13 Mar. 13 – 4:49 PM

I wanted to do Sweethearts Week this year, but I've been busy with college and on meds because of my wisdom teeth (I hate being on meds) so I jumped onto the band wagon pretty late.

First one!

8th: Always Beside You
Fic or art must feature the theme of contact- whether physical or otherwise, between the boys.

Rating: PG-13

Notes/Warnings: Mentions of sexual conduct

Sketch

They were outside today. The meeting had already ended for them and soon they would be parting as they always did. The grass was soft beneath them, the hill a very gentle slope. England looked towards the other and was amazed at the slender fingers that grasped the piece of charcoal so daintily, he wondered if America held him that way.

Was he something that could be easily broken, or would those fingers guide him with all the strength that the other could give him and support?

"England?" The older nation looked up and saw that blue eyes continued to bury themselves into the sketchbook that the charcoal marred.

"Yes?"

"You're really quiet…" America chuckled, lifting the drawing utensil away as to keep his art neat and not let his humour get the better of him and mess up his work. "Usually you start yelling at me, saying that it's boring to watch me sketch all day."

"It's not… I'm just thinking." England reached over and brushed a stray hair out of the other's eyes.

"Thinking about what?"

"Your hands…" The Briton reached down and took the hand that held the charcoal between his own two, taking the black object and setting it on the grass. He caressed the younger man's fingers, the inside of his palm, memorising every callous, wrinkle, and perfection that lay there. He closed his eyes, letting his own fingers guide him, not moving away or letting go when America moved.

England opened his eyes and saw America putting down the sketchbook, his other hand now free and coming to massage England's cheek.

"My hands? Where are my hands in your thinking?"

The Briton felt heat rush up to his cheeks. So many places he had imagined those hands being. On his cheeks, they'd give soft strokes. On his neck, they'd relieve his tension. His arms would be peppered with gooseflesh, as his legs would be. His torso would be worshipped and even lower…

"Everywhere… Doing everything."

America blinked and smiled.

"Maybe tonight we can… But let me finish my sketch okay?"

England let out a shaky sigh. "What have you been sketching anyway?"

America grabbed the sketchbook and held the page open to where he had been. England stared back at his own visage, one from a memory as his persona in the drawing was reading at the kitchen table at America's house.

"I'll have a picture of you. That way you'll always be beside me."

England gave a quick kiss to his cheek and lay down in the grass. "You're embarrassing."