I ran around my own house like a madman; constantly cleaning the shelves, bathrooms, bedroom, guestrooms, closets, living room, dining room, kitchen, and everything in between. I felt like a house wife with the way I decided to dress right now in my jeans and red shirt with a blue apron wrapped around my waist and neck. I scrubbed the floors with a sponge that was in my yellow rubber gloved hands, the room and floor smell of nothing but lemon and with the power of Pinsol, baby this will be the day he finally approves! On my head was the complementary green bandana with all the other countries as chibis that I got for being in the Paint it, White movie though my blond cowlick standing straight at attention as it always did.
I stood from my sore knees, tile was a great idea at the time, and stretched out my back. I sighed an over exhausted breath and quickly went to find something else to clean furiously.
Why would I be so OCD about all this cleaning today? 'Cuz Mr. Overly-OCD-Cleaner is coming over today, that's why. If this place isn't spit spot spiffy clean by the time he gets here, I'm totally getting lectured the whole time he stays here. Oh, Alfred this place is as clean as your colon. I raised you better that to live in a sty. If you had just stayed a colony, then your living conditions wouldn't be as bad as your eating habits. Blah, blah, British blah. I'VE BEEN FREAKIN' CLEANING FOR A WEEK JUST FOR HIM DAMMIT!
I finish cleaning the guest bathroom window and to make sure it's crystal clean I give a thousand watt smile at the god damn handsome bastard that is my reflection. I check my watch, he said he'd be here at three it was currently, 2:30 so said my digital time teller. I hop off the counter and head to the bedroom, where I had removed the 'childish' super hero sheets and replaced them with the boring royal blue ones with nasty (in my opinion) green colored sheets. Please don't tell him I spelled it without the u, he always gets mad at that. I opened my dresser and pulled out a semi-tight black tee and some casual jeans, y'know the ones you wear after you get out of a really stiff suit. I lift up the lid to my dirty clothes hamper and decide I have time for a quick load so I head over to the laundry room to do that.
I finish with the detergent and everything when I hear the doorbell ring. My watch displayed that it was only 2:45, he was early. I walked over to the door and after I unlocked it, I opened it to see the back of his head. He hears the door open and turns around. "Britain!" I say with big arms, partially faking the excitement of having him over for the week.
He smiles, " 'Ello America." Britain steps up a bit and puts his hands on the back of my shoulders, then gives me a kiss as to our usual greetings. I wrap my arm around his waist and kiss him back, while my other arm let go of the door to retrieve his bag. He steps inside, automatically I can tell he's looking around the room to point out how messy it is, but before he can get a chance to critique me I went to the bedroom to put his stuff on the bed.
When I get back in the room, I go up to confront his timing. "You're kinda early, babe." I say, putting my arm around him.
"I can't be a little early?" England asks rhetorically.
"No, I didn't mean it like that, I just-"
"I'm messing with you, America. Lighten up." He says.
"Me lighten up? You, the guy who was born with a stick up his ass, are telling me to lighten up?" I say, I can tell I just pressed some buttons with the sour face he gives me. I expect the worst, until he starts laughing.
"I suppose you're right." What is with this side of him? Oh, I got it!
"You must be super horny to say something like that to me." I tell him.
He looks insulted, with his mouth wide open and bushy eyebrows furrowed. "Alfred!" Crap, he used my real name, I messed up again. "Don't say such things!"
"Wh-why not? You're my boyfriend right?" I ask.
"Well yes, but still it's very improper." He says.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." I apologize.
His beautiful emerald eyes wander away from mine as he put his head and hand on my chest. "The house looks nice."
I sigh deeply, rolling my eyes. "I know it's worse than a pig's- wait, what?" Did I do it? Did I really hear that right, that he actually likes the way it was cleaned?
"I said it looks nice. You did a really good job of cleaning." Britain said. It'd be super embarrassing to jump up and down like an idiot in front of him so I mentally cheer myself.
"Uh, thanks then." I say.
"You said you bought some tea, yes?" he queries.
"Yeah, the kind you like it's in the kitchen. Do you want me to fix you some?" I offer.
"No you probably wouldn't fix it right anyway. I can do it myself." He says, finally he's insulting me again. Hey, he did just insult me! I grimace a little but follow him to the kitchen. He checks the hampers curiously until I instructed him where the tea was located. He begins to unwrap the package and brew himself the drink, he offers but I decline his invitation of tea for me. "Are you hungry?" he asks, probably already knowing the answer.
"Starved." I say. I've figured out that if you can't make it a complete sentence while talking to him, it might as well be just one word. I occasionally let the 'horrid grammar' slip every once in a while, but that's just because he's absolutely adorable when he's correcting me.
"Good, I'll make you something." He headed for another cabinet.
"What?" I said, slightly concerned.
"You must be exhausted with all the cleaning, so I'll make you something to eat." He says.
"No, you don't have to do that. You're a guest in my house." I try.
"It's okay, I don't mind. Besides I found this recipe online that I wanted to try out." He says, already continuing with his plan that will surely burn down my kitchen.
Fifteen minutes pass, and his 'creation' is finished. He places the bowl down on the table in front of me. I swear I can hear it whispering obscenities to me of how it wants to die. I kinda feel sorry for it.
"And while you eat that, I think I'm going to unpack my things." Britain presses us together then leaves.
Poor thing, I don't know if I should eat it or set it free in the wild. I dip my spoon into the brown broth, and then scoop out some. The odor is… very pungent. I reluctantly put it to my lips and it trickles down my esophagus. I quietly cough.
It tastes like if someone threw a burnt, filled baby diaper into a soup and added the hair of a sweaty fat guy.
It tastes like a skunk got back from a stressful day at the dirty sock factory and decided to go for an hour long jog then poured his juices into a smoothie.
It tastes like Darth Vader's ass.
It tastes like if his burnt scones had babies with other burnt scones then drowned in a toilet.
It tastes the same way Ke$ha's breath smells.
It tastes like he got a brick from a burnt down building and said 'this seems like it'll make a great soup for America' and added spit from a tobacco addict.
It tastes like some old person's shoe.
It tastes like a disease ridden rat in Africa.
It tastes like France's armpits.
I have a few more similes.
It tastes like broccoli mixed with old cheese and dirty fish.
It tastes like six thousand year old laundry.
It tastes like the Queen's earwax.
It tastes like it died thirty years ago in a trash compactor.
"Well? How is it, love?" he says as he puts a hand on my shoulder and kisses my cheek.
"Oh my god, England! It's super delicious, better than hamburgers! Pleeeeease can I have more?" I ask.
He glances down at my now empty bowl (Yes, I…. unfortunately…ate it all. Hopefully he can't hear the all out war going on in my stomach.) "Sorry, I didn't make anymore." He says. I give a silent prayer of thankfulness to the big guy upstairs.
He begins to walk backwards, towards my bedroom. He has a suggestive look in his eyes as he gives a come and get me smile, curling his finger repeatedly to himself. People may think I'm an idiot, but even an idiot knows when he's about to get lucky. And this idiot is totally getting some right now. ;)
I know I'm supposed to be working on another series right now, but I just got a quick inspiration for this one-shot. I just thought of America going off on a tangent of how bad England's food was then as soon as he asks America says it's great. So I hoped you liked it, I enjoyed writing it because this was my first one-shot and first 1st person POV (I feel like I have more control with 3rd person omnipotent). If this story does well, I might do an England POV of this situation.