[Fanfiction] August
The sand was baked warm by the sun, but America’s feet and ankles were still cold from the chill of the surf as he jogged back over it to fling himself down on the towel beside England. England scowled at him and scooted away like he might get contaminated by America’s salt-wet skin, only to bury his nose in his book again. He was reading something boring, not even a novel or anything, a book about economics or something. (It wasn’t like America didn’t read his share of those, but at the beach? Come on.) England’s shoulders were red with sunburn, his nose flushed and rosy with it. America grinned and wondered if he’d get freckles from it later on. “You need to wear more sunscreen,” he said, and reached forward to push the spine of England’s book down so he could poke him on the nose.
England sputtered defensively and closed his book on his own finger to knock America’s hand away. “That hurts, you bloody git,” he snapped. “That skin is very sensitive.”
“That’s why you should wear sunscreen, England,” America said, shaking his head.
“I am wearing sunscreen,” England snapped. “My skin simply burns easily. It’s very unpleasant, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harp on it, or anything of that nature-”
“Just worried about you,” America said, still grinning, and watched in amusement as England flushed an even deeper red over his cheeks before he reached down and grabbed England’s hand, tugging him up to his feet in one easy motion. England yelped, stumbling after America as he dragged him down toward the surf, his book still in his hand. “Come onnn, England,” America added.
England sputtered and dropped his book in the sand at the edge of his towel. He looked back at it distractedly, but America kept tugging, and eventually he let America drag him down into the water. He yelped again as his bare feet splashed into it. “It’s bloody cold,” he half-growled, half-yelped.
“’Course it is, England,” America laughed. “It’s the Oregon coast. But you should be used to that-I bet your ocean is cold all the time.”
England scowled. “I simply wasn’t expecting it,” he said with great dignity. He even lifted his chin. “I’m quite accustomed to chill water, of course.”
“See?” America said. “I knew it. You used to be a pirate and all, right? This is awesome pirating territory.”
He smirked as England flushed lightly. “I’ll have you know it all was for the good of crown and country-” he started.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” America said. “I know, I know, you were a hero pirate. That just makes it even more badass and awesome!”
England looked away. “You think so?” he said so in a low tone.
“Don’t be dumb, of course I do,” America retorted, and squeezed England’s hand, kicking up water with his heel.
England coughed, clearing his throat, his cheeks still flushed a deep red beneath the sunburn. “Good lord, it’s cold,” he said, “what do you typically do here? You obviously can’t bathe in it, or anything of the sort-”
“You mean swim?” America laughed. “Yeah, not here. Not without a wetsuit, really. But c’mon, there’s this tidepool I want to show you-it’s amazing, and there’s this incredible nudibranch!”
“An incredible what?” England followed America as he started toward the rocks on the other side of the beach, sounding mystified.
“A nudibranch!” America replied, breaking into a run. The surf splashed pleasantly up around his ankles, startlingly cold against his sun-warmed skin. He waved ahead at the rocks. “You know, a sea slug! They show up every once in a while in tidepools around here, but I haven’t seen one for a while, and this one is really cool looking. I want you to see it.” He scrambled up the rock in his bare feet, ignoring the scrape of barnacles against the toughened callus, and reached his hand down to England. When he took it, looking dubious, America set his foot in a small flat shelf of rock and pulled him up, gripping his elbow, then sliding his arm around his back to hoist him up and into his arms.
“What the bloody-in the name of Good Queen-what do you think you’re doing?” England spluttered. America just grinned and squeezed his arms around him slightly before he put him down on the rocks above him, steadying him carefully until he was sure he’d gotten his balance, then clambering up beside him. He slung one arm around England’s shoulders and peered down into the tidepool, then pointed. “Look, over there! In between those two sea anemones-see, the purple one?-there it is! It’s a Dirona albolineata, an ‘alabaster’ nudibranch. Isn’t it pretty?”
It was floating along above the seaweed, just under the surface of the water close to the two anemones. It was about three inches long and a soft, translucent white color, with small protrusions like outlined in white all along what passed for it’s back. America looked excitedly over at England. “Do you see it?” he said. “So cool. I knew I’d find something awesome; it’s such a low tide!”
England blinked, peering across at it. “How . . . odd,” he said. “It is a rather attractive color, though, isn’t it?”
America could feel himself grinning at that. “Yeah!” he burst out. “Don’t you think it’s pretty, England?” His cheeks warmed. “I thought it was like, I don’t know . . . sort of like one of your imaginary fairy friends or something, since it almost looks like it’s glowing? Or, well, I dunno. Something like that. Anyway, I really wanted you to see it.” Was he babbling? he wondered. His own cheeks felt hot now.
England’s face was flushed as well, and he looked down. “I . . . I see,” he said. “That’s . . . well, it’s quite lovely, America.” He reached down and wrapped his hand around America’s, squeezing tightly. His slim, callused hand felt dry and warm against America’s damply chilled one, fitting perfectly in his palm. America’s cheeks burned, and he swallowed quickly.
“I’m really glad you think so, England,” he said. They both stood and watched in silence as the nudibranch drifted around the tidepool, the silence only occasionally broken by America rattling off facts about the creature and what it was doing. Eventually, England slid closer on the rock and laid his head hesitantly against America’s shoulder, letting his reddened cheek rest on America’s bare skin. He could feel the warm dampness of England’s breath as it feathered over his shoulder, against his neck, the soft touch of his unruly hair. He slid his arm around England’s waist, warm and solid and just a bit damp with sweat, feeling his breath under his hand, and smiled to himself. He had a feeling the smile was incredibly dopey, but he didn’t care.
-------
America woke up to the sound of a familiar voice making a strange noise that was half growl, half groan. He blinked his eyes open blearily to see England’s back in front of him, so close that the tiny pinstripes on his pajamas weren’t even blurry. America yawned and blinked more sleep out of his eyes to get a better look. The morning sun was still soft and slanting in through their hotel window. The smell of salt had permeated even their small room.
England was, in fact, sitting on the edge of their shared hotel bed, carefully tugging the cloth of his striped pajama top away from the skin of his back in short, painful-looking jerks. America wriggled over under the blankets and wrapped his arms around England’s waist, ducking his head to press a kiss to the small strip of skin left bare where his pajama top had ridden up. It felt very warm beneath his lips, and radiated warmth against his skin when he turned his cheek to press it close against the same spot.
England jumped, making the cutest little yelp ever, America was pretty sure, a start of surprise going through his muscles, then going still again after a moment, his muscles relaxing another moment later. “Good lord, America, you bloody well startled me,” he said after a moment, his voice sounding sour and tense, with a slight bite to it.
America slid his hands around England’s front, crossing them over his stomach. “Good morning to you, too, England,” he said, grinning against his skin.
“It fucking well is not,” England muttered. “I’ve got the most hideous sunburn, I’ll have you know. If only we’d come in a bit sooner, but no, we had to stay out on the beach and play in the surf for another four hours-”
America laughed and shook his head. “You are such a grouch,” he said, and pressed another kiss to England’s warm skin before he sat up, pushing back his blankets and shivering as the morning air hit the bare skin of his chest and shoulders above his boxers. He crawled around England to slide his own legs over the edge of the bed and leaned forward to start undoing the buttons of England’s pajama top. “First things first,” he said. “Let’s get this off you, ‘cause the cloth touching the burn will only make it worse.”
England grumbled but didn’t pull away, allowing America to quickly unbutton the shirt and pull it off him. America was careful to be gentle, seeing where England’s skin was bright red and painful looking, all over his shoulders and down his back. He balled up the shirt and tossed it onto the couch behind them.
“Now lie down,” he said. “I’m going to get some aloe for your back and stuff. Just lie on your stomach, okay?” He stifled a yawn behind his hand and slid off the bed to pad sleepily into the bathroom and riffle through his supplies until he’d located the aloe gel. He came back to see that England had folded his pajama top and put it on top of his suitcase but also had lain down obediently on the bed, resting his head on his crossed arms. He craned his neck up to look at America as America came and sat cross-legged on the bed beside him.
“I am sorry I woke you,” England said gruffly. “I didn’t intend to. You seemed to be sleeping deeply, and I-”
America shrugged. “What kind of hero would I be if I slept through you being in pain?” he asked. “Now shush up and hold still, okay?” He squirted the cool aloe onto his fingers and began rubbing it in carefully the angriest looking red over the top of England’s shoulders, down into his back, tracing his fingers over the lines of muscle and bone as gently as he could. Sore as it was, he still found England’s back rather distracting, the strength in it, lean muscle flat and close to the bone, giving England’s slim build a sturdy, solid look. But the redness of the sunburn, in contrast to England’s usual paleness threw the thin white lines of old scars into higher relief, and America felt himself frowning unhappily as he traced them with his fingers. So many old scars, and so many that weren’t that old at all, considering. It was totally unfair. This was why he hated seeing England hurt at all, even with a little thing like a sunburn.
England sighed, and the tense muscles in his shoulders loosened and relaxed as the cool aloe began to soak in. “Ah,” he said, and despite the control in his voice, it rasped with a slight groan of relief. “Yes, that’s much better.” He sighed and burrowed his head into the pillow between his crossed arms. “Thank you, America.”
“No problem, England!” America said, sliding his fingers down England’s spine, then over his sides, before wiping them off on his own boxers and leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of England’s head. England blushed and lifted his head to peer out over his arm, back at him. America grinned at him, his grin only widening at England’s heightened flush. “You’re resting inside today,” he said. “And you’re going to be drinking lots of water, to make sure you don’t get dehydrated or anything.”
“I’m sure I’ll be all right,” England said briskly, then looked away. “I have you taking care of me, at any rate,” he said in a quick, gruffly low tone.
America beamed, feeling warm all over himself now, like he’d been the one with a sunburn. He stroked his hand through England’s hair, ruffling it a bit. “You bet!” he said. “Your very own American hero, right here! Though you’d better not ask me to read that boring book for you.”
He could hear England’s slight chuckle, see the edge of his smile, even though he muffled and hid both in the pillow, and grinned even more to himself, biting the inside of his lip a little, because England had laughed, and inside his chest felt as warm and sunny as the brightening morning outside.
Oh, yeah, vacations with England were the best.
England sputtered defensively and closed his book on his own finger to knock America’s hand away. “That hurts, you bloody git,” he snapped. “That skin is very sensitive.”
“That’s why you should wear sunscreen, England,” America said, shaking his head.
“I am wearing sunscreen,” England snapped. “My skin simply burns easily. It’s very unpleasant, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harp on it, or anything of that nature-”
“Just worried about you,” America said, still grinning, and watched in amusement as England flushed an even deeper red over his cheeks before he reached down and grabbed England’s hand, tugging him up to his feet in one easy motion. England yelped, stumbling after America as he dragged him down toward the surf, his book still in his hand. “Come onnn, England,” America added.
England sputtered and dropped his book in the sand at the edge of his towel. He looked back at it distractedly, but America kept tugging, and eventually he let America drag him down into the water. He yelped again as his bare feet splashed into it. “It’s bloody cold,” he half-growled, half-yelped.
“’Course it is, England,” America laughed. “It’s the Oregon coast. But you should be used to that-I bet your ocean is cold all the time.”
England scowled. “I simply wasn’t expecting it,” he said with great dignity. He even lifted his chin. “I’m quite accustomed to chill water, of course.”
“See?” America said. “I knew it. You used to be a pirate and all, right? This is awesome pirating territory.”
He smirked as England flushed lightly. “I’ll have you know it all was for the good of crown and country-” he started.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” America said. “I know, I know, you were a hero pirate. That just makes it even more badass and awesome!”
England looked away. “You think so?” he said so in a low tone.
“Don’t be dumb, of course I do,” America retorted, and squeezed England’s hand, kicking up water with his heel.
England coughed, clearing his throat, his cheeks still flushed a deep red beneath the sunburn. “Good lord, it’s cold,” he said, “what do you typically do here? You obviously can’t bathe in it, or anything of the sort-”
“You mean swim?” America laughed. “Yeah, not here. Not without a wetsuit, really. But c’mon, there’s this tidepool I want to show you-it’s amazing, and there’s this incredible nudibranch!”
“An incredible what?” England followed America as he started toward the rocks on the other side of the beach, sounding mystified.
“A nudibranch!” America replied, breaking into a run. The surf splashed pleasantly up around his ankles, startlingly cold against his sun-warmed skin. He waved ahead at the rocks. “You know, a sea slug! They show up every once in a while in tidepools around here, but I haven’t seen one for a while, and this one is really cool looking. I want you to see it.” He scrambled up the rock in his bare feet, ignoring the scrape of barnacles against the toughened callus, and reached his hand down to England. When he took it, looking dubious, America set his foot in a small flat shelf of rock and pulled him up, gripping his elbow, then sliding his arm around his back to hoist him up and into his arms.
“What the bloody-in the name of Good Queen-what do you think you’re doing?” England spluttered. America just grinned and squeezed his arms around him slightly before he put him down on the rocks above him, steadying him carefully until he was sure he’d gotten his balance, then clambering up beside him. He slung one arm around England’s shoulders and peered down into the tidepool, then pointed. “Look, over there! In between those two sea anemones-see, the purple one?-there it is! It’s a Dirona albolineata, an ‘alabaster’ nudibranch. Isn’t it pretty?”
It was floating along above the seaweed, just under the surface of the water close to the two anemones. It was about three inches long and a soft, translucent white color, with small protrusions like outlined in white all along what passed for it’s back. America looked excitedly over at England. “Do you see it?” he said. “So cool. I knew I’d find something awesome; it’s such a low tide!”
England blinked, peering across at it. “How . . . odd,” he said. “It is a rather attractive color, though, isn’t it?”
America could feel himself grinning at that. “Yeah!” he burst out. “Don’t you think it’s pretty, England?” His cheeks warmed. “I thought it was like, I don’t know . . . sort of like one of your imaginary fairy friends or something, since it almost looks like it’s glowing? Or, well, I dunno. Something like that. Anyway, I really wanted you to see it.” Was he babbling? he wondered. His own cheeks felt hot now.
England’s face was flushed as well, and he looked down. “I . . . I see,” he said. “That’s . . . well, it’s quite lovely, America.” He reached down and wrapped his hand around America’s, squeezing tightly. His slim, callused hand felt dry and warm against America’s damply chilled one, fitting perfectly in his palm. America’s cheeks burned, and he swallowed quickly.
“I’m really glad you think so, England,” he said. They both stood and watched in silence as the nudibranch drifted around the tidepool, the silence only occasionally broken by America rattling off facts about the creature and what it was doing. Eventually, England slid closer on the rock and laid his head hesitantly against America’s shoulder, letting his reddened cheek rest on America’s bare skin. He could feel the warm dampness of England’s breath as it feathered over his shoulder, against his neck, the soft touch of his unruly hair. He slid his arm around England’s waist, warm and solid and just a bit damp with sweat, feeling his breath under his hand, and smiled to himself. He had a feeling the smile was incredibly dopey, but he didn’t care.
-------
America woke up to the sound of a familiar voice making a strange noise that was half growl, half groan. He blinked his eyes open blearily to see England’s back in front of him, so close that the tiny pinstripes on his pajamas weren’t even blurry. America yawned and blinked more sleep out of his eyes to get a better look. The morning sun was still soft and slanting in through their hotel window. The smell of salt had permeated even their small room.
England was, in fact, sitting on the edge of their shared hotel bed, carefully tugging the cloth of his striped pajama top away from the skin of his back in short, painful-looking jerks. America wriggled over under the blankets and wrapped his arms around England’s waist, ducking his head to press a kiss to the small strip of skin left bare where his pajama top had ridden up. It felt very warm beneath his lips, and radiated warmth against his skin when he turned his cheek to press it close against the same spot.
England jumped, making the cutest little yelp ever, America was pretty sure, a start of surprise going through his muscles, then going still again after a moment, his muscles relaxing another moment later. “Good lord, America, you bloody well startled me,” he said after a moment, his voice sounding sour and tense, with a slight bite to it.
America slid his hands around England’s front, crossing them over his stomach. “Good morning to you, too, England,” he said, grinning against his skin.
“It fucking well is not,” England muttered. “I’ve got the most hideous sunburn, I’ll have you know. If only we’d come in a bit sooner, but no, we had to stay out on the beach and play in the surf for another four hours-”
America laughed and shook his head. “You are such a grouch,” he said, and pressed another kiss to England’s warm skin before he sat up, pushing back his blankets and shivering as the morning air hit the bare skin of his chest and shoulders above his boxers. He crawled around England to slide his own legs over the edge of the bed and leaned forward to start undoing the buttons of England’s pajama top. “First things first,” he said. “Let’s get this off you, ‘cause the cloth touching the burn will only make it worse.”
England grumbled but didn’t pull away, allowing America to quickly unbutton the shirt and pull it off him. America was careful to be gentle, seeing where England’s skin was bright red and painful looking, all over his shoulders and down his back. He balled up the shirt and tossed it onto the couch behind them.
“Now lie down,” he said. “I’m going to get some aloe for your back and stuff. Just lie on your stomach, okay?” He stifled a yawn behind his hand and slid off the bed to pad sleepily into the bathroom and riffle through his supplies until he’d located the aloe gel. He came back to see that England had folded his pajama top and put it on top of his suitcase but also had lain down obediently on the bed, resting his head on his crossed arms. He craned his neck up to look at America as America came and sat cross-legged on the bed beside him.
“I am sorry I woke you,” England said gruffly. “I didn’t intend to. You seemed to be sleeping deeply, and I-”
America shrugged. “What kind of hero would I be if I slept through you being in pain?” he asked. “Now shush up and hold still, okay?” He squirted the cool aloe onto his fingers and began rubbing it in carefully the angriest looking red over the top of England’s shoulders, down into his back, tracing his fingers over the lines of muscle and bone as gently as he could. Sore as it was, he still found England’s back rather distracting, the strength in it, lean muscle flat and close to the bone, giving England’s slim build a sturdy, solid look. But the redness of the sunburn, in contrast to England’s usual paleness threw the thin white lines of old scars into higher relief, and America felt himself frowning unhappily as he traced them with his fingers. So many old scars, and so many that weren’t that old at all, considering. It was totally unfair. This was why he hated seeing England hurt at all, even with a little thing like a sunburn.
England sighed, and the tense muscles in his shoulders loosened and relaxed as the cool aloe began to soak in. “Ah,” he said, and despite the control in his voice, it rasped with a slight groan of relief. “Yes, that’s much better.” He sighed and burrowed his head into the pillow between his crossed arms. “Thank you, America.”
“No problem, England!” America said, sliding his fingers down England’s spine, then over his sides, before wiping them off on his own boxers and leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of England’s head. England blushed and lifted his head to peer out over his arm, back at him. America grinned at him, his grin only widening at England’s heightened flush. “You’re resting inside today,” he said. “And you’re going to be drinking lots of water, to make sure you don’t get dehydrated or anything.”
“I’m sure I’ll be all right,” England said briskly, then looked away. “I have you taking care of me, at any rate,” he said in a quick, gruffly low tone.
America beamed, feeling warm all over himself now, like he’d been the one with a sunburn. He stroked his hand through England’s hair, ruffling it a bit. “You bet!” he said. “Your very own American hero, right here! Though you’d better not ask me to read that boring book for you.”
He could hear England’s slight chuckle, see the edge of his smile, even though he muffled and hid both in the pillow, and grinned even more to himself, biting the inside of his lip a little, because England had laughed, and inside his chest felt as warm and sunny as the brightening morning outside.
Oh, yeah, vacations with England were the best.