Warnings: copious amounts of swearing, masturbation, possible sex in later chapters, yaoi pairing (UK/US/UK) and butchering of Dr. Who!

It all started with Dr. Who.

That was when he found out that he was a bloody pervert.

Now, it hadn't started with the beginning of Dr. Who, although he had been a loyal fan from the beginning. It was sometime in the seventies that Alfred had intruded on his guilty pleasure. He didn't even remember why Alfred was at his house, just that his prodding hadn't clued America into leaving. He was just yammering away at him while it got closer and closer to show time and Arthur became more and more irritated.

"Look, can we talk about this later?"

"What? Why?" Arthur sighed, it was usually America that wanted to push work aside while he went off to watch American football, he cringed thinking about the abomination of a sport, or get a burger, or what have you…but it was Dr. Who! If he didn't watch it today he'd have to wait another three days to watch the rerun at one o'clock in the morning.

"I want to watch a show."

"A show?" America just stared at him blank faced. "You're going to the theatre? Now?"

"No, a television program."

"A television program…?" Now his mouth was hanging open. Arthur frowned.

"Yes, is that so hard to understand? I want to watch a television show, and it comes on in fifteen minutes, so if you wouldn't mind I would like to take a break for an hour and watch it." He spat through clenched teeth.

"England!" America shouted, awestruck, "I didn't know that you liked to watch TV!"

"Why is it so bloody amazing that I'd want to watch a television program?"

"I don't know, you've never talked about what shows you like! All you do is talk about politics, or books you've read."

"Maybe if you read more, we'd have something to talk about and you'd know more about other things that I like."

America pouted, "I read, I just don't like fiction books." He muttered underneath his breath, "It's not like you'd want to talk about the mechanics of deep space propulsion or an article in Scientific American."

"What are you mumbling about?" England asked, sweating as he looked at the clock.

Only eleven more minutes!

"Nothing!" America said cheerily, and then added, "It's okay! We can take a break. Why didn't you just ask?"

England sighed, exhaling slowly as he counted to ten.

"I've been trying to ask, politely."

"Oh, well you should have said that you wanted to watch something. Man, I thought you were just trying to get me to leave for no reason! You don't need to be so polite with me."

Bollocks! Only ten minutes!

"So, what are we watching?"

"What?" We?

"What show are we watching?" Alfred reiterated, cocking his head to the side.

"Dr. Who…" he said in a small voice. Damn, there went his quiet evening. America would probably spend the entire movie talking, narrating everything that he'd just watched on the bloody screen back to him.

"Is it a soap opera?" America asked.

"What? No, it's not a bloody soap. Why would you think that?" the Brit asked, appalled.

"Well, it's about a Dr., isn't it? Aren't lots of soaps in hospitals? I don't know, I usually watch action shows like Dukes of Hazard!" Alfred continued. "Is it a comedy? Like 'Who's on first'?"

"No, not most of the time anyway. Although, at times it's humorous." Arthur chuckled thinking about the ridiculous character designs.

The Daleks always got a laugh out of him.

"So, what's it about then?"

"Well, it's about an alien called the 'Doctor' who travels through space and time interacting with the human race and trying to prevent catastrophes from tearing apart the fabric of the universe."

Now, America's eyes had gone all shiny and his mouth was wide open in a huge grin. It made England a bit uncomfortable to be faced with so much blatant emotion, especially when it was unabashedly staring at him directly in the face.

"England! That sounds amazing!" America practically squealed.

"Right…" He trailed off, not sure how to respond.

Shit! His eyes had flicked to the clock and he saw they'd been talking too long. He only had three minutes!

"Shall we go into the den?" He hoped they hadn't started it early. He hated to miss the beginning! It would ruin the whole experience for him.

America followed him into the den and sat down at one end of the couch while England turned the tele on and to the appropriate station.

Oh God save the Queen he mentally swore and breathed a sigh of relief. The commercials were still running.

England sat down on the free end of the couch and quietly prayed that America wouldn't talk the whole time and ruin it for him.

The episode opened with some unknown minor characters, it looked like they were plodding along in Cardiff somewhere. His mouth started to curl into a smile as a Dalek flashed up on the screen, murdering the unsuspecting bystanders with some corny effects. As England turned to the side about to make a sardonic comment on the cheesiness of it he had the wind knocked out of him by a heavy weight landing in his lap.

"America, what…?" America was practically on top of him now, his face buried into the crook of England's neck. The younger nation squirmed against him, making his heart start to beat furiously and causing his face to grow red.

England just sat there for a moment, too dumbfounded to process what was going on. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this physically close to someone without it involving violence. The American was clinging to him, his body pressed so close that England could feel his heartbeat against the side of his chest, the muscles in his arms drawing him close and clutching at him, the shivery feel of his breath against his exposed neck. The intimacy of the act and his body's response to it shocked him.

It had stirred a well of emotion from deep within him, causing it to rise up and make its presence felt.

In other words, he was getting hard and was unsure what to do about that.

That was, until America started to wail.

"Ahhhhhh! That-that was so-so-so sa-sa-scary!" the yank sobbed into his neck.

"America, are you afraid of the Daleks?" He asked, incredulous.

"I-if that's what those-those thiiinnnggggsssss are called, then yes!"


"What do you mean why? Who wouldn't be? They totally blasted that guy like it was nothing!"

They spent the next hour like that, America clutching at him and wriggling against him whenever a Dalek showed up on screen. He wouldn't even let him go during the commercials! When the episode ended, he became completely unreasonable. He said he was too scared to leave because he was certain a Dalek would vaporize him as soon as he stepped out the door.

"How many times to I have to tell you? They're not real! They're not even frightening looking! They look like rubbish bins for heaven's sake!"

"It's not what they look like, it's what they can do!" Alfred wailed, still on top of him.

"At least get off of me!" Arthur yelled.

He'd been half hard for an hour now, and it was starting to get to him. Not to mention, he still wasn't sure what to think of his half erection. Or rather, he wasn't sure what to think of WHAT had caused it.

To make matters worse, America was squirming on top of it without a clue! Any normal person would have the decency to notice and jump off! How daft could he be, really? To not notice that…!

"I can't!"

"What do I have to do to make you get off of me?" He gritted through his teeth, trying the shove him off for the umpteenth time and faltering against the boy's supernatural strength. He sighed, resigned to his fate. At least America had stopped fidgeting as he considered the question. England could tell that America was looking at him, but he refused to look back. He was just about ready to die of embarrassment already.

"Let me stay with you?"

"Is that all? Fine. Now get off."

"No, I'll get off tomorrow morning."

He squawked, indignant. "I have to sleep America! I can't bloody well hold you all night!"

"We don't have to stay up, but you have to stay with me! C'mon, I know you're scared too!"

"What in the world would make you think I'm scared of some ridiculous rubbish bin?" he roared, entirely fed up.

"Your heart's pounding!" America accused.

No, you stupid git, my heart is pounding because there's a bloody attractive albeit dim-witted bloke ridding me like a bloody horse.

Arthur's eyes widened, shocked at his own thoughts.

Damn! Alfred was not just some attractive bloke; he was Alfred!

Wait, attractive…? Ride him like a horse? Where had that come from?

He most definitely was a pervert! Double-damn!

Groaning, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to think, alone, without any distractions. Suddenly, he had a brilliant idea.

"Alfred, I have to shower before bed. I promise you, I will stay with you tonight, but you have to let me take a shower. Now will you bloody well get off of me? "

"You never used to shower before bed." Alfred stated as a matter of fact.

Arthur sputtered, "The last time we lived together, they hadn't even invented showers!"

Now it was America's turn to sigh. Even without looking at him, Arthur could tell that America was tense, but he didn't know what to do anymore. "Alfred, please!" he said utterly exasperated.

"Alright." Steeling himself for a second, America stood and then sat down on the couch gingerly.

Not wanting to risk his present motility Arthur retreated to the master bathroom as quickly as possible. Once inside the sanctuary of its tiled walled, he double and triple checked to make sure that he lock was secure before turning on the shower.

Well, he might as well actually take a shower while he was thinking.

Stripping, he debated whether to take a hot shower or a cold one. While a cold shower would certainly take care of his problem, he was bloody tired and already uncomfortable.

Opting for a hot shower he let the spray warm up a bit before stepping into the tub and pulling the shower curtain closed behind him.

America had looked genuinely afraid. Arthur felt a pang of guilt stab through him at as he began soaping up.

That was probably his fault too. When America was younger Arthur had often intentionally scared him. At first he'd done it as a joke, not even sure if the boy would be afraid considering his Herculean strength but after the first time America had come running to him, his cute fat little cheeks streaked with tears and his chubby arms reaching for Arthur, he couldn't get enough.

He bitterly admitted it was one of the only times in his life he'd ever felt wanted.

Finished with his body he squeezed some shampoo into his hand and started to wash his hair.

Even when America had been very young, it seemed like the boy had barely needed him, and then he grew up so fast.

Well, that was probably for the better. Now he was even larger than Arthur.

He'd grown up into such a strong, capable man.

And God he had a nice muscular ass.

He felt his cock come back to attention. Damn! He'd gone in a circle with his thoughts and now he was back to where he started.

He'd finished rinsing the shampoo out of his hair and was just standing under the spray now.

He knew three things: One, he couldn't hide in the lou all night, two, that he was probably going to end up spending the night in the same bed with Alfred, clinging to him most likely, and three, if he had to spend all night at half mast, his head was going to explode.

Leaning his forearm against the wall, he hid his face in the crook of his elbow as he began to slowly stroke himself.

He gave in for the moment, thought of Alfred on sitting on top of him now, not burying his face in Arthur's neck to hide from the monsters but seeking out his flesh, nuzzling him. Rocking his hips over him intentionally, in a steady rhythm, instead of gyrating over him in paroxysms of fear.

His hand sped up a bit.

The Alfred in his head wanted Arthur just as desperately as Arthur wanted him.

His breathing starting getting faster, he was getting close now.

In his imagination, Alfred leaned down and whispered, "Let me stay with you?" into his ear.

Arthur came into his hand with a little "oh".

Damn, he was a bloody pervert.

"Alfred?" He called, toweling off now and putting on his robe. He unlocked the door, surveying his bedroom.

The coast was clear, he should be able to change then go figure out what to do with Alfred for the night. Picking out some pajamas, he wondered if there was anything he could offer the American to wear to bed. He didn't think that he had any pants that could fit him, but he did have a few undershirts he'd bought in too large of a size a few months back and hadn't returned yet.

When he finished changing, he opened the door to his bedroom and called out "Alfred?" down the hallway towards the den.


"Are you coming to bed?"

"Will you come get me?"

Arthur sighed. I should just leave him out there, Arthur thought idly. "Sure, not like I have anything better to do." He replied tartly.

He waltzed rather saucily down the hall. His shower wank had actually helped him relax a bit, and now that he wasn't horny he didn't have as many trepidations about interacting with Alfred.

He felt a wave of pity hit him as he took in the sight of his former colony. Wide-eyed and forlorn, America looked so much like the child he had raised whatever smart ass remarks he had saved up died in his throat.

"Come on, time for bed." He said, proffering his hand. Alfred accepted it and held his hand all the way into his bedroom.

"I've got an undershirt I think you'll fit, if you'd like something to change into." He said, handing Alfred the package of large undershirts.

"Thanks!" America said gratefully, happily ripping open the package and divesting himself of his clothing. He seemed to be in a much better mood now.

"I don't suppose you'll suddenly become reasonable and agree to sleep in one of the spare rooms?" England asked, too tired to get into a real argument. He sat on his bed while America stripped to his boxers.

"No way, that's too far! Those Daleks can kill you in a second flat! How am I supposed to be a hero and protect you if I'm down the hall?"

England snorted in amusement, but it quickly turned into a choking noise as America slid into the overly tight t-shirt.

"You okay?" he asked, standing in the middle of the room in a skin tight undershirt and his American Flag boxers.

"Peachy." England replied sarcastically, rolling onto the bed and getting under the covers. "Get the lights, will you?"

America obediently turned off the lights, then slid into bed after England, tossing and turning trying to get into a comfortable position, no doubt with visions of rubberized plastic bins yelling "exterminate!" dancing through his head. They stayed that way for several minutes before England rolled over and pulled America into a loose embrace. After he did, America seemed to relax and didn't move around anymore.

As England drifted off to sleep, he thought wryly that the worst thing about tonight was that he hadn't been able to concentrate on the plot this week's episode of Dr. Who and he hadn't the foggiest idea why the Daleks had showed up in the first place.

This was supposed to be a one shot, but it's sort of morphed? I've been having a lot of funny ideas for it but I'm not sure if I will continue this. Please leave a comment if you liked it and would like to keep reading!