"I swear if you do not let us out right now I will kill you all in your sleep!" roared England as he pounded his fist against the closet door.
Group laughter could be heard from outside the door and a French voice replied back, "Are you sure? I thought maybe you would want to spend a little time alone with America." More laughing was heard after that remark.
"You sick pervert!" England shouted and he continued banging on the door.
"England, just leave it alone they will let us out eventually," the American told the furious Brit, he gently tugged on the sleeve of his coat to get him to sit down.
Still angry England pulled his arm out of America's grasp sat down on the closet floor in defeat. "I really hate that bastard," England grumbled as he hung his head. When he finally looked up his eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could clearly see America.
The younger nation sat cross legged on the floor, his blue eyes were wide open. "Why do you think they always do this to us?" he asked England curiously.
"Pardon me?"
"You know," America continued, "France and the others are always pushing us into each other at the meetings and," he gestured to the closets walls, "doing stuff like this."
England scoffed at him and he wondered if America was really that stupid. "You git that bloody Frenchmen thinks that we like each other!"
America looked genuinely confused, "but I do like you, England."
"Yes I know you like me but not that kind of like," he said explaining to his friend while trying to cover the blush that stained his cheeks. America could be very oblivious at times.
"Well what kind of like did France mean?" America wondered.
"Bloody hell, America, are you an idiot? He thinks that we're in love!" the word love made the Brit's stomach turn.
"Oh, I understand now," he said quietly.
There was something in his voice that sounded sad but England ignored it he was too busy thinking of revenge ideas for France for when he finally got out of this damned closet. Maybe he would find a good curse to use on him in one of his spell books. He was daydreaming about turning France into a large bowl of pasta that he could feed to Italy when America asked….
"Iggy, are there ghosts in the closet?" his voice quavered.
"Don't call me Iggy you know I hate it, and no there are no ghosts," he replied.
"Are you sure?" he asked anxiously.
The Brit sighed, "yes, America, there are no ghosts in the closet."
"Okay," he said relieved, "but if there were ghosts I would protect you from them because I'm the hero!"
England chuckled; America could be very funny sometimes. He had such a strong build and a handsome confident face, England found it hysterical that he was afraid of ghosts. He also thought it was funny that America still thought he could be heroic and save the day even when he was close to tears and cowering in the corner. England couldn't help but find his crazy antics adorable. Wait adorable? England shook his head trying to rid himself of those thoughts causing his blonde hair to become messy and stick up in places.
"Iggy, were you sad when I left you?"
England felt his heart stop. The question had caught him off guard and he didn't know how he should answer. What kind of a bloody question was that anyway? He was obviously talking about the American Revolution, that stupid war when he had lost his precious America. Wait, precious America? What the hell was he thinking about? He had never referred to his former colony as precious before. England began to feel a little dizzy and his heart started beating faster, what was wrong with him?
"Well yes I was sad you idiot! You basically told me screw you and you walked away and became independent. And don't call me Iggy!" England's heart started to hurt as his mind flooded with images from hundreds of years ago when America had left him.
"Do you want to know why I left?" America asked softly as he put a hand on England's shoulder.
Oh my god. America was touching him. And why was he blushing! England swatted his hand away embarrassed, "I know why you left. You wanted you're freedom or something like that."
America looked at him hesitantly then said, "I left because I love you."
What? Did he hear that right? Did America just say that he loved him? "Come again?" he asked in disbelief.
"Before I left we were like brothers and when I started to have feelings for you I realized that it would be wrong to have a crush on my older brother. So I started the revolution and declared independence. It hurt me so much to know that I was hurting you but I realized that if I ever wanted to have a chance with you I had to stop being just your kid brother, you would have to see me as an equal. And now here we are a couple hundred years later and I am still in love with you but you obviously can't stand me. You make a great effort to show it," he said sadly.
"D Did you really mean all of that, the stuff about being in love with me?" England stammered. His face was as red as a tomato and even though they were in a dark closet he bet that America could see the bright color he was turning.
"I meant every word," America said now turning the same color as England. "But you hate me. You are always insulting me and calling me fat and stupid and stuff. God I'm such an idiot!" he cried smacking his forehead with his hand.
"Alfred," England said slowly.
America looked at England in surprise that he had used his human name. England took a deep and shaky breath, "I know I call you names and I curse at you. At times I do think you're stupid and lazy and you talk way too much. You never think things through; you are self centered and arrogant. You can't even watch a bloody horror film without crying!" England started to laugh at what he said about the horror movies and a single tear rolled down America's face. England immediately stopped laughing and gently wiped the tear off his cheek. "Don't cry, Alfred, I haven't finished yet, that's another thing you're really impatient."
"No, just stop it. I don't want to hear it anymore, England, –"
But America never got to finish his sentence because England had grabbed America's shoulders and pulled him into a kiss.
Alfred F. Jones stood there wide eyed and blushing as the guy he had loved forever kissed him. His legs felt shaky like they could give away at any moment and his heart raced a million miles an hour. When he finally recovered from the shock he closed his bright blue eyes and deepened the kiss. The two of them stayed like that for a while lip locked and holding each other when finally they had to pull away for air.
"I never got to finish what I was going to say you git. You really need to learn how to not interrupt people," the Brit said his face flushed.
The American looked away, his face bright red as England continued on. "You're brave and so devoted to your country that it scares me sometimes. You never fail to make me laugh. You are so happy all the time and it makes me jealous that you can find joy in the simplest things. You're confident and determined. When you smile that stupid grin of yours I want to smile too. I sometimes wish that I could be more relaxed like you are and that I could be as carefree. I suppose I have loved you for some time now actually. I guess I was so afraid that you wouldn't return my feelings that I pushed them all away and forgotten that I ever had them."
"Did you really mean that?" America asked his eyes seemed to shine with happiness brightening the dark closet.
England grinned, "Every word." And with that he pulled the younger nation in for another kiss. This time they opened their mouths. America's tongue explored England's mouth trying to memorize every curve and groove. England's tongue fought for dominance but of course he was beaten by America who was determined to stay in control. England decided to get even by grinding against America which caused him to moan into his mouth. England pulled away and smirked at the American who was blushing out of control.
"Hey um do you think now would be a good time to get out of this closet?" America asked still embarrassed.
"Yes but France won't let us out unless he gets what he wants."
"And what actually does France want?" America asked.
Meanwhile in the other room...
The shoulder length blonde haired Frenchmen sat in his living room and sipped wine while chatting with a tough looking German, a quiet Japanese man and an enthusiastic Italian.
"Do you think that we should let them out?" the German asked, "It's been a long time."
"Ve we should let them out," said the Italian feeling bad for the English man and the American who were still locked in the Frenchman's closet.
"No, not until they confess that they love each other," France said as he poured himself another glass of wine. All of a sudden the four friends heard and loud scream.
"Oh god, Iggy!"
"Faster, America, god damn it!"
The friends put down their glasses and listened to the moans and groans that were coming from the hallway closet.
"Please! I want you so bad!"
This was too much for the four countries they had to see what was going on. The quickly got up and dashed to the closet. France unlocked the door and pulled it open only to find America and England fully clothed and very angry.
"See, I told you that if France thought we were having sex then he would want to open the door and see for himself," England told America.
"Wow, France, I guess you really are a big of a pervert as they say you are," America mused.
"Who says that I'm a pervert?" France questioned.
"Everyone," England said glaring at him.
"So what was really going on in there?" Japan asked the two of them.
America grinned that goofy grin of his and England blushed. America then intertwined his hand with England's and gave it a squeeze.
"Let's just say that locking us in the closet was actually a great idea," America said playfully and he winked at England.
England kissed him on the cheek, "best idea ever."