Warnings: Language and some brief lewd references. I'm pretty sure it's not bad enough for M, so we'll go with T.

Disclaimer: When pigs fly, darlings. Also, I didn't come up with the line about the giant exploding cocks - that was Pyrrhiccomedy. (Not like it's being used in the exact same context anyway...)

Notes: Um, yes. This is a slightly late Christmas present to Eggy. I originally had a different, more serious fic being written for Christmas, but then her present blew me out of the water, so I'm going to go with something a little more humorous and satire-y instead. ^^'
('Romance' as the genre for something this obscure?... I think not.)

You and God both got the guns
When you shoot,
I think I'll duck.

"America, you must work on controlling your relatives."

America glances up over the top of his morning coffee cup, glasses slightly askew and robe loose around his waist. He frowns. "Oh, so I'm just 'America' now, huh?"

"When I speak business, da. You are." Russia, already dressed and sitting at the kitchen table of America's home, is frowning at the cellphone in his hand. America rolls his eyes, perfectly prepared to retort with another one of his tasteless comments, when Russia surprises him by continuing, "England left me an... odd message, late last night."

"And you didn't answer because...?"

Russia blinks, unamused because they're both completely aware that there had been other things going on at that time, and ignores the question. "He seemed drunk."

"Well, it was Friday," America points out dryly, taking a sip of his coffee. "He tends to get wasted on Friday so he can be all hungover Saturday and still make it into church Sunday to pray for my soul. It's a fucking routine now."

"...Your soul...?"

"Because you've tainted me, apparently."

"Ah." Russia thinks this over for a moment; he can't say the notion displeases him.

"So dude, England left you a drunk rant on your voicemail. That all?"

The Russian toys with the phone in his grip. "Da. That is all."

A sigh. "Liar." America pauses, and Russia sends him a confused look before he elaborates, "Your nostrils flare when you lie. Seriously, the two of us are cool right? What's the problem?"

"We didn't speak for forty years, and you now say we are 'cool'?"

"Hey," he says somewhat irritably, "I'm actually trying to give you some fucking attention here, okay? Don't avoid the question."

Russia purses his lips, and if America notices any purple aura he purposely ignores it. "How to put it..." Russia considers it for a moment and finally says, "England used a rather obscene... how do you say it? A phrase only native English people will know?"

"An idiom?" America asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Da, an idiom. England used a dirty idiom. I am frustrated because I do not know what it means."

"Such as."

Russia doesn't say anything; instead, he turns away and hands the phone off coldly. America doesn't comment on his mood - he's still pissed that Russia is talking to him and making him feel guilty enough to stop him from drinking coffee as fast as he can make it. Instead he presses a few buttons to check voicemail messages before putting the receiver to his ear.

"...'Ello? 'Ellooo? Oh, bloody hell it's going already. You. Fucking God, if you and - and - SHUT - YOU FROG!" The line is jumbled for a bit as a bit of obnoxiously French laughter carries through along with British obscenities and loud bar music. "Oh - oh? Oh. Ooooooh. Yes. You and America had better not be making good on that - that - that - FRANCE! - that threat with - with the fucking GIANT EXPLODING COCKS, because - because I'd have to ram something up your arse if - FRANCE GOD DAMMIT - "

And then the line cuts out.

"...Did I hear something about 'giant exploding cocks'?" he asks, feeling slightly mortified that England got that drunk.

"Presumably. You know what it is... da?"

America is very used to hearing calls that make no sense at all, but this seems to have reached a new level of insanity. He ignores Russia's question for a second. "Um. Wow, okay."

"...You do not know either."

"Ye-no... I'm lost. 'Giant exploding cocks.' The hell, man."

In the span of about three seconds, Russia's mood improves greatly since that he's learned he's not the only one perplexed by the phrase. "My thoughts too. It is very true that I don't have to threaten you," he clips.

The other's expression is blank for a moment before America makes a sour face and almost chokes on his coffee. "Dude. Dude! It's only nine in the morning!"

"...Nine? Nine in the morning is early. Da."

If America didn't know better, he would have guessed it was said in sarcasm. "Yep. Too early to make lewd innuendos."

"Who made one?"

"What? You - oh... never mind."

"So." Russia taps a finger on the table in a satisfied rhythm. "Will you talk to my - oh, what word - 'in-law'?"

There comes some more choking from the American. "In-law? England? In-law! HAH! Excuse me while I die laughing!"

Russia stares on bemusedly while America tries to not spew his drink all over the kitchen. "You," he states, "are rather pathetic without caffeine in your system."

The other gives him a glare with only half of his heart put into it. "And you, on the other hand, are absolutely no fun if you haven't had a bottle of vodka or shoved your dick up my ass."

The comment is so unexpected that Russia actually bothers to raise an eyebrow in disgust. "And you claimed it to be too early in the morning for lewd innuendos, da?"

"That was - in no way, shape, or form - even supposed to disguise a reference to sex. You're missing the point."

"...But about England? You will fix it?"

America waves it off with a hand. "Yeah yeah, I'll steal his phone and delete your number; consider the problem taken care of. God, you take shit way too pessimistically."

"And you have not considered that, perhaps, this 'yes we can' attitude of yours will come back to - I believe you say it - 'screw you over' someday?"

"Like communism did to you?"

Russia narrows his eyes; clearly he is not amused.

"Dude, I was kidding. Besides, screwing you is my job now."

"As it is my job to screw you," comes the smug retort.

"Good." The American seems satisfied and tries to hide a smile into his mug. "Now that that's settled, can we never refer to England as your in-law again? Because that just sounds... wrong."

Russia shrugs. "I will make a deal with you - whenever one of my relatives becomes drunk, you have my permission to refer to them by whatever names you wish."

"Uh, no deal. Your family is bonkers enough already without taking drinking into consideration anyway - "

It is at this moment that a figure with a knife and in a dress smacks against the kitchen window, screaming out something along the lines of "MARRY ME BIG BROTHER MARRY ME MARRY ME MARRY ME" in a language that they both assume is probably Belorussian.

This time, America actually does spit his coffee.