Disclaimer: I own nothing. Hetalia is not mine, and neither is anything else mentioned.
A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has stuck with this story and reviewed! I hope you're enjoying it :)
"I am going to murder whoever picked out this outfit."
"Well then I bet France is a dead man, huh Iggy?"
America chuckled at his own joke. Though changing in the airport bathroom was not ideal, he'd managed, and his outfit was not that bad. A pair of comfy blue jeans, and a dress shirt which he wore casually with a few buttons undone, thus exposing his undershirt. He thought it was ironic though, that for being a supposed resourceful spy on a current mission, it had taken him absolutely forever to remove the price tags. He was totally strong! They just… they were stubborn. Weird how France didn't equip them with scissors… Well whatever, good thing America was ready for anything! The young blonde was always one step ahead, and conveniently had his Swiss Army knife (that he'd had ever since he was a scout) on him, and he'd done away with those silly price tags.
"You need me to cut the tags?"
A pause followed by a huff.
"No. It's just getting these damn pants on. They're two bloody sizes too small. Comfortable clothing my arse."
America snorted. Ah British humor; well not really. It was… it was really just England humor. The guy could be hilarious when he wanted, but if America tried to get him to laugh, it generally just provoked a blush, followed by a nasty comment.
"Come out! I wanna see my fiancé!"
The American paused and looked around. Good, there was still no one in the bathroom. Upon entering, England had placed a yellow 'bathroom in cleaning' sign out front. He wasn't really sure where it had come from, or where England had gotten it but whatever; he admitted it was a smart move.
On the other side of the bathroom stall, England was doing his best to turn back into his proper English gentleman self, rather than the tomato he had become. Damn America for being so… giddy. Yes, he knew it was their cover, but America didn't have to be so smart about it… He didn't have to say it in that teasing tone that made England… made England…
"Iggyyy! I want to see thee!"
A sigh was emitted from the Briton. There was no escaping this. He looked down at himself, at this new 'comfortable' clothing. He knew the outfit was a necessary evil, but still… If France had picked out the clothing, he was as good as dead. England took one last lengthy breath and tentatively undid the lock to his stall. His door opened and the American's jaw dropped.
America gawked, simply stood and stared. England was… England looked… He wasn't going to deny it; England looked hot. The American eyed him up and down. He was wearing a purple v-neck t-shirt, rather tight America noted, with a black button vest on top of that. Wow that really made him look suave… Cerulean eyes dared to go further and traveled downward. Oh. My. God. He was wearing skinny jeans; and not only that, but they must have been designer or something because they really made him look amazing. Again, America couldn't help but notice that the jeans were extremely tight.
"That's alright though," he thought, "They really show off England's as-"
"Idiot! Eyes up here!" The Briton was pointing to his beautiful emerald eyes.
"Wait beautiful? I did not just think that. And that whole thing about his ass…"
The American flushed bright red at his thoughts. Slowly, he looked back up at England and realized that his cheeks had taken on a brilliant crimson as well. Ok so now there were two grown men blushing, alone in a bathroom… awkward…
America coughed to break the silence, but it only returned as England said nothing. Finally the American built up the courage to speak.
"S-sorry England. You look good though…" pause, "really good."
The Brit seemed to pink even more at that statement, if that was even possible. He glanced down at his shoes, which were probably the only comfortable article of clothing he was wearing at the moment.
"Th-thank you… git," he paused and looked back up at the American, "We should get going then. I'm sure our ride is waiting," he offered a small awkward smile.
"Yeah... r-right."
The two gradually started walking toward the exit, but America promptly stopped. He stood there for a moment taking in the sight of the Briton. The younger man realized that as soon as they stepped out of this bathroom, he would become Mr. Burrows, and the gentleman he'd come to know so well would become Mr. Height… not England. America grimaced at that thought. The man in front of him would only be England for the next five or so steps to the door. It was then that America had a seemingly brilliant idea. He quickly made a decision, quite rash, but that was him.
Startled by the sudden contact, England looked down at his hand. His eyes widened as he realized the American was intertwining his fingers with his own. No; that was not a smile tugging at his lips. He slowly looked away from their clasped hands to the wall. This might be the hardest mission England ever took part in.
At the other end of the affectionate gesture, the American was smiling. He was ecstatic first of all that England hadn't slapped his hand away, or called him a 'twit' or some other vulgar British term. Yet, the American was also joyful over something else. He couldn't help but notice how perfectly their hands fit together. His larger, rugged hand tightly joined with the Briton's smaller, much more delicate one. He wasn't sure why, but he liked that thought; the two of them fit together. America smiled. He'd wanted to take England's hand while he was still… England, not Mr. Height. Maybe the other man thought that this action was simply to promote their covers, but America knew otherwise. He wanted to hold England's hand, and he wanted to do it while he was still England. He doubted the Briton knew this, but in his heart he hoped he did.
"I can't believe we rode in a limo!"
England mentally facepalmed. The two had only been undercover as multimillionaire businessmen for all of 30 minutes, and already America was forgetting. Imbecile. He better not have to clean up the man's mistake more than once.
"You're so silly darling!" the words were like acid on his tongue, "We ride in a limousine everyday, and even still you get excited." He smiled tenderly at the American, issuing a warning with his eyes.
Before the taller man could respond, their chauffer decided to show himself. He came around the vehicle and dropped both of the black briefcases at their feet. He eyed the two of them suspiciously for a moment, but then just shrugged and retreated to the car. America waited until he drove off before he spoke.
"Hey sorry about that… So darling huh?"
England wasted no time hitting him upside the head.
"Ouch! What the hell? Fiancés don't hit each other!"
"Yes well, we have an abusive relationship. If anyone asks, I wear the pants."
America sniggered, "Yeah, the really tight pants."
He stopped chuckling when he realized there where two emerald daggers being directed his way. America quickly averted his eyes away to avoid the malicious stare he was receiving. What? He'd thought it was a pretty good joke. Sky blue eyes looked back up to find that the Briton was already half way up the massive set of steps leading to the entrance of the Braginski mansion. He bounded up the stairs to meet the Brit, and upon reaching him, sent the man an apologetic grin.
"H-hey. You two checking in?"
The two blondes glanced upward, and were met by a pair of bright blue, terrified eyes. In front of the huge, engraved wooden door leading into the mansion stood a short trembling boy. He looked eternally panicked, yet he could be no older than 15.
"H-hello?"
In their distraction, neither one of the undercover agents had remembered to answer the boy. No matter, America would fix that.
"Ah, yes we are. I'm Mr. Burrows," he paused to wrap an arm around England's waist, "And this is my fiancé, Mr. Height. He's adorable isn't he?" The American proceeded to eskimo kiss the Briton.
England did his best to keep his blush inconspicuous, but seemed to fail miserably. All the while, the little boy laughed awkwardly and looked down at the clipboard he was holding.
"Alright, you guys will be in guest room nine."
The boy walked over and started to push against the door. Try as he might, the lad continued to struggle until the older blondes realized his predicament and quickly offered help. America swiftly propped open the door with absolutely no force at all.
"Th-thanks," the youngest reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pair of keys, "H-here, these unlock your room," he handed them over to the friendly American with trembling hands.
"Thanks little man!" America stopped to rustle the boy's pale blonde locks, "But uh, would you mind giving us some directions? Ya know it's not like we live here or anything," he smiled amiably at him.
At America's inquiry, the boy immediately tensed up and froze. Both spies looked at him a bit concerned. England kneeled down to be eye level with the boy, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him.
"Oi, are you ok lad?"
"PLEASE DON'T TELL MR. BRAGINSKI!"
Blue and green eyes grew wide at the exclamation.
"Please don't tell him I messed up! Please! I'll lead you to your room to make up for it, just please don't tell him!"
As quick as the words were out of his mouth, the boy was briskly walking down the hall. America and England, both still a bit unsure and confused, quickly followed, as not to lose the boy.
"Oh yes there is most defiantly something wrong here," England thought, "What would possibly make such a young boy act that way? It's as if he's been traumatized… I'd like to meet this Mr. Braginski."
While England was lingering in his thoughts, America was taking in his surroundings. The mansion was huge. It was amazing… Every inch of the wall was covered with some sort of painting, decoration, or even an antique tapestry.
"My god, the Braginski guy is filthy rich."
A hesitant voice broke both of them from their thoughts.
"Th-this is the main hallway. It's the only way to reach the front entrance where you two came in," the boy shivered, "Y-you know you're in the main hallway when you see the marble columns all around you."
England and America looked up, and became aware of gorgeous marble pillars that extended from the floor all the way up to the elegant, painted ceiling of the house.
Again the two were brought back to the present when the little boy spoke once more. He pointed to a rather large and beautifully carved timber door off to the left.
"That's the ballroom. It's where the gala will be held later tonight."
The three continued walking down the hallway in unrequited silence. Occasionally the boy would point out another room; the kitchen, or a garage where Zlo's owner kept a collection of cars and other vehicles for example, but for the most part, the journey was silent. Their steps echoed in the hallway and corridors until the boy again stopped in front of a wooden door, this one labeled nine.
"W-well this is your room," the boy smiled tentatively, "W-were so glad that you've chosen Zlo products! Pl-please enjoy your stay here!"
And with that the boy was off; running down the halls, presumably back to the main entrance.
"Well that was strange…" the American offered up as he quickly slid the key into the lock and turned it. He grabbed at the door handle and quickly crossed the threshold to their suite.
"Yes quite," the Briton responded distractedly as he stepped inside. The room was marvelous, England thought. A cross between Victorian and modern, and yet it somehow worked. The Briton was completely captivated by the stunning room, to busy admiring it to notice that the American had discarded his shoes in an inelegant fashion, getting dirt all over the plush, cream carpet in the process. He did however notice, when the younger man made a comment that completely ruined his moment of bliss.
"There's only one bed in here sweetheart," he said as he shot England a seductive smile.
For the second time that day, the American was smacked upside the head.
I hope you liked it! Action is coming up soon I promise ^^