A/N- Hi there! This was written for a friend, as the second of two fanfics I promised (the first was 'You Say 'Elevator', I Say 'Lift'', I just forgot to mention it in my author's note on there). I've been working on this for three days, suffering bad writer's block throughout, so I apologise if it's not so great. It's also very late at night as I am typing this author's note and submitting this, having just written the end, so I'm very sorry if the ending has a few spelling mistakes and errors. I'll try to correct any major ones at some point when my brain is properly functioning.

This fic was based around a joke to a friend of mine I made, when I said how funny it would be if America gave England his dick in a box while having a picnic in the park, having just been listening to the song. I was then immediately ordered to write it, along with the elevator fic. What do I get in return? Parodies of my two 'serious' versions, apparently. XD

So please, enjoy! Um, also reviews would be very kindly appreciated here, since my previous UKUS oneshot is currently my most favourited story, but doesn't have many reviews and they're all pretty short. I'd like to know where I'm going wrong/right... ^^

Warnings- yaoi, probably PWP, shameless lemon. You should know the drill by know, and if not, then you should know since you clicked on a fic marked UKUS and M rated.

Disclaimer- I do not own Hetalia, nor Dick in a Box. Although the latter is a very catchy song.


Pumpkins & Boxes

Halloween had passed with a clear and pleasant night that year. The stars, shining brightly in the sky, had, coupled with the moon, provided the perfect ambience to an evening of trick or treating, fancy dress parties and general celebration the world over.

For those who hadn't been scared shitless the entire time, that is.

For America, Halloween meant more than just endless amounts of chocolate and the chance to dress up. It was a day he circled on the calendar, and prepared weeks in advance for, not simply for the festivity. Halloween, to America, was the day of his annual scaring competition with England.

After this year, the score was 90 losses and 1 win for America. And this year had been another of those losses.

"It's not fair," America complained, surfing the internet to try and cheer himself up. He was most definitely not looking for porn. Heroes don't do that. At least not often. "England always wins. I've only ever scared him once on Halloween, and I needed Japan's help…"

He clicked on another link, not really caring where he was going. His chin was resting on his left hand, his right clutching the computer mouse. This year England had gone all-out. When America had answered the door, having heard the bell ring, England had been waiting there. Or at least, so he'd thought. The Englishman had just been wearing regular clothes: a white shirt and some smart-looking black trousers. It was as if he hadn't been trying.

"What's the matter, dude? Got tired of scaring me at Halloween?" America had asked, laughing. He'd reached out one hand and playfully patted England on the shoulder.

And that's when the Englishman had crumbled to dust.

"GAAAAH!" America had screamed, his jeans suddenly a little wet. In the nearby bushes, England had one hand over his mouth, trying to subdue his laughter, and he high-fived the spirit next to him.

Days later, and America was still in a bad mood over it. He clicked the mouse button with an unnecessary amount of force, almost snapping it. He really wanted to get England back for it, prank him somehow, but he just couldn't think of a way to make the Brit scream.

He clicked on a link to a video, watching it with only mild interest. It didn't really hold any fascination for him, but it killed time and he was bored. As the seconds dragged on, his eyes began to wander from the player, until they passed over the list of recommended videos to the right.

That's when something caught his attention.

It was a music video, one he was familiar with. He liked the song a lot, but it was the title that really caught his interest. It had set the cogs in his brain whirring.


"I say, America, it really was awfully nice of you to come visit me in my new house," England commented, smiling with freakish politeness as he helped America remove the luggage from his car.

"Yeah… house…" America murmured, blue eyes surveying the grand country mansion before him, complete with vast acres of fields and forests of which the massive estate was comprised.

"I thought it was time to treat myself." The Englishman continued as if America had said nothing, beaming with pride at the expensive brickwork and neatly-trimmed bushes. "It has everything you could ever desire: two libraries, three garages, a stable, acres of forest and twenty separate fields to walk in. Oh, and a golf course. And a boating lake. And a fountain."

"Pfft… Who needs all that?" America brushed it off, secretly a little jealous inside. He could have a home like this if he wanted to! He just didn't, that's all. Heroes are supposed to be modest.

England sighed and picked up a suitcase. "Anyway, you're in the guest bedroom on the first floor… Ah, that's the second floor to you."

"I can translate your antique speech, England," America replied, lifting up three more cases in his hands and walking off towards the front door, leaving England both a little speechless and a little angry, but mostly simply stunned at his strength. He staggered after him, struggling with the single item of luggage he was carrying. God, how could the American pack so much stuff?

When America reached the front door, a smartly-clad butler opened it for him, bowing politely. The blue-eyed man gaped, face shifting into a massive grin. "Dude! You have a butler! Awesome!"

He carried on like that until England finally reached him, grunting a little at the weight of the suitcase. It was only then that America's train of thought finally veered off into a parallel dimension.

"Wait, if the butler always did it… and you have a butler… does that mean that there's gonna be a murder? !" He turned his wide eyes on England, and then shifted to a puppy dog look. "I… I'm not going to be murdered, am I?"

England groaned internally. He opened his mouth to give a scathing retort, but the other's face suddenly turned panicked.

"Unless… Ah! England! You're gonna be murdered!" He dropped the suitcases he was holding and clung to England protectively. The Brit yelped in surprise, the luggage he'd been hauling falling to the ground.

"Don't worry, England! I, as the hero, will save you! Or catch your murderer… Either."

The Englishman felt his blood pressure steadily rise. One of these days the American would give him a heart attack. Of that he was in no doubt.

"Just get in the bloody house already!" he yelled, shoving America off of him and picking the suitcase back up. The younger man blinked at him in surprise, but wordlessly retrieved the remaining luggage and brought it inside, following on England's heels.

Once the Brit had calmed down, the soothing cup of tea he'd been brought aiding things, he sat with America in a large and lavish drawing room and attempted to sort out something to do.

"You are, of course, free to tour the grounds," he stated, the tone a little formal. He took another sip of tea and surveyed the American with his intelligent green gaze. "I have work I should be doing, but if you'd like I'm willing to entertain you. We could play golf…"

This was what America had been waiting for. The tried to mask his growing excitement as England offered to spend time with him. It was the perfect opportunity to put his revenge plan into action! Or, as he liked to call it, 'Operation BritFail'. Because England would scream and cry like a little girl and it would be a complete epic fail on his part. America couldn't wait.

"Hey, I know!" he suggested with perhaps just a little more enthusiasm than usual. "Why don't we have a picnic? I have the stuff for it all packed and ready!"

England raised an eyebrow, setting his cup down. "You packed a picnic?"

America nodded eagerly. If he'd been in a cartoon he'd have had puppy ears and a wagging tail. England sighed again.

"All you ever think about is food…" he mumbled, looking away and out of the window. For once the sky was clear, only a few white and fluffy clouds dotting across it, the sun occasionally peeking out to cast dazzling rays across the neatly mown lawns.

America was a little hurt by England's statement. It wasn't true! He totally thought about other things! Videogames, being a hero, adventure, sex… Hell, right now he was thinking about pranking England!

"Go get your stuff then…" England said eventually, still gazing at the outside. "I'll meet you by the door."

"Sweet!" America cheered, practically leaping out of his seat and sprinting away, thundering up the staircase with the same level of noise as a herd of elephants.

England didn't bother to yell at him. He continued to watch the rippling grass outdoors, the faint sway of the leaves in the trees which indicated the lightest of breezes. He green eyes looked on almost wistfully, as if he were remembering a time long since passed.

With a faint groan he eventually tore his eyes from the scene, stretching his arms above his head. He stood up, sliding his chair back underneath the table, and took his empty cup out to the kitchen. When he got to the door, America was still not there, and he could only wonder what was taking the younger man so long.

"Still, it's nice he came to visit. We're normally kept so busy these days… It's good to see him again," England said quietly to himself. He waited patiently, arms folded and eyes closed, listening to the ticking of an old and proud grandfather clock, until the rapid thud of heavy footsteps indicated America's return.

"Right, let's head off then!" America announced happily, clutching a large picnic basket in on hand. He used the other to grab his favourite jacket off a nearby hook, slinging it over his arm in case he needed it later.

England nodded, trying to avoid a small sigh of exasperation at the other's boundless enthusiasm, and opened the door, holding it open to let America out.

The younger blond literally leapt out of the doorway, landing over a metre away from the doorstep. Spinning back, round he admired the distance. "Sweet! New record!"

England clutched his forehead, biting back an agonised groan. Something told him this would be a long, long day.

"This way," he said, shutting the door behind himself and turning to head off down a nearby footpath. "I know where we can go."

He took the lead, America following a few steps behind him as the path was only wide enough for a single person. The blue-eyed man remained strangely quiet the whole time, and the few secret glances England shot him over his shoulder only revealed an apparent fascination with the British countryside. The American, as far as he could tell, spent the entire time admiring the greenery and rolling fields around him. England certainly couldn't deny, however, that he did enjoy the quiet and peace that this provided.

After about twenty minutes they reached their destination. England stopped at the edge of a tall forest, filled with ancient oaks and the chirping of birds. He headed onto the grass before the fringes of the trees, gesturing for America to set the basket down.

"Nice view…" America commented, whistling in amazement and setting the hamper on the ground. He shielded his eyes with one hand as he stood, looking down over the fields to the shimmering waters of the magnificent lake at the bottom of the valley. Flocks of geese could be seen floating across the rippling waves, along with the occasional swan. As the sun reappeared from behind a cloud, its light sparkled off the surface, creating a dazzling spectacle.

It almost gave America second thoughts about what he was about to do. But then he remembered wetting himself at a disintegrating England, and all thoughts of abolishing his plan were instantly disregarded. He sat down on the grass, next to where England had parked himself, and opened up the basket, unfolding a large chequered cloth and spreading it out in front of them.

His blue eyes flicked up to England's face when he heard the other man mumbling. The Englishman's green eyes appeared glued to the view before them, a look of both pride and fondness on his face. As America watched on, it became clear to him that the man's mumblings were actually singing. He strained his ears to make out the lyrics, but all he caught were the final words as he finished, "In England's green and pleasant land…"

America chuckled quietly to himself. 'Sentimental old dude,' he thought, pulling out a bottle of cola and unscrewing the lid. He took a couple of swigs as England finally wrenched his gaze from the valley and took to examining the contents of the basket. His delicate fingers pulled out a small Tupperware box, containing some sandwiches. Taking one, he set the box down on the picnic blanket and started chewing thoughtfully.

"This is the picnic set I gave you two years ago, isn't it?" he asked after swallowing a mouthful.

"Yeah, it is. This is the first time I've used it, actually…" America smiled and put the bottle down next to the sandwiches. He stretched his muscles, bones clicking a bit, and lay back on the grass, arms tucked behind his head and staring up at the sky. It was a different shade of blue than he was used to.

England's mouth opened to comment, but he was distracted by a scuffling sound coming from the forest. Turning his head around, his green eyes peered cautiously through the trees, his gazing alighting upon an iridescent figure a little way into the wood.

"America… look…" England breathed, captivated. His eyes were sparkling with delight and wonder. The younger man followed England's gaze, straining his eyes to peer as far as possible, but he couldn't make out anything amidst the trees.

"Dude, there's nothing there…" he replied, a little weirded out. Was England seeing things again? He looked down to the plate of sandwiches on the ground. Well he certainly hadn't put anything in them. Had that butler from earlier drugged England's tea or something?

England bit his lip, still staring into the trees. The creature which had captured his attention, and at the same time his heart, was a brilliant white unicorn, grazing on some small plants in a clearing. It had been many years since he'd last had the delight of seeing one, and he was heartbreakingly torn between staying with the unbelieving America and wandering off for a while into the forest to go and stroke it.

After a long moment, he made his mind up.

"I'll be back in a bit," he told the American, standing up and stretching his legs. Without waiting for a reply, he strolled off into the forest, skilfully weaving his way through the trees.

America watched him go, picking his drink back up and taking another gulp. He could have gone after him and fetched him back, but he was a little creeped out, and at the same time this was proving absolutely perfect for his plan.

Once he was sure England was well away, America stood up, dropping his cola. He bent over and ferreted through the picnic basket, eventually pulling out a small and unassuming gold box. Turning it around in his hand, he noted with pride the rather large hole he'd carved into one side, and the tiny hooks he attached to the top edge on the same section.

Glancing around to make sure nobody had followed after them, he reached down with one hand and unzipped his fly. He'd forgone his boxers today, knowing they'd just make his plan more awkward to pull off. Carefully, he took out his cock, and ever so gently slid it into the box via the hole.

'A perfect fit,' he thought proudly, using the hooks to attach the box to the waistband of his jeans. He kept one hand holding the box, maintaining the illusion that he was simply clutching an ordinary container, as he stood waiting for England to come back.

About three minutes later, the sound of footsteps crunching on twigs heralded the return of England. His hands were in his pockets and there was a dopey-looking grin on his face as he left the shade of the trees and walked back into the bright sunlight of the field. His blissful reverie was broken into by confusion, however, when he saw America standing there and holding a box.

"What's that?" he asked, puzzled, removing his hands from his pockets.

"It's a present. For you." America smiled, pulling off his best 'picture of innocence' look.

"What is it?" England asked, now wary. Since when did America randomly give him presents? Was this supposed to be some sort of 'housewarming gift' or crazy idea like that? He'd noticed the gold box earlier, when he'd been looking for the sandwiches, and he had to admit, it had caught his interest, but he still didn't trust it.

"Come here and I'll show you." America couldn't contain the small giggle which escaped his lips at the words. Things were about to get good…

England cautiously took a step closer, pose and expression akin to that of a cagey animal. He stopped half a metre away from America and eyed him suspiciously. "Well?"

"Lean in…" America reached his other hand down and wrapped his fingers around the lid as England moved his head down until it was only inches away from his 'gift', still distrustful.

"SURPRISE!" the American called out, flipping back the lid to reveal his dick.

"WHAT THE FUCK? !" England screeched, face at first blanching, then turning a deep, almost beetroot, shade of red. He staggered back a few paces, expression mortified.

America's lip wobbled. Then his mouth opened. Finally, he burst into the greatest fit of hysterics of his entire life. The laughter shook his entire body, and he collapsed backwards onto the ground, clutching his stomach and doubling up with his raucous howls. The box slid off from him, rolling away, and he was left exposed as he roared in delight like a maniac.

"Gah! P-put that thing away!" England wailed, green eyes wide as he looked on, unable to tear his gaze away.

When America's laughs finally died down, he propped himself up with one arm, expression a little pouty. "Don't call somebody's dick a 'thing', dude. That's mean."

"What do you want me to call it then? ! Florida? !" England retorted, still in a state of shock.

"If you want. Just not a 'thing'." America smirked, a devious idea suddenly coming into his head. "And what if I don't want to put it away?"

"Wha-? !" England shrieked. "Don't tell me you're a bloody exhibitionist? !"

America grinned. "Nah, but I think you really should apologise to Florida, or whatever you wanna call him. Go on. Give him an apology kiss." He clasped hold of his dick and waggled it.

"I am not kissing your bloody cock!" England protested, absolutely outraged. His voice had risen an entire octave.

"Pretty please?"

England glared at the American, green eyes furious. He couldn't believe the man wanted him to do such a thing! It was outrageous!

"What's the matter, England? You scared?" America teased. This was too much fun. The Brit's reaction was priceless.

That caught England off-guard. He raised an eyebrow. "Me? Scared?"

America grinned. "Yeah. If you're not scared, then prove it. Kiss it." Suddenly, his voice deepened. "Or if you really wanna show me what you're made of… suck it."

England bit his lip, but his pride would not let him back down now. He would look like a wuss if he did, and that was not something his ego would allow.

"Fine then. I will," he huffed, stepping towards America and dropping to his knees. He shuffled closer, until he was kneeling between America's outstretched legs. Very slowly, he leaned down, trying to brace himself for what he was about to do next.

America's heart was thumping in his chest. He couldn't believe that England was about to do this! He'd only been teasing him; he'd expected the Englishman to come up with some excuse. Now the stuffy 'gentleman' was about to suck his dick!

He started to inhale more rapidly when he felt England's breath ghost over the tip of his cock. An audible "Ah!" was let out when he felt two slightly rough, but undeniably warm, lips press against it lightly.

America realised he'd closed his eyes. He opened them again to see the sight of England bent over his crotch, ass in the air, with his lips pressed to his dick. It was enough to make him begin to grow rather hard against the Englishman's kiss.

When he felt America become firmer, England pulled his lips back, running his tongue over America's hardened member instead, before taking the head into his mouth and beginning to suck. He trailed his tongue around as he did so, flicking it over the tip and probing at the man's slit.

That tongue! America was still getting harder, that deliciously skilled muscle helping him along nicely. England was so talented with it. He knew how to brush it over him just so to really make him…

"Holy shit! England!"

The words were out of America's mouth before he could even realise he was saying them. They were followed by a little gasp of surprise, as America also realised that his fingers had become knotted tightly into the paler blond's hair, and that his head had been tipping back.

America's cry, for reasons unbeknownst to the Brit, went straight to the Englishman's crotch. For the first time that day he felt the overwhelming sensation of arousal. It pushed him on, driving him to go deeper and deeper, urging him until America was fully engulfed.

England continued to utilise his tongue to its fullest, but the feeling of America's cock pulsing in his mouth was starting to do terrible things to him. He felt his own member start to strain against his trousers, and the small noises the other was beginning to make did not help his growing situation.

'Am I… getting a hard on from sucking off America? How? He… Ah…' England's mind quickly abandoned any coherent train of thought as soon as it began to form, leaving only a primeval surge of instinctive drives and carnal desires in his head.

"God… England… Hah… I… I'm gonna…"

England pulled back quickly, before the American could come down his throat. One hand quickly twisted around the base of America's cock, gripping tightly as he pulled back.

"Not yet…" he breathed, looking up at America with half-lidded eyes.

America blinked back at him, a little stunned and bewildered. Was England suggesting they…? No. There was no way. No way in hell would stuffy, stick-up-his-ass, I'm-such-a-gentleman England want to have sex with him. It just wasn't possible. It would be like dividing by zero! The universe would explode! Seriously, don't ever do that on a calculator. No really, don't.

But… England was looking at him with an expression that pretty much screamed 'I'm horny!'. And when America dared to flick his eyes glance, just a glance mind- it's not like he was going to stare or anything!- he saw a very definite bulge in the Brit's now very tight trousers.


England was horny. England had a boner. England wanted to fuck.

As America looked on with wide, blue eyes, England proceeded to slowly stand up. The Brit flashed him a grin which seemed wolfish, devilish even, eyes trailing over the younger man's body in a way that said 'You're mine…'. He gradually, teasingly wrapped his delicate, slender fingers around each of his shirt buttons, sliding them through their holes and carefully undoing them one… by… one… His shirt slid slowly, inch by tantalising inch, down his arms, revealing little by little the pale flesh underneath, until it dropped to the grass with a quiet crumpling noise.

He moved on to his belt next, undoing the button at a speed which tormented America, before moving on to his trousers, unfastening his fly and letting them fall to the ground. England was now left standing there, clad only in his boxers, shoes and socks. America hadn't even realised he was drooling a little, despite his mortification, until the green-eyed man leaned forwards and wiped it away with one elegant finger as his other hand removed his shoes, before bring the wet digit to his mouth and sucking on it, tasting the American's saliva.

When he removed it with a soft popping noise, he trailed it down his chest, all the way to the hem of his boxers, where he promptly hooked it around the waistband and tugged down, freeing his manhood of its cotton confines. Blue eyes stared at it for a long moment, their owner's throat bobbing in a small gulp. Somehow, he'd always expected the Brit to be… smaller…

Not that he made a habit of thinking about England's cock.

"Hmm, those jeans are really spoiling my view, America. Let's have them off, shall we?" England's voice was silky, smooth… It was practically a purr, although his accent may have contributed heavily to that. At least, in America's eyes. The Englishman had never quite understood the appeal of his voice to some countries, although he wasn't one to complain if it was apparently sexy.

Before America had a chance to either agree or disagree, England had sunk to his knees again, and those graceful, refined fingers were now working to pull down the worn denim that concealed his tanned legs. Once both America's jeans and trainers had been stripped from him, England refocused his attention on the man's crotch, working on his other garments while his eyes roamed over the bare, exposed flesh he had already uncovered. He couldn't resist the urge to lean down and trail his tongue up the inside of the other's thigh, causing him to shudder at the pleasurable sensation.

After another couple of minutes, America had been completely divested of clothes, bar his socks, and was sat on the ground, England kneeling over him, wondering what would happen next and why he hadn't been able to bring himself to say no. His brain was trying ever so hard to process this fact, although England's constant touches and ministrations weren't helping, and at the end of it, all he could come up with was that the lust-filled look on the Brit's face was making him hot and bothered, and that talent such as England's in this particular area was not an opportunity one should pass up.

"Showtime…" England half sang, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He brought three of those capable digits to his mouth and pushed them in, probing his own moist cavern as he sucked on them, eyes never leaving America. The younger nation watched, caught in a trance, as England, after a moment, brought them back out and shifted down, pushing him onto his back with his free hand as he used those dripping fingers to lightly circle his hole.

It was then that America realised that he was about to bottom.

"H-hang on, England!" he yelped, eyes snapping wide open. "I'm a hero! I can't- no I won't- bottom!"

"Is that so?" England paused, one finger millimetres away from slipping into America. He pulled it back, a predatory smirk slowly creeping across his face. "Not even if I did, say, this…?"

And with that, he leaned in and, brushing his nose up along the other's backside, flicked his tongue out and around America's hole. He trailed it in circles there languidly for a while, savouring each and every one of the American's pants and exclamations. But America did not make the one sound he wanted to hear most of all. The one noise that would drive him completely over the edge. So England braced himself and pushed his tongue in, just a little bit, lapping around at America's inside walls, grimacing slightly at the taste.

The young blond's lips parted wide, and he let out the loudest moan of his entire life.

England's body shivered at that, his eyes squeezing even more tightly shut. That. That had been the sound he'd been wanting to hear. Such an erotic, sensual noise coming from him… He pulled his tongue back out, replacing it instead with a single finger, slowly pushing it inside, sliding it into the groaning man.

"Hmm… I'll take that as a 'yes'…"

England thrust the finger in and out a few times, noting how America was beginning to rock his hips against it. After a minute, he stopped, the younger man whimpering at the loss of sensation, before gradually adding a second digit, stretching him wider. He resumed his finger-fucking, striking different places to try and find that sweet spot. America hissed a little bit; it hurt him to be stretched, especially when he wasn't used to it, but he gradually adjusted to the sensation, and his wanton noises began to return.

This was England's cue to add a third digit, opening America up as wide as he could with it, in preparation for what was to follow. The blue-eyed man grimaced, his pain returning, but as before, within a minute or two he was back to pleading and groaning shamelessly, hands tightly gripping the ground, grass poking up between his fingers.

After another minute or so, England retrieved his fingers, brushing them off on the grass, before he spat repeatedly into his palm, using the saliva to coat his member.

"I'm sorry I can't lubricate it any better," he apologised, face as apologetic as it could be when he was about to pound the living daylights out of someone.

America either didn't hear him, or was too preoccupied to notice. His blue eyes were squeezed shut, mouth hanging partially open and a small trickle of drool running down his chin and dripping onto the earth below.

England grasped his cock and began to guide it in, moving slowly at first, aware of how much it would hurt America. The other gasped when he felt the Englishman's head poke in, a mixture of both pain and pleasure filling him. It was a strange but enticing sensation to have someone's dick entering him, brushing against his insides and stretching him. England was inching in, but stopped once he was fully sheathed inside. He didn't move, he was waiting for America to adjust and give him the go ahead, he simply stayed there, chest lightly moving up and down. After half a minute or so, the darker blond felt more at ease, his muscles a little more relaxed, and he had become used to the feeling of the Brit inside of him. Shakily, he gave a small nod, knowing the older man's keen eyes would catch it, and lay his head back, anticipating what was to come.

At America's signal, England pulled back, thrusting in again at a slow rate. He didn't want to move too quickly initially, he needed to give the other time to become comfortable with it, and he also had to find the man's prostate. He shifted his angle repeatedly as he thrust, America letting out moans and whines, enticing him on with groans such as, "Oh god!", "Yes!" and "Ah… hah… England!"

The older felt himself unconsciously pick up his pace a bit every time his name was keened, and he worked harder to find the blond's sweet spot, biting his lip to try and keep his mind amidst the intense pleasure.

"God… America… you're so tight…" he panted, pulling out and thrusting in. "But… nng… where is it…?"

He continued to change angle until, at last, America's body stiffened, his head snapping up off the ground and his fingernails digging into the soil. As his back arched he let out an even louder moan than before, clearly in ecstasy.

England knew he had found it. He continued to repeatedly impale that spot, striking America's prostate as many times as he could. The other's cries only got louder, and England heard his name being screamed with more volume than ever before.

Soon enough, America was on the verge of release. He was too preoccupied being in seventh heaven to give England any warning, the first thing the Englishman knew about it was when America came, hard, all over his stomach, his walls clenching around the other's member and creating such a deliciously hot and tight sensation that the green-eyed man felt himself losing it as well.

"Ah! AH! AMERICA!" England yelled, spilling himself inside the other. America was still panting and enjoying his orgasmic high, but was intrigued by the feeling of the British man's semen inside him.

England pulled out when he was finished, collapsing with a hefty thud alongside the American. His eyelids were fluttering and there was an almost dopey look upon his face. He appeared to be in absolute bliss.

'Aww, damn it…' America thought as he watched the man sigh in content. 'Guess my plan backfired on me. Oh well… guess some good came out of it…'

He grinned and flicked his eyes up to the bright blue sky above, his matching irises darting around as he tried to pick out shapes within he clouds. Oh look, there was a plane, and a star, and a Tyrannosaurs Rex…

Oh, and that one there looked like a couple holding hands…




A week later, America was busy playing videogames. He was just busy bashing the brains out of this one creepy-looking zombie who looked suspiciously like an ex-banker, when all of a sudden he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Sighing, he pressed the pause button and set down the controller, hauling himself to his feet and stepping around the litter on his floor to go and answer the door.

"Package for ya," a middle-aged deliveryman declared as America swung open the door. The American's eyebrows rose, but he thanked the man anyway and took the package, closing the door as the other turned his back to him and walked away.

"Wonder what this is?" he muttered out loud, suddenly curious about it. He didn't waste time sitting down or even moving, he tore into the paper where he stood, revealing a small, ornately-decorated silver box underneath.

"Huh?" He held the item up and examined it, watching the light glitter and dance off the decorations. He spotted that it had a lid, though it was well-concealed, and carefully prised it open, fingers probing to see what was within.

He pulled out a small piece of paper. Turning it over revealed five words on the other side, all written in elaborate copperplate script with what appeared to be a fountain pen.


One dick, sans box

America grinned as he read the message, tongue poking out to lick his lips. Hmm, it seemed he would be paying a visit to the United Kingdom in the near future…