A/N- Wow! I haven't written anything in so long! I'm sorry guys! And I'm sorry this isn't an update on England's Spying, that will be updated when I don't have the start of term sickness, Computing coursework and English Language coursework to compete with.

Anyway, also hello to anyone who hasn't read any of my stuff before! It's nice to meet you!

Uh, so this is my first ever lemon (please don't turn back now!) and it's UKUS. Please be nice, and please leave a review so I know whether or not to bother writing smut again!

So, uh, warnings: PWP, yaoi, seme England, don't like don't read, smut and lemon. And um, disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

So, without further ado, please enjoy!


England's face felt warm.

No, scratch that. On second thoughts, England's face felt hot.

The fact of the matter was, England was neither embarrassed nor in a warm room. In actuality, he was sprawled across his sofa, bottle of beer in one hand, pissed off his face and allowing his mind to wander.

And the reason for this behaviour? America.

Well really, who else would it be?

It had all begun that morning. The morning of February 14th. Better known as Valentine's Day. England had been sitting in his living room, sipping a cup of tea and reading the morning paper, when all of a sudden the phone had rung. England, mildly surprised by this, had set his cup and paper down and, grumbling, answered the telephone.

"Yes? Hello?"

"Dude, Happy Valentine's Day!"

England sighed. Just what he needed.

"You do know it's not particularly customary to phone up your friends and say that, right, America?"

At the other end of the line, America rolled his eyes.

"'Course I know that! But I still wanted to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day, England..."

England could just picture the puppy dog look on America's face. It almost made him blush. Almost. Of course, being England, he rapidly shook his head and composed himself. Why on Earth would he fall for a simple trick like that?

"Alright, well, you've said it. Now, good day-"

"England! Don't just hang up on me!"

England almost slammed the phone down. He felt his blood pressure rising ever so slightly.

"Why not?" His words were laced with irritation, as if daring America to say something stupid.

Naturally, America failed to read the atmosphere.

"Because you haven't said Happy Valentine's to me yet!"

Anyone else's heart would have melted. But England was pissed off, so it simply made him pause. He froze there for a second, staring at the wall opposite, while his brain tried to make sense of it all.

"You... want me to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day...?"

"Yup!" America nodded eagerly at his end of their connection, even though he knew England couldn't see him.

"And... how many other people have you phoned up like this?"

"Huh?" America was surprised. "None. Why would I phone anyone else?"

England stared off again, hardly able to believe it. America had to have been using some weird logic. That must have been it. He simply didn't realise the implications of what he'd done.

Because right now, the only thing America's words signalled was that he thought England was special.

No, more than special.

Because it was Valentine's Day.

"A-America..." England struggled to get his words out, voice stammering. "A-are you telling me that I'm that only person you wanted to phone up to wish a Happy Valentine's Day to?"

"Well, duh," America answered. Wow, how stupid was England today?

"America, y-you do know what that implies, right?"

"Huh?" America sounded a little confused. "Implies?"

"You do know, that doing that implies that you... well... that you have feelings for me."

There was a long silence. England shuffled uncomfortably. He became painfully aware of the sound of the large grandfather clock ticking in the hall, and the birds twittering and chirping away outside.

Finally, after an eternity, America spoke.

"…Dude, what the hell are you reading into it? ! I don't think of you like that! You're special 'cause you're the guy that raised me! Nothing more, England!"

He didn't know exactly why, but at that moment, England felt a tiny piece of something inside him shatter.

"…Oh… I see… Well then… uh… if you don't mind… I'll go now… H-happy Valentine's Day…"

And with that, England hung up.

Across the Atlantic, America stared at the receiver in his hand as it played the call ended tone. He didn't know why he'd said what he had. And now, after hearing England wish him a Happy Valentine's, he didn't know why everything felt so…

England gazed blankly out of the window, walking over to it and leaning his forehead against the pane as drops began to fall from the sky.


Which returns us to our here and now. England, heartbroken, had proceeded to deplete his entire, albeit actually rather small, alcohol supply, and was now in his extremely sloshed state. He really wasn't sure how much longer he could keep his eyes open. He'd slept well the night before, but after the phone call and getting drunk, he really just felt like going back to sleep again.

The last thing he thought of before his eyelids fluttered shut was his face.

Six hours later found a certain blue-eyed man stepping off a plane and onto British soil, a worried expression on his face. America had, in the few minutes after the end of his call, started to really regret his words. He'd also started to feel something very strange inside and had, after a quick call to Canada for some 'brotherly advice', come to the decision to fly over to the United Kingdom and make amends.

It didn't take him too long to reach England's house by taxi once he left the airport. The only noticeable thing about the ordeal was the torrential downpour tipping from the sky and making the driving conditions hellish. As America gazed out of the taxi's windows, watching amber streetlights flash by, he couldn't help but look on in sadness and wonder if the horrible weather was all his fault.

He jumped out of the taxi outside England's house, paying the driver twice as much as he needed to with soggy twenty pound notes from the section of his wallet dedicated to foreign money, and held his hands above his head to shield himself somewhat from the rain. He strode as quickly as he could down the front path to England's house.

America pounded his fist against the door, shivering in the deluge. He was already soaked by the monsoon-like weather, hair dripping and clothes drenched. His usual sandy mop had been turned a dark ochre due to the saturation. He stood on England's doorstep for a minute, hopping impatiently from foot to foot, before he tried the door handle.

To his surprise, it turned in his grip and the door swung open.

"England?" America called as he poked his head around the door. The only response he received was a faint groan from another room. Taking this as a sign that England was in, he stepped through the doorway and entered the house.

After wiping his feet on the doormat and hanging up his sodden jacket, he made his way through the house, still dripping slightly, to find England slumped across the sofa of the living room, half a dozen empty beer bottles strewn around the carpet and the pungent scent of alcohol filling the air.

America blanched. He'd expected to find England in a bit of a state, but not this. He stepped closer, shoes squelching in the pool of spilled beer near the sofa, and placed one hand firmly on England's shoulder. He gave him a small shake.

"England!" he called, worried. "England! It's me, America! What's got into you, dude?"

England blinked slowly and murmured something incomprehensible. His eyes wandered for a moment before settling on America's face.

"'Merica…" he slurred, reaching up one hand shakily to grasp the neck of America's t-shirt. "You b'st'rd… 'N Val'nt'ne's Day 'f all days…"

America's expression saddened. He'd hurt England. And the worst thing was he didn't know how to make it up to him. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to say sorry, to apologise, to make everything all right, but he simply didn't know how…

"England. I'm so sorry. England, I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. Please, care for me…"

He grabbed England and pulled him up into a tight hug, cradling the back of his head with one hand and wrapping the other around the man's waist. Tears welled up in his blue eyes and trickled down into the other's hair.

England didn't respond for a moment, he simply sat there, a dead weight. However, after a moment, he slowly brought his arms up and wrapped them around America's back, gently returning the hug.

"You're all wet…" he mumbled into America's chest.

America smiled, blinking away his tears. It hadn't been the words of forgiveness he'd hoped for, but it had been enough.

"Sorry dude. It will have to rain at your place so often. It's kinda annoying."

England chuckled, still pressed tightly against the American. He wasn't sure if he'd entirely excused him yet, but it was hard to stay mad when he came all the way over to apologise like this.

"So am I forgiven?" America asked tentatively, releasing England from his hug and looking him in the eyes. He'd stopped slurring his words and he appeared marginally more attentive and awake. He obviously hadn't been as drunk as he'd first seemed. Maybe he'd slept it off? Drowsiness would explain everything.

England stared at America for a long moment, pondering his feelings. The serious and slightly nervous look on America's face at that point was both incredibly endearing and incredibly distracting. He sighed, knowing exactly what his answer would be. At the end of the day, it was just too much hassle to stay mad at America.

"Yes," he answered, mustering up a small smile. "You're forgiven, you loveable idiot."

America beamed, now kneeling on the couch in front of England. "Dude, rock on! You totally forgave me!"

England groaned before breaking into laughter. He hung onto America's arms as he expressed his amusement, leaning in and resting his head on the other's chest as his torso shook. "Oh America…" he chuckled.

America grinned. He pulled England into another hug, his whole being filled with happiness. England had forgiven him. His England wasn't mad at him anymore. England…

His reverie was broken off by the most unexpected sensation. It was warm, far warmer than England's embrace, and was light against his skin. As he felt his face flush, America realised what it was. England had given him a peck on the cheek.

"E-England…" America was a little surprised. Had England really kissed him? England. Kissed. Him. He felt his brain grind to a halt.

England leaned back and smiled up at America.

"Happy Valentine's Day…"

In one swift movement, America had England in his arms again. The action was impulsive, and neither was entirely sure why he had done it. America held England tightly, the elder's ribs straining against the force of it. After several seconds, the American pulled back, staring into England's eyes. It was Valentine's Day, and England had kissed him. That meant England loved him, right? England loved him…

America leaned forwards and pressed his lips to England's'.

England's lips were a little dry and slightly rough. It was clear he bit them quite a bit, although, given his temperament, this didn't really surprise America all that much. After a moment of enjoying the sensation, he felt England's lips part slightly, and America used the opportunity to slip his tongue into the other's mouth. He brushed it over the other's teeth and explored around, occasionally running it over England's own. His heart rate increased, but his mind barely registered the fact. England quickly started to respond to everything, twisting his fingers into the other's hair. All America could think about was how good it all felt. After a minute, he was, to his disappointment, forced to break away in order to draw breath.

Both men knelt there, facing each other and panting. America watched as England's shoulders noticeably rose and fell in time with his breaths.

It seemed to take a while before either of the two could comprehend exactly what was happening. England was the first. Being the older of the pair and having spent his entire life across the Channel from France, he had a little more knowledge and experience in this area. America was still trying to mentally grasp at straws as England's look changed. The green-eyed man slipped into a smirk, eyes narrowing a little as he felt himself getting turned on. It wasn't just the kiss, but the look on America's face after. Helpless and breathless… Panting…

England slid down, shifting his body weight. He trailed his hands down America's t-shirt, pressing them against him. When his fingers reached the bottom, they twisted round and grabbed the hem, eagerly pulling it up the other's body to reveal his lightly tanned flesh underneath. America let out a faint whine, still not entirely sure of what was going on, but deciding to just go with it anyway. His fingers joined England's and he helped the other to tug the cloth up, stretching it over his head and discarding it to the floor.

England leaned in close to America's chest, nose millimetres from his skin. The younger could feel his breath on his body, and as England's tongue flicked out and over him, the faintest of moans escaped his lips.

'What's happening?' he thought, eyes flitting shut in bliss. 'When did I… When did we… How did it come to this?'

England ran his tongue in a long arc across America's torso, sweeping up and across to settle on one nipple. He focused his attention there, hands holding the other tightly by his hips, his own waist straining to get closer to America's.

"England… please…" America still wasn't sure what was happening, but he'd decided he didn't care. It was Valentine's Day after all, right? If there was any day for this sort of thing, then it would be today, yes? Besides, he could feel himself starting to become aroused by England's actions.

England responded to America's plea, mouth moving to his other nipple as his hands left the man's waist and moved around, fingers fumbling with his belt buckle. As the clasp came undone, he quickly moved on to his jeans, yanking down the zip with a surprising amount of ferocity. Unfortunately for England, wet denim clings to skin, and America's trousers were saturated.

"Nng," he complained, lips breaking contact with America to speak. "I can't… get them off…"

"Here, dude, let me help…" America was just as keen to get his jeans off as England was. The fabric was uncomfortably tight around his noticeable bulge and he just wanted free of them.

"I can bloody do it…" England argued, grimacing as his hands strained against the fabric. He shifted his grip, trying to prize at a different part, and his hands rubbed roughly against America's crotch.

"Ah!" America gasped, head tilting back slightly and eyes closing. "Crap… England…"

The Brit noticed America's reaction, grinning wolfishly at it. He deliberately repeated the movement, savouring every moan and whimper that slipped out of the other man's mouth.

"M-more…" America pleaded. "D-dude… please…"

England felt his own bulge strain torturously against his trousers at that, threatening to drive him crazy. He pressed his palms to America's chest and roughly shoved him backwards into the cushions, head resting against the sofa arm. From this position he was better able to wrestle with the American's jeans, and after a minute or two of cussing, he had successfully wrenched them off. They landed on the floor with a heavy thud, weighted by rainwater.

England was treated to the sight of America's tanned legs and, unsurprisingly, US flag boxers. He chuckled and tutted, teasing the other.

"Honestly, America. Your own flag? Really?"

America frowned. "Hey, don't go dissing my stars and stripes, dude."

England grinned and leaned down, resting his chin on America's stomach. "I wouldn't dream of it. But… I think they would look a lot better on the floor. Wouldn't you agree?"

America blushed at that. Was England really going to go this far? And if he was… would he go the whole way? America couldn't recall the last time he'd done it. Nations lived for such a long time, and America's memory was sketchy at best. He nodded and closed his eyes as he felt England's knuckles brush against his skin, the man's fingers slowly peeling back his last line of defence.

Why was he so nervous about this? Ever since England had started on his jeans, a tight knot had formed in his stomach that he just couldn't shake. What had happened to his confidence? Was he afraid of having sex with England? England had always cared about him. England would never hurt him. There really was nothing to be afraid of.

As England tossed away his boxers, America felt that knot disappear. His self-assurance seeped back into him and he opened his eyes, blue gaze focussing on England. He was just in time to see the man lick his lips before lowering his head…

America gasped as he felt something hot and wet run along his dick. Each touch of England's hands had been scorching, but this… this was something more.

England ran his tongue along America's cock a little more, concentrating on the underside, before moving up and taking in the head, running his tongue along the slit and sucking as hard as he could. America's fingers dug into the sofa cushions, knuckles whitening, as his eyelids squeezed shut and he let out little cries of pleasure.

"Ah… ah… England…"

England tried to take more of America into his mouth, brow creasing ever so slightly in concentration as he tried to work out exactly what would please him the most. As he engulfed him further, he pressed down with his hands on America's hips to stop him from bucking. The last thing he needed was America's dick rammed all the way down his throat. He tried to relax, to go further, and after another minute filled with America's moans, he was able to deep throat him.

The American's toes curled in pleasure and he brought his hands around to knot his fingers into England's hair, gripping him tightly. He'd never experienced anything quite like this before. It just felt so good. England really was quite skilled at it. A tiny part of America's brain wondered where on earth he'd learned.

"England… I'm… ah… about to…" America panted out, feeling the familiar sensation of his oncoming release. At his words, England pulled his head back, leaving nothing but a thin string of saliva connecting his mouth to America's cock.

"Not yet you're not," England warned, looking down at him with strong but lust-filled eyes. America whined.

"If you wanna do that then dude, you'd better let me up so I can pound your ass!"

England blushed a little at the man's words, but abruptly regained his composure and grinned.

"Oh no, America. I think you'll find that I'll be the one pounding your arse…"

America was surprised. He frowned. "Heroes don't bottom, England."

The Brit in question leaned forwards, face getting so close to America's that their noses almost brushed. He stared into the American's blue eyes with a half-lidded gaze, expression full of both power and need.

"Please…?" he breathed, moving his head down to suck at America's neck. His right hand slid to the other's cock, fingers brushing over it to further reduce the man's willpower.

"Uh… ah… n-no… ah… oh f-fine…" America quickly felt his resolve shatter. The stimulation was simply too much. "But just this once, okay?"

England smirked. "Well see about that…"

At that, England slid off of America, clambering off the sofa and heading over to his bureau. He tugged open a drawer and pulled out a small bottle of lube. Strolling back towards America, he stopped half a metre short of the couch and tossed the bottle towards him. America caught it with both hands, a look of surprise on his face.

"Huh?" he asked, puzzled as to why England would throw the lube to him. Hadn't he just agreed to be on the bottom?

"Don't you want a show?" England asked with a grin, hands slinking up to the top button of his shirt and slowly undoing it.

Ah, now America knew what he was doing. But, wait, was England about to give him a strip tease? He made a mental note to never, ever, forget this moment. His eyes remained locked on to England, gaze burning into his skin, as the other gradually removed his shirt, moving at a leisurely pace to really tease America.

The blue-eyed man whined at how long England was taking. Seriously, he needed to speed up. Didn't he realise America had a major boner than needed dealing with? And the way he was using his fingers to twist those buttons was seriously arousing. England smirked at this, raising an eyebrow.

"Aww, do you want me to hurry up?" he asked, finally dropping his shirt to the floor.

'At last!' America thought. He nodded.

"Come on, dude. Fuck me already!"

Both of England's eyebrows raised at that. He hadn't expected America to be quite so blunt. Then again, this was America he was dealing with. He was the master of bluntness.

"If you insist…" England quickly divested himself of his belt and trousers, leaving himself in only his black socks and black boxers. As America stared, subconsciously licking his lips, he began to pull his underwear down at an agonisingly slow pace.

After what seemed like a century to America, England's pants hit the carpet.

"Like what you see?" England asked, climbing back onto the sofa and settling himself between the other's legs.

"Depends what you can do with it," America replied, brushing against the other blond as much as possible.

England moaned a little before retrieving his lube from America's hands and spreading some over his fingers. America watched, ever so slightly nervous, as he knew what was coming next. He leaned his head back a little and tried to remember exactly how it went. One finger, two fingers, three fingers then dick, right? At least, that's what he'd picked up from those comics Japan had lent him. What else did he have to remember? Relax. Yeah, he had to relax. And… uh… what else…?

America's train of thought was derailed as he felt one of England's digits poke inside of him. He gasped a little at the sensation. It was a little painful, but it was the way it moved around and stroked against his insides that really caused his reaction.

"Ah… E-England…" he managed to choke out, brain too caught up in the feelings down south to fully articulate a whole sentence.

England smiled, moving his finger a few more times before gradually inserting a second digit.

Now America started to feel a little more pain. He winced, but didn't allow any other sign of discomfort to show. He felt England stretching his insides more and more, and reached ahead to grab on to any part of England that he could.

"Hush, it's okay…" England leaned forwards, still with his fingers inside, to kiss America softly on the lips.

"Dude, I'm fine," America protested, blushing faintly. He was a hero, he could take this easily!

"Well, alright then…" England inserted a third finger at that, moving the digits around to try and find America's prostate.

"Nng…" America clenched his teeth, unused to his body being stretched in such a fashion and to such an extent. He hoped he could get used to this quickly so he could enjoy it more. All of a sudden, England's intruding fingers grazed something, and an incredible sensation shot through his whole being.

"England!" The words escaped his lips louder than any of his previous utterances. The exclamation didn't catch England off-guard however; it was exactly what he'd been waiting for.

He smiled and brushed his fingers past the same spot, causing America to cry out again.

"I think you're ready," England commented, retracting the digits and reaching for the lube once more.

'Aww…' America thought as England fingers were pulled out, but then his brain realised what that meant was coming next. He was still reeling a little from the pleasure of before, but even in that state, he could comprehend that England entering him would stretch him even further.

Once he was sufficiently coated in lube, the bottle tossed to the ground, England grabbed America's legs and pulled them a little farther apart. America tried to comply as best as he could, but being on the sofa made things a bit more difficult.

England started to slide himself in slowly, inching in so as to give America time to adjust. The younger man's head tipped back over the sofa arm as he felt England's hard and slick member press inside of him. Man, was it really that big? At least, that's how it felt to him. His fingers dug into the cushions as he was entered and he felt his teeth lock together.

England noticed this, and one pale hand slid across the cushions to intertwine with America's. The other blinked, looking forward. His blue eyes met green, and a small smile passed across his lips.

"Alright dude, you're in. Now you'd better show me a good time or I'll never let you top again."

England sniggered, fingers releasing America's to move down to his waist. His grin was predatory as he bent forwards and replied, "I thought you said it was just this once? But don't worry, I intend to fuck you senseless, America…"

The former colony shivered. There was something about England using those words, shedding his mask of a gentleman, that really turned him on. Maybe it was the way his light blond strands fell messily about his face, or the glint in his eye that suggested horribly perverted thoughts were going through his brain too. Either way, America already couldn't get enough of it. Now he could see something of the man who had conquered more of the world than any other of the nations. He grinned.

The older took that as a cue to begin, and slowly started to thrust in and out of America, going sluggishly at first before gradually picking up the pace. As England became more forceful, America's body rocked with each plunge into him, his hands struggling for a grip to support himself. As he was taken, America felt less and less of the pain, and more and more of the pleasure, even more so when England managed to find his prostate again, and each strike rammed straight into that sweet spot.

"Oh god England!" America cried out, body shimmering with sweat. England's breath was coming out in huffs as he impaled the other repeatedly. He noticed then that America's member was looking sorely neglected as he was being pounded into the sofa, and so England grabbed it, roughly pumping it in time with his thrusts.

This duel stimulation was too much for America. The feel of both England's cock inside his ass and England's hand squeezed around his dick sent him over the edge. He felt his climax rise up and within seconds he was on the verge of release.

"Ah! England! Yes! Oh god, England I'm gonna-!"

England was moaning a little in pleasure, eyes rolled back into his head, but at the other's words, his gaze locked unshakeably on America. He leaned in over the man's chest, getting as close to his face as he could.

"Come for me, America..." he commanded, voice both tantalising and forceful. It was all the darker blond needed to make him lose it.

"Oh god England!" he yelled, spilling his seed across their stomachs. England drank in every moment of America's climax, watching his face intently. It was enough to drive him over the edge as well.

"America-!" he gasped, and the man in question felt something hot and wet fill his insides as England rode out his orgasm. He finally collapsed, chest heaving, on top of America, cheek resting on the younger man's torso.

America placed one hand on England's back, stroking it lightly.

"So, did I make up for upsetting you on Valentine's Day?" he asked, enraptured by a feeling of absolute bliss.

"If I get to shag you every time you offend me, then you can say as many hurtful things as you want," England replied jokingly, running a few fingers through a stray strand of America's hair.

"We can do it any time you want, I don't have to offend you first."

America suddenly pushed England up. The Brit was surprised. He took the opportunity to pull out of America as the man kneeled in front of him and placed both hands on his shoulders.

"But," America amended, his usual bright smile beginning to reappear on his face. "I do have one condition."

England's eyebrow scooted up his forehead. "And what's that?"

"Next time, I'm on top."

England laughed and then grinned evilly. Suddenly, he pushed America back down onto the sofa.

"I'd like to see you try…"