Hi~ This is a one shot for Insanity Breaking Point for being my 900th reviewer! I really would have liked to have gotten this out sooner but I've been fighting off a storm of papers, tests, and reading assignments.

Prompt: Paring: AmericanxEngland. Scenario: Both like each other but aren't willing to admit it and France who is sick of them not admitting their love deserts them on an island., Rating: M

Epic kudos to my dear friend Naroki who suggested I set this on a cold island rather than the stereotypical tropic island. It takes place near Iceland, sometime before that disaster with the volcano (I am so sad at how some people have reacted to that tragedy)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the song "I'm On a Boat" by The Lonely Island (if you don't know what that is go youtube that shit~)

This is beyond disgusting. Tout à fait inacceptable! If France has to watch America and England pretend they don't like each other when the le monde entier—the entire world—is more than aware of their infatuation, he will simply tear out his beautiful silky hair.

France sips wine, turning the issue over in his mind. It is obnoxious. So long as they like one another they are unwilling to open themselves to other relationships. And if they aren't going to sleep with anyone else they might as well be making love to each other. It's a waste otherwise!

France nods to himself. Yes, he is a genius of love! It flows from him like the finest wines of Europe! And as such, it is up to big brother France to finally get those two imbéciles together. Then he needen't be so irritated with them playing childish games of denial with one another. Children. What can one do with them but take them gently by the hand?

Or, perhaps in the case of these particular children, give them a firm push from behind. France chuckles to himself and begins to formulate a plan. Yes, he will surely be the ultimate cupid!

~.

America checks his mail, flipping through it quickly. One letter catches his attention and he frowns. A letter from France? Really, who sends letters these days when e-mail is so much faster? Holding the rest of the mail in his mouth, he rips it open and scans it. His eyes widen and he lets out a whoop, the mail fluttering to the ground. He snatches it all up quickly and pulls out his cell phone. He waits impatiently as it rings.

Finally, "Bonjour, c'est la France!"

"Hey Frenchie face! Got your letter! Man, usually I think you're just a total dick but I gotta say, this is pretty awesome of you. I mean, a trip to see the Imagine Peace Tower! Yeah! ...Wait, there aren't any catches are there? You're not going to make me pay for anything are you?"

"Oh non, non mon cher! Simply my treat!"

"Then awesome! Count me in for sure! Oh man, I've been wanting to see it really bad! Okay, thanks a ton France pants! Talk to you later!" America snaps the phone closed and rushes into the house. He's so freaking excited!

France raises an eyebrow and hangs up. France pants? Hmph. America is so uncouth. Oh well, one fool down, one to go. He smiles like a very satisfied cat.

~.

England squeals like a pre-pubescent girl when he reads the invite then clamps his hand over his mouth and looks around to make sure no one heard him. Really though, the suspicion begins immediately. France doesn't do nice things for anyone but France. Why is he inviting him to do something that he has no interest in?

He calls him. "Bonjour, c'est la France!"

"What is this invitation about frog? Hm? What are you up to?"

"Charming as ever Angleterre. I am mortally wounded! How can you accuse me of such things? I simply want to have a lovely little date with you~"

England makes a disgusted face. "I knew it was too good to be true. No thanks, you can take your invitation and shove it."

He is about to hang up when France's voice cuts in. "What a shame, America and I will simply have a lovely time without you. It shall be nice to be around his refreshing exuberance without your moody kill-joy attitude to bring us down."

England clutches the phone. "America is going?"

"Oui. He has already confirmed. A shame you have no interest-"

"Wait!" England clears his throat. "That is... As obnoxious as he can be I can't leave him alone in your care. No doubt you will sexually harass him if I am not there to supervise."

"Oh? So you are changing your mind?" France smirks on his end of the line.

"I suppose you may count on my being there."

"Magnifique! We shall see you then mon amour. Do not be late!"

England snorts. "If anyone will be late it is sure to be that git America."

"Careful, your affection is showing Angleterre~"

England scowls at the phone. "It is not! I will be there on time. Watch yourself France, I will be looking out for tricks from you."

France tsks. "No trust. You are quite cruel."

"You don't deserve trust you filth." England hangs up on him.

France laughs, a very smug sound. Both fools have fallen into his clutches. Now all that is left is waiting to slowly entrap them completely. Then they will have no choice but to admit their great passions all thanks to France!

~.

France must admit his brilliant, fantastic, magical plan has not had the smoothest start. It absolutely does not help that when England showed up America had asked quite loudly, "What is he doing here?"

Now England is pouting in his own little corner pretending not to pout and America is hanging over the railing precariously like a five year old without supervision. France is thoroughly tempted to push him overboard for his blunder.

Finally America leaned back and shouts at France. "Yo, frenchie! Why is it so damned cold? I mean, do I look like I'm dressed for this kind of weather?"

England snidely responds for him. "Stupid wanker. We're going to an island off the coast of Iceland in December and you expect it to be warm?"

America frowns. "I hear I'm going to an island and I expect... I don't know, something tropical."

"Pft, typical American."

"And what is that supposed to mean eyebrows? Excuse me if some of us aren't doomed to eternal rain and dreary weather like you."

"At least I am not like you who believes even the weather patterns of other countries revolve around your big fat head!"

And the love is all around them.

France breaks in. "Boys, please stop fighting! My delicate heart simply cannot take it!"

England turns a fierce glare on him. "My arse you have a delicate heart!"

France sniffs. "Hmph, you are the most rude person my dear Angleterre."

America, already bored with the argument, has pulled out his camera. "France, make a video of me! Come on, please? It will be awesome, Canada will be jealous!"

France takes it and presses start. America starts waving at the camera. "Hey, hey Canada, guess where I am? I'm on a boat motherfucker, don't you ever forget!"

He starts laughing and dancing around. England groans loudly. America sticks his tongue out briefly. "Oh shut up spoil sport! Hey, hey Canada... Guess who isn't on a boat? You! Okay, that's all France."

France stops recording and raises an eyebrow. "I wish you would not harass our dear Matthieu so."

America waves a dismissive hand. "Oh pshaw, none of us even remember him half the time."

No one denies it. America suddenly points excitedly. "Hey, is that it?"

France claps his hands. "Oui, we are almost there!"

England sighs. "About bloody time! I was about to go mad between the two of you."

He walks towards the railing and leans on it, looking at the approaching dock. It's a bit hard to tell with the rapidly setting sun but this doesn't look quite right. He squints and frowns. "This...doesn't seem right."

France feels a twinge of worry. "What are you going on about chere? An island is an island. What is wrong with it? Does it not live up to your expectations?"

England scowls at him. "That is not what I meant. I simply think it looks different from what I remember."

"...You've seen this before?" Of course, England would see just about anything connected to the Beatles that had ever existed.

Luckily the great American idiot swoops in to save the day. "Well Mr. High and mighty, you are pretty old. Must be your failing memory."

That sets off a lovely squabble that keeps the two of them busy until the boat comes to dock. England is off the boat and onto the dock as quickly as possible, huffy as can be. America is about to get down when France stops him pointing to a huge duffel bag.

"Oh, do you mind carrying this? It just has a few things in it and you are so strong it shouldn't weigh but a feather to you!"

Ego properly puffed up, America takes it without a single complaint. "Sure! No problem. Wouldn't want you straining those delicate hands!" He laughs obnoxiously.

"Right... I must talk to the captain about minor details like how long we will be staying. Go on ahead with Angleterre and I will catch up before you know it."

America pauses then nods quickly. "Yeah sure. Take your time."

France smirks to himself as he watches the blond jump to the dock. "Come on eyebrows! We're going on ahead. Let's see if you're as slow as your mind!"

"Why you-!" England chases after America. France grins, watching them run off in the fading light, the vapor of their breath rising visibly in the bitingly crisp air.

"I must admit, even I am impressed with myself! Brilliant!" He turns away. Time to tell the captain to set sail again. This ship won't be back until morning and by then he expects America and England to be full blown lovers.

~.

England is doubled over, breathing hard and holding a stitch in his side. America watches him looking terribly smug. "I hope it won't be too hard for Frenchie to catch up."

England could care less if France even joined them. He sort of likes the idea of being alone with America. Not that he'll admit it. And when France pops up he'll get in the way and totally kill the mood, probably ganging up against him with America.

He straightens up, about to respond with something snide, when he stops. "...This is wrong. No, this is all wrong... There is no way this is Viðey."

"Eh? What do you mean?" America looks around as if there is some sign he's missing.

"No, I remember that island. This isn't it. It looks different. Besides, the Imagine Peace Tower should be lit up this time of year. Now that I think about it we should have already seen the light from it. I don't know what France thinks he's pulling but as of now I am pissed beyond reason."

America groans. "Are you kidding? I knew this was too good to be true! Man, I was so excited. Son of a bitch, let's go kick his ass!"

England tilts his head. "Shh... Do you hear something?"

The two of them pause. There is a low purring sound. They both try to figure out what it might be and their eyes suddenly widen. "The boat!"

They sprint back the way they came in time to see the boat floating away at a lovely clip. They see the distant figure of France waving to them. America growls. "That motherfucker!"

He goes to jump into the water when England grabs him. "What are you doing you stupid git?"

"I'm going to swim over to the boat and strangle France, that's what!"

"Don't be a damned fool America! The water is freezing! I cannot allow you to do this!"

They struggle a moment longer before America makes a sound of disgust. "Fine. Shit! What the hell is this?"

England runs a hand through his hair. "Who can say with that freak. He must have something up his sleeve... We can only hope that this stupid prank goes as far as France going a ways then coming back once he's had his laugh."

America kicks at the ground, muttering violent things. "Well now what are we supposed to do?"

England looks around thoughtfully, frowning at the setting sun. "Do you have your phone?"

"Oh yeah!" America whips it out then scowls. "No bars. Shit."

"Hmmm," England thinks then notices the bag America holds. "What's all that rubbish?"

"Huh? Oh I dunno, France told me to carry it for him, that dick."

"I see. Probably a part of the game. Let's have a look then."

America nods and puts it down. Unzipping it, the first thing he pulls out are two flashlights and a letter. "Here, you read this while I check it out. At least the bastard gave us good flashlights."

America starts to pull things out of the bag while England reads the letter out loud. "Let's see... 'Très chers amis, I am tired of watching the two of you go nowhere fast. So behold, the ever charming, fantastic France has given you a rare opportunity to work out your little communication problems, if you know what I mean. This monumental gift I give humbly: Your own private island! That's right, the lovely island of Flatey all for you mes chéris! In the bag you will find everything you need for the night. Feel free to search the island but there are only five inhabitants this time of year and I have bribed them not to give you any assistants. Let the language of lovers fall from your lips as you survive the cold together! Ah, so romantique! The boat will return in the morning. Tout mon amour, Francis' That bloody wanker is going to die! This crap is too much!" His words don't change the fact that he is grateful his blush is hidden in the failing light. "So what exactly is in the bag?"

As he turns to look at America the younger nation fumbles with something and hastily shoves it in his pocket. "Er, other than the flashlights there's a tent, a super big sleeping bag, a pillow, matches, some slightly crushed strawberries and chocolate sauce, a bottle of wine, a book of sexual positions-"

"What the hell!? And how did he even get all of that into one bag? Ugh, he disgusts me!" England turns away.

America coughs and starts putting things back into the bag. "Well, I mean at least he gave us the tent and everything. We should set it up while there's still some light. And a fire would be good. Come on, we don't want to be near the water. There are higher clusters of insects. Look for a place that isn't really rocky. And pick up any spare wood or kindling for the fire if you see it."

England is impressed with America's sudden take charge attitude because for once he actually sounds intelligent. "Right... You, uh, really seem to know what you're doing."

America beams at him. "Sure do! Heck, I lived in the wilderness as a kid, remember? I love camping. Ah, and I bet out here we'll be able to see the stars really clear. This is kind of fun, don't you think?"

Typical for America to turn this into an adventure. It's one of the things England has come to love about him. Not that he'll admit that either. "Yes, I suppose so. If it wasn't such a nuisance."

America shakes his head. "You're such a stick in the mud. Come on, quickly England! Onward!"

Hoisting the bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing, America leads the way. England picks up some dryer pieces of wood as they go along until America finds a spot he approves of. America leads the assault against the tent which puts up an admiral fight before bending to their will and allowing itself to be pitched.

America unrolls the sleeping bag as England begins to make a fire. "Hmm, this is the biggest sleeping bag I've ever seen. Guess it's made for two. Old frog face seems to want us to share."

England pauses. "...Seems like it. Can you believe him? Setting this up to 'settle our communication problems'... And what's up with this thing about using the language of lovers? He's ridiculous."

"Hmmm," is the American's only response.

He lights a match and puts it in the center of the fire, blowing gently until it catches. The fire builds slowly then crackles to life as it hungrily licks at the wood. England nods with satisfaction. America moves over to it, glasses reflecting the orange glow. "Thank god! I'm freezing."

He rubs his arms and England shakes his head. "This is why you're a bloody twit. France should have told you to bring a coat."

"I know you would have. You'd have told me to bring five for all sorts of weather." America laughs as England offers him a dirty look.

They sit in silence for a while. America glances over at him and fidgets. "...Hungry?"

England looks at him. "I suppose so."

America disappears long enough to get the strawberries and chocolate. "Here, we can split 'em up and each get half. Though really I'm bigger than you so maybe I should get more."

"Not on your life brat! I'll count them out myself." He splits them in half and starts to eat his share.

America gobbles his down pretty quickly, dipping them in the chocolate from time to time. "You know, I think what France said in his note is kind of weird."

England raises an eyebrow. "What, all of it?"

America laughs. "Well yeah, that too. But I guess... I've never really thought of us as having bad communication. I mean we argue a lot but that's... that's just the way we let each other know we care isn't it?"

The oddly naïve, innocent statement makes England's heart ache. Of course. America is childish and so his shows of affection match. Then again what does that say about him, responding to them? He frowns a bit at that.

"...Yes, I suppose you're right."

"Because... because it's the only way we can really act. They expect it." America looks at him from the corner of his eye. "Hm, I guess we could be more straight forward to each other about...certain things."

England's heart began to pound. "Oh? What things?"

America suddenly looks up. "Wow, look at the stars! They're amazing out here... It's like a dark pool filled with diamonds or something. It would make Tony homesick for sure."

"Tony?"

America waves a hand. "Just a friend. Come on Arthur, look."

The intimacy of his name makes him forget about Tony and look. "...It really is beautiful. I remember once when you were younger and we went star gazing it was a lot like this. And you-"

America's hand rests lightly on his and England jumps, looking at him questioningly. America stares at him with a serious expression. "Hey, for once don't go into nostalgia mode. I want to be with you now, not then."

A slight smile comes onto America's face and England nods, speechless for a moment. America's smile widens and the hand disappears. "Man, France sure is a jerk. He barely gave us anything to eat. I'm still starving..."

With a sigh he returns to the jar of chocolate sauce and dips his fingers in, bringing them to his mouth. England's eyes widen, a slow fire starting in his chest, rising to his cheeks and down to his groin as he watches America suck the chocolate from his fingers. "What... what are you doing?"

America raises an eyebrow. "Mm? Eating chocolate as it's the only thing to eat. And I don't exactly have a spoon. Got a problem with it? Is there etiquette for how to properly eat with one's fingers?"

He chuckles as England swallows hard. "That's not the point!"

"Then what is Arthur?" America looks at him thoughtfully, eagerly awaiting his answer.

England looks away. "W-well, you're just... It's..."

"Oh I know... would you like some too?" America dips his fingers in the chocolate then reaches over, offering them to England.

He tries to turn his head away. "N-no I don't! Especially after you've been sucking on your fingers you damned Yank! Get away, you're going to drip chocolate on me."

America crawls closer, pressing the fingers closer to England's face. "Come on, you know you want it! Besides, if you just take it now then it won't get on you right? Don't be such a prude."

After struggling a moment more England finally lets the fingers slide into his mouth, glaring defiantly at America. America smiles, laughter dancing in his eyes. "There you go, that's not so bad is it? Tastes like delicious am I right?"

England begins to suck on the fingers, the defiance draining from his face just as the laughter leaves America's as he watches him. Not quite sure what he thinks he's doing, England does a thorough job of cleaning the chocolate from America's fingers, using his tongue to get every last bit.

America finally pulls his fingers back and they just stare at each other for a long moment. Abruptly America is on England, pushing him to the ground. England yelps in surprise before America presses a needy kiss onto him. England resists a moment before letting himself be drawn into it.

America finally pulls away. "I'm tired England... I'm really tired of performing for everyone. I mean, I know we really do get into fights all the time but... I don't want to have to always pretend I hate you. I don't, not anymore. I really like you Arthur... I love you."

His voice is so sweet, so earnest in that moment. England reaches up and gently strokes his cheek. "About bloody time."

America pouts. "Hey, this is the big romance scene. You're supposed to admit your feelings for me too."

"My feelings?" England pulls him closer. "I think you're a fool and just about the most obnoxious thing in the world, with an ego that is a match for my own. And yet somehow I still adore you. Such a pain."

America grins. "You really suck at this, but I guess that's just something I find fun about you."

England snorts. "I suck at this? You're the one who- Oh forget about it. Kiss me already, bloody moron."

America closes the gap between them and finds his lips again. They stay like that a long time allowing their mouths to become fully acquainted, the stars their only witnesses. Their hands begin to roam across each other's bodies and England breaks their kiss. "You really are quite cold Alfred."

America gives him another lingering kiss. "Mmm then I suppose maybe we should go crawl into that sleeping bag and share our body heat."

England nods, pulling him in for one more kiss before breaking it. "Right. And of course skin to skin contact is most efficient for creating warmth."

"Oh but of course," America says with a purr of satisfaction in his voice.

They crawl into the tent and struggle to undress in the limited space, getting in each other's way more than once. They shyly look at one another in brief glances, each one lingering just a bit longer than the one before until they are studying the other's body curiously, hungrily.

America finally breaks the gaze away and unzips the bag. "Ready?"

England nods firmly and lies down, sliding over to make room for America. He hesitates, looking down at the waiting England. "A-Arthur... You know, I am really cold... And I can think of another way to warm up."

England props himself up on one elbow. "What, already? We barely admit we even like one another and you want to start shagging?"

America lowers his head, shamefaced. "Sorry... I, er, was just-"

England scoffs. "Are you kidding me? Of course I want to idiot. I've been thinking about jumping your bones for years, you think formalities are going to keep from taking the first chance I get? Now get in here already so I can get you all warmed up."

America grins at him. "Saucy bastard. And people wonder why I'm a pervert. Er...France did give us one more present to use."

He turns for a moment, digging through his pants pocket. Finally he pulls something out. England squints. "What is it?"

America crawls into the sleeping back and zips it up, forcing the two of them intimately close. "Strawberry lube."

England snorts, maybe in disgust, maybe in laughter. "He would! Is part of you utterly repulsed at the thought that his idiotic plan is actually working?"

America feels England's heat close to him and can't help but chuckle. "Not in the least."

He pulls the Englishman close and begins to kiss him softly, lips traveling to his jaw before coming to rest at his neck. He begins to suck softly and England tilts his head to give him better access. England's hands begin to travel up and down his arms and back, rubbing briskly from time to time to warm him up.

America moves his hips, rubbing up against England. He moans in appreciation and buries a hand in America's hair.

America tilts his head. "Mm, easy there, you're pulling my hair a bit."

England opens an eye. "Oh shut up git and keep sucking."

America chuckles. "So demanding... Then again you always have been haven't you?"

He touches England's chest, who shivers. "Your hands are freezing!"

"Isn't this why we're doing this?" England frowns at him and America kisses his nose. "You're adorable for a grumpy old humbug you know that?"

England tightens his grip on his hair. "You want to get laid tonight or not?"

He soothes England with a kiss, who in return gradually loosens his grip on America's hair. The exploratory caresses begin again, first hesitantly then insistently. Once America thoroughly warms his hands by tracing along the curves and contours of England's body he becomes more bold. His fingers trace idly along England's cock and the Brit bites his bottom lip to suppress a moan. He nips England's ear lobe and whispers breathily. "While I love all this foreplay I think something a little more lewd will get both of us nice and heated up."

America considers all that making out and feeling each other up with the grace of teenagers foreplay? England can't help but smile. He really is young. That wanker France would surely weep at the suggestion. He gets a slight pleasure in that thought. A second shiver of pleasure goes through him for an entirely different reason as America's hand speeds up. "Y-yes...Might as well not waste the night hm?"

America grins and takes his hand away. England waits impatiently as America fumbles in the dark with the lube.

"Ow! Watch what you are doing you idiot, you just crushed my leg!"

"Sorry, sorry. Oh shit! I think some of it dripped off. Shit... Did it get on you?"

"No, but it's not like it bloody well matters, you're going to be using it on me anyway aren't you? And it isn't my sleeping bag."

"Right...Here..."

England feels a hand touch his thigh, slide its way up. The entire time America's face hovers over his own, wearing a determined but slightly sheepish expression.

"Hey, spread your legs a little, you have enough room. There we go." He smiles down at England as his finger presses against his hole. England's face flushes at the contact. A moment later it is replaced with a different finger, this one cold and slick. It slides in relatively smoothly and England presses up against America, gritting his teeth. America kisses his face as he begins to finger him, the light scent of strawberries hanging in the air. "Mm, you're really warm here England."

"I-idiot."

As America adds more fingers the kisses become more determined, more focused, more sensual. England wraps his arms around America's shoulders, rocking against his fingers slightly. America suddenly removes them, leaving England feeling empty. He tilts his own hips up as he reaches down, trying to put some of the lube on himself. England takes the moment to catch his second wind, mentally preparing for what is about to come.

America nuzzles his shoulder. "Ready?"

England runs his fingers lightly through America's hair. "As if you have to ask."

Touching his leg lightly, America starts to press into England bit by bit until he's all the way in. England closes his eyes, breath hitching. America lets out a slow breath. "Oh god, Arthur..."

He pulls out and presses back in eagerly. England winces slightly. "Calm yourself, it isn't a race!"

"S-sorry. I'm sorry." A rain of kisses falls upon England's face, neck, chest, as America repeats the movement at a slower pace this time.

England begins to relax and it becomes easier, the pace quickening. Trying to take him in deeper, England wraps one leg around America. He tries to angle his pelvis but his foot slips against the slick material of the sleeping bag and he can't find purchase. In fact the sleeping bag hampers their movements quite a bit. It is hard to move, it has already begun to tangle around them, and there is only so much that can be done. Still, it doesn't bother either of them in the moment except as a minor irritation as they grind against each other. Besides, it really has become quite comfortably toasty.

America grabs the back of England's thigh and lifts his leg, mumbling something to show his approval. England shudders and presses his face to America's neck, breathing hard against his skin. The two rock against each other, blending their borders in their small cocoon. With just a bit more maneuvering America finally finds that coveted magic spot within England that makes him shiver with fire and bite his shoulder to keep from crying out. He brushes it over and over, sometimes hitting it straight on until England is trembling, no longer able to hold back his voice.

The tent is filled with his soft moans, the friction of the fabric, America's low grunts. The air is stifling with the heat they have produced and the now heavy scent of strawberries and lust. England pushes his hips up against the American, digging his nails into his back. "A-Alfred...Harder. I'm almost...."

America nods briefly. He's glad, he's pretty close himself and nothing will piss the Brit off more than if he finishes before him.

Using his knee to anchor himself, he strengthens his thrusts. England gasps and arches into him. "Yes, yes, yes, that, just like that Alfred, a-ahhh a little... m-more, just a-!"

His building orgasm finally releases and he throws his head back with a muffled cry, fingers and toes curling at the burst of pleasure.

America's thrusts speed up and become erratic and desperate as he approaches his own climax. He grasps England's body and all but chokes as his body releases. He slumps against his lover, body trembling and exhausted.

He idly kisses England's chest as he begins to recover, the other lightly stroking his hair once more. "Well... This has... been a lovely vacation."

"Yes, bloody brilliant. I feel absolutely disgusting though." Coated in sweat and semen, smelling of strawberry lube, all he wants is a shower.

America raises himself and gives him a reproachful look. "Not because of what we just did...?"

England smiles in the dark and pulls him in for a kiss. "Git, of course not, I just don't like being dirty."

Reassured, America holds him tightly, wrapping their bodies together. "I don't mind it when you're dirty at all. Besides, it's not exactly like you can go have a bath is it? You'll just have to wait until morning when that idiot gets back."

England grumbles his displeasure but allows himself to get comfortable in the American's arms. Feeling lethargic from their lovemaking, the two begin to fall asleep.

America kisses England's temple. "Goodnight. Love you."

"Yep, night to you too."

America sighs and pouts. "You didn't say the important part..."

"Hmph," is about all the reply he gets.

For a while the only sound is of their breathing. America is just on the edge of sleep when a soft whisper tickles his ear. "I love you."

America smiles and pulls England closer and the two fall into a content sleep.

~.

France walks at a leisurely pace, searching for the tent. When he spots it his eyes light up. He can't wait to see how well his utterly brilliant plan has worked. Seeing the happy, satisfied couple sleeping in each other's embrace will simply make his heart burst with pride.

He unzips it as quietly as he can and sticks his head in. "Good morning lovers~ Eh?"

The tent is empty. Where can they possibly be?

"Now!"

France is suddenly grabbed from behind. He cries out as his wrists are brought together and tied before he is turned and shoved into the tent. America and England smirk above him.

"Wh-what is this?" He asks indignantly.

England shakes his head. "What does it look like frog? Payback for what you pulled."

America puts an arm around England's waist. "I guess you can take comfort in the knowledge that your plan worked. But you still have to be punished. So we're going to take off. But we promise to be back by night. Or maybe morning. Depends on our mood. Let's see if we can get the captain to take us to the Imagine Peace Tower Arthur. Ah, but first we'll find you a shower. See ya later France pants!"

France curses in French as America and England run off towards the dock, hand in hand and wondering what France is so mad about. After all, he has accomplished his goal of bringing the lovers together on their island getaway.

Translations:

Tout à fait inacceptable-Totally unacceptable

Angleterre-England

Très chers amis- My dearest friends

mes chéris- my darlings

Tout mon amour-All my love

Location notes:

"Flatey is the second largest island in Breiðafjörður, located in northwestern Iceland. It consists of the main island and forty other smaller islands. The island has a seasonal habitation; most houses there are occupied only during summer. In winter, the island's total population is five people." (from Wikipedia)

"Viðey is the largest island of the Kollafjörður Bay in Iceland, near the capital of Reykjavík. It is the location of the Imagine Peace Tower, which is a "Tower of Light" envisioned and built by Yoko Ono, widow of the late Beatle John Lennon. According to the Associated Press: "The tower is a beam of light, radiating from a wishing well bearing the words "imagine peace" in 24 languages. The plan is for it to be lit each year between his birthday, October 9, and his death December 8." (from Wikipedia)