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Author's Note: De-anon from Minvasion.
...okay I admit it! I made the request on kinkmeme! I requested it! And then... and then I filled it. Shameful isn't it?
I was planning to take a different request from that page, but this one really shouted out to me, and even if I hadn't requested it, I'd have gone for it. I thought that was more important. Also I gave it plenty of time to get another fill. And. Uh. Multifills are good.
I guess my point is, next time I should just write the story, but I didn't know I would. So. Uh. Enjoy?
Also! In the comments for this one it brings up his accent. I always pictured it to be fairly... French Creole from the island type areas, but with a more Lousiana and Parisian touch. I can hear it - sort of - but I have no idea what it is exactly. Sorry!
Good and British.
"Salut." England glanced up from his desk to the cheery face of America. He scowled.
"Don't you have anything better to do?"
The man perched on England's desk, peering at the plans England had laid out. "Better than a pretty thing like you? Non, there isn't anyone better to do." A delicate eyebrow arched, and England got to his feet to shove the blond away and off his desk, the lad hopped about clumsily on his feet. None of France's graces apparently had caught in the man.
"We need a battle strategy to rescue your damn father, stop messing around."
America smiled. "Aren't we waiting on information?" England scowled.
"Perhaps."
"Mhm, I think so." America sidled round the side of the desk, and pushed England back into his seat with a carefully measured thimble of strength. England glanced round at him. "You work too hard Angleterre, non." America leaned down, hands rubbing circles in England's shoulder blades. "Maybe you should re-laaa mon dieu." America rubbed his jaw where England had back-handed him. "What was that for?"
"I'm working, and you should be too."
America rolled his eyes, as England hunched over his work, and dropped his hands back to England's shoulders. "But you could go through the plans with me, oui?" He leaned forward, peering at the plans and hovering by England's ear. They waited like that for a few seconds, America's thumbs keeping up a steady rub. England glanced at America. America seemed to be engrossed in the papers, even as one hand slid lower, feeling along England's back and settling on his waist, toying with the military belt.
"Can I help you?" England growled.
"Mh-hm." America brushed his nose against England's ear. "There's nothing to do," America licked at the ear. "Sauf autre."
England squirmed, trying to shy out of America's grip. "You're as perverted as that damn frog."
"You do this often with papa, then?" America's glasses glinted slightly as he looked at England out of the corner of his eye.
"Of course not."
"Then how do you know, hm?" America bit on the outside shell of England's ear. "Mmmhhm, I like you a lot, Angleterre." England wriggled, and then tried to stand out of his seat, which only let America's hands, which had been resting on his hips shift to his ass. America pushed forward, and England caught himself on the desk, arms straightened and back arched.
"Quit it." America huffed at his shoulder, fingers digging in, before he pulled away, fingers still grazing England as he did so.
"D'accord." America pouted, and England twisted round, glowering furiously at America, heart thumping a little painfully. "Putain, why are you looking at me like that?" England scowled, eyes leveling off to the side.
"France would have needed a thorough beating before he got off me; I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"I won't force you." America smiled, almost goofily. "It is exactly as I said; I like you a lot." America hooked both hands behind his head and his smile turned into a beam. "If you're unwilling, tant pis." America peeked at him over the top of his glasses. "It'd be fun though."
"Fun?" England raised both eyebrows; an impressive move. He was still half-splayed back on the desk from the shivers in his legs.
America's face lit up slightly, before the expression faded to a confident, and graceful smile. "Oui, fun, exciting," America paused. "Distracting." Something dropped away behind his eyes. "I think you need distraction more than I do, but don't we all need something to distract?"
"You're mistaken if you think I'm your toy." England's mouth set in a line, and he almost growled. "I don't need anything that much."
"Truly?" America's eyes locked onto England's, holding steady as the sky was sure. England felt exposed under the gaze, as if America had undressed him. A physical gaze. Running its fingers along England's thighs and spine, and leaving heat pooled at the base of it, down his legs. "You are very lucky to be so free."
England tried to back into the desk, uncertainly and America's eyes widened in alarm. He backed away, hands held up placatingly in front of him, but hit the wall, just as England had hit the desk.
"I didn't mean to- -zut- I've always, heu," America twisted his head away, staring at the ceiling. "I want you." America settled on, bubbling with terrified laughter. "After the war too, afterwards."
"Truly?" England mumbled. Then narrowed his eyes. "This is a seduction technique, isn't it?" England scoffed, turning round and back to his papers with an angry sound. "Bastard."
America shuffled about from foot to foot, eyes widened at the turn of events. "Non..." He swallowed, about the lump in his throat which might have been his heart, and then stalked over in front of England's desk and planting himself right in front of England, glared. "Non, monsieur," America insisted once England looked at him. "I want to- what is your word..." America stared at a spot over England's ear, and then focused again. "Fuck you," England opened his mouth in protest. "And then," America continued. "I want to stroke your hair until you fall asleep, and then watch you wake up, and then when this sottise is over, I want to take you on a date, until then," America finally smiled. "I'd like to get to know you all over." America thought for a second, and then added. "Your personality," He clarified. "Not your body." Paused. And then under his breath. "Ne serait certainement pas l'esprit aussi..."
England fixed his eyes on the various maps and paperwork in front of him.
"A date then." He gave, frowning and flushing.
"What about a kiss?" America was now grinning from ear to ear.
England considered, silent for few seconds. "Fine, but no french." America pouted, but shrugged at the same time, leaning across the desk to press his lips against England, humming happily. America brushed England's cheek with one hand, the other still holding him up over the desk, and England tipped his head up a little more. They pulled back.
"Can I have another one?" Blue eyes pleaded with England.
"Steady on," England glanced at the pen he was clutching a little too tightly, knuckles pale. America waited, still hopeful, glasses sliding down his nose ever so slightly. "Very well, but,"
"No french, oui?"
"What did I just say?"
"No french, yes?" England smirked and America leaned back in, tipping England's head slightly up, but he needn't have bothered for England shifted obligingly. They hummed ever so gently against each other, testing and curious of the boundaries, at least England was. America nibbled on England's lower lip, and England opened his mouth to object at the audacity, and America slid his tongue into England's mouth, probing gently at the roof of his mouth, and licking England's tongue with a childlike fascination.
England moaned into the kiss - damn, what that boy could do with his tongue. He stood up, getting closer, hands coming up, one hooking on America's neck and the other palm-down on his chest. The hand that had supported America moved to cup England's face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, and grip fierce, passionate even. America twisted away, panting, and leant their foreheads together.
"Ouah," America gasped, and England's own lungs tore haplessly at the air, trying to catch his breath. "Très bien, that was so..."
"I said no french." England snapped, eyes sparking, even as a slight line of saliva slid down the corner of his mouth, and his face was flushed, lips bruised, and fingers gripped strongly on America from his enthusiasm.
"That wasn't french kissing," America chirped. "That was snogging."
"Ah. Good British snogging." England murmured. "Explains why it was so good." America laughed and the sound hummed through England's bones, and England pulled America by his collar towards him hungrily.
May your quills be ever sharp.