A/N: Yet another kink meme request. This time it was for very bad sex while in a relationship, and accompanying fluff.

Anyway, this is set in the 1980s, because there are far too few USUK(US) fics set in that decade. It was a good time for them, man. 1981, to be exact because it's the first time Regan and Thatcher met and when Anglo-American relationships really started to warm up again.

Holy long oneshot, batman…

America let out a sigh as he opened the door to his old, old Boston house. This time, though, it was a happy one. Life was good. The economy was good. There was no war on. Well, there was some shit going down in South America, but his new boss wasn't bothering him so whatever. He couldn't help but smile as he thought of the guy, all the good stuff he was bringing. In for less than a day and Iran finally let America's guys go.

England liked him a lot too. That was important. Things had been so cold between them recently. They'd barely found time to talk to each other the whole last decade. Most of the time if America wasn't being shipped half way around the world to get shot at or hiding out in Canada's basement to avoid that fate, England would just turn on his heal with a wave of bright green hair and the jingle of piercings and walk away as best he could in his painted on leather pants. No matter how hot he looked, it was not a good time. And now England was… he was…

Well, at the moment he was passed out on America's couch covered in one of the blankets he'd made himself years ago and using America's bomber jacket as a pillow. The blue-eyed nation quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind him. No point in letting all of the hot air out. Besides, the cold was more likely to wake England than the noise. America kicked off his shoes and walked to his boyfriend, kneeling next to the sofa to get a better look. There was a small flush across his face just above his barely-there smile. His eyebrows were less furrowed than usual, and he just looked so much more relaxed than America had seen him in ages. His hair was messy and hung down over his forehead a little, not spikey anymore, and back to its natural blond. Even though this was his time off and he was just bumming around America's house all day, he still had a button-up and tie on under his olive-green sweater. Altogether, it was not a bad look on him.

America leaned in to kiss him awake. His lips were soft and formed so well against America's. He felt pressure as his boyfriend woke up enough to kiss back and a hand came forward to cup the base of his head. The thumb and pointer finger nested themselves in his hair but the last three fingers and the majority of England's palm were pressed against his skin, warm, smooth, and only slightly hard with callus.

Even when they pulled apart, neither showed the slightest intention to leave. Their lips hovered half an inch apart, but America still opened his eyes to look at him. England's eyes were such a pretty green, not at all like the unnaturally bright hues his hair had been or the dull colors of his sweater and any other supposedly green clothing he owned. Even like they were, all blurry with sleep, they seemed to sparkle in the sunset spilling through every window.

"Hey there," America said, "How was your first day off?

"What day?" England replied, "I spent the entire time sleeping." He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Jetlag's a bitch, huh?" America asked, straightening a little to stay at his level.

England couldn't respond with words, as right then he let out a massive yawn, but he did nod.

"You finish waking up, I'm gonna go and make some leftovers."

The older nation nodded and stretched, allowing America to stand and go off to the kitchen. He started going through his fridge, looking for something good. Well, behind a couple of cases of beer he found an old Tupperware full of something that looked to be about a week away from developing sentience. He pulled it out and opened it. Upon closer inspection, it seemed more like three days from developing very fuzzy, white sentience and about ten minutes away from knocking him out with its stench. Part of him wanted to see if England would eat it anyway, but on the other hand it might eat his microwave and that wouldn't be good. He'd just gotten a new one.

Just to see if it would eventually start moving, he closed it back up, put it right back where it was and began to look on another shelf (he found it again just before the turn of the millennium at which point a hazmat team had to come in. Good times.) Oh hey, there was a big old container of chili he'd made two days ago hiding behind the milk. That'd work. He cracked the lid and set it in the microwave for… eh, it was a pretty big bowl, so three minutes. He took off his suit jacket and placed it over the back of a chair and went back to watch the microwave work its magic. It wasn't long before England walked in and stood beside him.

"I still don't know if I trust those things," He said, scowling, "They probably make the food radioactive."

America laughed, "What would you know? Your food's radioactive anyway."

"Oh it is not. You used to love it, you know."

"Yeah, and then I learned what cancer was and stopped."

England sighed, "And yet you still smoke…"

"Shut up! Nicotine's addictive. Your food, not so much."

"Do you want me to kill you, boy?" England demanded, hands curling into fists.

"Nah." America ignored him and kept watching his chili, "I know it's been a while, but we always save the kinky stuff for your house, remember? Because you've got that actual dungeon in the basement?"

"That's not what I meant, you wanker and you know it-"

"Oh hey, food's done!"

(It wasn't actually done yet, but he didn't have a comeback.)

"Careful," He said, "It's gonna be hot."

England took a step back and America opened the door. Immediately, the smell of his delicious southern-style cooking filled the room. He smirked to himself as he saw England start to drool a little bit. That meant the criticism would probably stop. He grabbed a ladle and divided it in two. America watched as his boyfriend's eyes were glued to the bowls. Really, he should have let it be, but he couldn't just pass up a chance to mock England.

"I take it supposedly radioactive food don't look so bad now, do it?"

"Shut it," England said, face snapping back into fake indifference.

America laughed at him and set the bowls down on the table. He held out a chair for England, but the older nation breezed right past him and sat down at the further seat. He began to eat; focusing on the wall like it was a TV. He had a cute little blush on his cheeks, so America decided that he was just mad enough and didn't push him any more.

Eventually he did cool down in spite of the chili's spiciness. The taller man smiled and oh-so-gently eased his right hand on top of England's unoccupied left. The older man flinched for a moment, but then smiled and looked over to America, who returned the expression. They both realized at the same time that that was a little too sappy for them this early, so they looked away again, but England flipped his hand over and interwove their fingers.

They started talking after that, occasionally looking back at each other out of habit but turning away as soon as they realized they were making eye contact. England had the bright idea to slip their joined hands under the table, and for some reason that made everything less awkward. Their conversation got less forced and they started to talk more about fun stuff: sports, movies, the weird stuff that always seems to happen whenever you go to the store, stuff like that.

"Hey," America said, during a lull that was threatening to become an awkward silence, "Do you wanna go clean up? I've got a tape I think you'll like."

England visibly cringed, but let go of America's hands and collected the dishes anyway. Okay, admittedly that kind of hurt, but he'd show him! America went back to the living room, knelt down by his stereo and rewound the tape. God did he love that noise. But now he had to wait for England to come back. He pressed play, since the tape was long enough that they probably wouldn't end up finishing it. Very soft, very smooth piano music filled the room. Yeah, it wasn't exactly an America-like thing to have, but it was nice sometimes. Like when he'd just watched a scary movie and he needed to calm down somehow because no one was there for him to sleep with. Or times like this, when England would come in looking all confused before he would realize what was going on and smile.

"You're full of surprises sometimes, aren't you?" He asked, still standing in the doorway.

"D-d'you like it?" America asked. Fucking stutter making him sound like some stupid freshman asking a girl out for the first time.

"I do," England replied, walking closer, "It's nice. Everything, I must admit, is rather nice."

"Wanna make it better?" America asked, holding out a hand.

"You're not already aiming to whisk me off to your bedroom, are you?" England asked, taking it anyway.

"Whisking comes afterwards." America said.

England chuckled, "So are we dancing, then?" He placed a hand on America's hip, "You're horrid at dancing."

"I know," Instead of just accepting the girl's role, America put his hand on England's hip.

"Christ, I can't even remember the last time I've actually waltzed either."

"That's okay."

"I'm going to have to lead. That's the only part I know and you can't do it either way."

America sighed in defeat and took a step back. England stepped on his foot.

"Ow! Dammit, that shouldn't hurt; you're not even wearing shoes!"

"I'm terribly sorry," England said blushing, "That's hardly ever happened to me."

"Probably a fluke, then. Let's keep going."

England nodded and they both got the rhythm back and started moving again. Less than thirty seconds later England stepped on his foot again.

"Oh, dammit," he muttered under his breath.

And again.

"Three strikes, you're out, buddy," America said, stopping.

England scowled, "Well then what do you suggest?"

"Just try letting me lead. You'll pick up the girl's part. It's not that hard."

"Fine," the older nation said with a sigh, sliding his hand up to America's shoulder.

"Okay, then. One-two-three, one-two-three…"

And then he stepped on England's foot.

"You have to take bigger steps back."

"Alright, I think I've got it."

There was slightly more success this time, but then maybe forty seconds in America somehow tripped over his own feet and crashed down into England. Taking a step back, the Brit managed to keep them both from falling. However, America still ended up face-planting so that the knot of England's tie hit him in the forehead. He was supported only by his armpits and honestly that kind of hurt.

America looked up sheepishly to see England looking down, face an interesting mixture of, "Are you alright?" "How did you accomplish that?" And the ever-popular "What the fuck?" It was a really funny expression. America couldn't help but crack up. England made a noise that greatly resembled "snerk," and then he started laughing too. America stumbled to his feet.

"Dude, I've got talent." America said between laughs.

"Yes, yes you do," England replied, using the other man's chest to balance on as he lost himself to hysterics. Given what had just happened, that probably wasn't a good idea, but America didn't fall this time so it was okay.

"Maybe we just shouldn't try anymore."

"I concur," England placed both of his hands on America's waist, "It's a shame, though. After the past twenty years I've kind of missed listening to music like this."

"Hey, it's okay. We'll dance like high school kids!" He placed his hands on England's waist too.

"You mean at arm's length?" England asked with a skeptical look on his face.

"No, those are middle schoolers. High school slow dancing is like this," He began to slowly sway back and forth to the music.

"Your educational system is all buggered up," the older nation groused, moving with his partner, "But this doesn't involve footwork, right?"


"We should be okay then," England said, smiling.

They were. The pair just stood there swinging back and forth for a good fifteen minutes, not saying a word. Both of their eyes slid to half-mast but their smiles never dimmed. Every now and then England would lean forward and mutter something too sweet and beautiful to be said aloud without both of them blushing very awkwardly and pretending it never happened. America wished that he was creative or romantic enough to come up with anything worthy to say in reply, but the best that he had was stuff along the lines of, "You're beautiful" or "You have no idea how happy I am that you're here." However, even that seemed to be good enough for England.

America leaned forward again, but this time instead of going for England's ear he went for his lips. England returned the kiss, just as slow and gentle as their swaying had been, but they were still now, except for the slight movements they made to get better angles. America slid one hand up to bury itself in his boyfriend's messy hair and used the other to pull them closer together. England gripped him like he was going to run away and parted his mouth just slightly. America returned the gesture and they just breathed into each other's mouths for a moment. It was hot and damp and not nearly as gross as it should have been. America pushed his tongue forward first, just up to England's lips, hoping to tempt the Brit to come forward. The older nation, of course, rose to the bait and brought his tongue up to press against his boyfriend's.

Just pressing. Not fighting yet, not tangling. That would come later. England had told him just yesterday that what he really wanted out of this week together was love. America understood that, but goddamn was he horny now. He was either on or off, and he was on now. Oh boy he was on now. He hadn't had sex in literally years and England was right there. He was so warm, so willing… And God did it feel good just to be holding him, warm and solid and real for a change. He smelled like America's soap too. That was nice.

It was too nice. America began to push harder, invading England's mouth. The smaller nation shoved him back getting him into neutral territory, but clutched him tighter. Score!

"Can it be whisking time now?" America asked, pulling away for a breath.

England looked puzzled for a moment, but then just chuckled, "As you wish."


America did in fact sweep him off his feet. England let out a little squeak (which America decided not to comment on) and then started grumbling that he didn't mean it literally. But he didn't try to wriggle out of America's grip, so he couldn't have minded too much. He only told America to put him down once they got to the bedroom, and the younger nation listened.

With a seductive smirk on his face, England walked over to the bed and lied down on his belly. He looked over his shoulder as if to say, "Come and get me."

For England willingly giving up topping for once, America didn't have to be told twice. He climbed on top of the other man and began to kiss at his neck and along his jaw. Just kissing, though. Any marks above the collar and this would probably be the last time America was getting laid the entire visit. Although he did nibble his ear a little bit, because he knew he loved it. As predicted, England let out a groan and arched down into the mattress. Hey, that was no good! It meant he was going away from America.

America carefully lowered himself until he was just laying on top of England, who simply sighed happily and accepted the extra weight. Not- not that America actually weighed that much! But, admittedly, part of it was probably because America kept ravishing his ear and started to slide his hands up and down England's sides. The older nation reached back and started to caress America's thighs and squeeze his ass. That was good. That was really good. America started to feel himself stiffen and grinded down into England's firm ass. The island nation let out a groan.

"You like that, huh?" America asked.

"If I didn't I hardly would have prostrated myself for you."

America rolled his eyes, but also his hips which made England moan again.

"Christ you're a cheeky fucker tonight, boy."

"That's the plan," America murmured.

England shuddered and America couldn't help but clutch at him for that.

"If you're stuck to me like that we'll hardly be able to get naked."

Oh, dammit, that was right. Woefully, America dismounted and England sat up. The younger nation licked his lips. The bulge in England's pants was rather impressive. England turned bright red when he realized where America was looking and went at the other man's shirt. America went for his tie first, just to get it out of the way. It wasn't easy, though. The way that England was kissing and licking at every new inch of skin made it really hard to remember how to untie knots. Still, he managed to remove the offensive piece of silk and hurled it across the room by the time that England had gotten half way down his chest, so point for America!

He didn't know if he quite liked the hungry way that England was eyeing his chest. Well, that's not true. It did send pleasant shivers up and down his spine, but it also didn't mesh well with the way he was supposed to top. He got one knee up towards the smaller man's groin and rubbed it gently. England let out something pleased and between a huff and a sigh. He stopped trying to open America's shirt in favor of enjoying the pressure. America took advantage of his position and how relaxed England was to shove him back down.

"You're mine tonight," He whispered before licking the shell of England's ear.

"I'm in America already." The older nation huffed, "Shouldn't I be in you?"

America blushed but said, "Man, you're so uncreative. Paradoxes are more fun."

England slid one hand between them to cup America's groin, "Yes, you are having a lot of fun, aren't you?"

"Oh yeah," America replied, rubbing against England's warm hand. He felt England's other hand snake around his waist and sensed a disturbance. The bastard was trying to flip him over using his own tactics! Not cool, dude.

America grabbed England's hands and positioned them over his head, "No, we're not gonna do that." He leaned down to kiss him and began to unbutton his shirt with the other hand, but then England pulled away.

"Stop, America," He said.

"What's wrong?" the younger man asked, pulling away and loosening his grip.

England lifted his arms a bit and shook his head, "You had one of us pulling my hair. I'm not in the mood for that sort of thing tonight."

"Oh, sorry," America said.

England shook his head, "That's okay. Just give me a little more space next time, like this." He guided America back down, hands about five inches from his head.

"Okay, got it," America said. He grasped England's wrists tightly again and put pressure back on to keep him from moving. He went back to work on his shirt, smiling, "I'm kind of surprised you didn't use that to flip us again."

England shrugged as best he could with his hands above his head, "It just shouldn't be done."

"Is that one of those unwritten rules of sex, like that you've got to try to warn your boyfriend ahead of time so that he can pretty himself up?"

"Well, it's more along the lines of 'do not attack while you are flying a white flag-'"

America burst out laughing, "England, tomorrow we are so writing the Geneva Convention of sex."

"I agree." England said, smiling, "Then we can get it approved by Congress and Parliament and then maybe by the time it gets back you'll have managed to remove our clothes."


Well, America couldn't just take that sitting down, so he attacked England's shirt, unbuttoning it with all the speed and fury he could muster. England apparently found this hilarious because he started to laugh uncontrollably. Good for him and all, but goddamn was it hard to undo the part over his stomach while it was moving up and down like that. Eventually, once he'd gotten his entire shirt open, America glared up at the Brit.

That being said, it wasn't like he could keep that look on his face for long when he finally looked up and took England in. God, he just looked so happy. He was grinning ear to ear and not even bothering to hide it. He had the cutest little flush on his cheeks too. Even though America had let his hands go, they were still just sitting there above his head. And then there was his body. Either he had been working out, or America had forgotten just how well-built England actually was. Yeah, he wasn't as big as America, but he still had a sinewy sort of strength to him. His muscles were small and compact, but they were still everywhere. They didn't even bother hiding up by his chest but America could feel them right beneath the smooth skin of the other man's belly. That was the other thing: his skin was perfectly smooth. Other than the occasional scar and the pink of his nipples, it was just milky pale skin the entire way. Even the scars seemed softer somehow, like they were nothing more than tiny little lumps beneath the skin.

Of course, America didn't bother to think all of that through. He just looked up his boyfriend's body and breathed out, "Oh, Christ, England."

That seemed to catch the older man's attention. Although he was still shaking slightly with laughter, he looked down and smiled, "Enjoying the view?" He asked, rolling his shoulders.

America just nodded and put his eyes back on England's stomach, which moved again as a new round of laughter started.

"It's because I was warned ahead of time so that I could pretty myself up, as you oh so eloquently put it earlier." England said, grinning.

"We've gotta plan in advance more often, then," America said, opening both of their flies before coming back up to England's level. He slid one of his hands all over across England's chest, his sides, his belly, and his back. He was so warm and just a little bit soft and God it was good.

England closed his eyes and shivered, "Oh that's nice."

"I love how you look when you're waxed." America whispered in his ear.

"I'd have to say the same," England said, going for America's shirt and responding with similar touches.

America let out a soft groan and buried his nose in England's hair, smelling all of those tiny little things that made up the other man's scent, all wrapped up in his own soap. England craned over and began to lick and nibble at America's jaw and neck. He reached down to America's ass and rubbed it, making the younger nation moan into his hair. He would never, ever, ever, ever, ever admit quite how much he loved it when England so much as brushed his butt. He probably didn't need to, and he kind of wished that he was better at hiding that sort of thing. England gave him a particularly hard squeeze and pushed him down to rub their groins together. Okay, didn't care anymore.

"Fuck, I need you," He whispered.

"That's why we're here," England replied. But his tone this time wasn't all sarcastic. It was soft and sweet and perfect.

England eased his hands up just a little bit to grab America's waistband. Well, he really wouldn't be able to get them off just laying there, so America rolled off of him and stood, mourning the loss of contact. England sat too and easily removed the last of his clothing. America, however, was not having such good luck. First of all, he had a couple of buttons that just would not come off and he ended up having to just pull the damn shirt over his head, which sent his glasses flying. He had to go get them because no matter how good the Gaussian Blur looked on the chicks on Star Trek; he liked seeing England the way he was. And then his pants and boxers got hopelessly tangled and they were just not getting past his knees.

"Do you want help?" England asked, smiling.

America wanted to deny it so badly, but no amount of dignity was going to make up for the extra minutes until he was making love to the blond beauty sitting seductively on his bed.

"Yes," He whined, pouting at his inability to take his own fucking clothes off.

England laughed and came over, crouching next to the top of America's pants. He tried removing them too, but they just weren't budging. "Oh, dammit," he said, "Hang on, I'm going to have to pull hard pretty hard. Brace yourself."

"Okay," America said, "Go for it, baby."

He did, giving the fabric one solid tug. America was not as braced as he should have been and fell forward, effectively ramming his dick into England's head. Both of them cried out in pain and ended up on the ground. But hey! America's pants were hanging limply from his ankles and he easily kicked them off before getting shakily to his feet.

"You alright?" He asked, holding a hand out to England.

"I'll live," He replied, taking it, "I'm just glad you didn't end up kneeing me in the gut. What about you?"

"Well," America looked down at his dick, still straining and red, "I haven't gone soft so I think I'm okay."

"Right, well then," he coughed and his voice got lower and smoother, "Back to bed then, love?"

"You know it, babe," America replied, switching to his bedroom voice too.

England led him backwards by the chin of all things, only leaning forward to kiss him when they were about to fall back onto the mattress together. The Brit scooted back until his head was resting in the pillows again and America clambered on behind him.

"Um, America? Your socks are still on."

America shook his head violently, "No. Hell no. we are not going through that again!"

England laughed, and it occurred to America that this was probably the happiest he'd seen him during sex. Well, that was good, right? It meant that in spite of everything that happened so far he was actually enjoying himself. It was a very encouraging thought. He smiled and leaned down to claim England's lips again. It was softer and sweeter than it should have been, though. Their entire evening had been soft and sweet. America was hard and hot and didn't want to pretend that he wasn't. He pressed harder against England's lips and made sure to rub their cocks together too just to remind him where they were supposed to be going. England opened his mouth and shoved his tongue forward, practically choking America. The younger nation sucked on the muscle eagerly and England let out a wanton moan and let his eyes slide closed.

America closed his eyes too, reaching over to his bedside table for lube. He found it easily and coated three of his fingers in the substance, waiting for it to warm up for a moment. He knew that cold lube could be a total boner-killer and he didn't want anything else to get messed up tonight. Eventually it was warm enough and America used one of his knees to nudge England's legs open. He brought his tongue up to tangle with England's, a warning.

"Here I come," he thought to himself and eased one finger in.

A small sigh escaped England's lips. He wasn't exactly loose, but he wasn't super tight either. He'd probably been practicing. That was good. It was hard to bottom if you hadn't done it for a while. America wriggled the single digit around for a moment until England seemed loose enough to add a second. Preparation went smoothly, thank God, but then when America finally entered him they ran into trouble again.

"Shit!" England shouted, squeezing his eyes shut.

"What's wrong?" America asked, stopping half way in. Hopefully this wouldn't take too long. He was so close. England felt totally awesome around him, but the rest of his cock felt so cold in comparison and he wanted so badly to bury himself balls-deep. He needed it like he needed to breathe.

"It hurts," England said.

"Just relax and it'll be okay," America said.

"No. No it won't. Take it out."

"But I-"

"America," England said, opening one eye to look at him, "Take it out."

America realized that he'd better do what England said and slowly eased back out. His dick was screaming at him, but there wasn't anything he could do, really. He couldn't hurt England. Well, not when he hadn't asked him to.

"Try on your knees maybe?" America suggested, not wanting to lose the hole he was supposed to be fucking.

England shook his head, "No. I'm sorry. It won't work tonight. I'm really, really sorry."

No, godammit, no! Now he was all worked up and hard and he needed something. But even more than that, he had been looking forward to this for months! He wanted England; he wanted to hold him and make love to him so badly. He missed the connection, the pure intimacy of it. And at the moment he was also really, really missing the awesomeness of the physical sensation.

America nibbled his lip, "What now, then?"

"Well, if you don't mind too badly I could still top you."

America grinned and flipped them over. He was still getting laid! He didn't get to do the sexing, but he was still going to get England to make him come, so what did it matter?

"You're not mad?" England asked, blinking down at him.

"Hell no! Don't get me wrong, I don't wanna bottom the entire time you're here. But just for one night? I wanna have sex right now. I'm not gonna be picky about position after five years."

England smiled and went for the lube. America laid back and relaxed, enjoying the feeling of his lover's long, dexterous fingers preparing him. He hadn't managed to find his spot yet, but whatever. It was England, fucking England, that was working him over and preparing him for once. That was good enough for now.

Once he felt he was ready, America wrapped his legs around England's waist. The older nation let out a small yelp, but didn't move.

"What's wrong, babe?" America asked.

"Y-you're ready already?"

"Yeah," America pushed himself up with his elbows, "Why shouldn't I be?" He looked between England's legs and saw that he was softer than he should have been, "Oh."

"Just give me a moment, alright. I'm sure I'll be ready again in no time."

"It's okay," America said, "It happens."

"We're having a terrible time tonight, aren't we?" England asked, laughing

"Yeah, but heroes don't give up! I'll get you off even if I have to just suck your dick to do it."

"Oh really?" England asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

Hmm, America hadn't thought of that before, but maybe he could help England out a little bit. "Really," America said, letting his voice drop again, "You know what I'd do?"

"Tell me."

"I wouldn't start with your cock. I'd go for your balls first. I know you love it when I do. That's your favorite, isn't it, when I tease you by taking them into my mouth and giving you a teaser of what I can do?"

"It is," his eyes were half-closed.

"I'd finish up with them really quick, though. I'd let 'em fall out of my mouth and then move up to your cock. I'd breathe on it really hard, still not letting you in. You'd look down at me, begging me to do it, I'd smile up at you to make you think I was about to suck you off and then your head would fall back. Then I'd dive down and stick my tongue in your ass." Right then he stuck his finger inside of England, into that tight, wet heat that he had been so close to getting. England let out a groan, "You would tell me to stop teasing you and suck you off already. I wouldn't answer; I'd just push my tongue in deeper. You'd start begging me, just saying please over and over because you don't know what you want more. Then, maybe then, I'd finally let you have-"

England reached over for the lube again and America shut up and grinned.

"Thank you, love," England said, covering his now hard cock in the gel.

"Any time, babe," America replied, glad that that'd done the trick.

He wrapped his legs more tightly around England. And they both let out a moan as the very tip of the older man's cock found his entrance. America felt his cock twitch in anticipation. Oh yeah, after so long… They moved together at the same time, sliding England all the way in. America shuddered and pulled England close, tangling their tongues again. England began to thrust in and out. He sighed into America's mouth, but the larger nation had to pull away to bite his lip. This wasn't right. It still hurt. England was shifting around, but he wasn't anywhere near his spot.

"Hold still a sec," America said.

England did as he was told, and the younger nation shifted his legs so that his knees were over England's shoulders. Usually he didn't like the position because of the way it compressed his ribs and diaphragm, but it'd be fine for one night. Better than not getting his spot hit even once.

"Okay, let's try it now."

Again, the Brit started thrusting into the other man, but still no luck. He was closer, but not nearly close enough.

"Dammit," America muttered.

"Still nothing?" England asked.

America shook his head.

"Fuck," He pulled out.

"Um… how 'bout this?" He got onto his elbows and knees and looked back over his shoulder. They'd had the best luck with doggy-style in the past. They couldn't look at each other that way, but whatever. He still knew it was England and he wanted to do it already! England settled himself on top of America, not going back in yet.

"Third time's the charm?" America whispered, not caring that technically this was their forth position.

"Let's hope so," England whispered back. He kissed America's neck and pushed in.

He hit America right on his spot. The younger nation felt his belly start to bubble and tighten and a massive wave of pleasure roll over him.

"Yes!" He shouted.

"Yes?" England repeated.


England smiled into his neck and started to move back and forth. For a minute it was good, so good. But then he hit America particularly hard and both of them moved just a little bit. And then, as magically as it had appeared, the spot was gone.

"No!" America wailed.

"Fuck…" England said, "I'll find it again! I know it!"

But, unfortunately, the next thirty seconds were about as successful as the first two positions had been.

"Stop," America said, "There's gotta be something else…"

England pulled out and just sat on him for a moment, then, "Wait! I've got it!"


The Brit rolled them back over, "Ride me." He whispered in America's ear, before taking the entire thing in his mouth.

America shivered, and sat up before turning around so that he was facing England. He smiled and let his voice slide into a southern drawl, even though it felt weird to be doing it in Massachusetts, "Y'all ready for this, partner?"

England laughed, and said, "Let's hope so!"

America grabbed his boyfriend's cock in one hand and braced himself on his chest with the other. He slowly eased himself down until England was all the way inside. His now empty hand joined its partner on England's shirt and they looked at each other purposefully. America had the feeling that this was the last time they'd try. After that, it was probably best to chalk it up to a loss and try again tomorrow.

America didn't wanna chalk it up to a loss try again tomorrow.

With all the determination you'd expect from someone in his position plus some, America lifted himself up and dropped himself back onto England's dick. Well, he missed his spot the first time, but what did that matter? It would just take a little bit of searching. Oh God, there it was! He felt his back arch and he tilted just a little bit to the side.

Unfortunately, He and England had moved too far over towards the edge of the bed and America's little jolt to the right caused them both to fall off. The only thing that America had the presence to do was hold England tightly so that the other man wouldn't hurt himself. Thankfully, his body had been trained in years of combat and reflexively made him land in just the right way so that instead of just smacking the floor he rolled, helping to break the momentum. He ended up on his side facing away from the bed and clutching England, who was still buried inside of him.

"Holy shit..." England said, still probably in a little bit of shock.

"Are you okay?" America demanded, looking England over as well as he could to see if there were any visible injuries.

"I'm fine, I think," He replied, placing one hand on America's chest and carefully pulling out, "We are not doing that again," He said.

"Right," America said.

England turned his head and locked eyes with America. For some reason, both of them burst out laughing. There they were, both lying on the floor, clutching each other, and they were overcome with massive giggle fits. Manly giggle fits. For real. The fact that they were laughing so hard made America laugh even harder. They kept trying to speak, but one look at the other would send them off laughing again.

"We- we fell the fuck out of bed!" America finally said between laughs, straightening his glasses.

"Christ, we really are talented," England laughed more, "We ought to perform. People would be impressed."

"The only one who'd wanna watch us have sex is France." America said, giggle fit starting to taper off.

"Or Hungary."

"Well, Russia'd like seeing me fall all the time."

"I think everyone else would just be in awe."

"Oh, Jesus this is just ridiculous." America said.

"Agreed, but you know what's worse?"

"That we're both still hard." America rolled his hips for emphasis.

England groaned, "Yeah," he rubbed America right back.

America pushed against him again, "I like this," he said.

"We should keep doing it, then." England said, continuing the pattern.

"Let's." The younger nation threw his arms back around England and kissed him again. Glad that they'd finally, finally figured it out.

They'd never just done it like this. It'd always just been foreplay. If they weren't actually doing anal, they'd do intercrural or sixty-nining or mutual masturbation. But he loved it. It was completely equal, neither was leading because it was just back and forth. And god did it feel good. England was pressed against him, hot everywhere but especially in the places that America needed the heat most: his groin, his hands, his mouth. They lined up almost perfectly, America's extra inch pretty much imperceptible. Who cared that it wasn't really sex? It was still amazing.

America wanted it to last forever. However, being as hard as they'd been for as long as they'd been and the constant teasing didn't help anything. It was only a couple of minutes until they emptied all over each other.

They just lay there on the floor for a few minutes, both covered in sweat and lube and come and just trying to catch their breath. Every now and then, one or the other would lean forward for a kiss, sometimes open-mouthed, sometimes not. It didn't really do anything, but it felt good. Just holding England felt good too. Like, really good.

But waking up after sleeping on the floor covered in all sort of dried fluids would not feel good, so America gave England one last peck and got to his feet. First of all, he took off his glasses because they were a mess and set them on his bedside table. Then he went off to the attached bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and soaking it with warm water. He cleaned himself off, rinsed it, and brought it back to England.

The older nation took it and murmured his thanks while America got into bed. He watched as his boyfriend carefully washed himself: his belly, the area around his dick, down between his legs all the way around until he reached his asshole. America kind of wished that he was still wearing his glasses, but it would be too obvious to put them on and it wasn't like he was gonna get off again anyway. However, he still kept his eyes on England's very blurry ass as he walked back into the bathroom to rinse out the cloth and probably hang it up somewhere. He should have just left it in the sink. That's what America usually did.

Both of them smiled at each other when England came back into the room. America pulled the blankets back for him and the other man slid into bed next to him. The younger nation pulled him closed and nuzzled him. He was still warm, even though he smelled more like sex than America's soap now.

"Wow," America said, "That was really… something. I mean, I know it wasn't great but-"

"I think it was."


England pulled away and smiled, "I know that it took us a long time to get there, but once we ended up on the floor I think that might have been some of the best sex I've ever had."


"It's true. Part of it was that it was just good and we fell into rhythm right away, but also" He brushed his lips against America's cheek, "We had to work so hard, we had to try so many things just to get there. It made it all the more worthwile."

America felt himself blush, "You really do get totally romantic right before you go to sleep, don't you?"

England chuckled under his breath and just placed his face in the crook of America's neck.

It didn't matter really, America thought as he ran his fingers along England's spine. It wasn't like he wanted an answer to that anyway.

"Hey," he said softly.

The older man looked up and America leaned in for a kiss. Fittingly, they both turned the same way and their noses bonked. Then England tilted his head and they slid together perfectly.