AN: This 'fic' will be a place for me to post little bits and pieces of story that aren't enough to warrant being a story on their own. As such, it'll be updated as a when I have creative spurts... rare as they may be ;)
Anyways, do enjoy!
Jet Lag
England sighed emphatically, wriggling around as he tried to find a comfortable position on the sofa in America's living room. Whilst the sofa itself was ridiculously cosy as sofas went (and America had no doubt spend a fortune on it, as he did everything; the damned thing was coloured to match his flag, the egotistical sod) it wasn't exactly the most ideal place to sleep. This was both because of how noisy the younger lad was (it would have been better had he simply left the older man alone to wallow in self pity... but no, he'd insisted on keeping him company), as well as the fact that is was bare of both cushions and blankets, so despite the sofa itself being quite pleasant to lie on, it was hardly a substitute for a proper bed.
England was currently feeling incredibly resentful of what was known amongst nations as 'permanent jet lag', namely the fact that occasionally nations found themselves so closely tied to their country that their body was completely unable to re-adjust to a new time zone. Fortunately, this didn't happen every single time a nation went abroad (otherwise conferences and meetings would simply never happen) but it did rear it's ugly head occasionally. In England's case, it somehow always managed to flare up on the trips he took to America, when they organised holidays together in the spirit of the special relationship/getting lots of very intimate time together.
As it was, said nation was currently feeling fairly sorry for himself. As his body was insisting it was roughly 6 or 7 hours later than it was, he found himself collapsed and on the verge of sleep in America's painfully sunny living room despite it only being late afternoon, whilst the younger nation was propped against the far end of the sofa, energetically and enthusiastically mashing buttons on one of his infernal games consoles.
He grumbled and flopped onto his side, lifting a fairly limp arm in a vain attempt to block out some of the excess light. Vaguely, he wondered if he could telepathically communicate with the lad to close the curtains, but then he realised that he was so dense it probably wouldn't be able to permeate his thick skull and sighed again. America's cries and yelling weren't helping the matter, but it was clear that even with all the interruptions in the world, he wasn't going to stay awake much longer. He was shattered. He knew that it would be more peaceful to shift his arse into the bedroom that he and America shared whenever he visited, but at the same time he couldn't get his heavy limbs to co-operate and play nice, so he resigned himself to dozing off the American-flag themed couch.
He huffed a sigh into the garish red, white and blue fabric.
So pre-occupied was he with his predicament, he didn't realise that the blaring TV had been silenced, or that America was peering over his shoulder to stare at the nigh-comatose older nation. Nor did he hear the fond sigh or shifting of loose clothing as he lifted himself off the floor and leant over him. It was only when he noticed the shadow blocking the sunlight (and momentarily wondered if America wasn't as dense as he'd thought and had picked up on his prior thoughts) did it register that his lover had stopped his previous activities to see how he was doing.
England grumbled again, voice muffled by his arm and the fact that half is face was pressed against the sofa.
Without waiting to ask or even hesitating, America stooped down and dragged the limp man into his arms in a bridal hold. This wasn't the first time America had ended up carrying him to bed, just as it wasn't the first time that well-laid plans had been disrupted as a result of this blight upon his existence. Too exhausted to fight or even complain about how demeaning this was (and secretly loving the attention, even if it did make him seem somewhat... damsel-y. He'd never admit it to anyone's face because they'd never let him live it down, but Arthur adored the times when Alfred would coddle him like he was the most precious thing in the world, even if it did mean sacrificing a certain amount of dignity), instead he simply curled into the warmth the encompassed him. After a momentary pause he muttered a couple of curses to show willing.
America just laughed.
AN: Yeah, this one just popped into my head earlier. I thought it'd be funny if, as a nation, they could be so closely linked to their country and their people that occasionally they can't simply readjust to a new timezone. 'Tis merely a thought. Please be so kind as to read and review if you enjoyed this in any way or form. No beta, so if there are mistakes just say and I'll rectify them!
