A/N: More IC than When It Rains and I like this one better. Seme!America floats my boat beyond the Atlantic XD. Sorry bout Russia. He just didn't quite fit. England's diologue was fun to write.
UK
England tapped his slender fingers restlessly on the table, his green eyes staring off into space. His pulse was quicker than normal today and he felt edgy, nervous.
"Arthur?" He looked up. Every Ally was staring at him. He felt himself go red. He averted his eyes.
"Sorry," he mumbled, "Might you repeat that, please?"
"We asked your opinion on our idea, aru~," China said patiently. The others watched England expectantly. He hadn't been paying attention, it was obvious. His mind was definitely not in the same room with them. He glanced up and saw America also staring at him but with mild concern in his blue eyes. England felt his heart rate spike and he quickly looked away. Why the hell am I acting like this? he wondered wildly, That idiot will know in no time if I keep this up!
"Errr, pass," England said rubbing an arm in embarrassment.
"Right then..." France said hesitantly before continuing the discussion. England still felt America's gaze burning into him. He slid a little lower in his chair, holding his forehead with one hand almost defensively. He didn't want to admit it but he had fallen in love with America over the years. It wasn't so bad a hundred years ago, just a little crush, but now it was full-blown and getting ridiculous. I'm a fool, he thought, Why won't it go away? This silly, childish attraction had caused England more grief in the past few years than any troubles in Europe ever would. Someone touched England's shoulder, causing him to look up. It was America, worry creasing his brow. England noticed they were alone in the room, China and France at the door, looking back.
"Arthur, the conference is over," America said softly, "Are you okay?" England gulped and swatted his hand away.
"I'm fine, you bloody wanker," he snapped, "Don't treat me like some kind of damned infirm!" He stood and briskly left the room. China gave him a knowing look as he breezed by. Understanding China was the most trustworthy of the Allies he nodded at him, giving the ancient nation a glimpse of his turmoil before striding away. No one needs to know besides Yao, he thought, Yao won't tell a soul.
US
As England left the three remaining Allies exchanged baffled and worried expressions.
"What was that about?" France wondered aloud. America's fingertips traced the wood lines on the chair England had been sitting in, as if they still held a small trace of the older nation's presence.
"Couldn't tell you," the youngest Ally murmured. France sighed.
"Maybe I should go a little easy on him," he said, "Wait till after the war when he's not so tense."
"It's not the war that's bothering him, aru~," China said softly, glancing at America whose face lost some color. France shrugged and began to leave.
"Then we should all go a little easy on him. I'll see you all at the next conference." China watched him leave before reentering the room. His wise brown eyes were almost intimidating as he stared America straight in the face.
"Alfred-kun, I'm going to tell you something very important so pay attention, aru~," he said seriously. America blinked in surprise.
"You know what's bothering Arthur?" he asked. China nodded.
"You need to talk to him, aru~. But get him alone, where no one else could be, aru~. Do you understand?" America hesitated, confusion staunchly evident.
"Why do I have to?" he asked, "I mean, you know what's eating him and he's been close with Francis longer than anyone-" China took another step forward, his eyes narrowing. America was cut off mid-sentence, swallowing nervously. China had never seemed so scary before.
"No, Alfred-kun," he growled, "It has to be you, aru~." With that he turned sharply on his heel and left the room, leaving America to his muddled thoughts.
UK
England downed another scotch, the burn in the back of his throat a drink of cool water compared to how he felt on the inside.
"God damn it all," he grumbled. The bartender carefully approached the troubled country, giving a small, friendly smile.
"Love trouble?" he asked. England's head snapped up, shock written all over his flushed face. Before he could say a word the bartender continued,
"Don't act so surprised. Men come in here broken-hearted all the time." England shook himself into a scowl.
"You don't know the half of it."
"No. But I do know you can probably still make it. If you have the time to sit in here draining atmosphere you can go out and make things right." England grunted and lifted his foggy green eyes to study the bartender. He was getting to be middle-aged, his light brown hair tinged with grey and fine lines etched around his mouth and eyes. England figured somewhere in what was left of his rationality that he was right so he dropped money on the counter and turned to leave.
"Thanks, chap," he mumbled, "Keep the change."
"Good luck," the man called after him.
USUK
America walked along the moonlit path, his gloved hands plunged deep in his pockets to keep out the cold. The path had become almost sentimental to the young country what with the pleasing crunch of his boots on the dirt or the eight foot brick wall on one side, forest on the other, blocking off the rest of the world...it was very peaceful, especially at night. America was taking this route as a back way to England's house, China's advice still clear in his mind. What could be bothering Arthur that only Yao knows and only I can talk to him about? he wondered, watching his breath coming in visible puffs. Some footsteps ahead caught his attention. He looked up to see England himself stumbling along, using the wall to his left as support. Alarmed, America ran ahead.
"Arthur, what's-" he began but then nearly gagged at the reek of alcohol coming from his former guardian. He was drunk, but not beyond recognition.
"Oh, it's you," he growled, his words slurred, "Didn't I tell you to stay away from me, you bleedin' idiot?" It was a struggle to look at him straight, the scotch making America's outline fuzzy.
"Arthur, you need help," the younger man said, serious for once, "Let me take you home." England scoffed and fell backwards, the wall catching him. America had stepped forward to catch him, his heart pumping a few beats faster, but England smacked his hand away.
"I don't need any bloody help, especially not from a git like you." He saw America flinch and instantly regretted his venomous words. There was an awkward silence between the two men before America broke it; hurt was in his voice.
"Then at least...at least tell me why you're so...out of it today." England laughed bitterly, the booze making him chatty and fearless.
"Innit obvious?" he said, his green eyes glassy and his mouth twisted in a drunken grin, "I'm in love with you, you moron!" The confession he sought so hide for almost two hundred years for fear of rejection had come spilling out like water overflowing a flimsy paper cup. America froze and his mouth hung open in shock. England went on, unaffected by this reaction.
"I mean, even Yao noticed. I'm an idiot, I know, but it's my own fault. I raised you to be the man you are so it's my own bloody fault I feel this way." America struggled to find his voice.
"Y-you...love me?" he managed to squeak out. England shrugged.
"And you were too stupid to figure it out on your own." America blushed. He would admit to himself he had a soft spot for the older man, having grown to care more and more deeply for him as the years went on, but his culture was not too accepting of homosexuality, especially between men. He had hoped his feelings wouldn't mature past a childhood crush, which they had, but they did and there really wasn't anything he could do about it now. England grasped the fur collar of America's coat, evoking a gasp from the latter.
"Don't look so surprised," the older man hissed, his eyes slightly unfocused, "Who's the blushing one here?" Just hearing that made the younger man's blush deepen and his breathing become shallow. His heart pounded ever faster as he gazed back nervously.
"Arthur, we can't," he said, his voice nearly cracking, "This is wrong and...you're drunk!" England smirked. He leaned closer, his mouth mere inches from his junior's.
"You keep telling yourself that...boy," he whispered almost seductively. The tingle of his warm breath on America's slightly parted lips was the straw that broke the camel's back, if you would. The younger man lost control of himself, pushing the older into the wall and kissing him forcefully. Fuck the rules, fuck everything, he thought as he pushed more heat into the kiss, tasting the alcohol on England's hot breath. He probably won't remember a damn thing in the morning anyway. The kiss ended as quickly as it began and the two men stood panting, no longer cold.
"The hell was that for?" England asked. America scowled.
"Like you said before," he replied, "It's your fault."
"So what now?" America hesitated; it was hard to think.
"I take you home, I guess. Can you walk?" England took a step forward, falling onto his former colony.
"Nope. Dun seem like it," he mumbled into America's chest. His head was starting to throb. America turned around and bent down a little.
"Hop on," he said. England asked no questions and clumsily climbed onto his back. America had no difficulty carrying the smaller man so his pace remained strong as he set off once more for England's house.
"Oh, by the way, Alfred," England said, arms secured around America's neck, "How the hell did you find me? Tisn't like this is a major highway." America chuckled softly.
"You showed it to me," he said, "A long time ago..." And not too long ago you were like this. England grunted sleepily.
"Did I? Hunh..." America smiled.
"Go to sleep now, Arthur. We'll be home soon."
"I hate you, Alfred," England mumbled, his eyes closing. But they were said so softly, so lightly, America knew that the words were just words, nothing more. The younger country didn't understand how it had happened or why but he knew he would always love England. No one else had to know, which was the best part. And if they found out, who cares? Fuck what they care. If Arthur was born a woman it wouldn't make any difference, he thought, I'd still feel like this. England was already fast asleep by the time America reached his house and did not stir even as the latter undressed him and lay him on his bed. America smiled and kissed his forehead.
"Looks like things are gonna be different now," he said, "For both our sakes you'd better remember half to none of what happened tonight." I'd like to take advantage of you when you're sober.
.
.
The next day England had the worst hangover of his life. He reached for his phone while attempting to keep the blanket over his head. He peeked out only to dial a number.
"Hello?"
"Alfred, tell me what happened last night didn't." America laughed from the other line, making England wince.
"What do you remember?"
"Errrrmmm...you sexually assaulted me twice and probably again while I was asleep."
"You seemed pretty into it though, Arthur." His tone turned falsely dramatic. "Clawing passionately at my clothes, trying to tear them off right there on the path, practically sucking my face off..." England's entire face and neck grew red.
"I did not!" he retaliated shrilly, wincing again at the stab of pain in his head.
"Perhaps I should stop by again and remind you?"
"Shut it! No one hears about this...this...whatever happened, understand? No one!"
"Whatever you say." England hung up, embarrassed beyond belief but strangely satisfied. Git, he thought affectionately.