Fanfic: That You Are Loved
*******
Title: That You Are Loved
Author: slashy_lady
Recipient: anonfirefly
Genre: ...sap, obviously
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): America/England
Disclaimer: The characters involved in this story do not belong to me, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.
Some Kind of Summary: England had told him his wishes, spoken in the middle of an air raid during the war while London burnt aflame around them. And the raid had ended. And the war had passed. But those wishes remained, and it was time for America to fulfill them.
Note: Written for anonfirefly as part of usxuk's 2010 Secret Santa Fic/Art Exchange. May this fic please you.
The prompt being used is: 'America has a surprise for England and leads him on a huge, winding, around the world trip do discover that secret. Something where America is all sneaky and cunning. Happy ending is a must.'
*******
The night was dark but the fire was bright.
It was chaos, pure destruction, sheer confusion. The bombs kept being dropped. The fire raged on. The sounds of explosion filled the air and the smell of smoke was so thick it nearly made him choke. The night was cold, and England was shivering in his arms.
Tightening his embrace on England, America’s gaze turned upward. Another air raid, another attack. It caused a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought just how many more lives the war had taken. And if such thing could make him feel so awful, he could only imagine what it caused England.
He was shivering harder in his embrace, America belatedly realized, though he doubt it was due to the cold.
“Tell me,” England whispered against his chest. “Is London still standing?”
The pain in those words made America press England’s face closer to his chest, as if he could protect him, as if that could help him escaping the harsh reality which was the war.
“Can London still be standing,” England continued in a harsh whisper. “When the mighty British Empire crumbles to the ground?”
“Hush,” he said softly. “You are not down. Not ever. We’ll come out of this victorious, I’ve told you that.”
“Of course we will,” England said and America was pleased when he noted the hint of fierceness in his voice. “But God, it hurts…”
He chuckled bitterly. His hand supported England’s head, cradled it against his chest and he found that it gave him a sense of peace, a little blessing in that cursed night.
“Do you remember,” he said to England. “In the past, whenever we got some heavy storms pouring down at us, you would hold me like this and make me tell you the things I’d do after the storm… I didn’t realize back then that it was only your means to make me forget the storm.”
He could feel England smiling even if he could not see his face.
“You had quite an amazing imagination back then,” England said. “Still do until now, I think.”
America found that he was also smiling when he said, “So what would you do after the war?”
England took a breath. The sounds of explosion were still ringing around them but the only sound that was important to America’s ears was England’s breathy whisper.
“I want to watch the sun rise from the backyard of my manor,” England began.
And America closed his eyes.
England’s country manor was one among the architectural structures that survived the war. The grey walls still stood proudly, looming high against the backdrop of the sky. Perhaps there were some blackened stains on the walls and some section had crumbled a bit. But in its entirety, the manor was still more than enough to stir a sense of amazement in those whose gaze fell on it.
America stared at the magnificent manor and let out a whistle. It was hard not to think that England was compensating for something when he looked at that enormous building from his position, standing on the little hill on the manor’s backyard. The sky was still dark-it was only the very beginning of dawn, but he knew that soon the sun would rise.
“Perfect,” he said with a grin. The wind blew his hair and when he turned his face to call out his companion, it carried out his voice. “Come on, you old man, walk faster!”
He could see England, huffing as he climbed his way. An expression of mild annoyance combined with curiosity was etched on his face.
“You’re the one who walks too fast,” England shouted back as he approached. “Just what are we doing here exactly?”
“You’ll see,” America said, grinning, before he turned his face back to face the eastern horizon. The sun was rising and he quickly reached behind him. Grabbing England’s hand, he pulled it toward him, ignoring the faint sound of protest that England emitted.
“Look, England,” he said urgently, his hand, the one not holding England’s own, was gesturing to the faraway horizon. “Look, the sun is rising.”
England was pressed flush against his side as they silently watched the sun rising. He gave a brief squeeze on England’s hand as the sky gradually turned brighter. The streaks of orange and red-why the sun always looked bigger when it had just risen, he pondered-colored the sky. And it was only when the sun was up and shining bright in the sky, so bright that he needed to shield his eyes, did he turn his face to look at England.
He had the pure sense of self satisfaction when he noticed that England was smiling.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.
England made a humming sound as his approval to that statement and America reluctantly released his hold on his hand.
“Come on then,” he said to England.
Blinking at him, England asked. “Sorry?”
“We have to get moving,” America explained. “We still have so many things to do, so many places to visit… and we’ll start by heading to the harbor now if we don’t want to be late.”
“Harbor? But…” England tried to say. “America, just what are you trying to do here?”
“I’m trying to tell you…” America said earnestly, staring into England’s eyes. “…no, correction, I’m trying to show you something. A secret. My secret.”
England was frowning at him but America refused to tell anything more. No, it would spoil the surprise. He would not tell England. He would show him.
Taking England’s hand back into his grasp, he smiled at him, the smile that seemed to say ‘trust me’, the most sincere smile he could give, and the one that he gave only for England.
And under that morning sun, England smiled back at him.
“I want to sail the world again in a ship that is so magnificent it would take people’s breath away.”
They arrived at the harbor, or more specifically they arrived to the sight of their ship, and America laughed as England stood gaping at the huge and beautiful ship before them.
“Isn’t she amazing?” America said as he stood beside England, admiring the ship.
“She’s magnificent,” England said breathlessly. He turned his face to regard America curiously. “Is she yours? I had no idea before that you love sailing. I thought aviation is more your thing than conquering the waves.”
“Technically, she’s ours. But, yeah, you’re right that I don’t really love sailing the ocean. It’s more your thing, Mister Pirate,” America admitted as he led them to approach the ship. “I love flying more. And I’m better at flying than you.”
“Then why…”
“It’s a secret,” America said, grinning. “Come on, let’s get on board. We have a schedule to follow.”
England seemed to roll his eyes but he did follow America’s step.
“A secret, of course,” England said. “I wonder if you’ll ever tell me about this ‘secret’ of yours.”
“Nah, I will show you instead. But just tell me,” America said. He suddenly halted his step and fixed his gaze to England. Biting his lip, he could feel anxiety and expectation and glee mixing in his heart. “Does the ship manage to take your breath away?”
England had that hint of smile on his face, the one that he had whenever he did not know if he should get amused or confused by America’s antics. That smile used to annoy the hell out of America. But that time, it did not matter because England was telling him.
“Why, yes,” he said. “It took my breath away.”
“I want to visit all of my colonies and have afternoon tea with them, talking about things and laughing together.”
Though America never quite loved sailing the ocean to the extent of wanting to conquer it, like what England had once done, he was quite fond toward the vast blue ocean. His trip with England proved to be some enjoyable experience. And though England had shed his pirate attire centuries ago, he still had that passion in him to triumph over the waves.
“Are you having fun?” America asked him on the deck that night. The sea was dark and the moon shone bright, but he only saw England, leaning against the railings while the wind was playing with his hair. He was smiling.
“I am,” England said. The look of pure happiness on his face discarded any doubt that America might have about whether he was lying or not. “So now…”
Leaning against the railings beside England, America tilted his face. “Now?”
“Now would you tell me just where are we going to go to?” England asked. “Or is it another secret?”
America laughed. “Nah. We’re going to visit Canada.”
England’s smile brightened. “Funny. I just thought of visiting him myself.”
“But our trip won’t end there,” America said. “After Canada, we’ll visit India, and Hong Kong, and Australia, and South Africa… though perhaps we have to set some route so we can determine the order of our visits…”
The contemplative expression on England’s face let America know that his companion had begun to understand what he was trying to do. Though he doubted that England had already caught on that far to understand his whole plan.
“You are taking me to visit my colonies,” England said. “Is that the ‘secret’ you’re trying to show me?”
“Part of it,” America said. Moving from the railings, he then stood in front of England, facing him, staring at him. “My secret… it’s more than that.”
England raised one of his eyebrows at him. “And that is…?”
“A secret of course,” America said with a laugh. “It won’t be a surprise if I tell you. You have to figure it out yourself.”
“Can’t I at least have some clue?” England asked.
“A clue, eh?” America said. He pretended to give it some thought before he said, “It’s something you wish for.”
“That doesn’t really narrow it down,” England pointed out.
America only shrugged. “Afraid that’s your only clue, though, so… best of luck finding it out.”
“Since when have you been this cunning and secretive?” England asked with something that might pass as a despairing sigh but in reality was merely a sign of amusement. America knew that. He had come to know many things about England.
“Since I’m with you,” he said with a smile. Reaching out, his fingers traced England’s cheekbone fondly, briefly, before he retracted his hand back. “Come on. It’s late. We need to get back in.”
He had a sense of surprise when England snatched his hand, when England grasped his hand, holding it warmly.
“Just another question,” England said.
America gulped. “Yeah?”
“What are we going to do when we visit my colonies?”
“Well, uh… having tea with them,” America said. “Talking about thing and laughing together.”
For a moment America believed that England had finally caught on. But England did not say anything. He merely kept his hold on his hand and let the silence reign over them. And when he did open his mouth to speak, the only thing he said was, “Let’s get inside.”
He was pleased to note, though, that England did not release his hold on his hand when they walked inside. Neither did he try to reject him when he embraced him briefly as he bid him good night.
Days after that, they were having tea at Canada’s place, talking and laughing and generally enjoying their times. And when, on the evening of that day, America kissed England on his lips, he thought of that night a few days back when they were standing close on the deck of their ship. He recalled the night a few years back when he had England in his arms as the war raged on around them and London burnt aflame.
But then England kissed him back, and he did not think of anything anymore.
“I want to go to all the major cities in the world, admiring the view and enjoying my time without any fear that someone might stab me from behind.”
The streets of Paris were bustling with activities. People, so many people, crowded the streets, talking among themselves or simply walking past. And amidst those people, America and England walked, side by side, hand in hand.
“I will suspend my disbelief,” England said. “And have some faith in you to trust that you must have some good reason to bring me here.”
America laughed. “Oh, you have to admit that Paris is a beautiful city. You’re just afraid to see France.”
“I’m not afraid of seeing him,” England corrected sharply. “It’s just that if I have the choice, I prefer not to see him.”
“Because you’re afraid that he’ll seize your vital region,” America said. “But don’t worry, we’re only here for some sightseeing… perhaps some shopping too before we visit our next destination-which is New York, by the way-so I doubt you’ll run to him.”
“So next is New York?” England asked. “And after that?”
“Well, we’ve visited Milan, and Amsterdam, and Vienna… so perhaps London?” America said.
England’s smile held a hint of mischief in it.
“All the major cities in the world?” he asked.
“Yeah,” America said. He stopped his step and turned his face to regard England calmly, wondering if his companion had finally figured it out. “And I’ll watch your back so no one would be able to stab you from behind.”
England’s laughter rang in the air and it made America feel some warmth growing in his chest. England had a lovely laugh but it was something that people didn’t often hear. Usually they would hear him sneer, or give a mocking chuckle, but that time he was laughing happily with no speck of sarcasm to be found in his laughter.
“Why, America,” he said. “The war had ended more than a decade ago. I do think it’s not the time to be that paranoid.”
“I have a promise to keep,” America said simply.
England had stopped laughing and he was smiling then. He was smiling when he pressed his palm against America’s chest, as if to feel how his heart beat in his chest.
“I remember that night,” he began. “You were holding me as I recounted the things I wanted to do after the war ended. You still remember.”
“I still remember,” America said. “All of it. All of the things you said you wanted. And now I’m giving them to you.”
“So this is your secret?” England asked. “The surprise you want to give me is fulfilling those rambling wishes I have told you in a night during some air raid more than a decade ago?”
“Yes, but…” America said, and then stopped. Suddenly he grew nervous, his heart beat a tad faster, and England, who frowned slightly at his hesitation, seemed to notice it. Taking a breath, he then continued. “The real… the most important thing is… I want to show you that you are loved.”
When England did not say anything to his confession, America’s anxiety grew even more. But then England moved his hand, the one that was pressed against his chest, up until he could feel the warmth of England’s palm on the back of his neck.
“If you breathe any word about what I’m going to do and say to France,” England said. “I will kill you.”
Some threads of confusion got mixed up with his anxiety as America said, “Er… okay.”
“I love you,” England said simply before he closed the distance between their faces and kissed him fully on his lips.
There was no moment of hesitation on America’s part before he returned the kiss. He could hardly care that they were in public, that people could see them-two guys, two strangers, kissing in the broad daylight. For England was kissing him, England had just said that he loved him, and, really, how could he spare his care for anything else?
He did not know how long they kissed there, in the middle of some busy street in Paris. He gave a mental snort in his head as he imagined just how France would have mock them to eternity should he know about it. Just how cliché could they be, kissing and admitting their love in Paris after years of repressed desire, he thought with a healthy dose of derision.
It was with utmost reluctance that they did part. And even then America realized that he was still cradling England’s face gently, that England was still clutching at his shoulders, that they were still smiling happily for the entire world to see.
“So,” England said. “I believe when a gentleman admits his love to someone, said someone should give a proper response to the admission.”
America laughed. His hand, which was still cupping England’s cheek, began to caress his face fondly.
“Is ‘I love you too’ considered proper enough for a response?” he asked.
“I think so, yes,” England said.
Taking England into his arm, America embraced him. He cradled England’s face close to his chest, remembering the night years back when they found themselves in similar position, when he promised to himself that he would surely make England’s wishes come true, when he realized just how much he loved England.
And he whispered, into England’s ear, the three simple words that he had not been quite able to say to him back then.
The air raid still raged around them when England whispered, in a voice so soft that America had to strain his ears to hear it.
“And above all that… I want to be loved.”
England’s figure went slack in his embrace and America had a brief moment of panic before he realized that his fellow nation only went to sleep. It was only then that he dared to press a kiss on top of England’s head. It was only then that he dared to caress England’s face.
“You fool,” he said softly to England’s sleeping form, content that he would not be able to hear him. “Don’t you realize that you already are loved?”
Moving his face so his lips were right against England’s ear, he dared to whisper, even though he knew there was no way that England could hear him.
“I love you.”
End
(A/N: ...I think I kinda fail the prompt... duh...)
Title: That You Are Loved
Author: slashy_lady
Recipient: anonfirefly
Genre: ...sap, obviously
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): America/England
Disclaimer: The characters involved in this story do not belong to me, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.
Some Kind of Summary: England had told him his wishes, spoken in the middle of an air raid during the war while London burnt aflame around them. And the raid had ended. And the war had passed. But those wishes remained, and it was time for America to fulfill them.
Note: Written for anonfirefly as part of usxuk's 2010 Secret Santa Fic/Art Exchange. May this fic please you.
The prompt being used is: 'America has a surprise for England and leads him on a huge, winding, around the world trip do discover that secret. Something where America is all sneaky and cunning. Happy ending is a must.'
*******
The night was dark but the fire was bright.
It was chaos, pure destruction, sheer confusion. The bombs kept being dropped. The fire raged on. The sounds of explosion filled the air and the smell of smoke was so thick it nearly made him choke. The night was cold, and England was shivering in his arms.
Tightening his embrace on England, America’s gaze turned upward. Another air raid, another attack. It caused a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought just how many more lives the war had taken. And if such thing could make him feel so awful, he could only imagine what it caused England.
He was shivering harder in his embrace, America belatedly realized, though he doubt it was due to the cold.
“Tell me,” England whispered against his chest. “Is London still standing?”
The pain in those words made America press England’s face closer to his chest, as if he could protect him, as if that could help him escaping the harsh reality which was the war.
“Can London still be standing,” England continued in a harsh whisper. “When the mighty British Empire crumbles to the ground?”
“Hush,” he said softly. “You are not down. Not ever. We’ll come out of this victorious, I’ve told you that.”
“Of course we will,” England said and America was pleased when he noted the hint of fierceness in his voice. “But God, it hurts…”
He chuckled bitterly. His hand supported England’s head, cradled it against his chest and he found that it gave him a sense of peace, a little blessing in that cursed night.
“Do you remember,” he said to England. “In the past, whenever we got some heavy storms pouring down at us, you would hold me like this and make me tell you the things I’d do after the storm… I didn’t realize back then that it was only your means to make me forget the storm.”
He could feel England smiling even if he could not see his face.
“You had quite an amazing imagination back then,” England said. “Still do until now, I think.”
America found that he was also smiling when he said, “So what would you do after the war?”
England took a breath. The sounds of explosion were still ringing around them but the only sound that was important to America’s ears was England’s breathy whisper.
“I want to watch the sun rise from the backyard of my manor,” England began.
And America closed his eyes.
England’s country manor was one among the architectural structures that survived the war. The grey walls still stood proudly, looming high against the backdrop of the sky. Perhaps there were some blackened stains on the walls and some section had crumbled a bit. But in its entirety, the manor was still more than enough to stir a sense of amazement in those whose gaze fell on it.
America stared at the magnificent manor and let out a whistle. It was hard not to think that England was compensating for something when he looked at that enormous building from his position, standing on the little hill on the manor’s backyard. The sky was still dark-it was only the very beginning of dawn, but he knew that soon the sun would rise.
“Perfect,” he said with a grin. The wind blew his hair and when he turned his face to call out his companion, it carried out his voice. “Come on, you old man, walk faster!”
He could see England, huffing as he climbed his way. An expression of mild annoyance combined with curiosity was etched on his face.
“You’re the one who walks too fast,” England shouted back as he approached. “Just what are we doing here exactly?”
“You’ll see,” America said, grinning, before he turned his face back to face the eastern horizon. The sun was rising and he quickly reached behind him. Grabbing England’s hand, he pulled it toward him, ignoring the faint sound of protest that England emitted.
“Look, England,” he said urgently, his hand, the one not holding England’s own, was gesturing to the faraway horizon. “Look, the sun is rising.”
England was pressed flush against his side as they silently watched the sun rising. He gave a brief squeeze on England’s hand as the sky gradually turned brighter. The streaks of orange and red-why the sun always looked bigger when it had just risen, he pondered-colored the sky. And it was only when the sun was up and shining bright in the sky, so bright that he needed to shield his eyes, did he turn his face to look at England.
He had the pure sense of self satisfaction when he noticed that England was smiling.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.
England made a humming sound as his approval to that statement and America reluctantly released his hold on his hand.
“Come on then,” he said to England.
Blinking at him, England asked. “Sorry?”
“We have to get moving,” America explained. “We still have so many things to do, so many places to visit… and we’ll start by heading to the harbor now if we don’t want to be late.”
“Harbor? But…” England tried to say. “America, just what are you trying to do here?”
“I’m trying to tell you…” America said earnestly, staring into England’s eyes. “…no, correction, I’m trying to show you something. A secret. My secret.”
England was frowning at him but America refused to tell anything more. No, it would spoil the surprise. He would not tell England. He would show him.
Taking England’s hand back into his grasp, he smiled at him, the smile that seemed to say ‘trust me’, the most sincere smile he could give, and the one that he gave only for England.
And under that morning sun, England smiled back at him.
“I want to sail the world again in a ship that is so magnificent it would take people’s breath away.”
They arrived at the harbor, or more specifically they arrived to the sight of their ship, and America laughed as England stood gaping at the huge and beautiful ship before them.
“Isn’t she amazing?” America said as he stood beside England, admiring the ship.
“She’s magnificent,” England said breathlessly. He turned his face to regard America curiously. “Is she yours? I had no idea before that you love sailing. I thought aviation is more your thing than conquering the waves.”
“Technically, she’s ours. But, yeah, you’re right that I don’t really love sailing the ocean. It’s more your thing, Mister Pirate,” America admitted as he led them to approach the ship. “I love flying more. And I’m better at flying than you.”
“Then why…”
“It’s a secret,” America said, grinning. “Come on, let’s get on board. We have a schedule to follow.”
England seemed to roll his eyes but he did follow America’s step.
“A secret, of course,” England said. “I wonder if you’ll ever tell me about this ‘secret’ of yours.”
“Nah, I will show you instead. But just tell me,” America said. He suddenly halted his step and fixed his gaze to England. Biting his lip, he could feel anxiety and expectation and glee mixing in his heart. “Does the ship manage to take your breath away?”
England had that hint of smile on his face, the one that he had whenever he did not know if he should get amused or confused by America’s antics. That smile used to annoy the hell out of America. But that time, it did not matter because England was telling him.
“Why, yes,” he said. “It took my breath away.”
“I want to visit all of my colonies and have afternoon tea with them, talking about things and laughing together.”
Though America never quite loved sailing the ocean to the extent of wanting to conquer it, like what England had once done, he was quite fond toward the vast blue ocean. His trip with England proved to be some enjoyable experience. And though England had shed his pirate attire centuries ago, he still had that passion in him to triumph over the waves.
“Are you having fun?” America asked him on the deck that night. The sea was dark and the moon shone bright, but he only saw England, leaning against the railings while the wind was playing with his hair. He was smiling.
“I am,” England said. The look of pure happiness on his face discarded any doubt that America might have about whether he was lying or not. “So now…”
Leaning against the railings beside England, America tilted his face. “Now?”
“Now would you tell me just where are we going to go to?” England asked. “Or is it another secret?”
America laughed. “Nah. We’re going to visit Canada.”
England’s smile brightened. “Funny. I just thought of visiting him myself.”
“But our trip won’t end there,” America said. “After Canada, we’ll visit India, and Hong Kong, and Australia, and South Africa… though perhaps we have to set some route so we can determine the order of our visits…”
The contemplative expression on England’s face let America know that his companion had begun to understand what he was trying to do. Though he doubted that England had already caught on that far to understand his whole plan.
“You are taking me to visit my colonies,” England said. “Is that the ‘secret’ you’re trying to show me?”
“Part of it,” America said. Moving from the railings, he then stood in front of England, facing him, staring at him. “My secret… it’s more than that.”
England raised one of his eyebrows at him. “And that is…?”
“A secret of course,” America said with a laugh. “It won’t be a surprise if I tell you. You have to figure it out yourself.”
“Can’t I at least have some clue?” England asked.
“A clue, eh?” America said. He pretended to give it some thought before he said, “It’s something you wish for.”
“That doesn’t really narrow it down,” England pointed out.
America only shrugged. “Afraid that’s your only clue, though, so… best of luck finding it out.”
“Since when have you been this cunning and secretive?” England asked with something that might pass as a despairing sigh but in reality was merely a sign of amusement. America knew that. He had come to know many things about England.
“Since I’m with you,” he said with a smile. Reaching out, his fingers traced England’s cheekbone fondly, briefly, before he retracted his hand back. “Come on. It’s late. We need to get back in.”
He had a sense of surprise when England snatched his hand, when England grasped his hand, holding it warmly.
“Just another question,” England said.
America gulped. “Yeah?”
“What are we going to do when we visit my colonies?”
“Well, uh… having tea with them,” America said. “Talking about thing and laughing together.”
For a moment America believed that England had finally caught on. But England did not say anything. He merely kept his hold on his hand and let the silence reign over them. And when he did open his mouth to speak, the only thing he said was, “Let’s get inside.”
He was pleased to note, though, that England did not release his hold on his hand when they walked inside. Neither did he try to reject him when he embraced him briefly as he bid him good night.
Days after that, they were having tea at Canada’s place, talking and laughing and generally enjoying their times. And when, on the evening of that day, America kissed England on his lips, he thought of that night a few days back when they were standing close on the deck of their ship. He recalled the night a few years back when he had England in his arms as the war raged on around them and London burnt aflame.
But then England kissed him back, and he did not think of anything anymore.
“I want to go to all the major cities in the world, admiring the view and enjoying my time without any fear that someone might stab me from behind.”
The streets of Paris were bustling with activities. People, so many people, crowded the streets, talking among themselves or simply walking past. And amidst those people, America and England walked, side by side, hand in hand.
“I will suspend my disbelief,” England said. “And have some faith in you to trust that you must have some good reason to bring me here.”
America laughed. “Oh, you have to admit that Paris is a beautiful city. You’re just afraid to see France.”
“I’m not afraid of seeing him,” England corrected sharply. “It’s just that if I have the choice, I prefer not to see him.”
“Because you’re afraid that he’ll seize your vital region,” America said. “But don’t worry, we’re only here for some sightseeing… perhaps some shopping too before we visit our next destination-which is New York, by the way-so I doubt you’ll run to him.”
“So next is New York?” England asked. “And after that?”
“Well, we’ve visited Milan, and Amsterdam, and Vienna… so perhaps London?” America said.
England’s smile held a hint of mischief in it.
“All the major cities in the world?” he asked.
“Yeah,” America said. He stopped his step and turned his face to regard England calmly, wondering if his companion had finally figured it out. “And I’ll watch your back so no one would be able to stab you from behind.”
England’s laughter rang in the air and it made America feel some warmth growing in his chest. England had a lovely laugh but it was something that people didn’t often hear. Usually they would hear him sneer, or give a mocking chuckle, but that time he was laughing happily with no speck of sarcasm to be found in his laughter.
“Why, America,” he said. “The war had ended more than a decade ago. I do think it’s not the time to be that paranoid.”
“I have a promise to keep,” America said simply.
England had stopped laughing and he was smiling then. He was smiling when he pressed his palm against America’s chest, as if to feel how his heart beat in his chest.
“I remember that night,” he began. “You were holding me as I recounted the things I wanted to do after the war ended. You still remember.”
“I still remember,” America said. “All of it. All of the things you said you wanted. And now I’m giving them to you.”
“So this is your secret?” England asked. “The surprise you want to give me is fulfilling those rambling wishes I have told you in a night during some air raid more than a decade ago?”
“Yes, but…” America said, and then stopped. Suddenly he grew nervous, his heart beat a tad faster, and England, who frowned slightly at his hesitation, seemed to notice it. Taking a breath, he then continued. “The real… the most important thing is… I want to show you that you are loved.”
When England did not say anything to his confession, America’s anxiety grew even more. But then England moved his hand, the one that was pressed against his chest, up until he could feel the warmth of England’s palm on the back of his neck.
“If you breathe any word about what I’m going to do and say to France,” England said. “I will kill you.”
Some threads of confusion got mixed up with his anxiety as America said, “Er… okay.”
“I love you,” England said simply before he closed the distance between their faces and kissed him fully on his lips.
There was no moment of hesitation on America’s part before he returned the kiss. He could hardly care that they were in public, that people could see them-two guys, two strangers, kissing in the broad daylight. For England was kissing him, England had just said that he loved him, and, really, how could he spare his care for anything else?
He did not know how long they kissed there, in the middle of some busy street in Paris. He gave a mental snort in his head as he imagined just how France would have mock them to eternity should he know about it. Just how cliché could they be, kissing and admitting their love in Paris after years of repressed desire, he thought with a healthy dose of derision.
It was with utmost reluctance that they did part. And even then America realized that he was still cradling England’s face gently, that England was still clutching at his shoulders, that they were still smiling happily for the entire world to see.
“So,” England said. “I believe when a gentleman admits his love to someone, said someone should give a proper response to the admission.”
America laughed. His hand, which was still cupping England’s cheek, began to caress his face fondly.
“Is ‘I love you too’ considered proper enough for a response?” he asked.
“I think so, yes,” England said.
Taking England into his arm, America embraced him. He cradled England’s face close to his chest, remembering the night years back when they found themselves in similar position, when he promised to himself that he would surely make England’s wishes come true, when he realized just how much he loved England.
And he whispered, into England’s ear, the three simple words that he had not been quite able to say to him back then.
The air raid still raged around them when England whispered, in a voice so soft that America had to strain his ears to hear it.
“And above all that… I want to be loved.”
England’s figure went slack in his embrace and America had a brief moment of panic before he realized that his fellow nation only went to sleep. It was only then that he dared to press a kiss on top of England’s head. It was only then that he dared to caress England’s face.
“You fool,” he said softly to England’s sleeping form, content that he would not be able to hear him. “Don’t you realize that you already are loved?”
Moving his face so his lips were right against England’s ear, he dared to whisper, even though he knew there was no way that England could hear him.
“I love you.”
End
(A/N: ...I think I kinda fail the prompt... duh...)