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Title: Funfair
Genre: Fluff, Romance
Pairing(s): US/UK
Word Count: 1587
Rating: G
Warnings: A tiny innuendo. Fluffy sap, or maybe it's sappy fluff?
Summary: England gives up sleep for one of America's super awesome outings.

Written for the Special Relationship Sweethearts' Week 2011 on the [livejournal.com profile] usxuk community. 

Day Four: Just the Two of Us.
America and England, behind closed doors. Who are they when the meetings are over, when they're done with work, when it's just them? What are they up to when they spend time with only one another? It's up to you whether it's innocent, bickery, sweet, dramatic, introspective, silly, or R-rated. This is a pretty broad theme, but we hope you can have fun with it. Other characters may appear, but the focus should be mostly on just America and England.

My first posted fanfic, so I'm kind of nervous.



“Why can’t you ever just agree with me, you stupid old man?!”

“I would, if you’d actually say something that isn’t total rubbish at some point in your life!”

“If what I’m saying is rubbish, then I’d hate to describe what you’re saying!”

“My points are all logical and very well thought out, thank you very much!”

“What points? It’s not like you ever have any ideas, anyway! It’s always me! You can’t say I’m not useful if you never say anything yourself!”

England slumps back in his seat, burying his face in his hands while across the room, America sits back and crosses his arms across his chest. There is a tense silence for a moment, broken only by the gentle click of a door closing. They remain in place for a moment longer, before England peers through his fingers at the American sitting opposite him.

“Are they all gone?” he asks hesitantly. America frowns and heads to the door, opening it just enough to glance up and down the corridor before returning.

“Yeah, they’re gone. And I didn’t mean any of the stuff I said during the meeting, you know.”

“I know. I, too, didn’t mean any of what I said. But I’m sure you know that.”

“Yep. ‘Course I do.”

America stands next to England and, leaning against the table, smiles down at him. England gives him the nicest smile back. They look into each other’s eyes for a moment, before America breaks away and shrugs into his suit jacket. He then holds out England’s, waiting until the smaller blonde slips into it before reaching down and buttoning it up. England leans his head against the strong, broad shoulder contentedly and closes his eyes. America nudges him lightly as soon as he’s done with the buttons, and brings his hands up to straighten the Briton’s collar and tie. England reaches up to do the same for America, teasing the folds of fabric until they lie perfectly in place.

As soon as they’re done, America marches over to the door and, peeking outside to make sure that no one is nearby, holds it open with a deep bow. England gives him a dizzying smile and a small, haughty word of thanks as he exits the room. America easily falls into step beside him and their knuckles brush as they walk together down the length of the corridor and into the foyer of the building. In no time at all, they are out on the street and America turns to eye England.

“Hey,” he begins, “I know you’re tired and all, but there was somewhere I wanted to take you tonight.”

England cocks an eyebrow, but nods nonetheless. “If you insist,” he says, wanting nothing more than to go back to America’s house and cuddle in bed. But he’s willing to give that up for America. He’s willing to give up anything for America. He knows it, and America knows it. And it’s comforting to know that America feels the exact same way about him.

“Awesome,” the taller blond says, but he’s staring into England’s eyes and England can’t help but look away, face flushed as bright as a tomato. America always knows what he really means, even though he can’t quite curb his acid tongue and usually ends up spitting out insult after insult when really, he wants to be whispering terms of endearment and love.

“Hurry up, git,” he mutters affectionately, and America laughs.

“Sure thing, darl’.”

They walk in silence for a little while, but it isn’t an uncomfortable silence. Rather, it’s the silence that two people who care greatly for each other use, the silence that says everything using no words at all. America catches himself admiring England’s small, slender form and warms at the knowledge that they are together. England notices America’s gaze and flushes, tearing his eyes away from where he was admiring the strong, manly angles of America’s jaw. Then America promptly steers him down a small dirt road, and if he didn’t know any better he’d think America was planning something dirty. But America knows that he is tired, and he definitely isn’t in the mood, and England remains relaxed as he follows his tall lover.

“There,” America says finally, excitedly, pointing to a heap of light. England squints, and makes out some little tents and rides and other stalls. Everything is shining and colourful and noisy. There’s the smell of every kind of junk food he can think of, and he turns to look up at America with a tiny frown.

“That’s a…”

“Funfair!” America shouts enthusiastically, using both thumbs to smooth out the tiny crease in England’s forehead. “It’s gonna be awesome. C’mon, England!”

“Very well,” the Briton concedes with a fond sigh. “Just this once, mind you.”

They leisurely make their way down to the carnival. America loves mingling with his people, and he loves letting his lover mingle, too. England doesn’t care much for these kinds of events, but blushes brilliantly and considers reassessing his opinion of them when America presents him with a single red rose, bought from the old lady in the flower stall. England accepts it, holding it up to his nose to both inhale the soft, sweet scent and to hide his wide smile. He doesn’t allow America to take his hand, not while in public, so America has to make do with clapping a hand on his shoulder and steering him around that way.

They buy hot buttered corn then go on a sickening ride that whirls them around and around and up and down, and England swears he’ll never be able to stomach that particular food ever again, no matter how tasty it is. America merely laughs and slings an arm over England’s shoulder to steady him, removing himself as soon as England turns to him with a warning glance.

“Not in public,” England says, somewhat apologetically. “It’s not that I don’t – I mean, I’m just not – ”

“It’s okay,” America always interrupts with a reassuring smile, “I gotcha.”

Because America understands that England isn’t ashamed of him – far from it, in fact. He knows that England is simply afraid of revealing their relationship to everyone, afraid of not having America for himself anymore, afraid of losing him. America thinks that it’s somewhat ridiculous, but England is so concerned about it and nothing that America does can soothe his fears. So he just does the best he can to show England that he is loved, now and forever, and beyond.

“C’mon,” he grins, tugging England towards one of the sideshows. He’s spotted something that he’s sure will cheer England up, even if the smaller blond kicks up a fuss and disagrees. “What do I have to do to get that?” he cheerfully asks the stall worker, pointing at gigantic white unicorn plush.

Three minutes later, England finds his arms full of soft, white fluff. He stares down at it with wide eyes, slowly petting the mane until his expression softens and he glances up at America almost shyly and murmurs, “thank you, America.”

America beams down at him with gleaming white teeth and gives him a thumbs up. “Anything for you, England,” he says with a wink. England blushes and buries his face in the soft plush in his arms.

“Ludwig!”

“Shit.” America grabs England by a wrist and thrusts him towards the ferris wheel. “Get on, quick!”

England glances around wildly but allows himself to be pushed into a carriage. The door clicks behind them as America places the plush on the seat opposite them. England kneels on the small plastic bench, peering out into the night to try and see what the matter was.

“That was close,” America says with a laugh as he points out Italy hanging off Germany, Japan trailing closely behind them. England is silent for a moment, before letting out a small giggle.

“You’re so daft,” he says, clapping a hand over his mouth in an effort to stifle his laughter. America leans in and kisses him on the nose.

“Yeah, I’m daft for you,” he whispers, and England turns his face up to capture his lips in a small, chaste kiss.

The ride ends all too soon. America leads England to ride after ride, and finally to another food stall. He hands England a corn dog and tries not to choke once he realises how suggestive it looks, disappearing into England’s small mouth. After a moment, England notices his staring and flushes, slapping him gently on the back of his head and threatening to spear him with his stick.

They both go bright red when the statement sinks in. Damn his dirty mind and his ability to turn even threats into innuendos. They both finish their food extremely quickly after that, then wander the fair a little while longer to admire the various displays.

America stares at the Haunted House with both longing and terror, but turns away from it when he notices England struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Hey, England.”

“Hmm?”

“Ready to go home?”

England gives a drowsy nod, almost tripping over his own feet. America gently pries the unicorn from the Briton’s grip lest he drop it, assuring him that he’ll give it back as soon as they get home. They make their way out of the fair, the noise and colours and smells gradually fading as they get further away.

And once they reach the dirt path, England sleepily reaches out his hand, and entwines his pinkie with America’s.

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August 2012

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