Battleships [2a/10]
anonymous
September 2 2011, 09:31:31 UTC
England traced little circles in his ankles, gazing wistfully after his socks, as he considered crouching precariously (and unbecomingly) over the side of the bed to try and get his shirt, and those lovely, dignified socks of his. Whilst he would have liked to have at least some of his body covered, the chances of America bursting back into the room at any moment, he hoped, were abnormally high. He just wanted something to do really, and maybe - he curled his toes - socks. His socks, however, were wedged between the wall and bed. With an overt grumble, England gave in, twisted round and shoved his arm down the side of the bed, butt invitingly facing the doorway. The doorway he sincerely hoped America would not come running through
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