
January 14 2009, 19:20:05 UTC
It’s been little a while since then and England finds himself outside of America’s house, staring up at the tall pillars in front of the door. The house seems just as large as the last time he visited (and America told England to let her take him down to the fields- just for a little, nothing to worry about). He has to take another moment for himself before he knocks.
When America answers the door, she’s wearing tiny jean shorts, a white tank top with a black bra underneath, and flip flops. Arthur feels his face heat up and his stomach do some sort of pleasant summersault. He’s reminded of the times when Alice stayed with him and he was constantly stumbling across her in her night clothes- a too-large button down shirt and underwear- and he would clear his throat and tell her that she‘d get sick if she ran around like that at night all the time.
They end up in the living room with some whiskey and smokes. Alice looks at Arthur curiously before speaking. “How’s it been?”
Instead of a proper greeting, the first words out of Arthur’s mouth are, “Where in the world did you learn to dress like that?” He almost wants to take his words back and apologize because that was very rude of him (even if it was true), but Alice is laughing and he shifts awkwardly on the couch when she leans over and grabs her cup of whiskey. He gets an eye-full of cleavage and Arthur silently wonders how long the blood will stay in his head.
“It’s good to see you too.” Alice sits back up and sips her drink, one ankle crossed over her knee. It’s not how a woman should be crossing her legs.
Arthur sighs and slumps back against the couch. “I think you are long overdue for instructions on how a lady should act.“ He sees Alice sit forward and determinedly keeps his eyes trained on her face. “Or dress at the very least.”
Something sparkles in Alice’s eye when she responds, “Go ahead. I’ve got all day.”
That startles England a little bit, and he sits on the couch with his hands on his knees, fingers drumming for a moment as he makes his decision. Finally, England stands and walks over to America’s side of the coffee table. “First of all,” He begins and urges America into a more proper sitting position, one hand on her shoulder, one on her lower back, “a lady should sit up straight.” Alice just chuckles quietly and takes another sip of her whiskey.
“Second,” Here England gently lifts her ankle and sets one hand on her knee, “you cross your ankles. Not your legs.” Alice watches him silently, eyes twinkling and Arthur feels a little less sure of the situation. He doesn’t show it.
“As for what you’re wearing, a black bra under a white shir-- ghk.” Arthur’s brain short-circuits, takes a trip to space, then crashes back down into his head. Alice is palming him through his pants and smiling at him as if what she was doing was perfectly innocent. He moves away with a jerk, grabbing Alice’s wrists in one of his hands. Silently, Arthur is glad that Alice allows herself to be caught.
When America answers the door, she’s wearing tiny jean shorts, a white tank top with a black bra underneath, and flip flops. Arthur feels his face heat up and his stomach do some sort of pleasant summersault. He’s reminded of the times when Alice stayed with him and he was constantly stumbling across her in her night clothes- a too-large button down shirt and underwear- and he would clear his throat and tell her that she‘d get sick if she ran around like that at night all the time.
They end up in the living room with some whiskey and smokes. Alice looks at Arthur curiously before speaking. “How’s it been?”
Instead of a proper greeting, the first words out of Arthur’s mouth are, “Where in the world did you learn to dress like that?” He almost wants to take his words back and apologize because that was very rude of him (even if it was true), but Alice is laughing and he shifts awkwardly on the couch when she leans over and grabs her cup of whiskey. He gets an eye-full of cleavage and Arthur silently wonders how long the blood will stay in his head.
“It’s good to see you too.” Alice sits back up and sips her drink, one ankle crossed over her knee. It’s not how a woman should be crossing her legs.
Arthur sighs and slumps back against the couch. “I think you are long overdue for instructions on how a lady should act.“ He sees Alice sit forward and determinedly keeps his eyes trained on her face. “Or dress at the very least.”
Something sparkles in Alice’s eye when she responds, “Go ahead. I’ve got all day.”
That startles England a little bit, and he sits on the couch with his hands on his knees, fingers drumming for a moment as he makes his decision. Finally, England stands and walks over to America’s side of the coffee table. “First of all,” He begins and urges America into a more proper sitting position, one hand on her shoulder, one on her lower back, “a lady should sit up straight.” Alice just chuckles quietly and takes another sip of her whiskey.
“Second,” Here England gently lifts her ankle and sets one hand on her knee, “you cross your ankles. Not your legs.” Alice watches him silently, eyes twinkling and Arthur feels a little less sure of the situation. He doesn’t show it.
“As for what you’re wearing, a black bra under a white shir-- ghk.” Arthur’s brain short-circuits, takes a trip to space, then crashes back down into his head. Alice is palming him through his pants and smiling at him as if what she was doing was perfectly innocent. He moves away with a jerk, grabbing Alice’s wrists in one of his hands. Silently, Arthur is glad that Alice allows herself to be caught.
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