YAY, MOAR OTP SEXY TIMES. This turned out WAYYY more serious and longer than I intended it to be (especially toward the end), but I had a lot of fun writing it. Basically, I just felt the need to write more Ameripan pr0nz.

Warnings: totally clichéd vanilla sex and fluff, language, female!America

Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, Ameripan would be more canon than GerIta.

"Are you as horny as I am, babe? ;P"

Japan doesn't need to glance around the table filled with nations to know that this is America's—Alison's—handwriting and her brazen attitude. He also doesn't need to see if this is just a tease—Alison rarely lies to him, and only she would be so blatantly perverted to send him that note and mean it. Not that Japan minds. Alison is unbelievable when it comes to sex; she knows exactly where to touch Japan and how to react to drive him over the edge.

Sometimes Japan can't believe his girlfriend would even tolerate someone as old as him. Sometimes he can't believe the one he loves even forgives him for Pearl Harbor, like he forgave her for Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Their relationship is built on, what Yao believes, Yin and Yang. Everything about their cultures and habits is as different as night and day, yet the bonds of love bring them together. Japan loves America, and though he is quiet, he can admit this proudly.

So when Alison slips Japan the suggestive note, she knows just by having him read it he will leave the meeting due to the forming bulge in his pants. It has happened before, yet the other nations either do not care or don't seem to notice.

Upon reading, Japan looks down and tucks a raven strand of hair behind his ear, his sign that he agrees. Nothing important is going on, and he has not seen Alison since the New Year. He has been hopelessly deprived of what he needs. The logical thing would be to wait until Britain is finished talking, or until the meeting is over for that matter, but all he can picture is Alison writhing in pleasure below him, and that is enough for Japan to miss the rest of the meeting.

Alison stands suddenly at Japan's subtle sign. There is no turning back now.

"What is it now, America?" Britain's tone is impatient. He knows she will distract him just for fun sport. He did raise her, after all.

"Nothing." Alison's voice is cheery, almost too cheery. "I'm just going to the bathroom."

"We had a break fifteen minutes ago. Now quit interrupting me and sit down, Alison." Britain knows the loo is not Alison's destination, but he thinks she is skipping out just to annoy him.

Alison smirks and meets his eyes with no fear. She's dealt with this many times before, and this time is no exception. "Does anyone have a tampon?" she announces loudly, bringing crimson to the male nations' faces. The female nations snicker, all except Belarus, who seems amused by the question.

Britain's face is contorted in rage and embarrassment. "Oh, just go already!" he cries, gesturing for her to leave. "And don't come back until you've matured!"

"With pleasure, Iggy." Alison is all too happy to leave. With a salute and irresistible wink oh-so discreetly directed at Japan, she turns to leave, almost skipping toward the door.

Smirking, Hungary stops her, placing a gentle hand on Alison's arm. Japan is sure Hungary knows what he and Alison do behind the other nations' backs, but he also knows she is quite supportive of their relationship. Love is precious, and she has already lost it once. She reaches into her purse and hands Alison what she "needs," which Alison quickly stuffs into the pocket of her blazer before stepping out of the meeting.

"Good riddance," Britain mumbles to himself, rolling his eyes. "Now, where were we?"

Britain continues his presentation, but Japan is too distracted by how Alison will present herself to him when he leaves. They each make sure to give each other extra room keys for occasions such as this, but it is unclear where the other will be, so he anxiously waits for her call.

Although, what if she has not changed? Japan likes what Alison is currently wearing—a woman's suit and pencil skirt and stylish black pumps. Her soft blonde hair is piled tightly into a severe bun, her bangs pinned back and the only thing breaking the conformity is Nantucket, loyally sticking above Alison's head. Her bright eyes are intense yet warm behind her rectangular spectacles. It is enough to drive Japan over the edge, since it is rare when she is dressed so professionally in front of him.

He anticipates the call, wishing time would not move so slowly. He distracts himself by doodling hentai in his notepad secretly, pretending to take meticulous notes. He imagines and sketches Alison in various outfits, like lacy garters and teddies that she knows Japan loves. He draws himself there as well, Alison bending to his every will.

Japan is in the middle of sketching cowgirl Alison when his phone beeps. He knows it is Alison. He's been waiting for this moment for fifteen minutes now.

"Ahem? No cell phones during world meetings!" Britain warns, annoyed that he has been distracted again.

"But it is my boss," Japan lies. "It must be important if he is calling me during a meeting."

"Take it outside," Britain growls, and Japan silently complies quickly. Before the door closes however, he catches a glimpse of Hungary, who is smiling knowingly.

"Moshi moshi," he greets in his most professional voice. Britain may still be able to hear him.

"Your room, babe," says Alison breathlessly.

"Hai," he agrees, although he is now sure Britain cannot hear him. Japan hangs up, licking his lips in anticipation for what is to come. He cannot wait to see what Alison is wearing… or not wearing. He loves whatever Alison wears, but today he is itching to see her look like a hot and bothered businesswoman, with a crisp white Oxford and stockings. No bra, black lace panties, maybe a tie… he and Alison are such kindred spirits she knows what he likes on what day.

Reaching the fourteenth floor of the hotel they are currently staying in Rome, he walks to his suite in a leisurely stroll, so happy he could whistle. Every time Japan makes love to Alison, he feels rejuvenated, as if he were centuries younger. That's what he loves most about Alison—she brings out the best in him.

Japan inserts his hotel key into the door, and opens it easily. He isn't sure what he will find in his room, but he is sure it will be a pleasant surprise.

When he opens the door to the bedroom, the sight before him is incredible. Alison is writhing on the hotel sheets, thrusting a vibrator inside her, moaning Japan's name beautifully. Her eyes are shut and her glasses are fogged, her long, blonde hair spilled over the pillows. She is wearing exactly what Japan had in mind, the white Oxford and thigh-high black stockings. A lacy black thong is pulled down to her knees, and her nipples are at their peaks. She is a beautiful sight for sore eyes, and she is all Japan's.

Japan sheds his blazer and tie, trying to be more casual. He feels more comfortable without his shoes and socks, and he cannot wait to approach Alison, who has not yet noticed his presence. All the more to Japan's advantage as he whips out his camera and takes silent pictures of her, keeping and saving these moments for eternity. His slacks are getting tighter, but he does not care. Alison is so beautiful and perfect that Japan cannot seem to stop clicking the shutter button.

"Kiku…!" she cries, her almost at its peak and her climax on the verge of being released. Japan can't have that, so he places his camera down on the nightstand and quickly approaches Alison, grabbing the hand with the vibrator before she can thrust it back inside herself.

"Wha—?" Through half-lidded eyes, she notices Japan—the real Japan—hovering over her, having just arrived after leaving the meeting. This is not her fantasy, but a true being above her, observing her.

She presses her lips to his in a heated kiss, and they both love that it is true, it is palpable. No longer do they have to imagine they are kissing, that the other is touching their bodies so perfectly when it is really just unsatisfying masturbation. They are together again, even if just for the briefest of moments.

"Make love to me," Alison whispers, starting to unbutton Japan's dress shirt as she kisses him fiercely again. They both need to grasp the warmth of the other, a sensation they haven't felt in months.

Japan is no longer the island nation as he runs his hands over Alison's exceptionally large breasts (she is the third largest country in the world, after all). When he makes love to Alison F. Jones, he is Kiku Honda, her devoted boyfriend. He has no one and nothing to worry about. There is only Alison, and she is perfect for him.

Alison wraps her arms around Kiku's neck and pulls him closer to her. As she pushes his dress shirt off his shoulders, she loves the contact their bare torsos make. They are nearly primal, and Alison can't wait to have him inside her.

Kiku's lips move to Alison's neck, leaving sloppy, open kisses and marks all over her skin. He wants every other nation to acknowledge that she is his (voyeurism is his secret kink; he loves the thrill of someone watching them), that she will always be his. The curtains are pulled back and the Italian sunlight shines down on Alison's body as if she were a goddess, making Kiku love her even more.

Alison lets out a squeal and moans as Kiku's tongue laps at her already hardened nipples. Kiku can't get enough of her body, especially those magnificent mounds that cooperate with his every ministration. They are soft and creamy and oh-so perfect… she is unlike anyone he has ever been with.

He moves to her other breast, kneading with his hands and pinching with his fingers, to which Alison can't help but moan loudly to where Kiku touches. Her voice gets gravelly during foreplay, and this alone can turn Kiku on in a snap. He kisses her soft skin even further, tracing patterns with his tongue around her stomach and hipbones, and his hands trail down her thighs, pulling the rest of the black lacy thong off. The stockings, Kiku decides, should stay on; they accentuate Alison's legs too well to be taken off.

Suddenly, Alison pushes Kiku up so they are both kneeling perpendicular to the bed. She tastes him again; inhales and takes in everything that is so distinctly him, like his chrysanthemum-scented skin from the lotion she sent him for his birthday and his delicate lips that meet hers with equal vigor.

She figures he is still overdressed, so she yanks his belt off within seconds, and pulls his slacks and undergarments down, freeing his straining erection. Already she is kissing down his torso, teasing him to set him off. Her nails scrape up and down his thighs sensually, giving her control of his body. She needs Kiku and she won't stop until they are both completely satisfied.

Kiku spots the vibrator Alison was earlier using, still drenched in her essence and tossed aside when the real Kiku approached her. As Alison licks the tip of his cock, he moans, his eyes instinctively closing. He reaches for the vibrator, his fingers closing around the base, and brings it to his lips.

With Alison continuing to take more of Kiku into her mouth, Kiku moans around the sex toy, careful not to turn it on. Its sole purpose to Kiku is to taste Alison, even though Kiku has been with other men in the past.

Alison sheds out of the open Oxford; she is getting hot beneath it, and it is not even hers. She hollows her cheeks around Kiku's erection and sucks, trying to take as much of him as she can in her mouth. Licking and kissing and sucking, she can taste his salty pre-release running down her throat, a taste that can only be him, because he tastes so unlike anyone else she has been with, man or woman.

Kiku desperately tries to lick up all of what Alison has left on the vibrator. He knows it is not enough, but there is simply no time for him to go down on Alison. He is expected back at the meeting, unlike his girlfriend. It is hard to concentrate on the task at hand when Alison is giving such incredible head, and he tries not to buck into her mouth. He wants to release now, but he can't with so little time.

Knowing that Kiku's time is limited, Alison slowly pulls away from her boyfriend's erection, ready for him inside her. Surprisingly, her glasses haven't gotten in the way of anything, although they are slightly fogged. Kiku's warm, puppy-dog brown eyes are filled with lust and longing; he wants her just as much as she wants him.

Alison and Kiku kiss again desperately, tasting each other on their tongues. Moaning and slurping, Kiku lays Alison back down on the pillows gently, his erection at her dripping center. The grinding of bare skin is amazing, and neither wants it to stop.

Suddenly, Kiku stops, gazing directly into Alison's eyes. She knows what he is going to say, waiting for the beautiful words to tumble from his lips with his silky voice.


She loves when he calls her this.

"Yes, Kiku?"

Her voice is breathless and light, excited and nervous.


The gentleness of his voice is enough to make her cry. Instead, Alison cups his face and meets his gaze head-on.

"I love you too, Kiku," she says, and she truly means it.

He kisses her again, this time gently and lovingly, and begins to enter her slowly. Although Alison is already stretched by the vibrator, she still moans loudly, loving the feeling of Kiku as one with her. She doesn't want to move from this spot.

"I wish you could be inside me forever," she whispers, allowing a few tears to run down her cheeks. Although she has been with him countless times, each time is always more intimate than the last.

Kiku kisses Alison's tears away reassuringly. She is crying out of passion, not pain, he knows, and before long, she will move against him perfectly. But he must admit, being inside Alison is so blissful, like he is at peace with everything in the world.

Once Alison's hysteria has calmed, Kiku begins to thrust, slowly at first, but he knows before long she will demand for more. They moan together, relishing in what they have, no matter how brief the moment lasts. Alison keeps Kiku as close to her as possible, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

They are a tangled, beautiful mess of limbs, moving against each other in the most intimate of unions. The Italian sunshine makes Alison glow golden, the sweat forming on her creamy skin glistening. Kiku has never seen anyone more beautiful, and wonders why she chose him over every other nation. Why him, when he used his katana to leave a permanent, white scar on her hip? Why him, when she did not regret bombing Hiroshima and Nagasaki to end World War II?

Alison sighs, feeling content in holding Kiku close to her. She wonders why he seems to have such little confidence in himself when he's just so damn good in bed. Does he realize how he makes her feel? How he always cheers her up, even on the shittiest of days? Kiku Honda is Alison's hero, an honor so few have received.

"Oh damn…" she pants, his thrusts speeding up. She doesn't want him to leave, but she knows all good things must come to an end. He is concentrated on the task at hand, the task of making Alison feel amazing. His raven bangs stick to his forehead; he can feel the sweat form at the base of neck, where Alison's hands currently reside, pulling him in for sloppy, heated kisses. Her legs are wrapped tightly around his waist, keeping him steady as the pace continues to quicken. He can't hold on much longer, but he wants to satisfy Alison to the point of climax as well.

Using his right hand to brace himself on the surface of the bed, his left runs down Alison's stomach and even lower, which causes her moans to become more high-pitched as he lets his name tumble from her lips in the sexiest way possible.

Oh, her moans are divine. Through half-lidded eyes, Kiku and Alison regard each other with respect and love, chocolate brown meeting sky blue behind fogging glasses.

Alison throws Texas across the room in the heat of the moment, tossing her head back, her damp, blonde bangs flopping around her face. "OhhKikufuck, I c-cant—ah—hold on much… longer…" she curses, her neck exposed.

Kiku leans down and covers her collarbone with his mouth, tainting it. She won't be able to wear a tank top tonight if she doesn't want to deal with the questions. Fair enough, since those breasts are his (oh God, he sounds like Yong-Soo now…). No man can regard her without his silent jealousy, and although he hates how it eats him up, he can't help himself. "Alison…" he gasps silently, the tight heat surrounding him so amazingly.

She pulls him in for another kiss, her tongue touching his teeth, moaning into his mouth. Kiku swallows this moan and remembers it, keeping it in his rapidly beating heart.

Fuck it all, he thinks uncharacteristically, losing control. Oh, he knows she is on the verge of climax, and he doesn't want to miss a moment of it. He knows she wants to scream, but now is not the right time to be so loud. Kiku watches as Alison's blonde brows furrow, her eyes shutting. Her lips form an "O"-shape, and her hands are thrown back, gripping at anything that will keep her from arching her back to meet her thrusts like some lust-driven whore. Only in the cockpit of a plane and in the bedroom does Alison try to have self-control, but it's hard when both are her favorite activities. She gives a final, breathless moan of Kiku's name and releases around him, Kiku mentally snapping a photo of her perfect face in his mind.

That beautiful face is enough to bring Kiku to release, and with a few more thrusts, he comes inside her, letting her name flow off his tongue without his ridiculous accent to hold him back with mispronunciation. With this release he gently collapses on Alison, careful not to crush her (although she is stronger than he is).

They stay like this for a few minutes, Alison running her manicured fingers though Kiku's damp, ebony hair like the soothing comb Yao would use at night when he was young. Everything is perfect, from the pleasure of the still being inside Alison to her pillowy breasts that cradle his head ever so gently and the Italian sunshine that adds to how amazing his girlfriend looks. Their laziness adds to how they just don't give a damn, how nothing, not even the meeting, can ruin it.

"Fuck." The one-syllable curse rings clearly through Kiku's ears as it tumbles off Alison's lips. "You just keep getting better and better, babe."

It's amazing how young he feels during moment like these.

"I am glad to hear that," he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment as life begins to come back to him. He has to get back soon…

Alison reads his mind. She kisses his head softly, a sign of understanding. He needs to get back and pretend as if nothing has happened just moments before. "Go," she urges, withdrawing her soothing hands from his hair. "Before Arthur yells at you. Besides, I could use one of those… what does Italy call it?"

"A siesta," Kiku replies, his voice muffled against Alison's breasts. She is right, much as he hates to agree. He pouts a bit as he removes himself from Alison, missing her already. He sits up, glancing to see where his clothes were tossed. Alison will be lethargic for a while; he can't count on her to help him locates his rumpled clothing.

When he stands, pulling on his boxers, Alison has already drifted into a light sleep, tired from waking up for the meeting and previous activities and excitement. She faces the sun, her hair giving the false illusion that it is woven from the finest golden strands. Italy was strange that way. It made everything seem enchanted, like everything was perfect and under a spell.

Now dressed, Kiku decides to take Alison out to dinner later, knowing she loves pasta and sightseeing. He plans to invite Feliciano and Monika as well, since they are his closest friends, and this is Feliciano's country after all. He would recommend the best restaurants where they can double date.

Kiku smiles at Alison's peaceful body, sleeping silently. He tucks his camera, phone, and hotel key into his pockets, ready to go. Leaving Alison alone leaves him feeling a bit remorseful, but it is necessary. He brushes her soft bangs out of her face and leaves a light kiss on her forehead.

"Sayonara, Allie-chan. Aishiteru."

He then walks out of his room and straightens his coat, stepping back toward the meeting as if nothing has happened.

Gee, isn't that a little bittersweet? Arthur just ruins everything, bless his sexy British soul.

Drop me a review, and maybe I'll write some Ameripan yaoi when I could be doing other things...