In Defense of Beauty

France and England fighting was nothing new, even if it generally soured the whole day. America wasn't even sure what they were fighting about this time and he had a sinking feeling neither did they.

"You bloody wino, take that back!"

"Ah, but I only speak the truth. Who am I to distort the facts?"

"Your facts are distorted to begin with!"

America rolled his eyes and continued munching on a burger. He'd lost track of what subject they were arguing about now, the two of them somehow covering half of history in one minor disagreement.

"Then perhaps I should vie for a plainer argument, using you as a model. See, your short stature and grimacing face? It is not attractive. No one would look at that in a magazine and idealize that look for the perfect man."

England's glare turned sharper as he got in France's face. "And let me guess, you would be?"

France shrugged. "But of course. Look at me! What's not to love?"

"Oh I don't know. How about the fact it looks like you forgot to shave all the way?"

"If we're talking shaving- you do know that even if someone was crazy enough to have a kink for someone shorter in stature, your caterpillar eyebrows just kill the whole look. Who would want a romantic evening with you? That's like wanting to date a cave man."

Grabbing a handful of France's shirt in his fist, England was about to start yelling again when a loud noise cut him off.

America had slammed his hand down on the table, stood, and was now striding angrily over to the two fighting countries.

"Take it back, France," America said darkly.

"Excuse me?" He asked.

America pushed him away from England and moved protectively in front of the shorter country. "I said to take it back. Now."

France raised an eyebrow. "I'm not meaning to offend you, America. Love is able to see past such obvious flaws, of course."

He reared back his hand to strike, but England stopped him. "America. Don't."

The younger country glared instead. "For a country so obsessed with beauty you clearly don't know anything about it. And here I would have thought you, of all countries, would remember what Ben said about it."

France balked. "Franklin?"

"You were such great chums yet you didn't listen did you?" America let his hand drop to his side finally; gripping England's hand firmly in his own. "'Beauty, like supreme dominion, is but supported by opinion.' And given how large and powerful a country I am, I'd think that my opinion would count for a hell of a lot."

Behind him, England's eyes went wide as America continued to rant.

"Because I surely don't see someone as influential as I am defending your looks, France."

A wry smile crept onto the Frenchman's face. "Ah, well. It seems perhaps we shall have to agree to disagree."

America snorted. "Democratically speaking, I represent the most people. And right now, in this room, I say that England is the most attractive one here. He wins France. Admit it."

France chuckled, shaking his head. "What can I say? It seems that true love does conquer all, oui?"

The words, both his own and France's, finally sinking in, America blushed as his anger started to abate. "Wha...S-shut up, France!" He retorted lamely.

With a small wave, France turned on his heel and sauntered out of the room. "It looks like I cannot win here today. Au revoir, my friends; I shall go somewhere where my looks can be appreciated. Enjoy your perfect man, America. "

Both of them flushed at the remark, the door closing and leaving them noticeably alone in the room. America could feel his sweaty palm still tightly gripping England's hand, and he turned to face him, not once letting go.

"Uh England, I..." He was cut off before he could finish, England's arms wrapping snugly around his waist. "E-England?"

A muffled voice replied, "Shut up. I'm hating you right now."

America smiled, looking down at the sandy blonde mop of hair and seeing a reddish face peeking out from under it.

"I didn't mean to butt in. Really! You know I'm trying to be better about not sticking my nose into other people's business. But..." He sighed, threading his fingers loosely into England's hair. "I just couldn't stay out of it this time. It was personal."

"It was not," England shot back, looking up at him. "It was about me, not you."

"That's why it was personal," America replied matter-of-factly.

"That doesn't even make any sense."

He leaned his forehead down against England's. "Sure it does. He was insulting my taste in men."

England's eyes widened. "Y-You..."

"Don't be so daft. I bloody love you," America said with a horrible mockery of a British accent that sounded more Cockney than anything.

At that, England blushed. Then he rolled his eyes and smiled. "Your accent is appalling."

America pressed a quick kiss in between England's eyebrows. "Yeah, well British accents are ridiculous."

England snorted and a brief silence fell between them. Finally England broke it.

"Thanks," he muttered, his face going red again.


"F-For all that. Thanks."

America grinned, pressing a sloppy kiss to England's cheek. "Come on, say it England."

"I have no earthly idea what you're talking about."

"I know you do. Say it."

England huffed. "No."

"Say it or I'll go tell France he was right."

"No way."

"Say it, England. Say it." He sing-songed. "You know you want to. Say--"

America was cut off as England silenced him with a kiss, occupying his tongue with things other than his repetitive taunts. When they finally pulled apart, England mumbled something in a small voice.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"You'remyhero, America." England whispered out the corner of his mouth. America beamed, an idiotic grin spreading across his face.

"You're the best, England!" The older country just blushed. Grabbing his hand, America started to pull him towards the door. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

Biting back a comment about the fact America had just eaten, England's mind chanced upon something else and he smirked.

"Oh, one thing first."


"So, I'm your perfect man huh?" England asked with a devious grin. America pinked.

"Wha- I didn't...France just said that to..."

"Most attractive one in the room?"

America continued to splutter, and England had to repress a laugh. It was nice to be on the taunting end rather than the one receiving the taunts for once.

"Although we all know that's wrong."

"I-It is?" America asked perplexed.

England shrugged. "Well, in my opinion at least..." He cleared his throat and leveled America with a fond look. "The one to receive that accolade would be you."

"" He stammered, blue eyes wide and expression touched. England was glad to see it hadn't gone straight to his ego, as it surely would within the next few minutes.

"Don't be so daft," England echoed the earlier statement, this time with a proper accent. "I bloody love you."

Sure enough, America's grin turned smug as he slung an arm around England's shoulders. "I am pretty hot, aren't I?"

England raised an eyebrow as they walked from the room. "It is a warm day, so perhaps you are hot."

"I meant I look hot."

Leveling him with a glare, he replied, "I can't really tell. You're not sweating or showing any signs of being overheated."


"And if you mean it in a slang manner of speaking, I have already told you that you are attractive and I refuse to do so again since it will just make your insufferable ego even larger."

America tilted his head over against England's and wrapped his arm around his waist. He was oddly silent for a moment before he replied.

"Perhaps I should become a model."

"Oh for Christ's sake!" England exclaimed.

America chuckled. "Nah. I think my partner might be jealous if other men, non-countries at that, were checking me out."

England lightly shoved him in the chest "You're terrible."

"You love it."

"I, for some idiotic reason, put up with it."

America gave him an affectionate squeeze around the waist and England brought his arm up to rest around America's waist, the two comfortably walking side by side. It wasn't such a bad day after all.