[fic] Why British Pick-up Lines Tend to Fail (Hetalia; US/UK)
Firstly, there was this video.
Cella: oh god oh god this should be a fic
LMAO
Rob: DON'T DO THAT.
I'D FINALLY SILENCED THE MUSES FOR TODAY
...GODDAMN IT I'M ACTUALLY.
writing out this one too.
Cella: OH MY GOD YOU ARE USING MY LIFE TO WRITE HETALIA FICS????
Rob: YES
...and so it had to be written.
Why British Pick-up Lines Tend to Fail
by exorcistor
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
People/pairings: America/England, Canada
Word count: 855
Genre: humour
Rating: worksafe-ish
Note: For shortitude because it's all her fault (as you can read above).
---
England couldn’t agree less when people like France told him he had no finesse when it came to flirting and about as much seductive ability as a steam locomotive. Sure, he wasn’t the best at thinking of seductive lines - or even romantic ones - to whisper into his partner’s ear which made them go completely mushy, but then again, America never seemed to need those kind of lines to oh-so-happily agree to a round between the sheets either. So, England would say his seductive ability was quite good enough.
Tonight, as he arrived to their shared apartment (they’d agreed on getting a place which was theirs at both England’s and America’s lands once they’d been together for a decennia or so; it just felt like they needed the separation from all the political - and in England’s case also emotional - attachments in their own, old and stuffy - also England - houses) he was a bit plastered. It could have been worse; as a matter of fact it normally was worse, but tonight England had suddenly, after only a couple of pints, felt that he really needed to get home to America while he was still sober enough to… well.
He wasn’t quite sober enough to remember how his ability to act seductively generally was rather non-existent, though, and thus, upon entering the apartment building, he’d already thought of a brilliant plan to help him get America to agree to… well.
England forced himself to enough soberness to not fumble with the keys, and he managed to enter the apartment without making much noise of it. The radio was on in the kitchen, so after he’d pulled off his shoes to maximize the stealth, he headed there. He tried not to snigger to himself as he entered the room and caught sight of America by the stove, preparing himself a late meal of some sort.
England also had an interest in late meals. Only he preferred if they were presented to him in the form of naked, well-sculpted, north-American arse. He didn’t think America would have much against the idea. So he continued forwards, making little effort to hide his grin as he approached the younger nation. Upon reaching the stove, he instantly wrapped both his arms around America’s waist, and pressed up against his lover before he had the chance to turn around in his grip.
“Honey, I’m home…” he mumbled affectionately into America’s shoulder, before he lifted his head to let his breath ghost over the shell of the blond’s ear. His voice dropped to a purr as he rocked gently against America’s backside - a very smart move to accompany any seductive line, if you asked him - and continued with a rough tone (one of America’s personal favourites, England knew through years of observation):
“So, do you… fancy some cock tonight?”
The body held tightly against his froze over all at once - actually, it had been rather tense from the moment England hugged it, but in his intoxicated state he hadn’t bothered noticing - and the spatula trembled in the blond’s hand. England was just about to ask America what was wrong, when he heard an unmistakably loud voice behind him.
“Hey, Matt, how’re the pancakes coming alo-- What’re you guys doing?”
The time seemed to slow down as England turned his head, his facial expression one of horror, and looked over at the entrance. America was standing just inside the door, with an eyebrow raised at the scene before him. England swallowed. If America was over there, then who…
But even his alcohol induced mind was able to produce a quick answer to that question.
“Um. England?”
Oh god.
“Would you perhaps let go of me n-now?”
Oh my god.
England’s tensed body jump-started as he took a step back, face burning like he’d spent a good few hours too long in the sun that day.
“C-canada! Bloody hell, I’m-“ For some reason ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t seem to be the right thing to say here. How did you apologize to the man you’d tried to seduce in place for your lover?
“I’d forgotten you were staying over!” Now, that wasn’t much better, and he winced even as the words left his mouth.
Canada gave one of his small, rueful smiles. “It’s fine, but… Um.” That was when England realized the nation before him was blushing almost as hard as he was. And he also remembered that upon working up the nerve to suggest to America they had a little fun tonight, he’d also gotten himself worked up in… other ways. Which Canada had most likely been able to feel when England pressed up against him.
Oh my fucking god.
Behind them, America was trying his best to catch on, and doing a poor job out of it, it seemed. Or at least England hoped he wouldn’t catch on. Because if he did, he would definitely…
America burst out laughing.
“Oh shit, England, were you hitting on Canada just now?!”
And that was when England decided that he probably was just as bad at seductiveness as France had always said, and that he should never, ever try it again.
Cella: oh god oh god this should be a fic
LMAO
Rob: DON'T DO THAT.
I'D FINALLY SILENCED THE MUSES FOR TODAY
...GODDAMN IT I'M ACTUALLY.
writing out this one too.
Cella: OH MY GOD YOU ARE USING MY LIFE TO WRITE HETALIA FICS????
Rob: YES
...and so it had to be written.
Why British Pick-up Lines Tend to Fail
by exorcistor
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
People/pairings: America/England, Canada
Word count: 855
Genre: humour
Rating: worksafe-ish
Note: For shortitude because it's all her fault (as you can read above).
---
England couldn’t agree less when people like France told him he had no finesse when it came to flirting and about as much seductive ability as a steam locomotive. Sure, he wasn’t the best at thinking of seductive lines - or even romantic ones - to whisper into his partner’s ear which made them go completely mushy, but then again, America never seemed to need those kind of lines to oh-so-happily agree to a round between the sheets either. So, England would say his seductive ability was quite good enough.
Tonight, as he arrived to their shared apartment (they’d agreed on getting a place which was theirs at both England’s and America’s lands once they’d been together for a decennia or so; it just felt like they needed the separation from all the political - and in England’s case also emotional - attachments in their own, old and stuffy - also England - houses) he was a bit plastered. It could have been worse; as a matter of fact it normally was worse, but tonight England had suddenly, after only a couple of pints, felt that he really needed to get home to America while he was still sober enough to… well.
He wasn’t quite sober enough to remember how his ability to act seductively generally was rather non-existent, though, and thus, upon entering the apartment building, he’d already thought of a brilliant plan to help him get America to agree to… well.
England forced himself to enough soberness to not fumble with the keys, and he managed to enter the apartment without making much noise of it. The radio was on in the kitchen, so after he’d pulled off his shoes to maximize the stealth, he headed there. He tried not to snigger to himself as he entered the room and caught sight of America by the stove, preparing himself a late meal of some sort.
England also had an interest in late meals. Only he preferred if they were presented to him in the form of naked, well-sculpted, north-American arse. He didn’t think America would have much against the idea. So he continued forwards, making little effort to hide his grin as he approached the younger nation. Upon reaching the stove, he instantly wrapped both his arms around America’s waist, and pressed up against his lover before he had the chance to turn around in his grip.
“Honey, I’m home…” he mumbled affectionately into America’s shoulder, before he lifted his head to let his breath ghost over the shell of the blond’s ear. His voice dropped to a purr as he rocked gently against America’s backside - a very smart move to accompany any seductive line, if you asked him - and continued with a rough tone (one of America’s personal favourites, England knew through years of observation):
“So, do you… fancy some cock tonight?”
The body held tightly against his froze over all at once - actually, it had been rather tense from the moment England hugged it, but in his intoxicated state he hadn’t bothered noticing - and the spatula trembled in the blond’s hand. England was just about to ask America what was wrong, when he heard an unmistakably loud voice behind him.
“Hey, Matt, how’re the pancakes coming alo-- What’re you guys doing?”
The time seemed to slow down as England turned his head, his facial expression one of horror, and looked over at the entrance. America was standing just inside the door, with an eyebrow raised at the scene before him. England swallowed. If America was over there, then who…
But even his alcohol induced mind was able to produce a quick answer to that question.
“Um. England?”
Oh god.
“Would you perhaps let go of me n-now?”
Oh my god.
England’s tensed body jump-started as he took a step back, face burning like he’d spent a good few hours too long in the sun that day.
“C-canada! Bloody hell, I’m-“ For some reason ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t seem to be the right thing to say here. How did you apologize to the man you’d tried to seduce in place for your lover?
“I’d forgotten you were staying over!” Now, that wasn’t much better, and he winced even as the words left his mouth.
Canada gave one of his small, rueful smiles. “It’s fine, but… Um.” That was when England realized the nation before him was blushing almost as hard as he was. And he also remembered that upon working up the nerve to suggest to America they had a little fun tonight, he’d also gotten himself worked up in… other ways. Which Canada had most likely been able to feel when England pressed up against him.
Oh my fucking god.
Behind them, America was trying his best to catch on, and doing a poor job out of it, it seemed. Or at least England hoped he wouldn’t catch on. Because if he did, he would definitely…
America burst out laughing.
“Oh shit, England, were you hitting on Canada just now?!”
And that was when England decided that he probably was just as bad at seductiveness as France had always said, and that he should never, ever try it again.