"I like this," England said happily, resting his head on my shoulder.
"I like this too." I replied, and got my fingers tangled in his hair when I was trying to run them through it. I gently extracted them, and he licked my neck. I chuckled and ran my fingers along his side. He took my hand in his and I kissed him on the top of the head. I loved him. This was... Perfect.
I reluctantly pushed England off me and got out from under the covers.
"Come on, England, let's get dressed," I said, "We've got a lot to do today."
England stretched.
"Can't we just find a nice, sunny beach and sunbathe in almost nothing?" he yawned.
"Like that time the other day? You started drinking and got us kicked off the beach!"
"Yeah, like that..." I chucked England some clothes, but he lay on his stomach and watched me getting dressed instead. When I was done I gave him a long, lingering kiss and went to shave. England put his boxer shorts on and joined me in the bathroom. He stood behind me and draped his arms over my shoulders, and started licking my neck again. I moaned and he traced his fingers along my collarbone.
"Englaaaaand..." I dropped the razor in the sink and turned around for a proper, passionate kiss. He started playing with my hair, but then he broke off the kiss and looked at me sternly. I knew what he wanted.
"You call that a kiss?" I smirked, and he kissed me angrily. "My grandmother can kiss better than that!" I sneered when he stopped again. He pushed me away and spat in the sink.
"Wrong choice of words," he coughed, "The image of you kissing your grandmother... Isn't really a turn-on." Oops.
"Uh, sorry. Try again?" England grunted consent. I decided to try a different tack. "You'd better get your ass in some pants before the cops arrest you for being too damn fine. You'd better not go out on the sidewalk looking like that or I'm gonna have to catch you in a trash bag and tie you to my couch." I said, trying to slip in as many American words as possible. It was awkward and weird, but it did the trick. I knew he was correcting them all in his head as I said them. He kissed me fiercely and pushed me against the wall, gripping my hair tightly. He let go of my hair and started undoing my belt, so I took a hold of his arms and he, being much weaker than me, couldn't move them. His fingers strained and scrabbled, still trying to accomplish their mission.
"Tonight." I promised, kissed him again, and finished shaving.
We went down to the hotel restaurant and he ordered cream tea with scones and I just asked for some coffee. They didn't have any scones so England just got tea and blamed me for it. I supposed it was my fault. After all, we were in my territory, for today and the next day. When we'd been in his territory we'd been to see Shakespeare plays and visited museums and Stonehenge and various other "cultured" things. Today we would visit my Empire State Building and my gorgeous Lady Liberty and Mount Rushmore and jazz clubs, and in the evening we were going to see a movie. Tomorrow we were going down south.
After the Empire State Building we decided to get lunch. I suggested McDonalds and England heartily agreed, always a sucker for fast food. When we got to the front of the line, England chose what he wanted.
"Uhh, chicken nuggets and a regular portion of chips, please." The poor teenager behind the counter looked confused, so I translated.
"He means French fries." England punched me in the arm, then kissed me. "Um, I'll just have a supersized cheeseburger and a supersized strawberry milkshake."
"That'll be twenty-three dollars," said the teen, and I handed over the money. In England's territory he'd paid for everything, here I was paying, and in other countries we split it.
"Next time," England warned quietly, "I'm not going to let you supersize it. You need to start watching your weight." I started to reply, but he put his hand over my mouth and told me not to speak with my mouth full.
While we were walking to a nearby cab station some idiot in a Cadillac nearly knocked us over. England just kept going after dodging out the way, but I yelled after the car.
"Hey, we're walking here! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
"What are you doing?" England hissed in my ear, grabbing my hand, "It couldn't do any real damage to you anyway, not like it would a human. Stop making such a scene in a public place!"
In the darkness of the jazz club that evening England ignored my attempts at seduction, captured by the music. Captured by something so American – how could I not find that sexy? Bu he didn't even react when I started sucking the tips of his fingers.
We saw an awesome action movie in one of my famous drive-in theatres quite late that night. England didn't really like it though. He said he was "getting really annoyed at those twats who keep walking in front of the screen", he thought it was "much too predictable", got angry at how the baddie was English, and besides, it was "called a cinema, not a 'theatre'".
"But the bad guy's gotta be English!" I attempted to explain, "You're really evi- I mean, uh..." I faltered, and he glared daggers at me, but I got some great sex back at the hotel.
The next morning we ordered the same drinks at breakfast. I kissed him afterwards, and the tastes of tea and coffee mixed pleasantly in our mouths. I was taking every opportunity I could get to kiss England while we were still up north; my people weren't so tolerant of homosexuality where we were headed next. I'd explained this to England, but he refused to let me take my ring off. He didn't realise how bad it was in some places. I tucked one of my guns into the inside pocket of my bomber jacket.
As we drove further south, in a pick-up truck of course, England asked me what was happening to my accent. I hadn't noticed anything change myself, but I knew what was happening.
"When I'm in the south or the north, my accent changes accordingly so I fit in," I told him cheerily, flashing him my winning smile. "You just don't worry your little head about it, sweetheart." As England gave me a scowl that would kill a lesser man, I cranked up the radio and started singing along tunelessly to a country and western.
"I wanna show my friend here how to ride a horse properly," I announced, swaggering up to the man.
"It's thirty-five dollars for a ride," he said, and motioned towards the horses. "You wanna pick or shall I?"
"I already know how to ride a horse, Ame- Alfred." England said, miffed.
"Not properly you don't, Arthur," I responded, and turned to look at the horses within the fence. "That one's a real beauty," I commented, pointing to a chestnut in the corner, "I think she'll do just fine for my buddy here. And... That black one there for me."
"You know your horses, boy. Those are the best two we have."
I grinned from ear to ear.
"I used to ride horses all the time. Now most of my travel is by car."
"Okay, let's go get 'em." The man knocked into England as he walked past, and I don't know what went wrong in his head, but for some reason instead of holding in his annoyance and just tutting, England apparently thought 'tut', and said,
"Prick."
The horse man turned on him and I realised how much bigger he was than my England.
"You wanna say that again?" the man threatened. I stepped in front of England protectively.
"You stay away from him!" I warned.
"What is he, your boyfriend?" the man sneered, and I bristled.
"I can handle this myself, Alfred," England spat.
"You've been doing a great job so far!" I retorted, "Time for the hero to step in, and I'm your her-" I stopped dead, realising what I'd just said. The man spotted the rings on our fingers and wasn't slow putting the pieces together.
"We've got a couple of homos here, Marge!" he called.
"I'll get your gun!" came his wife's voice from the nearby house.
England laughed, then realised they were actually serious.
"What- you -"
"You gays sicken me," the man said, taking a step forward, "People like you deserve to be shot. You won't make it into heaven either, god hates you freaks. You're disgraces to the race he Created."
This really got England riled.
"I got married under the approving eyes of god, you git, and I've known him for long enough to know that it's wankers like you who don't get into heaven!" I reached for my gun and put it to the man's heart just as his wife arrived on the scene, with a rifle.
"If you so much as twitch I'll pull this trigger and blast you to Timbuktu." I warned dangerously. "Start up the car, Arthur." England hurried back to the car, and did so, eyes wide. He drove it up and I jumped on the back. He sped away.
"How the hell do you drive this thing?!" he cried, "The wheel's on the wrong side and there's no gearstick!" I was too busy to answer him though, because Marge was taking potshots at us which were a little too close for comfort. I fired warning shots at the ground around them. "I think one of them accidentally went through the man's foot, but then I had to cling onto the truck for dear life as England careered around a corner and they were suddenly out of sight.
We were sitting outside the car in some deserted spot in Alabama. England had refused to say a word since the crazed couple had gone out of sight. My attempts at breaking the silence were unsuccessful.
"Come on, England..." I coaxed, and started giving him a backrub, but he shrugged me off.
"How much of you is like that?" he eventually asked. I had no idea how long we'd been just sitting there. The stars were starting to come out.
"Not much!" I said defensively, "Well... Under half. But I have a black President!"
"They're racist as well as homophobic?!" England gasped in horror, and slapped me across the face.
"England, let me -" Another slap stopped me short.
"When you say you love me with your whole being, that's a lie." he breathed, "Under half of you is screaming that this is wrong."
"That's not -" I swallowed. I couldn't deny it. "That part is coming around... I love you, England."
"No you don't!" He started crying. "How could you not let me know?"
"All right, let's have it out with!" I shouted angrily, standing up, "You're a punk and I'm a redneck! You'll smash up buildings and I'll shoot the people inside! I'm not the only country with secrets, you know! What the hell was that stunt you pulled at our wedding?!" England didn't answer, didn't look at me, so I clamped an iron grip on his arms and pulled him up to face me. "Well? Are we going to do away with secrets altogether? What the hell, England?!" He still didn't answer, so I shook him violently by the shoulders. "Well?!"
And England kissed me. It was so intense it shocked me. My anger evaporated immediately and I loosened my hold as I melted into him. He however was taking out his anger through the kiss. He drove me against a tree, then we fell to the floor and he didn't stop kissing me. I could barely breathe but he didn't want to release me just yet.
He finally broke it off and I gasped for air. I could feel the dirt from the ground in my hair. England started undoing my belt and ripped off my pants and boxers, then his own, and we were at it long into the night.
Author's Note: I know nothing about horses, country and western, rednecks or the south of America in general. Neither do I know anything about McDonalds prices, choosing not to pay for that processed poison myself, or about the prices of horse-riding. Michael McIntyre is my god, for those who got the reference.
EDIT: Sorry sorry sorry if I offended anyone at all with this! I really didn't mean to, it was just me being stupid! I'm gonna write another fic which shows the good side of the South, because I'm sure it's really a very wonderful place. I was just going by the general stereotype, as I always do with Hetalia. I feel so bad now. .