The warmth was gone from Prussia's lips, replaced by the cool autumn air, and a ticklish sensation at her neck. Blindly, she sought the hand on her chest, her own resting on England's wrist, yet not wrenching it away.

They could go about this quietly, but she was never one for leaning back and letting things take their course gently. Her hand lingered there, the other using the back of England's head to bring her up for another kiss, more insistent and less patient. This had the element of surprise in it, with nothing of the tentative sweetness from before.