Author's Note: Written for sakuratsukikage at himitsu_santa on livejournal. Although it's not relevant to the plot itself for the most part, this fic takes place in the very late 40s or very early 50s. There are some cultural references to the time period, but that's it. This is so fluffy. Oh wow. As noted, it takes place VERY early (as in, about a year) into a new relationship between them.

Perfectly Imperfect

By Everything is Magic

America grinned to himself, padding barefoot into the hotel room with England trailing behind. The cool tile of the suite's floor felt wonderful under his feet, after trekking across the hot sand of the beachfront to reach the resort.

England followed him inside, slipping his shoes off by the door. The older of the two nations had wisely worn a pair of loafers down to the beach, unlike his barefoot boyfriend.

Boyfriend. America's heartbeat sped up at the thought. This was the first vacation they'd gone on together since becoming an established couple. Actual vacation, that was. They'd spent much time at each other's houses, and had certainly had time to indulge in touristing during world summits, but this was the first time they, just them alone, no work involved, had taken a vacation together.

Miami Beach wasn't exactly the most exotic of locations, but America didn't care, because it was still great, and he was here with England. Sharing a hotel room with England, and just being with him, no stress, just fun. And it was a pretty neat place, America puffed proudly as he shimmied a towel across his back. It hadn't become one of his most popular tourist spots in recent years for no reason! The cool blue of the Atlantic and the warm summer sun and the restaurants and the beachfront sports and--- yeah, awesome.

So why, on their second day here, and their first afternoon at the beach, did England look so damn grumpy? He was sitting on the bed now, his legs dangling over the edge, and a pensive frown on his face. They'd had an amazing dinner the evening before when they'd arrived, had sat together by the beach, bonfires nearby blazing, as night settled on Miami, and then they'd come back to the hotel and--- well, got down. He flushed in remembrance.

England hadn't stepped into the water, his swim trunks still completely dry, but he'd still appeared to be having fun under the large umbrella they'd rented. He and America had shared lunch and talked, and when America went to play in the clear blue sea water, England had buried his nose behind a book and well, he sure looked like he was enjoying it. Okay, so he was kind of scowling, but that was just… England.

America stood in front of him, having thrown the towel over the rack in the bathroom. "What's up?"

England blinked. "Sitting on our bed, as you can see." And his heart kind of leapt a little bit at our bed, because even though the suite had two beds, they were only using one.

America sighed. "Geez, England. I can see that. What do you take me for?" England merely raised an impressive eyebrow at this. "Okay, don't answer that." A flicker of a smile crossed the older nation's lips, before his previous expression returned. "I just mean… you usually kind of have this little frown going on, but right now? You're sulking."

"I am not sulking!"

America groaned. In truth, he'd kind of… wanted to have some late afternoon sex. It was just that England looked really, really awesome in his swim trunks and when he'd come back to the hotel room with him he'd realized that---

"It's not something in the news, is it?" He queried, sitting down on the bed next to England.

England frowned further. "It's not that. I'm not sulking. I'm perfectly dandy!"

America rested his hands on the bed, leaning back on them. "Well I'm glad it's not that, but England?" He turned his face to the other nation, blue eyes intent. "C'mon, you can tell me. A hero like me can solve any problem!"

A weird thought crossed America's mind, that maybe England just didn't like the idea of afternoon sex. The whole intimate aspect of their relationship was still new, and he was sure they'd never had sex at any time but night. It would be weird, to randomly be totally opposed to having sex at a certain time of day, but England was nothing if not a little bit eccentric.

And America had made a comment insinuating that he'd wanted to do just that on the way up to the hotel room. And well. Shit. That's exactly when England's mood had taken a turn for the worse. He slapped himself inwardly, but really, how the hell was he supposed to know about England's obscure preferences?

England lifted his head from between his hands and exhaled. "Idiot. Hero or not, you can't solve everything…"

America's lips formed into a thin line and his eyebrows furrowed. He reached for England's bare shoulders and looked him straight in the face. "You've got to let me try--- "

England pulled away, quick, and with a hiss of pain. "Ouch. Bloody fucking hell, America!"

The younger nation blinked, noticing how the places in which his hands had rested were just a little pink. "You're sunburned? But you stayed under the umbrella…"

"I played that round of beach volleyball with you, didn't I?"

America scratched his chin. "Yeah but that lasted about ten minutes."

England shrugged. "I know it's not that noticeable, the sunburn, but I assure you it hurts quite a lot. My complexion doesn't take well to this tropical sun…"

"Seriously England, tomorrow we are covering you in sunscreen from head to toe." America pushed himself off the bed and hopped over to his suitcase, snatching a bottle of lotion out of the top. "Turn around, okay?"

The other nation nodded and did so, facing the back wall of the room and resting his feet near the pillows. "I can do this myself, you know."

America plopped down behind him. "Nuh-uh. What about that space on everyone's back that no one can reach? You need a hero's touch."

England's face heated. "N-now, I've put lotion on myself perfectly fine for years I don't think that needs to change now."

But America's hands were on his back, rubbing the cool cream across his warm and aching skin. "I've done a lot of things by myself… that I'd rather do with you now."

He felt England stiffen at this, and no doubt, his blush intensify. "It's lotion, it's not---"

"I'm not hurting you am I?" America continued his gentle administrations.

"Not at all…"

"Ah good," he replied. "Then why are you so tense? Your shoulders are like rocks."

England sighed. "Well I'm sunburned."

"Tense because you're sunburned?" America frowned and pulled away for a moment. "England, we're on vacation together! You and me? Our first vacation as a couple." His blue eyes flitted away and his cheeks pinked. "Don't be a stick in the mud."

England reached up and rubbed his shoulder. "I'm quite all right, America. The heat just gets me a little irritable sometimes…"

America wondered if he should back off. One thing about being in a new relationship with England was that, even after over a year, he felt like he was still testing the waters. He liked teasing England, but how far was too far? He wanted to know what was going on England's life, but how much could he prod before England would get genuinely angry at him?

But they were on vacation together, and he had to get to the bottom of this! It would be the least awesome thing ever if they didn't have fun during their week at Miami Beach.

He gently clasped England's hand, which still rested on his shoulder. "England," his voice was quiet, soothing.

England turned his head slightly, so America could see half of his face. "America I'm---"

"Something is bugging you, isn't it?"

The older nation exhaled deeply. "Is it that obvious?"

America merely nodded.

England pulled his knees up, resting his arms atop them and dipping his head. "I'm trying to think of a delicate way to approach this subject…"

America's stomach clenched, because if that didn't sound like a lead in to 'America, you've done something terribly wrong,' he didn't know what did. "What subject?" America asked with a short nervous laugh.

England tilted his head up, arms still on top of his knees. His green eyes were pensive, concerned. "Am I… attractive to you?"

Well, that was blunt. America blinked, wondering what kind of bizarre question that was. He loved him, right? He made love to him, right? How could England ever question something like---

"It's just like this," England continued. America started back up, frozen, with a bottle of lotion in his hand. "We go to the beach, and it's lovely. But it's difficult not to notice the looks that you get, and I, well… don't."

America's jaw dropped. Wait, what? Yeah, when they'd sat under the umbrella together, he'd noticed girls looking at him but it's not like England---

"And it's not that I think I'm unpleasant, perhaps average, but not terrible." His cheeks were burning bright scarlet, hotter than the bright summer sunlight. "But someone like you, I sometimes wonder… why in the blazes would you want to have sex with--- "

"You think I'm that shallow?" And America sounded honestly hurt.

England gulped. "I-I don't think you're shallow about me at all, I was just wondering…"

England's words were cut off as America finally snapped out of his stupor and leapt forward, wrapping arms around his shoulders and pressing a firm, searing kiss to his lips. Instead of returning it though, England pushed him away, hands against America's shirtless chest. "None of that diverting things with kissing."

America pouted a bit, but nodded. "I just don't know what to say..."

"That's a first."

The pout turned into a frown, and his blue eyes were morose. "I mean to say, how could you think that, England?"

England looked down, as if ashamed. "You asked me what I was upset about. I simply answered."

America closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them and placing four fingers under England's chin. "What were you looking at when we were talking on the beach?"

England bit his lip. "Well, you of course…"

"Then how would you notice if girls were looking at you?" He shrugged. "And who cares, because I sure as hell was looking at you, and that's what matters, right?"

England's flush deepened again. "I-idiot. It's not that I care if some girls were looking at me, I honestly don't!"

America chuckled a bit at this. "You're not jealous that they were looking at--- "

"You're completely missing the point," he grumbled.

America moved his fingers up to England's hair, running them through it. "England…"

And there was something in his eyes, something genuine and loving and true and England was taken aback by it. It disarmed him completely. "I-I just can't believe that you'd even think… you're…" America leaned forward to kiss him, but paused at the last moment, a mere centimeter between them, and smirked. "You are so fucking hot."

England closed the gap, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "You sincerely think so?" He blinked, green eyes imploring, wide with amazement. "I—I really have not ever considered that someone would--- America, you-you…"

"I mean it England," he interrupted, "I mean it so damn much." His words fluttered breath against the skin of England's cheek, and England shuddered.

"You're not just saying that because we're…" He had turned around completely now, and America kept his hold, hand now cupped on the side of England's face.

"I honestly can't believe you ever…" He scratched the back of his head with his free hand. "I thought it couldn't be more obvious. A guy like you, not knowing that he's so uh, handsome?"

England rolled his eyes, and America was happy to see a bit of that spirit returning. "Not everyone can be as confident as you, Mr. Matinee Idol."

"Hey, I'm not---" He cut himself off. "Never mind."

"What were you…"

America's free hand was on the other side of England's face now. "D'you mind if I show you something?"

England frowned slightly. "What?"

America smiled, tentative. "I wanna show you… how I see you? I mean, and you should believe it, because if someone like me, a world superpower or whatever they're calling me these days, thinks so, then it's got to be true!"

England's green eyes grew wide. "I'm not quite sure what you mean. You're not going to do something idiotic, are you?"

America sighed. "England, trust me…"

"All right," he replied succinctly.

America shook his head in the affirmative, leaning forward and giving England a quick peck on the lips. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath of air, as if preparing for what he was about to do. He was preparing, because damned if he wasn't afraid England was going to find this cheesy or laugh at him or whatever. But he was going to do it anyway. He genuinely wanted to prove to England that he believed exactly what he said.

So where to even start? Top to bottom? Bottom to top? Random? Ah fuck, he'd just go wherever it led him.

He took England's hands, running his fingers along his palms and giving him a gentle smile. "I guess I'll start here. The more I think about this… the more stupid it's probably going to sound, but hear me out anyway?"

"What are you doing?"

America looked away for a second before speaking, "Your hands are actually one of the first things I remember about you!" He laughed a bit. "I mean back when I was really tiny… you picked me up or patted my head and…" America paused. "Geez, this is embarrassing. Anyway, they're still… really nice hands."

England chuckled lightly. "Nice hands?"

"Yeah." America clasped both of his hands around them. "And I think they… well I think they fit well in mine." They were also calloused, and the knuckles were a bit large, and his fingernails were overly short, although well manicured. But America thought, and maybe it was weird, he thought it gave them character. Truthfully, his own hands weren't much different. He liked that.

America pressed a kiss to both of England's hands, then shifted and pressed a kiss to his side, over a small smattering of pink scars, of varying levels of size, some more faded than others. "Now that is not exactly what anyone could call an attractive point," England said after a short intake of breath, once he realized what America had kissed.

America hummed. "It's completely badass. You were so damn tough during the Blitz. It's been what, ten years? Look how much they've already faded…" He ghosted his fingers over the scars. "You're amazing, England."

England smiled at this, genuine. "Well if you say so, I'm not going to disagree."

"You'd better not." America placed a few quick kisses on various parts of England's torso and chest, as if claiming them, as if assuring England that he adored every bit of them. And he did, down to his legs and a kiss on his slightly knobby knees, although England's legs were still strong. He was slender, not skinny. He resisted the urge to run his hand up England's swim trunks, instead pressing his lips above his waistline.

"England, England, England," he chanted, feeling his back and noting how he'd finally relaxed a bit. "What to say about England… except that he's totally hot."

America's cheeks were pink, and he assumed England's were the same. He glanced up to confirm it. Indeed, England's face was flushed delightfully. "I really like that." America pressed a finger to each cheek, teasingly.


"The way you get flustered," he replied. "It's… adorable."

England scoffed, but without much force behind it. "Now that is---"

"You're extremely cute, England," America interrupted.


"Anyway, now that I'm up here…" America ran a finger along the back of England's ear, eliciting a shudder, before resting his hand in England's sandy blonde hair. "I love this…"

England's hair was a mess, but perfectly so. America liked the way it stuck up at odd angles, no matter how much he brushed it, and how it was cut sort of choppily and the way it was really, really awesome for running his hands through.

"I can never get it to behave."

America kissed the top of his head. England twitched a bit, in surprise. "I did try to grow it out once. Didn't go so well."

He laughed into England's hair at this. "I'm glad. S'perfect as is."

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not! I'm serious about everything I've said," America argued, pulling his face away from England's hair and meeting his gaze.

His eyes really were perfect. Not perfect in their imperfection, but just…

Bright green and expressive and wide and… just so precisely England. "Can't exactly kiss your eyes but…"

England closed them, just for a moment, and America took advantage of the flutter of his eyelids to do exactly that.


England hmphed, and then sucked in a breath as America reached up one finger to touch an eyebrow. "Now you're just--- "

America was grinning, although his cheeks were still flushed. "I love these." He leaned forward, planting a quick kiss on each eyebrow. When he pulled away, England's face had never been brighter.

"Are you barmy?"

America shrugged. "No, I think today that's you." He paused. "Seriously, England. They're… I just really, really, really like them a lot."

England finally smiled at this, reaching forward and placing a hand on America's cheek. "For a git, you sure can be sweet."

America placed his hand over England's. "It's not me being sweet, England. It's just me telling the truth." He exhaled. "Don't think I'm just saying this to make you feel better. I mean all of it!"


"England." He pressed his body forward, wrapping his arms gently, as not to hurt his sunburned skin, around England's torso. His chin was rested on England's shoulder, his lips right beside his ear. "I think you're beautiful." America's voice was quiet; barely even a whisper, words meant for them alone.

England stiffened at this and caught his breath, the truest of smiles spreading across his face.

"And that's the best part," America proclaimed upon seeing England's smile. He lifted England's chin, cherishing the warmth of his expression.

England's eyes crinkled in the corners and he laughed, America joining him. And he simply couldn't help it, as he captured England's lips in another kiss, which was gladly returned.

America ran his hands down England's shoulders, unthinkingly grabbing onto the waistband of his swim trunks. The older nation pulled away from the kiss, a coy smile on his lips. "Was this all a ruse to get me into bed?"

America dropped his hands from England's waist. "No I uh--- that wasn't it at all. Shit…"

He chuckled again. "I jest, America. Would I be smiling if I thought that was the case?"

"Oh well… no…" He paused. "But I wouldn't mind it. I mean it's totally okay if you hate doing this in the afternoon or whatever."

England's brow crinkled at that. "What do you mean?"

America bit his lip and looked away, rubbing the back of his head. "Getting it on in the afternoon. I mean I figured we might not know all of each other's preferences?"

"I am perfectly all right with 'getting it on' in the afternoon," England replied, still bewildered.

"Oh. Well, awesome!" America beamed.

"You are a strange one." England looped his arms around America's shoulders. "My strange, but ridiculously attractive America."

America's smile, if possible, grew. "You think I'm sexy?"

"Of course I bloody think you're sexy. What do you take me for, mad?" England replied, his cheeks having bloomed scarlet. "I thought you knew that."

America's hands went back down to England's waist band, and he planted a line of kisses down his chest, stopping at his navel. "Well I thought you knew what I thought."

"It's not as if you aren't confident in your looks!" England squirmed a bit at America's touch, snatching the glasses from America's face and placing them on the bedside table.

"Mmmm," America hummed, reaching over with one hand to grab the forgotten bottle of lotion. "But it means the most coming from you."

"O-oh well." England coughed.

"I better finish putting this lotion on you before we start, now that I think about it…" He pulled his remaining hand away from England's waistband again.

"That can wait."

America chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "You would object to me rubbing my hands all over your body?"

England smirked, flicking Nantucket as he did so. "Well, when you put it that way…"

America opened the lotion bottle and winked. "We're on vacation. I'm going to make sure that everything we do is as fun as possible, curing sunburns included."