Switch
Title: Switch
Genre: Romance/Fluff
Pairing(s): USUK
Word Count: 1,332
Rating/Warnings: 12, swearing
Summary: England had a day's holiday all planned. It was a shame that those plans wouldn't work out. Done for the ' holidaymaking' prompt of Sweethearts Week. Sequel to 'Sleeping On the Job'.
That morning England was jolted awake by the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. His phone alarm was set to vibrate to make sure that it wouldn't wake the sleeping America next to him. England froze, hoping that their closeness would not wake America up, before sliding slowly out from underneath America's arm and sliding one of the many pillows (England had no idea why America had about ten pillows at the top of his bed) into his arms instead.
Having managed to get up and out of the room without waking America, England took a second to feel pleased at his success before getting down to business. America's boss had, after much careful negotiation late last night, said that he would not bother America today unless there was a serious emergency. In exchange, England had promised never to call him at one o'clock in the morning again. However, England still had to sort out America's paperwork into the bits that could be put off until next week and the bits that could be put off until tomorrow. Luckily, England found nothing that had to put done today which meant that his plan for America to have the day off completely was going well so far.
"What the fuck are you doing, limey?" America's little friend's voice came from the study door and made England grit his teeth. He had to remember that fighting with America's alien wouldn't do anything to help America to have a stress-free, work-free day.
"Making sure that America does no work today. Do you know if McDonald's delivers?" England asked, sure that it would have something that was set up. He really did not want to leave America but knew that America would appreciate the gesture, especially when England usually hated fast food.
"No," the alien answered, without a swear word or an insult. "But I'll get some for lunch." England turned to him, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead. The alien doing him a favour was not something that he expected. "I'm doing it for America, not you," the alien answered England's unspoken question. That explained the strange niceness.
"Alright. I'm hoping that he will sleep late so we'll have a late breakfast and so lunch will be a bit later, like two o'clock. Get something of everything for America and either a salad or a fish for me."
"Why do you think I would get something for you?" The alien glared and England sighed. He did not have time for this and wished that the alien would just go away.
"Because how do you think America will feel when he's eating lunch and I'm eating something different because you didn't get me anything?" The alien's glare trebled but England knew that he had won the argument when the alien moved out of the study and let the door shut behind him.
Now America had a work-free day, his favourite meal for lunch and he would have some of his disgustingly sweet Pop-Tarts for breakfast with coffee. Although England would love to cook breakfast in bed for America, he was trying to make the day all about him and England knew that America would hate whatever he cooked. There were several films for America to choose to watch and for dinner, there was food ordered in for one of the restaurants from down the road.
"Oi, limey, America's waking up," the alien hissed through the crack in the door and England jumped to his feet.
"Alright, I'm coming." England shoved the piles of papers behind the armchair in the study. Even if America refused to relax (which wasn't very likely), he was not going to do any work. That finished, England sprinted in a rather undignified manner down the hall to the kitchen where the Pop-Tarts and coffee were both done. Carrying America's breakfast up the stairs meant that he had to go a little slower but at least America would not be leaving his bed. He lay in bed for at least ten minutes before getting up.
England pushed open the bedroom door with his shoulder.
"America, love, I have something..." England was interrupted by a pitiful groan and he pushed the door open to see America curled up on the bed, his face screwed up in discomfort and one hand curled around his stomach. Putting the breakfast on the chest of drawers, England hurried to America's side. "What's wrong?"
"Think the meat I had yesterday was gone off. My stomach's in knots," America groaned. America's stomach was made of iron, at least according to nation gossip, and so the meat really must have been bad to have this effect. England stroked America's hair back from his face and crooned uselessly.
"You just stay in bed, I'm going to get some water and something to settle your stomach." England gave America a kiss on the cheek before taking the coffee and Pop-Tart and leaving the bedroom to the sounds of America having to rush to the bathroom. Maybe America's day off won't be spent like England had planned it, but at least he would get some rest.
When England came back into America's bedroom, armed with some dry toast and some water, he found the other nation feverishly looking around his bedroom as if in search of something.
"America, what are you doing?" England demanded. He knew that he should not be shouting at an ill person, especially when that person was his boyfriend and England was the only one available to take care of him, but he wanted to know why America was causing himself discomfort by rushing around like that.
"I have all these papers to do and I can't find them! England, have you seen the fax from my boss?" America looked really worried and England wondered what had caused this turnabout. America worked hard, this England knew, but he had never been driven to this level of worry about it. That was England's way.
"America, get back into bed. I have talked to your boss and there is nothing that could not wait until tomorrow. You have food poisoning and so anything you do will have to be done again anyway when you're coherent." America started to slow his frantic searching but he still looked very lost and confused.
"England, I don't understand, you were here and I was working and it was cold." America scrubbed a hand over his face and seemed to be trying to make sense of everything. "I think I need to sleep."
"An excellent idea," England said briskly, putting the water and toast down on America's bedside table and shooing America himself into bed. "You need to rest. You have the day off and you will spend it resting whether I have to sit on you or strap you to the bed."
"Sounds kinky," America murmured, his eyes fluttering shut and England pulled the covers over him, before positioning a bowl that he had grabbed from the kitchen next to America's bed.
"At least you're still up for joking. Bowl's right beside your bed if you need it." England started to pull away but a strong grip on his forearm prevented him from withdrawing completely. America's eyes were open again and were staring pleadingly up at England.
"Please stay." Unable to resist America, especially a sick America, England nodded and took off his shoes and his belt before crawling into bed beside America. America curled into his side with a contented sigh and England was strongly reminded of last night. "You know, even with the horrible stomach cramps, this is a pretty good holiday so far," America said quietly, his face pushed into England's shoulder so England could feel every single breath.
Knowing what America meant, England looped an arm around America's shoulder and moved closer to him.
"Me too." The two of the them fell asleep like that and not even the swearing alien with a pile of McDonald's food woke them up.
Don't particularly like Tony so writing him was interesting. Also, America was not meant to get sick, it just happened. But you always get sick on your day off so I left it in.
Genre: Romance/Fluff
Pairing(s): USUK
Word Count: 1,332
Rating/Warnings: 12, swearing
Summary: England had a day's holiday all planned. It was a shame that those plans wouldn't work out. Done for the ' holidaymaking' prompt of Sweethearts Week. Sequel to 'Sleeping On the Job'.
That morning England was jolted awake by the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. His phone alarm was set to vibrate to make sure that it wouldn't wake the sleeping America next to him. England froze, hoping that their closeness would not wake America up, before sliding slowly out from underneath America's arm and sliding one of the many pillows (England had no idea why America had about ten pillows at the top of his bed) into his arms instead.
Having managed to get up and out of the room without waking America, England took a second to feel pleased at his success before getting down to business. America's boss had, after much careful negotiation late last night, said that he would not bother America today unless there was a serious emergency. In exchange, England had promised never to call him at one o'clock in the morning again. However, England still had to sort out America's paperwork into the bits that could be put off until next week and the bits that could be put off until tomorrow. Luckily, England found nothing that had to put done today which meant that his plan for America to have the day off completely was going well so far.
"What the fuck are you doing, limey?" America's little friend's voice came from the study door and made England grit his teeth. He had to remember that fighting with America's alien wouldn't do anything to help America to have a stress-free, work-free day.
"Making sure that America does no work today. Do you know if McDonald's delivers?" England asked, sure that it would have something that was set up. He really did not want to leave America but knew that America would appreciate the gesture, especially when England usually hated fast food.
"No," the alien answered, without a swear word or an insult. "But I'll get some for lunch." England turned to him, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead. The alien doing him a favour was not something that he expected. "I'm doing it for America, not you," the alien answered England's unspoken question. That explained the strange niceness.
"Alright. I'm hoping that he will sleep late so we'll have a late breakfast and so lunch will be a bit later, like two o'clock. Get something of everything for America and either a salad or a fish for me."
"Why do you think I would get something for you?" The alien glared and England sighed. He did not have time for this and wished that the alien would just go away.
"Because how do you think America will feel when he's eating lunch and I'm eating something different because you didn't get me anything?" The alien's glare trebled but England knew that he had won the argument when the alien moved out of the study and let the door shut behind him.
Now America had a work-free day, his favourite meal for lunch and he would have some of his disgustingly sweet Pop-Tarts for breakfast with coffee. Although England would love to cook breakfast in bed for America, he was trying to make the day all about him and England knew that America would hate whatever he cooked. There were several films for America to choose to watch and for dinner, there was food ordered in for one of the restaurants from down the road.
"Oi, limey, America's waking up," the alien hissed through the crack in the door and England jumped to his feet.
"Alright, I'm coming." England shoved the piles of papers behind the armchair in the study. Even if America refused to relax (which wasn't very likely), he was not going to do any work. That finished, England sprinted in a rather undignified manner down the hall to the kitchen where the Pop-Tarts and coffee were both done. Carrying America's breakfast up the stairs meant that he had to go a little slower but at least America would not be leaving his bed. He lay in bed for at least ten minutes before getting up.
England pushed open the bedroom door with his shoulder.
"America, love, I have something..." England was interrupted by a pitiful groan and he pushed the door open to see America curled up on the bed, his face screwed up in discomfort and one hand curled around his stomach. Putting the breakfast on the chest of drawers, England hurried to America's side. "What's wrong?"
"Think the meat I had yesterday was gone off. My stomach's in knots," America groaned. America's stomach was made of iron, at least according to nation gossip, and so the meat really must have been bad to have this effect. England stroked America's hair back from his face and crooned uselessly.
"You just stay in bed, I'm going to get some water and something to settle your stomach." England gave America a kiss on the cheek before taking the coffee and Pop-Tart and leaving the bedroom to the sounds of America having to rush to the bathroom. Maybe America's day off won't be spent like England had planned it, but at least he would get some rest.
When England came back into America's bedroom, armed with some dry toast and some water, he found the other nation feverishly looking around his bedroom as if in search of something.
"America, what are you doing?" England demanded. He knew that he should not be shouting at an ill person, especially when that person was his boyfriend and England was the only one available to take care of him, but he wanted to know why America was causing himself discomfort by rushing around like that.
"I have all these papers to do and I can't find them! England, have you seen the fax from my boss?" America looked really worried and England wondered what had caused this turnabout. America worked hard, this England knew, but he had never been driven to this level of worry about it. That was England's way.
"America, get back into bed. I have talked to your boss and there is nothing that could not wait until tomorrow. You have food poisoning and so anything you do will have to be done again anyway when you're coherent." America started to slow his frantic searching but he still looked very lost and confused.
"England, I don't understand, you were here and I was working and it was cold." America scrubbed a hand over his face and seemed to be trying to make sense of everything. "I think I need to sleep."
"An excellent idea," England said briskly, putting the water and toast down on America's bedside table and shooing America himself into bed. "You need to rest. You have the day off and you will spend it resting whether I have to sit on you or strap you to the bed."
"Sounds kinky," America murmured, his eyes fluttering shut and England pulled the covers over him, before positioning a bowl that he had grabbed from the kitchen next to America's bed.
"At least you're still up for joking. Bowl's right beside your bed if you need it." England started to pull away but a strong grip on his forearm prevented him from withdrawing completely. America's eyes were open again and were staring pleadingly up at England.
"Please stay." Unable to resist America, especially a sick America, England nodded and took off his shoes and his belt before crawling into bed beside America. America curled into his side with a contented sigh and England was strongly reminded of last night. "You know, even with the horrible stomach cramps, this is a pretty good holiday so far," America said quietly, his face pushed into England's shoulder so England could feel every single breath.
Knowing what America meant, England looped an arm around America's shoulder and moved closer to him.
"Me too." The two of the them fell asleep like that and not even the swearing alien with a pile of McDonald's food woke them up.
Don't particularly like Tony so writing him was interesting. Also, America was not meant to get sick, it just happened. But you always get sick on your day off so I left it in.