Title – Snow Angels
Rating – K+
Pairing(s) – USxUK
Genres – Romance, humour, FLUFF
Warning(s) – Personified countries, FLUFF GODDAMN FLUFF, and snow
Notes – Wow, I'm seriously going for these today, eh?
x.
Footsteps crunched beneath old boots, and their harsh breaths allowed smoke-like wisps to rise up into the night sky.
"S-slow down, Alfred!" Arthur gasped, stumbling along behind the excited American. Although Alfred wasn't that much taller than he was, the other was at least a bit more accustomed to diverse climates. So, when he turned back to see his lover staggering and trying to keep up with him, he relented and paused, waiting for the older man to bump into him. "Oof-"
Alfred wrapped his arms around the Brit, grinning down at the flushed face, and he wondered if it was due to the cold or because he was flustered. In the end, it didn't really matter - it was adorable either way. So, tilting Arthur's head up with his thumb, he brushed his lips softly over the shorter man's, revelling in the shudder of pleasure that he felt run through Arthur's spine.
Blushing brightly, the Englishman pulled his way, and for a moment Alfred thought he'd object to the public display of affection. But, to his surprise (and insurmountable joy), the older man simply wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a deeper kiss. It was soft and quietly romantic rather than spontaneous and passionate, but those quaint kisses that both parties attempted to prolong were their shared favourites.
They exchanged several fleeting kisses on their little hike through the colourless forest. Naked trees greeted them with feeble waves of their snow-covered branches as a strong breeze fluttered through the atmosphere.
"I haven't seen so much snow for years," Arthur breathed in awe, staring up at the ongoing sky in some kind of poignant admiration. Warm arms wrapped around his waist and drew him against another body, which he easily fit against.
Alfred's lips slipped over his ear, and he whispered in amusement, "And yet you freak out over, like, a few centimetres of snow."
The shorter man elbowed him lightly in the stomach, amusement flickering in his own emerald eyes. "Oh, belt up," he mumbled, tone not at all reprimanding, and the American just grinned. Dropping his hands from encircling Arthur's waist, he thread their fingers together and spun the Brit around to face him. "What do you think you're doing, Alfred?" Arthur demanded, cheeks blooming bright red once again as they swayed from side to side.
The American drew Arthur into him, and then lightly pushed him outwards, spinning him, and then pulling him back, an arm encircling the Brit's waist. "Dancing," he answered softly, burying his face into his lover's hair and inhaling the scent of old books and unknown teas.
"In the snow?" the older man asked, although he obviously didn't mind as much as his dubious tone suggested, for he leaned into the American's touch and rested his head on the leather-clad shoulder of his fiancé.
"I think it's an awesome setting to dance in," Alfred whispered into the honey-blond locks, swaying in unison with the Englishman. "Our footprints will be embedded into the snow... Even if it'll be covered by more or the snow melts, we'll know that we had all of this snow to ourselves... and we danced in it, under the moonlight, just us. Together." He breathed out softly, holding Arthur even tighter than before.
The Brit allowed a soft little laugh to escape his trembling lips, and he smiled into Alfred's jacket. "I'm torn between complimenting you on your poetic phrasing, or laughing at how sappy you just sounded." He pulled away in time to see Alfred's sulky pout, and tugged on his hand.
"What is it?" Evidently, the American's insatiable curiosity drastically outweighed his adoration of sulking.
Arthur simply flashed him an uncharacteristic grin before shoving the taller blond, sending him topping backwards into the snow. Azure eyes blinked open, widening in the aftershock, and he scowled. "What was that for-?" he demanded, only for Arthur to lower himself on top of him, pressing their lips together. Neither tried to gain the upper hand and reign control over the other - they simply allowed themself to fit together like unmatching but still somehow fitting puzzle pieces.
Alfred allowed himself to fall back again, bringing the Brit with him, and they laughed. It sounded somehow hysterical and hoarse at first, loud and echoing in the empty atmosphere, before suddenly evolving into soft little chuckles in between chaste kisses.
"Hey, Arthur," Alfred suddenly murmured, the warmth of his breath ghosting over his lover's face, and Arthur smiled invitingly. "What do you think it'll look like when I get up? Hardly a snow angel."
Arthur allowed their hands to intertwine again as his smile softened further. "Idiot," he murmured quietly, "It'll be our own angel. One with broken wings because it doesn't want to fly away..." He rested his head on Alfred's chest, squeezing his hand. "Our own angel..."
Lips twitching, Alfred squeezed back. "You're the idiot," he mumbled in response, "if you don't know that you're the only angel for me."