One last kiss

A bottle episode? agian?

Mexico looked at America, and America looked at him. It couldn't be more obvious that they were silently judging each other. Mexico was resisting the urge to smash America's head in to the wall, to yell and scream how much he hated him, he'd do anything to watch the fucker get put in place. But no, instead he watched America, memorizing the way his muscles curved and how the buttons on his shirt pulled from the tension on his chest. The dumb smile he wore on his face. His expressive eyebrows. His brown creamy hair gleaming against the light, seemingly perfect. The way his hands seemed so rough yet soft to touch.

Mexico stopped mid thought, gagging to himself. America was stupid, he was an idiot, all America did was ruin things for others. His horrible definition of freedom, what he thought was good for his people, it made his blood boil. How annoying he was, no wonder everyone hated him, he was always pulling attention to himself, always being stuck up and mysterious, he's basically an annoying fly that never left him alone. Especially when they had to work together. It was more often than Mexico would like, if he had his way he'd never have to see America again. He'd ship him to the moon, put him in a box with weights and throw him down into the ocean. Especially when America stuck his nose in his business, always listening, he was a rude fucker, and Mexico wanted to pull him apart and gut him with his bare hands.

"Mexico, you're staring."

"I don't care."
Mexico sat there and continued to give America the dead stare that he deserved. He felt his pride grow, his stare kept the American quiet. The tension was thick, they stared into each other, almost as if they were looking through each other. America's finger hit the table at steady beat. The tapping is annoying to Mexico, like if America were trying to piss him off on purpose. Mexico's rattle shook as a warning to America, and his wings puffed up. America liked the reaction his lips curled into a shit eating grin. It pissed Mexico off more, that stupid fucking smile. Mexico got up from his seat, the chair slammed on the floor, his hands slamming on the table. He shoved his face into the American's.

"I fucking hate you, you know that."

"You do?" America copying what Mexico did, shoving his face in closer

"Yes you fucking cunt"

"That's amazing to hear" If America's smile couldn't get wider and more ego filled, his voice growing confident. Their faces were inches apart, Mexico could smell his cologne, and the noodles he ate this morning. Mexico finally remembered he was giving the American the reaction he wanted. He lifted his hand to push America's face away from his. America grabbed Mexico's wrist slamming it back on the table. Mexico hissed at the pain and the friction. It filled him with adrenaline.
"Control your urges Mexico." America pulled away first, sitting down in his seat again. Mexico walked away from the table slamming his fist into the door, it shook violently, as if it was about to break off its hinges. But it still didn't give in to the pile of rubbish blocking the door. Mexico's rattle was shaking a lot more than to be safe around. Like a wild animal in a cage trying to escape. His wings puffed and he was angry. America stayed in his seat giggling at the Mexican.

"Mex, no ones going to come, it's still way too early." America put his feet on the table, relaxing, seemingly careless. Mexico didn’t respond, instead just glaring at America before looking away again, slamming his arm into the door, over and over again. America got up from his seat going to pull Mexico away from the door, when he grabbed his arm Mexico shoved his hand off and cringed at his touch, wiping it off.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Mexico’s voice was harsh, harsher than it was supposed to sound, it tore through america. He thought by the tone that Mexico wanted to be left alone. He couldn’t have been more wrong, Mexico hated being alone. He could never cope with the feeling of being lonely, in fact he didn’t even know why he was so angry. Nevermind that, he had a right to feel mad, he was stuck in a room with someone he hated, because people really like seeing you two together. What is wrong with those countries, who even were they? Mexico turned his back to the door and slid down against it. His knees tucking in the cradle his head, he hated it in here, this sucked. Why did he have to be in a room with someone he hated the most, who knows how long they’d be stuck in here until someone decided to get rid of the rubbish in front of the door. A situation that he felt couldn’t get any worse. This was his personal hell, and he would never escape, time seemed to be as slow as possible.