"Yaoi is like a drug. If you write it once, you can't stop yourself from writing more."
—Me
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Why did he have to go and ruin everything? Everything had been fine until he lost control of himself. But damn, England had looked so adorable with chocolate and vanilla smeared on his cheeks, his blond hair messy and sticking out in all the right places, and those beautiful green eyes wide as he stared up at America. The British nation's lips had been parted slightly, in such an incredibly sexy way America just couldn't resist matching them with his own.
He stared at the rows of DVD cases in front of him, not truly intending to rent anything. He was really more worried about what he was going to do once he left the store.
America, upon realizing he was going nowhere just standing like an idiot in a random shop, sighed and made for the glass door. Before he stepped outside, however, the cashier said, "Oh right, I almost forgot. Arthur left his jacket here last time. Could you help bring it back for him?"
"Sure," America said, and the cashier gave him England's jacket. Once outside, America buried his nose in the cloth and inhaled deeply. It smelled like cinnamon and tea leaves.
The house was quiet when he entered. America crossed through the living room and called softly, "England? You there, man?"
When he passed by the kitchen, America froze. An invisible force made him look inside.
Just the sight of the mess they had created made his face go warm. America quickly looked away and headed upstairs. He approached England's bedroom and stopped at the shut door, knocking because he couldn't remember how many times the British nation had told him to knock before entering someone else's room. When America received no answer, he opened the door and stepped inside.
England was sound asleep on his bed, curled into himself like a child. His blond hair was even more tousled than before and fell into his eyes, and his thick eyebrows that America found irresistible were relaxed, instead of knit together in frustration like they frequently were. England's mouth was slightly open and he snored softly, occasional sighs escaping his lips. Although he was technically over a thousand years old, there was a childish touch to his features that made America want to hold him in his arms and never let go.
America covered England with the nation's jacket and couldn't help but smile at his sleeping form. He brushed England's bangs from his face and stroked that silky blond hair, the corners of his lips tugging upward.
England stirred and America jerked his hand back.
"America," the Brit murmured softly, and America's heart beat faster. He slowly stood from the bed, quietly as to not wake England. But before making for the door, he quickly leaned down and planted a light kiss on England's forehead. Just a small one; the slightest brush of lips against skin.
With that, America left the room and shut the door soundlessly behind him.
. . . .
"Are we out of milk?"
The sudden voiced question jolted America out of his thoughts. He turned to find England standing at the bottom of the stairs. The Englishman's clothes were rumpled and his green eyes were weary, but that didn't make him look any less attractive.
"Y-You're up!" America suddenly found himself tongue-tied.
"Yes, it appears so." England stifled a yawn and entered the living room. "If we are in lack of the beverage, please do me a favor and go buy a quart, if that's alright."
"S-Sure." America, recalling that they were, in fact, out of milk, got up from his place on the sofa and grabbed his jacket. He paused at the front door. "Hey...Artie?"
"We're having fish and chips tonight," England said, dodging America's attempt to bring up That Incidence. "Don't be too long."
"...okay." America noted that England hadn't even reacted to the usage of his most despised nickname. He put a hand on the doorknob, but something made him hesitate.
America let go of the door and turned to face England. "Artie, can we talk?"
England wouldn't look America in the eye. "Just go get it already."
"England. Please," America said, approaching the Brit.
"God America, if you're not buying the milk I'll go get the bloody thing." England practically ran to the exit, his head bent low.
America caught England's wrist before he could make it to the door and spun him around so they were face to face. He put his hands on either side of the British nation's cheeks, which were flushed bright red, and gazed into those endless pools of green.
"Arthur," America said softly, "please don't leave me." He let go of England's face and instead pulled the Brit to him, wrapping the latter in a hug. He buried his nose in the English nation's hair, inhaling deeply. He could feel England's racing heartbeat against his chest, not too far from his own pounding heart.
Then England pushed America away, emerald eyes bright with something the American couldn't place. America stood there, hurt, when England brought his head down and crushed his lips against the younger's, wrapping his arms around the American's neck. England's kisses were hungry and America found himself responding. Somehow they ended up on the sofa with England straddling America, that amazing scent of tea leaves and cinnamon clinging to him like a second skin.
Finally they broke apart so both nations could get some air. England's face was flushed and the top of his shirt was undone. He got off America abruptly and moved to the other side of the sofa, looking away.
"Bloody twat," England muttered, and America smiled.
"Artie, let's not have fish and chips tonight," the American said, sitting up.
"My name is Arthur, how many times do I have to remind you?" England snapped, turning to America. "And did you just insult my cousine?" He glared at the latter, but soon blushed and looked down again.
America tilted England's chin up so their eyes met, a smile tugging at his lips. "You couldn't make a decent breakfast to save a life," he said. "But that's what I love about you."
"W-Well, then what shall we have?" England asked, his cheeks growing even redder. "Don't tell me it's that bloody McDonald's again."
"Of course not; I have more creativity than that," America said. "Let's go eat at Burger King!"
England groaned. "Please kill me now."
America kissed England on the forehead and laughed. "There's no way I'd kill my Iggy. How about Chinese takeout? Then we can watch movies at home together. Just one horror movie, I promise!"
"...fine. But only one. And my name isn't Iggy."
America cheered and tackled England in a hug. "You're the best, Artie."
"Stop calling me that, argh!" England puffed out air in exasperation, but leaned against America's chest, sighing. "Sometimes I wonder why you haven't driven me nuts already."
"That's 'cause I'm the hero, duh," America said, then grinned and added, "I'm your hero."
"Whatever you say," England said, but he didn't sound annoyed. The Brit let go of America and stood. "But before we do anything...please go buy the milk."
:D
I'm such a quick updater, it took me over a month to post this chapter. Kinda short too, sorry. ;w; Well, hope you enjoyed it!
Byes~
...x Whitlinger x...