My first Hetalia fic yeyyy~ Written because I had to do colors the other day and for some reason the idea popped into my head. Yep yep. Multiple pairings because I could, though my fav America pairings are America with Russia, England, Canada, or Prussia.

I may be a sailor, but I personally think the word soldier sounds sexier. Grittier. idk but I chose that instead so there you go.

I don't own the Hetalia characters.

-insert space-

America always watched morning colors in private.

Normally, for something as monumental as his own flag being proudly flown for the world to see and worship, he'd be front and center saluting with the best of them. But, well...

He bit his lip and closed his eyes with a soft shiver.

The way the ensign passed hands in the beginning, from senior to junior, entrusting the pride of the people into the hands of the youth-

"Kiku, I think he's ready for you." Yao purred softly, informal only when in these situations. His fingers slid from the heated grip of the American's body, soft inner muscles parting with the slender digits almost unwillingly.

The older nation gently urged Alfred onto his back, passing him from the cradle of his arms and into the small, sure grip of Japan's deft hands.

-the way the soldiers held the colored cloth. Strong, calloused fingers stroking reverently and oh so carefully across the fabric-

"I don't know how you've stayed so soft." Gilbert murmurs, lips curling slyly as experienced fingers slide slowly across tender inner thighs, the flesh feeling like silk beneath sword-tested fingertips. Prussia can't help but keep sliding his palms across the sensitive area, stroking inches below where America really wanted him to be touching. The skin here is just so smooth and unblemished, though hardlyuntouched.

-a careful palm being placed in the center, holding the folded triangle carefully, guiding the symbol of freedom out into the sun-

"This way, Alfred." Francis' hand slid under the bomber jacket and to the small of America's back, steering him to the left rather than to the right. To the right is the meeting room where the usual nations have already assembled, 20 minutes early.

To the left is France's room; the room the Frenchman had insisted upon because it had a beautiful view of the sunrise.

-the tender way the fold is undone, eyelets untucked from the last folded over section while the lucky holders wait for the ceremony to begin-

"Mattie..." Alfred bit his lower lip and tried not to squirm. The sound of a button being undone, followed by the soft hiss of a zipper parting, only make his resolve tremble threateningly. His breathing picks up as soft fingers delve into his slightly sticky boxers, untucking him gently while a breathy whisper ghosts across the wet tip.

"Patience, Al. It'll start soon enough."

-his flag rising quickly, smartly, upupup, as fast as the heart rate of those pulling the ropes, the ensign unfurling in a tumble of color-

Alfred yelped as Ivan playfully dropped him onto the bed, tumbling from the Russian's grip down to the soft bedding. He bounced a little before a heavy weight was over him and a rough kiss pressed to his lips, the passion between them growing with every passing second, their heat growing hotter and hotter.

-the final snap as the wind took control-

"Fuck!" America's head tipped back, spine arching as he hit his peak and every muscle in him corded and tensed. He heard the heavy panting of his lover on top of him, the tight strangle of Italy's body undulating in his lap as the smaller nation hit the same pleasure-high and they both were locked in the fleeting seconds of combined ecstasy.

-and then there it was, flying tall and glorious and proud and-

"Mm, you're hard as a rock, America. You enjoy this, ja?" Germany's voice was a rough caress, the trail of a riding crop slipping up the jutting column of pulsing flesh. A pearl of clear fluid glistened wetly on the sensitive tip, glazing across the leather of the crop like oil waiting to be rubbed in deeper.

He pulled away, watching the heavy bob of the engorged organ before it held its place, defying gravity and standing tall. The German's lips curled deviously.

-and that throbbing in his pants was why he always watched morning colors alone.