A little piece of fluff. I'm back for now, and not to stay, but here's a little something to remember me by. Enjoy~!


It was rare that England ever fell asleep before him, but in this instance, he had. In the dark room, America observed his lover. He was strong and solid, and America couldn't have been happier to have him.
He sighed, moving a little closer, even though England's arms were already wrapped around him.
The blankets felt wonderful and he was comfortably warm, so he should have been able to sleep. But there was something holding him back. England had been distant lately, gruffer than usual. Though his usual personality was a bit standoffish in the first place, it was just...different. And it upset America more than he wanted to admit. Staring at Arthur's sleeping face, he looked so relaxed. Mouth opened slightly and smelling like old books and tea and everything that wasn't Alfred but was at the same time everything he wanted and needed. He gently traced his rosy lips with a small fingertip, around his eyes, and had just gotten up to his hair when a hand grabbed his wrist.

"America, you bloody git, what are you doing at," He craned his neck awkwardly to look at the clock, "2:45 in the morning?" The look on his face was one of loneliness. People always could tell when he was lonely. He hated it, but they always said it was something in his eyes, that just couldn't be explained. He hoped Arthur wouldn't say anything about it. Alfred frowned at the use of his country's name.

"Nothing, Arthur, I'm sorry. Just go back to bed." Well that was certainly unlike the American. Arthur gave him a pensive look, before realization seemed to dawn on him.

"Come on."

He sat up slowly, dislodging America from his grip, only to get up fully and drag him downstairs to the kitchen.
"Arthur, what-"

"Shh, Alfred." The look England gave him was surprisingly tender so he let himself be quiet and felt England wrap strong arms around him. He sighed in content. This was what he missed, this caring contact and warmth that bubbled up from his insides to sprinkle through him like fairy dust. America rubbed at his eyes with heavy fists, yawning into his hand, feeling tired enough to want to sleep but still restless enough to know he wouldn't be getting any.
Next thing he knew, England's lips were firmly on his own, gently massaging and coaxing until his mouth was slack and relaxed. Only then did he pull away. America swayed into his chest.
England chuckled at him and sat him down in a kitchen chair. Devoid of his love's warmth he wrapped his arms around himself and shivered.
England grabbed some milk, a glass, and a pot. He poured the milk into the pot and turned the stove on. America found himself admiring the sheer domesticity of that moment, and he grinned quietly to himself, enjoying for some reason watching England bustle around. England poured the warmed milk into the small clear glass, turned the stove off, then led America to the couch in the living room. The cushions sank perfectly beneath him and he pulled Alfred down onto his lap. He maneuvered him so that he leaned against the arm of the couch, but at the same time against Arthur's own strong arm, making him lean back like he had when America was young. America blushed, but snuggled a bit closer, nuzzling his nose into England's shoulder slowly. England smiled.

"Here, Alfred, drink this." America was just glad it wasn't tea. He held the glass firmly in two hands because he was tired enough to spill otherwise, and England smiled at his cuteness. He took a tentative sip and sighed appreciatively, beginning to drink more. With every swallow, his eyes were getting heavier and his body felt lighter. He felt as if he could float away, but England wrapped an arm around his waist and rubbed his stomach gently. Warmth spread through him and his eyes drooped, slowly falling to half-mast. England supported all of his weight and rubbed hands soothingly through his hair and over his back and shoulders. The only sounds in the house were that of the soft rustle of clothes against skin and fabric, their light breathing, some crickets, and the occasional noise from the house itself. He took the glass from America's tipping hands, and placed it on the coffee table. He could clean it up in the morning. He turned America so he could pick him up. America wrapped his arms around England's neck and his legs around his waist, burying his face into England's neck, mostly asleep, being carried like a child. He couldn't bring himself to complain. Before he knew it, he was being set down and wrapped up in warm arms and warmer blankets. Coddled and cuddled and snuggled, England wrapped himself around America, and America loved it, all deliciously warm and fuzzy and sleepysoft around the edges. America sighed quietly, letting his eyes shut a little more.

"Moron. Next time tell me when something's bothering you." His voice was so endearing America didn't bother to try to say anything about the moron comment. He just breathed into England's mouth as the man's lips descended slowly onto his own. There were no tongues, just sweet mouths in even, timed strokes. His eyes slipped lower and lower, until they rested against pleasantly pinked skin, his breathing deepening until he was fully asleep, and he could still feel England's kisses in his dreams.