A USUK LEMON – Fourth of July Special – Firework's Kiss
[Enjoy, and Happy Fourth of July to all! Even if you aren't an American, have a nice day!]
Even though it is my strongest memory, I choose to forget it. I can't bear the pain that it brings me every time it surfaces. It is one type of moment in history that is hard for many people of our kind to forget:
"Hey, England!" America glomped England from behind, forcing him to stumble.
"A-America! What are you doing?" England asked, surprised by the sudden contact. America handed him an envelope over his shoulder.
"What's this?" England took the envelope and began opening it, when America stopped him.
"Hey: Read it when you get back to your house!" America said brightly.
"But I am in my house, you git! You showed up all of a sudden!" England exclaimed.
"Oh." America sounded a little disappointed to hear of his whereabouts. "I wanted it to be a surprise for you, but I guess that I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anyways, let's have a seat and let you see it." America motioned to the seat's in England's living room.
"Making yourself right at home, aren't you?" England muttered. England sat down anyways, and opened up the envelope.
To find a homemade pop-up gift card that sang to you. It relayed this message:
"Hey! You! Yeah, you there! You're a lucky person today! Know why? Because
YOU'RE INVITED TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY!
And not just ANY party. Nope! It's
You're expected to show up to my celebration on the Fourth of July at 5 P.M. EST at my house in Washington, D.C. You are expected to show up with a LOT of presents! Everyone is coming
So if you don't show up, you'll look like an idiot!
England vowed that he would set a curse on all cards like this, making them burn every time they were made.
"How do you like it?" America asked. England rolled his eyes.
"I hate your taste in invitations," England said blandly.
"But are you coming?" America asked eagerly. He widened his eyes in anticipation for an answer, which England found odd. If America wanted you to come over for a party, you were going over whether you wanted to or not.
So why did he look like he was begging?
"Fine, I'll come over," he said finally. America sighed with relief.
"Yay," he cried, back to his usual self. "Ok, see you on the 4th!" With that, he ran out the door and into the rainy street, catching a cab.
I was shocked at how much you had grown since I last saw you a few years ago. You are a fully-fledged man now, and I had missed out on years we could've spent together. I never was able to teach you anything; you did it all on your own. Was it me, who robbed myself of a brotherly relationship, neglecting the one I adopted to take care of, or you, born in a harsh land and forcing yourself to take care of yourself?
It was you.
"England, why are you forcing me to pay such high prices on all these teabags? It's ridiculous," he said.
"I told you, I'm in financial troubles after fighting that French bastard, and I can't get any other sources of income."
"After you fought France? After YOU fought France? You didn't do bull! I did all the work!" America shouted at England. England had no retort to reply to America's statement.
"You used me, England!"
England opened his mouth, wanting to prove himself wrong, but no sound came out. Only a heavy pain was felt in his chest, the pain of truth and guilt.
He didn't want to hear his painful words anymore.
"I don't think I want to be your little brother anymore."
We threw ourselves into a long war. I was in denial the entire time, and he was trying to get me to accept the fact that he didn't need me anymore. Then, THAT day came...
England charged at America, the bayonet ready to pierce America's coat and flesh. America blocked with his musket, the side now engraved with a long gash embedded in the wood. The gun went soaring through the air. England primed the weapon.
"A-Aim!" the commander behind America commanded.
England lowered his gun.
"I-I can't shoot you. It's impossible." He threw the musket down into the muddy ground, the raid steadily drizzling.
"Damn it. Damn it all. Why?" England pleaded, on his knees, his face buried in his hands.
A flashback went through both of their minds: A time when there were no fights, when the elder brother watched over the younger. A time of peace, and joy.
"You were so great, England," America said sadly. "Where did you go?"
America and his group of men turned their backs to leave.
England woke up on the couch, a book covering his face.
"Oh dear. It appears that I have fallen asleep," he said to himself.
But, what is this new feeling I have now?
Morning came, England's shaggy hair in his eyes, obscuring his view of his room. He brushed the unkempt locks out of his face, and sat up.
"God, I was having a weird dream last night," he said out-loud. "What was with it and America in a bunny girl suit...not to mention everything else."
England walked to his kitchen and warmed up some tea. He opened up a package of Jammy Dodgers and took out one of the cookies. He stared at it for a bit...
"Back, ye Daleks! This is a TARDIS self-distruct! Back, I tell you!
'TARDIS self-destruct device non-existent!'
Alright, it's a Jammy Dodger, but I was promised tea!" England started laughing at the little bit of British literature he recently recited, and bit into the Jammy Dodger.
"Well, I guess I better go out and look for America's birthday present..."
England walked down the street to buy a present for America, when he saw said American walking down the street.
"America!" England shouted, running up to him." What are you doing here in my country?"
"I don't know. I just felt like getting out of my house, and I was here anyways, so I though, 'Why not?'"
England looked at him. This is definitely not normal America behavior.
"Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-" England stammered. He couldn't get the words out of his mouth.
"England, what are you trying to say?" America questioned, noticing people looking at them as they walked passed.
"Wh-wh-wh-wh-Would you like to have lunch with me?" England felt a little lightheaded after saying that. America stared at him.
"Of course! Why wouldn't I go for lunch with you?" America said. England felt a breath of relief.
"Really? You mean it?" England said.
He's got a cute side sometimes...
"Thank you," England said, feeling a little heat coming off of his face.
"Mr. England, your tsundere is showing." Japan was hiding in the bushes they were walking pass, a camera in his hand. England an America both turned sharply, startled at the sudden appearance by Kiku Honda.
"Japan? What are you doing here?" England exclaimed.
"Smile for the camera," Japan said, and America broke out into a wide grin. Japan looked at the screen of the digital, disappointed.
"Hmm, I was expecting a little more. Sayonara." Japan disappeared into the foliage.
"What the Hell was that?" England questioned. "Anyways. Let's just go to this little place I know...
The 'little place' in question was Gordon Ramsay's 'F Word' restaurant.
"I have no idea what any of this food is, except for that," America said, pointing at the beef stew.
"Then just order that, if you want," England replied, reading over the menu.
"Is this place high-class?" America asked, looking around at the 'modern' décor.
"I...guess? All I know is that they have good, and that sometimes it's hard to get in when they're filming for his show," England mumbled.
"Wait, 'his' show? Who's show?"
"Gordon Ramsay's. I told you who owned this place when we came in three minutes ago..."
"Oh, I know that guy! He has a show on American TV called's 'Hell's Kitchen'! And another called 'Kitchen Nightmares'!
But I don't watch them," America added as a side note.
"Didn't think you would," England muttered under his breath.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT! WE CAN'T SERVE THIS PILE OF SHIT TO THE CUSTOMERS!"
"Who's that?" America asked. England sighed.
"Is he always like this?"
"No. This is him being nice."
America stared at England.
"You're kidding, right?"
Ramsay came out of the kitchen, apparently pushing one of the cooks towards the front door.
"DON'T SET FOOT IN MY KITCHEN EVER AGAIN. I DON'T WANT YOU COOKING THIS SHIT IN MY KITCHEN!"
"Looks like they're filming another episode..." England said nonchalantly.
"Did he cook bad food?" America asked.
"Who do you think has worse food: that guy, or you?"
England looked up at America, an obviously pissed off look on his face.
"The is absolutely nothing wrong with my cooking!" he protested.
"Then why did the Pictonians try to convert us after the bon dancing?" America questioned.
"They...They..." England couldn't come up with a good comeback.
"I'm just kidding. Your cooking's ok. Just...burnt?" America attempted to cheer England up a little.
A man came walking up to their table.
"Are you Mr. Kirkland?" the man said. He looked a little intimidating.
"Yes, I am, sir."
"I'm Mr. Ramsay. Would you like to star on my show when we do my recipes versus other celebrities?"
"Um, sure..." England hesitantly followed Gordon Ramsay to the kitchen, where he put on a pink apron. America stood at the edge of the kitchen, watching.
"Alright, this episode, we have the one and only man of this country, Arthur Kirkland, in the kitchen to see who can cook the best scones," Gordon said to the cameras. England's face went pale.
"You'll do good, Arthur," America whispered to him from the edge of the room. England nodded.
He said that so affectionately... Heat radiated from England's cheeks, but whether that was from America's words or the heat of the ovens is unknown.
The minutes passed by. Batter was mixed together, aroma from other foods drifting by. They both finally got their scones into the oven. England walked over to America.
"Oh god, I'm going to lose," he muttered.
"No you won't. I have confidence in you," America said gently. England sighed.
It's like you're trying to make me fall for you. Which I am.
"Cor, bloody Hell, what the fuck is that smell?" Ramsay said. Smoke was coming out of one of the ovens.
Out of England's oven.
"Shit..." England ran over to the oven, shut it off, and pulled out the smoking charred pastries. He dumped them all out on a plate. Gordon gave England a weird look. A few minutes later, Gordon's blueberry scones came out of the oven, perfectly cooked.
"Jean Baptiste, take these to the guests," Ramsay commanded.
The guests in question were visiting Pictonians. England hid his face from view.
Gordon's scones were tasted first. Good criticism followed.
England's scones were tasted next. The Pictos looked at each other.
Jean Baptiste took their dishes back to the kitchen to be cleaned, then reported to Gordon and England.
"So, what are the results? Was it a close pick?" Ramsay asked.
"Not even. They all voted for you, Mr. Ramsay."
"Good. Now get the fuck out of my kitchen," Gordon said to England, who solemnly walked out of the restaurant. America accompanied him.
"Hey, cheer up, England! Just because you lost a cooking 'competition' doesn't mean it's the end of the world again!" America said cheerfully, back to his old self.
"Besides," he added. "You have my party to look forward to tomorrow. See ya at the party tomorrow!"
England was walking down the street that America lived on, the majority of the houses having American flags posted either on their porches or their mailboxes. One of his magical friends, a pixie that looked rather close to Tinkerbell, was accompanying him.
"Do I have everything for tonight?" England asked the pixie.
"Spare clothes in case they get dirty?" the pixie squeaked.
"Of course, I'm a gentleman. Why wouldn't I?"
"America's birthday present?" Shock washed over England as he realized what he forgot.
"Oh damn. I don't have anything...what am I going to do?"
"Don't sweat it. Now, I need to ask you if you have the most important thing of all, but this might get a bit awkward..." the pixie said.
The pixie drew in breath.
"Do you have a ***** *****?"
England stared at her, a prominent blush across his face.
"Nnnnnnno, not yet..."
England made it to the porch of America's house and looked around. The neighborhood was rather quiet, no cars parked in front of the house, or noise coming from the house itself.
Am I early? Or am I really late? No, that's impossible, he told me to come at 5 P.M. EST...right? England thought to himself. He rang the doorbell, wondering what would happen.
Arthur was surprised to find Alfred dressed nicely, a rose in the breast pocket of the tux he was wearing.
The one that England had given him so many years ago.
"Hey," America said, a smile in his eyes.
"Hey..." England said sadly. America looked concerned.
"Oh, nothing. It's just that...I remember that suit from a long time ago."
"Yeah. It resurfaced...certain memories for me as well. Anyways, come in. You're right on time."
"But, if I'm right on time," England asked. "Then why am I the only one here at the moment? Didn't you say you were inviting everybody?"
America looked at England.
Those thoughts that England had been having about America the past two days kept popping up the past few hours. For starters, America had made authentic Shepard's pie for the both of them, which really touched England's heart. And then England noticed what was on the mantle of the fireplace.
"You...still keep this old thing?" England asked softly. It was the soldier figurine set that he had handmade for America when he was younger.
"Yeah. I haven't been able to touch my old storage room for about 236 years. Eventually, you just leave the stuff alone to gather dust, never touching it despite how much you may hate it, or whether it has any bad ties..."
"I guess we're all like that. Every single country. I probably still have some relics from my pirate days that I haven't seen for so many years... Why do we do this?"
"Maybe because we all forget a lot, and we just need stuff to remember."
"You sound like an old man, America. You're worse than me." America chuckled.
"Well, I guess I'm just getting sentimental. Anyways, let's go outside. The neighbors are going to start fireworks at any moment now.
It was dark, late in the night. Fireworks around the neighborhood were being set off one by one. America and England were sitting on the back porch, watching the neighbors across the lake behind the house set fireworks off one by one. Showers of blue, red, and white exploded in the night.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" America said to England.
"Yeah. I guess that's one good thing about Americans, isn't it? Sure, you guys may be flashy, but if it's done the right way, it looks good..." England's voice trailed off as he noticed America staring at him.
"What? What are you looking at?" England leaned back as America leaned forward towards him, until England was pinned against the railing of the stairs they were sitting on. England waited in anticipation of what would happen next...
Then America laughed, and pulled back.
"What, were you expecting me to do something?" America said, looking at England's deep blush.
"I guess from your expression that you were," he mumbled.
"England?" America asked.
"If I give a confession, will you give a confession?" England's face flared up once more.
Confession? Wait, does he think I like him? That's impossible, I wouldn't like my former younger brother, and I haven't even had romantic thoughts...
Then, what were those dreams?
"Hey, England," America started. "For about a week, I've sort of been noticing you a little more...just what you do everyday, how you act, how bushy your eyebrows are..."
"...And when I realized how close my birthday was, I started remembering when were were together, when I was your little brother, and how much I actually miss those times when we were carefree and happy. But, now that I'm older, it's not that I just want to be friends and your younger brother, it's that I actually want to be your..." America noticed England was tearing up now.
"I'm just so confused," England muttered. "I can't tell if I like you as a friend, or like you as someone to love..."
America blinked at him.
"Arthur, look at me."
Arthur turned his head to be staring into Alfred's blue eyes. Alfred took Arthur's face in his, caressing it with he touch.
"I love you, Arthur."
Alfred pulled Arthur into a loving kiss, fireworks in the background.
"Think you know now?" Arthur nodded, then pulled Alfred into another kiss.
In one quick movement, Alfred had slung Arthur over his shoulder, the latter surprised. He carried him upstairs to his bedroom, where he gently pressed him down against the bed. Tongue invaded Arthur's mouth, who caught a faint taste of hamburgers and other American foods. Alfred felt as Arthur grew beneath him.
"Already? We haven't even gotten started," Alfred mumbled as he drove his tongue into Arthur's mouth once more, undoing his pants in the process. He rubbed the bulge in Arthur's underpants, making him whimper.
"You like that?" Alfred was unbuttoning Arthur's dress shirt, playing with his nipple. Arthur whimpered once more, almost making him sound like he was begging. Arthur's pants were down near his ankles, Alfred's hands down near his vital regions. His hand's reached into Arthur's boxers, playing with his erect member, precum at the tip. Alfred pulled down his own pants, rubbing Florida with Big Ben, Arthur moaning at contact. Alfred pulled Arthur's dress shirt all the way down, revealing his pale collarbone. He left a trail of butterfly kisses up and down Arthur, listening to his breathing at each touch. Alfred bit down on his skin when he heard a sharp gasp escape Arthur's lips, him now pressed down against the bed. America pulled off him, a large hickey left close to his neck.
"Now you're American soil, Arthur. Spread those legs for me..." Arthur obeyed, guessing at what was coming, knowing when he felt him being teased by Alfred's teeth, his tongue placing a small amount of pressure to pleasure him. Arthur closed his mouth to hide the moans riding on his breath, but Alfred kissed him, the small noises escaping. A small strand of saliva connecting theirs lips, Alfred pressed three of his fingers against Arthur's lips.
"Think you can hold on a little longer?" Arthur nodded.
"Suck," Alfred asked, Arthur now gently sucking on Alfred's fingers. He pulled them out of his mouth, and flipped over Arthur, who was now bent over, clinging onto the sheets. Alfred plunged his fingers into Arthur, lubricating his insides.
"I'm going to put it in now, ok?" Alfred said to Arthur, who nodded. Alfred positioned himself over the Brit, then thrusted in. Arthur, gasped sharply, tightening his grip on the sheets. Alfred began thrusting in and out, pounding a particular part of Arthur repeatedly. He gripped Arthur's member, feeling the tension of it being forced not to release. Alfred leaned further over Arthur and kissed the back of his ear, resting his head in the crook of Arthur's neck.
"Just a little longer," Alfred whispered. But Arthur couldn't take it anymore, and released into Alfred's hand. Alfred released seconds later, and they both collapsed down onto the bed, tired from the night's activities.
"Happy Birthday, Alfred," Arthur whispered, and locked lips with Alfred once more.
[And that's it. Hope you liked it :3 I wanted to write 'Fin' at the end, but I know that I'd get murdered by a certain sexy Brit...]
[And yes, I watch Doctor Who and Top Gear... I just got an idea for Jack Harkness x Tenth Doctor :D]