England fiddled with his mobile and sighed deeply. Did he really want to do this?
No. No he did not.
Did he really want to get the last laugh on America?
Yes. Yes, he most certainly did.
Did he want the last laugh enough to call Prussia and ask for his help?
Perhaps. The jury was still out on that one.
Biting his lip, he took a deep breath and pushed the green call button. There was no turning back now. Two and a half distinct rings sounded before a click, and England closed his eyes, wincing and holding his phone a good couple of inches from his ear, anticipating-
"WAZ-UP MOTHA FUCKA? The awesome Prussia is at your service! Talk before you bore me."
England rolled his eyes. "Hullo Prussia, It's England."
"Iggy! My man! To what do you owe this pleasure?"
England sighed and ran a hand through his hair, already regretting his decision. "Listen Prussia, I'm sure you've heard of the small scuffle America and I have been involved in as of late and-"
"Oh yeah, that prank war thing you and Wonder Boy got going on!" Prussia interrupted. "Nice move there screwing with that faggy rock of his, Iggs! Though I would have done one better and put my face on it. Just goes to show how you aren't nearly as awesome as me!"
"Yes, yes, not nearly as awesome; a right tosser. Listen Prussia-"
"Let me guess!" Prussia interrupted again. England grumbled in annoyance. "You want my awesome advice on a prank that will really show the kid who's boss."
England shrugged; glancing quickly over his shoulder to make sure America was still asleep. "More or less. But if you don't mind, I don't feel comfortable talking about this right now. America could wake up at any second and I-"
"No problemo! Meet me down in the lobby for breakfast at 8 o'clock and I'll tell you my awesome ideas!"
England blinked. "Lobby? Prussia, how-?" Click! Well that was certainly strange. Surely Prussia didn't mean the hotel lobby downstairs? Of course he didn't, that would be ridiculous.
Then again it was Prussia.
England checked his watch, 7:13am. He grabbed his clothes for the day and went into the bathroom to wash up.
Better safe than sorry, anyway.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
"Artie!" Prussia exclaimed, kneeling up on the booth he was sitting on and waving his arms wildly. "Over here! Yoohoo! Artie!"
England ducked his head, trying to avoid the stares of fellow breakfast goers as he slinked over to Prussia's table. "What in God's name are you wearing?" England asked as he slid into the booth across from Prussia. Honestly, the man looked more Canadian than Canada himself.
"You like it?" Prussia grinned. He adjusted the large foam maple leaf on his head and pointed to the tree that was printed on his t-shirt. "Get it? 'I'd tap that'? Like tapping for syrup, but also like-"
England cringed and held up his hand. "Yes. Yes I get it. Just…why are you wearing it?" He paused. "And why the bloody hell are you here in the first place?"
"Mattie told me about the Maple Syrup Fest! He knows how much I love that shit, good kid, even paid for my ticket! Not that I needed it or anything, the awesome me is never low on cash. Hey you hungry? "
"Well, I suppose I could eat a little some-"
"HEY WIATRESS!" Prussia suddenly exclaimed, standing up at the table and snapping his fingers. "Get your sweet ass back over here! We want some waffles!"
England sunk into his booth, suddenly remembering exactly why he stopped hanging out with Prussia unless he was absolutely pissed. How humiliating.
An especially unhappy young woman sulked over to the table, notepad in her hand a scowl on her face. "What can I get for you, gentleman?" She spat, and England had a feeling she had been dealing with the other nation long before he arrived.
He gave her an apologetic smile. "Just a cup of tea for me, thanks."
"Nonsense!" Prussia laughed, hitting the table with his fist. "Artie and me will have two of the biggest waffles you got! And smother them in syrup! Hop to it, sweet cheeks!" He gave the waitress a hearty slap on her tush, causing her to spin around and glare daggers before stomping off.
England sighed, rubbing his temples. "Honestly, must you be so vulgar? You're going to get us kicked out."
Prussia waved it off. "You kiddin' me? They should be paying me for staying at this joint! They could never kick the awesome me out!" He laughed heartily and crossed his arms, smirking at the other nation. "But let us get down to business, eh? We need a prank that's really gonna knock Wonder Boy's socks off."
England nodded. "I was thinking something along the lines of-"
"Whatever you're thinking, forget it. I have an even awesomer idea!"
"Awesomer is not a word." England rolled his eyes; ignoring the fact Prussia didn't even give him a chance to explain his idea. "And what is it? It better be bloody fantastic."
Prussia smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, trust me my little British friend. It's awesome."
The two parted ways in front of the hotel, England heading to the summit, and Prussia to…well, whatever it was Prussia did with himself during the day. He had a syrup tasting at ten o'clock, so he had a while to kill.
Admiring the clean Canadian air and the fine Canadian chicks, who were totally digging him by the way, he wasn't fazed in the least when his cell phone started blaring from his pocket.
Lazily checking the caller ID, despite knowing exactly who it was already, Prussia smirked and held the phone to his ear.
"America, what a surprise! Lunch? Sure…anywhere but the hotel restaurant."
Not surprisingly, America was waiting at the entrance of the conference room for England when he arrived. His arms were crossed in a most disapproving fashion, and his eyes were narrowed as he seemed to intently study England's face for any sign of mischief.
Said country simply raised an eyebrow in amusement and slipped past the taller man, who followed him closely into the room. It was only after America placed his chair nearly on top of England, that the older nation finally decided to address the situation.
"May I help you, America?"
"Where were you this morning?" It was more of a statement than it was a question, and England narrowed his eyes challengingly.
France smirked, leaning over to whisper in Italy's ear. "Oh my, cher Amérique is a little possessive of his lover, oui?" Italy giggled and nodded happily.
"While I do not see why it would be a concern to you, I was having breakfast with an old friend." England replied simply, organizing his papers on the table.
Unnoticed by America and England, the other G8 members shared knowing, satisfied smiles.
America scoffed. "False. You don't have any friends."
"And what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"
At that point, Japan politely stood and raised a hand to gather the group's attention. "I believe I have a presentation on the improvement and maintenance of current technology, so I will commence today's meeting." He took the head of the table, and with a silent 'thank you so much you wonderful, wonderful man' nod from Germany, started up his PowerPoint.
America and England both huffed in annoyance. With his eyes narrowed and a prominent pout gracing his lips, America shot England an 'I'm watching you' gesture, causing the older nation to stick his nose in the air and roll his eyes in response.
Canada watched this spectacle and sighed, hoping beyond hope that this would all come to an end soon.
Germany gathered his notes into a pile; paper clipped them together and slipped them into his briefcase. "That will conclude the first half of today's discussion on technology. Please be back from your lunch in one hour, we will be starting again at exactly 1 o'clock."
The nations each gave their own acknowledgement in reply and began packing up their papers and notes. America was the first to stand up and head for the door, but was quickly stopped by Italy, who jumped from the table and stopped him at the door.
"Hey America! We were all going to go get some pasta at that place down the street! Did you want to come?"
Russia clapped his hands together excitedly. "I'm going to get spaghetti! I like how it looks like brains covered in blood." Canada stuck out his tongue in disgust behind him, mentally crossing spaghetti off his list of possible meal choices.
America smiled apologetically. "Sorry dude, I have plans to meet someone."
This definitely caught England's attention. "What plans, you twat?"
"Plans." America replied mockingly, slipping his bag over his head so the strap lay across his chest. "Had you been in the room this morning and not out planting things to kill me around the city, you would have known. So if you'll excuse me, I'll try to catch you guys tomorrow, okay Italy? See you around!"
Italy grinned and waved goodbye as America disappeared out the door. "Bye America! Have fun on your date!"
England choked. "Date? He never said he was going on date!"
"Isn't it obvious, Angleterre?" France asked smoothly, wrapping an arm easily around England's shoulders. "Why else would doux Amérique be so secretive, if it is not for amour's sweet caress?"
England wiggled out of Frances embrace, slapping his hand away. "There are plenty of other reasons, frog! He's probably planning some elaborate prank." England watched as America walked briskly down the hallway as the rest of the G8 filtered out behind him. He checked his watch, seemingly startled by the time, and picked up his pace to a slow jog until he reached the stairs and was out of sight.
Of course there were other reasons, England told himself. He just…couldn't think of any at the moment.
By the time the rest of the nations made it outside, America was nowhere to be found. England bit his lip, convincing himself that feeling in the pit of his stomach was most definitely hunger, and definitely had nothing to do with America and this 'date' rubbish.
With one last glance in each direction, he followed the group to the Italian restaurant on the corner.
When America finally arrived at the agreed upon McDonalds, Prussia was already well on his way of being forcibly removed from the premises by an extremely irritated young man behind the counter.
"All I'm asking for is a whopper! I don't see why this is such a hard concept for you people to grasp."
"I've already told you twenty times, sir. We do not sell 'whoppers' here, that's Burger King."
Once America got that all straightened out and ordered four number 5's, a number 7 and three number 2's with extra pickles, he and Prussia slid into a booth to get down to business.
"So let me get this straight." Prussia began, shoving his burger into his mouth while America followed suit. "You wanna play an awesome prank on little Iggy, so naturally you come to the awesome me for help."
America nodded, speaking through his mouthful of food. "That's right! Usually I wouldn't need any help coming up with anything, because heroes don't need help, but I'm positive he's planning something big, so I want to make sure this is really something else!"
Prussia studied the younger nation for a second before cracking his knuckles and leaning forward, ushering America to do the same with a wiggle of his finger. "So, just making sure, does this have anything to do with you wanting into Iggy's pants?"
America instantly choked. With wide eyes, he dropped the rest of his burger and started hitting his chest, motioning with the other hand for Prussia to get the fuck over there and help him.
"Mein gott!" Prussia exclaimed, leaping up and smacking the American in the back until the food became unclogged and he could breathe normally again. With a sigh of relief from both nations, Prussia sat back down, ignoring the looks from the other customers. "Jesus, Al! Don't do that!"
"What the fuck, Gil?" America gasped, and Prussia noticed his face was still just a bit redder than it should have been.
"What? What did I do?"
America's eyes darted around the establishment, making sure no one was paying attention to them. "Why would you say something like that?"
"Like what?" Prussia asked, before realization finally sunk in. "Oooh, you mean about you wanting in Iggy's pants."
"Yes that!" America hissed, glaring at the other nation. "What the fuck, man?"
Prussia laughed heartily, despite America's glare. "No? Seriously? You're still denying it? Come on Al, you're more awesome than that!"
"I don't know what you're talking about." America spat, though his reddening cheeks were definitely saying otherwise.
Prussia smirked. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, lover boy."
America's face turned an even deeper share of red, which complimented with his still slightly purple tint, actually made a rather pretty color as far as Prussia was concerned. "I do not," he paused to shudder, "want to 'get in Iggy's pants'. That is…that's just…So many things are wrong with that, that I don't even…gross. It's just gross."
"What's the big deal?" Prussia asked taking a large gulp of his chocolate milk shake. "Artie's an attractive enough bloke." He shrugged, giggled and pointed to his shirt. "I'd tap that. Heehee, get it?"
"It doesn't matter!" America cried. "He's like, my father…brother…best friend…thing! None of which translate well into the getting-into-the-pants category!"
Prussia laughed. "Kid, were nations, everyone is included into the getting into the pants category. It's just how it works." He took another loud slurp of his shake. "Ten bucks says he wants in yours."
If at all possible, America's face turned an even deeper shade of red. He shoved a handful of fries into his mouth, and crossed his arms across his chest with a huff. "Can we please not talk about this anymore? Just tell me your prank idea, I have to get back to the meeting soon!"
"Fine, fine, we'll talk about my awesome prank." Prussia smirked. "Still say Iggs wants in your pants, though."
"Dude!"
"Sorry, sorry! Sheesh. Okay, so here's the plan…"
This. This right here, wasn't good. Not good at all.
The rest of the meeting had started off decently enough. Once America returned to the conference room (late of course, but only by, like, five minutes), a few words had been shared on their respective lunches, and Germany had taken the stage to begin discussion on making technology "greener".
Not like America would have known, however. No, his focus was on something all together different, namely a mop of unruly blonde hair and a pair of striking green eyes.
Had England's eyes always been that green?
No. Bad. He was not letting what Prussia said get to him like this.
Of course, because America was pretty damn sure that God hated him, England's turn to talk was next. Papers were passed about; something about the use of technology at the upcoming 2012 summer Olympics he was hosting, but that was of little interest to the young nation.
No, what really captured his attention was the way England's fingers danced across the screen that was displaying his presentation. The way they trailed along the smooth white surface of the screen, taking extra care to stop at various timing devices to point out exceptionally accurate motion censors for races, painstakingly mocking him from across the table, running along the picture in a precise, careful motion.
Sweet merciful Jesus, he was drooling.
With a quick wipe of his shirt sleeve across his lips, and a loosening of his tie because damn it was getting hot in there, America set to taking notes, any notes to keep his mind off of whatever England was doing. Italy is wearing blue. He wrote furiously. Japan has black hair. France is a pervert. His pen slowed to a much slower, meditative pace.
England has a tiny freckle on the side of his nose.
America yelped, scribbling that last one out desperately and prayed to whoever would listen up there that England would please, please just ignore him for the rest of the day.
For the life of him, England could not take his eyes off America.
America was a good-looking lad. England had come to terms with that a long time ago, so what was making him so bloody irresistible all of a sudden?
It certainly wasn't jealousy/possessiveness streaming from the young man's lunch date, though. Nope. And it definitely had nothing to do with the tiny little looks the younger nation had been suddenly sneaking him all afternoon. Nuh-uh. He didn't even notice those.
Oh bloody hell.
With a deep breath, England gestured to the papers he had passed out to the group and tried to keep his eyes trained on the motivational poster on the wall behind America.
Endurance, the poster read, accompanied by a young couple running together on a pleasant looking forest trail, Excellence is not a singular act, but a habit. You are what you repeatedly do.
Oh, England would repeatedly test America's endurance all right.
He mentally slapped himself for that one. This was getting fucking ridiculous.
With a final huff, he slammed his fist against the screen that his presentation had been projected on. "As you all know," he exclaimed, quickly gaining the room's attention, "as the years go on, the competition in the Olympics continues to increase at a rather shocking rate. It is because of the importance of assuring fair and accurate race results, specifically for track and field and swimming, that we have invested in the highest quality timers and censors on the market."
There. He was doing rather brilliantly, if he did say so himself. He let his eyes strain from his poster to take in the nods of the other counties before fixing his gaze back in place, not allowing the view his eyes oh so desired.
Endurance. "As you can all see, each of these small motion censors will be installed in every lane." Despite himself, his eyes began to sink lower, past Nantucket, past those amber waves of grain… he felt himself begin to sweat. "W-we want to ensure that each c-country is comfortable and content in all race results. We want the world to view scoring with big…blue eyes...new! New eyes! We want them to see scoring with new eyes!"
England cursed to himself, thanking God America didn't appear to notice his slip, though Japan and France seemed to be sneaking him knowing smirks. He ignored them. He needed to focus! Endurance!
"A-and so, for extra reassurance," England gulped, America was loosening his tie. The garment fell slightly, leaving the unbuttoned collar of America's dress shirt to fall open, revealing smooth skin and a single collarbone. England forced his gaze away once again. E-endurance…? "The 100 meter d-dash runners will each be equipped with a chip that will be…skin…pin! Pinned to theirshoestoensuretheirexactpointoffinishing!"
He spat out these final words of his presentation quickly, yanking his flash drive from the computer and falling into his seat heavily, covering his head with his hands. This was a disaster, this whole bloody thing.
He needed to complete Prussia's prank tonight, he decided to himself. Hopefully it would finally put an end to this whole thing and he could get as far away from America as humanly possible.
He sighed miserably to himself and wondered how the weather on the moon was this time of year.
This chapter was later than I intended, and I blame all of you. You see, if you didn't all keep writing such awesome stories, I wouldn't have been so distracted. Jerks, stop being so good!
Anyway, this was the 2nd to last chapter, there will be 1 more and it will be over. I'm torn between relieved and sad because I had so much fun with all of this, but at the same time, I have all these little one-shots I wanna get to but haven't let myself until I finished this. :P Hopefully you've enjoyed this as much as I have!
And as always, keep being awesome and writing me reviews! When I feel a writers block, I always go and see what awesome things you all wrote and it truly inspires me to keep going, so thanks to everyone for those!
Oh yes, one more thing, I discovered a video recorder thingie on my computer (I've had it for 3 years...shut up I'm slow.)And I was thinking about doing a little video FAQ thing with it, if you guys would be interested! Let me know on here, and I'll put a poll on my profile. Just let me know if you would be interested! I just really want to get to know my readers, and thought it would be a cool idea! I have no shame! XD