A/N: I like music a lot, hence the title. A random thought that came to me when my friend asked if it was "normal for her boyfriend to cry when aroused". Apparently that happened to her once when she was with him and it confused her. He wasn't crying because it hurt or anything, but because he liked it I guess. Maybe he's just a sensitive guy. Either way… yeah. There's no way to make that not sound creepy. Hopefully you don't think it's creepy.

There is no real plot to this story so I hope you all don't mind.

Enjoy.


"Hey, slow down," America said in a breathy plea. He was quivering, England could tell, though it was masked a bit due to the quick rise and fall of his chest. He watched calmly and turned his green eyes to his face, America looking at him with flushed cheeks and tussled hair. It was a surprisingly good look for him.

Hands slid down the inside of bare thighs and England relished the gasp that flew from America's mouth. His head fell back against the pillow and he bit his lip as if to hold back anymore sounds that could be released. England never let his eyes tear away from America's face as he ran his fingers gingerly back and forth, going so far north nearly to where the legs connected to the hips with something else entirely, only to trickle teasingly back down to America's kneecaps.

Much like America, his chest was rising and falling much quicker than it normally would, yet he didn't look like he was about to have an asthma attack like the younger nation did. Never in all his years did he think America would ever agree to do this with him; to lay sprawled under his touch nearly naked in a dark bedroom of some cheap London hotel. That alone got England's heart racing.

"Stop – hey… ah, you – you're going too fast." America's toes curled into the satin sheets when England took a firm hold of his hips and pulled him in one quick tug to rest in-between his legs. My, America was sure giving him a lovely view. England noticed the flustered appearance even in the dim light.

"What's that, love?" he asked tepidly and began lightly massaging the muscles towards the sides of his hipbones and just below his bellybutton. America's breath caught in his throat as his knees came up to squeeze England's sides.

"Fast," he groaned when the Englishman dipped down to give his collarbone a kiss. "I-I thought… I mean, you still have all your clothes on."

England hummed in thought, kissing down the blonde's chest and cupping his bottom at the same time. America whined.

"Is that so?" he replied before letting his tongue dart out to taste the flesh under him and lean up.

"Yes that's so," America tried with a weak glower. "It's not fair that I'm the only one–" He was cut off with a surprised cry, his body arching off the bed almost painfully as England's hands found the center of all America's 'lively' actions at the moment. The Briton inwardly smirked, feeling all the more excited knowing that he was the one who was making America squirm delightfully in front of him, body shining with copious amounts of sweat and eyes half-lidded with desire.

Desire for him.

Heat coiled like bubbling lava, warm and eager at the base of his stomach, seeping through the cracks and going lower and lower and slithering back up to rest at the base of his spine. He let his fingers trail experimentally along America's length, this newfound territory very pleasing to the touch, for both he and America. After a moment of hearing America's shuddering gasps and mewls England spoke up.

"What was it you were saying?" he feigned confusion as if he'd never caught what the boy was trying to say to him before. America bit the junction in between his thumb and pointer finger while his legs flailed weakly behind the Briton. He was in no shape to even remember what he had said a minute ago.

England smiled gently at him, loving the look his little America was bestowing him. But that wasn't it. That wasn't enough. He still hadn't made it past that hurdle yet; the whole reason why he'd gone out of his way to persuade the boy into bed with him.

America had not proven if that rumor was true or not.


England had to literally force his hand to move and set his teacup down. It was something that took quite a bit of effort to do, but considering the words he'd heard (or at least he thought he'd heard), it wasn't surprising that his body would nearly go still in surprise. The Briton placed his cup down with a light 'tink' against the plate on the table and blinked curiously towards the Canadian sitting across from him.

"Pardon me, Matthew?" England inquired, full attention now presently on this conversation. It had thrown him off guard to say the least. He took his cloth napkin square from the corner of the table and began wiping it against his hands and the few droplets that had managed to spill over the side of his cup. "I don't believe I heard you correctly. Did you just say that Alfred cries?"

Canada's large indigo eyes darted around the small tea shop as if just talking about such a thing could get him escorted out of the building and never seen again. He put his hands up as if to motion for England to be quieter. The Englishman raised an impressive eyebrow at the spectacle. "D-don't tell anyone," Canada told him nervously.

"Who am I going to tell?" England replied dryly and set the napkin back down. "Why should I care that Alfred cries? Yes, it is uncommon for someone of his… brain capacity and ridiculous masculine stereotypes to cry often, but I wouldn't say that it's abnormal for a man to cry every once in a while."

Canada sighed to himself and slumped down against his chair. "Well that… that wasn't exactly what I'd meant."

England raised his teacup back to his lips and waited for him to continue. "Come again?"

The Canadian wrung his hands together under the table and glanced down at his bear sitting at his feet. It stared up at him with round button eyes before turning its attention back to two gossiping women discussing something over scones. He didn't know how this conversation had even arisen. It was something about England inviting him to get something to drink before he began to lecture him on all of the things he was doing wrong in the world right now, or not doing enough of… then before he knew it he'd blurted out a secret about Alfred – who was supposed to be the twin deserving of a lecture, not him – and, well, now he was in a pot of hot water.

"Never mind," he muttered, hoping to just drop the subject and get on with his life.

"Matthew, you cannot simply come out with something random into the air and brush it off without explaining," England informed and took another sip from his tea. He looked calm and placid on the outside, but a part of him tugged in curiosity at what Canada had been about to say about America. It needed clarification.

Canada mentally grumbled. "It's not important."

"It's important enough to have you feel it's worth mentioning to me."

Great. It seemed he'd walked himself into a corner and was pressed against a wall. With great disdain, Canada leaned forward and stared at his full cup of tea on the table. America would kill him if he ever found out that his brother was spreading presumed rumors. "It's just like I said. Alfred… cries."

England rested his lips against the rim of his cup. "What do you mean by 'cries'?"

"It's exactly that. Just don't tell anyone," Canada nearly begged. One slip of the mouth and he was regretting it. If only this had been one of those moments where people didn't notice him.

"I don't understand," England said furrowing his brow. "Do you mean that he cries often?" Canada began to chew on his lip, uncertain. He didn't know those kinds of things. He'd just heard this from a few nations going around. It wasn't as if he'd seen it happen himself, let alone if it was true. Unsure of himself, he just nodded.

England set his cup down and looked seriously towards the hesitant blonde. "Does he cry himself to sleep or just when he's hurt or what? You're being extremely vague," he noted and couldn't help but picture America sprawled under his covers weeping and in distress. That thought didn't sit well for someone who used to take care of the boy when he was small. He still had that urge to keep any and all unhappiness and harm away from him.

"No. Not exactly…" Oh, this conversation was painful. Did England really want to force this embarrassing tidbit that could have adverse side effects out of his mouth?

"I don't understand."

Canada pursed his lips and chanced a look at England who was looking unnaturally curious. He looked like he was about to do something about this issue too. That was not a good sign. He inhaled, ready to do this like a bandage; quick with as little pain as possible.

"…hecriesduringsex."

There was a distinct pause as Canada stared at his cup, the only sounds emanating around him being the chitter-chatter of fellow café patrons. After a moment he straightened and looked towards England, wincing just as he could see the astonishment across the older nation's face. He'd obviously deciphered his word string. England opened his mouth two times in vain before any words came out. It was his turn to lean in and stare at Canada incredulously.

"Did you – did you just say what I think you said?" he asked in disbelief.

"Well I–"

"Because I think you said–"

"…I did."

England fell back into his seat and pulled his lips into a very tight, very thin line. Canada could see thoughts bouncing around at a rapid pace behind his eyes, wondering at all if he should've said anything. Perhaps it was nothing. "Alfred – he cries during…" England shook his head as if to jumble the mental picture from his brain. He didn't need to picture something like that. Something so… pleasing to observe.

"It's just a rumor, don't say anything," Canada muttered, tugging lightly at the strings from his sweatshirt. "Alfred would get mad if he knew people thought he… you know."

England blinked slowly before focusing his eyes towards Canada. "A rumor?" Canada nodded.

"I don't know if it's true or if somebody wanted to make him look little a sissy or something, though. I just figured I'd tell you." Anything to get you to stop lecturing me and focus your chiding opinions towards Alfred.

England felt perplexed at that, idly pulling at his napkin off to the side. This was certainly an unexpected turn to their conversation. He hadn't known America was one to, well, become sensitive during personal moments. In fact, England had never in the history of remembrance seen the boy cry. Yes, when he was a young tike, but never after the Revolution. America in a situation where he was very hot and bothered with tears in his eyes seemed impossible, yet the idea of it sent a spike of electricity up his spine.

"Is he ill?" England asked stupidly. He adjusted the collar of his shirt for a small wave of air to hit his neck and relieve him from some of this sudden explosive heat. It was as if someone had turned the heater on. Canada tilted his head in confusion. England straightened up and tried to seem as presentable as possible, save for the sweaty handprint his palm left against the mahogany table. "I think he should get checked out by a physician. If doing something intimate on that level leaves him crying–"

"Not just crying…" Canada corrected, almost as if he didn't want to. England pulled his eyebrows together, not understanding. "He bawls."

Oh.

Oh, that feeling of heat stopped from just trickling waves to an all out tsunami up the back of his neck and down his torso at the image that painted itself in his mind's eye. England let out a tiny, disbelieving groan before putting his hand to his mouth. He raised his eyebrows. "He weeps?" he repeated, amazed. "Th-that's terrible. He must be in a lot of pain." England wasn't surprised when Canada shook his head in denial. The Canadian groaned for a totally separate reason and burring his face in his arms.

"No. Alfred just – he's emotional when he's really happy and – I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's just a rumor, I don't even know if it's true. Just please don't tell Alfred I said anything. He would kill me and go after anyone who's heard this. I don't want to cause problems," Canada pleaded with round eyes up towards the stilled Briton. England swallowed and curled his fingers experimentally at his side.

"Alright. Yes, I understand that. There's no point in spreading around slander towards someone's good name." He composed himself and went to take another drink; his mouth was suddenly parched. "Not that Alfred's name is that great to begin with," he mumbled under his breath, glancing towards Canada to see if he'd caught that. He hadn't, being too absorbed in his own relief. Coughing to catch the boy's attention again, England smiled at him. "Shall we… change the subject for now? I don't think it's proper to continue this sort of talk in such a place."

Canada blinked before looking around and nodding, feeling almost embarrassed for bringing it up at all. Oh well. It was no different than when America heard a rumor that Canada had been born with a tail or that he was actually a girl or that he was a failed cloning attempt from America. He frowned. He was almost sure America had actually started and spread that last one.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"There's no need. Now, what say you tell me about your stay so far? I am interested to see what sites you have visited."

"Oh… Sure," Canada said smiling.

Throughout their entire discussion and even a long while after, England's mind was plagued with that dreadful rumor that Canada had informed him of. He had absolutely no idea where it had come from or who had heard it, but it was completely glued into his mind. It would kill him if he didn't find out if it was true. He wouldn't simply be able to sleep. And losing sleep over anything America did was surely not worth it.

He thought of asking America front out, but America certainly would deny anything like that. He would say that only girls or wimps or something cried during sex and would go on about how opposite he was to those things. England scowled. Perhaps he would have to take a more pleasing approach to such a subject.

He no longer wanted to know if this was true, he needed to.


"Open your legs nice and wide, lad. We'll get this dilemma fixed for you, how does that sound?"

An eager comply, not that he expected any different. The way America had been twisting and panting, he never expected any resistance from the get go. It was a rare and fascinating sight to have America on display like this, limbs everywhere and nearly starch naked. England wasn't sure if he could feel better than he already did at the moment. Just looking at America sent his nerves in a tizzy. They couldn't possibly get more tangled than they were, could they?

And just as quickly England's shirt was buttoned opened mirroring America's, one hand gently but firmly clasping onto a tanned thigh, the other snaking under the blonde, fingers seeking and finding just as quick before taking that plunge down into that hot ring of muscle.

America positively thrashed.

"Fuck…! England, Arthur…shit, shit, shit…" he breathed rapidly, his own hands clasping at his golden locks like they were the only thing holding him to this world. England gave a light, quiet chuckle.

"Language, Alfred," he tutted. The fingers began to rub soothingly, beginning their exploration with great vigor.

"W-what do you… mmm… expect?" America managed to bite out and threw his head to the side when he tried to close his legs; it was a reflex, really. England gently kept them pushed open and easily kept up his ministrations, eyes still glued to America's face, waiting, waiting…

"Use productive words, hm? I will do the best I can to appease them," England informed gingerly.

"Who – who talks like that during something like – ah…! Deeper, deeper – please!" England obeyed just as the words left America's lips. A stream of garbled noises erupted from his lips in response to the friction the fingers were creating. England could feel the tensing in America's thighs, muscles dancing under his palm.

He patted it reassuringly. "Arthur… Arthur…" America choked out, nose scrunching up as his face took on something more desperate. England's eyes sprung up from his current task and he almost stilled when he could see the small sheen of water overtaking America's eyes. It was captivating, England's chest swelling with something akin to warmth or earnest amazement.

So it was true then.

He gave his wrist a flick, skin brushing against the base of America's cock as he did so. America's eyes shut and he exposed his throat with a near violent turn of his face.

"That's my boy," he said fondly and pulled up one of America's knees to give it a soft kiss. He continued, knowing, wanting to open up the floodgates inside America. He could get more, he knew it. Canada had said he 'bawled'. If that was true then England wanted to see just that.

He removed his fingers, the digits departing from inside the warmth that was America and recognized the mewl of disappointment that unwillingly escaped America's mouth. He could see the blonde crane his neck up to see what was going on when the click-click-clicking of a zipper reached his ears. They both knew what was coming; both eagerly awaiting it. That had been the whole reason for coming here anyway.

England pulled America's legs up to meet his sides for better leverage and crouched over the boy's torso. He glanced down into America's face, noticing the catch in his breath as the mushroom tip touched his opening. He wanted to be able to see for himself how America reacted to an overwhelming amount of pleasure. "Don't resist," he told him. "It will be much easier if you loosen up."

America gave a small amused chuckle of his own. "You act like I've never done anything like this before."

England paused before peeling his lips back from his teeth in a satisfied smile. "Then you won't have a problem with me not holding back."

And he pushed, a quick thrust from his hips forwards, being completely sheathed inside of America. Oh, it felt much better than he ever thought it would. The tight circle of warmth, rippling muscles trying to adjust to such an abrupt action, complete and utter pleasure searing beneath his skin.

America gave a stifled moan. He tensed, body bending back in an almost unnatural shape. Dry; doing this dry always seemed to do that for him. He knew if this had been his first time doing this then it would be impossible.

But it wasn't. He knew he'd be fine in a minute and thanked God almighty that England was waiting. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. He shuddered when the warmth finally started to buzz deep down inside of him, tingling every nerve in the vicinity. God it felt so strange, it felt so full, it felt so…

"Good," he sobbed. America's hands rested on England's shoulders as the nation above him gazed at him with round eyes of astonishment. He could feel it. Those familiar and dreadful paths of warmth trailing from his eyes and making him feel like a damned fool. But he couldn't stop it; couldn't help it if he wanted to. He just only hoped that England wouldn't think he was strange. He was, in fact, giving him the same look as all the others had.

That unabashed surprise was filling his green eyes, scrunching up slightly when America rocked his hips onto England, trying desperately to get him deeper. "Good… God, it feels so good, Arthur…"

England forced himself out of his mesmerized stupor when America had practically started humping against him like an animal in heat. It was erratic and frantic, the rhythm all but nothing. England tore his eyes away from America's face for a brief moment enough for him to grip his hips firmly and pull him towards him. He established a pace of ins and outs, not even remotely reserving his energy. He panted and watched as America gasped like a fish out of water, every rise and fall of his chest almost looking painful.

He was loud. He was much louder than England ever thought he could be. And all the while they were rutting against each other, delving deeper like America's pleads asked for, rows of tears burbled from America's eyes and trickled down his cheeks, across his lips, dribbling off the side of his face and onto the pillow.

It was almost shocking. He was crying. Not just crying, he was wailing with deep groans and fluttering moans that he couldn't ever help to suppress. England let out a groan himself that was rumbling at the back of his chest at the sight. America hadn't cried like this in front of him ever.

He leaned forward and began to kiss everywhere on America's face; his forehead, his chin, his nose, eyelids, trailing his tongue over that abundant water drowning his cheeks. All the while the blonde clung onto him with bruising strength, surely leaving ten little bruises on his shoulders.

He said England's name like a mantra, it being the most pleasing sound England had ever heard. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur… faster, yes, there…! Again, do that again… Oh, God..."

The bed was creaking very loudly from the weight and movements and both of them were suffocating despite the large amount of air around them, but all England could hear were America's cries, his groans, his pleas. But most of all his sobs.

It was the strangest thing to see someone cry because they felt good. It didn't make him feel bad like he was doing harm to the blonde. It didn't make him feel like the boy was being overdramatic. It felt like…

England curled in on himself against America's chest, pushing more frantically into that heat, that heat that sent him spiraling down with America. He was drowning in that ocean of wondering, magnificent tears.

He could faintly hear America laughing behind his tears, face nearly splitting behind that grin. He was obviously enjoying this and seeing England in such a state.

With laughter ringing in his ears England smiled lightly against America's chest, making sure he'd be able to feel it. "Crybaby."


"Don't say anything."

England looked up from his side of the bed, adjusting his collar and tie back into place. America sat quietly, almost shyly on the other end of the bed slowly buttoning up his shirt. After the whole rush of it all had died down America had gotten unusually silent. The evidence of his shame had made his eyes red and cheeks blotchy.

Not even a simpleton walking past him on the street wouldn't notice that he'd been crying. To the great extent, only England would know.

"Say what?" England responded casually, turning his attention back to his clothes.

"You know what," America said more seriously. He would've glared or sounded angrier had his whole body not felt sore, voice spent from all the noise.

"If you're implying that I go out of my way to discuss my personal affairs with others then you're going to be sadly mistaken." He paused, turning to see America watching him with puffy blue eyes. "What I do in my spare time is my business alone."

America blinked owlishly before nodding. He expected England of all people to pick on him about this. After all, he never fell apart like this. Not even during any wars, any deaths, any injuries had America cried like he did. And with the superior way he acted sometimes, he thought for sure England would tear him a new one.

"Thanks," he muttered and finished buttoning his jacket. The dip from the other side of the bed rose and he vaguely heard England getting to his feet. America waited for him to leave but was surprised to see the shorter man make his way around the bed and stand over him.

America looked up curiously and was met with a soft kiss to his lips, England letting it linger for a moment before pulling back. He ruffled America's hair before standing up straight. "I do not like to see you cry, but for this case I will make an exception. It was good seeing you again, Alfred."

He turned to leave before America caught a glance at how red his ears were. He had failed to see the sheepish smile the blonde wore as he left out the door making his way into the London rain. He would keep this a secret only because he didn't wish anyone else to see America in such a state. No reason to spread the rumor around further.

That wouldn't stop him from sending the boy a lifejacket for Christmas, though. Despite the embarrassed yells and getting the bird from America, he did have to say that it was well worth it.

Hey, he still had a sense of humor.