Behold! I have written UKUS fluff! Not a drop of angst. Impressed? Inspired by the Hetalia Valentine special which was too cute for words.

A toast to the UK and US of A, my favorite kissing cousins of all time. May we continue to share good relations, if you know what I mean~ -laughs-

Happy Valentine's Day/Chinese New Year!

P.S. Baahhh I'm so bummed, I missed the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. P.S. Canada, those gloves you guys have? The red ones with the white maple leaves on the palms? Cutest thing EVAR.

Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are not mine.

England sighs and rubs his temples. If there is anything he absolutely, with all his heart, completely despises... it is Valentine's Day. Nothing but a pain ever since the year America had gone and grumbled about his not sending chocolates. How was he supposed to know America actually wanted chocolates from him? And yet when he had tried to give him some later he had been perfectly stocked with it.

The next year after much deliberation he had decided to give America chocolates just in case he still wanted them. But of course he couldn't just give them to America, as he would have been handing them off at a meeting that year. His feelings would be glaringly obvious if he did that! So of course then he had been forced to buy all sorts of chocolates for some of the other countries. And of course he had made sure that America's box was the smallest, most plain kind. He hadn't even bothered getting him Valentine's Day themed chocolate. The less obvious, the better.

And after all that effort, all that sweating over it, how to make it as subtle as possible, America hadn't even thanked him! The brat! Vowing never to bother again, he had found himself in the same predicament the very next year. What if America had simply forgotten? And so he had tried again, sending chocolates to lots of countries, a grudging note with America's to let him know what a pain all of this was. Even a negative response was better than nothing and it would be much too embarrassing if America realized how much he actually cared for him. And once again...nothing. No response. No thanks. Not even a simple 'then don't bother' from him. Git.

Even worse France, only perceptive in these kinds of situations, had figured out what he was up to and had pulled all sorts of crazy strings to make sure there had been a meeting on or very close to that bloody date ever since. The amount of money he had to spend just to cover the measly chocolate he gave America was too much. And while he had received much thanks from the others for the chocolates and had even started receiving some in return, America never said a thing about it. Wanker.

Even more grating is how many chocolates America gets from the others. Boxes of heart shaped treats, bars of high quality chocolate, fine delicacies, even chocolate statues. And he is always sure to enthusiastically thank the givers of these gifts without fail. Bloody fool.

And he never, ever gives any chocolate to England.

Ever.

How England despises St. Valentine.

~.

Japan takes the silky box in his pale, delicate hands. He smiles kindly at England. "Arigato England-san. As always they are more than appreciated and I shall return the favor on White Day."

England smiles pleasantly in return. "Oh no, that's not necessary. I hope you like it."

Japan bows. "I will England-san. It is always a treat to receive these each year. You must truly enjoy this holiday."

England holds back a snort. Nothing had been more awkward than that first year he had given Japan chocolate. Japan had thought he had a crush on him then told him to take responsibility when he found him giving chocolates to the others. The whole thing had been awkward and embarrassing beyond belief.

And America had been laughing the whole time.

Once Japan has walked off France slides up next to England, putting an arm around his shoulders and speaking intimately in his ear. "Bonjour mon amour. Avez-vous une surprise pour moi? Une surprise sale je l'espère."

England elbows him hard in the stomach. "In your dreams frog face. Now piss off. I... I have a few more things to give out."

France lets out a pained 'oof' but does not relinquish his hold. "Ah~ Haven't seen your precious Amérique yet? You know, maybe if you focused less on hiding your feelings and more on what you actually gave him he might warm up a bit."

England flushes. "I-it's none of your business! And I could hardly care about what America thinks."

France tsks, putting on a very self-important expression. "Trust me my dear Artuur, I think I know a little something about romance. You must give him something to make his heart race. Take him forcefully in your arms and send wanting through his young body with words of desire! Faites un beau rêve de la magie et la romance pour lui. Puis prenez toute la nuit!"

England punches him, harder than last time. "Shut up you pervert! Don't even talk about him with your filth tongue!"

France rubs his stomach, groaning miserably. "You really are a monster. I was simply trying to encourage your blooming love with America! How do you ever plan to make it more than a silly crush if you are not willing to take any risks? It's painful to watch you Angleterre. From an old friend, please, stop doing this to yourself."

England turns away, face clouding over. "Shove off. I never asked for your advice. I couldn't care less one way or the other what that brat does so stop getting the wrong idea."

France shakes his head. "Bah, one day ma chère you will stop burying yourself hip deep in denial. I cannot wait for it."

France leans in and kisses him on the cheek, spinning away quickly before England can hit him again. "Joyeuse Saint-Valentin, Angleterre. May cupid finally hit you straight between your stupid eyebrows."

England scowls deeply and rubs his cheek. "Bastard. Like he knows anything."

Face still warm with embarrassment and anger, England continues his search for America, held up more than he would like with the other chocolates he has to give out. So bothersome. No sign of him.

It isn't until the conference is about to begin and the countries are all filing in that England spots him. He rather rudely pushes through the crowd. Gentlemanly manners aside, he has to get to America. All but elbowing Canada out of the way, England has made himself look composed by the time America turns to see who is sitting next to him.

America looks at him, expression playing between the usual cocky grin and what looks just a bit like annoyance. "Hey England. Sitting next to me? I'm amazed the Britannia angel isn't out playing chocolate cupid like usual."

England gives him his most dignified snub. "Don't be such a fool, I have never been the Britannia angel while passing out chocolate. Oh, and here."

He digs through his pocket for a moment and pulls out a small box which contains two tiny chocolates. "For you, ungrateful brat."

America takes it without much enthusiasm. "Be still my heart."

And that's all he says. England pretends to not care, to not even be paying attention one way or the other about how he reacts. America leans over and opens his bag, putting the chocolate inside. England catches just the briefest glimpse of a heart shaped box before the bag is closed. Probably from one of the others... England feels a pang of jealousy. America glances at him but he pretends to be organizing his things.

England decides to try and use this opportunity to talk to America but finds himself tongue tied. By the time he gets it untangled Japan has taken the other spot next to America. England miserably starts to pull things out, pretending to be busy as he listens in on their conversation.

"Hey Kiku! Happy Valentine's day!" Oh, so he would say it to him.

"Konichiwa America-san. The same to you. As usual I will be sure to give you something on White Day. Have you received anything good yet?"

America laughs. "You know I always look forward to it! Homemade and everything! Mm, but no, so far all I've received is chocolate from the Eyebrow Cupid."

The last comment is said loud enough to be a jab at England. England even starts to prickle at the words, and then their full meaning hit him. He is the only one who has given America chocolates so far. Meaning he's either lying or the chocolates in his bag are for someone.

America never gives out chocolate. He's more of the receiving kind.

England swallows hard and suddenly can't concentrate on anything. Who? Who could they be for? He has to know!

The meeting is suddenly brought to attention by Germany who, much to his own irritation, must act as main speaker. As Germany tries to control the meeting, outbursts, and random stupid comments from countries such as Italy and America, England obsessively tries to think about how he can get a look into America's bag. While he could just follow America around until he gave them to someone, he feels like it would be less devastating if he can find out who they're for in advance.

Utterly unable to focus on Germany's words, England starts to speculate. Is it for Japan? No, he had the perfect chance to give them to him already... Though maybe he is waiting for a more romantic setting. He is still a possibility.

Who else likes America? England is having a hard time thinking of anyone else. Oh, but it could be an unrequited crush. Who would have the audacity to unwittingly seduce his America? China has been trying to move front and center in the world lately, had he caught America's eye? Or perhaps all that Cold War nonsense had been for reasons neither he nor Russia ever would have guessed. God help France if it's him. Just thinking of all the possibilities pisses him off. Never before has he been so aware of just how many countries there are.

It is practically a god send when Germany finally calls a lunch break. America groans with relief. "Finally, I thought it would never end. So boring! Come on Kiku, let's go get something to eat!"

America and Japan walk off, America chattering loudly the whole way out. England's heart stops in his throat. America left his bag behind. Was it really so easy?

Acting as if he is looking over something, England waits until even the stragglers have found their way out of the room. The moment the door closes England looks over and snatches up the bag. He feels feverish, practically possessed as he opens the bag and takes the heart shaped box from it.

He lucks out, there is a small piece of paper attached to the bow. With trembling hands he opens it. For a moment his brain can't fully comprehend what he is seeing. The From: Alfred is clear enough, written confidently in flashy red ink. The To: throws him off guard so badly he has to put the box down and close his eyes. He opens them and reads the name, written uncertainly in blue ink with a very small heart next to it.

To: Arthur

From: Alfred

The door suddenly bursts open and England looks up, frozen like a criminal caught in the act. America, who has rushed in with his usual devil-may-care pace, stops dead when he sees the box in front of England.

For a moment the two of them just stare at each other, both stunned and speechless. Then America's face goes the darkest shade of red England has ever seen. He rushes up and snatches up the box of chocolates. "What the fuck! What gives you the right to go through other people's things?"

England opens his mouth and nothing comes out. America turns away, the tips of his ears glowing. "Go on then, laugh at me asshole! Make fun of me, I dare you!"

England finally finds his voice. It sounds puzzled and surprisingly calm. "Why would I make fun of you?"

America whirls around, furious in his humiliation. "I know you don't like me romantically, okay! I just... Every year I hope that maybe it will be different. Because I'm awesome like that. So what if you think that's stupid? I like- No, I love you England, and I don't give a fuck if that bothers you or not. So... so there!"

England's voice sounds far away in his ears. Surely this was a dream? "Why would you think I don't like you?"

America plays with the bow on the chocolate and snorts. "Are you mocking me now? It's so obvious. First you didn't even bother getting me chocolate... Then when you did start it was almost like it was to make fun of me. The way you always make a point of getting me the smallest, cheapest kind. And you almost always give it to me last out of everyone else. I could tell that you thought I was just annoying. Do you know how much that hurt? What, was it revenge for my war of Independence? Is that it? Is that why you insist on toying with me every single Valentine's Day? I can't even tell you how much I have come to loathe this day. You've completely ruined it for me!"

England is silent and then he begins to chuckle. America snaps. "Don't laugh at me!"

He bridges the gap between them, grabbing England's tie and tugging him forward. "You can go screw yourself!"

It takes a moment but England calms himself. "Damn it you stupid, stubborn, bloody git, don't you know me better than that? I gave you the puniest chocolate out of everyone else because I like you the most! I love you, idiot. If you hadn't been so thick neither of us would have ever had to hate Valentine's Day so much."

America's first response is more anger. "Hey, you're the stupid one! Only you would make it so damn hard to figure out that you love me!"

And then it sinks in. His face suddenly flushes again, this time from a completely different emotion. "You... you love me?"

England's face flushes as well and he looks down, his earlier bravado fading. "Well, I mean it's... That is...Yes. Yes, I love you!"

He lifts is head defiantly, as if daring America to say something about it.

The two of them stare at each other, becoming aware of how close they are.

"Oh."

America lets go of England's tie and wipes his hand self-consciously.

They both shuffle awkwardly.

England clears his voice, trying to regain some dignity. "Well. Er," he falters. So much for dignity. "Perhaps we could discuss this in more detail after the meeting."

America nods, mumbling something, some attempt at a smart-alec remark. Suddenly he looks up with that charming grin of his. "Your place or mine?"

England clears his throat again. "My home is closer..."

America winks, bouncing back quickly. It is a talent of his. "Your place it is. And...This is for you."

He hands the heart to England, who takes it as if it is a precious gem. "Thank you. I'm sorry mine is so pathetic."

America puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "Doesn't matter. I don't mind at all if it means you love me."

England strokes the red box, heart pounding. The top is some cheap, fake velvet, he notices for the first time. America seems self-conscious about it. "I know it's not super fancy like all your European chocolate or home made like Japan's but... it's the thought that counts right?"

England's mouth turns up into a smile. "You know... Cadbury would be enough for me."

America smacks his forehead. "Oh right, I forgot...And that would have been easy to get too!"

England smiles kindly at him. "It doesn't matter... if it means you love me. Though if you really loved me you would get me Cadbury chocolate."

America raises an eyebrow. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Maybe just a little."

"Stupid eyebrows." America twinkles at him. "Well, I better get back to Japan...After the meeting then."

England nods, "Right. After the meeting."

It seems too far away for both of them. And when the meeting begins again, as the two of them silently sit side by side filled with impatience, it feels like it will never end. Later both would agree that they simply should have left during the lunch break. Neither of them heard a single thing after that point except the pounding of their own hearts.

~.

America runs a finger over the rim of his mug filled with coffee still too hot to drink. England had made it for him without a single snide comment about how much superior tea is. "I've been bringing chocolate for you for years you know. But then you'd always give me those small chocolates with this huge 'I would rather die than actually give you this' attitude. I figured it wasn't worth humiliating myself over. I can't even tell you how jealous I was of everyone else you gave Valentine's gifts to."

England sips his tea. "The only reason I ever bothered was because I didn't want to bring attention to the fact I gave anything to you. I was always hurt when you never even thanked me."

He chuckled and shook his head. "We really are a pair of fools. I'm afraid my inability to communicate anything properly rubbed off on you."

America grinned. "Well I do already blame all my shortcomings on your influence."

England gives him a sharp look and America laughs, a carefree sound. A bit of color goes into England's cheek as he tries to act casual. "How long have you been in love with me?"

America blows on his coffee. "I could ask you the same thing."

England's bright green eyes flicker up to meet America's own, forever sky blue. After a pause America sighs. "Fine. I've always loved you moron. Even when I left you, even when we fought, even when I felt like I never wanted to see you again I always loved you."

America's brash honesty is as breathtaking as ever. "...I see."

"Is that all you have to say? Well, it's your turn to answer. Since when have you been in love with me?"

England turns bright red. "Stupid brat, you stole my answer! Typical."

America lowers his mug. "You've loved me since the beginning too?"

England looks away, nodding.

"...So you are a pedophile."

England's head snaps up at that. "I am not!"

America laughs again. "Kidding, kidding. You're hilarious England."

For a moment they look at one another, wondering how they could have loved one another for so long and missed each other so completely until this moment, caused by a pure fluke of chance. It felt like there is so much to say. Things well up to the surface, wanting to come out but falling short. Perhaps it's the abruptness of the situation, or their awkward personalities, or any other number of things. How can they have a conversation about this when the words won't come?

England inwardly scolds himself. He is the fatherland of such poets as Shakespeare. He should never be at a loss for words. America on the other hand, while at a loss, also knows that actions often speak louder than words.

America stands and circles the table, his eyes never leaving England. Gently he tilts up the man's face and with a self-conscious smile leans down and kisses him. England turns his body towards him so that they fit together better and deepens the kiss. He reaches up and buries a hand in America's hair.

America strokes England's cheek and prods England's lips with his tongue. England grants it access, meeting it with his own tongue. The kiss is heated and near desperate. A gesture both of them have dreamed of sharing made into sweet reality.

America and England finally pull away from each other, breathless. Their eyes shine with wanting and both know exactly what the other wants. After a moment America leans in and nuzzles England's forehead. "So...want to move this to the bedroom?"

"Cheeky, aren't you? Making such lewd suggestions right off the bat."

In a fit of affection America gently shakes his head, giving England Eskimos kisses. "You don't want to?"

England runs his fingers through America's hair, smirking. "I never said I didn't want to. But... Isn't it a bit soon? I mean, we haven't really discussed anything."

America shrugs, gently kissing England. "What is there to say? It's not like we're strangers. I'd say we know each other pretty well. And we love each other right? Let's let all the details work themselves out along the way."

"So you are capable of saying intelligent things from time to time. Very well, to the bedroom." England closes his eyes and kisses America lingeringly.

The kiss is a grant of permission that sends heat through both of them. Passion and desire that has been painstakingly restrained and hidden for more years than either would care to consider comes crashing down, sweeping them along. Now they are groping hands and hungry mouths and how they had managed to keep themselves from doing this sooner is a mystery to both of them.

They blindly work their way through the house, stumbling and pulling on one another, groping along walls, all the while trying their damnedest to find a way around breaking contact for even a second. When America's foot strikes against the stairs he realizes they must either separate or find a way to get up the stairs together.

America runs his hands down England's back, taking a moment to grope his ass before hooking his hands under his thighs and hoisting him up. Not missing a beat England wraps his legs around America's waist, arms draped over his shoulders. America begins to cautiously climb the stairs, wavering from time to time, at one point nearly falling backward until England helps pull his weight forward.

That hurtle cleared, America silently curses England's house for being so big, his bedroom for being so far away. Maybe they should have just had sex downstairs. But they do eventually get to their destination, America pressing England against the door as he fumbles with the handle. It swings open and the two stumble forward into the room, America's glasses jumping precariously to the tip of his nose.

America starts to make his way towards the bed but England pulls away, starting to ease his legs out of America's grip and back onto solid ground. Frowning, America stops walking. "Something the matter?"

Oh yeah, there's something the matter. England knows if he lets America continue he'll get stuck on the bottom and that's not happening.

"No, nothing," he purrs. "Let's just slow down a bit and savor this shall we?"

America pouts a bit. He has grown accustomed to instant gratification. Still, any amount of resentment quickly fades as England runs his tie through his fingers before loosening it and letting is slide to the ground. He leans up to kiss him again but it is less insistent, more sensual. America wills himself to slow down and begins to match the slow stroking motions of England's tongue against his.

England slowly manipulates America's body around until they have mostly switched places. He puts his hands on America's shoulders and gives him a good push. Not braced for the sudden attack America stumbles and falls back onto the bed. As he tries to sit up England is there to push him back down.

America scowls. "No fair! You cheated."

England crawls on top of America until he is straddling him and slowly begins to rock his hips. "I'm terribly sorry old chap. Do forgive me."

America moans, his hands reaching for England. England leans into one of these searching hands and nuzzles it. He begins to loosen his own tie. Before it is completely off America grabs it with his free hand and tugs England down. "Say please you cocky Brit."

England removes America's glasses, tossing them lightly towards the head of the bed so they are safely out of the way, his hips never ceasing their rocking. "Please forgive me for giving you the shag of your life."

America snorts. "Why you..."

He tugs at England's tie until it comes off, tossing it aside. England rubs his hands up and down America's chest then unbuttons his shirt skillfully. Needlework made his fingers quite nimble. America watches him with a lazy smirk. If England wants to be the one to get things hot that's just fine by him. And while in more modern times he usually fantasized about being the one on top, it had been a secret fantasy of his when he was younger for England to do just this, to thoroughly seduce him.

England pushes the shirt off of America's shoulders, helping him remove it completely and throwing it aside. Licking his lips, England begins to trace small circles on America's chest. He rubs America's nipples softly, gradually increasing the pressure until they turn hard. America shivers pleasantly. And when England brings his head down to lick one of the sensitive nubs his head falls back. God, it felt so good.

America finally lets out a small whine. "Hey, let the hero see more of your body."

England sits up again. "Hmph, trying to make demands of me brat? Fine."

He begins to unbutton his shirt slowly just to irritate America. All things considered America actually likes the show. It turns him on even more. He grabs England's hips and keeps them rocking, beginning to grind himself up against him.

Both of them gasp at the increasing friction, England's fingers faltering. America releases England's hips and pushes his hands away from their work. "Oh fer chrissake, let me see you already!"

He takes the shirt in his hands, pulling the shirt open in one clean tug. Small white buttons snap and fly off into obscure corners. England cries out in protest. America hums appreciatively, hands moving in to trace along England's abdomen. "That's more like it."

England feels self-conscious even while enjoying the caressing hands. It had been far too long since someone touched him. "You sound like a lecherous old man."

America chuckles. "You would know because you are one."

With a slight smirk England shrugs until the ruined shirt begins to slide down his arms, exposing most of his chest. "Does this look like the body of an old man?"

The words force America to look at England, really look at him. The smooth pale skin, the delicate collar bones, narrow shoulders, and everything firm though not necessarily muscular under his fingers. He swallows hard, a pang going through his groin as his eyes travel over England. "No..."

America continues to slide his hands over England's torso, hungry to feel each and every inch of him. He has wanted this for longer than he can remember.

England tugs at the sleeves of his shirt behind his back, letting it fall off completely to be forgotten. How wonderful it feels to be worshiped by America's sight and touch. But England wants more, for America to savor him with every single sense. Taste, touch, sight, smell, sound.

America lightly pinches and teases England's nipples in retaliation to what he had experienced earlier. England lightly scratches America's stomach, running his fingers down until they snag on his jeans. He starts to unbutton them. The sound of the zipper coming down is oddly satisfying.

America suddenly pulls England down so that they are lying chest to chest, his hands groping England's ass eagerly while he presses their lips together. Taste.

After a moment America finally pulls away. "If you're going to finish undressing me you have to take it all off too. It's only fair."

"Fine, fine. Now let me go."

America kisses England one more time before releasing him. England slides down America's body until he is off the bed and tugging at America's shoes. Socks go next, his fingers gently tickling the soles of each foot until America threatens to kick him if he doesn't stop. Then the pants, a slow tug that seems to take ages—no forever—until they are crumpled on the floor. England has just hooked his fingers under America's boxers when America sits up. "Nuh uh. You start taking off some of your clothes. I got this."

England tsks. "You're taking all my fun away."

But he backs off and starts to remove his shoes, socks, and pants. America sits up, sliding his boxers off and throwing them aside as quickly as possible so that he can watch England strip. His eyes eagerly eat up each new piece of skin. As England steps out of his own knickers America reaches out and pulls him close from around the waist. "You're beautiful England."

England's face turns red. "Don't say something so ridiculous."

America begins to run his hands along England's legs, the backs of his thighs. "I'm serious, you're really beautiful. For a snobby, uptight jerk."

England smiles softly, heart oddly warmed. "You are quite attractive yourself... for a stupid Yank."

The two of them look at each other admiringly for a moment, softly stroking one another, then fall into a slow kiss. England sits, practically in America's lap, and reaches down as their mouths become thoroughly acquainted. He takes hold of both of their cocks and begins to make slow, smooth strokes with his hand. America shivers and mumbles a curse against his lips.

The two of them gasp and rock against each other with England's gradually increasing the speed of the strokes, sensitive skin stimulated as they press needfully against each other. America nibbles on England's lower lip, his hands groping and rubbing, touching to the point of bruising. England buries his face against America's neck and begins to suck, claiming him for his own. It's all he can do to control the whimpers of need that remain locked inside him. Too embarrassing.

America lightly nibbles England's ear. "Come on Arthur. Enough of the teasing. I'm about to finish right here and now. Let's get to it."

England's hand stops its sensual movements and runs up America's chest. "So impatient."

Both of them are perfectly aware that he is just as eager to continue. The husky, lust dripping quality of his voice more than gives it away.

England gets off of America, who despite his impatience makes it quite difficult to disentangle himself from his grasp. The first thing he does is set America's glasses on the side table. Then he digs through a side drawer and pulls out a mostly forgotten tube of lubrication. England silently thanks France for continuously providing him with it despite his obvious long spells, 'Just in case the mood for love ever enters your cold heart' he would say with a wink.

America crawls up and presses his face against England's shoulder. "You're prepared. I'm a little surprised to be honest with you."

England snorts. "How presumptions. Now lie down."

America makes a sound of protest. "No way, I'm not going to be the bottom! I'm the hero, you're the maiden. You lie down."

He tries to snatch the lube away from England who holds it tightly against himself protectively. "This is my home, my bed, my lube. I will be on top."

America pouts, that stubborn expression of his starting to appear. England decides to be a bit manipulative before the fight starts and he loses out on a much wanted and needed fuck. America is quite prideful but he has been dealing with him for centuries.

England reaches up and starts to caress America's face, bridging the gap between them. "Come now Alfred, don't be unreasonable. You can be on top next time."

He kisses him lightly, pulling away as America tries to kiss him back. He kisses America's jaw bone, his temple, eyelids, before returning to and hovering over his mouth. "I can't tell you how long I've wanted you... to make you feel blinding pleasure until my name bursts from your lips like a hallelujah."

His tongue peeks out and ever so lightly traces across said lips. England nuzzles him, making his eyes narrow with lust. "I want to pleasure you so much I get unbearably hard just thinking about it... Your body trembling beneath me, our breath catching, coated in sweat..."

He feels America grow warm in his arms. Hiding a smile he makes his voice husky. "Please Alfred."

America's voice is a bit strained when he finally speaks. "Fine. But next time I'm on top for sure. This is just for your benefit."

England kisses America on the forehead, an oddly chaste gesture in the midst of all their lewd desires. "Thank you."

England helps lower him onto the bed, looking down at him with such intense lust it makes America shiver. England kisses America, deeper this time, and repeats his gratitude. "Thank you."

America gives him a slow smile. "All in day's work for a hero."

With half a smile England begins to leave small kisses all the way down America's body, starting at his jaw, down his neck, across his shoulders before moving to his torso where he makes a trail along his sternum, now across his abdomen, along his hip... "Damn it England, would you get to it already? You're driving me crazy!"

England lifts one of America's legs and begins to kiss his inner thigh, moving ever closer towards his groin. "That's the plan."

America runs his fingers through his hair with frustration. "Come on Arthur, I'm so hard it hurts here!"

With a self-satisfied smirk on his lips England finally pulls away and opens the lube, generously coating his fingers with it. He strokes one of America's thighs as he presses the first finger into him. America bites his lip hard, closing his eyes. England leans over America, still moving his finger. "Get over here."

America opens his eyes. "Hmph, lazy."

He sits up and meets England's lips. "I'm the one doing all the work here, don't you call me lazy you git."

America just hums in response as they exchange slow, sensual kisses. America moans from time to time as England prepares him. Soon he is trying to thrust against England's fingers and the older nation decides he is ready.

He pulls away from America and puts some extra lube on his member, hissing at the brief contact of his hand. He lines himself up to America and glances at him. "Are you ready?"

"Pft, are you seriously asking that? Take me damn it, or I'll start fucking you instead!"

England scoffs. "How rude. None of my manners rubbed off on you at all."

Before America can retort England presses slowly into him until he is all the way in. He trembles, a low groan escaping is lips. America clutches the sheets, breath hitching.

For a moment they stay like that. And then, in a state of near ecstasy already, England pulls back and presses back in almost reverently. "America... Alfred, god..."

America reaches up and touches his face. "You called?"

"...Cheeky." He nuzzles America's hand as he thrusts rhythmically into him. America begins to roll his hips to match England's pace.

Breathing hard, England rubs the back of America's thighs. "Mind if I try something?"

America shakes his head, nearly making a snarky remark to tease him for asking. The words are cut off when England grabs the back of his knees and presses his legs up until they are practically against his chest. He presses into him again, able to penetrate much more deeply with this new angle, that much closer to America.

America groans and puts his arms around England's shoulders. England clumsily kisses him, loving absolutely everything about America. As they move together England finally manages to hit America's sweet spot, causing him to sing out. Wanting to hear more, England dutifully hits the spot again and again. Sound.

The two of them are a force of lust, unstoppable, grinding and panting and moaning each other's names over and over. They feel complete, relieved to finally, after so much fighting and miscommunication, be connecting. Wanting to melt into one another, to blend until their hearts are inseparable. And as their passion grows one overwhelming unformed phrase seems to silently echo over all of their moans and sighs and sobs:

I love you.

Knowing he is close, England reaches down and gives America a few good strokes to make sure he finishes first. Already on the edge, it is all America needs. With a cry he comes, body arching against England. He grips England's hair tightly as his body is overwhelmed. America's climax is quick to trigger England's. Closing his eyes, he lets the feeling ravage through him like a flame, slowly calming from a roar to a soft glow.

The two relax their bodies so they are lying flat against one another. America kisses the top of England's head, lazily stroking his back. They are both a bit out of breath but he attempts to talk anyway. "That was...pretty mind blowing. Didn't know you had it in you."

England rests against his chest. "I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Don't underestimate me."

America smiles softly. "No. Never again. Mm, you know...you smell pretty good after sex."

England smirks to himself. Smell.

~.

The two lie half-propped up against the pillows. America puts another chocolate to England's lips. "Say ah!"

England, face lightly dusted pink with embarrassment, opens his mouth and takes a bite. After their third round America had somehow found the energy to go downstairs and retrieve the box of chocolates he had gotten for England. Frankly he doesn't know where the boy gets the energy. He's so drained the only energy he can muster is to eat America's chocolates.

After eating the other half England sucks lightly on America's fingers. America pulls him close. "So, will you still give out all those chocolates next year?"

England cuddles against him. "Hmph, as if. What's the point now that I have you?"

America chuckles, stroking England's arm. "The other countries will be so disappointed. Though you know, I don't think I'd mind so much if you continued. Y'know... as long as I still got the most measly box."

England looks up at him with an uncharacteristically affectionate expression. "Always. ...Bloody idiot."

America leans in and kisses him. "I love you."

England knows that he would die before he got tired of those words. "I love you too."

And thus England and America simultaneously solved their chocolate dilemmas.

~End

Translations:

Bonjour mon amour. Avez-vous une surprise pour moi? Une surprise sale je l'espère:

Hello my love. Do you have a surprise for me? A dirty surprise I hope.

Faites un beau rêve de la magie et la romance pour lui. Puis prenez toute la nuit (fixed):

Make a beautiful dream of magic and romance for him. Then take him all night!

Angleterre-England

ma chère- my dear

Joyeuse Saint-Valentin- Happy Valentine's day

As always, feel free to correct me if these are incorrect.

Terms:

White Day: In Japan girls give out chocolates on Valentine's Day and boys give it out on White Day.