You. Attention when you make that move.
I can't help it 'cause I'm stuck like glue.
Why am I the only one to see?
Who? Can do it like you do it when you do?
So hooked up on you like a tattoo.
I'm serious about it.
I'm craving for you. And just like a fool.
There's no way I can stop stop stop my desire.
I'm craving for you, and you know it to.
There's no one that can top top top your smile.
Come on now! You got me Love Stuck.
You got me, Love Stuck!
Love Stuck — V-Factory
AN!: Soo, this is my very first FF, and I think it came out good. I have a serious USxUK fetish right now, hence the pairing. Criticism is welcomed and encouraged! In fact, it would make me very happy, if you had things for me to fix. I'm always looking to improve!
On a side note. The plot bunnies have crept their way into my brain causing many fic idea's to pop up, so expect another one soon! :D~{The words in italics are England's thoughts!}~
[Oh, and Fluffy Mc'Flufferton visits near the end of the chapter. FAIR WARNING!]
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or any of the characters in it.
Warning: THIS IS YAOI[as in a man face raping another man]. If you don't like it don't read it, simple?
Trifles and Beer
The clock struck twelve and England's thirst automatically built up. Teatime was a very important time to England, he never once missed teatime, and he most certainly didn't plan to any time soon. In fact, he loved teatime so much he had a special room just for him. Where he could sit and enjoy his tea in perfect silence. England had never shown anyone his special place, it was where he could go and get away from all his problems—a place where he could vent and never have to fear silly interruptions. All of that, though, had slowly come crashing down when America entered his life.
When America came along, England was so tired of everything. He wanted all the bickering and fighting to stop; he wanted everything to be peaceful. England wanted to sit out in the field and not have to worry about France coming along and ruining his day, or his boss forcing him to conquer other countries he really didn't care about. He had just about stopped caring for everything, until he met America, sitting in the fields he commonly visited.
When he had finally been able to hold America, after "winning" him from France, England pulled him close, letting the fresh grass smell seep into his nostrils. As he held America, England began to feel something he hadn't felt in a long time. He smelled like fresh cut grass, meat, a small hint of France's cologne, and…freedom. America had given England back his hope, he finally had something to believe in again, and he desperately wanted to protect it.
Ever since then, England kept America close. He never wanted to lose his new found hope. With his attempts to keep him to himself, though, he had decided that he wanted to be independent. America left him. That was the main reason he had the room built. It gave him a place where he could cry about his failure. It was bad enough he couldn't keep himself from crying over America, like hell he was going to let people watch him. England sighed, pulling himself out of memory lane. It was depressing thinking about it, and he didn't really like being depressed.
England continued his trek up the stairs, the thought of America stopping him dead in his tracks. Approaching the tall maroon door, England could feel the energy slowly leaving him. His shoulders slightly slumped and his glare weakened. England turned the knob, only to be greeted by a bright shade a cerulean blue. He was quite fond of this color—it was peaceful.
(Not to mention, it reminded him of America's eyes.)
His deep blue eyes, filled with so much courage and confidence. It sometimes made England wonder what his eyes would look like, when he was confused and no longer in control. It gave him goosebumps just thinking about being the one to make him wither underneath him; to have him beg and squirm; to make America his again. England grinned. If America was his again, you'd best believe he would never lose him. Even if it meant locking him up away, to where he only got to see him—only he got to touch him.
"Oi, England!" I can already hear him...
"Oi, England?" …calling my name. Wait. Calling my name?
"England?" England was suddenly pulled out of his trace about America by said nation. How long had he been standing there, exactly?
England felt a slight blush hit his cheeks at the thought of him just standing there, staring at nothing with a shit-eating grin on his face.
"W-what are you doing here? You know this is my private room." Thankfully, his voice did not show his embarrassment.
"Well," America said, raising a hand to scratch his head, "there I was, sitting around minding my own business, right? When all of a sudden I started to think about you. Weird, I know. So anyways, I got lonely and decided to spend time with you."
England's heart began pounding as soon as America said that he was thinking about him. Did he do that often? Or is this some kind of rare occasion? England couldn't help but wish that it was the former.
"Fine," England said, clearing his throat. "You can enjoy tea with me, but just this once." England sighed inwardly, trying to sound annoyed, not wanting America to know that he was very happy for his visit.
"Yaaay~! I knew you wouldn't turn me away!" America had decided to get comfortable now, and spread out on the white lace chairs England had set up in the middle of the room.
"It was your decision to join me, so I will not tolerate any complaints." England shot America a slight glare, as he sat in the identical chair right next to him.
"I knew you would say that." America replied, with a grin slowly spreading on his face. "Which is why I brought this!" He pulled out a case of beer and set it roughly on the table.
"You can't possibly expect me to drink that? It's the middle of the day and I still have work to do!" England started to get nervous. Once America wanted a beer, nothing could stop him from getting it. Not mention that he was a huge lightweight.
"Come ooooon," America groaned loudly. "You know I don't like tea, and we don't have to go anywhere!" You could practically see the pleading on his face, slowly breaking England's determination to refuse him.
"I – I told you. I didn't want to hear any complaints." England muttered, obviously losing his resolve. America let out a small whimper, causing England to look away. He knew that England wouldn't be able to refuse him, when he begged with all his might. The man was only playing with him, to see how long he could hold up.
Pitifully, it didn't last long.
England let out a deep sigh. "Well…I suppose one wouldn't hurt…"
Somewhere deep inside him felt like this wasn't the first time he had said those words.
America had jumped up, an enormous grin plastered on his face.
"Yes! I knew you wouldn't say no." Sometimes, America's cockiness really got under England's skin.
He sighed and went to answer the knock on the door. America had already opened two bottles, slowly sucking down one. The servant had given England a plate of trifles and excused himself. When England returned to his chair, America had finished one beer and was already downing another one. England grinned at the fact that the American hadn't changed.
"Alright! Food!" America quickly sat his beer on the circular glass table in between the two chairs and reached for a trifle.
"Wait, you idiot! That's not finger food!" England shouted. It had always pissed him off that America had absolutely no table manners. He finished the trifle within a few bites.
"Well, it is now." America retorted, as he began to slowly lick all the cream off his fingers that the trifle had left behind.
England stiffened at the sight of America's tongue wrapping around his cream covered fingers. He couldn't help but imagine himself being the one to lick all the cream off his long slender fingers.
"Also," America said, pulling England out of his trance, "you didn't even get forks."
"What? No way!" England said, dumbfounded, as he searched for forks. "Damn. I guess your right. How degrading to eat things this way."
England picked up a trifle, the layers of cream and strawberry from the small cake slowly breaking apart between his fingers.
He ate the trifle slowly trying to make as little as mess possible. America on the other hand, had already gone through three trifles and two beers. Friendly conversation picked up, and they laughed every time a joke bout France was slipped in. England had gotten through about a quarter of his beer and was already feeling lightheaded. He decided that he wouldn't finish it. With one swift bite, he finished his trifle and reached for a napkin, refusing to lick his hands clean.
England gasped slightly when America had suddenly grabbed his wrist.
"Don't waste it," he said in a calm and collected voice. Completely the opposite of what was ragging on inside England. Just the warmth from America's hand was enough to send him into a lust-filled frenzy.
England swallowed heavily and nodded, not really knowing what to say. America raised an eyebrow and grinned as he lowered his head down to England's fingers. England couldn't contain the slight moan that left his mouth when America had slid his first finger into his mouth. He wrapped his tongue around his finger, slowly pulling it in and out of his mouth, making sure he got every drop of cream off before moving to the next one.
Words could not describe how good it felt to have America lick each and every finger clean. The best thing he could think of would be taking a hot, relaxing shower after spending hours in the freezing cold. How the warmth enveloped his entire being, and he never wanted to leave. That's how England felt; he wanted America to engulf him and never let him go.
America finally released his hold on England's fingers, only to raise his attention to England's emerald green eyes. England was blushing and panting like a madman by the time America had finished and locked gazes with him. America grinned at the sight of flustered England, causing his blush to turn a deeper shade of red.
England closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. He felt his hand slide out of America's, the younger man's own hands now suddenly making their way around England's neck. He jerked his eyes open, widening them when he registered that America was now sitting on his lap.
He opened his mouth to question America's new sitting position, when their lips were suddenly connected. The force of the contact made England gasp, and America took this chance to slide his tongue into England's mouth.
Upon entering, he began to memorize England's mouth, allowing his tongue to glide over every part he could reach over and over again, finally letting a groan from the back of his throat escape when England's tongue finally met his.
Their kiss deepened as America scooted closer to England, trying to press as much as their body together as possible. England's hands had now made their way to America's head, puling slightly when their tongues battled for dominance, causing America to let out another groan and thrusting himself into England's groin.
England moaned lightly, slightly lifting his hips to feel as much as America he possibly could.
America had sat on top of England, letting his knees rest on the either side of his legs, giving him the height advantage and control of the situation. The small white sofa chair squeaked loudly every time America pushed himself onto England more, obviously, not liking that is had to support the weight of two grown men eating each other's faces. England was surprised the old thing could even hold them both as they began grinding against each other.
When America finally broke the kiss, England frowned, causing America to laugh out loud. He calmed his laughter when the chair began to creak louder than when they were grinding on it, and put his forehead against England's, taking time to calm his ragged breath before speaking.
"Yes, this means I love you," America said, his hands slowly leaving their spot behind England's neck to trail down his chest.
England almost cried when he heard those words. In fact, he was surprised that he didn't cry, but came up with a witty response, nonetheless.
"Good. I was getting tired of holding it in."
America grinned, his hand creeping towards England's paler one and encompassing it.
"We wouldn't want that, now would we?" America breathed. His voice was husky and his eyes glinted with lust.
God, England thought as he let himself be kissed. I should let America have tea with me more often.