yay for my first fic on my new account. :D

americaxengland is a bomb pairing, i really like it. it's so cute and just...so meant to be.

england's POV, switches between their country names and real names.

i do not own hetalia.

enjoy.

-mabel

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England saw it sitting on a chair. He was walking down the hallway, and it called out to him, beckoned to him to come in and stare at it. What was it doing without it's owner? America barely ever let it out of his sight. In fact, when was the last time he had taken it off? Had he ever taken it off? Arthur had always felt the barrier of this thing whenever he hugged Alfred, or Alfred attacked him. And of course, when you were in bed together, clothes came off, it was natural. But when the older country tried to picture everything they had done, Alfred was always in that stupid jacket.

Quietly, Arthur padded into the room where the jacket was sitting. He kept his guard up, turning his head every five seconds to make sure that no one saw this. If any of the other countries saw this, or worse, if America saw this, they'd never let England live it down. It was bad enough that Alfred paraded him around hand in hand, but the damage would be substancial if anyone saw him having a stare down with an inanimate object. An object that belonged to America, no less. Once England was in the room, he quickly shut the door. It was now Arthur versus the jacket.

He honestly had no idea where the younger country had gotten the jacket. On one of his visits, England just happened to notice that America had picked up a new piece of clothing. Tentatively, Arthur reached out a hand, gently touching the soft leather of the jacket. He shouldn't have felt surprised by it, he had touched it hundreds of times when Alfred wore it. But for some reason, he felt an electrical surge through his body. He ran his hands all over it, feeling the faux fur collar and moving down to the large fifty embroidered on the back. Stupid, Arthur thought, why does he always wear such outlandish clothes? Even when he was young, America liked clothes that stood out, no matter how many stiff collared shirts and breeches England put him in. In fact, England had always picked out America's clothes since he found the little country. America would even still call him sometimes to ask for advice about what tie matched best with that shirt, or what he should wear to the next world meeting. Is that why Arthur disliked the little brown jacket in front of him? Because it was bought without his consent? Not that would have probably made a difference. Even if Arthur had objected, Alfred would have bought it anyway.

Arthur plucked the jacket off of the chair, holding it up in front of him. It smelled like salt water and hamburgers. That typical American smell that made him so happy, yet so upset at the same time. Was this jacket the reason Alfred had abandoned him? The jacket obviously told America that he would be better off without England and that they should make their own- now I sound like one of his dumb movie plots. England pushed the thought out of his mind. Alfred didn't leave because anyone told him to, he left because he had wanted to. He had obviously done something wrong in parenting America, and therefore, Alfred decided to break away. The thought angered England. I raised him perfectly...I may have been a little harsh, but all parents are. He glared at the jacket.

And without a moment of hesitation or thought, Arthur threw it over his own shoulders.

He instantly felt like he was being wrapped up in a hug by America. Everything about it screamed America. What lined the inside? Wool? Fleece? Deep fat fryers? Probably the latter, knowing America and his half-brained ideas. England stood for a few moments, letting the feeling of the jacket sink into him. He fumbled with the plastic buttons, trying to get them in the holes. It felt like a whole new world had opened up to him.

Meanwhile, Alfred was standing on the other side of the door, hand on the knob. He was so glad to get out of that meeting. The rooms were always way too stuffy, and he was so excited to get out of his necktie.

He pushed the door open.

And saw England, his head buried into the neck of his...jacket.

"...What's going on here?"

England froze. Was that...? He whipped around, only to see America standing in the doorway, a smirk plastered on his face. He instantly felt a blush rise in his cheeks.

"Oi...it's...it's not w-what you think it is."

"Really?" America mused as he pushed himself off the door frame, coming closer to England. "'Cause it looks like you were having an orgasm in my jacket."

Arthur felt his blush deepen. "Y-you git! I was doing nothing of the sort!"

Alfred pushed his face into the older country's, so that their noses were almost touching. "Then what were you doing?" Caught in an obvious lie, Arthur stared down, avoiding America's gaze. He was wearing nice shoes today.

"I was..."

"You were...."

"Why aren't you wearing it today, anyway?" Alfred blinked.

"Because it's like eighty degrees outside, England. Why would I wear that on a day like this?" England slowly brought his eyes up to America's. He couldn't take it anymore. He pressed forward, closing the space between them in a kiss. Alfred seemed to have no problem with it, and happily let him in. Here was England, in a bomber jacket, kissing America, jacket-less. Arthur breathed in more of his lover's scent, and he finally felt happy.

"I just think," Arthur mumbled, breaking the kiss, "that it looks good on you, is all."

Alfred smiled down at him. "You know where else it would look good?" he whispered.

"Where?"

"My bedroom floor."

England gave him a small shove. "Ass." He grabbed the younger country's hand, and led him out of the room, the jacket still on his shoulders.