[Hetalia] "Gone By Daylight"
Title: "Gone by Daylight"
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: America <-> England, pre-relationship
Prompt: 18. Drunk @ hetachallenge, 16. Dawn @ fanfic50
Word Count: 2925
Rating: PG-13 for drunkeness
Summary: Post-Civil War. England is dreading seeing him, he had said too much, felt too much, done things he now regretted. Now he was going to have to face him.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Notes: Written during June for my Camp NaNo. I was on kind of a Civil War kick, this is separate from the Canada/America Civil War stories. Think of them as parallel realities or something. xD
The shots of whiskey didn't go down as smoothly as he would have preferred that they did. Each one burned, and reminded him what was about to happen. He paced his study, the old books on the shelves watching his progress as he paced back and forth across the patterned rug. It was too early in the day to be drinking, but he needed it. America was coming, and if his information was correct he was angry.
England's aide had seemed so concerned at the prospect, the lad's eyes had been wide as saucers when he announced that the American ambassador had not sounded too happy. England had waved the young man off and went straight for the decanter. Finding it nearly empty, he skipped it and grabbed a bottle blindly. America had every right to be angry, England had assisted his rebel faction. He could still remember Confederacy coming to him, gray-blue eyes shining from America's face and promising him so much. He threw back another shot of the whiskey, remembering France telling him that he shouldn't get involved. That no matter the outcome he would be hurting.
Another burning shot poured down his throat. He leaned back in his chair and knowing that he shouldn't be doing this right now. It wasn't the right thing to do when he was about to be confronted by America. He needed to keep a clear head and keep his emotions out of it. He had too many emotions when it came to that other nation and now was was not the time to be feeling them. He needed to keep a clear mind. He reached for the neck of the bottle again, the intention to put it into a decanter already forgotten. It was then that he saw the label, who put American whiskey in front of him?! He threw it at the wall, shattering the glass and staining the wall and carpet with the liquid. The fumes from the alcohol began to fill the room, as his aide walked in to see what the sound had been. He tentatively came towards him, as though she were afraid he was having some kind of fit. Perhaps he was. He was far too drunk to care.
"Mr. England."
"What is it James?"
"Are you alright?" He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to his nation. England waved it away. He ignored the question inquiring about his state of being.
"I will be seeing the United States of America elsewhere. Have him meet me in the tea parlor." He brushed past the young man, and headed out, down the hall. He stumbled a few times, but luckily no one was around to see his disgrace. He glanced at the clock on the hall wall, he had about a half hour to sober it. He was sure that it would be enough, he just needed a cup of tea. He called for a servant to brew him a pot as he sank into one of the chairs. This room smelled much less of dust, history, and spilled alcohol and more of comfort, flowers, and tea. Already his nerves were calmed, although his head felt no clearer.
He had been a fool, going over there to see how he was. He shouldn't have bothered with America's business after the Trent Affair. He should have handled that and been done with it, but there had been something about the vulnerable look in America's eye that had touched something within him. Stirred something old that he didn't want to acknowledge he even had for America anymore. Canada's message stirred him to similar thoughts, that's why he had come. He put one hand on his forehead as he remembered the things he had felt, they felt so distant, so foreign now. He was numbed to them, after they had kept him awake for countless nights. He heard the clink of the teapot as the servant set it down. The quiet sound of the tea hitting the china tea cup. He thanked whomever it was, not looking up, reaching for the cup. His fingers found the smooth handle and he brought the cup to his lips. The quiet footsteps signaled the servant's exit.
He took a few slow slips, already feeling as though his head were clearing. He tried to ignore the stolen kiss he had taken from America's lips or the unreadable look he had received from Canada the next day. Canada knew somehow, and something had been in Canada's eyes that he couldn't understand. He didn't understand their relationship, Canada was always there when America was in trouble. He had gone to him even when America was trying his hardest to take him as a trophy. Could they be..? He didn't want to think about it.
He poured himself another cup, trying to focus on the quiet sounds of the garden and not the turmoil he could feel building amongst the diplomats. They were all awaiting the American storm. He swore he could hear him coming before he even entered the building. His footfalls were so heavy, except when he wanted them to be quiet. His voice so loud. His presence so absolute, it was impossible to ignore him when he entered a room. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he heard America making his way down the hallway. He would be here any second and his head was still pounding a little. He should have brought his flask in from the other room, that would have been a better idea. He had been on the right track before, not now that he was trying to sober up. He made a point to stare at the tea pot when America entered the room. He would have to thank the servant for choosing a plain one. That way if one of them broke it, it wouldn't be much of a loss.
He stood, offering a hand to America. "Good day, America."
America's shoulders were hunched, he had done that since he was a child. It was a sure sign that he was stressed over something. England knew exactly what it was. "It's not a good day."
"No need to be petulant..."
"Petulant is you sending ships to the Confederacy, and agreeing to see his diplomats." America snapped. England closed his mouth and looked away from him. He sat back down at the table, bringing the cup of tea to his lips. He half-expected America to knock it from his hand, but he just sat, looking too stiff and formal at the other side of the table. He flipped over the other cup and lay his spoon across it. Not taking tea in England's presence hadn't changed in the slightest. They sat in tense silence, which made England more nervous than if America had been yelling. At least if he was saying ridiculous things he would be able to respond, this silence made him feel as though he should speak. He just sipped at the tea, wondering the best way to express to America why he had done the things that he did.
"Why?" America asked, tilting his head in question.
"Why what?"
"You know."
"You want to know why I would support the states in rebellion." America nodded. England thought for a moment, "I don't know."
"Is it because he said he'd love you?" England almost dropped the cup, it clattered against the saucer rather loudly when he was able to set it down. He opened his mouth to deny, "I know that you took him up on his offer when he was here. You don't have to lie about it."
England felt his face flush in embarrassment, "How do you know?"
"He told me, in detail, what he had given to you in exchange for ships. I told him that he was an idiot that he would sell himself for so little. Was it not enough? You couldn't just watch him twist the knife in my gut, you had to sleep with him too?"
England just stared at him, Confederacy had told America some tall tales, but he couldn't deny that he had almost been there. "He told you a lie. Although, I won't deny that he offered and I was tempted."
"Stand up."
"What?" America got up from his chair and stood in front of him.
"Stand up."
"So you can knock me down? I'd rather not."
America clenched his fists, "I don't need to knock you down. I'm sure you're already plenty embarrassed by all of this. As you should be."
"If you are looking for an apology America, you are not going to get one. You should know all about not following through on apologies." America leaned over his chair and leaned far too close to him. He could smell drink on America's breath, apparently he had felt the need for liquid courage on his way here as well. The last time a pair of American eyes had been looking into his, they were the wrong pair. They had been a stormy grey-blue, angry, and yearning and saying all of the sweet things he wanted these eyes to tell him. He had let those storm grey eyes kiss him. He had let him kiss him a second time and let him stay close. He had let him put his arms around his neck and deepen the kiss. He had touched and been touch, but when his shirt was halfway off and the other America was on his back beneath him, he had stopped. He had pulled away, gathering his things and walking to the door. Those eyes had looked broken, hurt. He had sent him back with some ships for reasons he couldn't even remember.
"I'm not looking for an apology." America replied, "I want to know why."
England tried to look away, but America grabbed his chin and kept him there. "You wouldn't believe the truth."
America knelt down, his chest pressing against England's knees, effectively keeping him trapped against the back of his chair. "Try me."
England looked back into those questioning eyes and couldn't think of how to explain. So he decided not to, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against America's. They felt right now, not the too hot, too chapped that they had been as he kissed him while he was sleeping. America turned his face, breaking the kiss. England could see how shocked he was.
"What are you doing?"
"Giving you an answer."
America turned back to him, confusion stamped across his face. "England... I..."
England could feel the flush spreading down his neck, he was humiliated. "I apologize, I should not have done that. Now if you do not want to speak diplomacy I think you should leave."
America nodded and stood up, he walked away looking dazed and England noticed him put a finger to his lips as he left. He heard his footsteps quickly retreat, going to the room he had been assigned. England put his head in his hands and leaned over. The alcohol was buzzing through him now and he felt sick. The blood pounding through his flush faced gave him a headache. He needed to go lie down.
Once inside his room he stretched across the bed, grateful for the soft sheets and comfort that it provided. He would let his diplomats work this one out, if he didn't need to see America this entire visit he would appreciate it. He had never been so humiliated. He had never felt so foolish. He had tipped his hand, and now America knew. He lay there in a daze, watching the shadows creep across his ceiling. It had been the early afternoon when America had arrived, but now it was most certainly evening. Soon it would be night. He got up to change into his night shirt, the loose clothing feeling much better than the clothes he had put on for the meeting. He was just pouring water into his wash basin when he heard a knock at the door. It must have been a servant. He called for the person to come in, continuing to pour.
He was just dipping his hands into the water to wash his face when the person spoke. He whirled, America was standing there. He was no longer in the dress clothes he had been in early, just a simple shirt and pants. Although they were the more modern fashion, it was still the same simple clothing that America had always been fond of. "A-America!? What are you doing here!?" He grabbed for a robe, it was indecent for anyone to be so exposed in front of another person. He wrapped it around himself as America looked away, at least he was polite enough to do that. He synched the belt firmly about his waist and turned to face the younger man, arms crossed and feeling embarrassed.
"I... uh... wanted to ask you something..."
"Well, I'm listening."
"I wanted to know what you meant by kissing me." America blushed and looked at him sheepishly. He rubbed self-consciously at the back of his head. England stared at him for a moment, then he sighed.
"It was meant as a kiss." he said looking away. He stared at the oil lamp that was sending flickering shadows against his wall. He started when he felt America's fingers on his chin, turning his face, soft lips pressing against his. America was... sucking on his lower lip and sliding a hand underneath his dressing robe. He started and pushed him away. He could still taste the alcohol from the other's lips. "America, what are you doing?"
"Isn't this what you want?" He came closer to him again, reaching around to wrap his arms around his waist.
"You are drunk."
"So are you."
"I was drunk." And that was why I had the poor sense of judgement to kiss you. America's hands felt nice against his shoulders and despite the alcohol he smelled good... and no. He needed to push away that hand that was warm and strong against his chest and that delicious tongue that was in his mouth and that warm body that had somehow gotten above him on the bed. No. He pushed at him slightly, and when he didn't stop grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him backwards.
"My head feels fuzzy..."
"Because you are drunk."
"You know I was scared to see you... I thought you and Confederacy..." America lay his head down on his shoulder, his warm weight still on top of England's body. England put his hand on America's head.
"I didn't. It's alright, America." He ran his fingers through his hair and felt America sigh and relax. "And now I'm only going to say this next part to you since there is no possible way you could remember in the morning."
"What?"
"I couldn't do it. He was giving me everything I wanted, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't you. He was you, but not in the same way. You're all of that, he was just one small part of you."
"I love you, England." America said, nuzzling his nose against the fabric on his shoulder. England's eyes widened and his heart started to pound. It's just the alcohol, he told himself, Don't read too much into it. Except he wanted to hear those words again, accepting that they didn't hold the boyish affection they once did. They were the words of an adult, one that knew that he wanted something and was willing to give something in return. England didn't resist as America put his mouth on his neck and begin to kiss his skin. He would be done soon enough.
When America finally passed out from the drink England was both relieved and frustrated. He knew it was for the best, but he wondered what other things America would say when his tongue was loosened. Perhaps it would be more wonderful declarations. And maybe once he sobered, he would want... England flushed at the thought, it was a poor plan to think about such contingencies when America had passed out on top of him. The poor lad. He rolled him gently on to his side and lay there beside him.
"America, I was there too when Canada let me in and told me what had happened. I was so worried... I..." he paused, praying that America was truly out, "I love you, I don't know when it changed from loving you as a little brother to loving all of you. I hope your words were not false." He pressed their foreheads together and just held him, ignoring the strong smell that emanated from the younger nation due to the liquor. His headache began to get the better of him and he closed his eyes.
He didn't realize he had fallen asleep, until he was waking the next morning, dawn light falling across his eyes. His bed was cold and empty. He sighed and called for some fresh water in his room. America had left. He wondered what the other's reaction had been, had he realized he had wandered into England's room? Was he horrified? Was he pleasantly surprised?
He took a deep breath and realized that he was going to have to face the day, perhaps now with a hungover America. The mess had begun, and he felt a bit like he had joined a farce that he didn't remember beginning or agreeing to.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: America <-> England, pre-relationship
Prompt: 18. Drunk @ hetachallenge, 16. Dawn @ fanfic50
Word Count: 2925
Rating: PG-13 for drunkeness
Summary: Post-Civil War. England is dreading seeing him, he had said too much, felt too much, done things he now regretted. Now he was going to have to face him.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Notes: Written during June for my Camp NaNo. I was on kind of a Civil War kick, this is separate from the Canada/America Civil War stories. Think of them as parallel realities or something. xD
The shots of whiskey didn't go down as smoothly as he would have preferred that they did. Each one burned, and reminded him what was about to happen. He paced his study, the old books on the shelves watching his progress as he paced back and forth across the patterned rug. It was too early in the day to be drinking, but he needed it. America was coming, and if his information was correct he was angry.
England's aide had seemed so concerned at the prospect, the lad's eyes had been wide as saucers when he announced that the American ambassador had not sounded too happy. England had waved the young man off and went straight for the decanter. Finding it nearly empty, he skipped it and grabbed a bottle blindly. America had every right to be angry, England had assisted his rebel faction. He could still remember Confederacy coming to him, gray-blue eyes shining from America's face and promising him so much. He threw back another shot of the whiskey, remembering France telling him that he shouldn't get involved. That no matter the outcome he would be hurting.
Another burning shot poured down his throat. He leaned back in his chair and knowing that he shouldn't be doing this right now. It wasn't the right thing to do when he was about to be confronted by America. He needed to keep a clear head and keep his emotions out of it. He had too many emotions when it came to that other nation and now was was not the time to be feeling them. He needed to keep a clear mind. He reached for the neck of the bottle again, the intention to put it into a decanter already forgotten. It was then that he saw the label, who put American whiskey in front of him?! He threw it at the wall, shattering the glass and staining the wall and carpet with the liquid. The fumes from the alcohol began to fill the room, as his aide walked in to see what the sound had been. He tentatively came towards him, as though she were afraid he was having some kind of fit. Perhaps he was. He was far too drunk to care.
"Mr. England."
"What is it James?"
"Are you alright?" He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to his nation. England waved it away. He ignored the question inquiring about his state of being.
"I will be seeing the United States of America elsewhere. Have him meet me in the tea parlor." He brushed past the young man, and headed out, down the hall. He stumbled a few times, but luckily no one was around to see his disgrace. He glanced at the clock on the hall wall, he had about a half hour to sober it. He was sure that it would be enough, he just needed a cup of tea. He called for a servant to brew him a pot as he sank into one of the chairs. This room smelled much less of dust, history, and spilled alcohol and more of comfort, flowers, and tea. Already his nerves were calmed, although his head felt no clearer.
He had been a fool, going over there to see how he was. He shouldn't have bothered with America's business after the Trent Affair. He should have handled that and been done with it, but there had been something about the vulnerable look in America's eye that had touched something within him. Stirred something old that he didn't want to acknowledge he even had for America anymore. Canada's message stirred him to similar thoughts, that's why he had come. He put one hand on his forehead as he remembered the things he had felt, they felt so distant, so foreign now. He was numbed to them, after they had kept him awake for countless nights. He heard the clink of the teapot as the servant set it down. The quiet sound of the tea hitting the china tea cup. He thanked whomever it was, not looking up, reaching for the cup. His fingers found the smooth handle and he brought the cup to his lips. The quiet footsteps signaled the servant's exit.
He took a few slow slips, already feeling as though his head were clearing. He tried to ignore the stolen kiss he had taken from America's lips or the unreadable look he had received from Canada the next day. Canada knew somehow, and something had been in Canada's eyes that he couldn't understand. He didn't understand their relationship, Canada was always there when America was in trouble. He had gone to him even when America was trying his hardest to take him as a trophy. Could they be..? He didn't want to think about it.
He poured himself another cup, trying to focus on the quiet sounds of the garden and not the turmoil he could feel building amongst the diplomats. They were all awaiting the American storm. He swore he could hear him coming before he even entered the building. His footfalls were so heavy, except when he wanted them to be quiet. His voice so loud. His presence so absolute, it was impossible to ignore him when he entered a room. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he heard America making his way down the hallway. He would be here any second and his head was still pounding a little. He should have brought his flask in from the other room, that would have been a better idea. He had been on the right track before, not now that he was trying to sober up. He made a point to stare at the tea pot when America entered the room. He would have to thank the servant for choosing a plain one. That way if one of them broke it, it wouldn't be much of a loss.
He stood, offering a hand to America. "Good day, America."
America's shoulders were hunched, he had done that since he was a child. It was a sure sign that he was stressed over something. England knew exactly what it was. "It's not a good day."
"No need to be petulant..."
"Petulant is you sending ships to the Confederacy, and agreeing to see his diplomats." America snapped. England closed his mouth and looked away from him. He sat back down at the table, bringing the cup of tea to his lips. He half-expected America to knock it from his hand, but he just sat, looking too stiff and formal at the other side of the table. He flipped over the other cup and lay his spoon across it. Not taking tea in England's presence hadn't changed in the slightest. They sat in tense silence, which made England more nervous than if America had been yelling. At least if he was saying ridiculous things he would be able to respond, this silence made him feel as though he should speak. He just sipped at the tea, wondering the best way to express to America why he had done the things that he did.
"Why?" America asked, tilting his head in question.
"Why what?"
"You know."
"You want to know why I would support the states in rebellion." America nodded. England thought for a moment, "I don't know."
"Is it because he said he'd love you?" England almost dropped the cup, it clattered against the saucer rather loudly when he was able to set it down. He opened his mouth to deny, "I know that you took him up on his offer when he was here. You don't have to lie about it."
England felt his face flush in embarrassment, "How do you know?"
"He told me, in detail, what he had given to you in exchange for ships. I told him that he was an idiot that he would sell himself for so little. Was it not enough? You couldn't just watch him twist the knife in my gut, you had to sleep with him too?"
England just stared at him, Confederacy had told America some tall tales, but he couldn't deny that he had almost been there. "He told you a lie. Although, I won't deny that he offered and I was tempted."
"Stand up."
"What?" America got up from his chair and stood in front of him.
"Stand up."
"So you can knock me down? I'd rather not."
America clenched his fists, "I don't need to knock you down. I'm sure you're already plenty embarrassed by all of this. As you should be."
"If you are looking for an apology America, you are not going to get one. You should know all about not following through on apologies." America leaned over his chair and leaned far too close to him. He could smell drink on America's breath, apparently he had felt the need for liquid courage on his way here as well. The last time a pair of American eyes had been looking into his, they were the wrong pair. They had been a stormy grey-blue, angry, and yearning and saying all of the sweet things he wanted these eyes to tell him. He had let those storm grey eyes kiss him. He had let him kiss him a second time and let him stay close. He had let him put his arms around his neck and deepen the kiss. He had touched and been touch, but when his shirt was halfway off and the other America was on his back beneath him, he had stopped. He had pulled away, gathering his things and walking to the door. Those eyes had looked broken, hurt. He had sent him back with some ships for reasons he couldn't even remember.
"I'm not looking for an apology." America replied, "I want to know why."
England tried to look away, but America grabbed his chin and kept him there. "You wouldn't believe the truth."
America knelt down, his chest pressing against England's knees, effectively keeping him trapped against the back of his chair. "Try me."
England looked back into those questioning eyes and couldn't think of how to explain. So he decided not to, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against America's. They felt right now, not the too hot, too chapped that they had been as he kissed him while he was sleeping. America turned his face, breaking the kiss. England could see how shocked he was.
"What are you doing?"
"Giving you an answer."
America turned back to him, confusion stamped across his face. "England... I..."
England could feel the flush spreading down his neck, he was humiliated. "I apologize, I should not have done that. Now if you do not want to speak diplomacy I think you should leave."
America nodded and stood up, he walked away looking dazed and England noticed him put a finger to his lips as he left. He heard his footsteps quickly retreat, going to the room he had been assigned. England put his head in his hands and leaned over. The alcohol was buzzing through him now and he felt sick. The blood pounding through his flush faced gave him a headache. He needed to go lie down.
Once inside his room he stretched across the bed, grateful for the soft sheets and comfort that it provided. He would let his diplomats work this one out, if he didn't need to see America this entire visit he would appreciate it. He had never been so humiliated. He had never felt so foolish. He had tipped his hand, and now America knew. He lay there in a daze, watching the shadows creep across his ceiling. It had been the early afternoon when America had arrived, but now it was most certainly evening. Soon it would be night. He got up to change into his night shirt, the loose clothing feeling much better than the clothes he had put on for the meeting. He was just pouring water into his wash basin when he heard a knock at the door. It must have been a servant. He called for the person to come in, continuing to pour.
He was just dipping his hands into the water to wash his face when the person spoke. He whirled, America was standing there. He was no longer in the dress clothes he had been in early, just a simple shirt and pants. Although they were the more modern fashion, it was still the same simple clothing that America had always been fond of. "A-America!? What are you doing here!?" He grabbed for a robe, it was indecent for anyone to be so exposed in front of another person. He wrapped it around himself as America looked away, at least he was polite enough to do that. He synched the belt firmly about his waist and turned to face the younger man, arms crossed and feeling embarrassed.
"I... uh... wanted to ask you something..."
"Well, I'm listening."
"I wanted to know what you meant by kissing me." America blushed and looked at him sheepishly. He rubbed self-consciously at the back of his head. England stared at him for a moment, then he sighed.
"It was meant as a kiss." he said looking away. He stared at the oil lamp that was sending flickering shadows against his wall. He started when he felt America's fingers on his chin, turning his face, soft lips pressing against his. America was... sucking on his lower lip and sliding a hand underneath his dressing robe. He started and pushed him away. He could still taste the alcohol from the other's lips. "America, what are you doing?"
"Isn't this what you want?" He came closer to him again, reaching around to wrap his arms around his waist.
"You are drunk."
"So are you."
"I was drunk." And that was why I had the poor sense of judgement to kiss you. America's hands felt nice against his shoulders and despite the alcohol he smelled good... and no. He needed to push away that hand that was warm and strong against his chest and that delicious tongue that was in his mouth and that warm body that had somehow gotten above him on the bed. No. He pushed at him slightly, and when he didn't stop grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him backwards.
"My head feels fuzzy..."
"Because you are drunk."
"You know I was scared to see you... I thought you and Confederacy..." America lay his head down on his shoulder, his warm weight still on top of England's body. England put his hand on America's head.
"I didn't. It's alright, America." He ran his fingers through his hair and felt America sigh and relax. "And now I'm only going to say this next part to you since there is no possible way you could remember in the morning."
"What?"
"I couldn't do it. He was giving me everything I wanted, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't you. He was you, but not in the same way. You're all of that, he was just one small part of you."
"I love you, England." America said, nuzzling his nose against the fabric on his shoulder. England's eyes widened and his heart started to pound. It's just the alcohol, he told himself, Don't read too much into it. Except he wanted to hear those words again, accepting that they didn't hold the boyish affection they once did. They were the words of an adult, one that knew that he wanted something and was willing to give something in return. England didn't resist as America put his mouth on his neck and begin to kiss his skin. He would be done soon enough.
When America finally passed out from the drink England was both relieved and frustrated. He knew it was for the best, but he wondered what other things America would say when his tongue was loosened. Perhaps it would be more wonderful declarations. And maybe once he sobered, he would want... England flushed at the thought, it was a poor plan to think about such contingencies when America had passed out on top of him. The poor lad. He rolled him gently on to his side and lay there beside him.
"America, I was there too when Canada let me in and told me what had happened. I was so worried... I..." he paused, praying that America was truly out, "I love you, I don't know when it changed from loving you as a little brother to loving all of you. I hope your words were not false." He pressed their foreheads together and just held him, ignoring the strong smell that emanated from the younger nation due to the liquor. His headache began to get the better of him and he closed his eyes.
He didn't realize he had fallen asleep, until he was waking the next morning, dawn light falling across his eyes. His bed was cold and empty. He sighed and called for some fresh water in his room. America had left. He wondered what the other's reaction had been, had he realized he had wandered into England's room? Was he horrified? Was he pleasantly surprised?
He took a deep breath and realized that he was going to have to face the day, perhaps now with a hungover America. The mess had begun, and he felt a bit like he had joined a farce that he didn't remember beginning or agreeing to.