England woke up that morning feeling relaxed and refreshed, which was quite a rare thing. Normally, his demanding job (and, admittedly, his general disposition) left him cranky and badly rested come dawn. Today, though, he drifted gently into consciousness, blinking, yawning, and curling his toes until they popped.

The curtains over the single window in his bedroom were cracked slightly down the middle, allowing the barest hint of pale-golden November sunlight into the room to throw a stripe of light across the bed. England stared at this stripe without really seeing it, mind still too fuzzy with barely-remembered dreams to be much concerned with the physical world. Eventually, though, he noticed that the stripe had shifted considerably from its original place, and judged that too much time had passed for him to still be lazing about in bed.

That was when he at last turned his attention to the bed's other occupant; namely, the still-sleeping form of America. England propped himself up on his elbows and turned his head to look at his... boyfriend... thing.

(Well, he supposed the name for what they were would be "lovers", technically, but somehow the term seemed as formal as the word "boyfriend" seemed shallow, so England wasn't quite sure what to call their relationship. America seemed to like "boyfriend", though, so that's what he'd go by for the time being.)

America's face was half-smooshed into the pillow he was using; a little puddle of drool had formed under where it was leaking from America's mouth, and England cringed. The other man's hair was mussed and- after taking a small sniff in his general direction- England discovered that America's whole body smelt of dried sweat. Bemusedly, wrinkling his nose, England found that he himself did, as well. It really was to be expected considering the, ah, strenuous activities they had been involved in the previous night... for three hours straight. Activities which were also to be expected, when the fact that they hadn't seen each other in person for almost two months was taken into account.

In any case, it was time to start the day, and the day could not be gone about while smelling of sweat and, er, other things. It was with a great deal of resolve that England managed to disentangle his legs from the sheets (light blue with dark stripes, some of his favorites, and now very much in need of a wash themselves) and scoot to the edge of the bed. He briefly toyed with the idea of waking America so they could shower together, but another glance at the other's face, notably the bags under his eyes, convinced him not to. America was absolutely horrid with jetlag, and after all, they had not gone to bed early last night.

So, gingerly planting his feet on the morning-chilly hardwood, England made his groggy way to the adjacent bathroom. After his shower, he'd make breakfast, and then he and America could spend the day doing, um, things. Maybe watch the telly for a bit- or catch up over tea and coffee. Or anything really, so long as they were together.

Bloody hell, he'd missed that boy so much. Not that he'd admit it.

A good twenty minutes under the hot spray of the shower had left England feeling more refreshed than ever. It was with an unusually light step that he made his way to the kitchen, clad in a comfortable cotton bathroom and his favorite slippers (and nevermind if America teased him for wearing "old people clothes"; this was the absolute optimal outfit for any lazy weekend, dammit).

In the small kitchen, England promptly got to work gathering the things for a nice English breakfast: several eggs, some bacon, toast and marmalade, a couple sausages... and of course he put tea on, as well as a half-pot of coffee for the git upstairs.

Despite the rather... strong opinions others may have had regarding England's skills as a cook, it was one of his favorite things to do; and even if his soups often took solid form and his roasts became ashes in the oven, breakfast was one meal that he knew he did right. He took as much pride as he did pleasure in preparing each component to perfection, and as they said, breakfast was the most important meal of the day, so who cared

if he seemed to lose all cooking ability come lunch time?

The bacon and eggs were popping cheerfully in their respective pans, England with a spatula in hand watching them closely, when the door bell rang "ding dong" from the front hall. Frowning in confusion, England took a moment to hastily flip the now-finished food from their pans onto waiting plates before wiping his hands on a dish towel and shuffling toward the main door.

His house wasn't overly large, so the journey from kitchen to doorway was accomplished in a few seconds. England briefly peeked through the peep-hole to see a young man in a light blue uniform, with curly brown hair and a liberal amount of face-fuzz, standing on his doorstep.

England opened the door and the two exchanged 'Hello, good morning,'s before the uniform-clad man produced a clipboard from behind his back and asked, "Would you be one Arthur Kirkland, then?"

England blinked. "Yes, I am. What's this about?"

"Well, Mr. Kirkland, sir," the man answered, "I'm here to drop off your order. If you could just sign here-"

"Now wait a moment," England interrupted, "I haven't ordered anything recently. You must have the wrong address."

The delivery man looked at his clipboard and squinted, scanning the page for a moment before glancing at the gilded numbers adorning the face of

England's house. The man said, "No, sir, this is definitely the right place. And you said you are Mr. Arthur Kirkland?"

"Yes, I am Arthur Kirkland," England answered (quite patiently, he thought), "but I am telling you I haven't ordered any- what was it you said was in the delivery?"

"I haven't said, sir, but I've got a shipment of 50 feather pillows in my truck over there-" he waved his clipboard in the direction of a nondescript white delivery truck, a company logo emblazoned in blue on the side, parked at the curb- "and it says on this paper that it's for one Mr. Arthur Kirkland of this address right here, if you'd like to see, sir."

England grumbled and took the clipboard he was being offered. He speed-read the tiny black print, confirming that the information on the paper did indeed indicate him as having made this order- which didn't change the fact that he most certainly had not.

"Why in the world would I even request 50 pillows? What use could I possibly have for them?" he asked incredulously.

The delivery man sighed. "Sir, in my time I have delivered far stranger things than this." His eyes abruptly seemed older and more weary, somehow speaking of the things he had seen and could now never unsee. England suddenly both pitied and respected the man.

He let out a defeated sound that was somewhere in the range of both a groan and a growl. "Have you got a pen, then?" he asked, resigned.

The man in uniform perked up and fished around in one of his trouser pockets before producing the requested instrument. "Here you are, sir, and let me say you've just made my day a whole lot easier by moving this along," he said with a chipper smile.

"Yes, yes," England replied distractedly as he signed and initialed the papers in the appropriate places. Once he had finished, he handed the clipboard back to the man, who promptly turned to his truck and shouted, "Alright, lads, time to get a move on!"

Two other men, dressed similarly to the first, climbed out of the cabin of the truck and hustled around to the back. One of them opened the upward-sliding metal door before he and his fellow lowered several dollies to the street, afterward loading them with the aforementioned pillows, fluffy and bright white and new.

As the three delivery men pushed the loads of pillows up England's walkway, the nation felt himself deflate slightly. What in the world was he going to do with these things?

When all was said and done- the three men gone, the pillows stacked in the sitting room, and breakfast cold- England took a seat at his kitchen table and had a mug of well-deserved reheated tea. It helped soothe his frazzled nerves a bit, though he felt nowhere near as fine as he had earlier in the day.

What time was it anyway...? A quick glance at the stove's clock told him that it was now 11:16. It had taken the better part of an hour to get all of the pillows neatly loaded into his house. Though it had helped that the delivery men were quite polite, especially the first fellow, who had joked with his co-workers and with England in an obvious attempt to lighten the latter's mood, which he appreciated even if the attempt had fallen a bit short.

England thought about waking America and putting the now-tepid food in the microwave to warm up, but he suddenly felt tired again and thought that perhaps a short nap was warranted. He rose to put his empty mug in the sink when he heard a loud yawn behind him. He turned to see America, clad only in boxer shorts with hair still damp from a shower, scratching his toned stomach languidly.

… Alright, so he felt a little better now.

America caught sight of England looking quite unabashedly at his torso and playfully asked, "See anything you like?"

England snorted, blushing a little (though even the smallest hint of a blush showed up too well on his pale face), and turned back toward the sink. "I- I was just about to tell you to go put some sodding clothes on, is all-" he started, but was cut off when two arms wrapped around him and pulled him back into the chest he had not been admiring a moment ago. He tensed at first, not expecting the contact, but quickly sank back into the hold, letting his eyes fall closed when he felt America's head come down to rest on his shoulder.

"Morning, babe," he heard America murmur. He shivered at the feeling of warm breath on his neck.

"Good morning," he answered, softly. The arms around him gave a slight squeeze before releasing as their owner gave another loud yawn.

"So what's for breakfast?" America asked, even as he pulled the fridge open and began rummaging around.

"Get out of there, you, I've got your breakfast right here," England said, not unaffectionately. He grabbed the plate bearing the larger portion of food and held it out to his- boyfriend, who took it eagerly with a silly cheer. "You'll have to stick it in the microwave, though, it got cold while I let it sit."

America hummed his acknowledgement as he popped the microwave door open and slid the plate inside, pressing a few buttons and then hitting 'START'. The machine hummed. "What'd you let it sit out for? You could have come and woke me up as soon as you got done, you know," he said, turning to face England as he waited for the food to warm.

England sighed (he was doing that a lot lately, wasn't he?) and decided to go for a second cup of tea. "Unfortunately, something came up before I could come and get you, and I had to leave everything sitting for a while."

America looked interested. "Yeah? What happened?"

The microwave abruptly- and shrilly- beeped the completion of its task. America pressed the 'CLEAR/OFF' button and regarded England with an expectant look.

England just lifted his freshly-poured tea to his lips and said, "Go in the sitting room and see for yourself."

Because nothing could stand in the way of a hungry, jet-lagged America and anything fried, the younger nation insisted on finishing his breakfast before going to the sitting room (though the curiosity was obviously excruciating for him). He also insisted that England eat, too, which the older did after realizing that he was actually quite famished.

The two ate sitting across from each other at the table where England had taken his tea minutes ago. America poured himself a brimming mug of black coffee, which he drank with something approaching ecstasy, which actually made England feel quite flattered.

After the food was polished off, the plates and forks were soaking in the sink, and their respective drinks were nearly gone, America stood and declared, "Alright, now time to go see what's in the living room!" England, who was actually rather curious to see America's reaction, followed the younger nation down the hall to the room housing his new impromptu property.

England wasn't sure how he expected America to react, exactly. Perhaps with confusion? In all likelihood, England had thought, the younger would bust out laughing before teasing England about why he had ordered the things. England certainly hadn't anticipated that America would pull up short in the entryway to the sitting room, going stock-still and gasping so softly as to be barely heard.

He certainly hadn't expected America to then squeal excitedly before taking a giant flying leap into the room, disappearing from the doorway and England's vision.

England's jaw dropped a bit, but he hurriedly shuffled around the corner to see what the idiot was doing- and was promptly met with the sight of the centuries-old nation rolling around the mountain of pillows with a look nothing short of utter delight on his face. Though, really, he shouldn't have been shocked; America always had had a penchant for silly behavior.

"What in the world are you doing, you loon?" England asked, shaking his head.

America momentarily stopped his rolling to grin- upside-down- at the other. "England," he said, his voice bubbly, "this is literally the greatest thing ever."

England blinked. "What, pillows are the greatest thing ever?"

America laughed and wiggled around until he was lying on his stomach, facing England. "No, dude, lots of pillows are the greatest thing ever!"

"And how is that?"

"Are you kidding?" America laughed- no, more like giggled- and tossed a pillow at England. The older caught it easily and held it against him. "D'you even know all the awesome things we could do with these? We could- we could- I dunno-" He gasped. "We could build a freakin' fort!"

England regarded America with incredulity, then the pillow in his arms with the same expression. "That is ridiculous."

America was pouting when England looked back at him. "Englaaaand-"

"Oh no, don't you whine at me! How old are y-"

England was promptly smacked in the face with another pillow.

It bounced off his forehead and fell to the floor, leaving England to regard the grinning America with shock. America waggled his eyebrows.

And, well, it was really very silly for two grown men- especially ones of their kind- to be engaging in a pillow fight of all things... but then again, England had never backed down from a challenge before.

He retaliated with the pillow he had been squeezing, and then it was on.

Twenty or so minutes later found them tangled up together on the now-haphazardly-strewn pillow pile, panting and laughing.

One of England's slippers had fallen off and gotten lost in the fray; his robe was pushed up, leaving his legs bare. America had taken to rubbing little circles onto the skin of his right thigh, which felt very nice, and that coupled with the giddy sensation of engaging in nonsense left England feeling very agreeable indeed.

"All right," he said, "we'll build your damn fort."

America gave a happy little gasp and asked, "You mean it?" When England nodded, America pumped the air with his fist and cried, "Yahoo!"

England gave the other man a fond smile as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "So," he started, "I've never actually made a pillow fort before. How would we go about it?"

America rose as well. "It's pretty easy. You just keep stacking 'em up on each other in a square until you have it. Oh, and you have to leave an empty space in the middle to sit in. And we might need some chairs. And a blanket for the roof!" He bounced up and down. "Oh man, this is gonna be so cool!"

England nodded. "Right then. You go grab the chairs from the kitchen, and I'll get some blankets from the guest room."

America smiled and saluted. "Aye-aye, cap'n," he sang, and scurried out of the room so quickly that England snorted amusedly.

He really is just too cute sometimes, England mused as he got to his feet (kicking off his remaining slipper) and padded to the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time, going quickly... not that he was excited to be making a pillow fort or anything. Not at all. He just didn't want to leave America waiting in the sitting room and be whined at later. Yes.

… Alright, so perhaps he was looking forward to it the tiniest bit. It was America's fault (as most things were). The other nation just made him feel so stupid sometimes, as if England absorbed America's silliness by some sort of airborne osmosis. Here he was, centuries and centuries old, goofing off like this- it was disgraceful.

England giggled.

It was only a couple of minutes later that England arrived back in the sitting room, arms laden with all the spare sheets and blankets he could find. America was predictably already there, arranging four kitchen chairs in a square formation in the middle of the room. The bespectacled man glanced up and grinned as England dumped his burden onto the couch.

"Took you long enough," said America. England shot him a glare with no real malice behind it as America walked over and grabbed the edge of a white sheet, pulling it away from the rest of the pile by a corner.

"Alright, so here's what we're gonna do," America said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "We take all these sheets and stuff and put 'em over the chairs to make kind of a big tent- that'll be the roof. Then, we get all the pillows together and start stacking 'em against the sides of the tent until there's a wall around the whole thing and ta-da! We have ourselves our very own top-secret base. Made of pillows."

England nodded and glanced around the room. Something occurred to him. "America?"

"Hm?"

"We have a lot more pillows than we'll need to build a wall around the chairs. What can we do with the extras?"

America grabbed England's upper-arm, all smiles. "Actually, I had a pretty brilliant idea while I was in the kitchen," he said.

England couldn't help chuckling a little. America was adorable. "What would that be?"

America winked and held his arms out wide. "We, my darling," he declared dramatically, "are going to create our very own love nest right inside the fort!"

England was taken aback for a moment. "We will create a what?" he asked.

"A love nest!"

"What in the hell is a 'love nest'?"

America looked disappointed in him. "Aw, you don't even know what a love nest is? How old are you?" England thwacked him on the shoulder. "Ow, geez, okay. Sorry," America whined, pouting.

"You didn't answer my question, prat."

The pout disappeared from America's face. "Well, I can't believe you don't already know, since you're such a pervert-" he was once again thwacked- "Ow, will you stop that? Anyway, a love nest is, like, a secret special place where people who are in love can go and do sexy stuff together in private."

England blushed a little- both from the mention of 'sexy stuff' and the indirect declaration of love- and cleared his throat. "Ah, I see..."

"So? You wanna? It'd be super romantic," America sing-sang.

England looked away. "Well, I still don't know where in the world you learn words like that, but... I suppose there's no harm in it."

America cheered, "Woohoo! I'll go get the candles!" and dashed off.

England blinked. "America, we are not lighting candles inside of that damn thing! America!" he yelled, and ran after the other.

It was with much pouting that America was convinced that it was a bad idea to light a fire under a bed sheet and was pulled back into the sitting room.

Creating the actual fort took longer than England had imagined. America insisted that everything be perfectly neat and symmetrical, as if this were an actual building they were putting up that had to meet some sort of standard. It was fun, though, if only because every so often America would randomly grab him up and kiss him for no reason. By the time they were putting the finishing touches on the fort, both England and America were smiling away.

When, finally, the last sheet had been draped over everything, they took a step back to admire the fruit of their efforts. England actually felt a bit proud- for what it was, it was well-done. Apparently America felt the same way, as he made an odd strangled-squeal sound and pumped his fists. "England, this is the freakin' coolest thing we've ever done!"

"Do you think so?" England said. "I can think of a few cooler things."

"I mean besides nation stuff!"

"I can still thi-" England was abruptly cut off as he was snagged around the waist and pulled flush against the younger nation's body. He probably turned pinkish again, but did not splutter, and for that he felt quite accomplished.

America was still smiling- but this smile was of a different sort than earlier's. The twinkle was gone from his sky-eyes, replaced by something much... hotter.

England swallowed thickly.

"Hey, England?"

"Y-yes?"

"Shut up and get in the love nest."

England saw no reason to disobey. He was allowed to disentangle himself from America's arm, and turned to crawl into the opening between the hanging white sheet that doubled as the roof and curtains of the fort. America was quick to follow, and once he was in reached behind him to pull the sheet over the opening, hiding them from the outside world.

But not before a certain green bathrobe went flying out.