APH USUK- Breathless
England pulled his dark green jacket closer around him. He always hated going home this way, through Germany.
But it would take even longer to go through France (considering France wouldn't let him go all that easily), so he was just going to have to hope he wasn't spotted.
No such luck.
He heard the German before he saw him, his quick, steady footsteps in those big black boots he wore. England caught his breath and slipped into an ally, then pressed himself against the wall.
The footsteps slowed, and England could hear his soft breathing. He stayed stock still.
Ice blue eyes gleaming in the darkness.
England gasped and tried to pull away, but Germany grabbed him by the collar. 'I knew you'd be around here somewhere,' he said quietly.
They glared venomously at each other for a moment, and then Germany threw England against the wall. England leapt back up, snarling, and Germany took a hit in the face, but he didn't seem affected…
'I'm not scared of you,' choked England from the ground, looking up at Germany. 'I always knew you were an idiot,' replied Germany, and gave him a final, vicious kick in the ribs, causing him to cough up blood. Then the German walked away, leaving him bleeding, badly injured.
England lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, struggling to ignore the pain.
He heard footsteps again, and groaned despite himself. So Germany had decided to come finish him off.
But the voice he heard was panicked and shocked, and very familiar.
'England! Are you okay? What are you doing?'
With difficulty, England raised his head and saw America standing above him.
Then his face was a lot closer.
'What happened to you?' America asked, horrified.
England opened his mouth but immediately coughed blood again, making America's already wide blue eyes get even wider with fright.
'England!'
'No, I'm okay…' he trailed off, coughing again. 'It was, uh, Germany…'
He felt like such a weakling admitting it, and he sighed inwardly, expecting America to roll his eyes or something like that.
But he couldn't see anything but sympathy and_ anger? _ on America's face. He looked furious, come to mention it.
'I'll get him later,' England heard him mutter to himself. 'But_' England gasped, and then coughed as America lifted him into his arms with ease. '_I'll get you home first,' finished America, starting to walk down the street.
It always embarrassed England how easy it was for America to carry him around. It was an irritating habit of his to grab him and throw him over his shoulder. France laughed at him a lot for that.
'The door'll be locked,' England protested as America jogged lightly towards his front door. America laughed, and kicked the door down. England sighed. 'I'll pay for that,' America said with a grin, walking in and slipping into England's bedroom, then laying him gently down on the bed.
'Now what did he do to you, Iggy?' America asked, sitting on the end of the bed.
Strange_ the nickname usually really annoyed him, but it was weightless now when his head was spinning.
'I_ we fought,' England said weakly. 'He won.'
He gave America a brief lowdown of Germany's cruelty, and by the end of it America's face was set and he was standing beside the bed. 'He'll pay for it, England,' he said after a pause, glaring at a point above England's head.
'N-No! I don't need you to fight my battles for me!' England snapped, and then winced. America looked a little hurt, but England plunged on. 'You always do that, and I've been around so much longer than you! I know a lot more than you! I've survived so many invasions and fought so many wars, but you still think you need to protect me, and_'
America leaned down and stopped him with a kiss.
When he pulled back gently, his cheeks were glowing red, and so were England's.
'Uh, you're gonna have to take your top off so I can see the damage,' America mumbled, looking away.
Still staring at him in shock, England automatically unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off.
America flinched at the blood and bruising against the pale white skin. 'That bastard,' he murmured, touching one dark purple bruise very softly. 'I'm gonna kill him.' England sighed.
America continued lightly probing his injuries with his fingers, and then sat back. 'It doesn't look too bad. But you said he probably broke some ribs?' A crease appeared on his forehead.
'Yeah, but I don't think so anymore,' England said hastily, sitting up and grimacing a little at the pain. America rolled his eyes. 'You're a really bad liar, Iggy,' he said, uncharacteristically serious.
'Well, they'll_ they'll heal,' England whispered, looking down.
'Hey, what's wrong?'
'Why… why did you kiss me?'
There was a silence where their eyes met with unsettling intensity.
'Hey, I… I had to shut you up somehow,' America joked uncertainly, staring above England's head again.
'Look at me, America.'
And he did look, at England's bare, battered chest.
'I couldn't stand to see you hurt like that,' America said slowly. 'I thought of what it would be like if… he had have finished you off.'
England shuddered.
'And I had to do this,' America said gently, and kissed him again.
This time, England kissed him back. This was different completely from anything he'd ever felt for his former charge. He would have wondered if this was the same for America, but he couldn't think of anything but him.
The pain was gone.
England ran his fingers through America's dark blonde hair tenderly. America responded by stroking his exposed chest with his big, rough, but still strangely childish hands.
When they finally leaned back from each other, England was breathless, and America's blue eyes were bright and sparkly.
'I_I miss you, England,' he whispered.
'I miss you too, America,' England replied, leaning his head on America's shoulder.
He felt the younger man shiver with pleasure, and he put his hand against England's back, holding him to his own chest.
They stayed like that for a while, listening to each other breathe.
America sighed. 'I'll have to leave in the morning.'
England looked up at him in sudden trepidation.
America saw his expression and his face fell. 'England…'
England kissed him quickly. 'No, it's okay. I understand. We're not going to be able to spend all our time together.'
'Every moment we get, deal?'
'Yes.'
America positioned himself next to England on the bed, and England laid his head against his chest, listening to his steady, reassuring heartbeat.
They slept.
England woke. He was briefly disoriented; he had no idea what had disturbed him, and it took him a moment to remember what had happened with America earlier.
He lay there silently for a moment, hearing America's slow breathing, and nothing else.
Then he heard another sound_ a crackling sound outside the full-wall window.
Carefully, he slipped out of America's arms, went to the window and opened the curtains.
His heart stood still with shock.
It was Germany.
Germany_ at his house. This wasn't right. Wasn't meant to happen. Ever.
Germany regarded him coldly through the glass, and England suddenly felt exposed with his bare chest. It took him what seemed like way too long to realize there was only a thin layer of glass separating him and this killer.
Germany raised one gloved hand and England instinctively leapt back, and the glass shattered a second later.
'I wondered how you got here from that street,' said Germany, stepping through the splintered window. England didn't reply. He was weakened and a few hours with America hadn't healed him. If he'd lost last time at full strength and awareness, he had no chance now.
And Germany knew that. But what he didn't know was that America was here.
Germany pulled a knife from his belt and stepped towards England. England backed quickly away towards the bed and screamed, 'America!'
Germany laughed, but the smile slipped off his face as America rolled over and groaned. He blinked up England, his eyes bleary, and then he took in the scene in less than a second. He stumbled to his feet and glared at Germany with an expression that would have made England laugh because it was so cute, but Germany obviously had a different reaction to America's tough face.
'That's cute,' said Germany. 'You need a teenaged American boy to protect you?'
America grinned. 'Damn right, bastard. If every Brit had an American kid to protect them from evil German freaks the world would be a better place.'
That was embarrassing, and Germany smirked at England.
'Anyway,' said America, drawing his attention back, 'I wouldn't talk about weak if you came to finish off a guy you knew was already injured.'
There was a flicker of doubt on Germany's face as he sized up America. He opened his mouth to say something else, but America had never really been big on talking, and he struck fast, punching Germany straight in the nose.
There was a nasty crunching sound, and Germany staggered, his hand flying to his broken nose. 'Stupid brat,' he said thickly through the stream of blood. 'You should let him fight his own battles instead of always jumping to his rescue.'
America's confidence vanished, and he looked sideways at England, his face dismayed. He looked about ten again.
But then he got angry.
'You know what, Germany?' he said, advancing on the Aryan. 'You know what? I think it's better to have allies, be a faithful ally, than have every friend you try to make betray you. Or you betray them.'
Germany's face was indestructible.
'The name Italy ring any bells? Russia? Everyone hates you, Germany. You wreck every friendship you make.'
Germany shuddered with rage. But America was way beyond rage.
'And if you ever touch my boyfriend again I swear I'll rip your cold dead heart out. Y'know, if you still have it with you.'
And he hit him so hard across the face the German was knocked out.
Immediately he turned to England, looking worried. 'Are you okay?' he asked.
England nodded, but he felt empty, sad.
America took his cold hands in his warm ones.
'England, you're not weak. You're absolutely awesome.'
England smiled through his tears, only realizing then that he was crying.
America gently wiped away the tears with his index finger and kissed him.
It was sweet, it was tender, and it was blissful. It was like he'd never left.