Post by England on Jun 13, 2010 19:27:53 GMT -5
(here I go to start this off! With fluff. Keep in mind this whole story was written with 'Kiss the Girl' from the Little Mermaid on repeat. I blame that song.)
The streets - his streets, now and forever! - were alive with people - his people! - dancing, singing and celebrating. Portugal - and he chose that name, leaving behind ‘Jibrail’ forevermore as a bad dream now that he was liberated - couldn’t stop laughing, dancing and singing, high off his people’s emotions. Filled with a bubbly feeling that made him certain he could dance on air if he so chose he wondered if this was how being a full-fledged nation would always feel like.
Wandering through the celebrations with no clear idea of where he was going in his mind, he stepped by bodies that hadn’t had a chance to be collected and pools of blood amongst the cobblestones, waiting for the next great rain to be washed away. Every last bit of it made him both sad and proud as he’d fought - they’d all fought - and he prayed for his lost souls even as he danced in the streets, listening to his freedom sing. And thinking of fighting made his thoughts dance off towards those who had helped him. Crusaders heading for the holy lands, trapped by God himself in his lands as storms had assailed the seas. Interest piqued, Portugal wandered off with a faint bit of purpose - to seek out those foreign men.
It wasn’t too hard, all in all, as the lot of them were mostly still in armor sitting off to the side. Clustered in a group with food and wine flowing freely, they laughed and spoke and flirted with Portugal’s women. A handsome enough lot, if not a bit gruff and scruffy looking, even for holy warriors, he didn’t mind standing back and watching them for a long moment.
Bored of watching from a distance, Portugal was about to let his wandering feet take him away again when he saw - and felt - a boy emerge from the center of that tight knit group. About his own age, if not a bit younger, with short blond hair. He... he was a Nation too, wasn’t he? Portugal stared in wonder with a bit of a thrill. This would be his first meeting with a Nation as a Nation and not part of someone else’s empire. Better yet - this was a Nation he’d never met before.
Urged on by this, he stepped closer, quietly even though it wasn’t necessary. No one would be able to hear his approach over the raucous noise of celebration, but that didn’t stop him from tip-toeing over. It gave him a chance to watch the odd young blond, who was scowling up at the much taller crusaders as they laughed down at him, his own mug of ale clutched in pale hands. Even from a distance, he could see the bright flush covering his face from thick eyebrows and down into the folds of his tunic. For a faint moment, he wondered if he wanted to meet this obviously angry young man.
Then, one of the crusaders noticed him and with a quick gesture and a faint murmured word to the boy, Portugal found himself trapped by an astounding pair of green eyes. He’d seen green eyes before - heck, his own brother had green eyes - but never in such a shade. It made him think of gemstones, rich and deep (and it would be many years and a trip to the rolling hillsides that made up a good portion of English lands to know what color his eyes really matched) and they caught his attention so firmly that those fuzzy brows that crowned them didn’t repulse Portugal - it was almost as if they added to his charm. He was frozen, one foot still up in the air in mid-step while those eyes widened, startled.
There was a long pause as both stared at each other without word, breathless. The men around the boy seemed to have some idea as to what was going on as they shared conspiratorial looks and amused smiles. Teasing the boy - and Portugal was suddenly struck by a desire to know his name (why didn’t he know his name?) - brought the red back to his face without the scowl as the blond found himself divested of his ale and nudged forward with a few armored elbows and catcalls. Finding the courage that he’d had back when he’d rebelled against the Empire, Portugal stepped forward with a quickly beating heart. He didn’t really understand why he suddenly felt so nervous, or why the celebration faded into the background, or his skin heated up.
Almost shyly, he came up nearly face to face with the blond. The other’s face was turned to the side, avoiding Portugal’s eyes and it sent odd flutters in his stomach as he caught those green eyes cautiously, shyly, glancing towards him before darting away again. Lips twitching up into a smile, Portugal held out a hand to the other, beckoning the green-eyed boy to take it.
“Hullo there. My name is Portugal - may I ask for yours?” a special thrill went through him at being able to introduce himself by his own name and it danced with the flutters, filling him with odd, happy feelings as those shy eyes met his again.
“E-england.” His voice was young and cracked with adolescence and a strange accent. Grin widening, he kept those eyes on him and laughed as a faint smile grew to match his. One of England’s pale arm’s came up, cool hand grasping his own in a handshake that Portugal turned into just holding hands.
“Well then, England,” the name rolled off his lips as if he’d been saying it forever and a day, not for the first time, “as a small bit of a ‘thank you’ for what you’ve done for me, may I escort you around these festivities?”
Ducking his head again, trying to hide the sheer embarrassment on his face, the blond mumbled, just loudly enough for Portugal to hear him. “I... I really didn’t do it for you - we were stuck here and I was bored...”
Squeezing that hand in his to regain England’s attention - why did he so desperately want the others attentions only on him? - he flicked the other boy on the nose and laughed faintly when he flinched back the slightest bit and rubbed his nose. “That’s fine by me - the fact that you chose to help me is more than enough reason for thanks.”
It was actually rather cute to watch the varying degrees of red England’s face could turn, even as he couldn’t see his face, Portugal could see the tips of his ears turn red under his hair. “Well... well if you insist...”
The grin on Portugal’s face grew into a full blown smile as he squeezed the smaller hand in his. He felt his own face start to color - except it wasn’t as obvious on his tanned skin - when the blond returned the gesture and got a better grip on his hand. “Let’s go then!” Portugal cheered as he pulled the unresisting England into the crowds filling his city.
Between the two of them they managed to stutter and blush their way along, neither sure of what they felt or why they felt it, but managing to find a fair few common interests. Like, making fun of annoying siblings, complaining about France and a love of dancing as they both were absorbed into the festive capital. Neither could resist the beat of music that seemed to thrum in the city.
As they wound their way from one end of Lisbon to the next there were plenty of distractions to keep from feeling awkward. Merchants had filled the streets selling everything from flowers to food to small toys and enough alcohol to keep the happy feelings in the city flowing for hours if not days. On the outskirts of the city, they stumbled onto an archery contest and Portugal cheered as England beat his best men with a practiced ease. The hug he wrapped the younger blond in had them both grinning like loons and dashing away from the disgruntled men that thought they had been beaten by someone who looked like a twelve year old.
That mad dash took them down to the beachfront where another group of men were setting up fireworks. England voiced his confusion as to what they were, having never seen a fireworks display before. Deciding that it was something the boy could not miss, Portugal found the two of them a small raft for the best view in the entire city. Or, rather, outside of the city, where no one would block them from seeing. With Portugal rowing steadily, they made it out to a much larger ship docked in the port as the sun began to set. England’s deft fingers tied a rope around the anchor chain so they wouldn’t drift off.
Waiting for the sun to fully set sent them into their first awkward silence as Portugal stared openly at the blond and England stared at everything but the other boy as a blush slowly but surely grew brighter the darker it got. Finally, the older boy could take it no longer; opening his mouth to say something - anything - he was interrupted by the first firework screaming up into the air and exploding with a bang and color. The other boy jumped visibly, rocking the boat in his surprise, giving Portugal an excuse to shuffle closer to wrap a reassuring arm around those small shoulders.
England didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to notice. Feeling his face heat up brighter than before as he stared openly at the amazed expression and the color, the lights that reflected off pale skin, Portugal’s heart beat faster. Perhaps it had something to do with how wonderful everything felt being free, or the innocent way the blond reacted to nearly everything but for some strange reason he couldn’t stop staring - he missed the entire firework performance just taking in every aspect of England’s face.
As the sparks faded away and the cheering of the city became muted as the party quieted, the two of them were left in a near darkness with only stars and distant city lights to see by. Those green eyes met his again, bright with enchantment and happiness. “That was amazing Portugal!” the boy exclaimed, not minding the closeness between the two of them.
A new, odd feeling hit Portugal, leaving him breathless and staring. Long seconds sat between them as the older boy struggled to understand the happiness bubbling in him. Confusion grew in England’s eyes the longer he stared at him wide eyed until finally the boy opened his mouth to say something, probably to ask what the matter was.
“Say it again.” he cut the other off, wanting to hear it again.
“Say what again?”
“My... my name. Please, say it again.” he nearly begged.
“... Portugal?” he queried and that same feeling grew more and more. Turning to face the blond fully, everything faded to the background except for England. His name. England knew his name, didn’t call him by his old one, just Portugal.
He suddenly wanted to kiss the boy more than anything.
“Again?” Portugal mumbled, leaning closer and loving the way England’s eyes widened as he suddenly realized what the older boy was doing, face burning bright enough for him to be able to notice in the near darkness. Worried for a faint moment that the other boy would pull away from him because of it, Portugal paused.
“Portugal.” England breathed out, a hand coming down to clasp his own, squeezing it and telling him it was okay. Egged on, Portugal leaned closer; could feel both their pulses beating faster; could see those green eyes flutter shut as their lips nearly touched.
If only either one had been paying attention, they would have heard the sound of the anchor being drawn back up on the ship they were tied to. Instead, just breaths away from a kiss, both instead let out a scream as their little raft was upended, sending both of them tumbling into the river. After a confused, twisting moment, Portugal could feel an arm wrap around his waist and pull his head above the waters. England had quickly grabbed onto the anchor chain with one hand and saved him from being pulled out to sea with the other.
Moments later had the both of them on deck of the ship, being yelled at by an irate and rather drunken captain, followed by being kicked off, raftless, down onto the dock. If England felt as awkward as Portugal did at that moment it would explain the nearly foot distance they kept between each other as they wandered off towards England’s own ship, ready to call it a night.
Neither one seemed to have anything to say to the other as they avoided looking into each others eyes. That is, until England turned to look at him, face once again red as they stood just before the gang plank that would separate them.
“... thank you Portugal.” he toed the dock nervously, body stiff with embarrassment. “I had fun.”
And before the older boy could even think of a reply, he felt warm lips on his cheek for a quick second before the blond ran away, up over the gang plank and disappearing into the large ship. Gaping with his mouth open for a long time, when his mind finally caught up with the rest of him, Portugal couldn’t stop the stupid grin that settled on his face.
If this is what freedom was, he thought as he dashed away, filled with an exuberant energy, he could get used to it.
The streets - his streets, now and forever! - were alive with people - his people! - dancing, singing and celebrating. Portugal - and he chose that name, leaving behind ‘Jibrail’ forevermore as a bad dream now that he was liberated - couldn’t stop laughing, dancing and singing, high off his people’s emotions. Filled with a bubbly feeling that made him certain he could dance on air if he so chose he wondered if this was how being a full-fledged nation would always feel like.
Wandering through the celebrations with no clear idea of where he was going in his mind, he stepped by bodies that hadn’t had a chance to be collected and pools of blood amongst the cobblestones, waiting for the next great rain to be washed away. Every last bit of it made him both sad and proud as he’d fought - they’d all fought - and he prayed for his lost souls even as he danced in the streets, listening to his freedom sing. And thinking of fighting made his thoughts dance off towards those who had helped him. Crusaders heading for the holy lands, trapped by God himself in his lands as storms had assailed the seas. Interest piqued, Portugal wandered off with a faint bit of purpose - to seek out those foreign men.
It wasn’t too hard, all in all, as the lot of them were mostly still in armor sitting off to the side. Clustered in a group with food and wine flowing freely, they laughed and spoke and flirted with Portugal’s women. A handsome enough lot, if not a bit gruff and scruffy looking, even for holy warriors, he didn’t mind standing back and watching them for a long moment.
Bored of watching from a distance, Portugal was about to let his wandering feet take him away again when he saw - and felt - a boy emerge from the center of that tight knit group. About his own age, if not a bit younger, with short blond hair. He... he was a Nation too, wasn’t he? Portugal stared in wonder with a bit of a thrill. This would be his first meeting with a Nation as a Nation and not part of someone else’s empire. Better yet - this was a Nation he’d never met before.
Urged on by this, he stepped closer, quietly even though it wasn’t necessary. No one would be able to hear his approach over the raucous noise of celebration, but that didn’t stop him from tip-toeing over. It gave him a chance to watch the odd young blond, who was scowling up at the much taller crusaders as they laughed down at him, his own mug of ale clutched in pale hands. Even from a distance, he could see the bright flush covering his face from thick eyebrows and down into the folds of his tunic. For a faint moment, he wondered if he wanted to meet this obviously angry young man.
Then, one of the crusaders noticed him and with a quick gesture and a faint murmured word to the boy, Portugal found himself trapped by an astounding pair of green eyes. He’d seen green eyes before - heck, his own brother had green eyes - but never in such a shade. It made him think of gemstones, rich and deep (and it would be many years and a trip to the rolling hillsides that made up a good portion of English lands to know what color his eyes really matched) and they caught his attention so firmly that those fuzzy brows that crowned them didn’t repulse Portugal - it was almost as if they added to his charm. He was frozen, one foot still up in the air in mid-step while those eyes widened, startled.
There was a long pause as both stared at each other without word, breathless. The men around the boy seemed to have some idea as to what was going on as they shared conspiratorial looks and amused smiles. Teasing the boy - and Portugal was suddenly struck by a desire to know his name (why didn’t he know his name?) - brought the red back to his face without the scowl as the blond found himself divested of his ale and nudged forward with a few armored elbows and catcalls. Finding the courage that he’d had back when he’d rebelled against the Empire, Portugal stepped forward with a quickly beating heart. He didn’t really understand why he suddenly felt so nervous, or why the celebration faded into the background, or his skin heated up.
Almost shyly, he came up nearly face to face with the blond. The other’s face was turned to the side, avoiding Portugal’s eyes and it sent odd flutters in his stomach as he caught those green eyes cautiously, shyly, glancing towards him before darting away again. Lips twitching up into a smile, Portugal held out a hand to the other, beckoning the green-eyed boy to take it.
“Hullo there. My name is Portugal - may I ask for yours?” a special thrill went through him at being able to introduce himself by his own name and it danced with the flutters, filling him with odd, happy feelings as those shy eyes met his again.
“E-england.” His voice was young and cracked with adolescence and a strange accent. Grin widening, he kept those eyes on him and laughed as a faint smile grew to match his. One of England’s pale arm’s came up, cool hand grasping his own in a handshake that Portugal turned into just holding hands.
“Well then, England,” the name rolled off his lips as if he’d been saying it forever and a day, not for the first time, “as a small bit of a ‘thank you’ for what you’ve done for me, may I escort you around these festivities?”
Ducking his head again, trying to hide the sheer embarrassment on his face, the blond mumbled, just loudly enough for Portugal to hear him. “I... I really didn’t do it for you - we were stuck here and I was bored...”
Squeezing that hand in his to regain England’s attention - why did he so desperately want the others attentions only on him? - he flicked the other boy on the nose and laughed faintly when he flinched back the slightest bit and rubbed his nose. “That’s fine by me - the fact that you chose to help me is more than enough reason for thanks.”
It was actually rather cute to watch the varying degrees of red England’s face could turn, even as he couldn’t see his face, Portugal could see the tips of his ears turn red under his hair. “Well... well if you insist...”
The grin on Portugal’s face grew into a full blown smile as he squeezed the smaller hand in his. He felt his own face start to color - except it wasn’t as obvious on his tanned skin - when the blond returned the gesture and got a better grip on his hand. “Let’s go then!” Portugal cheered as he pulled the unresisting England into the crowds filling his city.
Between the two of them they managed to stutter and blush their way along, neither sure of what they felt or why they felt it, but managing to find a fair few common interests. Like, making fun of annoying siblings, complaining about France and a love of dancing as they both were absorbed into the festive capital. Neither could resist the beat of music that seemed to thrum in the city.
As they wound their way from one end of Lisbon to the next there were plenty of distractions to keep from feeling awkward. Merchants had filled the streets selling everything from flowers to food to small toys and enough alcohol to keep the happy feelings in the city flowing for hours if not days. On the outskirts of the city, they stumbled onto an archery contest and Portugal cheered as England beat his best men with a practiced ease. The hug he wrapped the younger blond in had them both grinning like loons and dashing away from the disgruntled men that thought they had been beaten by someone who looked like a twelve year old.
That mad dash took them down to the beachfront where another group of men were setting up fireworks. England voiced his confusion as to what they were, having never seen a fireworks display before. Deciding that it was something the boy could not miss, Portugal found the two of them a small raft for the best view in the entire city. Or, rather, outside of the city, where no one would block them from seeing. With Portugal rowing steadily, they made it out to a much larger ship docked in the port as the sun began to set. England’s deft fingers tied a rope around the anchor chain so they wouldn’t drift off.
Waiting for the sun to fully set sent them into their first awkward silence as Portugal stared openly at the blond and England stared at everything but the other boy as a blush slowly but surely grew brighter the darker it got. Finally, the older boy could take it no longer; opening his mouth to say something - anything - he was interrupted by the first firework screaming up into the air and exploding with a bang and color. The other boy jumped visibly, rocking the boat in his surprise, giving Portugal an excuse to shuffle closer to wrap a reassuring arm around those small shoulders.
England didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to notice. Feeling his face heat up brighter than before as he stared openly at the amazed expression and the color, the lights that reflected off pale skin, Portugal’s heart beat faster. Perhaps it had something to do with how wonderful everything felt being free, or the innocent way the blond reacted to nearly everything but for some strange reason he couldn’t stop staring - he missed the entire firework performance just taking in every aspect of England’s face.
As the sparks faded away and the cheering of the city became muted as the party quieted, the two of them were left in a near darkness with only stars and distant city lights to see by. Those green eyes met his again, bright with enchantment and happiness. “That was amazing Portugal!” the boy exclaimed, not minding the closeness between the two of them.
A new, odd feeling hit Portugal, leaving him breathless and staring. Long seconds sat between them as the older boy struggled to understand the happiness bubbling in him. Confusion grew in England’s eyes the longer he stared at him wide eyed until finally the boy opened his mouth to say something, probably to ask what the matter was.
“Say it again.” he cut the other off, wanting to hear it again.
“Say what again?”
“My... my name. Please, say it again.” he nearly begged.
“... Portugal?” he queried and that same feeling grew more and more. Turning to face the blond fully, everything faded to the background except for England. His name. England knew his name, didn’t call him by his old one, just Portugal.
He suddenly wanted to kiss the boy more than anything.
“Again?” Portugal mumbled, leaning closer and loving the way England’s eyes widened as he suddenly realized what the older boy was doing, face burning bright enough for him to be able to notice in the near darkness. Worried for a faint moment that the other boy would pull away from him because of it, Portugal paused.
“Portugal.” England breathed out, a hand coming down to clasp his own, squeezing it and telling him it was okay. Egged on, Portugal leaned closer; could feel both their pulses beating faster; could see those green eyes flutter shut as their lips nearly touched.
If only either one had been paying attention, they would have heard the sound of the anchor being drawn back up on the ship they were tied to. Instead, just breaths away from a kiss, both instead let out a scream as their little raft was upended, sending both of them tumbling into the river. After a confused, twisting moment, Portugal could feel an arm wrap around his waist and pull his head above the waters. England had quickly grabbed onto the anchor chain with one hand and saved him from being pulled out to sea with the other.
Moments later had the both of them on deck of the ship, being yelled at by an irate and rather drunken captain, followed by being kicked off, raftless, down onto the dock. If England felt as awkward as Portugal did at that moment it would explain the nearly foot distance they kept between each other as they wandered off towards England’s own ship, ready to call it a night.
Neither one seemed to have anything to say to the other as they avoided looking into each others eyes. That is, until England turned to look at him, face once again red as they stood just before the gang plank that would separate them.
“... thank you Portugal.” he toed the dock nervously, body stiff with embarrassment. “I had fun.”
And before the older boy could even think of a reply, he felt warm lips on his cheek for a quick second before the blond ran away, up over the gang plank and disappearing into the large ship. Gaping with his mouth open for a long time, when his mind finally caught up with the rest of him, Portugal couldn’t stop the stupid grin that settled on his face.
If this is what freedom was, he thought as he dashed away, filled with an exuberant energy, he could get used to it.
