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Thirty-Five: Wrath.
To say that Arthur Kirkland, the one and only personification of the nation of England was angry was an extreme understatement. Even saying he was furious wasn't enough.
Absolutely, completely fucking livid would be more precise.
He whirled around and glared at the people sitting at his kitchen table.
"Who did it?" He growled out, low and dangerous, glowering at them as they all averted their gazes, "Well? No one is going to confess?"
He shifted his gaze from one nation to the next, eyes finally landing on the only female of the group and stormed up to her.
"Emily?"
She slowly looked up, terrified.
"Yes, big brother?" It was the strangest thing England had ever seen in his whole existence. Northern Ireland looking vulnerable. And he would have felt sympathy for the young girl if he wasn't so incensed.
He leaned down close to her and whispered, "If you tell me who did it, I'll let you go and visit France for a whole week and won't say a word about it."
Her small face light up and, apparently from the look on her boyfriend's face beside her; he had heard.
"Tell him Irlande du Nord. Please?"
She looked up at France and saw him giving her the puppy-dog face; even a face England couldn't say no to and nodded. Turning back to her brother she jerked for him to come closer and whispered the one name he secretly thought had done it from the start.
"America."
He stood up slowly, physically trying to stop himself from turning to his former charge and lunging at him, and announced, "The following can leave; France, Northern Ireland, Scotland, Wales and Japan."
They all looked up at him for a moment before he lost his temper and screeched, "OUT!"
And they scampered.
America, who had been silent the whole time, looked up innocently at the island nation and said, 'What's up, England?"
England snarled at America and grabbing him, pushed him up against the wall, pinning his arms at either side of him. America smirked.
"Awesome. Never tried this position before, maybe we should forget what hap-"
Arthur twisted Alfred's wrists and he winced.
"Okay…maybe not. Please, just stop that; it really freakin' hurts!"
Arthur relented a bit but continued to glare at America.
"Northern Ireland already told me it was you. Just admit it."
America scoffed.
"I'm sayin' nothing."
England glowered a few moments more and then suddenly let go of the nation. Rubbing his wrists gingerly, America turned warily to the Briton.
"Why did you let me go?" He asked, confused.
"Well, it looks to me like you're not going to confess to it," He replied dryly, "so I've decided that until you admit to the crime there will be no sex between you and I. At all."
America's jaw dropped as he looked at England in half horror, half outrage.
"That is completely unfair! No way!" He yelled, fuming. England rolled his eyes slightly.
"You can't say 'no way' America, it's not an agreement. And you know what? Now I think about it actually there will be no sex, no touching, no kisses, nada."
America's eyes widened and his lip began to tremble.
"You can't do this! It's not fair!" He whined and England smirked at him.
"You asked for it. So those all the rules; comprende?" When no response came, England turned on his heel and began walking out of the kitchen.
He won't last five seconds.
The Brit could hear America behind him, shuffling, not knowing what to do.
And in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…
"ALRIGHT I DID IT! I ATE THE CHOCOLATE CAKE FRANCE MADE FOR YOU! THERE! I ADMITTED IT! YOU HAPPY?"
England spinned around and grinned triumphantly at a red-faced America.
"Yes. Immensely so." And began walking away again but America grabbed his hand and stopped him.
"So…can we…?"
England laughed.
"God no. Now that I know finally that you're the one who did it, I'm giving you a punishment. 2 weeks. Deal with it." And strode off down the hallway.
…
…
…
"ENGLAND!"
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