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hetalia2011-12-22 03:39 pm
lady-phenyx.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2011-12-22 03:39 pm
Entry tags:
[Secret Santa Fic] Come Play With Me
TITLE: Come Play With Me
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lady_phenyx
RECIPIENT:natcat5
GENRE: Fluff
RATINGS/WARNINGS: G
SUMMARY: Arthur lets loose and Alfred pushes back his hatred of winter to have fun in the snow.
NOTES: Many thanks to beta readerliete.
“…America? America, are you in there?”
The muffled cocoon of blankets and quilts on the couch grunted as England poked it. “America, come out of there!”
America just moaned, the cocoon not moving. “America, I came all the way over to your country to see you, you could at least come out of those blankets and say hello properly!” When that provoked only America pulling the cocoon tighter around him, England rocked back on his heels and glared at the mound of quilts. A muffled “eep” sounded from inside the quilts as England’s glare, which had been known to find its target around corners and behind walls, penetrated the soft fabric.
He’d known America disliked winter – in the same way that cats disliked water – but he’d thought it was like his supposed dislike of the rain. Everyone assumed he hated it since he tried to stay out of it when they saw him, but really, he was in fancy suits when they saw him most of the time, of course he would try and keep those dry. Actually, he quite liked the rain and being out in it. When all was said and done, why would America have a house on the outskirts of a tiny New England town and be in it during winter if he hated the cold?
“Come in here and I’ll say hello,” America finally responded, voice muffled by the layers of quilt and blankets. England rolled his eyes and groaned, cut off from answering by the doorbell.
A group of children stood outside on the porch, bundled in coats and hats to the point where they were barely distinguishable. Beyond them the snow piled on the porch and railing, weighing down the branches of the trees and covering the whole world in a thick blanket of white.
The front child, apparently the spokesperson of the group, looked up at England with hopeful eyes, playing with her bright purple mittens. “Hi, Mister Arthur!” she piped up cheerfully. “Is Mr. Alfred in?” England blinked for a moment before he recognized the neighborhood children, who had taken to America as a new playmate as soon as he moved in. The first time England had arrived at the new house, America had been outside playing with them and pulled England into their game before he even had a chance to put his bags away. They’d accepted him into their games almost as readily as they had their country, though somehow he seemed to end up the adult of the group more often than not.
Smiling, England gestured behind him into the living room. “I direct your attention to the quilt cocoon on the couch.”
“Oh. I guess he doesn’t wanna come play then,” the little girl said with evident disappointment. Suddenly her eyes lit up and she grabbed England’s hand. “Will you come play with us, Mr. Arthur? Pretty please?” More voices piped up as England hesitated.
“All right, all right, just give me a minute,” England laughed, holding up his hands in defeat. The kids cheered as he let them into the house and went to fetch his coat.
“Alfred, the snow’s up to my knee outside!” From inside the blanket, America groaned. “Oh come on, it rarely snows like this in my home. The children from town are here, and if you aren’t going outside to play with them, I am. Enjoy your blankets.” With that, he patted the blankets and tugged on his coat, heading outside.
It only took about five minutes before America couldn’t take the curiosity anymore. He left on the Snuggie – he had to leave most of the blankets behind to move, but he wasn’t giving them all up – and forced himself out of his warm and comfy cocoon to look out the window into the backyard.
The backyard was part of the reason he’d picked this particular house. It was huge, with a large hill perfect for sledding down during winter if you were crazy enough to go out in the snow and a large garden he planned to tend with England when spring finally came. A small creek cut across one corner, cutting through the heavy snow and flowing sluggishly in the cold. The snow was at least as deep as England had claimed and America shivered, pulling a blanket off the chair by the window and wrapping it around his shoulders.
Outside, the snow was still pristine, and America drew the blanket a little closer as he pushed the curtain out of the way, looking around the backyard with a frown. He couldn’t see England or the kids anywhere, which was odd. They wouldn’t have left the yard and gone somewhere else, would they? Without the hero?
A shriek had his head whipping around, pounding toward the door in an instant, instinctive reaction. Even as he pulled it open the sled flew into the yard off the hill, the children on it shrieking happily as it slowed to a halt. The pair tumbled off and waved to America, standing in the doorway in his Snuggie and blanket, before running back toward the hill as best they could in the deep snow.
When he stepped further out onto the porch and craned his neck, America could see England helping the next pair onto their sled and giving them a push down the hill. He couldn’t see it, but he could just picture the happy, paternal smile England had to have – the one he had when he got the chance to let loose and play with kids, the one that didn’t get coaxed out half as often as America would like. Suddenly realizing just how cold it was on the porch, America ducked back inside. He was going to need his coat. And maybe some thermal undies.
England was helping the kids get ready for their last trip down the hill, enjoying their innocent enthusiasm, when a noise from behind made him stiffen. Slowed by the snow, he wasn’t able to avoid America as he was grabbed from behind.
“Hey kids, wanna let us old folks take a ride?” America laughed, holding England up easily. The kids laughed in delight as England tried to free himself, squirming and struggling against America’s hold though keeping a lid on the cursing. America plopped down on the empty sled and set England down in front of him, wrapping his arms around England firmly.
“Here we go!”
With two adults on board the sled and a path worn in the snow by the earlier runs, their trip down the hill was much faster than the childrens’. The wind snatched away America’s whoop of joy and whipped tears from their eyes as they shot down the hill, snow flying up behind them.
At the bottom of the hill they fell off together, tangling and rolling in the snow. They came to a halt finally under the trees, America landing on his back in the soft snow and England landing on top of him, both coated in snow.
“I thought you were staying in your blankets?” England asked as he got his breath back, smiling down at America.
For a second, all America could do was stare up at England. The wind had whipped color into his face and his usually messy hair was utterly disheveled, sticking up in clumps. He was smiling softly and warmly, and his eyes were sparkling with glee. Despite the freezing cold snow he was lying in America felt a sudden rush of warmth.
Dimly, he heard the kids yelling from the top of the hill, warning them that they were coming down. They’d landed under the trees, far out of the way, so America didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he could, mesmerized as he was by England. Gently he cupped England’s cheek in one glove-covered hand, feeling as if the world was going soft and fuzzy around the edges in a romantic, Hollywood worthy moment…which lasted until he found himself with a face full of snow.
He shot up, sputtering, tumbling England into the snow. England laughed as he rolled, already scooping up snow for the next ball. In seconds snow was flying as the kids tumbled off the sleds and joined in the fight, turning the air white.
America ducked behind a tree for a moment to stock up on snowballs. Man, but England was fast at this! A snowball brushing the side of his head reminded him that England had deadly aim, too.
He snuck a glance around the tree when he heard one of the kids get England’s attention and just watched him. If only those idiots could see England now, he thought. No stuffy old island here that the others teased and taunted for being of their company but not part, for being an old man who could never loosen up. Just for the moment America watched and savored England being so open and freely happy.
Okay, he was done.
Snow fountained as he hit England, taking them both to the ground. England laughed and struggled playfully as the snowball fight continued around them. Finally he stopped, falling back into the snow.
“I think I have snow up my nose,” he complained mildly. America grinned and England ruffled snow into his hair.
“Gah! En…Arthur, don’t do that! I hate being cold!” America complained, barely remembering to use England’s human name. A sudden weight on his back drove them back into the snow, and England grunted at the sudden weight increase. A pair of small, snow covered arms wrapped around America’s neck and grinned down at England.
“Are you making snow angels? Can we make snowmen now?” England freed his arm to glance at his watch, looking up at the sky afterward.
“It’s going to be dark soon, and it’s almost suppertime. You should probably be heading home soon…” A round of protests met his announcement, and America added his puppy eyes to the assault.
“Pleease, Artie? Just one snowman?”
“Ugh. Fine. Just one snowman, then you have to head home, all of you, before it gets dark.”
There were cheers as America hauled himself and England out of the snow before he dashed off toward the house with some of the kids for supplies while the rest started rolling the snow. By the time America got back they had the snowman half finished.
England and America got into an argument after America gave the snowman twig-brows. While they argued the kids started a second snowman, complete with Nantucket and a stick-hand holding snow-England’s stick-hand.
Even after the kids had said their goodbyes and headed home there was still a slight blush on England’s face. America was still thrilled with their snowmen and stood at the window, looking out at them as the light faded. He was a little embarrassed, but proud too.
Shivering, he went back to the couch and his blanket-cocoon. England came in while he was still fussing with it, so he pulled England into his warm little world, barely giving him time to set down the mugs he was holding.
It took them some time, but they were finally comfortable after America bodily picked up England and settled him so they were sprawled the length of the couch and propped against an arm, with England resting against America’s chest. Both got a little thrill when America manhandled England, for the amount of trust it took for England to just let him do it without fuss – at least, when he had warning and there was no one around to see them.
America complained when England moved and disrupted their blankets. England shoved a mug in his face and he took it bemusedly as England settled back into his spot.
“Don’t complain,” England warned as America stared at the brown liquid inside his mug, smelling the chocolate wafting from it. “I don’t need to hear any cracks about my cooking.”
“You make the best cocoa,” America commented instead, taking a gulp out of his mug while England hid an embarrassed smile in his own. He wasn’t lying, England was good at things like cocoa and tea – it was when he tried to make solid foods that something always seemed to go wrong, to everyone else at least. Smiling, he buried his nose in England’s hair for a second to breathe in the cold scent the snow had left and relaxed into the warmth of blankets and cranky Brit, wrapping his free arm around England, who leaned back against him with his own mug.
Maybe winter wasn’t so bad after all.
AUTHOR:
lady_phenyxRECIPIENT:
natcat5GENRE: Fluff
RATINGS/WARNINGS: G
SUMMARY: Arthur lets loose and Alfred pushes back his hatred of winter to have fun in the snow.
NOTES: Many thanks to beta reader
liete. “…America? America, are you in there?”
The muffled cocoon of blankets and quilts on the couch grunted as England poked it. “America, come out of there!”
America just moaned, the cocoon not moving. “America, I came all the way over to your country to see you, you could at least come out of those blankets and say hello properly!” When that provoked only America pulling the cocoon tighter around him, England rocked back on his heels and glared at the mound of quilts. A muffled “eep” sounded from inside the quilts as England’s glare, which had been known to find its target around corners and behind walls, penetrated the soft fabric.
He’d known America disliked winter – in the same way that cats disliked water – but he’d thought it was like his supposed dislike of the rain. Everyone assumed he hated it since he tried to stay out of it when they saw him, but really, he was in fancy suits when they saw him most of the time, of course he would try and keep those dry. Actually, he quite liked the rain and being out in it. When all was said and done, why would America have a house on the outskirts of a tiny New England town and be in it during winter if he hated the cold?
“Come in here and I’ll say hello,” America finally responded, voice muffled by the layers of quilt and blankets. England rolled his eyes and groaned, cut off from answering by the doorbell.
A group of children stood outside on the porch, bundled in coats and hats to the point where they were barely distinguishable. Beyond them the snow piled on the porch and railing, weighing down the branches of the trees and covering the whole world in a thick blanket of white.
The front child, apparently the spokesperson of the group, looked up at England with hopeful eyes, playing with her bright purple mittens. “Hi, Mister Arthur!” she piped up cheerfully. “Is Mr. Alfred in?” England blinked for a moment before he recognized the neighborhood children, who had taken to America as a new playmate as soon as he moved in. The first time England had arrived at the new house, America had been outside playing with them and pulled England into their game before he even had a chance to put his bags away. They’d accepted him into their games almost as readily as they had their country, though somehow he seemed to end up the adult of the group more often than not.
Smiling, England gestured behind him into the living room. “I direct your attention to the quilt cocoon on the couch.”
“Oh. I guess he doesn’t wanna come play then,” the little girl said with evident disappointment. Suddenly her eyes lit up and she grabbed England’s hand. “Will you come play with us, Mr. Arthur? Pretty please?” More voices piped up as England hesitated.
“All right, all right, just give me a minute,” England laughed, holding up his hands in defeat. The kids cheered as he let them into the house and went to fetch his coat.
“Alfred, the snow’s up to my knee outside!” From inside the blanket, America groaned. “Oh come on, it rarely snows like this in my home. The children from town are here, and if you aren’t going outside to play with them, I am. Enjoy your blankets.” With that, he patted the blankets and tugged on his coat, heading outside.
It only took about five minutes before America couldn’t take the curiosity anymore. He left on the Snuggie – he had to leave most of the blankets behind to move, but he wasn’t giving them all up – and forced himself out of his warm and comfy cocoon to look out the window into the backyard.
The backyard was part of the reason he’d picked this particular house. It was huge, with a large hill perfect for sledding down during winter if you were crazy enough to go out in the snow and a large garden he planned to tend with England when spring finally came. A small creek cut across one corner, cutting through the heavy snow and flowing sluggishly in the cold. The snow was at least as deep as England had claimed and America shivered, pulling a blanket off the chair by the window and wrapping it around his shoulders.
Outside, the snow was still pristine, and America drew the blanket a little closer as he pushed the curtain out of the way, looking around the backyard with a frown. He couldn’t see England or the kids anywhere, which was odd. They wouldn’t have left the yard and gone somewhere else, would they? Without the hero?
A shriek had his head whipping around, pounding toward the door in an instant, instinctive reaction. Even as he pulled it open the sled flew into the yard off the hill, the children on it shrieking happily as it slowed to a halt. The pair tumbled off and waved to America, standing in the doorway in his Snuggie and blanket, before running back toward the hill as best they could in the deep snow.
When he stepped further out onto the porch and craned his neck, America could see England helping the next pair onto their sled and giving them a push down the hill. He couldn’t see it, but he could just picture the happy, paternal smile England had to have – the one he had when he got the chance to let loose and play with kids, the one that didn’t get coaxed out half as often as America would like. Suddenly realizing just how cold it was on the porch, America ducked back inside. He was going to need his coat. And maybe some thermal undies.
England was helping the kids get ready for their last trip down the hill, enjoying their innocent enthusiasm, when a noise from behind made him stiffen. Slowed by the snow, he wasn’t able to avoid America as he was grabbed from behind.
“Hey kids, wanna let us old folks take a ride?” America laughed, holding England up easily. The kids laughed in delight as England tried to free himself, squirming and struggling against America’s hold though keeping a lid on the cursing. America plopped down on the empty sled and set England down in front of him, wrapping his arms around England firmly.
“Here we go!”
With two adults on board the sled and a path worn in the snow by the earlier runs, their trip down the hill was much faster than the childrens’. The wind snatched away America’s whoop of joy and whipped tears from their eyes as they shot down the hill, snow flying up behind them.
At the bottom of the hill they fell off together, tangling and rolling in the snow. They came to a halt finally under the trees, America landing on his back in the soft snow and England landing on top of him, both coated in snow.
“I thought you were staying in your blankets?” England asked as he got his breath back, smiling down at America.
For a second, all America could do was stare up at England. The wind had whipped color into his face and his usually messy hair was utterly disheveled, sticking up in clumps. He was smiling softly and warmly, and his eyes were sparkling with glee. Despite the freezing cold snow he was lying in America felt a sudden rush of warmth.
Dimly, he heard the kids yelling from the top of the hill, warning them that they were coming down. They’d landed under the trees, far out of the way, so America didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he could, mesmerized as he was by England. Gently he cupped England’s cheek in one glove-covered hand, feeling as if the world was going soft and fuzzy around the edges in a romantic, Hollywood worthy moment…which lasted until he found himself with a face full of snow.
He shot up, sputtering, tumbling England into the snow. England laughed as he rolled, already scooping up snow for the next ball. In seconds snow was flying as the kids tumbled off the sleds and joined in the fight, turning the air white.
America ducked behind a tree for a moment to stock up on snowballs. Man, but England was fast at this! A snowball brushing the side of his head reminded him that England had deadly aim, too.
He snuck a glance around the tree when he heard one of the kids get England’s attention and just watched him. If only those idiots could see England now, he thought. No stuffy old island here that the others teased and taunted for being of their company but not part, for being an old man who could never loosen up. Just for the moment America watched and savored England being so open and freely happy.
Okay, he was done.
Snow fountained as he hit England, taking them both to the ground. England laughed and struggled playfully as the snowball fight continued around them. Finally he stopped, falling back into the snow.
“I think I have snow up my nose,” he complained mildly. America grinned and England ruffled snow into his hair.
“Gah! En…Arthur, don’t do that! I hate being cold!” America complained, barely remembering to use England’s human name. A sudden weight on his back drove them back into the snow, and England grunted at the sudden weight increase. A pair of small, snow covered arms wrapped around America’s neck and grinned down at England.
“Are you making snow angels? Can we make snowmen now?” England freed his arm to glance at his watch, looking up at the sky afterward.
“It’s going to be dark soon, and it’s almost suppertime. You should probably be heading home soon…” A round of protests met his announcement, and America added his puppy eyes to the assault.
“Pleease, Artie? Just one snowman?”
“Ugh. Fine. Just one snowman, then you have to head home, all of you, before it gets dark.”
There were cheers as America hauled himself and England out of the snow before he dashed off toward the house with some of the kids for supplies while the rest started rolling the snow. By the time America got back they had the snowman half finished.
England and America got into an argument after America gave the snowman twig-brows. While they argued the kids started a second snowman, complete with Nantucket and a stick-hand holding snow-England’s stick-hand.
Even after the kids had said their goodbyes and headed home there was still a slight blush on England’s face. America was still thrilled with their snowmen and stood at the window, looking out at them as the light faded. He was a little embarrassed, but proud too.
Shivering, he went back to the couch and his blanket-cocoon. England came in while he was still fussing with it, so he pulled England into his warm little world, barely giving him time to set down the mugs he was holding.
It took them some time, but they were finally comfortable after America bodily picked up England and settled him so they were sprawled the length of the couch and propped against an arm, with England resting against America’s chest. Both got a little thrill when America manhandled England, for the amount of trust it took for England to just let him do it without fuss – at least, when he had warning and there was no one around to see them.
America complained when England moved and disrupted their blankets. England shoved a mug in his face and he took it bemusedly as England settled back into his spot.
“Don’t complain,” England warned as America stared at the brown liquid inside his mug, smelling the chocolate wafting from it. “I don’t need to hear any cracks about my cooking.”
“You make the best cocoa,” America commented instead, taking a gulp out of his mug while England hid an embarrassed smile in his own. He wasn’t lying, England was good at things like cocoa and tea – it was when he tried to make solid foods that something always seemed to go wrong, to everyone else at least. Smiling, he buried his nose in England’s hair for a second to breathe in the cold scent the snow had left and relaxed into the warmth of blankets and cranky Brit, wrapping his free arm around England, who leaned back against him with his own mug.
Maybe winter wasn’t so bad after all.