Notes: Set during the 2009 World Baseball Classic game of Canada vs. America.

Batting For the Other Team

It was going to be like the last World Baseball Classic all over again at this rate. America had hoped that his pre-game "We're going to be the team to beat this year!" confidence and the chance to avenge themselves against Canada in game one would keep his spirits up. But the 2006 games still lingered in his mind, and he hadn't quite overcome the embarrassment of losing to Canada 8 to 6. The fact that this year they were playing in Toronto didn't help matters at all; over 42,000 in the stands and the majority eager to see Canada come away with another surprise win over America.

By the second inning, Canada had already tied things up 1-1. America knew the game wasn't looking good; his pitcher was walking batters and had given away a homerun already. Frustrated and not about to let Canada see him pouting in the dugout, America went into his team's locker room to sulk.

At least I've scored once? He thought to himself, glad it wasn't going to be a shutout like the China-Japan game was two days before. But still, the idea that he might lose to Canada again didn't sit right with him at all. He paced the room, trying to get his mind off the game for a moment, and tried to think happier thoughts.

His mind drifted to the one strange thing he'd noticed in the stands amidst the red and white of the Canadian supporters and a few splashes of blue from the American fans. It was some time during the first inning he'd spotted him, sticking out like a sore thumb in the sea of reds, whites and blues, wearing tan slacks and a green sweater vest.

America smiled at the thought. He'd never expected to see England at the game.

For a brief crazy moment, America wondered if someone had asked England to come; hoping he would notice him and become distracted. But when he tried to picture a devious Canada setting this up, he had to suppress a laugh. Cuba maybe would, in hopes that America would get eliminated from the games before the finals, but definitely not Canada.

His musings were interrupted by a brisk knock on the locker room door. America adjusted his ball cap, stood up from the bench and walked over.

"Hello?" No answer. He wondered if perhaps he'd imagined it. "Hello, who's there?"

"Just let me in, idiot, before someone sees me standing out here."

Blue eyes widened at the voice and he quickly did as instructed. "England, what are you…"

"Here." The older country cut him off as he shoved a loaded plate of fries into his hands. "This is disgusting and I figured you were in here pouting so…"

America grinned, stuffing a ketchup covered fry into his mouth. "Thanks, England. You sure you don't want any?"

England scowled, brushing past him and seating himself on a bench. "Don't you have any decent food at these games? Everything's covered in loads of grease."

America plopped down beside him and prodded a fry into his cheek. "Like you're one to talk about gourmet food." England glared, but America kept on smiling. "Go on, have some. I'm too…" Nervous, he thought to himself. "Worked up from the game to eat them all myself."

Reluctantly, England turned and took a bite out of the fry America was holding out to him. "I suppose. Wouldn't want it to go to waste."

America's smile widened and he sat the fries between them. He wasn't sure if England had brought the food as an excuse to see him or if it was just that he was concerned in general, but either way- America was certain England had planned this visit.

Munching on another fry, America mumbled. "I'm surprised you're watching the game." England shrugged, but didn't answer. "You stand out in that crowd."

He snapped his head around, a flush of red on his cheeks. "Y-you could see me out there?"

America laughed and poked England's chest. "Green sweater vest amidst the predominant crowd colors of red, white and blue? Yeah, I noticed you."

The older country blushed and it fell silent between them, America eating fries and England trying to pretend he wasn't doing the same. From the game outside, a loud rowdy cheer overcame the stadium and America grimaced.

"Great. Must mean Canada scored again. Now we're losing."

England shook his head. "You're such a whiner. The game has barely begun and you've already given up?"

America glared; slamming a hand down on the bench and making the now-empty plate vibrate against the wood. "I have not given up."

Shrugging, England leveled him with a look. "I find you in here, sulking during the early innings because you are tied. Then when Canada gets one point up, you act like you've lost already. You will still win, so start acting like it."

"How do you know?" He snapped.

"A little fairy told me," England stated matter of factly.

America rolled his eyes. "Oh great, your imaginary friends are rooting for us."

"They aren't imaginary! And they merely noted that you rarely lose if you put your mind to something."

America seemed skeptical and leaned in, whispering, "You didn't curse Canada with some magic mumbo jumbo did you?"

England threw up his hands in exasperation. "I am going to regret ever saying this- but would you please go back to being your obnoxiously self-confident egotistical prat of a self? You are whinging over a bloody ball game with Canada!"

As the reverberations of England's shout died off, the locker room fell suddenly silent. America laughed wryly. "Heh. You're right, this isn't like me."

"Of course I'm right. Now I know your pitcher isn't doing so great but…" England trailed off as he felt America's gaze on him intensify. "What?"

America rubbed the back of his neck nonchalantly and pointedly looked away. "N-Nothing."

"Rubbish!" England yelled, grabbing a fistful of America's jersey and yanking him forward. "That was not nothing. Now say it." The younger country's lips quirked at the edges with an obviously suppressed grin.

"Say what?" He asked, leaning closer.

England growled in frustration and pulled America in until they were centimeters apart. "I know that you look, you idiot. You were going to say something, so say it."

Not able to resist, America titled his head in until he was only a breath away. His words ghosted across England's lips.

"Thank you for the pep talk, England. I'll have to remember that you prefer me to be- what was it again?- more awesomely self-confident?"

"Prat," England grumbled in reply. "I said obnoxiously."

"Ah." America's lips brushed against England's. "I could have sworn I heard 'awesome.'"

England's restraint broke at that, the grip on America's jersey tightening and the miniscule space between them closed as their lips crashed together. America chuckled into the kiss, tasting the cheap stadium beer on England's breath.

"You…are…obnoxious," England managed between ragged breaths as he pulled back.

America just grinned. "And you're drunk."

"I am not drunk. I couldn't get drunk off that pathetic excuse for beer if tried."

Leaning back towards him, America smirked. "Then perhaps we should just say you're a little less…inhibited than usual?"

"S-shut up!" He retorted with a blush and turned away.

Repressing a laugh at England's usual denial, America took off his baseball cap and fanned himself with it. "Kind of hot in here."

"Yeah," England agreed unthinkingly.

America beamed and put his cap back on, England having just given him just the opening he was looking for. As casual as possible, he reached over and yanked at the sweater vest. "Well…what do you expect when you're wearing this sort of thing?"

"Ugh fine." The older country sighed, starting to tug it off over his head. America laughed as it got stuck on England's neck and he reached over to help him untangle it.

As the green fabric was finally removed, a rumpled-haired England shot the other country a meaningful glance.

America looked pleasantly surprised, then answered England's unspoken question. "We have some time. I don't need to back out there until when we bat in the 4th."

England gave a brief nod before his fingers started fumbling with the buttons on America's jersey. "We'll make it quick," he murmured; his face burning red. America couldn't help but smile. Even if they lost the game now, this would make it somewhat worth it.

Kicking off his cleats, as England tossed aside his jersey, America pulled the other country to his feet. Toying with the brim of his cap, he winked. "I can keep my hat on if you like."

England shoved him against the lockers, took the hat and threw it to the floor. "Kinky bastard," he growled as he started to pull off America's undershirt.

"You like it," America retorted, his hands tugging loose England's belt.

"Do not," came the unconvincing reply as England yanked the undershirt off over America's head. It hit the floor as they stumbled around the corner.

"But what's not to like, England?" America popped a button off on England's shirt, and it clinked as it skidded across the floor. "I mean- look at me."

England gave him a sardonic look, then leaned forward and started pressing rough kisses down his chest, chiding America as he did so. "Don't flatter yourself. Your ego is already unspeakably large."

"I don't know about my ego, but if we're talking unspeakably large…" England's hand shot up and covered America's mouth.

"Don't you even dare."

America licked the palm of England's hand and he jerked it away. "What? I was just talking about how there's an unspeakably large crowd here today."

"Right. And I'm the bloody Queen of England." America's lips quirked open to snark on that, but England knew this quip was coming and he silenced him with a kiss. He glared at him as he pulled back. "Oh come on, I'm not that daft. I saw that one coming."

Laughing, America wrapped his arms around England's waist and started to tug at his trousers. "Okay, okay. I'll give you that one. Hey, get your shoes off."

Rolling his eyes, England toed off his shoes as America started unbuttoning his pants. He had them about half unzipped when England started kissing him again and he let his hands wander as their awkward dance took them onward, leaving a trail of strewn clothing in their wake.

Just as they were starting to run out of clothing to shed, their forward-stumbling movement ended abruptly; America's back slamming into a metal knob and ice-cold water dousing them both.

"What the shit?"

"Oh fuck it all!"

What remained of their attire quickly became soaked as England glared up at the offending shower head and America fumbled behind him for the knob. He only managed to turn the spray up, earning yet another string of curses from England. "At least it's warmer water?" He sheepishly offered, trying not to laugh at the ridiculous sight in front of him.

England scowled, making the image even more humorous; his white shirt barely held on by one button, his sopping wet blue boxers showing through the now practically transparent white shirt fabric and his socks now as wet as the rest of him.

America looked down at his damp pants and knew his boxers underneath were suffering the same watery fate. He snorted. "Figures," he murmured. "It figures we'd end up backing into the shower room."

England cracked a smile at that. "Yeah. Our luck being what it is."

They looked at each other then, their hair slicked down with the water and America's glasses streaked with droplets, and both of them burst out laughing. England leaned his head against America's chest, feeling the rise and fall of it as the other country chuckled and vainly tried to wipe his glasses clean. "So uh..." He swallowed and started toying with America's belt. "...We still have time?"

The whisper was barely audible over the rush of the shower, but America heard it and grinned. Leaning his head down, he ran his tongue along England's ear; causing the other country to shudder.

"Oh England, we have all the time in the world," America quipped, sliding England's shirt off his shoulders and throwing it onto the floor. England pulled America's belt loose with a snap and glared up at him. "You know, I have half the mind to use this to bind your mouth closed. We can never do this without your idiotic comments."

America raised an eyebrow. "And you said I was the kinky one."

Cheeks reddening, England shot back, "Your Indiana Jones phase ring a bell?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Bond?"

Rubbing his forehead, England sighed in resignation. "Why are we even arguing about this? Let's just get your bloody pants off."

Grinning America gave a mock salute. "Yes sir. I'm all at attention now, Mr. Bond, sir!"

"America..." England warned.

"What?" He asked, shimmying his hips to help England slide the pants down. "As you can clearly see by my boxers, I am all at attention."

He gripped him through the boxers, causing America to hiss at the sudden friction. "Hush up, will you?"

And America's sure he had a really witty retort for this, somewhere in the back of his mind, but at that moment it's all just a pleasant haze and he's rocking back and forth into England's hand because damn does that feel good. The hand pulls away and America whimpers, about to protest, when he feels England's fingers hooking into the sides of his waistband and his boxers are tugged off. Somewhere in the vague distance that is the stadium above, America registers the announcer saying something. But all attempts to decipher what's going on in the game are lost when England's hands are back stroking his length and his lips are at America's throat.

"Time?" England queried.

America shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

England nodded, reached for a pocket he no longer had, and cursed. "Where's my pants?"

"What?" America asked, momentarily confused by the odd question.

England frowned. "My pants? Oh never mind."

He pulled away then, America whimpering at the sudden lack of his touch. "Englaaaaand..."

"Oi, stop whinging. Be patient for once, is it that damn hard?" The older country padded away, tracing the path of strewn clothes on the quest for his trousers.

America leaned his head back against the cool shower wall and could have sworn he heard England muttering to himself something like "bloody America" and "can't wait for anything." He grinned, calling out. "Engggglanddd, if you don't hurry up- I'm going to finish this myself."

England tossed a glare over his shoulder, yanked off his soaked boxers and hurled them at America's head. "Shut it, will you?"

America dodged the wet undergarment and stuck out his tongue in retort. England went back to locating his pants; which he finally found tangled with his shoes. As he bent over to retrieve the small tube from his pocket, baring his bum towards the showers, America started humming 'Blue Moon' loudly. England cursed.

"I said to stuff it!"

"What?" He asked innocently. "I'm not saying anything."

England swore again, grabbed the tube and stormed back towards the shower room, his wet socks squelching with every step. America cheekily grinned as he approached and he retorted by shoving the younger country against the wall. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Well I can't forget that I am; you remind me at least once a day, sometimes more."

"Why do I put up with this?" England asked the ceiling.

America snaked an arm around England's bare waist and whispered in his ear. "Because you love it."

"And I'm quite mental for doing so," England mumbled to himself. He fumbled with the cap to the tube, America extricating it from his hands with a husky, "Hey. Let me."

England's eyes shot up to America's. "You sure? What with the game?"

He shrugged. "I am playing catcher, so…" England groaned at the pun and America laughed. "Oh come on. You not up for it?"

The older country leveled him with a look that dared America to ask that again. With a cheeky grin, America did just that. "No really, are you?"

"Just turn around, you arse."

America beamed and pecked a kiss on England's nose. "Shall do once you're good and ready."

England was about to ask what he was talking about when he felt the younger country's hands, slick with water and lube, wrap around his cock. "Fuck," he swore; his hips grinding up into America's touch.

"We're getting there," America murmured into England's neck. He stroked his hands up and down the length as England braced himself against him. "Okay…that's…" England groaned. "That's good. Turn around."

America leaned down for a quick kiss before obliging; bracing his forearms against the wall and resting his head on the cool tiles.

The moment his ear pressed against the wall, he was bombarded with sound and touch. The rush of the water in the pipes. The feel of England pressing a finger into him. The dull murmur of the stadium above. A grunt or a moan he was sure came from his mouth. The announcer making a comment on the game. Another finger now, then a third. The crowd cheering for some player. The thundering sound of his heartbeat in his ears. The call of the vendors selling their goods. England's breath warm against his back as he asks, "Ready?" The grinding of the pipes because the shower had been running so long. His own shaky voice replying, "Yeah. Ready." The crowd cheering or perhaps booing a call from the umpire. Vaguely wondering which inning it even was before all thought left his mind; leaving only the feeling of England pressing into him in its wake. The announcer again, probably saying something important that America could care less about at that very moment. The steadying grip of England's hand on his hip and how his other hand came around to grasp America's neglected cock as well. The sound of a bat hitting a ball. The sound of bare skin slapping together. Another cheer from the crowd, louder this time. The indecipherable murmurs and moans coming from both England and himself. The pipes straining now as the water temperature dropped. His glasses slipping down his nose and England briefly removing his hand from his hip to push them back up. Another strike called and the crowd isn't happy about it. His toes curling against the damp floor, and his vision going hazy as he cries out England's name. The sound of loud footsteps entering his team's dugout. England's shout and the feeling of the body behind him going as slack and weak-kneed as he feels. Everything going momentarily silent as the stadium noise becomes nothing more than a dull roar and England slides out of him. The feel of England's hands trying to steady him; both of them shaky as they manage to sit down on the ground. The call of a homerun blaring over the speakers and America not giving a damn if it was Canada's point because all that matters at that moment is his hand entwined with England's and England's head on his shoulder and the pleasant warmth that's spreading throughout his entire body.

Minutes, or perhaps only seconds, pass before England speaks; his voice thick. "I think you just scored a homerun."

America gives him a quizzical look and England sighs. "Your team in the actual game, you idiot. I'm not making baseball puns about our…our..." He blushes and whispers, "our sex life."

And he has to laugh them, the sound echoing off the shower walls, because it's so like England to be such a prude about that right after he's shagged him into the wall.

"I think you hit the homerun, England." He murmurs with a mock seductive-tone. England smacks him on the leg. "Ouch."

"You should probably go, right?"

America staggers to his feet, having to brace himself on England to do so. "Yeah." He presses a lingering kiss to England's lips as he yanks him to his feet as well. "You'll wait for me, right?"

England thinks to his soaked boxers, socks and tattered shirt and shrugs. "I don't think I have much of a choice."

America grins, walking a bit tipsily towards his locker. He starts pulling on a spare uniform as he talks. "I have an extra shirt you can borrow. There should be a fan around here if you want to dry off your boxers."

"How are you going to bat like that?"

He hastily tugs on his socks and looks around for his cleats, snagging them up in his hand. "Oh that's easy."

"Really?" England asks skeptically, watching America lace up his cleats.

America looks over his uniform, repositions his cap on his head, and pauses by England to kiss him. "I'll just hit it out of the park so I can take all the time I want walking the bases."

"Smug bastard," he murmurs against America's lips.

America gives England's hand a quick squeeze before heading towards the dugout. "Love ya too, England."

Canada wasn't too disappointed in his loss. He'd been so surprised in 2006 when he'd won, and the fact that he'd come within one point of tying the game made him feel pretty confident going into his next game with Italy. His team shook hands with America's team, and Canada wasn't too surprised to see another familiar face along with America at the end of the line.

"Good game, America," Canada said, shaking the other North American country's hand.

"Yeah, you too Canada," he replied.

Canada's eyes drifted over his shoulder to where England stood in an oversized white shirt and rumpled slacks.

"Um… so England I take it you found America's locker room all right, eh?"

England blushed, fidgeting with the cuffs of his too-long sleeves. "Yes, of course. I was just taking him those fries. You know. Nothing else."

America looked perplexed. "Canada, how did you…"

"Oh! England came to my locker room first by accident during the end of the second inning. I told him how to get there, so I hoped my directions were good enough."

The two got brighter red, and America awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. Canada wasn't sure what they were embarrassed about, but he decided it best to change the subject.

"So…that was a nice two-run homerun in the bottom of the fourth."

America blushed as he exchanged a quick look with a flustered England, Canada blinked in confusion before realization dawned on his face.

"Oh no- I meant- the game, the baseball game! Your hit then. The end of the 4th. Not anything to do with you, England. Not that...that you did anything. Or anyone. Or America did. Aside from battling and hitting a homerun. I'm sorry, I didn't know you two had…during the game."

The three fell into an awkward silence and Canada felt pretty bad. He didn't mean to upset them, but now that he thought about it…

"…It does explain your comeback in the bottom of the 4th though," he mumbled.

"Canada!" America shouted.

England was mortified, stepping up beside America as he yelled, "Damnit Canada, stop talking about our sex life!"

The players, and even some of the stadium, seemed to fall silent at the booming voice.

"Not that we have a sex life!" England added. The silence continued and he blanched, burying his face into America's arm.

Canada gave the pair of them a weak smile and rubbed the back of his head nervously. "So, I'll let you guys go, eh? You probably want to go celebrate or something."

America put an arm around England, who was either shaking in suppressed rage or just plain embarrassment, and gave Canada a sheepish smile. "Yeah. We're going to go celebrate." A beat. "Winning the baseball game."

"Let's just go," England interjected. Canada suppressed a wider smile, now noticing that England's oversized shirt was probably on loan from America.

As the two walked away, Canada called out after them. "Have a great night you two!" They both came to an abrupt stop and Canada amended it. "Celebrating the baseball game, that is!"

And as they left the stadium, America remarked to England that perhaps he should have lost the game so Canada would have other things to talk about.