By: Verin Mystal
Summary: America has gotten drunk. The problem? He gets really uncontrollable with his physical strength. Those with him decide to lay this problem on the only one who can physically control him: Russia. Who wasn't even in their little drunken party.
Note: Written for the Kinkmeme at LiveJournal.
The car jolted at a pothole in the road, jarring America awake.
"Hey…what happened to the bar?"
"Bollocks. He woke up. That shot you gave him wasn't strong enough, Prussia. And its pub, not bar."
"But-…but… I didn't wanna go yet…"
America reached for the door handle.
"Well, thanks to you-"
The car jolted again, throwing everyone forward.
"Merde- must you hit every pot hole?" France smacked Prussia in the shoulder and clutched his forehead.
"Not my fault Russia's roads aren't as awesome as-!"
"Bloody fucking hell- get your hands off that!" England leaned across America's lap and tried prying his fingers from the door handle.
"I told you to watch him!" Prussia shouted from the driver's seat. "This is West's priceless Mercedes-Benz 300s Roadster from 1954!"*
"Well at least I am not the one who borrowed it while Germany was at the beach with Northern Italy." England growled through clenched teeth. "Alfred- damnit, stop being a cock-up and let it go-!" America's fingers came away from the handle with a thud. The metal handle was crunched, showing four finger indentations.
"…Well. At least it's only the door handle."
"What?" Prussia's voice rose several decibels. "Do you realize what West is going to do when he finds out?"
"It's only a door handle." France waved his hand in the air at Prussia. "Little Germany can handle a door handle."
"No. No. You don't understand. He's going to fucking kill me."
America rolled over in the seat to face England.
America leaned in close to England's face, staring at him a moment before collapsing to his lap and wrapping his arms around England's waist. "Why didn't you tell me you had problems with getting your cock up?"
"Get off me you little shite!" England turned a brilliant angry red and shoved America away, who lunged back into his lap, curling his arms around England's waist like a vice. "Fucking hell!"
"Mmm…I didn't seem to have a problem getting it up last night."
"France- If you don't shut your mouth right fucking now-"
Prussia fell into laughter, his chest heaving for air.
"It's okay England." America pressed his face into England's gut, breathing deeply. "…you smell like moldy books."
"Alfred F. Jones-"
"I like moldy books." America tightened his vice-like grip and settled himself into England's lap.
England turned pink and trembled in anger, his fingers digging into the younger nation's shoulders. France turned around in his seat to view the spectacle.
"I think it's actually calming him down. Do you think we can bottle your smell and use it on him the next time he has a melt-down?"
"I hate you."
The car screeched to a halt, throwing everyone forward.
"Why not just roll the window down and throw him out?" England snapped, glaring at Prussia. "Warn us next time you slam the bloody breaks on."
"Are you sure this is his home?" France exited, slamming his door shut and opening America's passenger door.
"I just moved back from his house." Prussia grumbled, slamming his door shut as well and walked around the car to stand beside France.
"It seems greener than usual." France leaned in and gripped America by the armpits. "He must have worked on his yard."
"It's fucking May, France." England slurred while prying America's arms from around his waist.
"…C'est des conneries." France complained. "It must be 15 degrees outside right now. How can this be spring?"*
"Hurry up, I don't want him to wake up with us still here." Prussia grabbed America's legs.
"Are… are we home?" America asked finally, his voice slurring as England forced his arms from around his waist. "Dun' tell Tony nothin'…"
"You're not home." England responded after a moment, while France and Prussia dragged him from the backseat of the car. "You wanted to visit someone else, remember?"
America blinked slowly and felt his bare feet touch the frozen ground. His face scrunched, toes curled, a loud whine emanating from his rosy lips.
"Mnnn…! Cold~" He gripped the door frame and his fingers crunched through the metal.
Prussia nearly shrieked, dropping America's legs and slapping him upside the head while gripping his arm.
"Fuck would you stop breaking shit on West's car?"
"Ta Gueule!" France hissed at Prussia, who finally yanked America's arm away from the car. "If you wake him up-"
"Wake who up?" America finally collapsed to the ground, laying still for a moment before his face scrunched up again. "Cold~~~!" He reached for the car again.
England slid across the leather seats, nearly falling on his ass as his legs didn't seem to be working correctly, and shut the car door behind him.
"Help me pick him up." England looped one arm under America's armpit. France took the slack, takeing America's other shoulder. Together they heaved America upward with a grunt and slowly made their way to the front porch.
America giggled suddenly and kicked his legs. "Mmm…this's nice. You should...carry me a lot."
"Not if you keep getting heavier." France grunted, and the two of them unceremoniously dumped America on the front porch.
"What now?" England grated, and reached for a flask at his waist. "I'm not drunk enough to do this shite anymore."
"I need paper." Prussia yanked a pen from his pocket. "Give me some from that black book, France."
England paused. "Black book?"
"What book?" France asked. "I don't-"
America groped France's ass, tugging out a delicate black leather book with several tabs sticking out the side. Grinning, America waved it at England, a throaty giggle escaping his lips. England stared at the book a moment as if it were a strange foreign object, and then reared a deadly glare at France.
"That one. I'm gonna tear a page out." Prussia yanked the book from America's flailing hands and scribbled on a page, tearing it out. "Here."
France hesitated a moment, glancing to England before plucking the book from Prussia's hand. "Ah yes…this one. It's just my address book."
"Your address book."
"Yes. For addresses."
America giggled hysterically at them.
Prussia took a safety pin from his ragged black jeans and pinned the note to America's red shirt.
"Ah. Brilliant. An address book." England deadpanned. "Since when do you need a bloody address book when you know where all of us live?"
"Ah, but I am an older nation and sometimes my memory escapes me."
"Oh. Really?" England raised his flask and took a swipe at France's head. "Fucking crock of shite!"
France laughed and danced away, the haze of alcohol still lingering. America hiccuped, momentarily pausing his fit of giggles before it took control once again.
Prussia eyed his handiwork and nodded. "Payback time, Russia."
He jabbed his finger into the doorbell button multiple times and raced to the car.
"Get in!" Prussia whispered fiercely. "Before he comes out!"
France escaped into the front seat while England crashed into the back, slamming the car door behind him.
The car peeled out, roaring down the street and disappearing into the distance.
That shot you gave him wasn't strong enough, Prussia - The "shot" refers to an alcohol shot. Not a drug.
"This is West's priceless Mercedes-Benz 300s Roadster from 1954!" – http(colon)/ www(dot)pbase(dot)com /rpdoody/image/110116922
It must be 15 degrees outside right now - This is in Celsius. For Americans [like me], it's equal to 59 degrees Fahrenheit.
French Translations (From ):
Merde – Shit
C'est des conneries - Can be translated best as "this is bullshit."
Ta Gueule – Shut up/Shut the fuck up/shut your trap/etc