A/N- Originally done for the Fanworkathon on the usxuk livejournal community. The prompt was America or England uses the "Communicating with Your Partner" book Germany uses in the Buon san Valentino strips. I expect just as much crack. Please mention the page listed for each nationality in some way, though! I hope I didn't stretch that too far ^^'
England's list came from (take out the spaces)- www . twu . edu / downloads / counseling / E-4_Communication_with_Your_Partner . pdf
Y.O.U.R. A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.
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"Germany, you of all people aren't paying attention?"
Germany's head shot up as he hid whatever he was reading in his coat, his eyes narrowed at England, but still looking rather flustered. England gave him a questioning look before glancing back at where America was yelling about his speech and how great it was and then glanced back.
"Germany?"
"I was paying attention," he retorted, looking away from England and up at America who was looking at the two in confusion before pouting.
"Guys!" he wailed, "Listen to me and my amazing way to fix Ireland's debts! How about we just sink the place and that other annoying island beside it! It's not like it's important compared to me or anything which means it's just not important and-"
England growled, throwing a pen at him. "One, you weren't talking about that, if it was a test. You were talking about the situation in Libya," he smirked, "Two, I'd like to see you try."
America stuck out his tongue and Germany fidgeted, glancing over where Italy had fallen asleep on the desk, hugging Greece's cat, who's owner and self were snoozing too. He smiled, amused as the Italian man made little breathy noises beside him.
"What's so funny?"
Once again, Germany had been caught off guard by the Briton on his other side. "I wasn't laughing."
"You were smiling at Italy; is something up?" England pressed before blinking at Germany's flushed face. "Oh."
Realizing what he ideas he had unintentionally put in the others head, Germany flailed a bit, his blush increasing as he protested. "No no no, you got the wrong idea; he just looks funny when he's asleep- Italy! Wake up, you're in the middle of a meeting!"
Italy jolted to the sound of his friend's voice and he smiled sleepily up at the taller male. "Ve, is Doitsu going to get me pasta?"
"Um, later," he replied, fiddling with his papers as Italy fell back asleep. England raised an eyebrow before going back to the meeting. Germany sighed in relief. He'd dropped it.
"That book."
The German almost physically hit himself. He'd spoken too soon. "You saw that?"
"You aren't very secretive," the Briton smirked, "We're in the middle of a meeting for crying out loud. Give it here for a second."
Raising an eyebrow, Germany wondered if England truly knew what he had been reading, and, if so, why on earth he would be asking to borrow a book on how to deal with your partner; unless Italy was failing to break the news to him. Or maybe Romano. Who else was difficult to deal with? His brain was too tired to work. He wished he could fall asleep like Italy.
Shaking his head, he hurriedly got the book out from his jacket and handed it to England, looking as aloof about the situation as possible. Italy made a little wheezing sound between his two teeth and snuggled into the cat beside him as America loudly proclaimed his heroic awesomeness to the dismay of a coughing and sneezing Ireland, who's flaming fist was positioned rather close to the younger country's vitals.
England flicked through it nonchalantly. If your partner is German, have wurst and beer at the ready. True, true. If your partner is Russian, bring your coat and a self defence weapon. Very true. If your partner is Canadian, keep him/her in sight as they are inclined to blend in with furniture.
England blinked, looking around the room. After his search turned out fruitless (although the boy he was looking for was sitting opposite him) he decided that that rule was true too.
If your partner is Swedish, small talk is a no no. Quite. If your partner is Irish, learn geography and work up a tolerance to alcohol.
England looked up at his sibling. Ireland was counting to ten very loudly and drinking clear liquid out of a bottle between numbers. It wasn't water.
He went back to reading. England glared at the page with the French on it. It was censored, as are most things to do with France.
He went to the contents. The page he wanted was on page thirty two. He got as far as page twenty nine.
"Iggy, what are you doing?"
Germany snatched the book of the disgruntled Englishman, who in turn was glaring at a very confused American. Germany discreetly looked at the page England had been on. 'If your partner is Italian.'
Germany swore he was going to have to arrange a meeting between him and the Italy brothers; soon.
-x-
England pressed the circular button on his computer hard drive, tapping his fingers on the desk in irritation as he waited impatiently for the log in screen to appear. When it did, he carefully typed in his four letter password, making sure not to clumsily hit off any other letters on his old keyboard by mistake.
America always said he was living in the stone age when he didn't have a computer, and, by the time he actually got around to purchasing one of them, everyone else had moved on to portable laptops.
England sighed. He always preferred a pen and paper to typing on either a keyboard or an old typewriter, but neither of them had search engines on them, so we digress.
He leaned back on the chair as he waited even further for the internet to be recognized. Eventually, the little access sign came up in the bottom right corner, so he opened up the Internet Explorer. That was yet another thing that America teased him about; the fact that he hadn't downloaded Google Chrome or Mozilla Firefox. Really, he just hadn't got the time, and they were all as good as the next in his opinion.
He stared at the flashing cursor on the search bar, contemplating once again why he was even doing this for the boy. He sighed, typing in what he was looking for.
'How to understand your American'
Not that America was his, of course. He was just thinking like a human being, and in the people world, lovers belonged to each other, according to the books France kept insistently lending to him.
Not that America was that to him either.
How to read your pathology report
Understanding your blood pressure readings
What your cholesterol level means
England glared at the computer. All of the options would be useful concerning the American (he swore his blood pressure was suffering at the hands of that git), but they weren't what he was looking for.
'How to handle an American'
Not that he didn't know what to do with him. He'd looked after him for about two centuries, but that was different back then. And it was a different relationship and a lot less difficult.
American handle company inc.
American flag etiquette; how to handle your American flag
The American conservative how to handle a woman
England sighed, deleting all the letters from the search bar again. None of them were any good either.
'Communicating with an American'
England sighed as, once again, his search came up fruitless. He had visited the book shop where Germany- after refusing to let him look at the book again- had reluctantly admitted to getting his book from; but the guy (who looked rather like Prussia, but England had dismissed it as German similarity) who ran the shop had insisted that he had already sold all his dating advice books to a highly strung German man who'd identity was not hard to figure out.
"Damnit," he muttered to himself, lying his head down on the keyboard, adding a few hyphens and g's at the end of his phrase, "The internet is meant to have everything you could possibly need. I knew I should have just gone to the library."
But no, he had no time now. America would be coming to visit early, as the next meeting was being held in London anyway, and he'd be arriving in the evening to stay with England. The Englishman growled; he just wanted to rip him off and eat all the food in his fridge.
Maybe he was being too pessimistic about the lad, he thought. They did have a relationship now, whatever that meant to either of them, it involved devouring each other in public bathrooms after heated arguments and reluctant dreary movies on rainy days, squashed up on the couch, both refusing to make a move and hug the other.
Then they would fall asleep in their boredom and wake to find that their subconscious mind's had done it for them.
He sighed. It really couldn't go on, could it?
"Maybe less specific," he mumbled to himself, picking himself off the key board and deleting the jibber jabber he had accidently typed with his squished up cheek.
'Communicating with your partner'
This, naturally got more results and he clicked on the first one that looked promising. Reading through them, England felt a peculiar grin find his way on to his previously sullen features as he clicked print.
'Who knew socialising was this easy?'
-x-
A chance to make use of the rules came about sooner than he expected; in fact, no sooner than America had walked in the door.
"Hey, Iggy, can you open the door already?" The voice had come through the letter box, causing England to jump, as he hadn't heard the doorbell ring. It had probably broken again; the thing was ancient.
"I'll be right there," he called, scuttering over to the door, unlatching the lock and swinging it open to reveal a grinning American with two, three ton suitcases.
Three ton, of course, was an overstatement on England's behalf. Still, America could have lasted a week and a half surely with half of the luggage he was currently holding on to with shaky hands. They were probably full of his X-box and other assorted games consoles; all without chargers, knowing America's attention span.
( Be Aware of Non-Verbal Signals. Our body language (e.g., facial expressions, posture, eye contact) all change the meaning given to our words)
England recalled what the article had told him on the first couple of lines and grabbed America's suitcase out of his quivering hands. Naturally, the things were heavy and he would drop them if not given a hand with them.
"Here, let me take that," he offered, pushing America's hand away.
America's eyes widened before he managed a, "Don't, England-!"
But England had forgotten that America was a child who could lift buffalos and if America was finding it hard to lift something, for him it would be physically impossible.
The suitcase was pulled by gravity out of England's fingers, and fell with a thud on his foot.
England spent the afternoon with a sullen face and America, with a withering smirk, changing the bags of assorted frozen vegetables on his crushed foot.
-x-
"The food is covered in grease," England grumbled, his foot, swollen and still propped up on the arm of the sofa, staring at the poor excuse for food on his plate.
America, however, was shovelling the rubbish into his mouth, shooting England the odd grin now and again. "That's what makes it so good," he replied, after swallowing. It would be now good to have England berate him for bad table manners when they weren't even eating at the table.
"It's a walking heart attack," he complained further, pushing it around before forcing another mouthful.
"It's better than anything you could make, old man," America laughed, scraping the last of the horrendous slop off his plate.
They both were a lot of things, but neither were the best of chefs.
(Don't Make Generalizations. Be specific and direct. Concentrate on this particular personal issue. Do not change the subject, stick to the issue until it is resolved. )
Picking up his own, now empty, plate and England's hardly touched food, America brought them into the kitchen and left them on the sink, wondering how England functioned without a dishwasher. Like he expected America to wash the dishes. Yeah right.
England, back in the living room, huffed. "No, I do not think it's any better than something I could make," he yelled in, startling America. Wasn't this conversation over already?
"Well, it's hardly any worse," America called back, chuckling at the persistence.
The Englishman, for the sake of all that was good and holy, was yet again reminded that he definitely had burnt the child's cereal once, and, with a sigh, retorted, "It's not any worse, no."
America came back in, a stricken expression plastered all over his chocolate covered face. Someone had found the digestives, it seemed. "What did you say, Iggy," he asked quietly, pale.
England flushed. He hated repeating himself, especially when he was admitting to his own faults. The things he did for that damned boy. "I said that I don't feel either of us is worse than the other. My cooking is equally as bad as yours."
America paled even worse. "Dude, I think you should lie down for some more. The pain must be going to your head," he said, shocked, "Oh man, I didn't know it was that bad!"
England found himself with two bags of assorted frozen vegetables then; one for his aching foot, and one for his oncoming migraine. Stupid child.
-x-
The next morning, England awoke with a creak in his neck and a bad back after being asleep on the couch for the night. Stupid America hadn't woken him and had gone to bed without him, leaving him here when he would have much preferred to be woken up and allowed go to bed, but no, America was instead up there in his bed.
Or in the kitchen making tea, as it so seemed.
"Hey," he said, grinning as he came out of the joined room, a cup of tea and a mug of coffee in his two hands. He handed the tea to England, who sipped it (he found it far too watery, but, we digress once again) as America sat down on the armchair like the afternoon prior. "You feeling alright?"
What England wanted to retort was something along the lines of 'well I would be if I hadn't slept on the couch last night, thank you very much,' but he stopped himself.
(Delay Your Reactions. Don't jump to conclusions. Give yourself time to process what was said. Wait until you have all the information before you make inaccurate assumptions.)
England stayed quiet, taking in what had been said. Now that he remembered the rule, he wondered if he had really heard what he thought he had heard. Maybe America had asked him if the tea was alright or if he had any feeling in his toe from where the suitcase had fallen on it!
It seemed that England had been spending longer than he thought on figuring out how to answer as America began to wave his hand in front of the nonresponsive other's face, worriedly. "Hey, Iggy? You alright? I mean, does your head still hurt? Is it your foot that's hurting. Damnit, I should'a protested more-"
England smiled slightly at the boy's antics. His anxiety was unneeded, but he was acting so darling that he wanted to take out a camera or something to remember the rare moment of unguarded affection; though, he knew what America's reaction to that would be, as he used to do it constantly to him and disgruntle him when he was little*.
(Listen. Indicate that you are paying attention by nodding your head or using brief statements. )
Remembering that, England noticed that America was still ranting on and he wasn't even remotely paying attention. He gave a quick nod and cussed as he creaked his neck doing so.
"-And I, Iggy are you okay?"
England told him, although, less politely, to be quiet.
-x-
Although they had been in a relationship for a while, England had noted that they hadn't gotten very far. Once in a blue moon, America would catch him and pull him somewhere to kiss him senseless, where they usually got caught by a smirking France or Hungary and her camera. The odd time, as America or he was leaving, England would grab him and pull him in for an awkward hug that often resulted in them blushing and saying incomprehensible goodbyes.
But, this visit had America kiss him three times in one day, and, though he was probably just making up for the fact that he had caused him so much injury three days earlier, England thought they might finally be getting somewhere with this 'Special Relationship' lark.
(Discuss Abstinence, Sex, and Safer Sex. Discuss and make mutual decisions on your safer sex options. Go together to get tested for sexually transmitted diseases (STDs). )
"America, I think you should get tested."
America looked up with a mouthful of burger, his cheeks looking like those of a hamster. "Tested for what?"
England coughed awkwardly, wondering if America really was intentionally this dim. "Tested tested, you know. That is, if you haven't been already."
The younger blinked, slowly swallowing his burger before looking at his counterpart, bemused. "Wait, what?"
England twitched. "For STD's, you moron! You've been alive four hundred and something bloody years, you could have easily contracted something, no matter what your sexual history! I wish for you to check if you're clean or not."
America gaped, his mouth at least two inches slack. Then his face went a furious red colour in mortification. "Y-you think I have a disease?"
"Well," England replied, awkward again, "I think it's possible that no matter what we have been doing. It could've possibly contracted-"
"W-w-w-wait, you have a disease?"
England's face then matched America's. "What the hell are you implying you little-"
"Go to hell, England!" America yelled, throwing one of the cushions off the sofa that England, no doubt, would be sleeping on again tonight.
-x-
(Seek Clarification. If you are getting mixed messages about what another person wants, ask about these messages. It is okay to wait until you are sure. )
"America, are you still mad about yesterday?" England asked slowly, dragging his finger around the rim of his teacup.
America had been in a huff all morning, after going to bed at six the previous evening to avoid the awkward silence and neither of them felt it was appropriate to bring a turtle into the mix.*
"What do you think?" America retorted, gulping down his coffee and staring England down with a look that could possibly kill if only it were possible.
(Use "I" Statements. "I" statements help to express your own feelings, attitudes and desires.)
"Well, I think," England started, but was interrupted by America who noisily put his mug back on the table.
"Who gives a crap what you think?" he said, scowling.
"You just asked me," the other said, deadpanning.
America stood up, practically throwing his mug into the sink before turning to glare at England icily. "It's always about what you want, isn't it. Why don't you just listen to me for a change, alright. I don't give a shit what you want. The world doesn't revolve around you."
As America stormed out, England wondered when the tables were suddenly turned.
-x-
"Iggy?"
England, up until that moment, had been trying and failing once again to sleep on the extremely uncomfortable couch; he had toppled off it when he heard America's voice, though, surprised.
"I-I'm here," he called out, smiling slightly as America came into view through the darkness.
"I'm sorry I yelled," he mumbled, scratching his neck sheepishly, reaching forward to help England off the ground. Standing, the older man smiled across at him.
"I'm sorry too."
America grinned, glad his apology was accepted he presumed, pulling England forward and landing with a thump on the couch, England squirming in his grip. "Ah," he sighed, nuzzling his protesting other's neck, twisting him around so that they could both lie comfortably on the sofa, "I'm too tired to go back upstairs."
Although, England thought, that it would make more sense, tired or not, to go up to the room where they both had a chance of actually getting some sleep, he didn't complain, as he was exhausted too.
(Paraphrase and Ask Questions. Repeat back what you think you've heard someone say and use summary statements. )
"Yes," England mumbled tiredly, "I'm too tired to go back up stairs as well."
America frowned, shifting on the sofa before moaning, "God, this is really uncomfortable!"
England sighed knowingly. "Yes, it is really uncomfortable."
The younger furrowed his brow in annoyance. "Hey."
"Hey what?"
"Stop that!"
"Stop what?"
America jutted out his bottom lip in irritation. "You're copying me!"
"I'm copying you?"
The America twitched and England suddenly landed on the wooden flooring with a thump. "Ow, shit," he grumbled, glaring up at the sulking American on the sofa, "What the hell was that for?"
"Drop dead, England!" he grumbled, before rolling over on the couch and shutting his eyes, leaving no room for England to clamber back up. England sighed, deeming that the armchair was far more cramped than the sofa and deciding that pulling the rug over from the fireplace was a lot less hassle than venturing up the stairs to bed.
He didn't even get the damn sofa this time!
-x-
It seemed England had been forgiven the next morning though, as he woke to a sore back and America placing a cup of tea on his chest and an apologetic smile and thought that maybe the list was worth one last shot.
Despite the fact that drinking tea while lying on his back was messy and he had already slopped some down his pyjamas, to his distaste, his back was hurting less while he was lying down. So he stayed there, despite the fact that it was lying there that caused the infuriating ache to begin with.
After finishing the tea, he decided that he was going to have to change out of his pyjamas at some point, or at least move out of the middle of the sitting room floor, and forced himself, back pain or not, to get up, wincing as he did so.
America sauntered back into the room and stole his now empty mug for the sink (which was getting cluttered as England had yet to notice the dishes and America had no intentions of cleaning them) and wandered back in to dump himself on the couch beside England, who had only made it that far with a morning headache from rising too fast.
He sat still for a moment, watching England intently, before he leaned in and captured the older man's lips with his own. England frowned. He really was touchy feely this week. But he gave in anyway and pressed himself closer to the other, deepening the kiss.
After a few minutes of battle in their mouths, England prevailed and squashed America's tongue with his own, gaining dominance. The younger frowned, but allowed it, England's hands weaving in and out of his hair, pulling it through his fingers. America's fingers danced up the back of the other blonde's bed shirt, noticing the shudder he gave.
'Finally, we're getting somewhere,' England thought, smirking silently.
("NO" Can Be Said Many Ways. "No" never means "maybe" or "yes." Silence is not consent — if your partner is not responding, stop and ask whether what you are doing is okay. To give consent, a person must be physically and mentally capable of making the decision — if a person is unconscious, intoxicated, or under the influence of drugs, she/he cannot give consent. )
Not that he thought that little of the lad or anything, but just to make sure of things. "America, you're not under the influence of anything, are you?"
America blinked. "Other than you? No, why?"
England flushed, taking his word as the truth, leaning in for another kiss before quickly pulling away again, ignoring America's sulky look.
"Do you..." England cussed inwardly. He was no good at this; he'd never asked before. He'd just took it as a given and a lot of the time he was too wasted to remember how far he'd gotten, "A-are you sure? You know..."
America made an acknowledging look and nodded.
Silence is not consent.
England waited.
And waited.
America frowned.
England tapped his foot and raised an eyebrow.
America scowled. "Screw you, Iggy!" he grumbled, clambering off the sofa and leaving the room swiftly, stomping his way up the stairs.
England cussed. Now he was ditching that list.
-x-
America threw himself back on England's bed in frustration. England was acting weird and he didn't like it at all. He liked England better when he was scowling and moody; not dancing around things and agreeing and asking his opinion.
He should ask him what's wrong, but it was possibly the other man going senile or something and America would rather avoid and awkward conversation where England never realised he was acting strangely and America came across as the strange one.
America tossed his head off the edge of the bed, hanging upside down with all the blood rushing to his head. He shifted in discomfort and was about to tumble of the edge of the bed when something white caught his eye.
"Huh," he muttered under his breath, tugging the paper out and reading it with difficulty due to the pain forming in his temples, "That's interesting."
-x-
"Eh? Who's this?"
England sighed, shifting the phone on his shoulder as he searched the hot press for a shirt, "Prussia, put your brother on the phone."
He could practically hear the smirk in Prussia's voice as he retorted, "You don't call the awesome me's phone to speak to West, Artie!"
The Englishman found a shirt and shrugged it on, awkwardly moving the phone once he got his arm into the shirt. "Too bad, put him on."
He heard scuffling on the other side and looked through the press for a pair of trousers. He was just getting his leg in one, hopping around with the phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear again when the younger German came on the phone. "England?"
England sighed. "Never thought to ask you this, but did the book do any good for you?"
"...no."
"Didn't think so."
England hung up with no farewell, but he didn't think that Germany would really care either way. He got his other leg into the trousers and threw the phone across the counter, grumbling to himself.
He couldn't really blame Germany for his on naivety in believing that some stranger's advice was going to help him. He began to trudge up the stairs to his bedroom to apologize to America for acting so strangely and hopefully go back to the touch and go relationship they had before it.
England came to a halt, realising that America was standing on the landing, watching as he stomped up the stairs, with a confident smirk plastered across his face. With a tap of his foot, America closed the rest of the distance between them again and their lips were meeting, carefully and warily at first before England gave in and pressed himself against the younger man.
The pulled away after a few too short seconds, breathing lightly and still so very closely pressed together. England felt that he should feel uncomfortable at being in such close proximity to anyone, but it seemed that because it was America he didn't really want to scrabble away.
"I'm sorry," he murmured under his breath, feeling the telltale blush creep up his face. That was okay too, because America's cheeks were tinted pink as well.
"For messing up or for substituting impulse with rules again?" America teased, poking his cheek playfully.
"Both," England sighed automatically, before realisation flooded his features, "Wait, what are you talking about?"
America chuckled, rubbing his cheek against England's and pulling him up on to the landing too as the pose they had been in required more bending than deemed necessary by either of the two nations.
"It's cute that you didn't know what to do," he smiled down at his counterpart, whose face was now the colour of one of Romano's tomatoes as the treacherous sheet of paper of his mistakes was hung in front of him, patronizingly, "So I'll let you away with it this time. But just go with the flow in future, 'kay?"
England huffed, snatching the paper and shoving it in his pocket. "Yes yes, fine," he grumbled, turning his head to the side in defeat. America smiled.
"Come on, don't you want to continue what we were doing earlier?"
England's cheeks flamed again, but a small smirk made it's way up his face.
"Y-"
"Or do I have to give my consent first?"
England's eyebrows furrowed.
And so, while chasing America around the house yelling profanities and still smirking inwardly at the thought of getting further later, when the boy least expected it, it came to him that he would have to call Germany back later and apologize for hanging up on him so rashly and thank him profoundly for putting bizarre ideas in his head in the first place.
.
.
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T.H.E. E.N.D.