Chapter Text
London hadn’t the foggiest why he had to come to the United States in the middle of disgustingly humid heat of August.
Granted, this Sister City Program was a great opportunity to meet the capitals from outside his usual network, and it would help develop lasting relationships for the betterment of world peace, and blah-de-de, blah-blah, blah.
Really what it came down to was that UK said he had to.
So here he was in New York at UN HQ’s ballroom. Exhausted from the jetlag and grouchy from the trip, forcing himself to make harrowing small talk with nation and capital alike - when he would much rather go to bed with a nice glass of sherry.
Honestly, could this evening reception not have waited until the next day? Whoever planned this had made very little consideration of those in vastly different time zones. Particularly nations , who were not the easiest entities to deal with even on a good day. His eyes trailed over to UK, who seemed manically cheerful as always (as in a quarter of the time). No doubt, he’d be up all night.
Internally sighing, London steeled himself for a long night, when suddenly:
“Hey Wash! You done flirting with Toronto!”
The voice all but boomed over the reception, slicing through the chatter for a momentary second of shock. Unused to USA’s sheer volume, London’s head snapped over - like many capitals - to the direction of Canada, Ottawa, USA and... Oh.
London blinked, now fully awake as he watched the young capital tugged away from the site of the episode by his keeper. So that was Washington... Of course, he’d heard of Washington. Everyone heard of Washington. Hard not to when his nation was a global hegemony. Yet the opportunities to see him were precious few. USA was quite... territorial (a common nation trait), so his cities never traveled abroad. Of course, he should have known that Washington would be here .
Curious, his gaze followed Washington around the room as the couple made their networking rounds. The boy (for he could not help but think of him that way) really seemed like a brighter, younger version of USA himself. Not even physically into his twenties, he was boyishly handsome, blond haired, blue eyed, with a smile like the sun. (And fit, holy hell.) Not quite as rowdy as the nation, he nonetheless seemed to bring a levity to his conversations with the other powers that bordered on supernatural.
Does he have a silver tongue? he wondered as he watched Washington make Russia - Russia - laugh much to USA’s chagrin. Even if it did sound a demonic chuckle.
Moreover, the boy seemed to have no sense for his own popularity. Isolated as he was, he couldn’t possibly know how much the rest of the world read up on him and his nation. All the better, because having one American with a swollen head would have been difficult to deal with, let alone two. Instead, he just smiled and greeted everyone with equal amounts of affability.
London itched to go speak with him, but it was treacherous at best to stray from your country’s side with so many other nations around. Once again, he glanced to UK, but the man did not seem particularly eager to drop his mission of forcing a cupcake onto France.
Which would never happen.
Well, there was really no need to go try to find him. Surely, they would come in this direction and they could have some proper introductions. Even if it simply wouldn’t do for one side of a Special Relationship to ignore the other, no one ignored London.
And so London waited patiently.
And waited.
....and waited.
Suddenly a hand patted him on the back, jerking him out of his exhausted trance. “Londres, you look like you are asleep on your feet!” Paris exclaimed behind him, pushing him towards the doors of the ballroom. “Let us get back to the ‘otel and get some rest. We ‘ave a long day a’ead of us.”
“ Wait ,” London said, digging his feet in. “I need to introduce myself to Washington. It would be impolite otherwise. They’re hosting.” Well, that wasn’t the only reason. Still it would do for Paris.
“Ah?” Paris said skeptically. “You did not speak to ‘im already? ‘e and Etats-Unis left an ‘our ago.”
“What?” London asked, aghast.
The French capital tsked. “You truly are scatterbrained, Londres. Well. C’est pas probleme. You will see them in the morning. Allons-y! ”
Reluctantly, the Brit was forced to follow as the British and French contingents made their way to their respective suites at the Plaza Hotel.
~o~
A cup of stiff black tea did a nominal amount in waking London up the next morning. Although breakfast in the hotel restaurant with Paris, France and UK just made him want to crawl back into bed and never come out. It was not... pleasant to say the least. Yet he could not fathom why France and UK always insisted on staying in the same hotel every single time they had a meeting abroad.
In any case, the thoughts of finally sating his curiosity about a certain young capital did put a spring in his step.
However, finding the right moment was proving to be extraordinarily difficult. Once they were segregated to their own rooms, Berlin immediately rounded up all the EU capitals and informed them they were to have a meeting and to prepare for each of the twenty items on the agenda he’d sent out to all of them during the reception. Some of which, London needed to consult his Commonwealth pseudo-siblings. Thus, he found himself furiously typing emails on his keyboard as he nursed his fourth cup of tea that morning.
London’s eye couldn’t help but wander off to the young capital’s direction as the boy made some token effort to work. Washington made some hums and haws, discarding his phone (was that a blackberry?), as he tried to find some other way to occupy his time. It was slightly aggravating to see him so relaxed when he had so much to do himself. But then he watched the boy stretch languidly, exposing just a bit of well toned flesh as his shirt tugged up. Flushing, he quickly turned away lest the boy notice him noticing .
“What is wrong with your face?” Paris asked next to him, glancing up from his laptop.
“Nothing,” London replied tartly, the blush gone in a flash.
“Ah, I know that look,” Paris said slyly, his rose whipping out like some sort of demented conductor’s baton. “Ah, ah, ah! ” he said, putting a finger to London’s lips before he could protest. He artfully ignored the way his companion slapped it away. “You ‘ave a certain someone on your mind, non? ”
“ No ,” London snarled.
“Oui,” Paris replied playfully. He traced the rose down the Brit’s cheek and swung it out of reach as London tried to snatch at it. “I wonder~ Who ‘ave you met recently?” His blue eyes studied London’s own, as though reading them. “Or who ‘ave you not met?”
London didn’t look. He didn’t. Yet, his eyes still betrayed him as they gave an involuntarily flick in Washington’s direction. Triumphant, Paris turned and espied his target. “Ohohohon~ Two lovely candidates I see. I did not know you were into twins, Londres.”
His gaze snapped over and saw Washington chatting away amiably with Ottawa. “I was not thinking that!” he hissed, his face red with outrage.
(But now that it was in his head, it was awfully difficult to get out.)
“Mmm~ they do look quite close, non ?” Paris mused, his lips stretching into a lecherous smile. Come to think of it. Didn’t USA say something about that last night? London couldn’t help but grudgingly agree as the look-alike pair chatted cheerfully with one another.
An unexpected twinge pricked in London’s chest at the sight of them. It was... it was quite rude for Washington to be so chummy with one of his commonwealth siblings, if he said so himself. Particularly when he did not present London with such an opportunity yet...
“Shall we go speak to them? Oui, we shall,” Paris suddenly decided, popping up to his feet.
“Paris? Paris, wait!” London hissed after him as quietly as he could manage. “They’re having a private-!” Oh bloody hell, there he went. Sighing, London fidgeted in his chair for several more heartbeats, debating whether or not he should go there and stop Paris from ruining their chat.
...Then again, he’d needed to speak to Ottawa regardless, did he not? Just because he had to separate him from the American (and speak to Washington as well) was incidental. A second later, he was on his feet. He followed slowly, trying his best to go unnoticed. Until he saw Paris render Washington an utterly delightful shade of pink.
Quickly donning the armour of gentleman-knight, London came to his rescue. “Paris, stop it. You’re frightening the lad.”
However, the damage must have already been done as Washington seemed at an utter loss for words as he tried to process whatever filthy, scandalous thing Paris must have said. Which was mildly irritating because he still had not heard the boy speak yet.
“Is ‘e always like this?” Paris asked Ottawa, gesturing at the American with his rose.
No, that is simply the effect you have on people.
Ottawa’s reaction, however, was extraordinary. Giving Washington a small glance, his pseudo-sibling instead turned a strange look on him. As if this was his fault that he’d let Paris interrupt them. ...Which might be partially true. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “He was doing fine until you two showed.” There was a definite sharpness to his tongue that was quite unlike him. London suddenly felt not the least bit of guilt for deciding to pry them apart.
“We could not ‘elp our curiosité ,” Paris was saying. “After all, the pair of you look so alike. You could be twins. Do you not think so, Londres?”
“Quite remarkable,” London agreed with a small nod, his eyes passing over the pair of them. Finally, he could feel the focus of Washington’s attention solely on him. It was... odd. For the look that the boy gave him seemed... annoyed? Did he somehow sense his motives for coming over? Quickly, he decided he had better make amends just when the young capital was about to blurt something out. “You’re quite lucky,” he admitted, giving Washington an apologetic smile, “You seem to be getting on well and your nations are close. I’m sure that you could forge a true sister-city partnership, as was intended with this entire venture.”
Ottawa and Washington both blinked, then exchanged a grin as publically secret as an inside-joke. It made London’s hackles rise with irrational ease.
That was until he finally heard Washington speak. “What about you?” the boy asked, his voice warm, inviting, and intelligent with just a hint of a southern lilt. It was like licking a spoon of spiced honey. Unbidden, the thought of licking honey from those lips frazzled most of London’s thoughts. “You seem close...?” the young American ventured, as London scrambled to think of something to say.
“Only because we have been at each other’s throats for so long,” London replied, folding his arms over his chest, glancing away from those impressively blue eyes. Glaring at Paris was a good standby.
“Ah, Londres, tu m’aimes ,” Paris said sweetly, deliberately goading him.
“You’re right. I do enjoy maiming you,” London responded dryly. His eyes flicked over to Washington, who seemed amused by their banter. Good. Hopefully the boy wouldn’t feel too sour as he tried to eviscerate his budding relationship.
“I wonder if we could borrow you for an hour or so. I would like to get all the Commonwealth together to chat on a few items. Before we have our EU meeting. Are you free?” London asked Ottawa, though he obviously hadn’t started rounding up the other ones yet.
“What? Oh, of course,” Ottawa replied (because honestly, what else could he say?), “I’ll talk to you later Wash.”
A twinge of guilt did barb when Washington looked positively crestfallen at Ottawa’s departure. He’s simply disappointed he’s losing someone to talk to, London tried to tell himself, even as he grew more annoyed that the boy had not seen fit to speak to him properly yet. However, it was too late now, as he lead the way to find the other Commonwealth capitals.
“I believe I saw Sydney and Auckland heading to the restroom,” he said as they passed out into the hall.
“Uh, which restroom does Auckland use again?” Ottawa asked, matching London’s speed.
Damned if he knew.
Ottawa seemed to sense nothing of his ulterior motives, content to simply follow until: “Ah, London? I just thought of something. Is it a good idea to leave Paris alone with Washington?”
“How so?” London asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced back at his sibling.
“Well, Paris was being a little... creepy?” Ottawa suggested, making the older capital scoff.
“Paris? Oh please. You don’t know him. He’s perfectly harmless,” London replied. Besides it would do for Washington to keep company with someone who didn’t look like his mirror-reflection.
That was when a whirlwind of auburn hair and sharp metal flew past them, making the pair stop short. Their eyes wide, they watched in mounting alarm as an equally powerful wintry gust shoved them against the wall.
London could only stare in acute horror as the door to the capitals’ room was flung open followed by the war cry: “Who’s attacking my city?!”
“ Do you go after my capital now, дворняжка?!” Russia boomed after him.
Then all hell broke loose.
~o~
As it turned out, Paris assaulted Washington, sexually , almost as soon as London took Ottawa away. This of course alerted USA to the ne'er do well’s so-called attack and the rest went from there...
When London got the full story from UK later, he couldn’t possibly be more wracked with guilt. His incredibly petty actions had very nearly started WWIII and could have done irreparable harm to the American capital. Granted, London knew that even his smallest actions sent ripples across the globe, but he was usually never so careless.
He needed to do something to make up for his mistake.
When he tried to explain all this to UK though, his nation was unexpectedly blasé about it. “Wait, what do you need to fix?” UK asked, his face forming into a frown as he fiddled about in their suite’s full kitchen for his daily baking ritual.
“I unwittingly orchestrated the entire debacle!” London exclaimed, seated at the counter with a cup of tea, “I took Ottawa away on purpose! It is my fault that Washington was nearly decimated by a nuclear warhead!”
“He talked himself out of it well enough,” UK said, still studying his capital with a critical eye. Then he smiled, “I think you just think a bit too highly of yourself. The whole world doesn't revolve around you.”
That was ridiculous. Of course, it did. Greenwich Mean Time and all that.
“Well I can hardly let this lie,” London said, folding his arms over his chest as he willed UK to just listen. “I must make amends for my atrocious behaviour. I need to make sure that Washington bears me no ill will.”
“And why exactly does the boy’s opinion matter to you so much?” UK asked, giving his capital a sly look.
London couldn't quite figure out how to answer. “I- he's-” he started, trying best to figure out how to convey his feelings on the boy that had been mostly an irritant. “I do not know why, but he's hardly spoken to me since I've arrived. He needs to stop.”
UK blinked, then began to uproariously giggle.
“What?” London asked irritably.
“Oh, oh, this is just precious!” UK cried, now falling into full blown laughter. “He’s ignoring you! No wonder you've been so huffy.” Before London could say, ‘I absolutely have not’, his nation gave him another smile. “ So~ you want Washington to talk to you. Appreciate you. Smile at you?”
London reddened, thinking of that bright young face turned towards his with a handsome smile just for him. It was inexplicably a little more difficult to breathe.
...oh no.
UK seemed to sense what had dawned on his capital, even as London tried desperately to avoid his gaze. His grin only grew, his eyes flickering with wicked delight. “Well~ it is a bit of a mess you've gotten yourself into. I doubt that USA will want anyone to speak to Washington for the rest of the conference. Terribly protective of him, as you should well know.” London immediately felt his hopes plunge. “It will be tricky to get you close enough to talk.”
Suddenly, the nation clapped his hands together. “Right, time for a second opinion.”
“No, no, don't!” London cried, bolting up to wave wildly, but then it was already too late.
Quite frankly, it wasn't a second opinion that he usually got, but four. All normally completely unhelpful. He could see the personalities flicker, fighting for dominance. Finally, UK settled on a brogue, his gaze decidedly dismissive. “Well, laddie, so ye've got yerself a crush, heh? And what makes ye kin tha’ this lad wants anything to do with ye, e’en if ye do apologize?”
Damn it. This is why he hated this.
“I'm not entirely undesirable,” London growled at UK.
“Nae, but ye kin too highly of yerself.” No guesses where UK got that from then. The country rubbed his chin, giving London a highly critical look. “Is it inconceivable tha’ he jes wants nothing tae do with ye? From the looks o’ it, he's a powerful, young city. He's got his pick o’ the lot and it don’ need tae include you.”
“And what's wrong with me?” London demanded, his chin rising in defiance.
“Oh now , don't be too hard on the poor babe,” UK said, beginning the inevitable process of arguing with himself, as his voice took on a distinctly sing-songy lilt. “Everyone knows you just want to pull hair from his nose.”
“Babe, me arse,” UK started off on himself. “He's two thousand years old! Ye kin how old the boy is? No more n’ two-fifty! Why, for tha’ alone, Washington should want nothing tae do with him.”
Quite frankly, London hadn't realized the age difference until right then. The thought stole the color from his already pale complexion. However, UK wasn't done. Not even close.
“We already know ‘e tinks too ‘ighly of ‘imself,” another personality added, goading the scottish side on.
“I suppose his eyebrows are too big.”
“And ‘e's a snob .”
“A stuffy n’ irritable codger.”
London could scarcely get a word in. Not that he particularly wanted to as UK continued to gang up on him with himself to talk to himself about how horrible his own capital was. As unobtrusively as he could, he took his cup of tea and slid off his stool to head to his room.
“London,” a voice called with a decidedly English accent, halting him in his tracks.
A chill went down London’s spine. England unnerved him most of all, for reasons he didn't quite understand and certainly didn’t make any sense. Slowly turning, London faced UK who looked at him with a strange smile. “Yes, sir?”
“We can catch him in the morning before they head into the building. USA shouldn't be so guarded then. Leave it to me,” UK said with a nod, pulling out various flours and soy milk.
“Right. Thank you, sir,” London said, returning the nod.
Then he fled.
~o~
Blessedly, UK was (sort of) stable by morning. He'd managed a neat little box of biscuits that shone with what looked like candy pieces. UK slapped his hand away before he could nick one. “They're vegan and not for you,” he chirped with a smile. His eyes went to the rain clouds cast over their view of Central Park. “Fetch the brollies. We should get going.”
As they arrived at UN HQ, it was drizzling a mild rain. The few other powers that were there that early quickly headed inside, giving them the odd look or two. London wasn't concerned about the rain, but the waiting was beginning to unravel him. He stomach churned with nerves, wondering how he best should greet and apologize to the younger city. So much younger. Urgh.
His lustful revelation about the American capital was not helping matters either.
An elbow to his side drew his attention upwards where a dark town car pulled up to the entrance. London’s heart skipped a beat when he spied Washington step out into the cool rain. His presence seemed to startle the young capital, who was irritatingly at a loss for words. Washington settled for a half-hearted wave that seemed sad even to him.
London had no idea how to respond to that. Thankfully, UK took up the reigns.
“Good morning, you two!” UK said brightly. “Wanted to catch you before you went in. Mind?”
“What for?” USA demanded, nothing but pure hostility pouring into those two syllables. It was intimidating to say the least. It was only then that London realized what a startling red his eyes were.
The Brit nearly jumped when UK pressed a hand to his back. “This one wanted a chat with your capital. In private.” He opened up the box to reveal the candied treats. “Biscuit? No quadrupeds or feathered friends harmed or violated in anyway.”
In a moment of indecision, USA looked at London suspiciously, then his capital, then at the biscuits. “...Fine,” he said brusquely. “But they’re staying in range of sight.” With that UK smiled and whisked them away, giving London the privacy he so desired.
Not that he quite knew what to do with it.
Washington looked towards him, hands shoved into the pockets of his black trench coat. “So... you wanted to talk to me?” the young capital asked warily in that smooth honeyed voice. This time, London had the whole of his attention. And it was agony .
His body betrayed him, giving way to fidgeting as those blue eyes pressed into him. No matter what, he needed to make his amends. Then see where things went from there. Through sheer effort, he pushed the words out like his last breath, “I... I just... wanted to apologize. For yesterday.”
Washington blinked and in that terrible instant London realized the boy had no idea what he was talking about. Oh bloody hell, those fools were right . The American didn’t even give the matter a second thought.
Too late to turn back now, London pressed on. “I heard about what happened,” he tried to explain, “I should not have been so thoughtless as to leave you alone with Paris. I am the one that usually deals with him, so I know what he’s like. However, most cities are completely unprepared for the likes of him...”
“Oh...” Washington said, “Heard about that, huh?” His cheeks turned a faint pink with understandable embarrassment. It was likely not the young capital’s finest moment. London felt more the goat for bringing it up. Then Washington sighed, before he replied good naturedly, “You know, London, that’s really not your fault. I could have handled that better. And I don’t think anyone expected USA to rush in with a... bat,” he added with a crinkle of his nose.
“Even so...” London murmured, internally cursing himself for this entire venture. He had never felt more like an absolute twat.
An agonizing minute of awkward silence followed as the Brit counted through the steps to tie a noose, when the American saved him from the final plunge to utter humiliation. “You know... You could make it up to me?” the younger capital suggested helpfully.
London’s head snapped up from his feet, looking Washington in the eye. “How so?” he demanded. At this point, he was willing to do just about anything to keep this from spiraling into an awkward oblivion.
“Treat me to dinner?” Wash suggested, giving the Brit a smile that could melt a glacier. As it was, his heart was pattering at an alarming rate. “My sis, Ames - New York, that is - she has a lot of really amazing restaurants. It would be a shame if you went back without trying something.”
Dinner...? As in a date? Was he being asked out on a date? In his spectrum, this was certainly flirting, but London was unsure if it really was that or just the nature of over-friendly American charm.
Knowing he’d have to say something (and honestly, what else could he answer), London returned the smile with a faint one of his own. “Oh. Yes, of course. That sounds like an excellent idea. I need to check with UK, but it should be alright.” Not that he thought that UK would care, really.
That’s when it occurred to him. This was his introduction. Finally. A date before introductions, how odd. Nonetheless, his smile widened and he held out a hand to the American, “Of course, if I’m going out with you I think I should know what to call you. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. London. Nice to meet you.”
London was not above using the Prince Charming offensive.
It seemed to work too, as Washington answered brightly, “DC!” and returned the gesture with a firm shake.
Well, that was a nice surprise. Everyone else just seemed to call the boy Wash. Did he get his own personal nickname? Was that too much to hope for? Likely. That bordered on the verge of the delusional and he already had multiple warnings that his ego was too bloated.
“What an adorable nickname,” London said, lest Washin- no, DC, rescind the offer. “DC it is then. What is your number? I'll message you after the meetings are over,” he asked as he pulled out his phone.
Scarcely after the deed was done, USA and UK wandered over as if sensing their impropriety. “All set?” UK asked brightly, depositing the empty sweets box into a bin. London nodded. “Good. London, come along now. Time to get busy.”
Once they were safely away, his nation turned to him. “So~ how did it go?” he asked, patting the capital’s arm. “Did he accept your apology?”
London wasn’t sure if he imagined that slight mocking tone. “He did,” he answered primly. No need to tell him about how poorly that went. “We have plans for dinner later. I assume there’s no other events that I need to attend in the evening?”
“No, none,” UK replied simply, though the sly look in his eyes told all.
London ignored it. Like much he did with UK. Instead, he occupied his mind with thoughts of dinner with the charming young American with that special little nickname just for him.
~o~
DC: Columbus Circle at 7? In front of Time Warner Center.
DC: Looking forward to it! :)
Seven could not possibly have come soon enough.
London spent an alarming amount of time over-analyzing the short texts from Washington and then an equally appalling amount of time labouring over what to wear for dinner. Nothing he had from his limited wardrobe looked quite right (which was odd as he was usually very coordinated), prompting him to make an emergency stop at a local department store.
Which was a terrible idea.
Instead of being thrown into indecision about five ties, he was now confronted with the choice of hundreds . Not to mention the ascots, the pocket squares, and the boutonnieres. The poor shop girls had no idea what to make of him as he had a near meltdown between a Salvatore Ferragamo forest green tie with silver collar bar or the Burberry india green tie with gold, asking which of them brought out his eyes better because they were completely different colours. Then he was forced to make a decision when he realized that he was going to be late if he wanted to get to Columbus Circle at 6:30.
He arrived at 6:43, late, and already regretting his tie choice.
The minutes crawled to seven o’clock as he waited, trying to spy the young American in the crowd. Each second was like an hour, going so slowly that London wanted to crawl out of his skin.
Seven came.
Then passed.
At 7:15, London came to the horrible conclusion that something must have happened to Washington to have kept him from their appointment. What time was his last text? Five? That was two hours in which some sort of catastrophe could have occurred. Surely, the boy would have called him to let him know where he was otherwise. Was he in the hospital? In USA’s captivity? Should he try to call UK to see if he could figure out where the boy was?
Then at 7:16, Washington came bounding into view and London realized that he was just late.
“Sorry about that!” DC said, jogging up to meet him, with a bright smile that quickly hushed all of London’s irritation at his tardiness. “I tried hailing a cab, but then I realized how close this place was so I just hoofed it. Were you waiting long?”
The American certainly was built for running, London thought as he eyed Washington’s bare throat. He was paradoxically both cleaned up and dressed down. Wearing a fresh gray suit, instead of any kind of tie, Washington opted for a sky blue button down shirt that bared his collarbones and accented his eyes quite nicely, as well as a simple blue and yellow striped pocket square.
London suddenly felt like an overdressed ponce. He coughed slightly, shifting his eyes away from Washington’s throat lest they stick like glue. “Not long,” he lied. “Now where are we headed?”
“A place called Masa,” DC replied as he brought out his phone to check the details. “Should be on the fourth floor in this building.”
“Masa?” London asked, surprised that he knew the name. “I’ve heard of it actually. It’s quite famous.”
“Oh yeah?” DC asked, looking pleased as punch. He was either proud or he wanted to impress, but either way London was happy his opinion brought a smile to the boy’s face.
“Yes, it’s supposed to be one of the most expensive restaurants in the world. It’s £300 minimum a seat,” London replied. Of course, he only knew this off the top of his head because one of his favourite restaurants in London, Restaurant Gordon Ramsay, was also on the list. Not quite as pricey as Masa, but he visited it a bit more frequently than he ought to. Still, the fact that Washington wanted to take him to someplace so exclusive was... encouraging.
Except a second later, London realized that it wasn’t when a terrible pallour came over Washington’s face, making him as white as snow. “Oh,” was all he could manage, looking as though London had just told him his dog had died.
London took a second and thought back on his words. Then he was about ready to kick himself for his demonstrable lack of tact . How could he be such a nob to bring money up? He wondered if he could just pretend his faux pas away as he studied the facade. Well, he was treating the lad after all. He wanted the boy to feel special.
“Well, let’s try it. Shall we go in?” he suggested.
“W-wait, seriously?” DC stuttered, clearly still stricken by his mention of the price tag. Idiot, idiot, idiot. “Look, my sister picked the place. We really don’t need to go. I’m sure we could find some other nice restaurant.”
However, London was already decided and he strode towards the lobby. “No, it’s quite alright,” he said resolutely, determined to be the perfect gentleman more than ever. “I wouldn’t want to put your sibling out after she went to such trouble.”
“At least let me pay my own way,” DC pressed, following in the rear. “This is a bit ridiculous for an apology dinner.”
The words stopped London short. Apology dinner? His heart sunk to the pit of his stomach, his hopes dashed. Right. That’s right. This wasn’t a date. Washington wasn’t interested like that. Why would he be when he was clearly enamoured with a much sweeter, more docile Ottawa whose smiles came just as easily as his own. (And clearly was in his own age group.)
This was merely a transaction to alleviate London’s guilt. That was all.
Regardless, London would soldier on. He did owe the boy after all. Yet now the entire affair felt cheapened , as though he were paying for a courtesan. He was, in a way, paying for the young American’s time. Unable to look the handsome boy in the eye, he said, “I’m a man of my word. I must insist I pay. I am more than capable.”
“Well...” he heard DC say behind him and London worried he was just going to call the whole thing off. He could not have predicted the beautiful, brilliant words DC said next: “Then I’ll pay next time. Anywhere you want to go. At your place.”
Whirling around, London turned to stare at the young capital. A next time. That meant something. It had to. An unbidden smile broke over his features. How the boy could extract them so easily, he did not know. “Very well,” he said, his chest warm with delight. He gestured to the doors. “Shall we?”
Washington followed readily then, the pair of them shown to the elevator to the fourth floor. When they stepped out into the restaurant, it was as if they were transported into Tokyo. Warm neutral colours surrounded them, such as natural wood and calming quiet white walls. Mobiles needed to be turned off to avoid unpleasant distraction before they were shown to their table, in an effort to enhance the diner experience.
London was actually getting quite excited about this. Maybe he wasn’t the best cook in the world (or at all, according to UK), but he did have exceptional restaurants and he enjoyed going out, much to his nation’s chagrin. If that made him a snob, then so what? If one had the finer things, why not enjoy them?
The only problem was that he could sense that DC was still internally fretting. While it was sweet the boy was feeling rather guilty about the blow to his wallet, London wanted just as much for him to enjoy himself as well.
Taking a chance, he gently touched the top of the other capital’s hand to grab his attention. Only to startle the younger capital out of his thoughts. London pulled back, wondering if he had overstepped. “Don’t worry about the bill,” he said, giving DC a faint smile.
His gambit paid off when DC visibly relaxed and returned the smile with one shy and pleasing. “Sorry,” he said and worried nothing more of it.
From there, dinner could only be described as a journey of overindulgence. London anticipated it coming to the United States, but he did not expect it in this caliber. Every bite was delightful and unexpected, from toro-and-caviar sushi, to thinly sliced wagyu beef, to summer truffles pressed onto sushi rice. The sake was quite nice too, though admittedly not his forte. Which is why he opted for the $200 bottle instead of the $400. No need to spend the quid if he couldn’t make out all the nuances.
DC, while he obviously enjoyed his food, admitted that most of his restaurants were not nearly as sophisticated. “Yeah, there is one place called Minibar, but it is impossible to get a table!” he exclaimed. “You have to call on four specific days of the year, then just grab whatever seats they have available in the next three months if they haven’t all been snatched up by then. And there’s only like fifteen seats in the place! That’s why it’s called mini, I suppose.”
With an exasperated sigh and a shake of his head, DC went on, “To be honest with you, I’m just as happy going out for a nice steak. Nothing like a big hunk of hot meat for dinner.” To which London promptly choked on his water. “Hey, you okay?” DC asked, when he realized the Brit was red and spluttering, jumping up to pat him on the back. Thank the Lord, the boy was clueless.
“Fine,” London replied, clearing his throat. “Just... the water.”
“Oh, okay good,” DC said, visibly relieved. “You just ate fugu, so I wasn’t sure.”
...Fugu? What? London decided not to inquire in favour of getting his breath back. Also, the hand against his back was terribly distracting. It went away fairly quickly, much to London’s disappointment.
Once he recovered, London asked primly, trying to get his dirty mind back on track, “So what is your favourite steakhouse?”
“Mmm, Capital Grille’s okay,” DC mused, “and Ray’s the Steaks is the popular one. But I think I like Medium Rare the best.” His blue eyes took on a mischievous twinkle as he leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “They have a secret sauce. ”
London, very suddenly, did not care that no restaurant worth its salt would ever put something like ‘secret sauce’ on the menu. He also did not care he was stuffed to the hilt. He very much wanted to go to Washington’s house and try his big hunk of hot meat coated in secret sauce.
Damn it, stop it.
“So, you’ve been around a while. What’s your favorite?” DC asked, once again masterfully turning the conversation back onto him. London had already spoken a distressing amount already (he would much rather listen to the American’s voice than his own), but given the theme of his current thoughts it was probably better that the young capital stop talking for a little while.
When the American decided to roll up his sleeves to expose his toned forearms, something that the Brit had no idea how he got away with in this place, London kept talking so that he wouldn’t be caught staring.
It was only later after dinner wrapped up that London realized just how much he had talked. Frankly, it was a little alarming and he suddenly became very, very worried that DC would only think of him as that elderly uncle that talked everyone’s ear off. It was not an image he wanted to bear.
“I must apologize again,” London said as the pair of them strode along the edge of Central Park. “I cannot believe I took up nearly all the conversation. It was inconsiderate of me.”
“Dude, stop,” DC said, waving off London’s flustered apologies with a cheerful laugh. “You just dropped, what, $1,500 for dinner? I think you’re covered on faux pas for a while.”
“Even so, you must think me a terrible dinner companion. I’m sure that Ottawa is much less of a bore,” he added darkly. Naturally, DC would talk more with Ottawa.
DC didn’t seem to notice the dark note in his voice as he said brightly, “No, I liked listening to your stories. Honest. I haven’t been through a whole lot in comparison. I mean, there was that one time when I was a kid that I was invaded by the... um. Oh.” Just like that, the boy stopped dead, his face paling. As if he just realized who he was speaking with.
London’s whole body went cold, despite the summer heat. A boy, a child. Good Lord, he hadn’t... Washington was but a child when that happened. He had never even realized or cared for that matter. Of course, he wasn’t there, but looking up to the boy’s horrified face, he could not help but feel as though he’d put the torch to his pyre himself.
“No, no, no! It’s okay!” DC said suddenly, waving his arms as if to dissipate his dark thoughts. “I mean, no, it’s not okay. But it’s just a ‘sweep it under the rug’ thing. I promise. No hard feelings.”
Where the American could find this font of forgiveness, he did not understand. It was unreasonable to expect of him. As his discomfort mounted, DC only pressed further, “I had a really, really nice time tonight. Can we please just forget I said anything? I don’t want this to end on a bad note.”
Neither did he.
Those imploring, beautiful blue eyes crumbled London’s resistance. Sucking in a breath, he said softly, “If you’re sure...”
“I am,” DC insisted.
“Very well. It would be ungentlemanly of me to make you uncomfortable,” London decided with a nod. DC looked pleased, before they settled back into their quiet walk.
Lost in his own thoughts, London could not help but look at the young capital in a new light. He had known Washington was handsome (obviously), but he simply wasn’t a pretty face anymore. He was generous with his smiles, friendly to the point of being over-bearing, and bright in more ways than one (albeit a little oblivious). Come to think of it, he was beginning to think that DC had purposefully orchestrated their entire dinner so that he took up most of the conversation.
More than that, he was achingly sweet and unjaded in a way that could only come from the naivety of youth. It was like a breath of fresh air. No matter how much it made him sound like a lecher, London wanted it - wanted him - desperately. So much so that he thought his heart fit to burst.
After tonight, he dared to hope that Washington felt the same way.
Keenly aware that they were approaching his hotel, London tried to slow the pace. He wanted just a few more seconds of peace before the deciding moment. However, he was unable to delay anymore as the doorman recognized him.
Stopping under the canopy, London turned to his dinner companion. “This is me.” He swallowed reflexively, waiting with bated breath as he gave the American an expectant look. Every nerve alight with anticipation.
To which, DC blinked at their surroundings and then let out a jarring laugh. “Oh, hah! That’s funny. I’m right over there,” he explained, pointing over to the Ritz.
...What.
“Oh,” London said, his expectations snuffed out by a suffocating cloud of doom and gloom. Not that one had to kiss on the first date, but... DC did not even look like he was considering it. “...How convenient,” he managed, unable to think of anything else to say.
A long, awkward beat followed.
“S’pose I should get going...” DC said, a master of overcoming awkward silences. As his back turned, London could feel his heart sinking lower and lower...
Well. It was nice while it lasted, he supposed, trying to stave off the crushing disappointment.
Then the American paused, as if considering something, before he spun around. “Hey, you want to have lunch tomorrow?”
Just like that, hope sprung eternal. “You want to- I mean, yes!” London replied hastily, managing to stop himself before asking why the boy was still interested. In a more dignified tone, he added, “I would love to.”
“Good. I’m buying,” DC said with another one of those bright smiles that made London’s heart stutter.
“You better,” London replied, feeling on top of the world, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He still wasn’t entirely sure about the motivations of the invitation, but one did not look a gift horse in the mouth. He was about to head back in, until he remembered something he saw in an advertisement the other night. “DC,” he called out to catch the boy’s attention, “what’s your name? The one you’re registered under.”
Befuddled, DC replied, “Huh? Oh, Alfred F. Jones. Why?”
Alfred? Like Alfred the Great, was it? How lovely. A smile stretched over London’s face as he thought of the next step of his secret courtship. “No reason,” he answered lightly. “Good night.” With that, he headed inside.
Straight to the concierge. “Good evening George,” he told the man. “So... these cronuts I’ve been hearing so much about. How difficult would it be to procure a dozen of them or so...?”
~o~
As it turned out, it was absurdly difficult. More so than simply laying down a credit card for a £1,000 dinner. Pre-ordering was out of the question. So London was up until the wee hours of the morning, forced to bribe the first six New Yorkers in the queue who would accept to give him their precious two Cronut TM limit. (Not just a cronut, but a Cronut TM .)
Pleasant people, really. Only a couple blasted him with obscenities. The rest of the rejectors just flipped him the bird.
Granted, he could have waited in line himself for just two, but what was the point of that grand gesture? UK did tell him that quantity, not quality, was the way to an American’s heart (or his stomach rather).
...Then again, there might have been a slight brogue to his accent when he said that.
No matter. His mission was accomplished - hand delivered to the Ritz Carlton’s front desk himself at the crack of dawn. He rode the rest of his morning on his happy high (and several pots of tea), to the point where even UK was getting a little unnerved by his cheerfulness.
Paris was the most affected by his blissful demeanor, holding his arms up in a cross as though to ward a vampire whenever London aimed a smile in his direction. A fool was he, since now London was armed with the weapon of sunshine and rainbow unicorns. Ha!
Bloody hell, he needed some sleep.
Miraculously, he kept it up all through their trip to the UN. Paris promptly left him at their usual table, saying with all the gravitas of a peacock, ‘Wait ‘ere and I will get to the bottom of this.’ London merely hummed in acknowledgement, still idly wondering how DC received his present. Did he gasp? Did he smile? Did he show off to his country?
...Did he give one to Ottawa?!
His eyes finally caught sight of Washington, blocked in by Paris and that Canadian backstabber . In Ottawa’s hand was undeniably a Cronut TM , already half-eaten away. A conflagration of hot outrage instantly burned his happy mood to ash, leaving him smoldering with intense dislike as he regarded the trio.
He could not believe- the gall- After all that work he did to get those damned Cronuts TM , DC just gave it away. To Ottawa.
A well of despair opened up underneath the fire, adding fuel to it. Right. Ottawa. He should have remembered. Washington’s thing with Ottawa. Washington liked him better. For reasons that, while he seethed with pure green-eyed jealousy, he could not possibly fathom.
You’re being unreasonable.
Sucking in a long breath, London closed his eyes. If he carried on with this, he was going to set off some alarm bell and he did not want UK coming in here. However, it was more than difficult to try to settle down when his heart was breaking.
The young American was not obligated to trade his love for a pastry. Nor to have romantic feelings for him simply because they went out for a wonderful dinner. Or even for the more powerful reason that London wanted him . DC seemed to like him, true. However, it would be unfair of him to expect the boy to fall into his arms. Just because.
Yet seeing him with another was just too painful to bear.
Right. He had to stay away from DC. Just for a spell. Or for centuries, as was like to happen after this Sister City Program was over. He was getting entirely too wrapped up in his emotions and it was unbecoming of him. For the rest of this stay, he would simply be polite and professional. As he would be with anyone else.
London only hoped that DC forgot about his promise for lunch.
~o~
He did not.
In fact, DC approached with such joviality, London found his resolve already beginning to crumble. Hope flickered from the ashes before he put his foot down and stomped it out. No. No. He had to stay strong for the both of them. “Hey London!” the young capital said, gorgeous as ever, “Are you ready for lunch?”
“Lunch?” London replied politely, trying to put up an unshakeable exterior. Hopefully, feigning ignorance would dissuade him.
“Yeah, I’m buying, remember?” DC said with a friendly smile. Just friendly and nothing else. “I promised.”
Right. That. London repressed the urge to scowl. He hardly wanted to go out with the lad only if he felt guilty about the large dinner bill. London certainly had no regrets. Turning back to his suitcase, he began to pack his things up so he would have an excuse to leave. “I do not want you to feel obligated,” he told the boy as he stood, the politeness getting a bit forced now. But he was, as ever, a gentleman.
However, for some reason that made the boy frown, a flicker of hurt in those eyes. “Look, are you pissed off at me for some reason?” he asked with a bluntness that completely knocked London off his stride. London blinked at a loss for words. He had a perfectly calm, professional facade in place and the boy decided to not only ignore it, but knock it down with a sledgehammer. Who did that?
His young American crush, of course.
Finally recovering, London let the facade slip into one more honest. The boy deserved that much, at least. “Not in the slightest,” London answered quietly, unable to look DC in the eye. “I think very highly of you. However, I would prefer it if we no longer associated with one another. Do enjoy your lunch. Good day.”
With that, he turned and fled as quickly as dignity would allow.
~o~
London begged off a couple invitations for lunch as he left the UN building. Right now, he simply wanted to be alone and wallow for lack of a better word. Eventually, he simply found an empty bench in a small urban park and settled down.
Despite his intense desire to be left in solitude, the vivid image of the America’s hurt expression nastily trailed after him and occupied his thoughts. Groaning, London let his brow sink against his palm, as if that would will the memory the way. Lord, how did he manage to be such an arse without even trying? He was certainly not out to try to hurt DC in any way. On the contrary, he simply thought staying away would be better for the both of them.
Yet it seemed to have blown up in his face.
With a sigh, London leaned back, studying the old church that loomed over the little park. Perhaps... it would be better if DC simply knew the truth? As humiliating as it might be for himself, surely the young capital would be a bit more understanding of his need to stay away. Even though there was a chance he might think London was pathetic for lusting after someone so much younger than himself. London doubted that he would. He was just too... sweet. No, worse would be the look of pity when he realized that he could not offer the older capital what he wanted. It made a terrible shudder tremble down his skin at the very thought of it.
However, DC wouldn’t hurt anymore, would he? Moreover, there would be a chance they could be... chums, once London had a chance to recover his sensibilities. He simply had to humble himself enough to tell the boy that there was nothing wrong with him. In fact there were too many things right.
Right. That was what he would do. Just as soon as he got back to the UN. He would catch DC before they head back in for their meetings and submit his feelings (ugh) to the American’s tender mercies. It would be up to the young capital where to go from there.
His stomach took the opportunity to rumble in complaint, prompting London to realize he hadn’t actually eaten yet. The thought of his stomach growling while he made his confession to DC was abhorrent, so he needed to fortify himself quickly as the lunch break was nearly over. He thought he spotted a McDonald’s on the way over here. ...It was awfully close to the UN building, however. There was a chance he might run into some other capitals there.
Well, he’d just have to chance it.
A little bit more familiar with the setup than he cared to admit, London furtively purchased a filet o’fish meal. Turning away from the counter, he looked around the restaurant for a seat. That’s when his eyes caught it.
A shock of hot and cold washed over him simultaneously when he saw none other than DC and Ottawa awkwardly tangled up against each other over the table. Locked in an embrace that was absolutely not one would give to another acquaintance. They were too close, their were faces touching-
The tray slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground. Everyone stopped what they were doing, looking around for the source of the noise. Before he knew what he was doing, he bolted for the door, terrified he’d been spotted.
Then an all too familiar voice called after him. “London!” he heard DC cry out over the human populace. Like a moron. “London, stop running! ”
Did that fool not realize that he was projecting his secret all over the place?!
Putting a stop to this, London spun around to shut the American down. Only for a large muscled body to knock him right off his feet. He didn’t actually fall, DC’s arm wrapped tight around him to keep him from spilling to the floor. Holding him too close, too tight.
“Stop screaming my name up and down the street, you twit!” London hissed at him, absolutely mortified. He tried smacking the boy to let him go, his whole body heating up where it was pressed flush against the boy’s own.
“What the-” DC frowned, processing what he said. Then he became distinctly un sweet when he snapped back, “Oh, plenty of humans are named London. Stop bitching.” And he still refused to let him go!
A violent blush crawling up his neck, it took London a moment to realize what the boy just said. “ Don’t call them humans! ” he cried, smacking the twit upside the head this time.
DC’s mouth opened as if to argue more, before he reconsidered it. Finally, he released him, much to London’s relief. Only to yank him into some dark building. More than a little alarmed, the Brit struggled until DC shoved him to sit somewhere and his eyes were given a chance to adjust to the darkness of what looked like a pub. However, DC still held his wrists trapped. “Look, calm down, ” the boy said, essentially shackling to his seat. “ Stop it! Seriously, what is with you?”
Really? Did he really just ask that?
“You kidnapped me,” London spat, a low growl to his tone. No one absconded with him. No one!
The younger capital looked less than impressed. “ Before that, ” DC insisted, his blue eyes burning. “Why did you run? And for that matter, why are you suddenly avoiding me?”
London fumed with righteous fury. He was planning to tell the boy in less than an hour! However, after all this, he didn’t feel the least bit inclined to explain anything.
DC was about to continue, but stopped short when he sensed a human approach. A waitress. Well, at least he had that much sense. Reluctantly, the boy released his wrists so as to not cause a scene and said, “Coke please. Lo- Arthur , do you want anything?”
Once he was liberated, London debated fleeing for a half-second. However, it would be incredibly undignified at this rate, so he settled for trying to smooth out the awful wrinkles in his suit. Chin raised, he told the waitress sharply, “Whiskey. Double. Neat.” His eyes flicked to her, waiting for her to leave earshot before he turned back to the American Idiot.
“I left because I did not want to interrupt your moment with Ottawa,” he ground out, too shaken to disguise his utter contempt. This wasn’t accurate in the least, but DC did not need to know he had simply panicked. “I had no idea you were going to chase me down the street like a- a common criminal ,” he added, leveling the full force of his infuriation in those two words.
DC, as ever, was oblivious. Rather than chastised, he cocked his head in confusion. “Moment?” he parroted.
Dear Lord, was he going to have to spell everything out for this boy?
Embarrassment creeped up his shoulders, flooding London’s pale skin with an unseemly blush. “Your... in the...” he started, making a vague gesture with his hand. It was incredibly difficult to speak when the boy’s blue eyes were boring into him like drills. It was even more awkward to try to address the subject that he was trying to block out of his mind. Finally, he got out: “McDonald's, just now. It was far too friendly.”
A clack to his left alerted him to his drink. Blessed, blessed alcohol. Without hesitation, he took the tumbler and downed the entire thing in one swallow. His throat burned and his eyes watered, but it had the instant and desired effect of dulling down his mortification.
DC’s confusion lingered, but now it was ebbed with a flicker of understanding. “Wait...” he said, comprehension dawning. Then his eyes widened in shock, “you think- me and Otto- seriously?!”
“It was obvious,” London replied, not entirely sure if DC was in denial. He began listing off the most obvious points on his fingers, “USA all but announced it when we first arrived. Then when we confronted you, you didn't deny your closeness. A-and then you gave the CronutsTM I gave you to him.” Which still enraged him. “And next thing I know, I see the pair of you embracing!”
In any other circumstance, the slow transition of DC’s expressions from confused, to relieved, to disgusted and horrified would have been comical. It occurred to London just then that it really shouldn’t have taken the boy this long to realize what he was talking about. “Oh God!” DC nearly howled, as if London had just branded him. “Are you kidding me?! He's like my twin! That's disgusting!”
....Oh. Right then. Right. Then.
Like the flip of a switch, DC went from utterly oblivious to entirely too observant. “Oh, oh, ew! Don't tell me you've thought about it!” he demanded, somehow able to read the guilty thoughts in his mind. “ Fantasized about it?!”
Wait. What?
“Th-that- don't be absurd!” London sputtered. If he did harbour any thoughts about a ménage à trois , it wouldn’t include Ottawa. “And that's besides the point. I'm not interested in real life threesomes.”
As DC blanched, he realized what he just said. “Damn, you're way kinkier than I thought you were,” the young capital said in awe. Which was an absolutely outrageous thing to say to an English gentleman. So outrageous that London was unable to properly articulate just how outrageous it was as he protested with a series of useless false-started arguments.
“But Otto’s right about one thing,” DC mused, leaning his head against his palm.
“And what's that?” London demanded, simply not in the mood for the dolt’s antics anymore. Nor for any more mention of the Canadian.
“You're kind of an idiot,” the American answered, a merry twinkle to his eye.
Before he could even think to reply, DC roughly pulled the back of his neck and tugged him forward across the table. London let out a faint, rather embarrassing, sound in shock when he realized that warm lips were pressed against his.
And they were like honey.
Sucking in a sharp breath, London leaned into it, taking in the full glory of that exceptionally talented mouth. It was better than he could have imagined. Warm and generous and full of need . How was it possible that he never sensed such ache in the lad before?
Once they had to pull back to breathe, he could hardly string his thoughts together. Yet first and foremost was, why? “But... I don't understand,” London murmured. There were... reasons , a number of them, that made him think this was beyond his reach. Yet it was difficult to pick them out as Washington did terribly distracting things with the buds of his fingertips against his palm. It still didn’t quite click that Washington’s disinterest in Ottawa made him more or less available. “I thought I was too old for you.”
Amused, DC replied, “Nah, makes you experienced.”
London raised an eyebrow. “I'm a stuffy, irritable codger.”
“You're a dignified gentleman,” DC responded, mock affronted.
The Brit was rather starting to like this game. “I've been told my eyebrows are too big.”
A shake of the head and a grin. “Your eyebrows are adorable.”
At this, a thought that niggled at the back of his mind. There was that moment he had so very obviously telegraphed his intent to the younger capital. “...you didn't kiss me in front of my hotel,” he said at last, straightening up.
DC’s eyes widened, his mouth forming into a small ‘oh’. Then he shook his head. “Well, that's just unpardonable. Unconscionable . I need to do something about it.”
He did like where the boy was going with this. “Such as?” he asked.
Smiling still, his new beau cupped his cheek and leaned in again to show him.