A/n: I wrote this quite a while ago for shareq on LJ's birthday. I cleaned it up a little bit, but I still feel so rusty...

Anyway, Enjoy some chubby America


Really it all started because America didn't feel like cooking and England had been barred from using his kitchen with the exception of at breakfast time. It was also partially because America seemed to choose his apartments solely on how close they were to a McDonalds. Therefore, it stood to reason that on that day they'd make their way to the sham of a restaurant and order something vaguely eatable.

(England would never admit his soft spot for those greasy burgers and salty chips, or fries as he was forced to call them if he didn't want to deal with an incredibly confused teenager, and especially not to America. The boy's taunting would never cease)

As England refused to stay sitting in the filthy restaurant, they took their food and returned to America's apartment, which was the final catalyst for what transpired that day. Really, England just reacted to it all.

"You're not eating, love," England said.

Because he wasn't. He had ordered his usual two Big Macs and large fries, but instead of devouring them with his usual abandon he was just passing the burger back and forth from hand to hand and frowning.

"I'm not hungry." He said, putting it back in its cardboard container.

England raised an eyebrow, "Not hungry? You?"

"S-shut up!" He turned bright red.

England frowned, "What? Isn't a bloke allowed to be concerned for his boyfriend?"

"You can be concerned, but don't make fun of me!"

"I was doing no such thing."

"Yeah, you were." He pushed the box away and placed his head down on the table.

"America..." England walked around the table and placed his hand on America's shoulder, "Are you feeling alright? You're not ill are you?"

"'M fine..." America said, not lifting his head.

England gingerly reached out and stroked his hair. "America," He said softly, "You're not acting like yourself."

America turned his head to the side and looked at him forlornly, "I'm sorry, babe, it's just…" He sat up and sighed, "I'm sick of being fat and ugly."

England startled, "You- What ever gave you that idea?"

"It's not as if I hear anything else these days. Other than that I'm stupid, but I can't do anything about that. Not that I can do much about this either." He gestured to himself, "I've tried, baby. I've tried so hard."

He looked at America, from his soft golden hair, to his wide blue eyes, to his lightly tanned skin, to the broad strength of his shoulders and his arms. "Who in their right mind would call you ugly?"

America rolled his eyes, "I'm fat, and you can't be sexy if you're fat. It's a rule."

England huffed, "That's ridiculous."

He wrapped his arms around his middle, "But it's true."

England wanted to open his mouth to say something, but he realized it would be foolish. That was the culture now, wasn't it? He'd have to fight it some other way. "Well you're not fat in the first place."

"Of course I am. I just don't want you to see." He slumped down further into his chair as thought it would make him disappear.

"You can't exactly hide fatness, you idiot. I would have noticed, clothes or no clothes."

"Yes you can."

"No you can't."

"Yes you can."

"No you can't."

"Fine!" America stood and glared at him, "If you're so stuck on this I'll just fucking show you!" He pulled off his t-shirt and threw it across the room. "Are you happy now?"

England just blinked, trying not to be hypnotized by the trail of blond hair leading down into his jeans, "I fail to see what you're talking about."

America scowled and pinched his stomach, "You need glasses, old man?"

"No. You need to stop being such a bloody idiot. There's nothing wrong with the way you look. Now sit down and eat."

"You're still in the middle ages, aren't you?" America asked, going to retrieve his shirt.

"What does it matter if I am?" America froze and turned to look at him. England held his ground and looked him straight in the eye, "My tastes are my own, as yours are your own. But my opinion is that you look fine, and who else do you have to impress?"

"But people-"

"-Should not be sleeping with you unless you clear it with me first and no wretch that doesn't appreciate you deserves to touch you."

There were a few tense moments where they stared at each other, England standing firm behind his assertions and America considering them.

"It's not healthy," America finally said.

"Well, it's better to eat something," England said, shrugging.

"No, I meant-"

"I know what you meant and you're wrong. Now come here."

"But-"

"Come here or you'll have no treats from me tonight."

The only quicker way to America's heart than through his stomach was through his cock and England was planning to attack on both fronts. He grinned as America slowly walked over and sat back down.

"Now, now, don't look so glum. Let's make it worth your wile, shall we?"

England gave him a kiss on the cheek and straddled his thighs. America blushed bright red.

"Comfy, are we?"

America just bobbed his head up and down and wrapped his arms around England's waist. England chuckled and leaned forward to kiss him again, this time on the lips. As he placed his hands on America's chest he saw that the idiot may have had a point. He was nowhere in the range of having what could be called breasts, but he was softer there than England remembered and it was a bit more concentrated near his nipples than it was on the rest of his chest. To his slight surprise, he found that he liked it. It made him feel even safer than America's presence did normally. England wanted even more to have America wrap himself around him, big and warm and now so soft and never let him go. He traced down his sides and around to his stomach. There was give to him now. England could press against and even grip him there. It felt so good to take the once-taut flesh of his belly and be able to mold it in his hands. America was squirming and it was impossible to tell if it was good or bad. Most likely it was conflicted, his body wanting contact while his mind screamed for it to stop.

Well, they couldn't have that, now could they? England broke the kiss and reached behind him, feeling around for the burger.

"What are you doing?" America asked.

"As I said, love, you need to eat."

America squirmed, drawing attention to his half-hard cock, "Can't we do this later? You can't leave me like this."

"No." England finally managed to find the thing and picked it up, holding it out to America, "Besides, who said anything about leaving?"

He blushed, catching on, "Am I using my hands?"

England grinned and held the Big Mac closer to America's face, "What do you think?"

"Kinky old man…" America said, but nevertheless he leaned forward and took a bite.

He still looked embarrassed and slightly angry as he chewed, as though he couldn't believe he was going through with it. However, England had always fancied watching him eat, seeing his well-defined jaw working and then those strong muscles in his neck working to push it down, and something about the embarrassment and that extra bit of weight made it all the sweeter.

…Maybe he was just a kinky old man. As America leaned forward and bit into the burger again he found that he couldn't care less.

As time wore on embarrassment gave way to hunger and America began tearing through the thing. England paused after the first one was finished to remove his own button-down – America should stop radiating heat so, really. Even with his shirt off it still felt nearly oppressive – before picking up the second and repeating the process. All too soon America had devoured that one as well. England loosened his trousers, picked up the chips, and silently wished that he could just keep doing this for hours on end. He did the best he could, giving America one chip at a time and then picking up the shreds of lettuce that had fallen into the boxes and holding those out. However, it was only a matter of time before all he had left was his grease and sauce-covered hands.

Suddenly, he had an idea. He grinned. Oh, if America wasn't somehow also so aroused by the entire thing he would never accept this. However, he held his hands out. America blushed even darker but understood what he wanted. He lowered his head and began to lick his fingers.

It was an odd sensation to say the least. That tongue felt amazing in his mouth or on his nipples or cock, but to his palms it was more strange than anything else. There was just something about seeing that surprisingly little pink tongue flicking out over his skin and the way that America had resigned to acting in such an undignified manner that drove him wild. America painted the implication on thickly, moaning softly as he took two of England's fingers into his mouth and sucked.

When he pulled away he smiled and said, "That was good. I haven't had one of those in so long. But you know, I'm still kinda hungry. You got anything else for me?" He wiggled an eyebrow and gave a pointed look downwards, removing any doubt from England's mind that he might have meant anything else.

"I think I've just the thing," England said softly. He ran a finger through America's hair before standing and allowing the two of them to switch positions.

When America took a seat on England's lap he immediately took his hand again. He pressed a kiss to the back and immediately beginning to work his way up England's arm. Oh hell, that made it more than worth how heavy he was. He took a slight detour once he reached England's shoulder to press a kiss to his lips but then he was back to it, sucking a hickey on his collar bone and licking down to his nipples.

England threw his head back and cried out at that. America's tongue was circling again, teasing his nipple hard before pressing the entirety of the hot, wet muscle against it. He gave it's partner a similar treatment, hand coming up to continue pleasuring the first and keep it from getting to cold.

But then he stopped, sliding off of England's thighs and making him feel ice cold in the process.

"What are you doing."

"I can't keep going like this. You've gotta get on the table if you want me to reach lower."

England ignored the brat's demanding tone to climb onto the table and lay back among the discarded greasy paper bags and wrappers. However, he couldn't bring himself to care when America settled himself over him. He licked his way back to the center of England's chest and traced his tongue down right over the center of his breastbone. He dipped into his bellybutton but kept moving. He placed a kiss on the waistband of England's y-fronts and then slid them down a little ways so that he had access to England's cock. Instead of going right for the prize he gave one last swipe with his tongue just a bit to the side, which sent a spark down England's spine. Fuck! It was so much, so close.

"You want me?" America asked, face a bit too serious for England's liking.

"Yes, oh yes."

He grinned, "Now that's what I like to hear."

He placed a kiss as chaste as possible in the situation on the tip of England's cock before licking around the slit, slowly taking the head into his mouth. He began to move forward, tongue leading, lips following, England whimpering and moaning the entire time. He could fit so much in that mouth, how was it it felt so small then? It almost was unfair. England was just glad he had the beautiful boy and not someone else. America worked his way down to the base. He paused there for a moment, eyes closed, nose buried in England's hair. Then he pulled back almost completely until only the head still remained in his mouth before pushing forward again and swallowing him easily.

England had to bite his lip to keep from screaming. America had been sinfully good at sex for as long as England had known him, but this was even better than anal. America was never so slick down there, never so dexterous. He knew what to do with his tongue and his throat and how to keep his teeth out of the way through it all. England found himself gripping America's hair panting his name like a mantra as America mouth-fucked himself on England's cock. He noticed that America had undone his own trousers and was stroking himself in time to his movements. England whined. He wanted to help him, wanted to do something to bring his partner to completion.

However, America seemed perfectly fine on his own because a moment later he cried out and came. It was the vibrations of America's muffled scream that sent him over the edge. He felt his seed coming out, pouring and pouring into America's mouth. He slumped back in the chair and breathed, allowing America to keep milking his cock for every drop. He watched sleepily as America swallowed and shakily got to his feet.

He smiled again and lifted England into his arms, carrying him to the bedroom.

"Thanks," America said softly as he set England down.

England laughed, still breathless, "I should be thanking you."

"For sex, maybe," America slowly climbed into bed next to him, "but I mean thanks for still wanting me, even though I'm…"

England propped himself up on one elbow, "It's not an 'even though,' America. I can tell you with one-hundred-percent certainty that you are every bit as attractive now as you are with all of your muscles they way you like them."

"You're just saying that," He looked away and blushed.

"No, I'm not." England kissed his chest, "This is your body, not mine. If you feel like you need to lose all this weight I'm not going to stop you, but that being said," He trailed his fingers down to America's belly and massaged it lightly, "If you decided to keep it I wouldn't mind one bit."

America smiled at him again and pulled him up for a real kiss.

"I'll think about it," He said with a wink.