I'm really sorry for any mistakes in these chapters. I have no beta. orz;;;

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"So," America started conversationally as he lazily turned the steering wheel with one hand, his other busy working at loosening his tie. "Tell me why I forked out nearly fifteen hundred dollars for the crappiest food I've ever eaten."

While the dinner had begun in a fairly upbeat manner, things went decidedly downhill for the young nation once he skimmed through the menu. Not one item sounded like something he'd consider edible, much less appetizing (Who in God's name wants to eat something called snail porridge?). But when he glanced across the table to his dining company, he couldn't stop the swell in his chest at seeing the tiny smile tugging at lips that wrapped around the rim of a champagne glass as it was tentatively tipped back. It was such a small thing to get emotional over, America was aware, but that bit of happiness quelled any complaint that had formed on his lips. He wouldn't ruin tonight.

But now that they were in the solitude of a vehicle, the nation thought it was fair to allow the words that bit at his tongue some freedom. "How the hell did that place win best restaurant in the world?"

England simply snorted. "I'm sure the lack of grease dripping from every mouthful was quite a traumatizing experience to endure."

"Hey," America's cheeks puffed out, "grease is only a byproduct in my food! It's not the main attraction." This only earned a scoff.

"Tell that to the damn near translucent wrappers those awful hamburgers come in." The idle drumming on the the door handle held only the slightest bit of irritation. "One isn't supposed to see through paper, America."

The young nation made a soft noise of dismissal as the car swerved around another corner. "Not all burgers are like that. Besides, I have better cuisine than just burgers, thanks very much. Our tri-tip is pretty damn good as well."

"Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten the great slab of bovine muscle?" A sharp click of the tongue followed the rhetoric sarcasm. "Truly a gem in the culinary world. It's a travesty that people fail to acknowledge the quality bits of fat that lace through the bloody thing."

"Nah," America agreed sagely, "they'd rather invest in making pudding with organs meant to sort through the wastes in the bloodstream." He sent a smirk to the small island. "Sounds so much more appetizing, right?"

"When you find me case of steak and kidney pudding inducing a stroke due to its artery-clogging fat intake, I'll be more inclined to listen to that argument."

"Hey," came the slightly miffed reply as they pulled smoothly into the driveway, "pork kidneys have a pretty high cholesterol level, Mr. Healthy."

One thick brow arched. "Been putting down the trashy tabloids for some medical journal reading, have you?"

"It's a possibility," America said with a nonchalant shrug, shifting the gear to park and cutting the engine before giving his passenger a smile. England patted a cheek affectionately.

"Look whose intelligence is showing," he crooned.

"It has its moments." The young nation leaned over the space between the passenger and driving seats, pulling the smaller forward for a swift kiss. Lips twitched into an almost-smile and he gave another quick peck to the slightly quirked corner before pulling away to open his door.

"Indeed it does. It's a shame you don't allow anyone else to witness its presence," England sighed in faux disappointment, following the other's lead and stepping out of the car.

"It's a special privilege to be able to see my insightful side." America gave the door a quick bump with his knee and pocketed the keys. "Besides, do you really think everyone would believe it's me speaking if I started using logic rather than goofball heroism as a platform in a G8 meeting?" His smile changed to something slightly more rueful as he approached the front door. He ducked his head a bit when he felt those searching green eyes on him. "I'd rather give them something that they're familiar with - at least then there won't be any doubt that it's me."

England was quiet as he unlocked the door, glancing at his lover standing beside him as he pushed it open. They stood in the calm hush of the night, only the soft chirping of the crickets calling for their mates in the rosebushes breaking through the silence. And suddenly he smiled, truly smiled, and took the young nation's hand in his, leading him inside. The sight caused America's heart to lodge itself in his throat in giddiness, but he simply returned the gesture in kind and nudged the door shut behind him with a foot before the small island tugged him forward.

Moments like these were those that the younger lived for; when England took it upon himself to slide a tongue over his lips in a plea for entrance, slipping into the depths of his mouth with such careful affection. It made the action so much more than a simple kiss - it was reverent and beautiful, dredging every bit of love they held for each other and allowing it to be shared through tendrils of warmth and soothing pleasure. There was no carnal lust that ran between them as fingers slid over cloth and flesh and hair; they knew that there were no time limits on this night. They could afford an easy contentedness instead.

When they separated with breaths coming in small pants and tiny bubbles of laughter, England rested his forehead against America's.

"It doesn't make sense," he breathed, his eyes sliding closed and hands roaming through the cornsilk hair.

"What?" America prompted softly. His thumb rubbed idly across the tender skin behind an ear.

England only gave his head the slightest shake. "Nothing." The younger didn't press for more; allowed himself to be led to the small loveseat in the living room.

"It really was shitty food," he ventured to remark after a few minutes of enduring the droning narrator of a nature documentary.

"If I remember correctly, it was you who pushed the outing so vehemently." A slightly baleful look was shot his way. America hugged the other closer around the middle.

"Yeah, but I was under the assumption they had some awesome food," he disregarded the disdainful snort, "weren't they known for their 'inventive ideas?' It seemed more like the chef was counting on everyone to be too wowed with the fact he used liquid nitrogen to cook the dishes to realize it tasted like garbage."

"You're simply too uncultured to appreciate fine delicacies, you twat." It was a sharp response - quite in contradiction with the body that pressed closer into America's side. He swallowed a chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled fondly, stroking his thumb along the palm he held. "I'm a heathen; truly barbaric in all my uncouth ways. And yet you put up with me."

"Consider yourself lucky I do."

America laughed. "Admit it, you geezer," he turned onto his side, guiding the other to rest against his chest. "I'm a pretty awesome boyfriend."

England hummed absently.

They sat quietly in the soft glow of the television for a while, images of marine life flashing across the screen in a vibrant display of color and wonder. While America wasn't one to tune in to nature specials when plopped in front of his wide screen, he could appreciate the beauties the world held; he watched in an easy complacency and paid no mind when the small island made a soft admission that he'd return shortly.

But as time ticked away and one show bled into the next, his interest had peaked. He headed for the stairway, positive that he had heard the rustle of his lover's feet tread up the steps when he had left. Did he decide to go to sleep? The nation frowned; England usually had the courtesy of telling him when he was heading to bed. For him to forego the habit was a bit disconcerting. After all, the small island was downright belligerent when it came to keeping to traditions.

He peeked behind each door as he passed, only to find the lights out and room uninhabited. As he reached the end of the hallway, America heaved a frustrated puff; the bedroom light was dim, but clearly on. Rolling his eyes, he opened his mouth to voice his irritation, but was cut short by the sound of a muffled sob. Blue eyes widened behind their frames and feet hurried forward to the bathroom that sheltered the pained voice. He threw open the door without a second thought.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he rushed. "I shouldn't have forced you to go, but I thought you weren't sick any -" But the words died in his throat as he took in the scene.

The small nation was on his knees, a slight sheen of sweat beading his brow from exertion. Narrow shoulders shuddered in exhaustion and a hand was fisted around the seat of the toilet, knuckles white in their desperate grip. The emerald eyes that looked up had a horrible, swirling mixture of shock and shame and fear through a veil of tears - America's head spun from the intensity. But his attention was drawn to the hand splayed on the ground at the island's side. Two pink, raw fingers had smeared a sickening line of viscous yellow across the tile in the hurry to turn and address the intruder. The same color of the contents in the bowl, he was alarmed to note.

"What's going on, England?" The voice trembled and cracked.

His only answer was a tiny sound of keening distress that forced the breath from his lungs.

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So this might be an awkward place to leave off, but I thought it was appropriate. Also, I'm kind of getting the feeling that my writing's getting a little repetitive, so I apologize for that.

Reviews are loved, as always!