Details/Notes: US/UK is like the silliest, most delightful OTP ever. I love them. I love writing them. Even when there is zero historical reference (a la this fic). I hope you all enjoy the silliness for what it is. Disclaimer is up on my profile, and feel free to check out my other fics. Please review!

Coffea Arabica:

England's tea isn't nearly as dirty as America's mouth.

He wants to smack America, and shove him out the door when he turns down his offer of tea with a blithe, "Do you have any coffee?"

It's the first time he's presumed to do so, and England decides not to bring up his reasons for having a tin of coffee hidden in the corner of his kitchen.

"I don't know how you stand drinking this vile stuff," he says bitterly.

He raises his own cup of tea to his lips and begins to sip it, doing his best to ignore the way America sucks down the heavy-scented liquid set before him as though it might disappear at any moment. He catches England's eyes and gives a cheeky grin, and a wink behind the lenses of his spectacles, countering him, "I don't know how I lived without it."

England sets down his cup, a blush rising to his cheeks as he murmurs, "You had me, in those days."

He didn't need to look up to feel America's contemplative gaze wandering over him, digging under his skin like something invasive, urging him peek at America's expression.

"Don't I still have you?" His tone is puzzled, England can feel the anger waiting to be released, dependent on his answer. He looks up now, and America's brow is furrowed, his cup pressed into his cheek carelessly.

He huffs.

He pushes himself back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest protectively, looking away. "You went your separate way. Don't tell me you want me around."

"If I didn't want you around, I wouldn't come for tea."

"You aren't drinking tea."

"Not my fault I don't like your dirty leaf water." America wrinkles his nose.

"Why you little –!" England sits up quickly, too quickly, because his chair almost overbalances and he has to flail around to straighten himself.

He hears America's laughter a good three seconds later and blushed crimson.

He huffs again. "You are a brat of a child. Worse than that. Wouldn't want you back even if you begged me."

"Yet you invited me."

"This is supposed to be a mutually beneficial meeting. We're supposed to be getting work done," England rationalises spectacularly, and America looks like he's going to start laughing again, but he merely shakes his head and takes another long drink of coffee.

"Here I thought you're just being sentimental." He sets his cup down, dragging a fingertip around the rim, tapping against the saucer, and when he grins at him England thinks he can see the caffeine swirling in the blue of his eyes.

He most definitely doesn't blush again.

America fidgets handsomely.

England opens and closes his mouth several times before managing to shout, "I am not sentimental! You've made it quite clear what I mean to you, and I'm perfectly fine with that! It's not as if you're driving me insane with all of your tapping, and smiling, and licking your lips."

He snaps his mouth shut, eyes widening dramatically. "That meant nothing, absolutely noth –!" He doesn't have to cut himself off again, because America does the favour for him, leaning across the table and silencing him with a kiss.

His mouth tastes awful, like bitterness and cream, but his tongue is sharp and devious, working its way into England's mouth and prying, inviting him to play along.

He kisses back after several stupefied moments of doing nothing, and America hums happily into his mouth at this new development, wrapping an arm around England's waist and guiding them both to their feet. Footsteps dancing around each other, closer, until their bodies are pressed together.

England feels America moan more than he hears it. Sensation on his lips and tongue, and the way America forces himself on England, as close as possible while they are both still clothed.

He breathes through his nose, but still gasps when they pull apart. America's fingers are frantic, jittery, on the buttons of England's shirt.

"This is certainly not what the King had in mind for our business tea, America!" His skin is flushed from his chest up to his eyes, and England is seeing everything through a haze of arousal.

America pushes his spectacles up his nose. "Since when have I given a damn about the King?"

"We have work to do."

"All the more reason to have you relaxed and compliant," America says, and England has to admit that the boy is devious. Especially when his tongue is licking around England's right nipple, teasing with his teeth just short of biting.

He moans, pushing vainly at America's shoulder. "W-who says it won't be you who's compliant?"

America grins.

England shouts hoarsely as America's thigh slides between his legs, and a hand shoves itself into his trousers. America leans close into his ear, biting and sucking his neck, and whispers, "This."

His breath still stinks of coffee, but that doesn't seem to matter as much when America's mouth trails below his navel, and their clothing lies in untidy piles around the floor of the sitting room.

England bites down on his tongue, and goes with it.


End Notes: Hope you liked! Please spend five seconds of your time pressing the review button below, even if you hated it! I'm off to... something now. Totally not writing more ridiculous Hetalia fic.