A/N: This fanfic came at the request of my real-life Iggy. It's my first yuri fic, but I was pretty amped about trying my first Hetalia gender-bender as well! So, without further ado, fem!AmeCan for your viewing pleasure.
"America!" England cried, his angered voice bouncing off the walls of the room they had to share for the G8 Summit the following day.
"Yo!" America shouted from the bathroom, where she was presumably primping.
"Come here, now!"
With an overly-dramatized sigh, the blonde in question exited the bathroom, clad in nothing but her faded Daisy Dukes and a white lace bra.
This only fueled England's irritation further. "Can't you put some bloody clothes on?" he spluttered as he quickly averted his gaze. "And for God's sake, wear your undergarments correctly; I can see the sides of your thong."
"You're the only one lookin', Gramps." At that, England bit his tongue to keep any arguments he had at bay. "Plus, you called me in here. So, what's up?"
After an exasperated sigh in America's direction, England replied, "I'm having the family over for tea today, and I can't have you laying these" -he held up a thong, much like the one the girl was currently wearing, between thumb and forefinger- "all over the place. If you would, keep your feminine items to yourself."
America seemingly missed the entire lecture, her bright blue eyes instead lighting up at the prospect of the family coming over. Well, not really the family, per se, but it meant her sister would be here! And, all right, so none of them were actually blood-related, but it was fair enough to call Canada her sister, because the two of them had been adopted by the once-friendly England and France - before the two of them split when the former took custody of Canada from the latter.
"All right?" England asked, crossing her arms and raising one impressive eyebrow.
"Huh?" replied America unintelligently.
The man rolled his eyes, holding his hands up as if in defeat. "I don't even know why I bother anymore," he muttered to himself before he cleared his throat and slowly began to reiterate what his daughter had clearly missed while she was off in La-La Land. "Go. Set. The. Table. Please."
"And please use proper speech when your uncles and sister arrive."
"Uncles? Like, plural?" America groaned. "Scotland's comin', too?"
"Yes. I'm no more happy than you are about it, but apparently France got a room assigned with the bloody twat. Naturally, the Scot couldn't leave the situation be if it meant I could tolerate it. He always did like to annoy the living daylights out of me."
"Can Canada and I just go to Starbucks or somethin' while you guys have some...brotherly bonding time?"
"Absolutely not. Did you even hear a word I just-"
"America, please, this isn't the time for-"
"Pretty please with whipped cream on top?"
"Stop interrupting me!"
"You know you like the idea of whipped cream when it comes to-"
"Fine," England snapped, slapping a palm to his face. "Goodness, how did you become so...so..." He gave up trying to think of a suitable rhetoric and simply shook his head. "They'll be here in twenty minutes, so get dressed."
"Wha? I am dressed."
Today was going to be a long day.
After much hassling from her former father-figure about deciding on a "more suitable" attire, America finally threw on a Coca-Cola-esque t-shirt, but where the logo was supposed to be was the word "vagina." England began to protest that a shirt bearing the words "Enjoy Vagina" wasn't much better, but was cut off by an obnoxious pattern of knocks that could only be his brothers. (Plural, because they were both knocking.) He shook his head and grudgingly left to let them in.
"Hallo, little brother!" Scotland merrily exclaimed, wrapping his arm around England's shoulders and giving him a noogie.
France giggled from the Brit's opposite flank, while Canada stood meekly in the doorway.
America moved towards her sister, ignoring the background noise of the trio behind her being, well, themselves. "Heya, Canadia!" she shrieked, throwing her arms around her sister's shoulders and pecking her on the cheek.
Canada flushed bright red. "America," she whispered, "careful, England doesn't know we're..."
"Together?" America questioned loudly.
The younger sister thanked her lucky stars that England was too busy trying to swat Scotland away from a "bro hug" to hear his daughter's announcement. He also seemed to be warding off a "bro hump" from France, but that was another story altogether.
"Well-have-fun-with-your-sexual-tension-guys-we're -gone," the American said, all in one breath, before good-naturedly shoving her sister out the door.
The two were already out the front door of the building before England deciphered what she had said and immediately grew red in the face. "It isn't sexual tension!" he yelled after the already-vanished girls as he yanked France's hand out of his pants.
"One medium mocha chip frappe, and one... Hold on," America turned to her sister. "Whaddya want?"
"Uhm... Coconut mocha?"
While the girls weren't looking, the man behind the register rolled his eyes, but quickly smiled again as the one placing the order turned back around. "And a small coconut mocha."
The cashier handed the order slip to the boy standing behind him, and in a matter of minutes, two cups of coffee were granted in return. "Here you go, ladies," he said flatly, handing the cups and the receipt to America.
America tossed a crumpled ten-dollar bill on the counter and shouted "Keep the change!" over her shoulder as she dragged her sister from the shop.
"Finally, we're alone," the elder sister said, taking a long sip of her coffee and pulling the keys to her apartment from her pocket.
Canada smiled softly. "Thanks for the coffee."
"No prob! Here, hold mine." America thrust her coffee cup at the other's chest (taking care not to hit her breasts, which was hard, considering she was the second largest country in the world...and it showed.)
"Oof! Uhm, all right..."
After a moment of clumsily fumbling with her keychain, America finally picked out the right one, unlocked her door, shoved the keys back in her pocket, and walked inside. Canada followed closely behind, shutting the door behind her with her hip. "Here's your coffee," she said, handing the cup off to America, who promptly yanked the other one out of her hand. "Uh..."
America laughed at her sister's confused expression. "I have a better idea," she said, as if in an attempt to clarify, which really didn't help anything at all, or explain why she took Canada's coffee. She sat the cups on the counter and strode over to her sister, pressing their chests together to the point where Canada grimaced and stepped back, a small squeak escaping her mouth. "America, what about the cof-"
"Forget the coffee," America interrupted, a wide grin on her face as she pulled Canada to the couch, pushing her back over the arm.
Canada squealed as she fell back onto the cushions, her sister crawling on top of her; long, tanned legs straddling her thin hips, and hands on either side of her head. She felt her face go pink. "America," she repeated, this time more quietly.
America bent down and captured her companion's lips with her own. When she backed up, the pink had flushed into a healthy red, and she decided that she found the blush rather endearing. "C'mon, let's make out."
A nervous giggle escaped the Canadian's mouth. "All right, all right."
Triumphantly, America leaned down and began kissing again, nipping at Canada's lower lip until she opened her mouth. Canada felt the girl's tongue slide past her lips, a feeling she wasn't entirely used to but nonetheless enjoyed. A few passing seconds saw the kiss getting a lot sloppier, whilst America's hand discreetly slipped under Canada's pleated khaki skirt to caress her thighs. The latter groaned, raising her legs to wrap around America's waist. The skirt bunched up around her hips, and she knew her cheeks were colored again because of it, but at this point, she really did not care.
And then the hand on her thigh was rubbing at the front of her underwear, and she nearly lost it. "Ahhh," Canada whined, crossing her legs tighter behind America's back.
The latter wasted no time pulling the panties off, and the former unhooked her legs momentarily to aid her in doing so.
"You wear thongs, Cani?" America asked, looking highly amused as she stretched the black underwear between her two index fingers. "I never woulda guessed!"
Canada's face flushed, and she quickly grabbed a strand of her long blond locks, twirling it mercilessly to try and dim her embarrassment. "Well, I don't, usually, but..."
"What, didja, like, figure I'd be lookin' or something?" America giggled and launched the thong across the room like a rubber band, where it landed to the left of the front door.
Canada allowed a tiny smile to slip on her face. "Knowing you, it's good to be on my worst behavior."
With a low chuckle, America pressed her palms to the other's thighs, spreading her legs. Canada's eyes widened when she saw the elder girl lowering her head. "Are you... You're...!"
"I'm...?" the girl questioned, a visible smirk on her face as her head lowered further.
Knock, knock, knock.
The girls both gasped, America shooting to a sitting position, Canada pulling her bare legs out from under America and standing up. "Who is it?" America asked loudly once her breathing slowed a bit.
"It's England! Hurry up and open the bleeding door! We've been expecting you home for half an hour!"
"Crap," the elder sister muttered, fixing her hair and eyeing Canada, who was readjusting her skirt.
The two of them walked to the door, and the moment America unlocked it, England threw it open, narrowly avoiding hitting his daughter's hand as it retreated from the lock. "Where have you two been?" he demanded angrily. Behind him, France looked bored, and Scotland was holding back laughter.
"I told you we were goin' to Starbucks!" America protested, crossing her arms.
"Yes, but I assumed you were coming home when you were done."
France rolled his eyes. "Angleterre, they're teenage girls, they're going to try and get as far away from you as possible, for as long as possible. I don't blame them."
England shot his brother a look, which he pointedly ignored.
The trio walked in, France and Scotland plopping on the couch, and England shutting the door behind him. "Well, she should've told me," he said with a huff.
"It wasn't just America, Uncle Angleterre, I was-"
"No, it wasn't your fault, Canada," said England, narrowing his eyes at America, who simply snorted in response.
"It isn't as if they were doing anything bad, bra," Scotland piped up, stretching out on the sofa and laying his feet in France's lap. France threatened to break his ankle, and the feet quickly came off.
"That's what I thought," the Frenchman said with a grin, his eyes darting towards the front door. "Oh?"
"What is it, France?" England asked, clearly ready to go back home.
Instead of answering, France got up and crossed the room, holding up Canada's thong with a highly amused expression. "Are these...America's?"
Instead of answering, England's eyes widened, and he met the gaze of America, who wore a look very similar. His surprised look quickly faded to disturbance, and he looked from his daughter to his niece. "Canada?" he squeaked.
Canada blushed, averting her gaze.
Suddenly, France's face lit up with realization. "Oh! Canada, cher, you've done it!" he cheered, tossing the underwear in the air and catching his daughter in an embrace.
"W-w-we haven't done anything, Papa!" she protested, her face a vibrant red.
"This is why you don't leave your underwear laying around! I told you!" England exclaimed, throwing his hands up and leaving to go rant someplace else.
America cursed under her breath. "Done in by the thong," she muttered, shaking her head in dismay.
France was too busy wiping happy tears from his eyes to realize that his daughter had denied everything, and Scotland was laughing his ass off, so America took the time to sit herself on Canada's lap and steal a quick kiss, much to the latter's chagrin. The girl put her mouth next to her sister's ear. "Once France and Scotland leave, we can finish what we started," she whispered huskily, grabbing Canada's breast through her shirt.
Canada squeaked, but the sound was stifled by another kiss from America. "They'll be gone when they figure out what we're doing. Your dad knows a romantic situation when he sees one."
"Yeah," Canada whispered uncertainly, casting a nervous look at her dad, who was now looking intently back at her.
America sighed and said, "Lemme handle this the American way." She turned to France and cleared her throat. "Go home."
"Sure, sure," France replied, chuckling like a maniac and dragging a still-guffawing Scotland from the house. They slammed the door behind them, leaving the girls alone again.
"Now...where were we?"