“I’m getting used to the way you do that,” America says, only a little breathily.
“Hmmm.” That’s England’s way of saying thank you and I love you, for saying those things aloud is so difficult. So final. Vulnerable. Then he kisses America again because while fucking is fucking and is all very nice, there’s nothing quite as intimate and lovely as a kiss.
America fights his way back to the surface once England’s decided that he can.
“So how was that for finesse?” he asks.
England pretends to ponder what was quite an amazing shag. “Hmm. Well, you expressed yourself,” he says.
“Hey hey hey hey. So can I tell Spain that Portsmouth is closed for repairs?”
England remembers he’s supposed to be irritated, but then he remembers something America said and suddenly it strikes him -- he barks a laugh and when he tries to shut his mouth to prevent a repeat he snorts, definitely swine-like. “Really, America?” he finally manages. “Nuclear submarine of love?”
America waggles his eyebrows. “It fires missiles of atomic passion.”
England rolls off America, for the only place to bury his own snorts is into the pillow. Once those are six feet under and he’s regained some dignity, he looks up again. “Well, send it back to dry-dock. Because later, after I’ve had some tea, I’m going to fuck you even sillier.”
America props himself on an elbow and looks decidedly not-displeased. “Only if you tell me who else offered to invade you.” At England’s look, he widens his eyes. “I’ll just ask around if you don’t tell me, and my questions might cause people to have questions and I’m not promising that I won’t just threaten to kick their asses …”
“Blackmailer.” England says. Then, “Fine. Also after I’ve had some tea.”
“Unless you want them to …” America says.
England shakes his head. “No.”
America smiles. “Good. Because I also only want …”
England’s heart stops at America’s lengthy pause.
“… to tell them to fuck off,” America finishes.
England’s heart starts again. He would be upset at hoping (fearing) for so much nothing, but even a fool can read one’s own body language on someone else.
“What will I do with you, Watson?” he asks.
America’s brow furrows.
“Never mind. Tea?” England says, and plays with America’s stray curl, the one that refuses to lay down when it’s told.
Rolling Over, Dover (Part 7 of 7)
“Hmmm.” That’s England’s way of saying thank you and I love you, for saying those things aloud is so difficult. So final. Vulnerable. Then he kisses America again because while fucking is fucking and is all very nice, there’s nothing quite as intimate and lovely as a kiss.
America fights his way back to the surface once England’s decided that he can.
“So how was that for finesse?” he asks.
England pretends to ponder what was quite an amazing shag. “Hmm. Well, you expressed yourself,” he says.
“Hey hey hey hey. So can I tell Spain that Portsmouth is closed for repairs?”
England remembers he’s supposed to be irritated, but then he remembers something America said and suddenly it strikes him -- he barks a laugh and when he tries to shut his mouth to prevent a repeat he snorts, definitely swine-like. “Really, America?” he finally manages. “Nuclear submarine of love?”
America waggles his eyebrows. “It fires missiles of atomic passion.”
England rolls off America, for the only place to bury his own snorts is into the pillow. Once those are six feet under and he’s regained some dignity, he looks up again. “Well, send it back to dry-dock. Because later, after I’ve had some tea, I’m going to fuck you even sillier.”
America props himself on an elbow and looks decidedly not-displeased. “Only if you tell me who else offered to invade you.” At England’s look, he widens his eyes. “I’ll just ask around if you don’t tell me, and my questions might cause people to have questions and I’m not promising that I won’t just threaten to kick their asses …”
“Blackmailer.” England says. Then, “Fine. Also after I’ve had some tea.”
“Unless you want them to …” America says.
England shakes his head. “No.”
America smiles. “Good. Because I also only want …”
England’s heart stops at America’s lengthy pause.
“… to tell them to fuck off,” America finishes.
England’s heart starts again. He would be upset at hoping (fearing) for so much nothing, but even a fool can read one’s own body language on someone else.
“What will I do with you, Watson?” he asks.
America’s brow furrows.
“Never mind. Tea?” England says, and plays with America’s stray curl, the one that refuses to lay down when it’s told.
End
Thank you for reading, and OP, hope this is okay!