Title: Omake!
Rating: M-ish
Summary: England gets blitzed in a different way.
Warning: Extremely suspect / sketchy use of Canada as a plot device (I'm so sorry Mattie) Is there such a thing as USTwP?
Note: Omake for USUK Secret Santa 2012.
Special thanks to Liete for her beta help!
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England glared blearily at his phone, poking at the screen as names blurred and wobbled beneath his fingers. Finally he gave a curse and brought up his speed dial, swiping irritably at the list. The world lurched a bit as he put the phone to his ear, and he scrabbled at the stool beside him, clutching it to stay upright.
"Hello!" A bright voice answered.
"Matthewwww," he blew into the receiver. "Matthew, I—" he announced proudly, "am pissed."
"Is this… hold on, England, is that you?"
He ignored the question. "Matthew, I am utterly pissed and it's cold outside," he whined. "Bloody fucking cold. Be a good lad and come get me."
There was a quick amused snort on the other side of the line, followed by a hushed conversation he couldn't follow. Ah. The boy had company. England scowled at the floor. He'd been hoping… hell, never mind what he'd been hoping. It had been a long night, and he was so many sails to the wind, he was practically a bloody barque. He giggled. A bloody brilliant barque. A bloody brilliant barque so full of rum that his insides had gone all warm and achy and he just… he wanted…. "Matthewwww," he cooed into the phone.
"Yes! Yes. Sorry, I'm here. Where are you now?"
"I am—" England swung around heavily, hunting for a tavern sign. "At a place called… Worthington." He paused, squinting while his eyes slipped in and out of focus. "Worthington… White Shield."
An impatient sigh. "That would be the bar menu. Look, is there someone else you can put on the line?"
England glared at the phone, affronted. He covered the bottom of it with one hand and draped himself over the bar rail. "Where am I?" he hissed at the bartender in a theatrical whisper.
The man raised an eyebrow. "The Boar and the Ox, sir."
England uncovered the receiver. "I'm at the Boar and the Ox," he repeated triumphantly.
Matthew grunted. "All right. I have to see a guest out, but I'm on my way, ok? I'm coming to get you. Stay there. Don't move."
"Thank youuuu," England sang brightly. "Thank youuuuuu."
'Yeah, yeah, okay." The boy laughed, and there was a fondness in it that washed over England in a thrill, warming him even further. "You can thank me later, all right?"
"I will," he promised. Heat began to pool and curl low in his stomach. "Perhaps a game?" he said hopefully.
"Um." There was a quick beat. "Yeah. Okay, sure. Just stay put- that's the important thing. I'll be right there." The line cut out.
England squinted down at the phone in his hand, poking at the screen until the dial tone stopped, and then pocketing it with a warm smile. Such a good lad. He motioned to the bartender for one more pint, and leaned back to wait. The night was looking up again.