[APH Fic] My First Kiss Went A Little Like This [US/UK]
Title: My First Kiss Went A Little Like This
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England, France, OC!Mexico, minor FrUK
Warnings: Dumb. Un-beta'd. Also, people make out sometimes. And some bad words.
Summary: America randomly asks England if he remembers his first kiss. Awkward conversations ensue.
Notes: I recently added "My First Kiss" by 3oh!3 to my running playlist, and was inspired to write this. This song is sinfully catch. I wrote this on a whim at about, maybe 7:30 in the morning after being hung over for a day. I re-read it several times but I never seem to catch mistakes... anyway. Enjoy our boys being awkward together.
Original post
“...do you remember what your first kiss was like?” The question was soft and sudden - England had been halfway to sleeping when he first heard it.
“...mm ...what?” he mumbled, opening one eye. The room was dark and cool, the sheets around them tucked in tightly, the comforter warming their bodies. Snow was gently drifting past the windows. The clock ticking on the far wall indicated it was just past three a.m.
A face was pressed into his neck, and those mumbled words came trailing out from underneath his chin.
“Your first kiss,” America repeated, a bit louder this time. England had his arms wrapped protectively around America’s broad shoulders, one hand absently lying gentle in his honey-golden locks. England shifted a bit, his back stiff, as he woke up more. They were tangled together, limbs in limbs, their legs so tangled England didn’t even want to concentrate on trying to separate them. England stroked America’s hair gently, feeling how moist his bangs were from being matted to his forehead with sweat.
England cleared his throat and moved his head back a bit so he could look down at the face of his lover.
“Now, why would you want to know something like that?” he asked, a small smile forming on his lips. America looked up at him, big blue eyes wide open. It was always striking to see his eyes without his glasses - they seemed to light up even more, if that was possible. America shrugged.
“Just wondering, I suppose. It’s just... just one of those things. You know, our people put so much importance on first kisses... it made me think about it.” England’s brows furrowed. Considering neither of them had their first kiss with the other, he found it a bit awkward that they’d discuss romantic entanglements with different people while lying naked in a bed together, having had their own romantic tussle only a few hours earlier.
England placed a hand on the back of America’s head and drew him into his neck again, more of a hug than anything else. He could feel America smiling into his collarbone. America’s muscled arms were wrapped around the middle of his back, hugging him protectively. They lay in silence for awhile, England now curious to see if he could remember such a thing. It was so incredibly long ago, lifetimes before America even existed. He remembered not being more than a young teen at the time, just beginning to break into his pirating habits. Maybe he was even younger.
England felt America’s soft lips on his neck as he laid feather light kisses all down his neck. He stopped, resting his mouth on the side of England’s neck, breathing in his scent.
“...I remember mine,” he breathed. England stroked his hair again.
“You are much younger than me, you know.”
“I know. But still.” America didn’t continue, and England could feel his long lashes fluttering as lightly as possible against his neck. It was a possibility that America was falling back asleep now. England had to admit, he was a bit curious - who had been the first person to show America such affection?
“It was Mexico,” America said, in a very soft voice. England blinked in response, although America couldn’t see him. Mexico? Mexico was his first kiss? Really?
“...Mexico? Spain’s Mexico?” England asked. He felt that smile forming again.
“Yep. Funny, huh?” America said, pulling away from his neck. He disentangled his arms from around England’s back and rolled onto his own back, staring at the ceiling. The light from the window splashed across his broad shoulders, his skin shining with perspiration. America closed his eyes and - was that a giggle? England remained on his side, watching his beau closely.
“We were so young,” he said, laying his hands on his stomach. “It was right after I annexed Texas. I was always fighting with Mexico, and I mean fighting - lots of yelling, and screaming, and even some physical fighting, and it was escalating really bad. Canada would always scold me for fighting with her, especially since we all lived on the same continent. He also said we had mad crazy sexual tension and should cut it out.” England’s heart skipped a beat - one of the things that led to their current crazy relationship was unfettered sexual tension.
America opened his eyes and focused them on England.
“So, this one time - man, I don’t even remember exactly when anymore - this one time, we were fighting at a meeting, and it was the brink of the Mexican-American War, and everyone else left the meeting.... and we were still fighting with papers between us and I mean really screaming at each other - when she just kinda launched herself onto the table, grabbed my face and kissed me.
“And it was crazy,” America recalled, laughing to himself. “I was just so taken aback. I did not expect her to just kiss me like that, you know? But I just kinda... went with it. Mexico’s beautiful,” he said breathily. “And so passionate. About everything. I mean, we’re really similar - all three of us are. That’s why people call us the North American triplets, even though neither I nor Canada are actually related to Mexico.”England nodded. He knew all this - it was he who coined the phrase.
“I had no idea you’d ever had a relationship with Mexico,” England said, slightly amused. America shrugged.
“It’s not like it lasted that long, really. It was just out of, well, I don’t know. Frustration? Probably. We were both annoyed, really young nations, sexually frustrated and feeling like we were the top of the world.” America stretched his arms out at the last word, as if trying to regain that feeling of freedom.
“She was really amazing. I mean, in retrospect it’s kinda weird to think about, because she learned everything she knew at that point from Spain,” America added. “So, when I thought about it later, it was like I was kissing and having sex with Spain... in a female body... who’s a lot hotter... and a lot crazier.” America seemed to be thinking hard about this. “Well that’s weird.”
“You had sex with her too?” England asked, laying his hands beneath his head. America half-smiled at his lover.
“I was young and we do crazy things,” he replied. He closed his eyes and remembered his younger days, the constant bickering, the ever-expanding territories, the blind optimism of the future.
England frowned at the younger man. As much as he was obviously not around during that time, he was still a tad jealous that hot-headed Mexico stole what should have been his. Not that she had competition at the time, of course. America was still talking about Mexico.
“I totally thought I was in love with her too,” America breathed. “I cared a lot about her - still do, really - and I wanted her to be happy. She was going through something that I had gone through myself. I mean... we stopped fooling around fairly quickly after the war started, and after I gained Texas and we had some sort of, well, something, it never happened again. I consider her a sister now, and I love her very much, regardless of how crazy she makes me-“ he stopped. He was babbling and didn’t notice the subtle change of expression in England’s eyes. He rolled over onto his side and reached out, touching his cheek with his fingertips.
“I loved her,” he said gently. “But not even close to how much I am in love with you.” England shivered slightly at his touch, at the caring tone his voice carried. How he could ever doubt how much America loved him, he wasn’t even sure.
America drew his face in and kissed his forehead gingerly, his fingers just slightly rubbing his cheeks in such an intimate way that it made England blush, even though they were completely alone. It was these gestures that made him melt into a pathetic puddle of goo over the thought of his lover.
“So,” America said, drawing back, his eyes locked on England’s, “who was your first kiss? You gotta tell me. I told you.” England rolled over onto his stomach and propped his head up on his elbows, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. America rolled onto his back again, his hands resting on his stomach, his chest rising and falling gently and his smile wide. England sighed. It had been so long ago... and the story was so ridiculous...
And the person was laughable.
“Okay, well-“
“Englaaaaaand...”
“I’m telling you, shove off,” England muttered. His face went red again. America’s eyes lit up. He really wanted to know this information? Because England wasn’t sure if he wanted to remember it himself.
“It was a really, really long time ago. I was but a teenager at the time, right around my piracy days,” England began, struggling to remember. “It was wintertime, and we were celebrating some holiday - maybe Yule at the time, I don’t quite remember anymore. And let’s just say there were certain... certain drinks involved.”
“Were you tanked out of your mind on some crazy medieval alcohol?” America asked immediately. England glanced away.
“....umm... maybe,” he said softly, coughing into his hands. America laughed quietly.
“You don’t even remember? This story rocks already,” he said, clasping his thin fingers together over his chest. His dogtags were glinting against his pale skin, the one with his human name glaring up at England as he struggled to recall the entire story.
“And well, er...” England cleared his throat. “We were all sitting somewhere by the fire, and I was leaning against a wall, and we were all rather... inebriated... and then someone practically fell on me and kissed me.” England wanted to end the story there, and not divulge just who had the honor of being the first to ever passionately kiss his lips. But America’s eyes were boring into his with an expectant look of I know you remember who did it, you dolt, so you’d better tell me now.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaand...?” America asked. England sighed.
“...it was France.”
There was a moment of silence, where America just stared at him. England waited, wondering just what his reaction would be. Would he be angry?
Then, a moment later, America released his monstrous, uproarious laugh, and it echoed throughout the otherwise empty house. He clasped his hands over his mouth to try to calm it down, but he closed his eyes and kept laughing, finally giving in and stretching his arms out beside him, his chest heaving. England’s face was so hot he thought it was going to burst into flame.
“Y-you’re shitting me, right? France? Fucking France? Francis Bonnefoy? O-oh my Jesus, E-England, you are t-too-Jesus!” and he grasped his stomach, nearly doubling over from laughing so hard. “Oh my God, this is the best day ever.”
“Oh shut the fuck up,” England said, punching America’s shoulder. America rolled away to the edge of the bed, bent over into a fetal position, trying to calm his laughter. “I won’t tell the rest of the story unless you shut up.” Eventually America did calm down and rolled back over, his cheeks pink from laughing, his eyes twinkling.
“So, you were both drunk, and France just attacked you?” he asked. England shrugged.
“Something like that. I don’t really remember anymore, to be honest,” England said. America giggled. “He said something about me ‘growing graciously’ and how attractive I was... and then it happened.”
“So what happened afterwards?” America asked, his smile huge. He was getting a huge kick out of this. England sighed and looked away.
“Well... I-I’m not really sure... um... we may have been together for quite some time... all I remember is he was pushing me against the wall really...”
“Wait, you didn’t have sex with him, did you?” America asked. England glared at him.
“No, you idiot, I did not,” he said sternly. “It never got that far. Lord knows, France tried to get my clothes off but I wouldn’t let him.”
“So you do remember,” America said devilishly. “So what, did you guys like, make out or something?” England’s face burned.
“You Americans need better terms for things,” he said stiffly. “ ‘making out’ sounds so... crude... but I guess that is what happened.” He was surprised he remembered it at all; he had been so taken by surprise by the older blonde, who was kneeling in front of him, one hand on either side of his head, cheeks red, kissing him as hard as he could. And England had reciprocated - oh, had he reciprocated. They were both completely drunk, of course, but all England could remember was how incredibly soft France’s lips were and how good it felt to be kissing him. France was so damn good at it, too. And he was persistent. They were both young, France only being a bit older than himself, but within minutes they were both enamored with the other, their legs tangling together, France’s hands taking England’s face. It was the strangest thing that had probably ever happened to him so far in his life - especially since he had never experienced anything even close to that level of intimacy. Ever.
He didn’t exactly remember all the details of that night - he knew it didn’t go beyond kissing, at the very least - but he remembered the feeling. He remembered France leaving his lips and trailing down his cheek, his jaw, to his neck, and how, in reality, in a place only the deepest, most private part of his mind would acknowledge, had they not been in a room with other completely drunk people, he would have allowed France to disrobe him in a heartbeat.
Thankfully, that didn’t happen. And America was never going to know that.
“I can’t believe France was your first kiss,” America said again in a soft voice. England glared at him.
“Yeah, well, it happened, okay? Now let’s stop talking about it.” America grinned and rolled over so he was leaning against England’s elbows. He reached out, took England’s face in his hands, and drew him into a kiss.
“I guess it doesn’t really matter who was the first,” America said in a soft voice. “As long as I get all of them now.” England rolled his eyes.
“That had to be one of the corniest things I’ve ever heard you say,” he said, leaning his head on America’s chest. America shrugged. Suddenly, without warning, England reached up, ran his hands forcefully through America’s hair and kissed him hard on the lips. He was gripping his head on top and in the back, and he covered his entire mouth with his own, taking over America’s senses. America reeled at first but eased into it, surprised at how forceful it was. England elongated the kiss, repositioning himself, sucking on his lower lip, even getting a bit of his cheek. They were pressed together for so long that England’s lungs began to burn.
England pulled back, breathing hard, and America looked up at him, a confused yet amused expression on his face.
“What the hell was that?” America asked breathlessly. England seemed to have a wild gleam in his eyes.
“I spent all night snogging that bastard,” England breathed. He ran his hands through America’s hair again. “That idiot is so good at kissing, and I learned a lot, so I thought I should just... let you know.” America grinned wickedly, reached up, and pulled him down, kissing his neck... then licking it. England pulled back, surprised.
“Okay, now what was that?” he asked, rubbing his neck. America winked.
“With love, from Mexico.” England smiled.
“Up,” he said, leaning back. America stared at him. “Sit up, you git.” He did so, leaning against the headboard to the bed. That was when England launched himself at him, hands on either side of his head, pressing against him, kissing him with all his might. He kissed the corner of his lips, his cheek, his jaw, his neck, and his collarbone, trailing back up to his ear. He could hear America’s ragged breathing, from both surprise and arousal.
“I learned from the best,” England whispered into his ear. He slid one hand underneath his chin and turned America’s head to face him.
“And the creepiest,” America whispered back, a grin growing over his face. England pinched his face, irritated.
“Stop ruining the mood and just fuck me already,” he said, and America gladly reciprocated, pulling them both down into the ocean of sheets surrounding them.
--
Notes: I know popular fanon idea is that Mexico is a girl. I like that idea too. I imagine her as a very passionate Latina lover. ANYWAY. Also, as much as I completely 100% ship US/UK, I feel like there are some unresolved problems between France and England. Maybe. I don't know. Thanks for reading :)
Did anyone else living State-side freeze to death today? Here in the Northeast it was between -10 and -1 (Fahrenheit) in the morning, and it climbed to the blazing temperature of 7 entire degrees before the sun set. 7 whole degrees! Shocking. I froze my sad Italian/Canadian/Native American ass off all freaking day in Boston. Gah.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England, France, OC!Mexico, minor FrUK
Warnings: Dumb. Un-beta'd. Also, people make out sometimes. And some bad words.
Summary: America randomly asks England if he remembers his first kiss. Awkward conversations ensue.
Notes: I recently added "My First Kiss" by 3oh!3 to my running playlist, and was inspired to write this. This song is sinfully catch. I wrote this on a whim at about, maybe 7:30 in the morning after being hung over for a day. I re-read it several times but I never seem to catch mistakes... anyway. Enjoy our boys being awkward together.
Original post
“...do you remember what your first kiss was like?” The question was soft and sudden - England had been halfway to sleeping when he first heard it.
“...mm ...what?” he mumbled, opening one eye. The room was dark and cool, the sheets around them tucked in tightly, the comforter warming their bodies. Snow was gently drifting past the windows. The clock ticking on the far wall indicated it was just past three a.m.
A face was pressed into his neck, and those mumbled words came trailing out from underneath his chin.
“Your first kiss,” America repeated, a bit louder this time. England had his arms wrapped protectively around America’s broad shoulders, one hand absently lying gentle in his honey-golden locks. England shifted a bit, his back stiff, as he woke up more. They were tangled together, limbs in limbs, their legs so tangled England didn’t even want to concentrate on trying to separate them. England stroked America’s hair gently, feeling how moist his bangs were from being matted to his forehead with sweat.
England cleared his throat and moved his head back a bit so he could look down at the face of his lover.
“Now, why would you want to know something like that?” he asked, a small smile forming on his lips. America looked up at him, big blue eyes wide open. It was always striking to see his eyes without his glasses - they seemed to light up even more, if that was possible. America shrugged.
“Just wondering, I suppose. It’s just... just one of those things. You know, our people put so much importance on first kisses... it made me think about it.” England’s brows furrowed. Considering neither of them had their first kiss with the other, he found it a bit awkward that they’d discuss romantic entanglements with different people while lying naked in a bed together, having had their own romantic tussle only a few hours earlier.
England placed a hand on the back of America’s head and drew him into his neck again, more of a hug than anything else. He could feel America smiling into his collarbone. America’s muscled arms were wrapped around the middle of his back, hugging him protectively. They lay in silence for awhile, England now curious to see if he could remember such a thing. It was so incredibly long ago, lifetimes before America even existed. He remembered not being more than a young teen at the time, just beginning to break into his pirating habits. Maybe he was even younger.
England felt America’s soft lips on his neck as he laid feather light kisses all down his neck. He stopped, resting his mouth on the side of England’s neck, breathing in his scent.
“...I remember mine,” he breathed. England stroked his hair again.
“You are much younger than me, you know.”
“I know. But still.” America didn’t continue, and England could feel his long lashes fluttering as lightly as possible against his neck. It was a possibility that America was falling back asleep now. England had to admit, he was a bit curious - who had been the first person to show America such affection?
“It was Mexico,” America said, in a very soft voice. England blinked in response, although America couldn’t see him. Mexico? Mexico was his first kiss? Really?
“...Mexico? Spain’s Mexico?” England asked. He felt that smile forming again.
“Yep. Funny, huh?” America said, pulling away from his neck. He disentangled his arms from around England’s back and rolled onto his own back, staring at the ceiling. The light from the window splashed across his broad shoulders, his skin shining with perspiration. America closed his eyes and - was that a giggle? England remained on his side, watching his beau closely.
“We were so young,” he said, laying his hands on his stomach. “It was right after I annexed Texas. I was always fighting with Mexico, and I mean fighting - lots of yelling, and screaming, and even some physical fighting, and it was escalating really bad. Canada would always scold me for fighting with her, especially since we all lived on the same continent. He also said we had mad crazy sexual tension and should cut it out.” England’s heart skipped a beat - one of the things that led to their current crazy relationship was unfettered sexual tension.
America opened his eyes and focused them on England.
“So, this one time - man, I don’t even remember exactly when anymore - this one time, we were fighting at a meeting, and it was the brink of the Mexican-American War, and everyone else left the meeting.... and we were still fighting with papers between us and I mean really screaming at each other - when she just kinda launched herself onto the table, grabbed my face and kissed me.
“And it was crazy,” America recalled, laughing to himself. “I was just so taken aback. I did not expect her to just kiss me like that, you know? But I just kinda... went with it. Mexico’s beautiful,” he said breathily. “And so passionate. About everything. I mean, we’re really similar - all three of us are. That’s why people call us the North American triplets, even though neither I nor Canada are actually related to Mexico.”England nodded. He knew all this - it was he who coined the phrase.
“I had no idea you’d ever had a relationship with Mexico,” England said, slightly amused. America shrugged.
“It’s not like it lasted that long, really. It was just out of, well, I don’t know. Frustration? Probably. We were both annoyed, really young nations, sexually frustrated and feeling like we were the top of the world.” America stretched his arms out at the last word, as if trying to regain that feeling of freedom.
“She was really amazing. I mean, in retrospect it’s kinda weird to think about, because she learned everything she knew at that point from Spain,” America added. “So, when I thought about it later, it was like I was kissing and having sex with Spain... in a female body... who’s a lot hotter... and a lot crazier.” America seemed to be thinking hard about this. “Well that’s weird.”
“You had sex with her too?” England asked, laying his hands beneath his head. America half-smiled at his lover.
“I was young and we do crazy things,” he replied. He closed his eyes and remembered his younger days, the constant bickering, the ever-expanding territories, the blind optimism of the future.
England frowned at the younger man. As much as he was obviously not around during that time, he was still a tad jealous that hot-headed Mexico stole what should have been his. Not that she had competition at the time, of course. America was still talking about Mexico.
“I totally thought I was in love with her too,” America breathed. “I cared a lot about her - still do, really - and I wanted her to be happy. She was going through something that I had gone through myself. I mean... we stopped fooling around fairly quickly after the war started, and after I gained Texas and we had some sort of, well, something, it never happened again. I consider her a sister now, and I love her very much, regardless of how crazy she makes me-“ he stopped. He was babbling and didn’t notice the subtle change of expression in England’s eyes. He rolled over onto his side and reached out, touching his cheek with his fingertips.
“I loved her,” he said gently. “But not even close to how much I am in love with you.” England shivered slightly at his touch, at the caring tone his voice carried. How he could ever doubt how much America loved him, he wasn’t even sure.
America drew his face in and kissed his forehead gingerly, his fingers just slightly rubbing his cheeks in such an intimate way that it made England blush, even though they were completely alone. It was these gestures that made him melt into a pathetic puddle of goo over the thought of his lover.
“So,” America said, drawing back, his eyes locked on England’s, “who was your first kiss? You gotta tell me. I told you.” England rolled over onto his stomach and propped his head up on his elbows, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. America rolled onto his back again, his hands resting on his stomach, his chest rising and falling gently and his smile wide. England sighed. It had been so long ago... and the story was so ridiculous...
And the person was laughable.
“Okay, well-“
“Englaaaaaand...”
“I’m telling you, shove off,” England muttered. His face went red again. America’s eyes lit up. He really wanted to know this information? Because England wasn’t sure if he wanted to remember it himself.
“It was a really, really long time ago. I was but a teenager at the time, right around my piracy days,” England began, struggling to remember. “It was wintertime, and we were celebrating some holiday - maybe Yule at the time, I don’t quite remember anymore. And let’s just say there were certain... certain drinks involved.”
“Were you tanked out of your mind on some crazy medieval alcohol?” America asked immediately. England glanced away.
“....umm... maybe,” he said softly, coughing into his hands. America laughed quietly.
“You don’t even remember? This story rocks already,” he said, clasping his thin fingers together over his chest. His dogtags were glinting against his pale skin, the one with his human name glaring up at England as he struggled to recall the entire story.
“And well, er...” England cleared his throat. “We were all sitting somewhere by the fire, and I was leaning against a wall, and we were all rather... inebriated... and then someone practically fell on me and kissed me.” England wanted to end the story there, and not divulge just who had the honor of being the first to ever passionately kiss his lips. But America’s eyes were boring into his with an expectant look of I know you remember who did it, you dolt, so you’d better tell me now.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaand...?” America asked. England sighed.
“...it was France.”
There was a moment of silence, where America just stared at him. England waited, wondering just what his reaction would be. Would he be angry?
Then, a moment later, America released his monstrous, uproarious laugh, and it echoed throughout the otherwise empty house. He clasped his hands over his mouth to try to calm it down, but he closed his eyes and kept laughing, finally giving in and stretching his arms out beside him, his chest heaving. England’s face was so hot he thought it was going to burst into flame.
“Y-you’re shitting me, right? France? Fucking France? Francis Bonnefoy? O-oh my Jesus, E-England, you are t-too-Jesus!” and he grasped his stomach, nearly doubling over from laughing so hard. “Oh my God, this is the best day ever.”
“Oh shut the fuck up,” England said, punching America’s shoulder. America rolled away to the edge of the bed, bent over into a fetal position, trying to calm his laughter. “I won’t tell the rest of the story unless you shut up.” Eventually America did calm down and rolled back over, his cheeks pink from laughing, his eyes twinkling.
“So, you were both drunk, and France just attacked you?” he asked. England shrugged.
“Something like that. I don’t really remember anymore, to be honest,” England said. America giggled. “He said something about me ‘growing graciously’ and how attractive I was... and then it happened.”
“So what happened afterwards?” America asked, his smile huge. He was getting a huge kick out of this. England sighed and looked away.
“Well... I-I’m not really sure... um... we may have been together for quite some time... all I remember is he was pushing me against the wall really...”
“Wait, you didn’t have sex with him, did you?” America asked. England glared at him.
“No, you idiot, I did not,” he said sternly. “It never got that far. Lord knows, France tried to get my clothes off but I wouldn’t let him.”
“So you do remember,” America said devilishly. “So what, did you guys like, make out or something?” England’s face burned.
“You Americans need better terms for things,” he said stiffly. “ ‘making out’ sounds so... crude... but I guess that is what happened.” He was surprised he remembered it at all; he had been so taken by surprise by the older blonde, who was kneeling in front of him, one hand on either side of his head, cheeks red, kissing him as hard as he could. And England had reciprocated - oh, had he reciprocated. They were both completely drunk, of course, but all England could remember was how incredibly soft France’s lips were and how good it felt to be kissing him. France was so damn good at it, too. And he was persistent. They were both young, France only being a bit older than himself, but within minutes they were both enamored with the other, their legs tangling together, France’s hands taking England’s face. It was the strangest thing that had probably ever happened to him so far in his life - especially since he had never experienced anything even close to that level of intimacy. Ever.
He didn’t exactly remember all the details of that night - he knew it didn’t go beyond kissing, at the very least - but he remembered the feeling. He remembered France leaving his lips and trailing down his cheek, his jaw, to his neck, and how, in reality, in a place only the deepest, most private part of his mind would acknowledge, had they not been in a room with other completely drunk people, he would have allowed France to disrobe him in a heartbeat.
Thankfully, that didn’t happen. And America was never going to know that.
“I can’t believe France was your first kiss,” America said again in a soft voice. England glared at him.
“Yeah, well, it happened, okay? Now let’s stop talking about it.” America grinned and rolled over so he was leaning against England’s elbows. He reached out, took England’s face in his hands, and drew him into a kiss.
“I guess it doesn’t really matter who was the first,” America said in a soft voice. “As long as I get all of them now.” England rolled his eyes.
“That had to be one of the corniest things I’ve ever heard you say,” he said, leaning his head on America’s chest. America shrugged. Suddenly, without warning, England reached up, ran his hands forcefully through America’s hair and kissed him hard on the lips. He was gripping his head on top and in the back, and he covered his entire mouth with his own, taking over America’s senses. America reeled at first but eased into it, surprised at how forceful it was. England elongated the kiss, repositioning himself, sucking on his lower lip, even getting a bit of his cheek. They were pressed together for so long that England’s lungs began to burn.
England pulled back, breathing hard, and America looked up at him, a confused yet amused expression on his face.
“What the hell was that?” America asked breathlessly. England seemed to have a wild gleam in his eyes.
“I spent all night snogging that bastard,” England breathed. He ran his hands through America’s hair again. “That idiot is so good at kissing, and I learned a lot, so I thought I should just... let you know.” America grinned wickedly, reached up, and pulled him down, kissing his neck... then licking it. England pulled back, surprised.
“Okay, now what was that?” he asked, rubbing his neck. America winked.
“With love, from Mexico.” England smiled.
“Up,” he said, leaning back. America stared at him. “Sit up, you git.” He did so, leaning against the headboard to the bed. That was when England launched himself at him, hands on either side of his head, pressing against him, kissing him with all his might. He kissed the corner of his lips, his cheek, his jaw, his neck, and his collarbone, trailing back up to his ear. He could hear America’s ragged breathing, from both surprise and arousal.
“I learned from the best,” England whispered into his ear. He slid one hand underneath his chin and turned America’s head to face him.
“And the creepiest,” America whispered back, a grin growing over his face. England pinched his face, irritated.
“Stop ruining the mood and just fuck me already,” he said, and America gladly reciprocated, pulling them both down into the ocean of sheets surrounding them.
--
Notes: I know popular fanon idea is that Mexico is a girl. I like that idea too. I imagine her as a very passionate Latina lover. ANYWAY. Also, as much as I completely 100% ship US/UK, I feel like there are some unresolved problems between France and England. Maybe. I don't know. Thanks for reading :)
Did anyone else living State-side freeze to death today? Here in the Northeast it was between -10 and -1 (Fahrenheit) in the morning, and it climbed to the blazing temperature of 7 entire degrees before the sun set. 7 whole degrees! Shocking. I froze my sad Italian/Canadian/Native American ass off all freaking day in Boston. Gah.