America x England - Valentine's Day

America x England – Valentine's Day


Beautifully dull. That is how England would describe his plane ride. The clouds idly drifting in the bright blue sky were beautiful, no doubt, but the miles and miles of cloud after cloud after cloud was extremely dull. Still, it was better than the inside of the plane, with the slim stewardesses artfully plastering fake smiles to their crinkled faces, pretending to like you and the fact that they must tend to you; and with the fellow passengers, some snoring, some grimacing as they ate the disappointing aeroplane food, some reading with a bored expression on their tired faces, and a handful of mothers half-heartedly trying to quieten their bawling babies. Yes, the clouds were infinitely better compared to that. He would just have to put up with it all, for the sake of America. England sighed. Why, oh why did he follow the boy's whims?

A few hours earlier…

England groaned tiredly as he picked up the receiver to shush the phone's persistent ringing. There was already a ringing in his ears with all the work, and the blasted communication mechanism's contribution was not appreciated in the least. He didn't even get a chance to drawl a mumbled greeting before a familiar voice rang clear on the other end.

"Hey, Artie! Come on over here! Don't ask why, just do it!"

"Eh?" England grumbled, rubbing at the purple bags under his eyes as he gazed upon the paperwork on his desk, contemplating whether he had time for the American. Why did he even need to think about it though? He'd always go running to that man's side, he had to ashamedly admit. "I guess I could find time to come over. I've just finished my work," what a big lie, "so you caught me at a good time." that was another lie; however, he didn't want to miss spending time with America, "I'll see you there now."

He groaned as he hung up, drowning out America's unnecessary cries of "Sweet! I can't wait to see you!" He stretched his back, wincing as it cricked in three separate places, and scratched his stubbly chin as he took one last lingering look at his not-at-all finished work.

"I need to clean myself up."

And so, a shower, a shave, and a purchase of plane tickets later, England arrives in New York, America. God, he hates it: the bustle of people with annoyingly thick accents and thick brains to match, not to mention their thick layers of fat. It was a place full of stupidity and blubber as far as he was concerned. However, there was something so charmingly glamorous and in-the-moment about it all whenever he stepped foot in the bright, lively city – something that he just couldn't get over, like a birthday or a shiny new wedding ring on your finger.

Not only that, but it is one of the major cities of America – his America – and he certainly loves that man, and all his attributes, thus this horrendous wonderland of a city has a place in his heart too. He diligently admires the horrendous wonderland and its lights and shops and people from the taxi that he hailed. He admires it, as you should do to something you love, all the way up until he reaches his destination: America's home, and definitely England's second home.

He raps upon the door twice before quickly letting his bare hand retreat back into his trench coat pocket. Although it was spring, it was still rather cold. Despite the icy breeze stabbing at him, he manages a warm smile as the door opens to reveal the representation of the country he had set foot in.

"Artie!" America cried, pulling the Englishman into a warm, much appreciated hug, practically dragging him into the house and closing the door on the cold behind him, "I'm so glad to see you! Had a safe trip?"

"No, I died three times." England laughed, "Of course I had a safe trip, idiot!" America chuckled, and England was relieved that he understood the sarcasm.

"Yeah, I know, but it's just polite to check, right?" America kissed England's nose in greeting, "And I learned to be polite because I was taught by a true gentleman."

"Yes, sadly you didn't learn that the correct term is "learnt" though."

"No, it is learned! Look it up, man!" America pouted, finally releasing the Briton from his grasp, although he wouldn't have minded holding him for a bit longer.

"No, you look it up!"

"Ah, whatever," America groaned, silencing the older man with a chaste kiss on his icy blue lips, "that's not important right now. What is important can be found in the kitchen."

"Why? What's in the kitchen?" England asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"Rather than me telling you, why don't you come and see?" America grinned, grabbing the Briton's cold hand with his warm one and leading him down the long stretch of corridor to the kitchen, which was emitting a sweet smell.

England turned his nose up at the sight before him: kitchen counters, stained with dollops of what seemed to be chocolate, had all sorts of utensils, like dirty spoons and cookie cutters, piled high upon them. Multitudes of bowls, which were also strangely drenched in chocolate, cluttered not only the counters but the floor too, with chocolate oozing out of them onto the floor, which was notably covered with flour and blobs of butter.

"Sorry about the mess." America rubbed at the back of his neck and adjusted his glasses, "I didn't expect you to arrive till later."

"No, it's…fine," England sniffed, desperately fighting the urge to bugger whatever surprise America had for now and throw himself into the task of cleaning this mess. Or maybe the mess was the surprise? It had certainly surprised him.

He turned back to America, where he was surprised – once again – to find that the man was holding out a large slab of chocolate coated biscuit. In fact, this slab almost seemed to be in the shape of a heart, albeit it was slightly misshapen. "Um," he cocked his head at the mess of chocolate which was now melting in the heat of America's palms, "What's this?"

"It didn't come out the exact shape I wanted, but it's still chocolate, so it meets the requirements."

England chortled lightly, "Aha, it's so misshapen, and yet I lov…" England coughed and gathered himself, blushing, "…I mean, I appreciate it. T-Thank you, Alfred." England reached out and accepted the endearing sticky mess of melting chocolate, but wondered what on earth it was for as he did so. He hadn't done anything special for America lately, or as far as he remembered, so what was the occasion?

The scent of the chocolate wafted up to his nose, and England was baffled as he pinned down the fragrance of tea leaves in the chocolate. Maybe it was his imagination? He slowly swiped a dollop of the chocolate off the biscuit base with his finger and tasted it. Yes, it was tea flavoured chocolate! He smiled at the man who, honestly, came up with the silliest and nicest ideas.

"No problem, Artie!" America beamed, "Now, what did you get me? No matter how bad it tastes, chocolate's still chocolate, and I'm so down with it. Chocolate is one of the four food groups for me!" America continued to smile as he held out his hand, and even as England began to panic.

"Hmm? What? Why? Is there a special occasion? Or is it an American occasion that the British aren't to be involved with?" he scratched at his blonde mess of hair, scratching away for an answer like a sculptor chipping at the rock for a monument, "Chocolate Day? Is there a Chocolate Day in America? To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised considering how much your country's population consumes of…" And then he stopped – he stopped speaking and stopped sculpting – and he just stared at the man holding his large, warm hand out so expectantly. He gasped as he was hit with the realisation – he had finished sculpting his monument.

"Ah, i-i-it's Valentine's Day!" he yelped, now gripping at his tufts of blonde hair in vexation, "Shit! I'd forgotten! I'm sorry; I have nothing to give to you! Oh, but do you still have ingredients and such?! I could definitely whip up some chocolate if you gave me some time! Ah, but it wouldn't be as good as professional chocolate, so is there a store nearby? A mini store that sells chocolate? Even if it's only small, that'd be fine, because it'd symbolise my miniscule love for you! Ah, shit, I'm sorry; that was a terrible thing to say, and such a lie! Ah, what should I do?!"

England hated himself. Usually he was so sensible and organised, and he could make logical decisions at the snap of a finger. But when it came down to emotions – the area in which he was not an expert – he began to panic. He would lose his sensibility, his organisation, his logic – he'd lose it all in a heartbeat. And here he was, on Valentine's Day, knowing that he had someone he loved to share this day with, and that very someone was standing right there, with his hand out, waiting for chocolate or at least some similar proof of love, and England had no such thing to give.

America, despite the circumstances, continued beaming at him, "Hah, calm down, dude! I knew you'd forget – it's a habit of yours." He ruffled the abused blonde locks of the Briton reassuringly, never once sharing a look of disappointment or grief.

England snarled, "Well if you knew I'd forget, couldn't you have had the decency to remind me over the phone?!"

"I was going to," America retorted, "but you hung up on me before I could."

England paused, stunned by the thought that this whole current situation was his fault, and if only he had listened then perhaps he would instead be at America's door with a row of Englishmen dressed in proper uniform behind him, each carrying a basket adorned with ribbons, and within each basket would be a variety of chocolates not only from around the United Kingdom, but from around the world. Okay, perhaps he would not have planned something so gallant at first, but now he was prepared to do such a thing given the chance to go back in time and try again.

America saw how England's head drooped, and how his arms dropped to his sides in defeat, and how his face creased in sorrow, and he didn't like it one bit. "Hey, don't be sad, Arthur." he cooed, brushing stray hairs from the fallen man's face, "You know, you could give me something without going to the trouble of making something."

England's head snapped up at this, "What?" he begged for a reply, "What could I give you without going to the trouble of making it first?" All England could think about at that point was bananas. They were already made, and Japan had this dish called chocolate banana where you dip a banana into melted chocolate. America had so much melted chocolate oozing around the countertops and floorboards to spare; if only he had a banana he could certainly prepare something like that for him. "It's a Japanese delicacy," he would say, "Just for you!" And then his relationship with America would not be at stake due to some bloody Valentine's Day!

America grinned maliciously, swathing his arm around England's waist and pulling the smaller man closer, "Well, you're just as sweet as chocolate." He pressed his lips to England's, enjoying the ravenous moans which escaped the man's throat, exploring his mouth with his tongue. He tasted a little bit of that tea flavoured chocolate which lingered in England's mouth, but despite his hate for that flavour, he was not put off.

He pulled away and allowed England a chance to breathe as he reached over to some of the chocolate splattered across the bowls and swiped some of it onto his finger. He then applied the chocolate gently to England's lips, almost laughing at his reactions.

"What's with this chocolate?" England demanded, "What are you up t-!"

He was silenced by America's lips on his once more, with the American licking away at the chocolate at some points and nibbling on the stains on his lower lip with his pearly white teeth. England struggled to supress a moan.

"Get off of me, pervert!" England whined, pushing at the American's broad chest, "You're worse than Frog sometimes!" He wiped and rubbed at his lips and chin, and any other areas of his face that had been covered with chocolate in the process, all the while hoping that his hands would hide his beet-red face. "Well, now that I've…" he coughed in embarrassment before continuing, "…paid you back with chocolate in a sense, what do yo…" He stopped short as he recognised the lustful, heated look on America's pinked face, "…You're giving me that mischievous look again. Stop it, dammit!"

England gasped then, as he came to the sudden understanding: "Oh, my goodness, I think he's after my banana!"

America pulled England to him again, grinning like a cheshire cat, "You know I'm not gonna stop. Besides," he leant down to whisper in England's pink ear, "you wouldn't want that anyway." England couldn't help a shudder running down his spine at that comment, and he winced and whispered "Oh, God" as he tried to quell his urges. "Now, it's Valentine's Day – the day for lovers – and we're both together, so let's get loving!" America purred in England's ear – if only he had a swishing cheshire tail to match his cheshire grin.

"Ah, but on the contrary I…I hate you!" England retaliated, pounding his fists against America's muscular form as the younger nation lifted him up off his feet, onto his broad shoulder, and up the stairs to the bedroom, "Let go of me, idiot! And take your chocolate with you! No!"

---

America smiled down at the blushing Englishman with his cerulean orbs, poking at his bare skin, which was mostly covered with chocolate. "So, how was your Valentine's Day, hmm?" he sniggered, "The best ever, I bet."

England shot him a stern glare with his emerald orbs, his face as red as his body was browned, "It…it was the worst, idiot!" He growled as America just burst out laughing, and hurriedly covered his naked, chocolate covered form with the chocolate stained duvet.

Oh, well, he thought,at least I've repaid him for my forgotten gift.