I had Kani Pasta. For work purposes.
Title: The Necessity of Water
Rating: 13-ish for nekkidness and manly-snogs.
Word count: 3,779
Summary/Notes: HETALIA FIC OMFG! I hate my life. America/England. Onsen, h/c-y thing, half of which I wrote whilst at an actual onsen. This one to be exact. And was possibly drunk, or high on burning hot water. Or something. Hetalia has eaten my soul. cienna beta'd and (HAHAHA) America-picked this for me. This is quite possibly the best pairing for us in the universe of universes. In conclusion, I had a hard time writing "England" instead of "Igirisu" and thanks to cienna's brother for the gay phone.
.The Necessity of Water.
.Beer.
There was beer. And there was snow, which was less appreciated than the beer, but Japan had assured them that was only to be expected when one went up into the mountains, and really even preferable weather for a trip to an onsen. Still, England could have done without the cold, and the long train ride, and the seriously freaky merchandising which adorned both the train station and, apparently, every single shop in the entire little town too.
Still, there was beer. Even if it was a bit liquidy and weak and fizzy. It tasted all right, and Japan had assured him that the colour and the texture were both perfectly normal.
"There aren't any beds," he told Japan, during his seventh phone call to him that morning. The first had been with regards to the phone itself, because it was pink. Who gave men pink phones anyway? Japanese people apparently, because Japan had told him that was normal too.
"The beds are in the cupboard," Japan assured him. "Don't worry, England-san." And then the line cut off. England wondered if there was something wrong with these (pink) phones, because it cut out suddenly like that every time he called.
America was watching from across the table, in their large matted room, in an old hotel with low, sweeping roofs and long windows. It smelled a bit musty, and required sitting on the floor, but the beer was easy enough to drink.
"How does a bed fit in a cupboard anyway?" England groused at America. America just smiled and leaned forward, wrapping his hands around his own glass. The heater was on full-blast and it had become over-warm and stuffy in the room, but that didn't stop America from unfolding his long legs from under the table and sliding himself around the table on his knees before throwing an arm around England's shoulders.
"Stop worrying," American said. "It'll be fine."
England opened his mouth to argue because, well, America just never took anything seriously and clearly had yet to learn just how important a good night's sleep was. But America lifted his hand up and announced. "And no arguing. We are here to relax."
"But," England began, meaning very much to point out to America that it really would be very difficult to relax without a bed.
"Nope," America interrupted. "Drink your beer." He pointed at the glass in England's hands. "Then we can go and have a soak in one of those hot baths Japan was telling us about."
"With other people," England pointed out, frowning.
"It's fine. I'll be there," America smiled.
"Yes. That makes it all so much better." England sighed, took a sip of his (weak, watery) beer and resigned himself to two days of being utterly miserable, and all because America was a needy child with no friends who had decided he "needed a weekend away."
"It'll be fun!" he insisted. Which England sincerely doubted.
***
.Hot Water.
There was hot water. And there was snow. But there was hot water so you couldn't really tell that it was snowing so much, and it made the boiling hot and wholly unsavourily cloudy coloured water marginally bearable.
"I told you this would be fun," America said, leaning over to England and patting him lightly on the shoulder. "We don't have to worry about anything, and there's no one to disturb us." He splashed some water at England, who tutted and tried to shimmy away from America and his over-zealous touchy-feeliness.
He had to admit, though, it was beautiful; with the deep brown wooden slats of the fencing and the grey rocks of the bath contrasting against the white snow lying thick on the trees and covering the ground. And it was quiet too, with hardly anyone around and just the sound of running water and America shifting about and idly rubbing at the sides of the bath or his leg, or just generally being his hyperactive self.
"You really couldn't keep still if you tried, could you?" England said, finding himself smiling maybe just a bit at America's apparent discomfort.
"I can," America retorted, shifting about some more.
"You really can't," England told him. "I know because you're trying now and not succeeding at all."
It was odd, but America almost seemed pleased at the insult.
"And you always sit too still," he said. "You should try relaxing." America let his shoulders slump, sliding down further into the water in demonstration.
"We're not all as loose as you," England snorted, which made America laugh and say, "Whatever you say, England."
***
.Saké.
"That's not what I meant," England insisted. "I'm hot because of the heat and for absolutely no other reason."
America was smirking, which only served to make England more annoyed. The idiot was always so sure of himself, like he just expected England to do whatever he said and agree with him all the time, even though most of his ideas were absurd beyond belief. Also, he wasn't Japan, who very much needed to grow an opinion of his own at some point.
"I only asked for a little kiss," America said, pouting, pouring himself more drink and generally trying to look tragic.
"We're in public," England argued, taking the bottle from America's hands and putting it down on the ledge and as far away from America's grabby hands as he could manage. "And are we supposed to be drinking in the bath, anyway?"
"I asked Japan," America told him, waving his cup about in what England supposed was some kind of display to profess his wisdom. "He said you are supposed to drink." America lifted up the glass of clear liquid to his lips and took a large sip. "This stuff isn't bad. Strong."
England shrugged. "I've had worse."
"That you've made," America said, smiling.
"There is nothing wrong with anything I make," England replied furiously, then finished off his drink in one go, deciding he had had enough of being insulted by his brat of a friend for one night. "I'm going."
"I was just joking," America said quickly, hooking his hand around England's arm as he stood up to leave. "Stay awhile longer."
England thought that he really shouldn't listen, that he should just ignore America and go to bed and anyway, he was feeling light headed from the heat and the alcohol and probably from dealing with America for several hours non-stop too. Even so, it was beautiful and quiet and the alcohol was good and America could be fun, sometimes. He did feel relaxed, too, more or less. And it certainly wasn't often he and America were alone together like this. Which might actually have been a good thing because then America said,
"I suppose I'll just have to ask Japan. He'd let me kiss him."
England frowned, turning back towards America, pulling his arm from his grasp and placing his hands on his hips. "He'd say yes to anything you asked," he shot back. England was not impressed at all by America's faux-hurt look.
"He would agree because I'm a hero!" he said, to which England could only roll his eyes.
"I really am going now," he said, and made to leave, but America's hand grabbed at his arm again, more tightly.
He said, "England," more quietly and infinitely more seriously than anything else he had said the entire day. So England thought maybe, after all, he just might listen. And let America have his way. Just this once. Because he was, after all, standing naked in front of him with those bright, blue eyes that England had thought cute when America was still a child, and now thought looked sad, or manic, or playful, depending on what time of day it was. Always changing and moving and running about like he was still young enough to be scared of monsters under the bed, even as England never seemed to change at all.
And why did America want to kiss him anyway? Maybe he just wanted a small peck on the cheek, like he had when he'd tucked him into bed sometimes. Except that was eons ago, and America was almost like another person now; all confident and a pain in the arse. England wondered if this wasn't better, because America still seemed to like him and wanted to talk to him and spend time with him. (Most of the time. When they weren't arguing. Or America wasn't doing something stupid and ill conceived.) The way America sometimes looked at England too, like now, wasn't at all platonic. It was more like want, like wanting more and wanting it now. England had ignored it for a long time, had ignored those looks and America's insistence on touching him all the time. If England didn't know better, he would suspect America of arranging this whole weekend naked in a bath together for the soul purpose of seducing him. Except Japan had arranged it all, and England liked to believe that Japan had more sense than to get involved in any of America's crazy schemes. Apart from the fact that he never disagreed with America. Oh.
Regardless, the fact that he was even considering it, kissing America, seeing what it would be like, convinced England that he had drunk far too much alcohol. Either that or he was going mad. Or just going a bit stupid from the heat, because the temperature made his legs tingle uncomfortably, and made his cheeks feel like they were burning, and his eyes feel heavy and tired, and his stomach feel sort of queasy.
"You always want everything," England sighed, but didn't shake off America's hands as they slipped up his arms to rest on his shoulders, pressing against damp skin.
America smiled a little, titling his face closer. "Only from you," he said.
England let America trail his hands up into his hair, fingers rubbing at his nape and then his scalp and it really was maybe a little bit nice, and he closed his eyes at the touch and just let himself feel.
He heard America say, "Ah, so you like that," and his voice was gentle, and maybe a little bit amused, but England ignored it because he was getting a massage and quite possibly he wanted everything from America too.
So it really wasn't such a surprise when he felt America's mouth on his, warm and oddly dry. He felt America's tongue running along his lips, and felt America's hands splayed in his hair, holding them closer together. He tentatively put his hands on America's hips, wondering at what he was doing, but then felt America press himself into England's hands and moan a bit. England remembered, America had always been a bit needy, and smiled into the kiss, opening his mouth and letting America kiss him more deeply.
England was pushed back, took two steps until he could feel the cold, uneven stone wall of the onsen against his back. He would have hissed, but America's body pushed against him and it was heat, and pleasure, and a lust that England had felt for a long time, but would never have acted on. America was still so young, he thought. And innocent, he had thought, but didn't so much now because America was grasping at bits of him and pressing himself against him in such a way that left no doubt in England's mind that America, somewhere along the line, had turned into a massive slut.
"I know what you're thinking," America said between kissing England's lips and drawing his tongue along the line of England's chin. England severely hoped he didn't. "You're thinking I'm still a child, and you shouldn't do this," he went on. He ground against England, making them both gasp. "I'm not," he said. "I know what I'm doing."
He kissed England again, and kissed him some more, as if to prove the point, and until England was feeling dizzy and his head felt heavy and a but fluffy and stupid. England meant to say, "So I see," or something similar, except it came out more like a slur, which was a bit worrying. He couldn't remember kissing ever making him unable to talk before. Or, for that matter, feel a bit like his skin was prickling and like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach.
America was saying, "Am I," and there was, "you look," and then England made the mistake of opening his eyes only to see the world tilt sickeningly sideways. He thought he might have frowned and said, "What?" before there was nothing.
***
.Cold Water.
"You're supposed to tell people, you know," America told England. "If you're feeling sick or something."
He should have expected it, he supposed. It wasn't like England ever told him anything anyway. And the bath had been very hot, and England had seemed a bit out of it and red-faced. America liked to think his kissing was just that awesome too.
England still didn't say anything, and America told himself there was no need to worry. It was nothing; the doctor had said so, and England would be waking up any moment. He was a bit flushed was all, but peaceful at least. Relaxed like America rarely ever got to see England any more. These days he always seemed irritated and harassed.
America sighed heavily. "Or maybe," he said, leaning forward, "You were just so overcome by my kissing that you fainted."
England's eyebrows twitched, and he shifted on the futon. His eyes still closed, he said, "Shut up." There was no heat behind it though, and it sounded more grumpy than annoyed, but it made America smile.
"I'd better not kiss you any more," America teased. "You don't seem to be able to handle it."
America expected England to get angry and fume and deny it and, if America was lucky, kiss him to prove the point, but he just frowned and turned his head away. That worried America more than anything, and he thought for a moment that maybe England really was ill and the doctor had lied. And then he wondered if, from the way that England had turned away, maybe he regretted what they'd done in the bath.
"Are you," he tried, putting his hand beside England's shoulder, unsure how England would react to him touching him. England had never been very affectionate anyway, and was prone to bouts of overreaction, and America really didn't want to make things any worse. "Do you," he tried again, then settled on, "How do you feel?"
England didn't say anything for some time, and America wondered if he'd fallen back to sleep. Or if he was purposely ignoring him. But then he replied, "Terrible. I feel terrible. But it has nothing to do with you."
America had no idea what that was supposed to mean, so instead he said, "You should drink some water. The doctor said to."
England just huffed, like this was all too much trouble (like America was just too much trouble) then started levering himself up. America couldn't decide for a moment whether to help him or let him struggle, but then decided it was just painful to watch England grunt and heave and go even more pale and pasty than he had been when he was lying down. So he reached out and took his shoulders and shoved at him a bit.
Predictably, England hissed and tried to shrug America's hands away, but there didn't seem to be much fight in him as he quickly gave up struggling and let America help him up.
Never one for tact, America said, "I didn't think you'd give up so easily," and only afterwards realised that was quite possibly the last thing he should have said. To England, who hated to be weak and show weakness and to rely on anyone.
England just snorted though. "Your diplomacy skills are as magnificent as ever, I see," then, more softly, "In this instance, it was counterproductive to fight you."
America couldn't stop himself from replying, "It always has been, you know," which earned him a dark look.
"You were a child," England said, shook his head and sat up straighter. "Where's this water then?"
"Oh. Right. Yeah." America looked about, sure he had seen some somewhere. Except England was leaning against his legs and side and America wasn't exactly sure how he was going to move without England falling back onto the futon. "Um," he said, and cast a look towards England, who was looking right back at him with a raised eyebrow. Damn.
"Okay, you got me. I didn't think that one through," America admitted.
"Nothing new there, then," England shot back, but he was half-smiling so America supposed he didn't mean anything unkind by it.
"I'm not a child anymore, remember?," America frowned. "You don't have to teach me lessons."
"I'll teach you lessons until you don't need them anymore," England said. "Which will quite probably be never."
This, America realised, was England teasing him. Or maybe trying to distract him. And most definitely something like a peace offering, because England had never been able to say anything directly. It was annoying and exhausting and frustrating, but ultimately that was just England.
England was still leaning heavily against him, though, one of his hands now resting on his knee, and he felt warm and almost relaxed. Still, there were dark rings under his eyes, and he looked wan and ill and he sounded almost out of breath.
"You seem to have confused me with someone who actually listens to you," America teased back anyway, taking what he could get, like he always had and he wondered if he really was any different from that doting kid he had once been. It wasn't often they were like this anymore, in quiet moments, alone. And America could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times England had shown even so much vulnerability as to simply lean against him. Not that he had much choice. From the way his body bent back against America's chest he was pretty sure England would just fall over without him there, holding him up.
"Of course," England scoffed. "What was I thinking?" He closed his eyes, and America knew, he should really let him sleep. Or at least get him some water, and not want to kiss him until he knew every inch of England's lips.
"That I was still a kid?" America offered, and was inordinately glad when England shook his head.
"No, I really don't," he said. "Or I wouldn't have," he paused, tutted, and started to shift like he was going to try and pull away from America, so America put his arms around him, trying to keep him still.
"Kissed me?" he said. "I'd do that again, you know."
England rolled his eyes, which made America frown. "Of course you would."
"I wouldn't kiss just anyone, you know," he said defensively, because America was getting the distinct impression that England thought he went around randomly kissing any old country. And England was still looking sceptical about that so America decided there was only one thing to be done.
He leant forward and down so he was face to face with England, brought his right hand up to stroke along the line of England's jaw and up into his hair (soft from over-washing and thick, Japanese shampoos), then tugged England forward into a kiss. England's lips were warm and dry and he was looking at America like he was crazy. But he didn't push him away, or argue, or shout, or any of those things, so America smiled against his lips, closed his eyes and kissed England properly (like France had showed him how, and wasn't that a disturbing thought, and one that England would not appreciate at all).
America kissed and kissed until England maybe decided that this wasn't worth fighting over either and kissed back, just a little bit.
Against his mouth, between kisses, America said, "You could be more enthusiastic about this."
He felt, more than heard, England laugh. "I could," he said, but then pulled back, causing America a moment of panic in which he thought he'd just made a mess of everything, but England was frowning at him in that slightly constipated-looking way of his.
"You should rest up, though," he guessed, and knew England was feeling bad when he didn't even try to deny it. Yes, maybe molesting someone who had recently passed out wasn't his best ever plan. "Move over," he said, shifting himself to the side and shoving at England a bit. England grumbled under his breath, but did as he was asked, then flopped back heavily onto the futon, panting slightly.
"I'm never getting in a bath that hot ever again," England said wearily, closing his eyes.
America chuckled, pulled his t-shirt over his head then pulled back the corner of the thick duvet. He made to slide in beside England, but then noticed England was eyeing him carefully out of one half-opened eye."Show off," he said. America grinned and puffed his chest out.
"You love it," he laughed, grinning even more when England shook his head and turned away, because he just knew England was trying to hide the fact that he was laughing too.
"Just hurry up, if you're getting in," England said, trying to sound annoyed but really not managing to at all.
America felt weirdly proud of himself, and hopeful and pleased and happy and, unfortunately, a little bit horny too. But England was looking far too ill and unusually sedate for anything, so he did as he was told and shifted himself onto the futon, laying with his chest against England's side, and pressed a kiss to England's shoulder.
He could hear England mumbling, "Sleeping in the day, so decadent," and "Will you stop being so needy?" and finally, "You really are hopeless," before turning his face towards America's and leaning closer to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Go to sleep," he said, and resolutely closed his eyes.
America replied quickly, "Okay," and wondered if it was a bad thing that he might do just about anything he was asked if England kept doing cute things like that. But he didn't care, because England was next to him, letting America lay an arm over his chest and letting him rest his head between his shoulder and neck. It was closer than they had been in decades. Or maybe closer than they had been ever, and he fell asleep with a grin on his face.
.End.
Comments and concrit loved, as always. Be free and flatter/insult me to your heart's content!
Rating: 13-ish for nekkidness and manly-snogs.
Word count: 3,779
Summary/Notes: HETALIA FIC OMFG! I hate my life. America/England. Onsen, h/c-y thing, half of which I wrote whilst at an actual onsen. This one to be exact. And was possibly drunk, or high on burning hot water. Or something. Hetalia has eaten my soul. cienna beta'd and (HAHAHA) America-picked this for me. This is quite possibly the best pairing for us in the universe of universes. In conclusion, I had a hard time writing "England" instead of "Igirisu" and thanks to cienna's brother for the gay phone.
.The Necessity of Water.
.Beer.
There was beer. And there was snow, which was less appreciated than the beer, but Japan had assured them that was only to be expected when one went up into the mountains, and really even preferable weather for a trip to an onsen. Still, England could have done without the cold, and the long train ride, and the seriously freaky merchandising which adorned both the train station and, apparently, every single shop in the entire little town too.
Still, there was beer. Even if it was a bit liquidy and weak and fizzy. It tasted all right, and Japan had assured him that the colour and the texture were both perfectly normal.
"There aren't any beds," he told Japan, during his seventh phone call to him that morning. The first had been with regards to the phone itself, because it was pink. Who gave men pink phones anyway? Japanese people apparently, because Japan had told him that was normal too.
"The beds are in the cupboard," Japan assured him. "Don't worry, England-san." And then the line cut off. England wondered if there was something wrong with these (pink) phones, because it cut out suddenly like that every time he called.
America was watching from across the table, in their large matted room, in an old hotel with low, sweeping roofs and long windows. It smelled a bit musty, and required sitting on the floor, but the beer was easy enough to drink.
"How does a bed fit in a cupboard anyway?" England groused at America. America just smiled and leaned forward, wrapping his hands around his own glass. The heater was on full-blast and it had become over-warm and stuffy in the room, but that didn't stop America from unfolding his long legs from under the table and sliding himself around the table on his knees before throwing an arm around England's shoulders.
"Stop worrying," American said. "It'll be fine."
England opened his mouth to argue because, well, America just never took anything seriously and clearly had yet to learn just how important a good night's sleep was. But America lifted his hand up and announced. "And no arguing. We are here to relax."
"But," England began, meaning very much to point out to America that it really would be very difficult to relax without a bed.
"Nope," America interrupted. "Drink your beer." He pointed at the glass in England's hands. "Then we can go and have a soak in one of those hot baths Japan was telling us about."
"With other people," England pointed out, frowning.
"It's fine. I'll be there," America smiled.
"Yes. That makes it all so much better." England sighed, took a sip of his (weak, watery) beer and resigned himself to two days of being utterly miserable, and all because America was a needy child with no friends who had decided he "needed a weekend away."
"It'll be fun!" he insisted. Which England sincerely doubted.
***
.Hot Water.
There was hot water. And there was snow. But there was hot water so you couldn't really tell that it was snowing so much, and it made the boiling hot and wholly unsavourily cloudy coloured water marginally bearable.
"I told you this would be fun," America said, leaning over to England and patting him lightly on the shoulder. "We don't have to worry about anything, and there's no one to disturb us." He splashed some water at England, who tutted and tried to shimmy away from America and his over-zealous touchy-feeliness.
He had to admit, though, it was beautiful; with the deep brown wooden slats of the fencing and the grey rocks of the bath contrasting against the white snow lying thick on the trees and covering the ground. And it was quiet too, with hardly anyone around and just the sound of running water and America shifting about and idly rubbing at the sides of the bath or his leg, or just generally being his hyperactive self.
"You really couldn't keep still if you tried, could you?" England said, finding himself smiling maybe just a bit at America's apparent discomfort.
"I can," America retorted, shifting about some more.
"You really can't," England told him. "I know because you're trying now and not succeeding at all."
It was odd, but America almost seemed pleased at the insult.
"And you always sit too still," he said. "You should try relaxing." America let his shoulders slump, sliding down further into the water in demonstration.
"We're not all as loose as you," England snorted, which made America laugh and say, "Whatever you say, England."
***
.Saké.
"That's not what I meant," England insisted. "I'm hot because of the heat and for absolutely no other reason."
America was smirking, which only served to make England more annoyed. The idiot was always so sure of himself, like he just expected England to do whatever he said and agree with him all the time, even though most of his ideas were absurd beyond belief. Also, he wasn't Japan, who very much needed to grow an opinion of his own at some point.
"I only asked for a little kiss," America said, pouting, pouring himself more drink and generally trying to look tragic.
"We're in public," England argued, taking the bottle from America's hands and putting it down on the ledge and as far away from America's grabby hands as he could manage. "And are we supposed to be drinking in the bath, anyway?"
"I asked Japan," America told him, waving his cup about in what England supposed was some kind of display to profess his wisdom. "He said you are supposed to drink." America lifted up the glass of clear liquid to his lips and took a large sip. "This stuff isn't bad. Strong."
England shrugged. "I've had worse."
"That you've made," America said, smiling.
"There is nothing wrong with anything I make," England replied furiously, then finished off his drink in one go, deciding he had had enough of being insulted by his brat of a friend for one night. "I'm going."
"I was just joking," America said quickly, hooking his hand around England's arm as he stood up to leave. "Stay awhile longer."
England thought that he really shouldn't listen, that he should just ignore America and go to bed and anyway, he was feeling light headed from the heat and the alcohol and probably from dealing with America for several hours non-stop too. Even so, it was beautiful and quiet and the alcohol was good and America could be fun, sometimes. He did feel relaxed, too, more or less. And it certainly wasn't often he and America were alone together like this. Which might actually have been a good thing because then America said,
"I suppose I'll just have to ask Japan. He'd let me kiss him."
England frowned, turning back towards America, pulling his arm from his grasp and placing his hands on his hips. "He'd say yes to anything you asked," he shot back. England was not impressed at all by America's faux-hurt look.
"He would agree because I'm a hero!" he said, to which England could only roll his eyes.
"I really am going now," he said, and made to leave, but America's hand grabbed at his arm again, more tightly.
He said, "England," more quietly and infinitely more seriously than anything else he had said the entire day. So England thought maybe, after all, he just might listen. And let America have his way. Just this once. Because he was, after all, standing naked in front of him with those bright, blue eyes that England had thought cute when America was still a child, and now thought looked sad, or manic, or playful, depending on what time of day it was. Always changing and moving and running about like he was still young enough to be scared of monsters under the bed, even as England never seemed to change at all.
And why did America want to kiss him anyway? Maybe he just wanted a small peck on the cheek, like he had when he'd tucked him into bed sometimes. Except that was eons ago, and America was almost like another person now; all confident and a pain in the arse. England wondered if this wasn't better, because America still seemed to like him and wanted to talk to him and spend time with him. (Most of the time. When they weren't arguing. Or America wasn't doing something stupid and ill conceived.) The way America sometimes looked at England too, like now, wasn't at all platonic. It was more like want, like wanting more and wanting it now. England had ignored it for a long time, had ignored those looks and America's insistence on touching him all the time. If England didn't know better, he would suspect America of arranging this whole weekend naked in a bath together for the soul purpose of seducing him. Except Japan had arranged it all, and England liked to believe that Japan had more sense than to get involved in any of America's crazy schemes. Apart from the fact that he never disagreed with America. Oh.
Regardless, the fact that he was even considering it, kissing America, seeing what it would be like, convinced England that he had drunk far too much alcohol. Either that or he was going mad. Or just going a bit stupid from the heat, because the temperature made his legs tingle uncomfortably, and made his cheeks feel like they were burning, and his eyes feel heavy and tired, and his stomach feel sort of queasy.
"You always want everything," England sighed, but didn't shake off America's hands as they slipped up his arms to rest on his shoulders, pressing against damp skin.
America smiled a little, titling his face closer. "Only from you," he said.
England let America trail his hands up into his hair, fingers rubbing at his nape and then his scalp and it really was maybe a little bit nice, and he closed his eyes at the touch and just let himself feel.
He heard America say, "Ah, so you like that," and his voice was gentle, and maybe a little bit amused, but England ignored it because he was getting a massage and quite possibly he wanted everything from America too.
So it really wasn't such a surprise when he felt America's mouth on his, warm and oddly dry. He felt America's tongue running along his lips, and felt America's hands splayed in his hair, holding them closer together. He tentatively put his hands on America's hips, wondering at what he was doing, but then felt America press himself into England's hands and moan a bit. England remembered, America had always been a bit needy, and smiled into the kiss, opening his mouth and letting America kiss him more deeply.
England was pushed back, took two steps until he could feel the cold, uneven stone wall of the onsen against his back. He would have hissed, but America's body pushed against him and it was heat, and pleasure, and a lust that England had felt for a long time, but would never have acted on. America was still so young, he thought. And innocent, he had thought, but didn't so much now because America was grasping at bits of him and pressing himself against him in such a way that left no doubt in England's mind that America, somewhere along the line, had turned into a massive slut.
"I know what you're thinking," America said between kissing England's lips and drawing his tongue along the line of England's chin. England severely hoped he didn't. "You're thinking I'm still a child, and you shouldn't do this," he went on. He ground against England, making them both gasp. "I'm not," he said. "I know what I'm doing."
He kissed England again, and kissed him some more, as if to prove the point, and until England was feeling dizzy and his head felt heavy and a but fluffy and stupid. England meant to say, "So I see," or something similar, except it came out more like a slur, which was a bit worrying. He couldn't remember kissing ever making him unable to talk before. Or, for that matter, feel a bit like his skin was prickling and like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach.
America was saying, "Am I," and there was, "you look," and then England made the mistake of opening his eyes only to see the world tilt sickeningly sideways. He thought he might have frowned and said, "What?" before there was nothing.
***
.Cold Water.
"You're supposed to tell people, you know," America told England. "If you're feeling sick or something."
He should have expected it, he supposed. It wasn't like England ever told him anything anyway. And the bath had been very hot, and England had seemed a bit out of it and red-faced. America liked to think his kissing was just that awesome too.
England still didn't say anything, and America told himself there was no need to worry. It was nothing; the doctor had said so, and England would be waking up any moment. He was a bit flushed was all, but peaceful at least. Relaxed like America rarely ever got to see England any more. These days he always seemed irritated and harassed.
America sighed heavily. "Or maybe," he said, leaning forward, "You were just so overcome by my kissing that you fainted."
England's eyebrows twitched, and he shifted on the futon. His eyes still closed, he said, "Shut up." There was no heat behind it though, and it sounded more grumpy than annoyed, but it made America smile.
"I'd better not kiss you any more," America teased. "You don't seem to be able to handle it."
America expected England to get angry and fume and deny it and, if America was lucky, kiss him to prove the point, but he just frowned and turned his head away. That worried America more than anything, and he thought for a moment that maybe England really was ill and the doctor had lied. And then he wondered if, from the way that England had turned away, maybe he regretted what they'd done in the bath.
"Are you," he tried, putting his hand beside England's shoulder, unsure how England would react to him touching him. England had never been very affectionate anyway, and was prone to bouts of overreaction, and America really didn't want to make things any worse. "Do you," he tried again, then settled on, "How do you feel?"
England didn't say anything for some time, and America wondered if he'd fallen back to sleep. Or if he was purposely ignoring him. But then he replied, "Terrible. I feel terrible. But it has nothing to do with you."
America had no idea what that was supposed to mean, so instead he said, "You should drink some water. The doctor said to."
England just huffed, like this was all too much trouble (like America was just too much trouble) then started levering himself up. America couldn't decide for a moment whether to help him or let him struggle, but then decided it was just painful to watch England grunt and heave and go even more pale and pasty than he had been when he was lying down. So he reached out and took his shoulders and shoved at him a bit.
Predictably, England hissed and tried to shrug America's hands away, but there didn't seem to be much fight in him as he quickly gave up struggling and let America help him up.
Never one for tact, America said, "I didn't think you'd give up so easily," and only afterwards realised that was quite possibly the last thing he should have said. To England, who hated to be weak and show weakness and to rely on anyone.
England just snorted though. "Your diplomacy skills are as magnificent as ever, I see," then, more softly, "In this instance, it was counterproductive to fight you."
America couldn't stop himself from replying, "It always has been, you know," which earned him a dark look.
"You were a child," England said, shook his head and sat up straighter. "Where's this water then?"
"Oh. Right. Yeah." America looked about, sure he had seen some somewhere. Except England was leaning against his legs and side and America wasn't exactly sure how he was going to move without England falling back onto the futon. "Um," he said, and cast a look towards England, who was looking right back at him with a raised eyebrow. Damn.
"Okay, you got me. I didn't think that one through," America admitted.
"Nothing new there, then," England shot back, but he was half-smiling so America supposed he didn't mean anything unkind by it.
"I'm not a child anymore, remember?," America frowned. "You don't have to teach me lessons."
"I'll teach you lessons until you don't need them anymore," England said. "Which will quite probably be never."
This, America realised, was England teasing him. Or maybe trying to distract him. And most definitely something like a peace offering, because England had never been able to say anything directly. It was annoying and exhausting and frustrating, but ultimately that was just England.
England was still leaning heavily against him, though, one of his hands now resting on his knee, and he felt warm and almost relaxed. Still, there were dark rings under his eyes, and he looked wan and ill and he sounded almost out of breath.
"You seem to have confused me with someone who actually listens to you," America teased back anyway, taking what he could get, like he always had and he wondered if he really was any different from that doting kid he had once been. It wasn't often they were like this anymore, in quiet moments, alone. And America could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times England had shown even so much vulnerability as to simply lean against him. Not that he had much choice. From the way his body bent back against America's chest he was pretty sure England would just fall over without him there, holding him up.
"Of course," England scoffed. "What was I thinking?" He closed his eyes, and America knew, he should really let him sleep. Or at least get him some water, and not want to kiss him until he knew every inch of England's lips.
"That I was still a kid?" America offered, and was inordinately glad when England shook his head.
"No, I really don't," he said. "Or I wouldn't have," he paused, tutted, and started to shift like he was going to try and pull away from America, so America put his arms around him, trying to keep him still.
"Kissed me?" he said. "I'd do that again, you know."
England rolled his eyes, which made America frown. "Of course you would."
"I wouldn't kiss just anyone, you know," he said defensively, because America was getting the distinct impression that England thought he went around randomly kissing any old country. And England was still looking sceptical about that so America decided there was only one thing to be done.
He leant forward and down so he was face to face with England, brought his right hand up to stroke along the line of England's jaw and up into his hair (soft from over-washing and thick, Japanese shampoos), then tugged England forward into a kiss. England's lips were warm and dry and he was looking at America like he was crazy. But he didn't push him away, or argue, or shout, or any of those things, so America smiled against his lips, closed his eyes and kissed England properly (like France had showed him how, and wasn't that a disturbing thought, and one that England would not appreciate at all).
America kissed and kissed until England maybe decided that this wasn't worth fighting over either and kissed back, just a little bit.
Against his mouth, between kisses, America said, "You could be more enthusiastic about this."
He felt, more than heard, England laugh. "I could," he said, but then pulled back, causing America a moment of panic in which he thought he'd just made a mess of everything, but England was frowning at him in that slightly constipated-looking way of his.
"You should rest up, though," he guessed, and knew England was feeling bad when he didn't even try to deny it. Yes, maybe molesting someone who had recently passed out wasn't his best ever plan. "Move over," he said, shifting himself to the side and shoving at England a bit. England grumbled under his breath, but did as he was asked, then flopped back heavily onto the futon, panting slightly.
"I'm never getting in a bath that hot ever again," England said wearily, closing his eyes.
America chuckled, pulled his t-shirt over his head then pulled back the corner of the thick duvet. He made to slide in beside England, but then noticed England was eyeing him carefully out of one half-opened eye."Show off," he said. America grinned and puffed his chest out.
"You love it," he laughed, grinning even more when England shook his head and turned away, because he just knew England was trying to hide the fact that he was laughing too.
"Just hurry up, if you're getting in," England said, trying to sound annoyed but really not managing to at all.
America felt weirdly proud of himself, and hopeful and pleased and happy and, unfortunately, a little bit horny too. But England was looking far too ill and unusually sedate for anything, so he did as he was told and shifted himself onto the futon, laying with his chest against England's side, and pressed a kiss to England's shoulder.
He could hear England mumbling, "Sleeping in the day, so decadent," and "Will you stop being so needy?" and finally, "You really are hopeless," before turning his face towards America's and leaning closer to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Go to sleep," he said, and resolutely closed his eyes.
America replied quickly, "Okay," and wondered if it was a bad thing that he might do just about anything he was asked if England kept doing cute things like that. But he didn't care, because England was next to him, letting America lay an arm over his chest and letting him rest his head between his shoulder and neck. It was closer than they had been in decades. Or maybe closer than they had been ever, and he fell asleep with a grin on his face.
.End.
Comments and concrit loved, as always. Be free and flatter/insult me to your heart's content!