A/N: Okay, okay, I know what you're all thinking:

What the hell Author? Why are you starting this and not updating your other story?

Well, one, the fifth chapter isn't finished yet. Two: School and Life. Three, concerning this story:

(grin) I couldn't resist. I saw this prompt on the hetalia_kink meme: (link: http:/hetalia-kink (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) ?thread=57792534#t57792534)

And I just had to attempt it, I just had to.

Why?

1: Because I don't see any other stories where America is the prostitute (it's always England, which isn't bad, but it gets a little old sometimes)

2: You all know by now that I love experimenting with fem!England. (I really do need to write with regular England one day, though)

3: I've never written a prostitution story before, and I figure, Hell, might as well give it a whirl.

And yeah, I know it might be a little early to de-anon this, but I'm only doing this because I want to save space on the kink meme, if this gets too long (which is possible).

Disclaimer: The usual deal, I own nothing, and I make nothing off this story.

Chapter 1: The Client

Her blood pounded in her ears as she got closer to the building. It was neither very tall, nor very short, and yet as she got closer, she couldn't help the foreboding shiver that went up and down her spine. Even the innocent looking neon sign above the door, which glowed the name of the establishment in bright orange, with a sunflower curling under it, caused her mouth to go dry, because she knew for a fact that this place was anything but innocent. In fact, her conscience—which sounded eerily a lot like her ever moral parents (mostly her mother)—was screaming at her to go back to her car and drive back to her uptown flat, where it was nice and safe from an underworld full of debauchery.

But she had a job to do, she resolved with herself, and she intended to follow through with it, no matter what.

She showed her I.D. to the bouncer at the door, who examined it briefly before nodding towards the building. She walked down one flight stairs and turned left to face the real entrance into the place. She took a few steps inside and paused to observe her surroundings with her wide green eyes.

She took in the…employees garbed in tight, mostly dark clothes that ranged in size, depending on the gender of the person. Many of the women were wearing short dresses, or short skirts, while the men were wearing leather pants, jeans, and tight t-shirts or loose tunics (though some younger ones—teenagers, she thought—were wearing leather shorts that showed off just enough leg to entice). As for footwear, once again, it ranged from gender to gender; some of the women were wearing either knee-high leather boots with high heels, or just regular high heels, while the men wore either sneakers or dress shoes.

She watched as the employees flirted with their customers, buying or being bought drinks and laughing over some miscellaneous subject that would most likely be forgotten as the night went on. She watched and felt the burn of eyes on her as she watched—eyes that knew she hadn't been to such a place before, that she was just a little too vulnerable to be in such an environment…eyes that felt like wolves scrutinizing a lost rabbit before pouncing…

The simile caused a shiver to go up her spine—not in curiosity, or anticipation, or some rubbish like that! …But it wasn't fear, either!

After all, she was Elizabeth Rose Kirkland, and if there was anything useful her messed up brothers had taught her, it was that a Kirkland was capable of handling whatever was thrown their way.

And if this particular Kirkland could write a little story of two men fucking each other senseless without blushing (at least, not too much), then by the Queen, she can most certainly stand her ground while interacting with male prostitutes.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and stood up straight, grasping the purse hanging on her shoulder, and she proceeded towards the bar.

That Friday, it was business as usual in Sunflower Heaven, the local brothel belonging to a certain Ivan Braginski. People came in, sat in the bar, listened to the music, and were almost immediately approached by whoever needed work for the night. Whether the clients were men or women, it rarely mattered to the worker. They needed to eat (and possibly fulfill other hungers), and in their profession, money often didn't last long.

Sometimes, when the potential customer didn't reject their obvious offer, the employees would offer them a dance that would no doubt be a provocative style—just to get the client going enough to desire them for that night. Most of the time, however, the client would offer the person a drink, and the business transaction would go on from there. It was a predictable scene in a place such as this, where lonely, and obviously horny, men and women walked in and bought some company for a few hours in the night—perhaps even for the whole night.

Needless to say, Alfred F. Jones was dying of boredom.

"Oh my fucking God, Francis, I'm sooo bored! Entertain me, please, or I'll die."

"Ah, yes, what a tragedy that would be." The addressed man chuckled and sipped his glass of red wine.

"Dude, I'm serious. There's absolutely nothing tonight!" Alfred exclaimed as he observed the fray of clientele from the second floor, leaning his arms on the railing.

"Now, mon ami, that is not true," Francis grinned as he nodded downwards. "After all, there's your old friend down there. What was his name? Something Thompson?"

"No, thanks." The younger man shuddered at the mention of his regular. "I need at least one night where I don't have to scream out, 'Oh, yes, Daddy, right there'."

"Well, what about that couple that always comes in on Fridays?"

"Roderich and Elizaveta?" Alfred contemplated for a moment, and then made a face. "I won't lie, Roderich's got a pretty nice ass, but…it's really weird to do it with his wife watching with a camera in her hand."

Francis hummed, and then nodded in agreement. "True." His dark blue eyes glanced at his colleague with a hint of worry. "But you'll have to go down there and get work eventually. You know what will happen if you don't."

Alfred's frown deepened as he glared straight ahead, his eyes glazed and unseeing.

He sighed. "I know."

Then he stood up straight and put his hands in his pants pockets. He blinked and looked around the room, searching for the client who would be the most likely to give him a full pay, when a movement near the entrance caught his eye, coaxing him to direct his curious gaze towards the source.

She looked young that much was certain, but the clothes she wore hinted that she was probably older—or trying to look like she was. She wore a buttoned up beige business jacket over a white blouse and a matching skirt that went down to her knees. This disappointed Alfred slightly; he was a bit of a leg man—but he supposed that the fact that the woman's tights accentuated her calves made up for it.

Then there were also the eyebrows hovering over her eyes. They were thicker than an average woman, to the point that Alfred initially thought them to be caterpillars until he looked more closely. They were off-putting and cringe worthy, but, once again, Alfred quickly discovered a feature of hers that made up for any negative traits: her eyes. They were the most vibrant shade of green he had ever seen, perfectly placed on a face that was framed by sandy blonde hair that fell over her shoulders, making her look almost like a doll. They were so wide and expressive, briefly revealing the storm of vulnerable emotions she was feeling, before going steely and determined as she walked inside and took a seat at the bar.

This only stoked Alfred's curiosity more. It was plain to see that the young woman felt out of place here, and yet she was actually here. She didn't even look like the type to hire a prostitute (then again, a lot of people don't, but that's beside the point). She seemed more like the kind of girl who would want to date a guy, marry him, and then have a happily ever after consisting of a house, 2.5 children, a puppy, and a white picket fence.

Yes, Alfred, local manwhore, believed in the American dream, or at least, he believed that it was achieved by "normal" people. He'd learned long ago that many people in his profession just weren't that blessed, which is pretty much the reason why he's given up on it.

But damn it, that didn't mean that it was impossible for anyone else, right?

"Ooh, la,la."

Alfred blinked at the Francis's lustful purr and glanced over to see that the Frenchman was leering down at Little Miss Eyebrows (what he'd decided to call her in his head until otherwise).

"It seems a little lost lamb is in search of some…guidance," Francis chuckled as he wagged his eyebrows slyly.

"Hey, man, I saw her first," Alfred protested, though the playful smirk on his face spoke otherwise. He wasn't really all that upset; he actually wanted to watch and see what would happen.

"Pardon, mon ami, but I called—eh, how do you Americans say it? Ah, first dibs." As he downed the rest of his wine, he tapped his younger friend on the shoulder and added, "I'll see if I can try to convince her to involve a fourth participant, qui?"

"Okay. Thanks, Francis." Though I doubt she's that type of girl…

Alfred watched as Francis nodded at his two friends and fellow workers, Antonio Hernandez Carriedo and Gilbert Beilschmidt, who were both in the back, having a hushed conversation. When they both saw Francis gesture downstairs, Antonio blinked blankly, then smiled, while Gilbert just smirked widely. Then they both strode over to step in on either side of him, and proceeded downstairs. Alfred watched the three of them with an amused glint in his eye as he propped his chin on his palm, still leaning lightly on the rail.

And so the Bad Touch Trio appears.

The Bad Touch Trio was a bit of a legend not just in Ivan's brothel, but also around the area as well. Apparently, the story was that the three of them had started walking the corners when they'd been teenagers, sixteen most would say, but it was a job that had brought them together. One night, a rather wealthy politician (so they say) had driven around the corners and picked the three of them to spend the night with. Not much is known what happened that night; a lot of people have different versions of what happened, but the truth was still a well-kept secret kept between the three prostitutes. All anyone really knows is that something had been solidified between the three of them that night—something that only grew as they did.

From then on, the three young men took it upon themselves to watch each other's back. They mostly took their jobs together, calling it a "three for one special" whenever customers asked. Sure, it was often that one of them would go on a job alone, but it was always with the knowledge that the one or both of his friends would follow the car and make sure they would be safe. Because the last time one of them went it alone (Antonio, most of the stories say)…bad things happened—bad things that had resulted in bad things happening to the customer who caused them. No one messed with them after that.

Of course, this is all really just gossip from the streets, but it was all either Alfred or anyone else had to go on for now, because neither of those infamous three were willing to talk.

And now, those mysterious three were headed straight for the equally mysterious young woman.

Alfred smirked. This was going to be interesting.

"Hey, Mama," a Hispanic voice crooned near her ear. "You wanna have some fun tonight?"

Startled, Elizabeth looked up from the chardonnay she'd ordered to see three men surrounding her. The one in the middle had blond, chin-length hair, a light stubble on his chin, and cobalt blue eyes glinting with amusement. The one on his left had skin as pale as snow; equally pale hair that flashed silver, and almost demonic red eyes that seemed to match the leer curling his lips. The one on the right, the shortest by a few inches, and obviously the one who had spoken, had tan skin, green eyes, and a wide, friendly smile, despite the seductive tone in his voice.

At her blank look, the blonde in the middle smiled.

"Ah, it is such a pleasure, non, an honor to come across such a beautiful flower among such weeds," he said smoothly in his deep, seductive French accent. He bowed and took her hand in his, bringing it up so he could brush his lips against her knuckles. "Mademoiselle, forgive me and my friends for intruding, but please know that it would be the greatest honor for us to please you. We are at your complete and total mercy."

Elizabeth balked at the gesture, not only because of the way the man acted, but, well:

Oh, God, he's French.

"If you want, mon cher, you could have your choice of either one of us, or all of us—all for a reasonable price of one hundred-fifty dollars per session."

The other man nodded in agreement and added in a raspy voice, "If you take our offer, then trust me, you will have the most awesome night of your life."

She blinked and looked at the three men for a moment—and then:

"No, thank you."

The men blinked at the unexpected rejection and watched as she turned back to her drink. It was rare that either of the Bad Touch Trio got rejected. While it didn't really bother Gilbert and Antonio, Francis looked like his entire world fell apart.

"WHAT?" he cried. "M-m-mais pourqoui, ma chérie?" (B-b-but why, my dear?)

"Because I'm not in the mood to have frog tonight," Elizabeth deadpanned as she lifted her chardonnay to sip, "Nor will I ever be, I expect."

Francis's jaw slacked open as he stared at her in shock. Then, with tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, he turned to Antonio, wrapped his arms around him, and buried his face against the tan neck, releasing sobs of dejection, consisting of despaired French. Instead of pushing him off, Antonio smiled and patted his friend comfortingly on the shoulder.

"Ta bueno, ta bueno, Francis," he said. "It's okay."

"That's not going to work." She smirked knowingly at the despaired man.

He then stiffened and scowled. He separated from Antonio and glared at the woman, allowing his growing dislike (one that had sprung up when he heard her British accent) for her to show openly—there was no point in hiding it anymore. He cross his arms over his chest and leaned on his left leg, jutting his hip out.

"Well, then, rosbif," Francis sneered. "What are you here for, pray tell?"

Elizabeth twitched at the insult, but managed to remain composed. "I'm actually here to see Mr. Braginski."

Gilbert tensed and his eyes narrowed. "Why do you need to see him?"

"I need to ask him something about his…men."

"What sort of 'something'?" Antonio tilted his head curiously.

"Well, you see, I need help with this job I'm doing," she flushed slightly. "And I'm looking for a particular man to help—and, no offense, but you blokes don't fit the standards I have in mind."

The three men stared at her blankly for a moment, and then Antonio stepped forward, beaming.

"Okay, I'll take you to him." He looked back at his two friends, "I'll be right back, okay, mi amigos?"

Francis smiled and nodded, while Gilbert shrugged.

Antonio smiled down at Elizabeth and proceeded to lead her to the back of the room, to an entrance that was covered by a door made up of beads and strings. They went through the beads and started walking down a seemingly long hallway consisting of doors on each side. As she walked, Elizabeth's ears picked up the muffled sounds of moans and bouncing bedsprings from behind some doors, and she blushed profusely.

Looking completely composed (he was used to it, after all), Antonio smiled down at her apologetically.

"These are the back rooms, where some of us live," he explained. "Usually our customers like to go to hotels, or just do it in an alleyway. But when they really can't wait, they come back here for it, though it costs them extra."

"I-I see," she replied, trying to ignore the lewd sounds and activities happening in the rooms around her.

"Don't worry, though, we're almost there."

Finally, they stopped in front of a door with gold letters on it, the initials of the owner of the brothel.

Almost immediately, Antonio's expression morphed into a serious one as he stared down at Elizabeth.

"Now, I'm not sure what 'job' you're doing, but be sure to be careful, senorita," he warned. "Though Ivan is most certainly not the worst in this city, he can still be a little rough to deal with, especially if he gets mad.

"So, whatever you do, make sure to be polite, okay."

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes firm.

Antonio looked at her for a moment, and then he nodded. He turned around and knocked on the door three times.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Antonio, sir," he replied. "I have someone asking for you."

"…All right, just give me a minute." There was a bit of rustling from the other side, and then, "Come in."

Antonio then turned the knob and pushed the door open, revealing a pale man with light blonde hair and violet colored eyes sitting behind an ornate mahogany desk. Standing right beside him was an androgynous looking (though Elizabeth assumed it was a man) Asian in a long Chinese style tunic and pants, who, for some reason, was wiping his mouth with a light blush on his pale cheeks.

Antonio nodded for Elizabeth to go inside and offered her one last smile before closing the door, leaving her alone with the two strangers. The man at the desk smiled at her in a way that gave her chills. There was just something about it…

"Good evening, I am Ivan Braginski," he introduced, his Russian accent seeping through. "Is there any way I can be of service, Miss…"

"Kirkland," she added. "Just Miss Kirkland."

Ivan nodded. "All right, Miss Kirkland. What is it you need to speak to me about?"

"Yes. I'm here to request one of your workers."

"Ah, I see. Please, sit down. It'll help us to see each other better."

Or it will make you look more intimidating than before, she thought to herself as she sat in the chair in front of the desk. It felt lower compared to Braginski's chair, and that just made the man seem to stare her down like he wanted to see right through her.

He snapped his fingers at the Chinese man, who promptly brought out a pad and a pen that he quickly handed to him.

"Now, are you looking for a particular person in mind?" Ivan asked, eyeing her again.

"Well, it's not as if I know them or anything," said Elizabeth. "But I'm looking for one with specific traits I need."

Ivan hummed and nodded, his pen hovering over the paper. "Just name them."

"Well, to start, they must be male."

"Do you have a certain type in mind?"

"American, preferably. Or he must have a pretty convincing American accent."

He smiled. "We have a lot of Americans here. Could you be more specific?"

Elizabeth thought for a moment and blushed, for a reason that eluded her. (Damn it, I'm just doing research!)

"Tall," she said softly. "Perhaps a bit of a build, also."

Ivan smirked slightly as he made a note, and then he looked at her.

"May I ask what sort of job you're requesting such a worker for?"

"Is it necessary for you to know?"

"Miss Kirkland, you must understand my position here," he reasoned. "Many of the clients who come here and force my employees to engage in activities that can be…dangerous, and they have no qualms with leaving scars.

"I just want to make sure that my merchandise won't be threatened."

Elizabeth winced inwardly. She really didn't like the idea of referring people, no matter what profession, as "merchandise".

"I'm doing some…research," she said tentatively. "I won't ask for any personal information or anything. I won't even use any real names for my work. I just want to get a basis for my project."

"I see. And this 'research' will last how long?"

"I'm not certain, yet, but it should last for at least a month, if not longer. Whatever amount of time it takes for me to get a solid foreground."

"And the pay?"

"Three hundred for each night." At the look she received, Elizabeth added, "Money isn't an object, sir."

You'd be amazed at how well writing porn can pay, she thought to herself. It almost makes the guilt worthwhile.

Ivan studied her for a few more moments, and then he smiled widely. "Well, while it's pretty vague, I'll definitely honor your request. You seem like an honest person anyway, so I'm sure I don't have anything to worry about.

"Luckily for you, I have the perfect employee in mind," he clapped his hands childishly. "I'll give him a call, be right back."

With that said, Ivan stood up, pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. After a moment, his smile—that odd, slightly broken looking smile—brightened, and he started to walk out of the room to talk more privately.

"Da, it's me," he crooned as he walked out. "I have a job, for you~"

Once he was out, Elizabeth allowed herself to let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Damn, that Russian was scary—then again, this whole situation was a little frightening. She propped her hand on the chair's armrest and leaned her forehead on it, trying to will herself to calm down.

"You all right?" The Chinese man asked suddenly.

"Oh, I'm just smashing. I've officially made my entire Catholic school upbringing for naught, I'm having a bit of a heart attack and possibly a mental breakdown, and I'm absolutely smashing." She shook her head, "Dear Lord, I need a drink."

The man smiled with amusement. "You'll get used to it."

Five minutes later, the door opened again to reveal a beaming Ivan.

"Today's your lucky day, Miss Kirkland," the Russian announced. "May I introduce to you…"

He took a side-step to reveal the young man standing behind him. A tall young man with gold blonde hair, sky blue eyes covered by a pair of glasses, and a brilliant smile that seemed to rival the sun. He wore a tight black t-shirt and a pair of denim jeans, both of which accentuating and showing off lean, solid muscles that weren't quite Adonis-like, but they were pretty damn close.

"Alfred Jones," Ivan finished, gesturing at said young man, then back at her. "Alfred, this is Miss Kirkland."

Alfred's smile widened as he bowed his head in greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kirkland."

Elizabeth's jaw then took that chance to go slack.

And behold, the first chapter! People on the kink meme actually like this, so I decided to test it here before I posted the second chapter, just in case. Tell me what you think of it so far!

Edit: Okay, for anyone who's noticed, I changed the prices for Alfred and the others, because I felt that fifty dollars just seemed a little too cheap, even for a prostitute. This way, what will happen in Chapter 6 (not telling ;P) will make more sense.