Author's Note: Just some fluff between my OTP. And a little history is included too!

Rating: K

Pairings: England and America

Disclaimer: I don't own.


The Way to a Man's Heart is Through His Stomach

- origin unknown

America's stomach was a bottomless abyss. Seriously, that superpower could eat! England remembered the countless times his young colony would pipe up, "Seconds, Engwand!" while at the dinner table so many years ago. "Seconds" would turn into "thirds" and "thirds" into 'fourths" until the older nation could only marvel at how much one tiny lad could eat. Great Britain was an empire at its prime, rough and cruel at times when dealing with those in his way of expansion, but he always had a soft spot for the little blonde colony who would call him his brother. It made his heart glow when he heard no criticisms from America, especially when that jerk-face gimp France did nothing but mock him. England was proud that his nutritious meals were able to let his colony grow up to a strong fine man.

(Strong enough to leave him, but let's not dwell on that now.)

As time went on, England watched how America's continuous appetite had both a good and bad side. The empire stayed at a distance, for those scars still needed some time to heal.

But even across the Atlantic, he still noticed how America's hunger for adventure spurred an expedition in the early 1800s to the wild uncharted West, and how the nation himself accompanied Lewis and Clark on their momentous journey. England observed as his hunger for land took the young country down a destructive path, justifying the murder of thousands with Manifest Destiny. He saw a hunger for righteousness during the especially turbulent Civil War. That period was especially hard to watch as America's personality was pulled towards two different directions, and his larges foe was found within himself. A post-war America, more united and divided than ever, was able to swallow the pain, chock it up to experience, and rebuild the country once more.

America's cravings were subject to change in his population's interests and world trends. Whether he was led by his heart or his stomach, it didn't really matter for both often longed for the same thing. In the late 19th century, he took after his former brother/father figure and adapted a diet of steel and steam and railroad tracks. He desired the taste of reform for the workers who burned and the women who couldn't vote during the 1910s. In the 1920s, it was alcohol and cigarettes (because once something is prohibited, doesn't that make you want it even more?). During the Great Depression, it was anything America could get his hands on. The starvation of his people left his stomach gnawingly empty no matter how much food he ate. It was hard times, indeed.

Nowadays, England liked to hum a song he rewrote the lyrics to called "99 Burgers and Coke on the Wall" whenever witnessing the act of his former colony/current ally/Special Relationship partner practically inhale the whole buffet during world conferences. America's voracious appetite always drew looks of disgust and awe from the other nations, but England was quite used to it. France would often ask suggestive questions like, "So does he devour you with the same rigor in bed as your lover?" To which England would reply by shoving a plate of food in the Frenchman's lewd and ugly face. (I mean, that pathetic excuse for a beard? He looks as manly as Shaggy from Scooby Doo!)

Also nowadays, America seemed to enjoy making small quips about how horrible England's cooking is. Take now for instance. The two were eating a meal prepared by England in his London home, carrying a nice comfortable conversation. The older of the two finished up and went to wash his dishes in the nearby kitchen sink. Out of the blue, America mused, "Lucky for you that the stomach isn't the only way to a dude's heart." England's thick eyebrows began to furrow and he prepared himself for another spat. He turned around sharply, but in facing his former ward he detected a glimmer of mischievousness in America's eyes and a teasing chuckle in his voice. The green-eyed nation puffed up like an irritated parrot, annoyed and still a little wounded that his "inferior" cooking was insulted. On top of that, it was by the very person who asked for fifth servings when he was a bratty tyke! England calmly picked up a recently washed frying pan and landed it square on the top of America's blonde mop of hair (hard enough to sting, gentle enough not to cause a bump).

"Oooooch, man. Not cool. Not cool." America clutched his head dramatically and a pout came to grace his features. "Two frying pan wielding nations are enough," he moaned.

England merely huffed in response, set the metal weapon down, and returned to washing the dishes. "My cooking isn't that bad," he muttered darkly. "Stupid sod with no taste buds." But wait, was it possible that he was the one who ruined them or burned them off during his childhood? There's no way, right? England set about ferociously scrubbing a certain charred mass of gunk that would not budge from a plate.

Suddenly, he felt arms wrapping around his waist from behind him and a forehead on his shoulder, honey-blonde hair tickling his neck and cheek.

"Now what, you baby?" was let out in a sigh, with no malice in the older nation's words. After several beats of silence from the superpower clinging to him, England shrugged as much as he could with a weight on his shoulder and went back to work. He focused on using all his strength on wrestling against the black sticky remains on the cutlery.

"I'm sorry," came a small voice muffled by the green sweater that England was wearing. America's head rose up and the shorter male turned his own slightly to view him properly. "I-I really loooove your cooking! Even more than McDonald's!" The fibbing nation forced his mouth to curve up into a sad attempt of a smile.

Sighing again, England turned toe faucet off, and spun so he was facing America completely.

'That's alright, love. You don't have to lie to me."

Exhaling in relief, America visibly relaxed and smiled genuinely this time. England couldn't help it that his heart swelled every time that boy looked at him as if he was the only one who mattered in the world. "I may not love your cooking, but I totally love you!" His smile grew cheeky and bright as he finished his confession, leaving the man in his arms in an altogether flustered state.

A blushing England muttered something under his breath, but America didn't catch it. "Whadja say? You gotta speak louder," he chided gently, hand reaching up to dishevel the sandy blonde hair, then smooth it down again before England puts up a fuss. America leaned in even closer, intent on listening to the word coming out of the reluctant nation's mouth.

"L-love you too, git." England said, trying not to stutter. How embarrassing! He was a grown nation, a former glorious empire, not some gawky hormonal teenager that gained a speech impediment during anything that made him nervous or embarrassed. To redeem himself, England boldly reached for America's head and brought it down for their lips to meet.

Pulling away after several moments, England noticed a ravenous look on his partner's face. "You know what I'm really super-duper hungry for?" England quirked a bushy eyebrow and sent him a questioning look. How in the world could this bloke be hungry after eating enough to feed a nation? Oh wait… he was a nation.

America smiled, and with a sly shine in his eyes he whispered in his ear, "I'm craving some England right about now."