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Author's Note: A few months back in English, this point of definition came up, and I tucked away the knowledge somewhere tidily. I was a bit surprised the 'discrete' form and I had never met, so it was good to learn it. Either way, as I recently got back into USUK, this point of definition reacquainted itself with my brain.

Mostly on the contradictions found in people, not just the English. I noticed awhile back there was a note that Arthur is considered sexually scandalous, and yet, he seems anything but a scandal. Obviously, both sides are true, and therefore the double definition required writing about.

Drabble drabble fluff fluff mc fluff fluff…fluffy, that's your name!

Discreet/Discrete.

Dis·crete

[dih-skreet]

–adjective

1.

apart or detached from others; separate; distinct: six discrete parts.

Dis·creet

[dih-skreet]

–adjective

1.

showing prudence and circumspection; decorous: a discreet silence.

America placed his head in the palm of his hand, thoroughly examining England from a covert distance, and gently tapped the bridge of his glasses with his free hand. England glanced down the long meeting table, and America quickly dropped his eyes to the colourful pieces of paper that Japan had provided for his presentation. "Mhm." America feigned following along with the presentation, and eventually raised his eyes back to England. England was staring at him oddly, and America flashed a curious grin. That did the trick; England flushed moodily, and glanced down at his own pieces of paper, just as America had done not a few moments ago. This gave America all the leisurely time he might need to resume his observing of the island nation.

Namely, the sheer contradiction of England, himself.

England, in a word, was discreet. His business was his business, and your business was your business and of course he had no place to meddle in it, just as you had no place in his. England was the man who could be pressed up against a dozen other commuters on a crowded London subway, and pretend to be a comatose vegetable. England was the man who would say "could you" and never "will you" when he wanted something. Discreet, indeed.

And yet? America mused, Mr. Discreet had pushed a very surprised America back onto this very table, not thirty minutes ago!

It was truly a contradiction.

However, right now, aside from England's glancing at him (something America had initiated with his own unblinking stare, so, England's curiousity was probably the factor involved, not his level of decorum) England seemed quite content to pretend America did not exist. At least, until America spoke up, and at those times England was largely unruffled, and possibly insulted him. Pure insult, though, not a trace of flirtation. Not even banter!

8am: Time to screw with America like a very repressed bunny rabbit.

8,30 am: Time to act as though nothing had happened. Whatsoever. At all. Ever.

It had to be an act, America's eyes narrowed, bright and searching England's rapt attention on Japan's presentation. America could have been a play-thing, and that would explain why England gave him less attention than you might give a stack of adult magazines. However, England had been sweet; helping America find his jacket, and kissing him lightly on the forehead. You just weren't sweet with a plaything, so, if America wasn't that, why wasn't he having any effect on England.

Besides, it wasn't like America was insecure enough to seriously doubt England wasn't ma- ma… England wasn't in lo- -lov… in lo- -loo…in lots of (this sentence wasn't working). America wasn't so insecure that he doubted England's aff- -affec… hm. England's possible overtures of emotion? That was convoluted enough to be worthy of England himself actually!

Well, that was besides the point. That point was America wasn't a play-thing, so why wasn't England, oh he didn't know, maybe just a little more aware of him?

America all but glared at England, trying to figure out how such a slight nation could possibly have such a confusing mix of stoicism and passion. For an act, it was damn good. America had, of course, tested the boundaries of it before. Shamelessly attempting to seduce England in one of his "Uhuh, America. Shirt back on, if you please," moods. Not a flicker from England. It wasn't even as if they had things to do – well, not if you didn't count an-afternoon-tea-to-oneself as a something-to-do. Which it wasn't. Definitely.

10,45 am: Time to refuse the rest of Europe a chance at his sterling.

11am: Time for a short recess.

11, 04am: Time to grab America and drag him aside.

See, yet another confusing event. Now England was all over him, well, geez. Oh well, America didn't mind.

"Bloody hell, what is it?" England snapped.

"Um?" America blinked. Even more confusing than previously supposed, then?

"You were staring at me the entire meeting." England clarified. "There's nothing on my face – what is it?"

"I wasn't looking at you!" America pushed Texas up his face self-consciously.

England dropped his gaze to the toes of America's shoes (Italian, very nice) and drew his gaze up America's clothes, considering him. Clearly, not impressed with America's answer. "Of course." England shrugged lightly, "My mistake; how rude of me." and turned to leave.

America gaped after him.

11, 05am: Try to force information out of America.

11, 07am: Leave, without said information, border-line apologizing.

Demanding, loud-mouthed, blunt, and truthfully, a bit of a jerk. Sweet as a button, kissing foreheads and other mixed signals. Polite, respectful of America's reasons. Self-conscious of America's gaze. Completely callous to all seduction attempts. Ignoring him during a meeting like some form of naïve maiden. Totally feeling him up and shoving him back before kissing the breath out of him. Icy princess perfect. Passionate spitfire. Cold… cold fish!

America rubbed his forehead, trying to make sense of England.

11, 20am: Resume meeting; make America uncomfortable by staring at him.

America flushed under England's rapt attention, twitching, as he stared at Italy's report from the EU regarding food. He turned a page decorated indecently with pasta, his hands shaking so hard, the pages made the loudest rattling, ruffling sound they could manage to squeak out.

"So, America; what is your opinion on the World Hunger Crisis?" England called out, voice completely even, with no hint of the smirk on his face in the tone. America wasn't fooled, one glance up confirmed that England was smirking smugly at him. He knew it.

"World Hunger Crisis?" America stuttered

"Christ, are you not paying attention?" England made a noise of annoyance, which sounded suspiciously like a laugh smothered in a cough. Possibly wrapped up in a snort. "What do you think is our obligation as nations to provide charity to the third world? Your people, what do they think?"

"W-well…" America's voice sloshed out, like a jostled cup of water. "At the moment… my- our, our economy is not quite level. So… I'd rather try and help… y'know myself…the people are the same as ever on the matter. You know, like help individually but a-as a country? Um. We need yeah…" He trailed off miserably.

He'd even prepped himself on World Hunger Crisis with his boss just a few weeks ago. This wasn't remotely fair!

12pm: Lunch break.

12, 13pm: Hanky panky break.

America pushed England up from him, and peered round behind him at the table. England nipped his ear, and America kept the older nation at arms length. "H-Hang on a minute,"

"Half a minute." England offered, and smirked, before he leaned away from America. "The lunch break isn't quite that long, and I really-"

"You're serious about this, right?"

England blinked. "Of course…?" He began slowly, but then carried on with a shrug, which involved pulling his shirt over his head, and trying to smooth down his never-tidy hair. "I don't see why we can't use the meeting room so long as we keep everything tidy." England edged back over to America, his fingers pressed on his chest and palms slid down.

"No, no," America managed, and England jerked away as though he'd been slapped. The look of hurt passed, and England settled back to a neutral distance; the sexual no-man's land. "Geh."

"You feeling alright?" England tipped his head. "If you're not feeling up to much, I can top."

"T-that's not what I meant!"

"I could ride you; that wouldn't be too hard, and you'd not-"

"England! We are so not discussing sex right now!"

The hurt look crept back, but was tempered by a tolerant scowl. "What are we discussing, exactly? I'm a bit confused."

America glared in response. "You're confused? You're confused?" He pushed Texas up by the bridge of his nose, and pressed his knuckles to his temples. "I meant, like, about us?"

"About us, what?"

"You're serious, right, about us?"

"Whatever makes you think I'm not," England scowled. "I don't make a habit of this."

"Yeah, I know, you're not Franc-"

"I don't want to discuss France when we're talking about us." The island nation was definitely scowling now, but the expression was softened by the blush curling along his cheeks. "That is what we're talking about, right?" England sat back and pushed off the table, grabbing his shirt and pulling it back on. "Yes; I am serious about us." England started to redo his buttons. "Now, whatever made you doubt that?" England looked at America – took in the dubious expression, vulnerable and trying not to be expression – and bit his lip. "Dear, what happened?"

"Nothing happened!" America protested, but then blinked as it occurred to him that was entirely true. "Yeah, nothing happened," He cast about for a way to put it that wouldn't hurt England's feelings and failing at that, just said it anyway. "You don't seem to notice me; I feel a bit used."

"That…" England had his horrible hurt look again. "That doesn't really make sense."

"I never said it was a logical conclusion!" America defended, and straightened his back, trying to get a defensive position, and fingers blindly trying to find his buttons. Ah, England had popped two of them off. America did up the surviving buttons, or rather fumbled with them unhappily. "I'm sorry I brought it up okay? It was just a, look, I'm sorry."

"No, back a step." England commanded, forgetting exactly who was the superpower. "You feel used, because I don't react to you?"

"No!" America burst out. "I feel used because one minute you're all over me, and the next it's like I don't exist!" He was whining now, and not quite sure what he was babbling about, but incited he was to babble, so babble he would. "I mean, we're together, right? So that should, I don't know…Christ." Babbling failed. America buried his face in his hands melodramatically.

"Go on." England pushed, and America glowered at him from between his fingers.

"No. Fuck off."

A long, but very patient sigh, and England plopped himself next to America on the table, and preoccupied himself with doing up the shirt properly. "If it's any consolation," England murmured, as he redid America's tie (despite America's attempts to lean away from the fingers) "I do notice you. That's why I jump you out of the blue; you sit there, calm as you please, and mercilessly seduce me from across the table." A gentle chuckle, but America didn't feel like looking at England, or stopping his unhappy sulk. Still, being a merciless seducer did sound like fun. "If I didn't freeze you out, I'd probably end up causing an international incident."

"With nations everything we do is an international incident." America piped up petulantly, and England laughed, more cheerful than America necessarily thought he would be.

"True. But, my darling,"

"Don't call me darling! I feel like that guy from Mary Poppins. The grumpy one."

"Dearest," England leant into America, gently shoving the larger man with his weight. "I am entirely serious about you."

"Then why do you stare at me like you hate me!" Mumbled, spat out insecurities.

"Whenever I do stare at you, know that it's done out of anything but dislike." England rubbed America's shoulder gently. "And what about you? Staring at me this entire morning. I could barely think!"

"I was trying to figure you out…" America looked away, and rubbed the back of his head. "Do I really seduce you?"

"Mercilessly." England reassured, the hand on America's shoulder taking a slightly rougher, more heated friction rub than necessary. "It's hard enough as it is to keep work and pleasure discrete with you at the table, without you making my heart take up break-dancing as well."

"I'd like to see you break-dance." America snorted.

"Another time, maybe." England stretched. "We should get something to eat, or your tummy will bother you for the rest of the meeting…"

America hooked his fingers in England's shirt, keeping the man from getting off the table. "What about some nooky?" His eyes were far too hopeful.

"Hm, nah." England grinned, and disentangled himself from America's grip. "You were the one who said no earlier, and it was a silly idea. You'll be all fidgety during the meeting if you don't get some vittles in you."

"What's wrong with the fidgets?" America pouted, trying to pull England back towards him, trying to angle him for a kiss. "Do they seduce you?"

"Not in the-"

"What about a taste of you? I promise not to fidget." America gave a particular yank and England crashed against America, who wriggled under him until their lips were pressed uncomfortably together (America's glasses against England's face) and England squirmed, trying to pull away. The little squirms were definitely something America would call mercilessly seductive, and sure enough, England gave a shrug, adjusted his position and kissed America back properly.

12, 45pm: International incident regarding improper mouth-to-mouth activity on the world conference table. Maybe they should have been more discrete/discreet.

May your quills be ever sharp.