Just a Visit
America didn’t usually get lonely. He was a friendly sort of guy, and usually he was pretty much at home wherever he found himself. He liked people, especially his own people! And he always felt at home with them. But sometimes when he got home, well, he kind of felt a little . . . lonely. Not lonely in general, but general for someone in particular. That being England.
Usually it wasn’t too bad. He was still at home, where he belonged, still in his own country-he could always go out and talk to his people or play a video game or two with Tony, after all. Sometimes, though, he just . . . well, he missed England, himself, and there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about that. He could call him, and he did, a lot. And hearing his voice was good! But sometimes it just wasn’t enough. America knew he was a pretty physical person, and sometimes, well . . . he just wanted to hug his boyfriend, and smell his hair, and just . . . everything, and talking to him over the phone wasn’t enough by a long shot. Hugging a pillow didn’t exactly make up for not having his arms around England at night. Being with England totally made up for all the plane trips back and forth (and hey, he liked flying, so that was a plus). But England didn’t like flying so much, and sometimes America just wanted to be with him in New York or DC.
So when he called England that afternoon, he was expecting he’d have to convince him to come visit him that weekend. But when England picked up the phone, the first thing he said after they’d exchanged greetings was, “Are you busy this weekend, America?”
America smiled at the way he put the emphasis on the second part of the word-the week end. “Nope!” he said. “Nothing going on. So far. I mean, I was hoping I could convince you to fly over, or something, but, yanno, nothing else.”
“Oh,” England said, and then, “I . . . I think that would be possible. I’ll get the tickets then, shall I?”
“Woohoo!” America shouted into the phone, jumping to his feet to pump his fist in the air, only to be scolded by England by the next few minutes straight for it. But America could hear the smile in England’s voice and tell he wasn’t really mad.
And it was totally worth it, anyway, to have England there in not even three whole days. America counted down the hours until he was there picking England up from the airport, even though England grumbled the entire way home about the flight, as usual. Finally America put down England’s bags, stretched, and then he could reach out and slide his arms around England and hug him tightly to his chest. England’s hair smelled sweet and windswept and was a little flat from the flight, and America pressed his nose into it and took a deep breath and squeezed his arms tight around England’s waist until England sputtered and griped at him for hugging him too tightly. But when he pulled away, England was smiling, a slight blush rising over his cheeks. America smiled, too, and dipped his head to kiss him lightly on the mouth, sliding his hands up into England’s hair.
Title: Across the Universe
Genre: Romance
Pairing(s): America/England
Rating/Warnings: PG (kisses)
Summary: Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns; it calls me on and on across the universe.
Across the Universe
Sometimes being with America could be exhausting. He had so much energy, bubbling up and spilling out of him, that sometimes England felt old and . . . well, stodgy, in comparison. But even when America was running him about all over creation, or talking on and on without so much as a breath, he was still America, and so . . . well, England couldn’t really find it in him to mind.
And sometimes there were moments like this. They’d been watching the stars, and England was embarrassed to admit he had dozed off for a brief moment. Sometime later-probably not long at all-he’d woken to find himself settled safely in America’s arms, America’s chin resting on his shoulder as he continued to gaze up at the night sky and his hands warm, one just above England’s hip, rubbing soft circles through his jacket, the other resting warm and comforting against the muscles of England’s abdomen. England tilted his head and looked up at America’s eyes, and in them he could see the reflection of the stars, a thousand glimmering points of light against the night that turned America’s eyes a liquid black on blue. He sighed and closed his eyes again, the image burned onto them, and tried to see it behind his own eyes.
He could see the North Star there, behind his eyes. And that felt like it meant something, because America was . . . was his own fixed point. He was the only one, as changeable as he had been. England leaned his head against America’s chin, and America began to hum some foolish children’s song, and England felt warm despite the chill of the air as America squeezed him tightly around the middle.
“I can’t breathe, you git,” he gasped after a moment, and America nuzzled his nose into his hair even as he loosened his hold.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Ahahaha, I knew you were awake.” He kissed the shell of England’s ear, and England shivered pleasurably and sighed.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he groused. “I was just dropping off again. Idiot.”
“No worries, England,” America grinned. “I can totally carry you back to the car like a girl.” He slid his arm under England’s knees, shifted him in his hold, and swung him up easily against his shoulder as he stood. He stumbled just a bit, but his hold on England didn’t waver, and he shouted with triumph. “See?” he said. His grin was brilliant, even against the blackness of the night.
England had been sleepy before, but he certainly wasn’t now, not in the least. “Bloody hell!” he swore. “Do you want to break both our necks? Good lord, America, put me down this instant, do you hear me?”
America just laughed and swung him around, until the stars swung dizzying about him, and then tipped England down so his head hung backward over America’s arm before he let him slide down until his trainers had solid earth beneath them again. A second later, America’s warm mouth was covering England’s, one broad hand in the small of England’s back and the other steadying around his shoulders. England huffed but leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth to the liquid heat of America’s mouth, but it only lasted for a moment before America was pulling away and pressing a little kiss to his nose, to each of his eyebrows, pressing his mouth to England’s cheek. England could feel his cheeks heat, his breath catching in his throat, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin.
England sighed and pressed his nose into America’s cheek in return, taking in a deep, even breath. A deep well of contentment seemed to grow in his chest, warm and solid behind his ribs, even before he felt America’s infectious grin growing against his skin, and America whispered, “Love ya, England. Forever and ever.”
England let out a tight, choked breath, and hugged him tightly about his waist with both his hands, tugging them close together. “My constant heart,” he said, and tilted his head back up for another kiss. “Never leave me,” he whispered against America’s lips.
“Leave you?” America grinned. “Don't be dumb, England. ‘Couse I won’t.” He kissed him again, and England closed his eyes once more against the searing sweetness of the kiss.
Title: The American's Guide to Relaxing an Englishman
Genre: Romance
Pairing(s): America/England
Rating/Warnings: PG (kisses)
Summary: America thinks England is too uptight sometimes.
The American's Guide to Relaxing an Englishman
England was too uptight, America decided. And he was a hero, so it was his responsibility to do something about it! He had to come up with a heroic plan to make England relax. He considered quite a few different ones, but he ended up discarding most of them due to lack of easily acquired resources. The one he finally decided on was simple and sure to be effective-tickling.
He sprang it on England as a surprise, because, well, surprise attacks were always a good idea, and it was easier to ask forgiveness, right? England was reading at the kitchen table, and America managed to sneak up behind him and curl his fingers into his sides, skittering them over his shirt.
England made the most hilariously cute little sound of surprise ever and sat bolt upright, his shoulders straightening and squaring up. “Wh-what are you-America, what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
America ran his fingers up England’s sides. England twitched. “Tickling you!” America said. “C’mon, England, you really need to let go. Relax.”
“Let go of what?” England demanded. It was in his snottiest tone.
“Everything!” America said. “Just have fun, yanno?” He poked England’s shoulders. “What is this, military posture?”
“You’re tormenting me!” England bit out. “With no provocation whatever.”
“Well, of course not!” America said. “If you were expecting to be tickled, there’d be no point!”
“That makes absolutely no sense,” England informed him. America bent and blew a raspberry against the back of his neck.
“Sure it does,” he said. “You just don’t know the rules.”
“The rules, hmm?” England said. His voice was going higher, a bit more wobbly as America kept up his tickling onslaught. Haha! He was getting somewhere.
“The rules,” America said. “That I made up,” he added after a moment. He slid his hands under England’s shirt, dancing them lightly up his abdomen. England shuddered under his touch, and then he was laughing, wriggling under his touch, pressing his face into America’s shoulder as if that could conceal it.
Ahahahaha! America thought. Victory! The hero always won. He grinned and kissed the back of England’s neck, laughing with him.