The Art of Loving

Notes: Established Us x Uk. Could be considered borderline crack…and unbeta'd so my apologies for the mistakes. Rated for implied sex.

Disclaimer: VS doesn't own Hetalia. She just writes for fun...

OoOoO

Yo! You've reached the awesome line of Alfred F. Jones – which is way more awesomer than that Albino freak's, by the way. Anyway, I'm probably out doing some cool heroic stuff right now, so please leave your message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can! –beep-

"America, you wanker!" England seethed as he screamed into his phone. "I swear, if you don't answer this instant, I'm going to march straight over to your house and defenestrate that bloody brain draining box of yours!"

Angrily, he slammed the phone back down. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered with that ungrateful little brat anymore. Ever since they had gotten together, the kid had proven to be nothing but difficult. Not that he wasn't before they had became a couple, but now, it was to the point that it was just downright confusing to him.

England would have assumed that out of all the other countries, he would be able to understand America – after all, they shared the same language, had fairly similar cultures, and as the frog had always put it – both failed miserably at the art of cooking and l'amour.

Yet, as much as they were supposedly 'similar', America had always seemed like a total mystery to him.

Hastily shoving some clothes into his briefcase, England decided he would do exactly what he promised – take the next plane over to America's place and smash his x box into pieces. After all, the last thing he needed was for the wino freak to taunt his 'Special Relationship' again.

His doorbell suddenly gave a loud ring. "Oi, Angleterre!" Hollered a distinctive voice. "I heard you and young Amérique were having another guêtre d'amoureux."

Speak of the devil.

"Sod off frog. I got things to do." England scowled. And that was the truth. He certainly didn't have time to deal with that annoying Frenchman; not now or ever. "How the bloody hell would you know anyway?"

France gave a light chuckle, as if the answer had been the most obvious thing in the world. "I have ears, mon ami. And these walls aren't the thickest, you know."

"Brilliant." He muttered under his breath. As predicted, this would be the part where France would come up with some 'wonderful treatment' that supposedly could solve all his love problems. And as England knew well enough, anything that came from France was doomed to fail.

Sure enough, as England headed out his door, there stood France with a large bottle of – god knows what that stuff was. It was dark brown, sludgy, and bubbling. England shuddered. Sure, he was notorious for tolerating some of the most putrid foods, but the contents in that bottle was a bit too much, even for him.

France gave him a peeving smile. "Angleterre! What's the rush?"

"Getting away from you, that's what." He mumbled.

"Tisk, tisk. Rude as usual." The Frenchman chuckled at his own comment. "I haven't even done anything yet."

England rolled his eyes. "And do I have to second guess? You're going to try to help me with my 'love problems' again and the next thing I know, I'll be waking up in the hospital in a full body suit."

"Well you don't have to say it like that!" France smirked. "Plus when have they ever failed? No one knows love better than moi!"

"Don't tell me you forgotten about that 'magic love potion' or that 'love ray' you've used on me." England snorted at the self-proclaimed statement.

"So? I don't see what's wrong with them."

The Englishman's eye twitched in irritation. "That sodding love potion dyed my hair pink for a week and your so-called love ray turned me into a bloody girl!"

"Ah, but mon ami! It'll work this time, honest!" Francis grinned, holding out the bottle of nasty liquid. "I've perfected it! No chance of failure - unless your relationship with young Amérique is really hopeless, of course."

"It is not hopeless! And I bet whatever you have in there will just blow up in my face!"

France's blue eyes twinkled as his grin slowly twisted itself into a full-blown smirk. England grimaced. That definitely wasn't a good sign. Slowly, the Frenchman began unscrewing the cap, as an acrid smell filled the air. Yup, definitely not good.

Said man licked his lips before continuing. "Well, if it isn't completely hopeless, Angleterre, then prove it!"

"How the heck do you expect me to do that, frog?" He snapped. "And I am certainly not taking any pictures for you, if that's what you're thinking!"

"No of course not. Is that how you really think of moi, Angleterre?" The bearded man spoke with a tinge of fake hurt in his voice. Immediately afterwards, he bolted forward, waving the bottle, almost in a taunting way. "Drink this."

"Like hell I am! Who knows where that has been!"

"Well it can't be any worse than your cooking." Francis shrugged, happily clapping his hands together. "I guess that concludes it! All's hopeless then. Absolutely hopeless!"

England gritted his teeth. After being rivals for centuries, the frog sure knew where exactly and how to push his buttons. He glanced at the bottle of brown liquid. France's concoctions never really even came close to killing him. And despite being enemies or not, France never meant any ill when it came to helping him resolving his issues with Alfred. Yet, there were always great consequences in trying whatever France was about to give him.

He bit his lip. The Frenchman stood there, smirking in triumph as if he had won the debate. Of course England wasn't going to happen! He most certainly had a future with America! And he was going to prove it right here!

"Gimmie that!" Quickly, England snatched the bottle out of France's hand He frowned for one second before taking a deep breath and chucking it all down in one gulp.

He cringed. The drink had tasted way worse than it looked. It had taken England a good minute to regain his composure, and still then he was feeling the murky liquid burn through his gut. "I-I'm warning you frog…any funny business…and I'll punch you so hard, you won't wake up till the next century!" The shorter blond managed to sputter in between gasps.

That was only met with an approving nod from France. "I'm more truthful than I'll ever be, mon ami." With a wink, he continued, lowering his voice down a notch. "And you'll be thanking me for this later, Angleterre. Now go have some fun with your Amérique."

To England's surprise, even throughout his long plane trip to New York, nothing suspicious or funny happened. Absolutely no changes, and like he had predicted, as with everything else that came from France, the drink was an absolute phony.

It wasn't until he had gotten off the plane; made his way to Alfred's residence, and found the American drooling over his idiot box, was it that England had a sudden and dire need to use the restroom. France possibly had the worst timing ever, the Englishman noted to himself. He hadn't even had a chance to give America a piece of his mind, yet alone, purge his x box, when his need became too much to bear.

America's punishment would have to wait a couple more minutes. Swiftly, he sprinted, making his way to the nearest restroom. He was just about finished, and washing his hands when he noticed his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was definitely odd. Rather than his usual self, there he stood, with a tall, triangular hat and a red overcoat.

England rubbed his eyes, to double check. Sure enough, his reflection suddenly waved at him. "Why the shocked face, matey?" it laughed. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"What the heck…"

"What do you mean by 'What the heck'? Been a long huh, matey? Don't cha miss me?"

England stared back. That was definitely him, but at the same time, it wasn't. He hadn't touched his pirate gear since the 1700's, yet there he was – or his reflection really, all decked out in his old outfit.

"Where the bloody hell did you come from?" He screeched. With no doubt, all the events of the evening had gone from odd to downright strange.

His reflection shrugged. "The same place ya did, of course. After all, I am you."

England's jaw dropped. He hadn't expected that answer – nor did he remember himself ever being that obnoxiously annoying.

"My my, lassie. I see ye gone soft!" The pirate laughed, amused by his counterpart's frustration. "It's pathetic really. Have ya lost all yer common senses?"

"I wouldn't be surprised, now that I'm talking to myself in a mirror."

England saw his reflection frown, as he dramatically slapped his head. "Oh my. This is way worse than I thought. We sure have a lot of work to do, then."

"It would help if you at least tell me what's going on, you know." He hissed. And if England hadn't been staring – literally at a mirror reflection of himself, he would have gladly broken the man's nose by now.

The other chuckled. "To teach ya of course. Yer love life is absolutely laughable! And to think that's how I'll be in 300 years. Such a shame really…"

"Why you…" England felt his anger flare up, as he curled his hands into tight fists. This was getting absolutely ridiculous. And he was very much losing an argument with… well himself.

"Easy there, easy. No need for anger. I'm just telling da truth, after all." The pirate joked, cocking his head in a carefree manner.

England scowled, before reluctantly lowering his fists and forming his lips into a stubborn pout. "Well if you came here just to insult me, then I'm leaving."

"And what are ya going to do? Yell at 'em, throw his little toy out the window, and yell some more until ya both pass out from exhaustion? Go figure. No wonder ya fail so much at love."

Deterred from his plans, England glowered hatefully at his insulting reflection. "Oh, just shut up!"

"Pfft. Ya know I'm right, lassie."

England continued to glare at the smirking man, before finally letting out an exasperated sigh. "Alright, alright! You win! What do you got to teach me?"

"The art of loving, of course! Aye, lad. By the time I'm finished with ya, you'll be back to yer glory days when ya sailed the seven seas. You'll be a love machine! And most importantly." His reflection paused to lean forward, pressing his face as close as possible against the cool mirror. "You'll be having the best sex in the last 2000 years of yer miserable life."

England groaned. What had he just gotten himself into? "You're beginning to sound more like that bloody frog every damn second."

"Ah, Francis – that sassy little chap!" The pirate exclaimed, his eyes suddenly filled with nostalgia. "You know, if you woulda just listened to 'em since the beginning, ya wouldn't nearly be as grumpy as ya are now. Anyway, where were we – ah yes of course!" He cleared his throat, pulling out a folded list from his coat pocket. "Let's start off with the basics now shall we? Reason number one of why yer sex life has become virtually nonexistent: yer clinging onto 'em like some jealous housewife!"

"I certainly do not act like a jealous housewife!" England was quick to defend himself again. As outrageous as everything seemed to be, it was sure doing a great job of punching down his ego.

That only resulted a loud snort from his reflection. "Oh really? Need I remind you of the time you ran over to his house in the middle of the night 'cause ya thought he had a fling goin' on with some 'guy' called Tony. Or even that one time ye even followed 'em all the way to Russia and…"

"Arg! Stop! That only happened once – and for the love of the queen, I was bloody wasted!" England grumbled. There was no possible way he was going to win this argument, or any other his counterpart threw at him. He let out a frustrated groan. "Oh fine. Whatever. Just make it quick. I haven't got all day."

"Glad to finally have you on board, matey." The pirate beamed. "Well, first thing's first. We gotta teach ya to be more – oh how should I put it – ya gotta be cunning, ya gotta be witty, ya gotta be seductive, ya gotta be diligent, ya gotta give yer man a run for his money!"

England narrowed his gaze. "Sounds like you're telling me to be a pervert."

"Yup! Now yer getting it, lassie!" His reflection gave him a quick wink. "A smart pervert, that is! You gotta let 'em know that you won't put up with his sulky indifference forever! And tell 'em there be plenty of them young mateys around that are better than 'em!"

"You're not helping at all, you know." England grumbled. This was getting nowhere, and he was more than positive that this time, France's concoction had made him absolutely insane.

"Ha! yer still the same, lassie! Not much of an audio learner, are ya? Guess we'll just have to do things the visual way!"

"V-visual way?" England knew it was a bad idea to ask.

Before he realized what was happening, England saw his counterpart swipe up and pull himself out of the mirror. "Enjoy the show, lassie! And I'll show ya how it's done!"

"What?" England definitely didn't like the sound of where everything was going. Sure he was used to some extreme oddities - courtesy of his faeries and magic, but even this was enough for him to raise a brow. Then again, England was sure he had it comming for conceeding to another one of the frog's ideas.

The pirate chuckled, giving him a quick pat on the head. "I'm just gonna borrow yer boy toy fer one sec! Ya just stay put and watch!"

Definitely not good…

England scrambled as he followed behind, keeping a watchful eye on the pirate. He saw his counterpart make his way down the hall way and into the living room where America was mesmerized by a large tower of life-shortening fast food and some childish killing game.

He watched, dumbstruck, as the pirate crept behind, the younger blond, wrapping his arms from behind.

"A-artie?" Automatically, America froze in surprise dropping his game controller in the process. "What are you doing dressed like that? Is it Halloween already? Haha."

"You speak too much." England – or rather his pirate self mumbled, pressing his body with full force against America's. The taller blond immediately toppled back, pinned firmly on the ground. Swiftly, his pale hands moved, unbuttoning America's shirt, massaging every area of exposed skin as he went.

America's face was redder than the colors on his flag, but at the same time, he relaxed, enjoying the warm caresses. "A-artie! When did you…" he gasped, but was quickly silenced by a smothering kiss.

If there was anyone more stunned, it had to be England. He had never seen America so flustered, so obedient – so hot and violated. He was sure before hand that America hadn't even possessed the ability to be still. Whatever his counterpart was doing, he was sure doing it right!

The pirate paused for a second, looking up and giving him a quick thumbs up.

"You. Me. Bedroom now." He heard him whisper. England could have sworn America melted at that point, as he followed the order.

England narrowed his eyes, wondering just how far his alter ego was planning to take this. It was already going a tad too far, and as much as he hated to admit it, was beginning to feel the first signs of jealousy and longing.

He wanted America completely to himself. Now

But to his relief, the door swung open a second later. "There ya have it lassie! That's how it's done!"

"But…how did you…"

"Heh. Yer too prude, ya know." The pirate grinned, giving him a light jab in the arm. "He wants this relationship to work, just as much as you do, but if neither's gonna make a move, then things don't go anywhere. It's as simple as that"

England's lips formed into a scowl, all the while still keeping his tone on the soft side. "I honestly don't know if I want to thank you or to smack you right now."

"We'll either." The pirate laughed. "He's all yers now! And I bet yer about to have the best sex of yer life!"

The Britton rolled his eyes. As crazy as it all sounded, there was a good point. It sure had been a long while since he and Alfred enjoyed a passionate moment together. They had always been too caught up in their own problems and differences for their relationship to get anywhere. Perhaps that's what they needed the whole time. Perhaps, it really was time to loosen up.

England gave a quick nod before stepping through the door. Perhaps, tonight, he could make those changes.

OoOoO

For IchigoMelon, because I promised…

Terribly sorry for the delay, and I hope it was written to your satisfaction! And I really hope I got the details right…

The smut had to be cut, I'm afraid. I really wasn't supposed to write it…and I probably would have chickened out anyway. =S

Erk…I really don't know if this piece was good or not. Writing romance stories aren't my strong points…and I still can't write fluff for my life. I wasn't too impressed with this myself, but I did have fun with this prompt! It was definitely a great test for my writing skills! And sorry for the fail pirate talk. Sounds more like a Southerner, doesn't it? O_o

Anyway, I'm still up for requests; so don't be afraid to ask!

Peace out!

-VS