Lovino sighed, walking towards the tomato garden that his idiot of a boyfriend had begged to start. Not that the Italian minded, fresh pizza and pasta sauce?
Score.
Running his fingers through his hair, he grabbed a few, raising a brow at the white crust that covered a handful of them.
Great, now he would have to wash whatever that gunk was off. Shrugging, he shoved the tomatoes into the basket before pausing. Maybe he could surprise Antonio when he got home.
Sex in a tomato field sounded pleasant. Shoving his pants down, he wrapped his hand around his length, moaning softly as he began to move his hand, soon kneeling down as his legs began to tremble. As he felt a soft pressure against his cock (his eyes were shut, but he assumed the Spaniard has silently arrived and was joining in), the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a smile.
However, all he could do was scream as the tingling quickly morphed into pain.
An hour later, he was in the hospital. The soft pressure had not been that of Antonio's fingers.
Instead, it had been a rabbit that thought Lovino's dick looked like an oddly-colored carrot.
Don't play with animals, kids.

"This makes a good lube, huh?" The teasing voice drawled, fingers slick with a brown substance that smelled rather foul.

"S-Shut up, wanker!" Came the hissed reply, emerald eyes narrowed as he stared up at the other's ocean blue ones.
"Maybe if you'd wipe now and again, those plagues wouldn't be as frequent," the American chuckled, sliding two two digits into the wet, sticky, admittedly disgusting heat.
"Oh put a sock in it! You know those came from witches," Arthur spat, unable to help the shudder than ran through him as the fingers crooked, rubbing against spots that Alfred knew all too well.
"Perhaps witches. Perhaps it was just your shitty ass," snickered the cocky blond, slowly easing a third finger (covered in bowels) into the puckered rim.
"Ngh... Shut it. Don't get so cocky, ya asshole," breathed the other, eyelids falling closed as pleasure began to overwhelm him.
Needless to say, a half hour later, the bed and Alfred's length were covered in shit, and Arthur had a rather painful rash on his rear.
Stay clean and wipe, kids.

A small smile broke out on the man's face as the female, Erica, handed him a sandwich. Whole wheat bread, lettuce, ham, mayonnaise, as well as a slice of tomato to top it off. It tasted like a sandwich. That was all the Swiss male could describe it as.
Not that it wasn't good, oh no, it was plenty delicious.
It surpassed perfect, to the point that he couldn't compare it to anything else except a sandwich.
A fucking delicious sandwich.
Giving a small nod of thanks and sinking his teeth into the soft bread, he chewed slowly, dull, green eyes observing the young blonde turn and leave.
Ah, now he could begin.
Standing, he set the nearly untouched food back down on the plate, unbuckling his pants and shoving them down to his ankles, along with his briefs.
Vash had always been one for briefs over boxers. The latter were too baggy.
An anticipating grin replaced the small smile on his features as he grabbed the sandwich once more, lowering it to his member.
With practiced ease, he slid his length in between the slices of bread, into the cool layers of lettuce, tomato, ham, and mayonnaise.
Soft grunts fell from the blonde as he began to buck his hips, soft, squelching sounds auditing throughout the area due to the mayo that had been slopped into the sandwich.
It didn't take long for Vash to climax, a broken cry passing his lips as he came, the white cum mixing in with the mayonnaise, both splattered against the tablecloth.
He would have to wash that.
Crumbled pieces of bread stuck to his fingers, tomato and lettuce scattered at his feet.

Like always, it felt like sandwich.
Don't play with your food, kids.

Elizaveta had always been a bit of a hoarder...
In a certain sense.
After she watched Roderich depart to his room, magazines with scantily clad women on them poorly hidden between sheet music, she would wait.
Once he walked back out, clothes disheveled and skin slightly sweaty, she would find her way into the room.
Elizaveta would dig into the hamper, past the patched boxers and shirts, until she found what she was desperately searching for.
A rag, still damp with cum.
Carefully, she would wring, wipe, do anything she could to get the white liquid into a jar before it dried into a white, crusty stain.
It had taken awhile.
Several months had she done this routine.
If he hadn't been as into masturbating as he had been, it would have taken much longer.
But finally, as he left for a world meeting, she took note of the fact that she had enough.
Enough to take a bath in the wonderful, white fluid.
Dumping jar after jar into the tub, a pleased hum fell from her as she slid into the sticky mass of liquid, knowing she wouldn't have long.
But it was nice, to finally have the cum she had yearned for.
Remember to wash up, kids.

Drunken laughter tumbled from the albino's mouth as he stumbled into his apartment, back from a night at the bar with Antonio and Francis.
Perhaps he had a little too much to drink.
Not that he would ever agree to that, of course.
Gilbert slowly managed to dig the key from under his rug, stepping into the house, giggling as he slid off his shoes.
The laces looked like caterpillars.
Like Arthur's eyebrows.
Fuck caterpillars.
Stepping on the laces to 'kill' them, he walked further into the house, one hand absentmindedly rubbing at his crotch,
Man, was he horny.
All those chicks at the bar, no numbers in his hand...
Walking into his room, he settled down on the bed, grabbed something off the nightstand and spitting on it, fingers smearing it around until it was adequately covered.
Sliding the object up his rear, he pushed it in and out repeatedly.
Hours later, he awoke, in the hospital with a throbbing hand and a numb ass.
It had taken some explanation to for the man to figure how that he had grabbed a knife (used earlier on in the day to make a sandwich), and began to... Play with it.
Don't play with sharp objects, kids.

Francis had a little bit of a... Problem.
He absolutely loved his cigarettes.
Perhaps more than he should.
He would buy multiple packs at a time, sometimes causing a clerk to get suspicious.
But he wouldn't smoke them.
No.
He would lube them up, and one by one insert them up his ass, shuddering at the feel.
The Frenchman didn't know why he got such a kick out of it. Why he turned into a panting, blushing mess.
He didn't even need to move them.
He just slid them in, one at a time until the boxes were gone and his asshole was stuffed.
Then, the blonde would come undone as he shifted around, and remove the cigarettes.
By laying them like an egg.

Never smoke, kids.

Soft humming fell from the Spaniard as he smoothed down soil, a small grin on his face, one hand reaching up and wiping sweat from his brow.
Oh, how he loved gardening.
It made him so happy, and he was known amongst the neighborhood for the ripest, juiciest tomatoes.
There was a secret to it, of course.
Standing up, the man observed the tomato plants, some fully grown, while others were barely peeking out from fertilizer.
His gloved hands then moved to his belt, unbuckling it, before his pants and boxers went down.
He liked boxers more than briefs. Nice and roomy.
Off went the gloves, the palms underneath soft with moisturizer.
Reaching forward, the man grabbed one of the plump tomatoes, fingers digging into the red skin and crushing it, a smile on his face as the liquid pooled into his hand.
Slicking his member up with it, he began to slid his hand up and down, head tilted back as he moaned quietly.
Once he had climaxed into his hand, he smeared it along the tomatoes, along the buds of plants, the excess being wiped into the soil.
This routine, done three times a day, made excellent tomatoes.
Be nice to the environment, kids.

Hey guys, sorry I haven't posted in a while. I've just been having some pretty bad writer's block.

These are some crack stories that I wrote to amuse my friends, and they suggested I post them on here.

May the maple be ever in your flavor,

AwesomePancakes707