A/N: This was totally done on a whim through texting with the wonderfully amazing YouMakeMyHeartJiggleLikeJello who asked me to write a short story to cheer us both up : So here it is, copied from my iPod notes, edited and put together without any character limits 8D Hope you enjoy the train-of-thoughtness~

A Story for Our Story

"Once upon a time, there was this princess who was beautiful, gorgeous and all that jazz. So—"

"Next!" Matthew was rudely interrupted as Alfred set his chin harshly onto the palm of his hand, sitting cross-legged across from the Canadian.

"What?" Matthew screeched as he flung the storybook aside in defeat. "That's the seventh story I've tried to tell but you never let me get pass the beginning!"

"Well, obviously you're not doing a very good job as a storyteller then, Mattie," Alfred puffed his cheeks out, digging his feet deeper into the Nordic patterned blanket they had received from Sweden and Finland last Christmas.

"Hey," Canada pointed out, a tinge of red rage creeping onto his cheekbones as he shot a weak glare at the other. "If I recall correctly, you were the one who begged me to tell you a story."

"Yeah, a good one, Matt," Alfred leaned forward, staring at him with wide blue eyes and Matthew was instantly transported back to their colonial days. "And heroes don't beg." He added breathily, pouting cheekily.

Matthew rolled his eyes despite the grin plastered onto his face as he tugged at the blanket, pulling it over his shoulders despite the playful resistant he felt from Alfred's side of the couch.

"Go," Alfred whined, drawing out the syllable as he nudged his boyfriend's thigh with his toes. "Tell me a story, Mattie."

Matthew signed, refusing to give into the urge to pout like a petulant child would because that would be Alfred behaviour and he was so not going to sink to those tactics.

"Get me the Grimm's Original Fairytale book then," He said, toeing Alfred back.

"Uh, first of all, hell no we are not going to read that book at this hour because holy crap England reading it once was enough," Matthew held back a giggle as he continued to listen to Alfred's 'serious' rant. "And second of all, no I'm not going to get it, period."

At this, the Canadian raised a thin brow.

"What?" You're the one that wants me to tell you a story so how do you expect me to that when you're not getting me a book?"

It was Alfred's turn to return Matthew's very own are-you-serious look. It made the younger blond feel surprisingly embarrassed, as if he was missing out on some big secret, making him slump further into the worn couch, his spine curving against the arm as he faced the American.

"I don't know what you want if you don't tell me, Al…" Matthew glanced up from where he had been staring at the storybook that now laid faced down a few feet away.

"You do," Alfred insisted, reaching over the blanket that hid the fact that their legs had somehow gotten entwined tightly together in the last few moments of their conversation. Neither minded since it was almost a natural occurrence anyway; they couldn't count how many times during conferences where one would hook their ankle around the other's leg until it felt like they had become merged at the hips, joined at their shared border to become a whole, North America.

He gripped the Canadian's hands in his own, fingers running over fingers, tracing each vein, the rivers, each knuckle, the hills because he didn't need a map to get to Matthew's heart and Matthew sure didn't need a visa to get to his.

It was expected.

"A story, our story," Alfred whispered against the silent figure, lips moving against a hidden shoulder. "I want to hear our story as you see it. As you feel it. I want to know."

Matthew blinked slowly, limbs finally beginning to wrap themselves around Alfred like an ocean, like he was meant to mould right up to all his coasts and coves as he tried to make sense of the words that tumbled around in his head.

"Tell it," Alfred repeated it once more, that familiar firmness returning to his tone once more.

A smirk flitted its way onto Matthew's lips as he pressed right up to that warm, warm body.

"Always so insistent, eh?" He mock sighed. The American blushed decently, much to the other's amusement, and lightly punched the area of the blanket where he thought Matthew's arm was.

"Shut up and just start," He pouted although he did snuggle closer until he could feel maple syrup coloured strands tickle his cheek and that odd curl brush against the sharp tip of his nose.

"Well," Matthew trailed, feigning innocence as he pretended to think. "I don't really know where our story began…"

Alfred huffed, just about to push himself up on an elbow to rant insistently but was quickly halted by a pair of violet eyes, close enough to his own so that even their long lashes brushed daintily.

"But beginnings aren't that important anyway, right?" The words were spoken in a hushed tone as if Matthew was sharing a big secret with him. The American could only nod wordlessly, afraid that if he spoke even a single syllable, Matthew would suck it right up and leave him breathless.

"Because it's the endings that count," Matthew continued, violet eyes sparking. The American's head spun in time with his words. "And I'm pretty sure ours is a happily ever after."

And that was sealed with a kiss to Alfred's lips, firm and chaste and full of the kind of love that he only thought existed in fairytales and comic books. Matthew sure proved him wrong with that one single kiss.

"But let's keep it at a 'to be continued', eh?" The Canadian winked with a laugh, fingers trailing suggestively and Alfred knew he fell in love at who-knows-how-many-sights. "I kinda like where this is going."

The End