Title: Your Love is a Song Drabble Series

Genre: romance, fluff, humor
Pairing(s): USUK
Rating/Warnings: ranging from PG to M (includes language, sex, and bondage)
Summary: A collection of USUK oneshots done for Sweethearts Week on Livejournal.
Notes: The USUK comm on Livejournal is having their Sweethearts Week again this year and I participated by writing 2 small one-shots, one from England's POV and one from America's, for each theme. Since the week is almost over, I will be posting the stories here as a drabble series with individual summaries for each set of drabbles.

This Theme, Sealed with a Kiss: America doesn't sleep with a shirt on and England needs reminding.

I hear you breathing in

America almost never slept with a shirt on.

England, who had never found that a comfortable way to sleep unless it was after a round of satisfying sex and he was too tired to fish for his discarded shirt, had a hard time getting used to that aspect of sleeping in America's bed. It had felt too warm or too hard or too different at first and he had ended up tossing and turning for most of the night, leaving him to be extra irritable in the morning. But, like everything else England had initially found himself annoyed with regarding the younger nation, sleeping against America's bare back or chest became more and more of a comfort, a safe haven, something to look forward to. It let him feel the beat of America's heart against his ear and smell the fresh scent of his skin that always reminded England of earth and sky.

And, it granted England wonderful access to rain a shower of soft, gentle kisses up and down America's spine, waking the younger nation up more pleasantly than any alarm clock could ever hope to.

America's back was broad and a healthy, tan color; wide shoulders narrowing down to slimmer hips with muscles relaxed beneath the skin. There were a smattering of faded scars that were pale patches of white or red against the skin, so muted over the years that if England hadn't been looking for them he wouldn't have spotted them. Some of them were from various skirmishes or natural disasters America had faced over the years, some were from the wars he fought—there were even a few that England had put there. He was always sure to give those marks extra attention.

England inhaled deeply at the base of America's neck, letting the soft, golden hair tickle his nose as he spooned in behind the slightly taller nation, his arms wrapped around his body and he linked his hands over his stomach. England smiled against the soft skin before he began pressing soft kisses down his neck and further down his spine, shuffling a little so he could reach each vertebrae comfortably. Once England reached the base of his spine and the small of America's back he shifted up again and pressed warm, open mouthed kisses against the various marks and scars he knew by heart, mouthing words in English, Gaelic, Welsh and even the little Indian he remembered as he went. America shifted under his ministrations but didn't make any move to turn around; England knew he was waking up though and that he was smiling.

After kissing the scars, England moved back to America's spine, loving how strong it felt against his lips, loving that even when America was dealing with numerous adversities and under near constant stress and political demands it was still straight and proud. A long time ago he would have sneered and told him he should have expected it, that he deserved the hardship of being a nation since he had spurned England's care, but those days were gone and now England only felt admiration for America. He kissed and kissed until he was back at the base of America's neck, placing a lingering one at the top of the spine before he loosened his hold on America so the awakened nation could turn around. America's eyes were sleepy but happy and he leaned in close to bury his nose in England's neck, his own strong hold wrapping around England.

"Morning, sunshine." England smiled and whispered it back.

The dawn is fire bright

America loved a lot of different things about England but he was aware he needed to remind the older nation of all those things he loved on a near constant basis. England had never had a particularly strong sense of self-esteem in his physical appearance; whether it was because his eyebrows were pretty damn big or because he'd spent most of his childhood getting beat up by his siblings or because he'd spent so much time under French rule as a child who probably always pointed out his flaws all the time, America didn't know. But, all that stuff really didn't matter because all he cared about was that England felt at times that he wasn't worthwhile in some fashion when America felt the complete opposite.

So, he liked to remind England at every opportunity how attractive he found the older nation. And that's what he was doing right now, straddling England, still fully dressed, in his bed, his hands holding England's wrists pinned down tight so he couldn't wriggle away, pressing soft, butterfly kisses all over his body and face, listing off every little thing America loved about England. How sexy he found his slender hands, how he loved the feel of the rough, calloused tips against his skin; how much he loved every little noise England couldn't stop from escaping the pale, strong column of his throat. How he even loved the bushy eyebrows because even though on a ton of people they'd be an eyesore, England pulled them off in a way that was uniquely handsome to him.

"St-stop saying such daft things…" England's voice was soft and husky, hardly even any scolding in it really. America grinned and kissed his nose in retaliation.

"No can do, Iggy, I'm not even halfway done!" America moved over and kissed the warm, flushed cheek nosily, pulling away with an exaggerated smooching sound. "I really love how you turn this really cute shade of red whenever you're embarrassed—you look like you do after we've screwed, it's totally hot."

America kissed England's mouth before the older nation could deny anything before he moved down and placed a solid kiss to the bobbing Adam's apple, which made a nice sort of hum-sigh noise come out of England. "I love how you let me kiss you here, baring your throat, it's so sexy."

England made another soft noise and swallowed against America's lips; America also loved how England was shy at first whenever America listed off his good features, but he couldn't really kiss that.

America drifted back up and pressed a kiss to each closed eye lid, giving England a dopey grin when those eyes re-opened and blinked hazily at him. "And green is my favorite color after blue so your eyes are awesome."

He wished that England could figure out how attractive America found him; that he loved every bit, ever flaw, every dip and sharp angle he had; that he could always believe it and never worried that America would ever find him ugly or funny-looking or whatever the hell else he got into his head. But, even if he never did, even if they spent the next few centuries together and America still had to tell him every day, he wouldn't mind it too much. That just meant he got to kiss England silly—and there really wasn't much to complain with about that.

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