![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
heroescutiesTitle: Alfred Jones and the Lost City of Gold 7/? [FF.Net Link] [Previous Chapters]
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Rating: PG-15 for non-explicit sexual situations
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Word Count: 3,282
Summary: Sequel to Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh. America and England are back again on yet another adventure when they head to South America to search for the legendary Incan Lost City of Gold. But they're going to need more than luck, and perhaps a little help from some friends, to get through the strange magic that has hidden the mysterious city for centuries.
Chapter 7 Summary:
England was brooding, which by America’s standards was just not acceptable. In fact, he thought no one should brood, except maybe Batman. Batman was the only one brooding really worked for, after all.
For England, not so much.
Notes: I hope to work on Codename soon, but the next arc is taking a little longer to set up than I expected. As always, thank you for your comments to this story!
England understood the weight of Amarum’s words immediately. If a nature spirit, and a powerful one at that, was instructing him to cast a spell over the cave, it was rather urgent that he do so.
America, on the other hand…
“Oooookay, clearly I need to rest because I must have smacked my head really hard to dream something nuts like this.”
England glared. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t worry your little stodgy head, I’m going back to bed right now. After a trippy dream like that, clearly I need to get some non-trippy REM sleep in.”
“It wasn’t a dream, America. That was a true spirit. You just can’t normally see them. But believe me, they are there!”
As America crawled back under the blankets and fluffed his pillow, he retorted, “Uh-huh. Sure thing, dreamland England. That’s what you want me to believe so I’ll wake up and go on and on about how cute your faeries and unicorns are. Nope, not buying it. No way, no how.”
He huffed at that, pointing after the direction Amarum had disappeared in. “I can call him back, you know!”
“England, no real snakes are that big. Seriously. Just because awesome movies like Anaconda and Snakes on a Plane have them, doesn’t make them real. I know I’m just having a weird dream because I hit my head.”
At this, England threw up his hands. “Oh bollocks! Fine, whatever! Continue to be blind, you git. See if I care!”
“Goodnight, dreamland England. I’ll see your real stodgy self when I wake up.”
And as America started to doze back off, England kicked a stone out of the cave mouth in frustration. How could America be such a blasted idiot when something like this was literally staring him right in the bloody face?
About to kick another stone, England stopped on feeling Pastuso nuzzling against his leg. Absently, he reached down and stroked behind the bear’s ear.
“Amarum was real, wasn’t he Pastuso?”
The bear nodded and England sighed.
“He talks to bears and whales and everything else, but give him a water spirit and oh no- must be dreaming!”
Pastuso licked his hand at that, then looked up, giving the cave opening they were standing in a hard stare before looking back to England.
“Right, of course. I need to cast that spell then.”
He walked over to his backpack and dug around before pulling out an old, worn, leather pouch. Opening it up, he pulled out a tattered old spell book and a piece of chalk.
“Step back, if you could, Pastuso. Can’t have any disruptions in the energies while I’m laying the compass round.”
The bear padded back over to America and curled up behind his back, his keen eyes still intent on England. The nation gave the bear a slight smile, glad that at least someone (or well rather, some bear) didn’t think him mad.
Kneeling on the ground near the cave mouth, England began to draw a circle in chalk on the cave floor. He worked counterclockwise, laying the lines until the large circle was complete.
Standing, he dusted off his hands and reached into his pouch. Pulling out a small handful of green powder, he began to walk clockwise inside the circle while chanting.
“Let us begin at the ending, start from where it is closed. Here lies below what also lies above,” he paused and sprinkled a pinch of powder on the ground at the circle’s northernmost edge, “It is different but it isn’t different, fair is foul and the sun shines brightly at midnight,” and then at its easternmost edge, “dreams are reality and reality is sleeping. The weight of the world is as easily lifted as feather, yet the feather bogs us down,” and then at the southern edge, “The circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is no where. Let us stop now where we started and start what was already finished.”
A large green cone grew up from the center of the circle at this, bringing a thickness to the air that enclosed England at all sides. As his hair and pyjamas billowed around him, he noticed America peeking out of his blankets, watching him.
He smiled at that. Bloody prat, he probably believed in Amarum deep down but was just being a brat about it. They could both be rather stubborn, after all.
Deciding that well, it was necessary to cast a stronger protective spell on America anyway, England channeled the energies of the spell he’d cast. Feeling the tickling sensation of the magic flowing down his arm, he directed it towards America.
“Find and mend that which has been injured, shield and protect him from all the realms’ harms.” The purple magic coiled around America, who closed his eyes. Finally, he started giggling, and England smirked. If he was being tickled, the magic was working.
Directing the magic back towards himself and the entrance, England finalized it.
“For us all let it stand a fortification until withdrawn by my hand. Let the mist embrace us in her shroud and keep us secret for those we have not identified as friend. Geændung!”
And for the briefest of moments, a large blue-green dome extended around the mouth of the cave, before shimmering once and turning transparent.
England was just about to turn and call out America on his feint of sleep, when America’s voice piped up.
“Um guys?”
Both England and Pastuso turned around.
America sheepishly grinned before holding up his cell phone. “I uh…got a text from Tony and, is it just me or does this writing sorta look familiar?”
The two crossed the cave at that, England stooping to seat himself beside America and Pastuso standing at his side. Both nation and bear’s eyes went wide at the small pixelated image America showed them.
“It could just be a coincidence, but it looks rather like…” England looked over his shoulder towards the cave mouth.
“That metal plate,” America finished.
The weight of that laid heavy enough on England’s thoughts that he chose not to call out America on inadvertently admitting that Amarum had been there.
Pastuso had started growling again, and England warily asked what was nagging him the most.
“Is Tony spying on us?”
“England…”
“What? It’s a valid question, being as he sends us that right after we see that metal plate.”
America frowned. “Well, that is a coincidence, because Tony sent this text the middle of last night. I’m just now reading it.”
As the pure eeriness of that happenstance sunk in, England sighed.
“Right then. So your alien somehow texts us an image of ancient writing that just happens to match up with what we’ve just seen.”
“He asked me to call him right away if I saw anything like it, but I bet he’s sleeping in. Chances are he was up late watching High School Musical with Poland and Lithuania.”
“Watching what?”
America grinned. “It sorta happens when I leave those three alone together. But yeah, I don’t want to wake him so I’ll just text him back saying maybe. I mean,” he ran a hand up through his hair, “we’re all kinda tweaked out right now so perhaps we’re just seeing things.”
But even as he said this, both America and England looked to the bear who was looking most displeased yet again. Without another sound from the bear, he picked up the khipu, pressed it insistently into England’s hands. He then swiftly ran out of the cave, the magic barrier rippling slightly as he exited.
America started to stand up, but England put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“He’ll be all right. I’m sure of it. Right now it’s more important that you heal up, okay?”
With a sigh, America relented. “Right. I’m sure Mr. Bear can take care of himself…”
“Precisely.”
But as America started to text Tony back, even England had to admit that things were getting rather…worrisome.
-----------------------
England was brooding, which by America’s standards was just not acceptable. In fact, he thought no one should brood, except maybe Batman. Batman was the only one brooding really worked for, after all.
For England, not so much.
And so, although freaky weird shit was totally going down, America knew it was his duty to keep England distracted as best as he could; which was good, because he knew that it’d distract him from his worries as well. So he’d gotten dressed, urged England to do the same, and insisted that since they were going to be stuck in this cave until he felt better- they might as well check it out.
England groused that America shouldn’t be moving around too much with his head injury, but he really, honestly, felt only a slight bit light headed.
“Plus, if I swoon and pass out, I’m sure you’ll be there to catch me, right?”
That line alone, cheesy though it may be, got England to relent in an instant. So after they ate some breakfast (England insisting on leaving a marmalade sandwich out for Pastuso and America reminding him his name was Mr. Bear) they set off into the cave itself.
America, holding his lantern aloft, pointed out variants in the rock formations and excitedly rushed over to each and every new stalactite and stalagmite. England, bemused smile quirking at his lips, shook his head and followed after.
“Wow England, look at this one!”
This one, he could tell by the way England’s eyes lit up, had impressed him; the limestone having flowed downward, looking like a five-level waterfall frozen into the rock.
Turning around and grinning, America exclaimed (voice echoing off the smaller cavern chamber), “You know, even after living so long stuff like this just totally blows me away each and every time. To think that dripping calcium carbonate can create something so beautiful, it’s just…wow. Super awesome wow.”
England walked up beside him at that and quietly took his hand. “The world has a way of amazing us again and again, I suppose. It’s rather…magical.”
America gave his hand a squeeze. “Yeah. It’s just awesome like that.”
Hand in hand, they continued onward; both having to duck their heads at times to pass through low ceiling areas, but never letting go. America grinned, thinking to himself that this was ‘rather magical’ as well.
But the cave’s surprises didn’t end there.
At first, America thought it was just a darker limestone formation, but when he prodded it with a finger, it came back damp…and muddy.
He beamed, “It’s like a fancy mud bath, England! We should totally jump in it!”
England huffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t think it wise to go jumping into places you cannot see the bottom of.”
But America, having already yanked off his shirt and now starting to pull off his boots, was determined to at least find out how deep it was personally.
“Oh come on, live it a little England! Where’s your sense of adventure?”
He rolled his eyes, trying not to stare at America as he pulled off his pants. “Staying safely out of the mud, thank you very much.”
“Pfffft, what are you- some Frenchie afraid of getting mud in his hair?”
A fire lit itself in England’s eyes at that, that burning hatred that he carried for France and all things French. Without another protest, he started to pull off his boots.
“Oh fine, I’ll stick my legs in at least.”
America grinned, already planning to drag England into the mud if it was deep enough to do so.
Tossing off his boxers, America slid into it, the mud warmly sloshing up to about his shoulders.
England gasped in concern, “America, what about your injuries?”
“You know…” he sniffed the air and gave England an honest smile, knowing how worried he was, “I think this is mineral mud. You know, like the stuff they use at those luxury spas? Which is actually good for injuries.”
England warily stuck a finger in it, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “And it’s warm.”
America lounged back in it, the mud being just enough cover all but his head and shoulders. “Well, there are volcanoes in the area. Probably geothermal heating of some sort. Feels so good on my back though…”
That seemed to get England to give in, sighing as he started to tug off his shirt. With a mischievous smirk, America grabbed up a handful of mud and lobbed it at England’s back. It hit with a wet squelch.
“Ack! Bloody hell, America!”
The wet mud trailed down England’s back and looked all the more ridiculous in the flickering of their two lanterns.
“Come on in, England- the mud is fine,” he sing-songed.
England huffed and America launched another mud handful, this time hitting England’s arm.
“It’ll be good for your injured hand.”
“You just want to cuddle with me while covered in filth, admit it,” England shot back.
America just put on an innocent expression. “You can throw mud back at me, if you want.”
England did just that, his handful hitting somewhere between America’s cheek and neck and leaving a large muddy splatter mark.
And so, without another word, a mud-fight broke out; handful after handful being tossed back and forth without so much care where it landed, as long as it wasn’t on the lanterns. England barely managed to shimmy out of his boxers and throw them a safe distance away before mud smacked wetly onto his bare bum.
He turned around, ready to retaliate, but America had disappeared from sight…outside his one tuft of hair, sticking up out of the mud like some sad parody of Jaws.
Slowly, the hair tuft came closer and closer until...
“Attack of the mud monster, rawr!” America yelled, reaching up out of the mud and pulling England in with a muddy splash.
They started laughing and throwing mud haphazardly, trying to wrestle mud out of each other’s hands before the other could throw it. Finally a rogue throw landed on the side of the lantern, dimming their minimal light.
That brought their mud fight to a halt, both of them breathing heavily and tangled up in each other’s limbs. America grinned lopsidedly down at England, who was pressed up flush against his front, his face flooding with heat as their bare groins bumped together.
England swallowed hard, and America followed suit.
“H-Hallo.”
“Hi,” America replied, breathlessly. And wow, England was really, really damn attractive, even covered in mud. All the blood was rushing to his groin and America was just about to say something really witty, like, “Can I give you a hand down there?” when England took the matter into his own hands, quite literally.
“A-Ah fuck, England.”
“Don’t think you’re quite up for that, love,” England rasped back, having grasped both of them at once and starting to stroke upwards. He rested his injured hand on America’s shoulder.
Now that he thought about it, not that his brain was doing much thinking as the pleasant haze of sensation rippled up and down his spine along with England’s ministrations, it probably would be really stupid to get too into this, given his current injuries. But damn was England really fucking hot right now and…
“Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium,” he started listing off the periodic table of elements under his breath, trying to keep himself from jumping England completely. Problem was…
“Y-You bloody…” England kissed him soundly at that, their tongues mingling and the mineral tang of the mud on their lips. “B-Bloody wanker,” he finally gasped out, giving both their lengths a hard pull.
America swore. Ah damn, he’d forgotten how worked up his science babble sometimes got England.
With a chuckle, he rested his forehead down against England’s shoulder and murmured huskily, “Think you’re the one…doing the wanking here, England.”
“H-Hush.”
“Boron, carbon, nitrogen…”
England kissed him again at that and America had a feeling it was partially just to shut him up. Though as he maneuvered them back against the edge of the mud pit, he thought that perhaps England just really wanted to kiss him. Which, America had to admit, he didn’t mind one bit.
As a tingling sensation started coursing through his veins, not much different than the feeling of England’s magic spell on him earlier, America shakily pressed a rough kiss to England’s cheek before whispering in his ear.
“Love ya, England. Mud and all.”
England hitched his breath, somewhere between a huff and a laugh, and replied back. First with a gentle kiss to America’s lips, then with a quiet, “Right fool, you are.”
“A fool you love.”
He smiled then, pressing closer to America as he brought them nearer to a finish.
“Ridiculously so, mud and all.”
---------------------------------------
They dripped a path of mud all the way from the mud pit to the mouth of the cave, where they were now both seated covered only in small towels they’d snatched out of their backpacks before sitting out in the rain to clean off.
England had to admit, even if it was very deep down in his rather punkish and pirateish type thoughts, that perhaps the mud bath and it’s…subsequent activities was a brilliant idea after all.
Both of them seemed a lot less tense and America’s injures, which were all bare now that they’d stripped him out of the muddy bandages, didn’t look quite as severe as England had remembered them.
In fact, England glanced to his right hand where it rested under America’s loose grip; even his own hand was looking a lot less raw around the cut’s edges.
“So explain to me again, how does your magic bubble-dome thing let the rain through but not evil magic things?”
England shook his head, but scooted a bit closer to America all the same.
“A skilled caster can do that, make stipulations if you will of what can and cannot pass into a barrier.”
“So like…Mr. Bear can get back in, right?”
“Yes, Pastuso can get back in. Don’t worry yourself about that.”
America laughed, resting his head on England’s shoulder and giving his hand a very gentle squeeze. “I’m more worried about if I’ll ever get this mud out of my ears.”
England leaned over and pressed a kiss to America’s forehead, “Git. That’s what you get for being such a prat.”
Shifting, America leaned in and was just about to kiss England when he froze up, his face going scarlet.
“W-What?” England whipped his head around and felt his face heating up as well.
There was Pastuso, seated right outside the barrier, giving them both a look as if he might as well have been telling them, “Didn’t I give you enough alone time, jeez.”
Flustered, they both decided that they were clean enough and padded back into the cave to put their clothes back on. Pastuso quickly ate the sandwich England had left out for him, then he snatched up the small bundle of flowers and leaves he’d returned with.
“What’s he doing with that?” America asked as England worked on rebandaging his deeper cuts and darker bruises.
“Haven’t the foggiest.”
They both watched the bear for awhile, until without pretense, he darted into a corner of the cave they’d yet to explore. Crouching down as if he was crawling, the bear seemed to enter into a small passageway there and…disappeared into the tunnel.
England looked to America, already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Should we follow him?”
America nodded fervently. “I think he wants us to. Like he…wants to show us something?”
Tying off the last of America’s bandages, England sighed.
“I was afraid of that.”
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Rating: PG-15 for non-explicit sexual situations
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Word Count: 3,282
Summary: Sequel to Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh. America and England are back again on yet another adventure when they head to South America to search for the legendary Incan Lost City of Gold. But they're going to need more than luck, and perhaps a little help from some friends, to get through the strange magic that has hidden the mysterious city for centuries.
Chapter 7 Summary:
England was brooding, which by America’s standards was just not acceptable. In fact, he thought no one should brood, except maybe Batman. Batman was the only one brooding really worked for, after all.
For England, not so much.
Notes: I hope to work on Codename soon, but the next arc is taking a little longer to set up than I expected. As always, thank you for your comments to this story!
England understood the weight of Amarum’s words immediately. If a nature spirit, and a powerful one at that, was instructing him to cast a spell over the cave, it was rather urgent that he do so.
America, on the other hand…
“Oooookay, clearly I need to rest because I must have smacked my head really hard to dream something nuts like this.”
England glared. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t worry your little stodgy head, I’m going back to bed right now. After a trippy dream like that, clearly I need to get some non-trippy REM sleep in.”
“It wasn’t a dream, America. That was a true spirit. You just can’t normally see them. But believe me, they are there!”
As America crawled back under the blankets and fluffed his pillow, he retorted, “Uh-huh. Sure thing, dreamland England. That’s what you want me to believe so I’ll wake up and go on and on about how cute your faeries and unicorns are. Nope, not buying it. No way, no how.”
He huffed at that, pointing after the direction Amarum had disappeared in. “I can call him back, you know!”
“England, no real snakes are that big. Seriously. Just because awesome movies like Anaconda and Snakes on a Plane have them, doesn’t make them real. I know I’m just having a weird dream because I hit my head.”
At this, England threw up his hands. “Oh bollocks! Fine, whatever! Continue to be blind, you git. See if I care!”
“Goodnight, dreamland England. I’ll see your real stodgy self when I wake up.”
And as America started to doze back off, England kicked a stone out of the cave mouth in frustration. How could America be such a blasted idiot when something like this was literally staring him right in the bloody face?
About to kick another stone, England stopped on feeling Pastuso nuzzling against his leg. Absently, he reached down and stroked behind the bear’s ear.
“Amarum was real, wasn’t he Pastuso?”
The bear nodded and England sighed.
“He talks to bears and whales and everything else, but give him a water spirit and oh no- must be dreaming!”
Pastuso licked his hand at that, then looked up, giving the cave opening they were standing in a hard stare before looking back to England.
“Right, of course. I need to cast that spell then.”
He walked over to his backpack and dug around before pulling out an old, worn, leather pouch. Opening it up, he pulled out a tattered old spell book and a piece of chalk.
“Step back, if you could, Pastuso. Can’t have any disruptions in the energies while I’m laying the compass round.”
The bear padded back over to America and curled up behind his back, his keen eyes still intent on England. The nation gave the bear a slight smile, glad that at least someone (or well rather, some bear) didn’t think him mad.
Kneeling on the ground near the cave mouth, England began to draw a circle in chalk on the cave floor. He worked counterclockwise, laying the lines until the large circle was complete.
Standing, he dusted off his hands and reached into his pouch. Pulling out a small handful of green powder, he began to walk clockwise inside the circle while chanting.
“Let us begin at the ending, start from where it is closed. Here lies below what also lies above,” he paused and sprinkled a pinch of powder on the ground at the circle’s northernmost edge, “It is different but it isn’t different, fair is foul and the sun shines brightly at midnight,” and then at its easternmost edge, “dreams are reality and reality is sleeping. The weight of the world is as easily lifted as feather, yet the feather bogs us down,” and then at the southern edge, “The circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is no where. Let us stop now where we started and start what was already finished.”
A large green cone grew up from the center of the circle at this, bringing a thickness to the air that enclosed England at all sides. As his hair and pyjamas billowed around him, he noticed America peeking out of his blankets, watching him.
He smiled at that. Bloody prat, he probably believed in Amarum deep down but was just being a brat about it. They could both be rather stubborn, after all.
Deciding that well, it was necessary to cast a stronger protective spell on America anyway, England channeled the energies of the spell he’d cast. Feeling the tickling sensation of the magic flowing down his arm, he directed it towards America.
“Find and mend that which has been injured, shield and protect him from all the realms’ harms.” The purple magic coiled around America, who closed his eyes. Finally, he started giggling, and England smirked. If he was being tickled, the magic was working.
Directing the magic back towards himself and the entrance, England finalized it.
“For us all let it stand a fortification until withdrawn by my hand. Let the mist embrace us in her shroud and keep us secret for those we have not identified as friend. Geændung!”
And for the briefest of moments, a large blue-green dome extended around the mouth of the cave, before shimmering once and turning transparent.
England was just about to turn and call out America on his feint of sleep, when America’s voice piped up.
“Um guys?”
Both England and Pastuso turned around.
America sheepishly grinned before holding up his cell phone. “I uh…got a text from Tony and, is it just me or does this writing sorta look familiar?”
The two crossed the cave at that, England stooping to seat himself beside America and Pastuso standing at his side. Both nation and bear’s eyes went wide at the small pixelated image America showed them.
“It could just be a coincidence, but it looks rather like…” England looked over his shoulder towards the cave mouth.
“That metal plate,” America finished.
The weight of that laid heavy enough on England’s thoughts that he chose not to call out America on inadvertently admitting that Amarum had been there.
Pastuso had started growling again, and England warily asked what was nagging him the most.
“Is Tony spying on us?”
“England…”
“What? It’s a valid question, being as he sends us that right after we see that metal plate.”
America frowned. “Well, that is a coincidence, because Tony sent this text the middle of last night. I’m just now reading it.”
As the pure eeriness of that happenstance sunk in, England sighed.
“Right then. So your alien somehow texts us an image of ancient writing that just happens to match up with what we’ve just seen.”
“He asked me to call him right away if I saw anything like it, but I bet he’s sleeping in. Chances are he was up late watching High School Musical with Poland and Lithuania.”
“Watching what?”
America grinned. “It sorta happens when I leave those three alone together. But yeah, I don’t want to wake him so I’ll just text him back saying maybe. I mean,” he ran a hand up through his hair, “we’re all kinda tweaked out right now so perhaps we’re just seeing things.”
But even as he said this, both America and England looked to the bear who was looking most displeased yet again. Without another sound from the bear, he picked up the khipu, pressed it insistently into England’s hands. He then swiftly ran out of the cave, the magic barrier rippling slightly as he exited.
America started to stand up, but England put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“He’ll be all right. I’m sure of it. Right now it’s more important that you heal up, okay?”
With a sigh, America relented. “Right. I’m sure Mr. Bear can take care of himself…”
“Precisely.”
But as America started to text Tony back, even England had to admit that things were getting rather…worrisome.
-----------------------
England was brooding, which by America’s standards was just not acceptable. In fact, he thought no one should brood, except maybe Batman. Batman was the only one brooding really worked for, after all.
For England, not so much.
And so, although freaky weird shit was totally going down, America knew it was his duty to keep England distracted as best as he could; which was good, because he knew that it’d distract him from his worries as well. So he’d gotten dressed, urged England to do the same, and insisted that since they were going to be stuck in this cave until he felt better- they might as well check it out.
England groused that America shouldn’t be moving around too much with his head injury, but he really, honestly, felt only a slight bit light headed.
“Plus, if I swoon and pass out, I’m sure you’ll be there to catch me, right?”
That line alone, cheesy though it may be, got England to relent in an instant. So after they ate some breakfast (England insisting on leaving a marmalade sandwich out for Pastuso and America reminding him his name was Mr. Bear) they set off into the cave itself.
America, holding his lantern aloft, pointed out variants in the rock formations and excitedly rushed over to each and every new stalactite and stalagmite. England, bemused smile quirking at his lips, shook his head and followed after.
“Wow England, look at this one!”
This one, he could tell by the way England’s eyes lit up, had impressed him; the limestone having flowed downward, looking like a five-level waterfall frozen into the rock.
Turning around and grinning, America exclaimed (voice echoing off the smaller cavern chamber), “You know, even after living so long stuff like this just totally blows me away each and every time. To think that dripping calcium carbonate can create something so beautiful, it’s just…wow. Super awesome wow.”
England walked up beside him at that and quietly took his hand. “The world has a way of amazing us again and again, I suppose. It’s rather…magical.”
America gave his hand a squeeze. “Yeah. It’s just awesome like that.”
Hand in hand, they continued onward; both having to duck their heads at times to pass through low ceiling areas, but never letting go. America grinned, thinking to himself that this was ‘rather magical’ as well.
But the cave’s surprises didn’t end there.
At first, America thought it was just a darker limestone formation, but when he prodded it with a finger, it came back damp…and muddy.
He beamed, “It’s like a fancy mud bath, England! We should totally jump in it!”
England huffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t think it wise to go jumping into places you cannot see the bottom of.”
But America, having already yanked off his shirt and now starting to pull off his boots, was determined to at least find out how deep it was personally.
“Oh come on, live it a little England! Where’s your sense of adventure?”
He rolled his eyes, trying not to stare at America as he pulled off his pants. “Staying safely out of the mud, thank you very much.”
“Pfffft, what are you- some Frenchie afraid of getting mud in his hair?”
A fire lit itself in England’s eyes at that, that burning hatred that he carried for France and all things French. Without another protest, he started to pull off his boots.
“Oh fine, I’ll stick my legs in at least.”
America grinned, already planning to drag England into the mud if it was deep enough to do so.
Tossing off his boxers, America slid into it, the mud warmly sloshing up to about his shoulders.
England gasped in concern, “America, what about your injuries?”
“You know…” he sniffed the air and gave England an honest smile, knowing how worried he was, “I think this is mineral mud. You know, like the stuff they use at those luxury spas? Which is actually good for injuries.”
England warily stuck a finger in it, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “And it’s warm.”
America lounged back in it, the mud being just enough cover all but his head and shoulders. “Well, there are volcanoes in the area. Probably geothermal heating of some sort. Feels so good on my back though…”
That seemed to get England to give in, sighing as he started to tug off his shirt. With a mischievous smirk, America grabbed up a handful of mud and lobbed it at England’s back. It hit with a wet squelch.
“Ack! Bloody hell, America!”
The wet mud trailed down England’s back and looked all the more ridiculous in the flickering of their two lanterns.
“Come on in, England- the mud is fine,” he sing-songed.
England huffed and America launched another mud handful, this time hitting England’s arm.
“It’ll be good for your injured hand.”
“You just want to cuddle with me while covered in filth, admit it,” England shot back.
America just put on an innocent expression. “You can throw mud back at me, if you want.”
England did just that, his handful hitting somewhere between America’s cheek and neck and leaving a large muddy splatter mark.
And so, without another word, a mud-fight broke out; handful after handful being tossed back and forth without so much care where it landed, as long as it wasn’t on the lanterns. England barely managed to shimmy out of his boxers and throw them a safe distance away before mud smacked wetly onto his bare bum.
He turned around, ready to retaliate, but America had disappeared from sight…outside his one tuft of hair, sticking up out of the mud like some sad parody of Jaws.
Slowly, the hair tuft came closer and closer until...
“Attack of the mud monster, rawr!” America yelled, reaching up out of the mud and pulling England in with a muddy splash.
They started laughing and throwing mud haphazardly, trying to wrestle mud out of each other’s hands before the other could throw it. Finally a rogue throw landed on the side of the lantern, dimming their minimal light.
That brought their mud fight to a halt, both of them breathing heavily and tangled up in each other’s limbs. America grinned lopsidedly down at England, who was pressed up flush against his front, his face flooding with heat as their bare groins bumped together.
England swallowed hard, and America followed suit.
“H-Hallo.”
“Hi,” America replied, breathlessly. And wow, England was really, really damn attractive, even covered in mud. All the blood was rushing to his groin and America was just about to say something really witty, like, “Can I give you a hand down there?” when England took the matter into his own hands, quite literally.
“A-Ah fuck, England.”
“Don’t think you’re quite up for that, love,” England rasped back, having grasped both of them at once and starting to stroke upwards. He rested his injured hand on America’s shoulder.
Now that he thought about it, not that his brain was doing much thinking as the pleasant haze of sensation rippled up and down his spine along with England’s ministrations, it probably would be really stupid to get too into this, given his current injuries. But damn was England really fucking hot right now and…
“Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium,” he started listing off the periodic table of elements under his breath, trying to keep himself from jumping England completely. Problem was…
“Y-You bloody…” England kissed him soundly at that, their tongues mingling and the mineral tang of the mud on their lips. “B-Bloody wanker,” he finally gasped out, giving both their lengths a hard pull.
America swore. Ah damn, he’d forgotten how worked up his science babble sometimes got England.
With a chuckle, he rested his forehead down against England’s shoulder and murmured huskily, “Think you’re the one…doing the wanking here, England.”
“H-Hush.”
“Boron, carbon, nitrogen…”
England kissed him again at that and America had a feeling it was partially just to shut him up. Though as he maneuvered them back against the edge of the mud pit, he thought that perhaps England just really wanted to kiss him. Which, America had to admit, he didn’t mind one bit.
As a tingling sensation started coursing through his veins, not much different than the feeling of England’s magic spell on him earlier, America shakily pressed a rough kiss to England’s cheek before whispering in his ear.
“Love ya, England. Mud and all.”
England hitched his breath, somewhere between a huff and a laugh, and replied back. First with a gentle kiss to America’s lips, then with a quiet, “Right fool, you are.”
“A fool you love.”
He smiled then, pressing closer to America as he brought them nearer to a finish.
“Ridiculously so, mud and all.”
---------------------------------------
They dripped a path of mud all the way from the mud pit to the mouth of the cave, where they were now both seated covered only in small towels they’d snatched out of their backpacks before sitting out in the rain to clean off.
England had to admit, even if it was very deep down in his rather punkish and pirateish type thoughts, that perhaps the mud bath and it’s…subsequent activities was a brilliant idea after all.
Both of them seemed a lot less tense and America’s injures, which were all bare now that they’d stripped him out of the muddy bandages, didn’t look quite as severe as England had remembered them.
In fact, England glanced to his right hand where it rested under America’s loose grip; even his own hand was looking a lot less raw around the cut’s edges.
“So explain to me again, how does your magic bubble-dome thing let the rain through but not evil magic things?”
England shook his head, but scooted a bit closer to America all the same.
“A skilled caster can do that, make stipulations if you will of what can and cannot pass into a barrier.”
“So like…Mr. Bear can get back in, right?”
“Yes, Pastuso can get back in. Don’t worry yourself about that.”
America laughed, resting his head on England’s shoulder and giving his hand a very gentle squeeze. “I’m more worried about if I’ll ever get this mud out of my ears.”
England leaned over and pressed a kiss to America’s forehead, “Git. That’s what you get for being such a prat.”
Shifting, America leaned in and was just about to kiss England when he froze up, his face going scarlet.
“W-What?” England whipped his head around and felt his face heating up as well.
There was Pastuso, seated right outside the barrier, giving them both a look as if he might as well have been telling them, “Didn’t I give you enough alone time, jeez.”
Flustered, they both decided that they were clean enough and padded back into the cave to put their clothes back on. Pastuso quickly ate the sandwich England had left out for him, then he snatched up the small bundle of flowers and leaves he’d returned with.
“What’s he doing with that?” America asked as England worked on rebandaging his deeper cuts and darker bruises.
“Haven’t the foggiest.”
They both watched the bear for awhile, until without pretense, he darted into a corner of the cave they’d yet to explore. Crouching down as if he was crawling, the bear seemed to enter into a small passageway there and…disappeared into the tunnel.
England looked to America, already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Should we follow him?”
America nodded fervently. “I think he wants us to. Like he…wants to show us something?”
Tying off the last of America’s bandages, England sighed.
“I was afraid of that.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}