A/N: An old-ish kink-meme deanon. The prompt was: "This anon has a total kink for exhausted and tired America. I mean, sure he's the hero, and sure he's really strong, and sure he's naturally amazing, but he's just like everybody else in that he can't keep going forever. So I would like some sweet America being tired, either by himself, with a friend, with a family member, with a lover, just so long as the poor guy is plain tuckered. So cute." Sappy sweetness ahoy!
England looked up from the novel he had been immersed in when he heard the garage door slam. Was that America back home already? He frowned slightly as he glanced down at his watch, and his eyes widened when he saw that it was already eight o'clock. When had it gotten so late? He must have been more wrapped up in his novel than he'd realized.
Setting his book aside, England got up to greet his lover. He was a bit nonplussed when he entered the kitchen to find America spread-eagled on the tile floor.
"What on earth are you doing on the floor?" he asked.
America didn't sit up at the sound of England's voice; he simply flopped over gracelessly so that he could look up at him.
"Ughhhh, I'm dead," he groaned.
England rolled his eyes as he crossed the room to crouch at America's side, but at the same time, he couldn't help smiling. He leaned in and kissed America's lips.
"So you finally found someone who could wear out the obscenely energetic 'hero', did you?" England asked amusedly, plunking down at America's side. He clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock disapproval. "What would Superman think?"
"Dude, I don't even wanna hear it; you try playing with fifteen kids all day and see how you feel at the end," America pouted, puffing out his cheeks in the way that always gave England the overpowering need to kiss him.
England fulfilled this need unabashedly, feeling a rush of warmth and affection toward America. He may frequently tease the younger man about his self-proclaimed role as hero, but what America had been doing today really was heroic. England could think of few more noble ways of spending one's day than volunteering to play with children at an abuse shelter.
He wouldn't readily admit it, but he was actually very impressed that America was able to muster the vigor to spend all day entertaining such a large group of kids after the hectic week that he'd had. It was a wonder that America hadn't crashed earlier in the week.
"I swear, I must've given at least fifty zillion horsey rides today," America sighed. "I love kids, but they wear a guy out, you know? …Oh gooood…I think my back is broken…"
"Why don't we get you to the shower?" England suggested. "Your trousers are covered in grass stains and there's some mud on your cheek."
"I'll go in a sec, ok?" America said. "Just let me lie here for a minute first."
England smoothed America's bangs back from his face. "Wouldn't you rather move to the sofa? You can't be comfortable on this hard floor."
"If I move to the couch, I won't get up again," he explained. "Here, you lie down too."
"I'm not going to lie on the—whoa!" England squawked in surprise as America gave his arm a sharp tug that sent him sprawling into his lover's chest. America's arms twined around him, holding him fast as if England were his personal teddy bear.
The older man wanted to be irritated with him, but he'd missed America's company that day, and he loved America's hugs more than he cared to admit. His scent, though it was tainted by an undertone of sweat, was of freshly cut grass, fresh air, and earth, and England loved it. Perhaps it was ok to humor America, just for a little bit.
America kissed the top of his head several times, unhurriedly, enjoying the fact that he was able to just rest. His eyelids felt so heavy, and he wished he could trade the hard kitchen floor for a soft feather mattress and warm blankets; his poor back and shoulders were so sore. England's lips brushed his throat lovingly, his hand stroking his ribs.
"We should get up soon," England suggested softly. "If your muscles are sore, you should take some medicine, have a hot shower, and turn in early."
"Carry me," America moaned, stretching his arms up and flexing his fingers the way he had as a child when he'd wanted to be held.
"I'll help you up," England said. "Come on. Up you get."
America struggled to his feet, relying so heavily on England's help that he almost caused him to overbalance and tumble to the floor. Once America was standing, he clung to England like an octopus, letting his lover help support his weight.
"Come now, America," England said, patting America's bottom, "I can't move with you clutching onto me like this."
America gave a frustrated, exhausted moan that sounded like a wounded cow.
"Come on," England urged. "The sooner you've showered, the sooner you can go to bed."
America sighed and reluctantly extracted himself from England and let him help him, army style, to hobble towards the bathroom. As soon as the bathroom door had closed behind them, America latched onto England again, resting his cheek on England's shoulder and kissing his neck tiredly.
"Let's take it together," he requested.
A small smile tugged at the corners of England's lips as he returned the kiss on America's temple.
"Alright, then," he agreed. "Here, take some aspirin first."
England popped open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and took out a bottle of pain reliever, shaking a pill into his hand and passing it to America who tossed it back dry. He retrieved their towels and a wash cloth as America began to peel his clothes off lethargically. The older man shed his own clothing before turning on the water and adjusting it to the proper temperature: nice and hot to help ease the soreness of America's muscles. America let out a hum of gratitude as they stepped under the lightly steaming stream of water.
"Can we sit?" America asked.
England moved around behind him, and sank to the floor acquiescently, supporting America as he leaned back against him, letting his head loll back onto England's shoulder once more. He watched through half-lidded eyes as England picked up the shampoo bottle and squeezed some into his palm.
"Close your eyes, love," England instructed, kissing America's forehead. "I'll wash your hair."
America's eyes slipped closed obligingly. He sighed contentedly as England's short, sturdy fingers slipped into his hair and began to gently massage his scalp. England took his time, scrubbing in unhurried circles, applying light pressure to America's temples.
America wanted to show his appreciation by kissing his knuckles, a move which never failed to make England's cheeks go pink, but that would require him to stop the wonderfully soothing scalp massage. He supposed that there would be time to show his appreciation later. Right now, his mind was feeling pleasantly hazy, the sweetly dark abyss of sleep drifting ever closer. He nuzzled England's neck with his nose, his lips smacking drowsily.
"Don't fall asleep now, or I'll be stuck in this shower until morning," England warned softly. There was just no waking America once he'd drifted off; the man slept like a rock.
"Hnnngh," America grunted.
England rinsed away the shampoo and picked up the washcloth that he had prepared. He worked up a lather on it with a bar of soap and began to clean away the dirt and sweat of the day. England couldn't resist stealing occasional kisses as he worked. He loved nearly everything about America, from his brilliant, goofy smile, to his almost boundless energy, to his charitable heart, and his large warm hands.
It was hard to say where America's muscles ranked on his list of favorite physical features, but by god, did he ever love them. There was a pleasing artistry in the way they were arranged, in the way they flexed and relaxed as he moved, and few things made England feel safer and more relaxed than when America wrapped his big, strong arms around him and held him close against his well-defined chest. He loved them most when they were unconcealed by clothes and he could run his hands over them, like right now.
"Y' almost done?" America mumbled. "I seriously don' think I c'n stay awake much longer."
England quick wrung the washcloth out and set it aside before leaning forward to switch off the water.
"Up we go now," England said, pulling America to his feet once more.
They stepped unsteadily out of the tub and onto the bathmat, and England passed America his towel and began to dry himself off. America dried himself haphazardly, his head bobbing sleepily as if he would drift off even while standing. He was so out of it that England had to help him into his boxers and Batman pajama bottoms. As soon as America was dressed, he began to drag himself toward the bed, but England stopped him.
"Sorry, just let me dry your hair quickly," England said, rubbing America's back apologetically. "I'd hate for you to catch a chill."
America gave another drowsy whine, but waited obediently for England to dig out the hairdryer. He rested his forehead against England's shoulder as the older man combed and dried his hair. England couldn't help smiling slightly to himself as America snuggled his face into the crook of England's neck and peppered his exposed skin with warm, sluggish kisses.
The American's hair, being so short, dried quickly, and England switched off the hairdryer, rubbing America's lower back affectionately.
"You're finished," he told him softly. "Are you still awake?"
America let out a long, quiet yawn and kissed England's neck again affirmatively. Without another word, he guided America to the bed and helped him climb in, pulling the covers up to his chin and smoothing his bangs aside tenderly.
"'Ngland… come t' bed with me."
"But it's only half past eight," England pointed out. "I'll join you in a while."
"Aw, c'mon," America begged. "Pleeeease? I sleep better when you're with me."
England considered him as if the choice hadn't been made for him from the moment America had turned those sweet, blue puppy eyes on him. He sighed and shook his head slightly, smiling in his defeat.
"Fine," England said, trying to sound as though he were grumpy about it and failing miserably. "Honestly, what a child."
America gave a rather languid version of his characteristic tongue-rolling chirp, the one England not-so-secretly found adorable, in celebration of having won his lover over. England went to the front room to retrieve his novel and returned to their bedroom where he turned off the overhead lights and switched on the lamp on the bedside table.
The moment he had crawled under the covers, America wrapped himself around him, laying his head on England's chest and tangling their legs together. England curled his arms around America's broad shoulder and nuzzled his nose into his soft, clean hair. America's warm breath tickled his skin as he yawned again.
There was no better place to be when he was exhausted, America thought, than in his warm bed with England in his arms. Only one thing could possibly make this better than it already was, but as much as he wanted it, he couldn't quite muster the energy to request it.
England stroked his hair lovingly, admiring the way the flaxen strands shined in the lamplight. America's fingers were curled in his shirt, the way he used to do as a little colony when England would hold him through his naps. Back then, England used to have to sing to him to get him to fall asleep. Even now, America sometimes asked him to sing to him when he was tired and stressed. He wondered if America might like to be sung to right now.
A tiny smile curled the corners of America's exhausted mouth as England's soft, lilting voice filled his ears. Somehow, even though he hadn't been able to put his desires into words, his lover had known exactly what he wanted. The song was an old favorite of America's, one about the beauties and dangers of the sea. It was such a wonderfully England-like song.
He wanted to stay awake and listen to it until the end, but his eyelids were just so heavy. America yawned again quietly against England's chest and touched a grateful kiss there, right over his heart. His eyes fluttered closed, and his consciousness slipped away not long after as he surrendered himself to peaceful dreams of himself and England sitting on a tropical beach somewhere, dangling their legs off the edge of a dock into the deep, blue sea.