America could no longer stand it. The ticking of the clock in his dull room, the slow passing of time, the sound of wind and rain pounding on his bedroom window. He dragged himself out of bed. Rubbing his eyes, he flailed around, his hand looking for his glasses. He soon slipped them on, and sat for a few minutes, letting his eyes focus. Staring out the window, he watched the patterns of the water running down the glass, making it look warped. The wind blasted against the side of the house, a loud noise that almost drained out the side of the rain.
He shivered lightly, goose bumps appearing on his bare skin. He only had on boxers, and it wasn't that warm in his house. He rubbed his hands over his arms, and some of the goose bumps disappeared, though he still remained chilly. He looked at his skin, pale in the dim light coming from the moon, though he wasn't sure how any light got through the thick clouds overhead.
He lay back, and focused on deep breaths, but all of the sounds still bugged him, causing him to frown.
"Water." He said. "I'll go downstairs, get some water, and go back to sleep."
He trudged downstairs, his muscles aching from being stiff for so long. The chilly tiles of the kitchen floor brought the goose bumps back, and he decided against water. Water was cold, too. He decided to have some hot chocolate. He stood around lazily, leaning on the counter, waiting for his milk to boil. The time on the microwave said it was almost one o'clock in the morning.
"I wonder if Iggy's sleeping through this..." America mumbled to himself. He had invited Britain over to hang out for the weekend, and the older country was sleeping, supposedly, upstairs. "He's used to rain, a lot of it. Probably asleep."
Bubbles started to appear, and America grabbed some chocolate, and plopped into the white substance. He stirred it carefully; watching as it slowly melted, and added a little butter and some sugar. Iggy always liked my hot chocolate.The thought of the other country brought a smile to the young blond's lips. Iggy was a lot of fun to be around. Even if he was grumpy and hopelessly sarcastic, he had a good sense of humor, and was always willing to listen to America's problems.
America finished with the hot chocolate, and placed some in a mug, holding it with a death grip, trying to warm his icy hands. He took a sip.
Ahhh...He thought. Just what I needed.He padded back up to his room, and sat down on his bed gently, so as not to upset his precious, warm, cargo. He took little sips here and there, trying to make it last. He was facing the window, legs crossed, mug in hand, when some lightning struck, and momentarily lit up the surrounding area. A clap of thunder sounded, and it was so loud it shook the house. America whimpered slightly, he had always hated storms.
When he was smaller, he had crawled into bed with England, to have some relief from the deep sounds of clouds slamming together. Now, though, he and England were slightly awkward together. They had had sex, before, but their relationship had staled. Fortunately, their friendship was stronger than ever.
America sighed as he thought about the countless times they had made love, the times they made each other cry out in pleasure. England had been the only one America had ever gone that far with. He knew it wasn't normal, because England was practically his mother and father, but things were different than in the human world.
The human world. He thought scornfully. Why is it so easy there? You love who you love, and nobody pitches a fit, or runs off at the mouth about treaty violations and such.
Deep down inside, America knew why he and England weren't physically involved anymore. Too much protest, too much trouble, too much this, too much that...
A sigh escaped his lips. Life used to be so easy. We'd just go at it when we were both in the mood. No talk of terrorists, national defense. What's England going to do to me, anyways? Give me STD's? That's a human thing, not a country thing...He heard motion in the room next to his. He looked up, hopeful. Maybe he's going to...He put his head back down, defeated. No, he wouldn't. We could, but I don't think he'd want that.
America swirled the last dregs of chocolate around in his cup, and sipped them down. He shivered as the gritty, left-over chocolate scraped itself down his throat. He looked out the window again. More booms filled the night. A real thunderstorm had come.