Re: The Height of Love
anonymous
July 16 2012, 05:02:27 UTC
“So?” England asked, oddly conversational as he leaned forward with a smile. “Do you like it?”
“It’s…” America started, unwilling to hurt the other’s feelings. It was, after all, British food, and he’d been hard-wired in the last two centuries to dislike it. That, of course, made it rather hard to eat with any sort of ‘impressed face’, but he did his best. “It’s pretty good, yeah!”
“So you really like it?” England confirmed, smiling all the wider. “Great! I guess that means we’ll be eating here more often, then!” He placed his hand on the table, a silent invitation for America to hold it, which he did without a second thought.
“Y-Yeah, that’s great,” America managed to bite out. Fortunately, England was paying more attention to America’s face than his tone, so he was safe from hurting the other’s feelings.
“You’ve got something on your face,” England teased, sitting forward with a smirk. “Shall I get it for you?”
“I-” America hesitated, glancing around the restaurant. Fortunately, as they hadn’t been arguing, they were drawing quite a bit less attention to themselves than normal, but there were still a few people staring at them. “Er… I… Sure?”
England was understandably put-out by the response. He sat back into his seat with a rather exasperated expression. “Honestly… it’s no fun if you don’t participate…”
“I-uh, that’s usually your job, and I didn’t want to impose on the whole ‘embarrassed title’ thing, so…” America muttered, his excuse falling flat.
“Hm.”
America started to sweat. Things weren’t going as plan, and if he didn’t act soon… He frowned at what would await him at the end of the day if things continued to go awry.
With a determined stare, he stood up, and before England could protest, crossed over to the other, grabbed him by the shirt, and kissed England firmly on the lips. When they broke apart, America grinned. “It’s not about not wanting to participate, hon.”
England matched his smile. “You’ve still got something on your face, you know.” However, before America could really figure out the statement, a napkin was pressed to his cheek, wiping off the crumbs with ease. “Better.”
America flushed pink. “That’s… You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered, sitting back down in his chair with what was most certainly not a pout. He kept himself from making any comments about England ‘mom’-ing him, as he’d learned from experience that it wasn’t a great idea.
“I’m allowed to fuss,” England said with a grin. “Now, if we’re finished?” He glanced over to a nearby waiter, who immediately came and offered them the bill, which was paid evenly by the nations, and a rather generous tip was left, courtesy of America.
-----
I know, anons. I know. But trust me, I’m getting to the actual ‘Heights!’ part. I promise. Just trying to put together the scene a bit more, playing around with options and...
Alright, fine, I'm anxious about getting to that part, too. I'll hurry up.
“It’s…” America started, unwilling to hurt the other’s feelings. It was, after all, British food, and he’d been hard-wired in the last two centuries to dislike it. That, of course, made it rather hard to eat with any sort of ‘impressed face’, but he did his best. “It’s pretty good, yeah!”
“So you really like it?” England confirmed, smiling all the wider. “Great! I guess that means we’ll be eating here more often, then!” He placed his hand on the table, a silent invitation for America to hold it, which he did without a second thought.
“Y-Yeah, that’s great,” America managed to bite out. Fortunately, England was paying more attention to America’s face than his tone, so he was safe from hurting the other’s feelings.
“You’ve got something on your face,” England teased, sitting forward with a smirk. “Shall I get it for you?”
“I-” America hesitated, glancing around the restaurant. Fortunately, as they hadn’t been arguing, they were drawing quite a bit less attention to themselves than normal, but there were still a few people staring at them. “Er… I… Sure?”
England was understandably put-out by the response. He sat back into his seat with a rather exasperated expression. “Honestly… it’s no fun if you don’t participate…”
“I-uh, that’s usually your job, and I didn’t want to impose on the whole ‘embarrassed title’ thing, so…” America muttered, his excuse falling flat.
“Hm.”
America started to sweat. Things weren’t going as plan, and if he didn’t act soon… He frowned at what would await him at the end of the day if things continued to go awry.
With a determined stare, he stood up, and before England could protest, crossed over to the other, grabbed him by the shirt, and kissed England firmly on the lips. When they broke apart, America grinned. “It’s not about not wanting to participate, hon.”
England matched his smile. “You’ve still got something on your face, you know.” However, before America could really figure out the statement, a napkin was pressed to his cheek, wiping off the crumbs with ease. “Better.”
America flushed pink. “That’s… You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered, sitting back down in his chair with what was most certainly not a pout. He kept himself from making any comments about England ‘mom’-ing him, as he’d learned from experience that it wasn’t a great idea.
“I’m allowed to fuss,” England said with a grin. “Now, if we’re finished?” He glanced over to a nearby waiter, who immediately came and offered them the bill, which was paid evenly by the nations, and a rather generous tip was left, courtesy of America.
-----
I know, anons. I know. But trust me, I’m getting to the actual ‘Heights!’ part. I promise. Just trying to put together the scene a bit more, playing around with options and...
Alright, fine, I'm anxious about getting to that part, too. I'll hurry up.
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