There were many things America knew about England and the same was true for the reverse. They knew all of their quirks that usually grated on their nerves, their favorite things so they bought them on their birthday or holidays, and most of their secrets. However, one thing struck America one day as he watched England during a conference meeting. He didn't know something that, as someone that's been dating England for a couple decades now, he should know.
England caught America staring, flushed, and shot him a glare. He mouthed, "Pay attention" before turning back to the presenter. As usual, America didn't do what England told him to do. Instead, he thought about just how he would get out that ultimate important factoid from England. He could just ask, but that wouldn't be fun.
By the time the conference convened, America had the perfect idea to coerce England's secret out.
"Do you even know what happened in that meeting?" England asked, walking beside America. When the taller nation didn't reply, he growled, "America? Are you listening to me?"
"Huh?" America looked over, surprised. "Oh yeah, sorry. Hey, can we get something to eat really fast? I'm starving!"
Sighing, England agreed. He hated to deal with America when the boy was hungry. He became rather irritable if he went too long without food. After disposing of papers at their offices, the two headed to a fast food restaurant.
"Hey, you wanna eat back at the hotel?" America asked suddenly. England raised an eyebrow, looking up from his iced tea. "I just…you know. I'm a little tired. That presentation today was super long and boring."
England shrugged. "All right."
America grinned brightly, taking England's hand. Despite the Englishman's protest at public displays, America was hell bent on finding out this top secret information about his beloved, and soon. They arrived at their hotel without incident and headed straight for their room.
"You seem to be in a rush," England commented. "Is something wrong?"
"No, I'm just hungry." America gave him a reassuring smile, tightening his grip on England's hand.
For some reason, England was highly suspicious that America was horny, but covering it up by saying he was hungry. His heart thumped a bit at just the thought of this. Why did the boy have to cover his true intentions? America certainly knew that England was always fine whenever his boy needed some sex. Blushing until his ears were red, England scooted over towards the bed once they got into the room.
"D-do you want to sit on the bed?" England asked, subtly rubbing his hand over the duvet.
"Sure!" America said. He sat next to England, eating his meal as he turned on the television.
The entire time he never noticed England was watching him out of the corner of his eye. He was wondering when America would reach over and grab him, hoping to lay him back and take him right there. But as America ate more and more of his meal, England grew increasingly worried that the boy was changing his mind.
"Um…how about you take off your jacket," England offered.
"Hm?" America turned to him, finishing off his slurpee. "Oh! Yeah. Do you want to take yours off too?"
England smiled tentatively. "Sure, why not?"
As England shrugged off his jacket, America moved to sit behind him on the bed. His hands brushed up the back of England's neck. The man shivered, his face flushing. America frowned slightly. He rubbed his fingers across the smooth skin again, feeling as England slowly relaxed under his hands.
Normally, England was so up front and hated when people got too close. He always had that air about him that no one was good enough, but mainly it was the leftover awkward feeling from isolating himself and having to fend off everyone for so long. Not to mention the old undead grudges England felt towards countries that had tried to invade; compared to America, one who was generally so open to many and not used to invasions on the scale of an old Empire.
But it was only times like these that England was open and only to America. He had always been the only one that England opened up to. Time changed nothing, save for how much more intimate the couple had become.
After a time England moaned, moving his head back to rest on America's shoulder. America frowned. He slid his hands down England's arms, rubbing softly on his elbow. England opened his eyes, turning his head to look at the American.
"What're you doing?" he asked softly.
America frowned more. Suddenly, he put his hands under England's armpits and wiggled his fingers. England shoved America away, his face red and his eyes narrowed. Before he could bark out anything, America pounced on England, grabbing his feet and hoisting them in the air. England yelped as he fell onto the floor, his head hitting the carpet hard.
Blinking back spots, England tried to sit up. He looked up at America who was furiously running his fingers back and forth along the underside of England's feet.
"What are you doing?" England seethed. He was more upset that the mood he had fabricated had been ruined.
America pouted, dropping England's feet to his thighs. "You're not ticklish!"
"I-I beg your pardon?"
"Everyone is ticklish," America started, crossing his arms and puffing his cheeks. "I realized today that I've never found your ticklish spot!"
England clamored back up onto the bed. He stared at America incredulously. "America, I have gone through wars, plagues, and revolutions. Do you really think I would have a ticklish spot after everything?"
"Yes," America replied bluntly.
So straightforward, England thought wearily. He shook his head. "How's that?"
"Because you're in a human's body and every human I have met has a ticklish spot. You must have one!"
Not to be deterred, he picked England's foot back up in his hand. England struggled, pushing at America's hands to release him. However, America's fingers brushed over the underside of England's ankles. The older man let out a cry of a laugh before slapping his hands over his rapidly blushing face. America paused to stare at his lover before grinning deviously.
"No! No, don't you dar-AH! HAHA!" England fell onto his back, squirming as America began to tickle him over and over again.
He thrashed from side to side, hoping to dislodge his feet, laughing raucously all the while. America laughed too, enjoying seeing England so carefree and open. So open to him that he let him see his ticklish spot.
"I'll kill you!" England cried as tears formed at the sides of his eyes. "I'm going to kill you, bloody wanker! Stupid Yank! Stop it!"
America finally let up, satisfied that his mission was accomplished. England, however, decided to tackle him. He knew something America must have forgotten. When America was still but a brand new colony, only three colonies old, England had found his ticklish spot. Right behind his kneecaps. The man hadn't been touched there in years, even when making love England had kept his hands away from that danger zone.
Now, he was relentless. He pushed America's pants up, smiling to see his skin, and tickled him as viciously as America had him.
Sadly, America wasn't nearly as fun to tickle as England had been. The boy kicked out on instinct while roaring out a laugh. His foot connected with England's gut and sent him sprawling onto the floor. America jolted up when he heard the thud.
"Arthur? Are you okay?"
England lifted his head, a fresh bruise forming on the crown. He glared at America, furious for the previous tickle session and now this. He stood up, wobbling a bit from his vision blurring, before he went over to the side of the bed. America watched nervously. England fixed his tie, cleared his throat, grabbed a pillow, and smacked America so hard across the face the man fell backwards off of the bed.
"Now…I'm okay."
Hoshiko2's cents: I think it would be cute as hell for England's ticklish spot to be on his ankles.
Btw, there is another story for this day on my LiveJournal account, but it's too mature to put up here. If you want to see it, please go to kokoro2. livejournal. com