A/N: OK, this took way too long to finish. It was mostly done about a week ago, but I finally just sat down and pulled it all together. Also, I know nothing about wine other than the fact that I can't open a bottle to save my life. And if anything is amiss (like the foreign words, or my interesting grammar) just let me know. I think I made up a word too... Anyways, enjoy. And NO, there will not be a part three haha

Separated by a Common Language, Indeed

England had given it much thought and decided that he was going to do the mature, responsible thing. He was going to calmly sit down with the younger nation and explain to him that you couldn't just give someone a condom, tell them to come over, and then have sex with them. That was vulgar and uncouth and such a French thing to do, and they were not going to do anything France would approve of.

So. He was going to be a complete gentleman about it and calmly tell America why they shouldn't, no, couldn't have sex. Even if he was more than happy to waltz up to America without even knocking on his door and throw him down on the closest possible surface and do things to him that were illegal in over half of the younger nation's states.

Oh who was he kidding? Maybe back in his glory days he would have behaved that way. But now? Now he was just nervous.

…And had also sort of been standing on America's stoop for the past ten minutes.

He tried to remind himself of the things he wanted to say to America before he rang the doorbell when he glanced to the bottle of wine he held in his arms. He had stopped at wine shop and purchased a bottle of Merlot but the closer he got to ringing the doorbell, the more foolish he felt. Was the wine too much? The wine was too much. And damnit, so was the tie. He hadn't knocked yet; maybe he could rush back to his place and change, and then run to the petrol station to buy a six pack. Or maybe he shouldn't bring anything. Knowing America, he'd probably say he was being old fashioned again. And really, he had just come to tell the other nation that no, they would not be sleeping together, and was bringing a house warming gift and dressing in a proper suit really necessary for something like that?

England started to loosen his tie. Maybe he should just untuck his shirt? No, that would look ridiculous, especially with his sweater vest. He scowled and tightened his tie again. So what if America thought looking sloppy and unkempt was cool. Coming from the country who also thought Miley Cyrus and snuggies were cool, England didn't think that America had much authority on the subject.

Oh shit. But what about the wine?

He was about to hide it behind one of the gnomes in the garden when America opened the door. "I thought I heard you coming!" he said. England quickly straightened up, wine bottle clutched in a shaky hand behind his back.

"I was just about to knock," England lied.

America leaned against the door frame. He had changed out of his dress shirt and trousers and was wearing a simple white button down, untucked, over a pair of well worn (not to mention well fitting) blue jeans. England supposed that sometimes being a little sloppy and unkempt could be attractive. Not that it really mattered if he noticed what America was wearing since he certainly wouldn't be removing said well-fitting blue jeans.

"What are you doing in the bushes?" America asked, voice laced with amusement.

"Never mind that," England snapped, trying to derail that train of thought. "Are you going to invite me in or not?"

America chuckled and stood back, motioning for him to come in. England stepped inside, but kept his back from America, still trying to hide the wine bottle. America didn't seem to notice and headed back into the kitchen.

"I didn't have anything that hadn't expired already," the younger nation admitted from the other room, "so I just got Chinese takeout. That ok?"

Oh god.

America was wearing blue jeans and had ordered Chinese food and he was probably going to make him watch Super Bad or My Dog Skip, and here he was, starched tie and a bottle of '89 Merlot.

England looked around frantically. Maybe he could hide it in the umbrella holder or the mud closet. But just as he was about to reach for the handle to the closet, America poked his head into the hallway, giving him a funny look. "You comin' or what?"

England quickly shoved the bottle behind his back. "Y-yes, of course!"

The Briton walked into the kitchen, making sure to have his back to the nearest counter. Maybe when America wasn't paying attention he could toss it into a cabinet and pretend he'd never seen it in his life. Blame it on France or something.

America was rummaging around in the cabinet across from him. Now was the perfect opportunity! But before he could move, America had turned around, holding up two different colored plates. The American smiled sheepishly. "Um, which one do you want?" he asked. "Red or blue?"

England raised a brow at his choice of tableware. "What happened to the good china I gave you?" he inquired.

America blushed and looked down. "I broke one of the salad plates," he mumbled. "Now I just keep 'em in the display case. Too afraid to use 'em."

England laughed, relaxing just a little. "You should have told me. Those things can easily be replaced."

America shrugged. "Plastic's easier to… hey…" The younger nation cocked his head to the side, taking note of the awkward way England was standing. "What's behind your back?" he asked.

England stiffened. "N-nothing, why do you ask?" he said, trying (and failing) to sound casual.

America took a step forward, but to England it seemed like a predatorial advance. He tried his best to morph through the counter, but apparently it wasn't his day for defying physics. America tried to peer over his shoulder, but England shifted, keeping his backside hidden.

"Oh come on, England, show me!" America asked (more like whined).

England scoffed. "Oh like that'll get you anywhere."

"Oh mah gaw!" America suddenly gasped, looking just past England's shoulder. "A unicorn!"

England immediately turned around. "Where?" he asked excitedly, looking around the room and through the kitchen window.

America took the opportunity to snatch the wine bottle from his hand before the Englishman caught onto his joke. "Gotcha!" he laughed.

France gave a frustrated sigh. Who on earth could England have been talking about? He had asked the other nation, quite a few times actually, but after France had replied to the Briton's question, it seemed that he had left his computer without so much as signing off, leaving the poor Frenchman to wonder who was lucky enough to be getting into England's pants.

He couldn't help but pout. It wasn't as if he was wanting for a good lay, but damn if he hadn't been trying to sleep with England for the past two centuries or so, but to no avail. Ah well, England didn't know what he was missing!

France took a sip of his café au lait, savoring the rich flavors. He looked at his computer screen and saw that he had an invitation to join a chat session between Prussia and Spain. Smiling, he accepted. Perhaps they had heard something…

-Le sex kitten has entered the conversation-

Ti amo Romano: and today romano came over with lunch, just for two :3 he said he was bored but I know he just missed me ~_~

Le Sex Kitten: bonjour ;)

I_M_AWESOME: dude. didn't u c him like, 2 days ago spain? sup france.

Ti amo Romano: yes but that's such a long time to be away from my little tomato D:

Ti amo Romano: FRANCE! :D

I_M_AWESOME: do us all a favor n just bone him already k?

Ti amo Romano: all in due time, mi amigo, all in due time ;)

Le Sex Kitten: If you don't hurry up someone might steal your little tomato away, tu sais? ;)

Ti amo Romano: you can't have romano france D:

Le Sex Kitten: I jest, I jest… I've got some interesting news, mes amis.

I_M_AWESOME: england finally give it up?

Le Sex Kitten: -le sigh- One day, one day… Mais non, it seems our little English friend has un petit ami

Ti amo Romano: I'd bet all the tomatoes in my garden it's america.

I_M_AWESOME: well duh. it's no secret he's been nursing a pretty bad hard on for the old brit since the 40s

France sat back in the plush leather armchair and tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. America, hmm? It made sense. Their past, all that damn staring when they though no one was looking, not to mention the thinly veiled sexual tension when they fought… Why hadn't France thought of that? Of course it would be America.

He grinned. Perhaps sometime the two of them would not mind a little ménage a trois.

That does seem very likely France began to type, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up and smiled. "Oui? How may I help you?" he asked.

His gaze was met by that of a stern elderly lady who frowned at him disapprovingly. "We don't allow food or drink in the library, young man" she said. "And I'm going to have to ask you to take the armchair back to the reading section. Where it belongs."

France sighed. Damn public libraries.

America looked from the wine bottle, obviously expensive and carefully chosen, to England, who looked as if he was praying for something large and heavy to fall on him. America blushed and looked down, embarrassed. Here he was with takeout and plastic dishes, and England had actually put a lot of thought into their evening. He scratched at the back of his head awkwardly. "Man, I fell kinda dumb right now," he said. "Do you wanna… I mean, I could change and we could go out or something if you want."

"I'm not some bird you have to wine and dine, America," England said rather harshly, trying to save face.

America grinned. "Hey, you're the one who brought the wine!"

Inwardly, England heaved a sigh of relief. Arguing. They were arguing. Not the best atmosphere for a date (was this a date?) but it was familiar territory. A constant. Something that didn't make him nervous and weak in the knees. England huffed (as was expected) and snatched the wine bottle from the younger nation's grasp. "I'm just trying to keep you at least semi-cultured," he said, placing the bottle in the cooler. "You do still have wine opener the frog left here last New Year's don't you?"

"Hey, England," America said softly.

And that wasn't good, because snarky banter he could handle, but that tone? What that tone implied? England couldn't turn around to face him. Instead, he stood frozen in place, one hand resting on the door of the refrigerator, the other on the handle. He was desperately trying to remember what he had come over to say. "Yes?" he asked.

America placed a hand on his shoulder and England nearly jumped. Since when had America been standing so close? Out of habit he batted the younger nation's hand away and turned around to lecture him about personal space. The words died in his mouth though, as America quickly took a step back, clearly having lost his nerve.

"What was it you were going to say, America?" he asked, feeling guilty for having brushed him off so brashly. America shook his head. "Nothin'," he said. "Ready to eat?"

England nodded, though he knew America was lying. He didn't push the subject though.

America cleared his throat, as if the simple act could also clear the atmosphere. "So, uh, blue or red?" he asked, holding the plates up again. England picked red, and America served them both.

America wanted to eat in the living room so he could watch television ("Desperate Housewives is on!") but England said that if wanted to watch the telly then he could dine alone. America had pouted, but in the end agreed to eat at the dining room table. ("Like a civilized person," England had said.)

And for the past few minutes or so, England had been trying to find the best way to bring up the fact that they would not be, um, furthering their personal relations that evening when he noticed a bit of rice that had somehow managed to stick to America's cheek. He couldn't help but stare.

At first he hadn't said anything, certain that America would notice its presence. But after a few moments he realized that America had no idea that it was even there, and so then a problem had arisen. Did he tell America that it was there or wipe it off himself?

Of course he should tell him. He didn't want the other nation to think he was babying him or invading his personal space or anything, and yet… And yet the very idea of being able to reach across the table and gently brush the grain away and then carry on with their meal as if it was something they did all the time; an everyday thing, even just seemed to good to pass up…

By then America noticed that England had taken to staring at him. "Is there something on my face?" he joked. "Or do you just like what you see?"

England nodded, to which he wasn't sure (probably both). This was silly. Obviously, it wasn't as if America would be adverse to the idea of England touching him, so he reached across the table with his napkin and lightly brushed it across his cheek, the pad of his thumb gently grazing across the soft skin.

America's face heated up nearly instantly.

"Just a bit of rice," England explained.

America made a small 'o' with his mouth, and after that England couldn't bring himself to speak again.

Romano had left to clean up the kitchen and do some laundry. Usually he wouldn't have, but if anyone asked he could always deny it. (Besides, Spain was so stupid that sometimes he forgot to take care of himself. It wasn't as if Romano cared or anything, he just thought someone should do it before he got lost under a pile of dirty clothes and died of suffocation or something.) But when he got back, Spain was still at his computer.

Not that that was a bad thing. Romano had paid a pretty penny for that laptop, so it was good to see that Spain used his gift. Not that Romano cared that Spain liked his presents. But it would have been a waste of money if he hadn't used it, and then Romano would have had to go through all the trouble of going back to the computer store and returning it. So it was just convenient for him that Spain used his gift.

It wasn't as if he had known that Spain was in desperate need of a new computer and had waited to get him the very best he could find for his birthday or anything. But that was completely beside the point!

It was freaking super that Spain was using the computer. But damnit, did the bastard have to use it all the time? When he was there?

Not that he cared if Spain paid any attention to him or anything. He couldn't care less. But he had gone out of his way to come over, and he had made him lunch, too! So would it kill the stupid bastard to peal his eyes away from the computer for one freaking minute?

"Hey, Spain," he said, standing in front of the other brunette who laid on his bed, glued to the screen in front of him. Spain made a noncommittal "hmm" in response but didn't look up.

Romano puffed his cheeks out, face getting redder by the minute. "Spain!" he shouted.

In response the Spaniard just laughed at something on the stupid laptop and began to type. After a moment he looked up at the Italian. "Did you say something, Romano?"

Romano narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. "I'm leaving!" he huffed. "I hope you get carpal tunnel and your hands fall off!" He left Spain's room, slamming the door behind him.

Confused, Spain got off the bed and followed him. Romano refused to stop even when Spain called after him, so the older nation grabbed him by the arm. "What's the matter, Lovi?" he asked.

Romano refused to look at him. "Nothing," he muttered. "Just go back to your stupid computer, I don't care!"

Spain frowned. "The computer… Wha…?"

Romano jerked his arm from his grasp. "Oh, honestly!" he said. "If you can't figure out what pissed me off then whatever. I'm going home you stupid bas-"

Spain pulled him into a hug.

"I don't wanna use the computer anymore," he said, drawing the shorter nation closer and nuzzling his face into his hair. Romano shoved him off, completely embarrassed. "Do whatever you want!" he shouted. "Don't touch me!"

Spain tried to pull him into another hug with cries of, "But Lovi, you're so cuuute!" and Romano proceeded to push him away, backing up as far as he could, but in doing so forgot to look where he was going. His heel caught on the corner of a chair and he tipped backwards, completely losing his balance. He tried to break his fall by grabbing the closest thing to him (Spain) who was also caught off guard.

In the end, they both wound up falling.

Romano gave a rather undignified yelp and threw his arms out behind him, trying to break the fall. Spain knew an opportunity when he saw one, and couldn't help but grin when he landed on top of the smaller nation. "Gotcha," he whispered.

"Get off of me, fatty," is what Romano wanted to say, but all he managed to get out was an unintelligible "Guh-" before their proximity finally sunk in and Romano's brain decided it was time for a lunch break and left.

Spain leaned down and pressed a kiss to Romano's forehead. "I'm sorry I was being a lousy host," he said.

Romano's speech ability had decided to take pity on him. "Y-you're lousy at everything," he said.

Suddenly the front door was flung wide open. "Romano! Spain!"

Italy pranced in, spotted the two on the floor and grinned happily. "Ve~ I knew it!" he exclaimed.

Romano promptly pushed Spain off of him and stood, brushing at his shirt and trousers and willing his face to go back to its normal color (i.e. not five different shades of bright red).

Italy ran to his brother and gave him a big hug. "I wanted to visit with you and Spain, and I knew you'd be here!"

Romano crossed his arms over his chest. "Whatever. As long as you didn't bring that potato freak with you."

"Be nice to your brother, Romano," Spain chided lightly, petting the younger Italian on the head fondly. Italy preened at the attention. Romano narrowed his eyes.

Italy sighed happily. "It's so nice, it seems like everyone's been getting lovey-dovey these days," he exclaimed.

"No one's getting lovey-dovey!" Romano practically shouted, puffing his cheeks out.

"It's funny you said that," Spain said, ignoring Romano's outburst. "France just told me that England seems to have found himself someone."

"Eh? Who?" Italy asked.

"I don't know, he didn't say. Why?"

"I bet it's America!" Italy said. "Oh but…"

He frowned. "Oh no…"

"What's the matter?" the Spaniard asked, hating to see his cute little Italy sad.

"America would have told me if they were," he pouted. "He might deny it but I know he'd be sad if England was seeing someone else!"

"Why?" Romano asked, rolling his eyes. "What's it matter who that old man bangs?"

Instead of answering Italy flew from the house, intent on fixing things. "Don't worry, America," he shouted for the world to hear. "Dr. Love won't fail you!"

Spain grinned and pulled his cell out and dialed a number. "Hey France, guess what…"

England wasn't sure why he had decided that letting America pick what movie they watched after dinner was a good idea, but somehow he had, and somehow they had wound up watching, of all things, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. But it had either been that, some cartoon movie, or Silence of the Lambs. And England had had enough of Hannibal Lecter when the damn movie had come out. He was not about to go through another week of America saying, "Hello, Clarisse" in that creepy voice every time he saw him.

So. Little British wizards and witches it was. And America seemed so proud of his selection, even mentioned how he had remembered the Brit telling him that he had met J. K. Rowling once and since they all had funny accents like him then he must like Harry Potter. England was going to retort with something snarky, but then he had looked at America, really looked at him, and saw that, in his own daft way, he was trying really hard to please him.

And then his throat had got all tight and dry. It wasn't because of America or anything, but for some reason his voice had just caught in his throat and he'd had to excuse himself and get a glass of water and just… breathe for a minute. And when he had gotten back the little Hogwarts students had already gotten onto the train.

Well that had been years ago, and now Larry or Gary or whatever his name is was taking a bath with a large golden egg. He had kept trying to bring up "The Talk" honestly he had, but it had never seemed like the right moment. Not that England was stalling or anything. But the longer he waited, the more suspicious he got.

Not that he was gong to allow anything to happen, but wasn't America even going to try to kiss him? After all, he was the one who gave him the damn condom and then invited him over!

England cleared his throat, trying to get the younger nation's attention, but America was completely absorbed in the images on the telly. England rolled his eyes. Oh, please. Everyone knew real dragons didn't look like that. He cleared his throat again. Still no reaction.

This was going to be a long night.

The ending credits were rolling across the screen. America was still on the edge of his set, staring wide-eyed at the television. England sat hunched in the farthest corner of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and blank expression on his face. Somewhere between the creepy fish people and the maze he had given up on America at least trying to pull a move and so had given up on even giving the speech he had originally come over to give and had resigned himself to his fate and taken to staring at the wall.

"Wasn't that a great movie?" America exclaimed. "I always love the special effects in these things. TV's sure come a long way since Godzilla, huh?" he asked.

England blinked himself out of his stupor and sat up. "What? Oh, yes. Quite."

America frowned. "What's the matter?" he asked. "You seem kinda… bored with a side of pissy."

"I'm not pissy," England snapped, his (sexual) frustration getting the better of him. Not that he was sexually frustrated or anything. Just a little perturbed that America obviously wasn't was all.

America gave him a skeptical look. "If you say so."

"It's nothing," England, sounding a little more aggravated than he had intended.

"Geez, Louise," the American said. "It was just a question, no need to jump down my throat."

"I wish I could!" England said, faster than the censor between his mind and his mouth could keep up and by the time he had realized what he'd said, well, it had already been said.

Well. That was… that was a little… Ahem. That hadn't been quite come out right. England tried to think of something to say, tried to brush it off, but America just laughed good-naturedly. "I knew you only came over here for sex," he joked.

England sputtered, completely taken aback. He'd be damned if he was going to let America peg the blame on him for this!

"As I recall," he retorted, "you're the one who gave me a condom and told me to come over tonight." 'And then didn't even try anything,' he thought bitterly.

"Well you're the one who asked for it!"

"What?" England said incredulously. "America, I think you need to have your head examined. I never said that."

"Yes you did. Quote, 'Hey America, do you have a rubber?' end quote."

"America, I asked for an eraser, not a…"

Realization hit them both like a ton of bricks. England couldn't think of anything to say and America just continued to stare at him. "You mean you didn't… So then you never… And I… Ah fuck." America rubbed his upper-arm and finally looked a way, making it a point to look anywhere but at England. "Well this is… awkward…" he said stiffly.

Silence.

And that was how that sat for a minute, England on one end of the couch, America on the other, both suddenly finding the fabric on the arm of the couch utterly fascinating.

'This is stupid,' America thought, but before he could say anything, England beat him to it.

"Oh, come here you idiot," England finally said, grabbing America by the wrist and pulling him into a kiss.

Three minutes later and England had somehow lost his tie, America had somehow wound up underneath him, and he had long since forgotten the things he had originally intended to say to the younger nation because oh god who could think about things like that when America was obviously too busy doing more important things. Like trying to take his pants off.

"Americaaaaa are you home? I came to- oh." Italy ran into America's living room, dragging a reluctant Germany with him. He smiled happily when he saw the two and Germany, completely embarrassed, quickly placed his hands over the small brunette's eyes.

England didn't even know he was capable of moving that fast, but the minute he heard Italy's voice he shot up as if something had scalded him. America had the decency to have some semblance of propriety and made an effort to fix his collar, but he seemed too happy to really care that the two of them had just been caught trying to suck each other's faces off.

England cleared his throat. "What, ahem, what is it that brings you over here, Itlay?" he asked with as much dignity as someone re-buckling their belt buckle can ask.

Italy, eyes still covered, gave a smile. "Oh no reason, just came to see how things are going for America's friend" he said cheekily, finally realizing what had been going on. "What brings you here, England?"

England tried his best to stay as unflustered as possible and chose to ignore that last comment. He refused to let someone as oafish as Italy bate him along. But it was difficult to remain calm when Germany was staring at them both so intently. "Which," he cleared his throat again, "which friend?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation as far away from the current situation as possible.

"Ve~ Can I look now, Germany?" Italy asked. Germany looked them over once more to make sure they were decent and lowered his hand.

"A friend he's been getting advice for!" Italy explained, grabbing Germany's hand and holding it as tightly as possible. "I don't know who, but apparently he likes someone and-"

America, who had magically snapped out of his make-out induced daze shot up from the couch and clamped a firm hand over Italy's mouth and began to laugh. "Ha ha, who cares about all that!" he said nervously.

England was about to protest that he actually did want to know thank you very much, when Germany spoke.

"What's there to hide?" Germany asked. "You asked Italy a lot of advice about relationships for your 'friend'," he said, smiling evilly. That would teach America for walking in on him and Italy. And also for subjecting the little Italian (but mostly himself) to their… whatever they were doing.

America stared at him, completely humiliated that Germany had outed him in front of England.

"Why didn't you just tell me it was about you and England?" Italy asked, adding insult to injury.

England raised a brow, about to ask about this "advise" when France came sailing through the window, landing rather painfully at the foot of the coffee table, a boot imprint clearly visible on his rear end.

Romano's head popped up in the bushes, face red. "That'll teach you, you damn pervert!" he bellowed.

Prussia shushed him. "You'll blow our cover," he whispered.

Spain pointed through the window at England, America, Italy, and Germany who were all staring at them. "I think it's already been blown," he said matter-of-factly.

"Then could we please get out of the bushes and could you please remove your elbow from my side?" an unknown voice came from somewhere beneath the others. Prussia smiled. "That's not my elbow," he said. Whoever it was in the bushes gave an indignant cry of protest. Prussia leered triumphantly and disappeared into the shrubbery.

"Don't you touch him!" Came a feminine voice, followed by a resounding metallic thwak against a hollow object.

England paled. Was this what hell was like? England was pretty sure that he had just suffered a stroke and died and this was his punishment. "Just how many people are in that bush?" he asked, not quite sure how his voice had gotten that high. "You have three seconds to reply before I go all Henry VIII on your sorry arse."

France picked himself up and took a seat on the couch next to England who promptly stood up. "A few of us decided to drop by for a visit. No need for threats, mon cher," he said. "We weren't expecting to see you here though, Angleterre." The tone of his voice said otherwise.

"But what the hell were you doing in the bushes?" England demanded.

"Un petit oiseau told me that you had a date tonight, and we had a feeling that it might be with our darling Amérique."

"So you decided to come spy on us?" England seethed, two seconds away from decking the Frenchman.

"Well I wouldn't call it-"

"Everybody out of the bushes!" England shouted.

There was a collection off frightened gasps and 'oh man's but one by one, the nations who had been hiding outside America's window filed out of the shrubs and into the living room. Spain and Prussia looked smugly at England, as if they couldn't wait to pick on him(Though Prussia seemed to have a rather large bruise forming on the side of his head), Romano and Austria looked like they'd rather be anywhere else, and Hungary… Hungary was holding a shiny new frying-pan and had apparently been filming the entire time.

To say that England was pissed would be an understatement. Brows furrowed with unbridled rage, he turned to France and started throttling him, cursing and shouting. France's face went from red to blue to a deep purple, with no signs of England stopping in the near future. America grabbed England and pulled him off the gasping nation and drug him into the kitchen. "Since everyone is here I'll get us all drinks!" America called. "Just, uh, make yourselves comfortable and we'll be right back!"

America closed the door behind him and leaned against it, heart pounding like mad. "This is crazy," he muttered.

"I'll say," England said, still fuming. "The nerve of those idiots."

In the privacy of the kitchen America suddenly remembered what he and England had been doing before they had been interrupted and turning to the refrigerator, a stupid grin on his face. "Well, no use staying mad. I'll um," America cleared his throat. "I'll get some beer for everyone."

"What you ought to do is kick those bastards out," England spat.

"They're our friends," America said, "That wouldn't be nice."

"Oh, but it's alright to spy on people?" England pointed out. "Or would you just prefer to spend your evening with them?" England hadn't said, "Instead of me," but what he had meant rang loud and clear.

America set the beers down on the counter and walked over to England. "You know I'd rather just spend the evening with you, old man."

England should have been offended, but with the way America was looking at him, he couldn't be bothered. He pulled the taller nation down till they were nearly face to face. "So, you asked Italy for advise, about me?" he whispered. Amreica's cheeks colored slightly. "Oh shut up," he said. England laughed and pulled him closer. America, expecting a kiss, closed his eyes, but just as their lips were about to meet, Italy decided to come into the kitchen.

"Ve~ America, I'm hungry too!" Italy announced.

England growled in frustration and balled his fist up, slamming it into the counter behind him. "Damn it all, Italy! Can't you see we're a little busy?" he nearly shouted. Italy 'eeped' and fled, crying to Germany. England turned back to America and smiled.

"Now," he said, "where were we?"

End.
for real this time haha