A/N: This was written for SuicideMonday, whose birthday is on a Tuesday- haha! To be more precise, today! Hope you have a wonderful day, Italia! =) Everyone else, I'm happy you're here and hope you enjoy! This was first supposed to be called "Kissing Lessons", but... well, it isn't called that. There.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers or any of the characters, countries or places I mention. I am also not the ruler or dictator of any country (sadly!!).


Another thorn pricked his finger as America accidentally rested one of his hands on a stem that had fallen to the ground. Cursing the stupid roses, he shifted uncomfortably and stretched his neck to catch a glimpse of the house and, most importantly, of the backdoor. Any moment now, he would be coming out that door... America wondered why it was taking him so long. Shifting in his squat, he made sure he was ready to duck down and peek through the rose bushes.

Any moment now...

There! The backdoor was opening and out strode England, straight-backed and worried-looking.

America ducked down and, with bated breath, watched England's facial expressions.


The nation hiding behind the rose bushes suppressed a blush. He felt slightly guilty for worrying England, but the look he would get on his face... the feelings it evoked in him... knowing that England was so worried because of him... He chanced another glance at his guardian.

England was scanning the backyard with eyes that bespoke his concern. ''America!''

...And how he pronounced his name with that accent, so British... and oh yes, those emotions in his voice were only for him. He cares, he cares, he cares, he cares. America felt like repeating it over and over in his head. It made him giddy.

Grabbing a peach-coloured rose and detaching it from its stem (England would kill him if he found out!), he started ripping off petals in succession, watching as each fell slowly to the ground.

''He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. … He loves me. He loves me not.'' No more petals. The petals on the floor seemed to taunt him. Glaring, he grabbed a few and scattered them on the wind. ''Of course he loves me!!''

While he had been busy trying to figure out whether England loved him, the real nation had gone back into the house, apparently having given up the search. America sighed quietly and slowly stood, wincing as the blood slowly began flowing normally again.

Walking back to the house, he pushed the door open silently.

England was sitting in his armchair, eyes downcast. It hurt America to see him like this. Ever since he had been little, America had always tried to cheer him up when he looked like this, but now, it had become an even more personal thing- he needed to feel needed, wanted and appreciated. He needed to see England happy and smiling, because, strange as it was, he felt elated and alive when England was in a good mood and he wanted the older nation to be happy.

He cleared his throat. ''...England...''

A sharp glance. ''America!'' England stood quickly and was facing him in a moment. His thick brows furrowed and he managed to look both reprimanding and caring. ''Where have you been?''

America longed to reach out to the slightly taller man, put his arms around him and be held in return, but England did not look like he was about to do anything remotely similar.


England sighed, aggravated. ''Look, America, if you want to leave the house and go out for a while, just tell me about it! I was worried and looked for you.''

America truly didn't want to fight or seem childish (least of all that!), but he also felt like reminding England of his age, of the fact that, if England wanted to... he could... they could...

''I thought it'd be okay, you know, I'm not a kid anymore. I'm 18 and a half and shouldn't I be able to go out without you worrying?'' He hated accusing him of worrying, after all, this had been what he was after.

England's eyes grew shadowed imperceptibly and he swallowed before looking straight at America. America saw his earnest green eyes and was so close, so close to lean forward, close this charged space between them and lose himself.

''You are right. I... should stop worrying. I know that you can take care of yourself, it's just that in the past I've always looked out for you. I'm so used to having you here all the time...'' He trailed off, memories in his eyes.

America felt a rush of warmth for the older nation and couldn't stop his hand from reaching out and briefly touching England's arm in a gesture of understanding. He retracted it as soon as his fingers made contact with the rough fabric of England's green uniform, reminding him of everything that was not to be. This was his guilty pleasure, these small, brief moments he got to touch England, a guilty pleasure that he was not supposed to feel.

Saddened, he smiled a smile that was more pain than happiness, which was mirrored by a similar smile from England, probably given due to different reasons entirely.

As he walked up the stairs, deep in thought, he wondered what made England smile the way he did.


England took a sip of tea and savoured it in his mouth for a second before swallowing it. The comfort he usually derived from drinking tea was not in effect today. No, the tea did not help this time. America was truly distancing himself from him. Leaving without telling him, answering vaguely and reluctantly when asked... and, last but not least, reminding him constantly that he was of age now, that he could do as he pleased...

Yes, England knew that America was 18 and a half. He knew it very well. Ever since America's eighteenth birthday, it had been his daily torture, thinking about the fact that he was of age now. Not only did it mean that he could leave him anytime, no, it also had other... implications.

America had been around... seventeen when England realised that there was something about America that made him want to... well, take him in his arms and simply not let go. This was not the problem. The problem was that it was a different kind of not letting go, and of embracing. It had slowly, slowly become something entirely different in his mind. He wanted to touch America more. Spend more time with him. Leave his hand in his blonde hair after ruffling it, to simply run his fingers through those strands... truly, honestly, England wanted America as no guardian should ever want his charge.

As long as America had been seventeen, England had kept on telling himself that it was wrong, it was impossible, forbidden, a no-no. When he turned eighteen, he had tried to ignore the fact that it was possible now, but America rarely let a day go by without reminding him in his delightfully lively and righteous way, that he was of age. Maybe for him, being of age meant not having to listen to England anymore, but for England, America's coming of age was a reminder of what was now within his reach. And it made him wake up in the mornings with a rather... embarrassing problem.

England closed his eyes and put his head in his hands. But it was never going to happen. America was distancing himself, becoming more independent with each day and relying on England less and less. And he would never, ever, agree to... to... England wasn't even going to think it. The thought hurt too much.


America was upstairs staring at the mirror.

Did England love him? America moved a hand over his face, cupping it and imagining his hand was England's hand instead. Those hands, that were slightly rough from the years of fighting, and still could hold a tea cup so daintily. America imagined how the fingers would feel on his face, how those lips would feel on his. How would England kiss? Would it be slow and tender or hot and passionate? He shuddered and blushed when he met his own eyes. He had never been kissed and the thought of his first kiss being stolen by England seemed both unattainable and so very wonderful. He stared at his lips. His sight was slightly blurry, because he was near-sighted, but he had only gotten his glasses the day before and was still too stubborn to wear them. He thought they looked stupid. And the last thing he wanted was to look stupid in front of England, who was coolness personified, as far as America was concerned.

It knocked on the door.

America abruptly and guiltily turned from the mirror and called out for England to come in, arranging himself to look like he had just been reading a book. England liked it when he read books. And yes, England threw him an approving glance when he saw him reading. America only smiled a bit in response, but he felt like bursting with happiness, because England had come to him. Well, he could have expected it, because they always made up before either went to bed. They had never had a dispute which had not been solved before the night. America felt warm.

England made to sit down on the edge of America's bed and suddenly cocked his head and then frowned.

"America, where are your glasses? It's bad for your eyes if you read without them."

America blushed. He considered simply claiming to have misplaced them, because he didn't want England to see him with glasses, but that would have been implausible seeing as he had gotten them yesterday. Instead, he opened the drawer of his desk and took up the glasses, unfolding them and placing them on his nose. America felt like fidgeting. He felt watched. Looking up, he saw England gazing at him with an intense look in his green eyes.

"They're horrible, I can see perfectly well without them!", America exclaimed, making to take them off, but England held out a hand, stopping him.

Never taking his eyes off America's face, he stood and reached out a hand to adjust the glasses on America's nose absentmindedly. His next words both shocked and pleased America.

"They suit you well. You look older, more... mature...", he seemed to be in a pensive mood and inside, America swore never again to take off those glasses, if England thought he looked good with them.

England's hand moved from his glasses to his cheek and America found himself the recipient of a rather unsettling gaze. "England?"

"...You don't look your age", England said distractedly, never moving his eyes from him, his hand still resting against America's face, making his heart race. America felt decidedly uncomfortable, not knowing what England was thinking, feeling, resting those green eyes on him. If only his eyes showed affection and attraction, for once.

"Well, I- I am eighteen and a half." He said, his voice wavering for a reason he knew not. "Already", he added.

England's eyes closed for a little longer than a normal blink. He seemed to be debating something.

"Already?", he pronounced softly.

There was a strange mood in the air, a certain awkwardness, a moment of waiting, of decision and opportunity.

The hand on his cheek moved a little in what America could have sworn was a caress. The feeling of those hands that he had been fantasising about just a moment ago when he was alone, nearly made him make a sound he should rather not be making in England's presence.

The hand was warm, calloused and so very arousing. A second longer and-

England's green eyes suddenly regained their focus and he was about to whip away his hand from America's face with a deeply embarrassed look on his face, when America shot out his own hand keeping England's against his face.

A moment of silence. "America...?" Questioning eyes met his own. And was that... hope?


No other words left him. There were none. He lightly squeezed the hand against his face. It was so close to his lips... the urge to touch it with his lips overcame him, to press a kiss on the rough palm. He had never done this before, but it would feel so right.

Tentatively, and always watching England's shocked face for displeasure and rejection, he slid their hands closer to his lips, hesitated, and then pressed England's palm against them.

England's eyes widened.

America's mind raced. What if England didn't like that? And what was he doing anyways? England couldn't want America like that...! He probably only saw him as his charge, as his younger brother... hadn't he said that, once upon a time? We'll be like brothers? And America could still remember his answer back then... Can I call you Bro, then? Can I call you Bro? Brother? Was this how brothers behaved? Brothers could never be lovers.

America's hand dropped from England's into his lap. The hand stayed. Green eyes were smiling at him uncertainly.

But they weren't brothers, were they? It was a term they had come up with, as a means to feel closer to each other in those early days, to have that feeling of belonging, of having someone to turn to in this big world. But they weren't brothers. Now, after all these years, they were close, they belonged, even if they weren't brothers. And maybe that was a good thing.

He tentatively smiled back, amazement washing through him like a spring flood. England was smiling at him, perhaps a little uncertainly, but he was smiling. And for once, it wasn't a brother's smile. This was different. This was new.


America was smiling at him with those blue eyes behind wire frames and England noticed it was a smile they had never shared before. It was as though it was more than the smiles they had given each other before. This was those and something else in addition. Could it mean- did he dare to believe?

No. He couldn't. He couldn't allow himself to dream, to take these inappropriate thoughts any further. The warm glowing feeling was squashed, resolve was hardened and America's eyes undid it all.

His eyes held a gleam, a spark of life, of passion, directed at him and only him. They seemed to challenge him to take action, to take the chance.

Strangled voice breaking out, he croaked a last, trembling question. "Do you know what you are asking?"

All those months of longing, of forbidden thoughts, desires unfulfilled and denied, passion building up and rising, rising, to unknown heights; where they might lead him, what they might make him do- did America know what he was getting himself into?

America met his smouldering gaze, matching it with his own, albeit a more innocent version of it.

"I do."

The fire in America's eyes had managed to set him aflame- heat unbearable and warmth alike coursed through him with increasing intensity.

England, uptight and restrained, was having difficulties with control- he couldn't! America was his charge, not someone to be exploited! But would it be exploiting? Didn't America's whole demeanour attest to the fact that he wanted England just as much? And hadn't he wanted this, all these months... hadn't he waited, because he didn't want to burden America with his feelings and now- now everything had changed! America, wonderful, joy-bringing, caring America wanted him!

England looked down at America, his colony. He had never noticed the "his" before. That little word that bound them together, that staked his claim... only now he wanted to stake his claim in a very different and much more physical way.

All thought was taken away when suddenly America's hand touched his knee and he was so close, he could smell his clean scent, could feel his presence, so close...!

His body acted on its own at first and when his mind caught up with him, England was standing dangerously close to America, his face tilted down to meet those sky-blue eyes in quiet question.


The answer would be yes and be forever yes, America thought faintly as England asked the unspoken question. He nodded and swallowed. This was it. England would really do it. His first kiss-

The passion on England's face transformed into cautious tenderness, as though knowing that it was the younger nation's first kiss. His eyes grew soft and America, suddenly nervous, blushed.

He felt England's fingers under his chin, applying a soft but sure pressure, tilting his face up. Then, a second hand joined the first, cradling his face on one side, while the other moved, no, slid and caressed its way behind his head, into his hair. He felt those fingers, those sinful, sinful fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck and then, the magical moment was there, coming as fast as lightning and as time slowed down, the moment, that moment- he saw those lips, slightly parted, green eyes closed, moving closer and he closed his own eyes and parted his lips in anticipation. And then feeling flooded him- not only the sensation of lips, those English lips on his, not only the pressure, the movement, the tenderness- it was all combined with the overwhelming, unbelievable knowledge that this was England, sarcastic, grumpy, strong, tender England, who was kissing him.

Trying to grasp the concept of kissing, America moved his lips the way England was moving his, slowly, deliberately, with a dedication he normally only showed his work. His response was a bit awkward, a bit uncoordinated, but England was still kissing him, so it must be okay. When England tightened his hold on his face, drawing him closer, applying more pressure, America lifted his arms and wound them loosely around England's back. A noise that England made in the back of his throat encouraged him to tighten his embrace and as he did so, he felt England move one of legs between his own, pressing their chests together as he continued to kiss America.

America gasped into England's mouth at the feeling and as a result, England increased the intensity of their kiss again. It was getting easier to keep up, America was tilting his head, giving better access, and as England's kisses grew slower and softer, America dared to push forward, take control for a few seconds and relish in the submission of the other before England gently regained control and softly ended their kiss. Their lips moved apart, but the feeling of the kiss lingered as they parted.

Silence reigned for a small moment. Then, England averted his eyes, fingers fiddling with his tie nervously.

"Did... did you like it?", England looked anywhere but at him, a dark blush staining his cheeks.

America was still dazed, but he did not understand England's uncertainty in the slightest- the kiss had been perfect!

"What are you talking about, England? That was awesome!"

England's head whipped up and he smiled so surprisingly sweet that America smiled back brightly. This was what liberation felt like.

He grinned, feeling as confident as he had never felt before and flashed England a thumbs up.

"Let's do it all over again!"


Reviews are more than welcome! Hope you enjoyed!