Title: translations provide
Summary: Because 'you're a twat' and 'I love you' are completely synonymous, at least according to America anyway.
Length: 2,051
Pairing: America/England. (Do I write anything else?)
Author: nippiP
A/N: 'Pas de deux 2' is getting BETA'd. So I give you a distraction!

Also, also, this is Un-BETA'd so please forgive any mistakes xD

"You have got to be kidding me," England drawled – eyeing the overzealous idiot who had just burst into his office with the general air of one long suffering.

"Nope," exclaimed the other, popping the 'P' and inviting himself into the office, settling quite comfortably on England's desk and squashing a sizable amount of paperwork, "I'm here to rescue you!"

"Uh-huh." England replied, humouring him as he filled out another report – twitching as America began to go through his earlier work.

"It's a Friday Iggy and yet here you are, sat inside doing paperwork." He pouted at the injustice of it all, "you're so boring." He insisted with a sigh.

"If being boring makes me a responsible and well rounded adult then call me Captain Dull." The elder nation retorted, biting down the urge to slap America's hands off his pristine forms.

"Oh I know they used to call you Captain something~" America sang and England choked on thin air, glaring up at the surprisingly close face of his former colony.

"I'm not going out drinking with you, or driving or hunting or whatever other silly plans you had in mind."

"Hunting?" America laughed, it was a pleasant sound England noted, one that he hadn't heard in a while, "honestly Iggy I was only going to suggest going out – y'know the world outside work, that magical thing called fun you've only heard about."

"I can have fun America." He insisted dryly. Judging from the languid smirk on the younger nation's face he didn't really believe him.

"Sewing doesn't count Arthur." Had it not been for the addition of his human name England would have very well resorted to a verbal bitch-slap, but as it were his brain had currently flown out the window.

"…you're a little close." He mumbled the room now unusually warm – he had told France to stop messing with the air-con.

There was a beat then America moved back, sighing in a way that made his heart ache if he thought on it too much. Then everything was oddly cold as America repositioned himself on the perch of his desk and England struggled to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat.

This…this had never happened before between them, the heavy feeling in the air – England knew it well, which is why it terrified him to think on it for too long.

"Is there-" he voice was raw on his first try, his train of thought all clogged together so the words didn't make sense. America's teasing nature had gone now and England, for the first time ever, strongly desired it back.

He cleared his throat, "is there something you wanted America?"

A pout made its way back onto the boys face, the devious twinkle back in those blue eyes.

"America? So formal Artie, try Alfred." He was being goaded, England could see it on the blasted American's face – saying that name would be admitting that the brat had control over the situation, Arthur was not having that.

"How about wanker? Sodding git? Twat? I have more."

"Arthur's so cruel to me," he bemoaned, ruining the effect by laughing – "but I can speak your lingo now."

"…finally learnt how to spell colour correctly?"

"No!" America retorted so vehemently you would have thought England had asked if he'd nuked McDonalds, "I mean I know what you're saying now."

"Of course you know what I'm saying you prat! We both speak English! Well, I do anyway." America rolled his eyes, a light smirk still in place on his lips – the look he levelled England with made him suck in a light breath.

"I know Arthur; I get your silly double meanings."

"What double meanings," England whispered, curious to know when America had the chance to re-invade his personal space.

"Like when I invited you out earlier, you said you had plans-" he gestured lazily with one hand to the pile of paper work littering the desk, "that translates to 'I'm being stubborn, I actually want to go out with you and be ravished and have fun but I'm going to sulk alone so I can feel justified in my misery.'" America finished smugly, England blinked.

"…you're a twat." He finally managed. America's face brightened more with that and Arthur began to worry about the boy's mental health.

"Ah, the famous English expression for 'you're sexy, you can stop my paper work any day,' a classic~" America was now far too close, his arms had somehow manage to cage the unsuspecting Englishman in his chair and Arthur was doing his damnedest not to panic.

"…have you been talking to France by any chance?" England mused, feigning nonchalance when inside his stomach was performing a rendition of Swan Lake.

"Hmm, this translation could be a little bit rusty but by bringing up an ex-" England nearly swallowed his tongue, "I think you're trying to say 'get jealous and make a move you gorgeous American darling.' Correct me if I'm wrong." The smile on America's face should have been made illegal.

England wanted to correct him, oh he wanted to but he was a bit busy trying to remember how to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide at that moment so just sat and gawped at him.

"You're drunk." He finally uttered, staring at him as one would stare if a three legged giraffe galloped through their living room.

"No, I'm tipsy. There is a difference Arthur, not all of us get wasted after one glass." England scowled at him, moving to grab the paper work the oaf was squashing and try to continue.

"You have been hanging around with France." He grumbled, trying not to notice that Alfred – since when had he started calling him that again? – was very nearly in his lap by this point, "he was also good at distracting me."

"Ah but I bet you'd never let France get this close you~" England really did stop breathing this time, turning to muster his most frustrated glare but failing miserably.

"You are drunk." It was supposed to sound exasperated, it came out as more of a whine.

"Mm, and so what's your excuse?"

"E-excuse? Excuse for what?!" He spluttered, daring to look into those blue eyes.

"For letting me do this," he muttered. Now, England knew there were several ways to respond to a 'for what' question – leaning in and kissing someone with a cryptic look on your face was not one of them, at least in his nation anyway.

It took Arthur a few seconds to realize exactly what was happening, a few seconds more for him to turn redder than Spain's tomatoes and by the time he'd pieced all of those wayward emotions together America had pulled back.

He blinked up at the nation, who was still very close and mumbled, "oh."

America's eyebrow quirked up, a funny little smile on his face and a light dusting of pink across his cheeks – "now…that either means 'you have exactly three seconds to live' or 'keep doing that, especially with less clothing involved' – care to help me out?"

England ignored the question, "…you're a twat." He said evenly. America's face fell to somewhere near Australia, Arthur's heart along with it.

"Oh," he pulled back sharply, a stupid grin slammed back into place, "sorry I must have misinterpreted, I'll just be over-" England grabbed him by his tie, pulling him straight back down to eye level.

For once America was at a loss for words.

"You're a bloody twat America, Alfred – whatever the hell your stupid name is. Translate this." And with that England wrapped his hand around the back of that dense, ridiculous nation's neck and brought him close again.

He could have really put it in far more eloquent terms, what with being renowned for his gentlemanly ways and fine literature but quite frankly he was a tad too involved with the fact that America was now proceeding to kiss the living daylights out of him – apparently giving the boy the green light had opened up a flood gate.

England was pretty sure that these things were supposed to go slower, no – he knew these things were supposed to go slower. That the first little kisses between couples were meant to be a tender, awkward and jerking moment – but America had just dragged himself into his chair and sent the paper work flying as he did something wonderful with his tongue so Arthur really couldn't care at that point.

Here was where the first meaningful pause came in, except it wasn't really a pause – more like a necessary interval for air. However, American's apparently have the ability to convert saliva into oxygen so Alfred made an irritated noise in the back of his throat and jerked him back for another kiss.

"Mmph," England mumbled against his lips.

"Huh?"

"That was English for 'I can't breathe you tosser!'" Arthur snarled, shoving him backward and taking a large gulp of air, ignoring the smug look the other now had on his features. "Oh shut up," he grumbled, knowing he probably looked ridiculous with ruffled hair and beat red skin.

"Kay." Alfred agreed, pulling him up for another kiss – England grunted slightly from the pain of the angle but America solved that problem easily with swift ease.

"Ow," he grumbled as his back hit the table, pulling the pen he'd been using out from under his spine, "that hurt you little-" apparently talking time was over. England should have been annoyed at this but America was a surprisingly good kisser so a small noise of complaint that turned into a moan was all he managed.

"Heh, was that English for-"

"You talk too much," Arthur interjected. Flipping the unawares nation so they tumbled, paper work spraying through the air, onto the floor – America laughing the whole time.

He didn't have to listen to it for long though, as soon as they hit the ground Alfred tangled his hands through his hair and pulled him down and kissed him lightly on the corner of his mouth, then trailing fragile kisses along his neck.

"Ame-" said nation bit down on a highly sensitive spot that only a handful of people knew about, Arthur would have been frantic about how he found out if he had not been turning into jelly.

"Hm?" America mumbled as he continued to kiss in exactly the right places, "not my name."

"Al-Alfred," their was a hum of pleasure, "we're in the middle of my office."

Wicked blue eyes stared up at him, "And?" The brat made a convincing point, backing it up by returning to that exact spot and sucking lightly on it.

The sudden assault on his senses caused an involuntary moan to slip past his lips; he could feel the American's sinful grin against his neck as the attack continued. "And – So…we can't…" and then he trailed off, forgetting exactly why he was opposed to this in the first place.

"Just kiss me Arthur." And so he did, a lot.

Later - much later, several laters later, a ruined office later - a thought struck Arthur as he idly ran his hands through Alfred's blond hair.

"How did you know, Ame- Alfred," that would take some getting used to, "how did you know I would kiss back?"

"Mmm?" Hummed the American, nestling his head into the crook of Arthur's neck and practically purring in contentment, "I didn't."

England blinked.

"You didn't?" He repeated, slightly stunned but mostly endeared, "but I thought you could speak Brit fluently." America shoved him sluggishly, the laughter sending odd, but not unpleasant, tremors through them both.

"A little liquid courage goes a long way." Alfred mumbled, obviously he could feel the sceptic glare through his thick skull because he continued, "that and talking to France."

England shoved him, "prat."

"Is that English for 'you're dashing and witty hunk of-'" England pressed his lips to America's forehead and then as Alfred looked up, repeated the gesture on his lips, a fond smile gracing his features.

"Oh," Alfred mumbled, an idiotic grin stretching across his entire face before leaning up and kissing Arthur back.

"Is that American for, you're a sentimental idiot?"

"Nah, that's 'I love you to'."

A/N: …and that is the only fluff I'll ever write, ever. xD