Eyes cast lovingly at the quaint little home as he stepped up the hollow steps to the patio. He could hear his footsteps radiating through the wood with light thunks, and he reached under the hardly legible Welcome mat. It was so worn down from the many years of company wiping their feet. Arthur wondered if he should get the American a new one for his birthday. Opening the door and taking it's drawn out creak as a welcome, he breathed in the smell of dirt, fresh air, wheat, and barbeque that was so unique to these parts. Gently he closed the noisy door again and walked to the small living room. He looked at all the pictures on the wall: Some of the chap that looked like America, some of France or himself or Lithuania or Japan. He noted this as probably the homiest of America's homes. He sat himself down on the couch and waited while reading the Stephen King book that was tucked underneath his arm.

Not long after, heavy, hollow thuds rang through the house and England looked up. He smiled as the long welcome was heard, and more unorganized thuds rang out. A 'phew' was heard, and so was the repeated creak, and a door slam. England set his book aside, and looked up when America entered the room in a halfway unbuttoned, slightly wrinkled, and brown spotted white shirt and cowhide brown vest draping from his shoulders and down his torso. He wore blue jeans and chaps, and now walked silently since his heavy boots had been disposed of by the door. England remained silent as America flicked his Stetson back and walked into the kitchen, the Brit wondered how America hadn't noticed him sitting on the couch watching him.

America came back out with a glass full of water and he jumped when he saw someone sitting on the couch. He sighed in relief when it was only England, "Howdy!" he called and walked over. He set the glass on the side table and England stood to wrap his thin arms around America's neck. America held onto his waist and smiled, looking his eyes, "What're y'doin' in these parts, baby?" he asked, and England smiled at the accent. He was so cute.

"Visiting you, what else?" the Brit leaned up and placed a light kiss on the cowboy's lips, "I can't surprise my boyfriend anymore?"

Smiling a lazy smile, America shook his head, "'Course ya can, darlin'. Ah was jus' curious is all," he returned England's kiss and brought his hands up his sides, making the shirt wrinkle with it.

"You look so cute in your little cowboy outfit," England cooed as he took America's hat from around his neck and set it atop his own.

The younger boy blushed, "Ah shucks, Arthur," he said, his accent drawing out every word as if it were a secret. Every syllable hung in the air as he continued, "Y'look so nice in that hat. Ya'know a cowboy ain't a cowboy without his hat?"

"Is that so?" Arthur leaned up once again and lightly stroked the hair that extended to his boyfriend's neck and pressed himself against America's damp body. He loved how a long day of hardly working made America so dirty. His hair had a natural shine to it, and his sun-kissed skin taunted Arthur to touch it. He kissed America's dusty cheek and whispered in his ear, "Does that make me the cowboy now?" he asked and America tightened his grip on England's petite waist.

Smirking a little, he whispered back, "Can ya ride a horse?"