"I get so sick of everyone treating me like a kid," Iceland said to America. They were on their first date in months, and of course America had taken him to McDonald's.

"Dude, I can't understand a word you're saying!" shouted the American.

"Um, I'm sick of being treated like a–"

"Are you even speaking English? What the hell did you just say?"

"Childish! I'm sick of being called childish!"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, me too! I can't even drink in my country. It's so dumb."

"Yeah, I can't either. It's not like we're actually teenagers."

"Yeah…At least we've got Coke!"

Iceland smiled slightly as he took another sip from their shared cup. Sometimes he wondered what he saw in the obnoxious American. If he really thought about it, he should hate the asshole. But, he didn't. He actually liked him, and that was strange to him. Maybe it was because he had helped the Nordic when he was gaining independence. Maybe it was because he just wanted to piss off his brothers. He had indeed pissed them off by going out with him, but that wasn't the only reason.

If he had to put a word to it, it would be because of some sort of strange camaraderie. They both had older brothers who babied them, and of course they both loved Coca Cola. Other than that, however, there was nothing about them that matched. He tried to explain this to America. He smiled happily and chuckled.

"Who cares about that?" he said, sounding completely different from the loud idiot he had been two minutes ago. "If we have fun together, why should we need to have a lot in common? You know, they say opposites attract."

Iceland blushed; the idiot was right.

"You look kinda cute when you get flustered like that." His face burned more.

"Don't say things like that in public."

"Why not? Don't you like being complimented?" America reached across the table to grab the Icelander's hand. "I think you do."

"Sh-shut up!" Iceland yanked his hand away. He hated public displays of affection, but the American was always trying to get him to loosen up.

"Hey, do you wanna get out of here?" asked America quietly. "We could go to my place."

"And do what?" demanded the small Nordic.

"I don't know, we could play video games or something. Plus, I've got a bunch of that nasty licorice shit that I'm not gonna eat."

"America not eating something? Wait, did you say licorice?" Iceland knew it was a bribe, but he decided it was worth it. For the licorice! America smirked at him knowingly and led him out of the restaurant.

"Where is the licorice?" Iceland asked as soon as they walked in the front door, ignoring the arms that wrapped around him from behind.

"You're like some weird licorice druggie," America murmured in the Nordic's ear, making him shiver and blush again. "I've got some in the pantry." Iceland made to walk to the kitchen but was restrained by strong arms. "We just got in the door, and I haven't seen you in a while. Couldn't we…talk first?"

"Licorice first; talk later," Iceland said hurriedly. He ducked out from underneath America's arms and walked into the kitchen. Opening the pantry door, he scoured the shelves for his favorite sugary treat. He frowned when he couldn't find any and frowned deeper when he heard America laughing. "You don't actually have any, do you?" he demanded, whirling around to face the obnoxious bastard.

America held up a box of Opal, smirking. Iceland tried to grab it, but he held it too high.

"Damn you," he grumbled, standing on his tiptoes to peck the American on the lips. America smiled widely and gave him one piece of licorice. Iceland popped it into his mouth and held out his hands for more, but America just shook his head.

"Talk first; licorice later," he said, setting the box down and pulling the Icelander in for a tight hug.

"Fine," the younger boy conceded, resting his head against the other's chest.

America kissed him hungrily, tangling his fingers in silvery hair. Iceland wrapped his arms around America's neck and pulled him down to deepen the kiss. When they pulled away to catch their breath, America picked up the Icelander and carried him towards his bedroom.

Maybe Iceland only liked America for the great sex. Maybe he was just going through a stage that he would someday regret. Maybe he was just in it for the licorice.

AN: This was just a quick one-shot written to add more to this ship. I hope you enjoyed!