So, this is basically a story about a random night that our beloved US and UK hook up for some smexy times ^^ You could say this takes place after "Operation Cherry Picker", but then again it stands alone, since I'm still working on it. This is for practice so I can write the "good stuff" in the upcoming chapters of "O.C.P", so I would appreciate any and all constructive criticisms. Thank you, and enjoy~

DISCLAIMER: HETALIA IS OWNED BY HIDEKAZ-SAMA AND STUDIO DEEN. I MAKE NO MONIES, AND USE THE CHARACTERS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY! ((because srsly, if I owned this show, it would be smut… smut everywhere XD))

Date: Sometime in early August, 1980

America needed a break.

He had been immersed in the huge stink over the Olympics being held in Moscow, plus giving his (feigned) best wishes to a Mr. Mugabe, the newest Prime Minister of the UK.

It was feigned because seriously, why did he care if England had a new boss man?

So, seeing that his schedule was going to be clear in August, along with England's as well, he set up a week for them to relax out on Lake Huron, one of the great lakes he and his brother, Canada, shared. This is where our story picks up at, with them on a large boat in the middle of said lake.

The water looked as though it was made of glass, a dark mirror reflecting the cloudy sky above. The only thing that disturbed the picture was the boat sitting on the lake. Manning the craft were two men.

One was a seasoned saior, having spent a vast number of years out on the open ocean as a privateer. Or pirate, whichever you prefer.

The other passenger was not so experiencd. But he still loved being on the water especially the water sheltered by the land that made up he and his brother's countries. And it was this love that was being discussed at the time we pick the story up. It is assumed you already know who the two men are.

"This is nice." America sat stretched out, his feet propped in a chair while the rest of him sprawled in another. He was nursing a bottle of beer, his gaze fixed out over the boat on the water. "Why didn't we do this before now? I mean, damn, I'm loving this!"

His companion, the one and only United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (England for this story), sat parallel to him on the other side of a table sitting between them, sipping contentedly at a glass rum on the rocks. He wouldn't be caught dead drinking what he referred to as "piss water" that passed as American lager. England cast the boy a sideways glance and chuckled. "Because it wasn't the right time, poppet. We needed to wait for a lull in our work schedules." He shifted in his seat and took another sip of his glass. "Besides, if we had came out here before, we wouldn't have been able to enjoy it. Someone, somewhere, would have been crawling all over us, demanding something."

America nodded. "True. But still, I would have like to have done this sooner. I love it out here. We could have made more than one trip before the cooler weather sets in." He drained his bottle and trashed it, fishing out another from the cooler sitting on the table. Popping the top, he took a quick swallow, wincing at the cold seizing his throat. "Maybe we could have got Mattie to have joined us."

"Perhaps." England finished off his glass as well, digging the almost empty bottle of liquor out of the cooler to refill it. "But I do understand you enthusiasm, either way. I do miss the days when I spent months at a time on my beloved ship, carrying out my duty to the crown." He gazed up at the sky, and grinned. "That was the life. Knicking Spain's gold… kicking the frog's arse… good times, they were. Good times."

A snicker escaped the younger one. "Only you would enjoy fighting that much."

England glared at him. "It's not funny! Back then, it was a serious business to be in. Privateering, that is."

"Please, privateering my ass! You were a pirate, plain and simple." Rolling his eyes, America polished off yet another beer, and was quick to grab another.

Growling, a finger was jabbed in his direction. "Privateer, you git! Pirates are cutthroat savages. I was nothing but a gentleman in my line of work." Annoyed with America's assessment of his former occupation, he partook of his bottle yet again, relishing the burn that coursed it's way down his throat to settle as a lovely warmth in his belly. "Really, America. The way you speak of it is like I was some kind of… well, criminal."

America, in turn, watched him, amazed the other could keep a straight face as England spun his web of utter bullshit. Oh, he knew all about the fabulous exploits of the infamous Captain Kirkland, courtesy of his former enemies France and Spain. But he really didn't mean for the expletive to slip from his lips as a mutter partially muffled by the top of his beer bottle.

"Hey, I heard that!"

Well, shit.

That same finger, long and elegant, if a bit on the bony side, poked his cheek viciously. "It is NOT bullshit. I won't claim to be a saint, but I certainly wasn't an unreasonable fellow. In fact, I would have to say I was very pleasant indeed."

Shaking his head, America shifted so he was able to look at England better, kind of laying on his side in the chair. "Are you honestly going to sit there and try to justify all the theft, rape, and murder you committed back then?"

"Are YOU going to sit there and make a case out of past events? If so, do tell me now so I may fetch a fresh bottle from the galley. This one is looking a bit spent." He waved the empty bottle by it's neck at America, who grabbed it and threw it away while laughing heartily. It was the casual approach to the topic that made it so funny. Being as old as the Brit was seemed to have its perks, one being a conscious clear of any wrong doing.

Or, it could be that he just didn't give a fuck. America believed this over the first answer.

"Anyways, I'm guessing that's the reason why you'd never take me with you on your trips, right?" Another bottle landed in the can, a full one replacing it.

England made a face that clearly showed his disgust as America chugged down the pitiful excuse for beer he was drinking. "Mostly it was because you were too young to be parted with your land at the time." He looked out over the lake, a line of dark grey cutting though the sky on the horizon, and moving in. "But I suppose you could say a small part of it was due to the possibility of you being exposed to unnecessary violence." He made a motion towards the sky, and the clouds heading their way. "It looks as though it might rain soon."

The other watched the sky a moment, then nodded once, moving to empty the rest of his bottle over the edge of their boat. "Shit…" He muttered, the beer having worked it's way through his blood stream, leaving him feeling quite dizzy and unsteady on his feet. "Damn, how many beers did I drink?! I have to piss something awful."

"What, since we've been out here? Eight." England was busy tidying up around their table, not wanting their trash to end up overboard in the water. "I say you should switch to the good stuff. You'll end up with a beer belly, drinking all those empty calories." Finishing his task, he gave America a salute with his glass, and made his way to the door that lead inside. "I'll be below if you need me for anything, alright?"

America waved him off, chunking the empty bottle in the secured waste basket, and made his way to the railing. Seeing as there was no one else around, he shrugged, and proceeded to piss off the side of the boat.

"Yeah, time to switch to the good stuff."

AN: Now, before y'all fly at me about the whole "England isn't a rapist" bit, let me clue you in on something. Pirates were not fluffy bunnies you could cuddle and be bffs with, okay? They stole your stuff, raped your ass, then killed you if they couldn't sell you for a profit. Keep that in mind. -_-