This is…. Not even gonna attempt to describe this bullshit….

Enjoy this you filthy perverts….

You smut whores. I felt dirty writing this, even if it… whatever…

Anyway, I'll probably continue this based on my mood/reviews.

Chapter One

Alfred had never felt himself in such a… compromising position. With Russia on top of him, biting his neck, slowing removing his clothing, and America actually enjoying it. He left a low, very emasculating whimper.

"You sure are enjoying yourself, da?" The sweet voice was dripping with self satisfaction. Bastard.

How did he even get here? He didn't remember exactly. He saw Russia and the bear of a man just came at him and attacked him.

A cool hand dipped into the American's pants, sending shivers down his spine. He growled, the commie needed to get off of him. Now. But the hand simply ignored him and began to slowly stroke. Painfully slowly. America took in a sharp breath. This was awkward. He would normally shove him off and beat the piss out of him, only his body was conflicting with his mind. Saying very lustful things. Russia chuckled as he nibbled on America's ear. He growled in frustration. Why did this have to feel so damn good?

"Russia…" He called. Oh god, he was calling him now.

"Tsk, tsk. You are a naughty one, Fredka." Russia smirked, going only a little faster.

"Ah!" He didn't even care anymore, pride was thoroughly thrown out the window. His heart was beating faster, making his chest feel tighter with every single stroke. Every slow, pleasurable stroke.

Russia didn't let up on the teasing and he wasn't going to let his other hand lay idle. It shoved three fingers in America's mouth. Without thinking Alfred began covering them in salvia. The pumping on his member became faster, as did his breathing. Russia's mouth was exploring America's neck, leaving territorial claims.

"Ivan, I-I'm gonna." Alfred retracted the fingers from his mouth.

"Oh, no, you can't Alfred, not before the fun, da?" Russia purred. America simply nodded. Even though he did the exact opposite.

Blue eyes shot open. America abruptly sat up. He looked at his now moist pajama pants. It was a dream. Part of him felt relief while the other part wanted to throw himself out the window. He had that kind of dream about… Russia.

What the fuck? He slowly got out of bed and changed, thanking everything holy that Lithuania didn't still live with him. That would be difficult to explain. Oh, yeah, Lithuania, I just had this sexy dream about Russia and that's why I'm currently off to wash my draws. Classy.

As he made his way to the bathroom to clean up his soiled underwear and pants, he felt a knot in his stomach. He didn't even like Russia. Even though the Cold War was over; that didn't change a damned thing. If he was going to have a wet dream it could have been about someone he was at least friends with. Or, you know, a woman. He remembered once having a crush on Ukraine. Mainly for her huge tits. So that would have been great, because Ukraine was sweet and had a rockin' body. But Russia? He was an ass, and he didn't even know what his body was like… and he was a dude.

Well, he supposed being a dude didn't have much to do with it. America wasn't a strictly women only kind of a guy. But he wouldn't be the catcher, like he was in that dream. He'd have someone who he could easily dominate… like Japan or England or something. He felt disgusted with himself and decided he was going to take a shower.

He turned on the water and stepped in; it was scorching hot. The way it burned his skin felt great, like he was washing away some sort of caked on filth.

Although, if Russia wasn't a bastard and was more submissive, that perverted commie wouldn't be so bad. Only he was a bastard, and if the Cold War proved anything it was that Russia wasn't one to let someone do as they please. Bastard.

After he finished showering, for over an hour; he found he couldn't get those images out of his head. He needed to talk to someone.

He looked through his contacts to find the person that would judge him the least, laughing a little at the various nicknames he had programmed. Austin Powers, England, no. Mr. Roboto, Japan, no. Pepe le Pew, France, no. Taco Bell, Mexico, no. Vacation Location, Puerto Rico, no.

Hat. That was… Canada! Yeah, if anyone would listen to his problems without judging him it was his bro. By birthright he had to! He pressed talk.

Ring. Ring.

"Hello?" The timid voice asked.

"Hey, Canada! Long time no… talk…" America drug out the word talk. It only then hit him how awkward it'd be to talk to his brother about a wet dream.

"America, it's… nice to hear from you?" He paused.

"What's with the questioning- never mind… I just woke up from this horrible dream." He began his tale.

"Was it the one where Jason tries to kill you?"

"N-No! It's like, a gazillion times worse!" He retorted, explaining the dream. The was a long pause on the other end. He figured he'd break the silence. "I don't know what to do, cause now anytime someone mentions Russia I'm going to think of that HORRIBLE dream."

"Um… I don't know what to tell you…" Canada paused. Then there were some crashes, followed by maniacal laughter in the background. "Hey, stop that. Anyway, it's natural to have those sorts of dreams, everyone has one at least once."

"Really, have you had one?" America asked, suspiciously.

"Oh, yeah." Came a reply that sounded like it was focused on something else.

"Really? About who?" His gossip meter was on full.

"I'm sorry I have to go right now."

"Wait you have to tell me-" But it was too late, all he heard were crashes and more laughter.

"Hey! Stop, don't go through my fridge! G-"

Beep. Beep.

America shrugged, he supposed there were moments when Russia was cute. He could probably learn to lo- what the hell! He was acting as if this stupid dream meant they were destined to be. It was one dream, it's not like it mattered! He wouldn't even call it a dream, it was a nightmare. So it wasn't even like it would ever matter ever.

Yeah, he didn't even see Russia on a regular basis. With that cheery thought in mind he skipped over to kitchen to eat some cereal. He opened his pantry with the calendar on it. Red circles marked important dates on there.

"Now let's see. Captain Crunch or Coco Kris-" He slammed the door closed to re-check the calendar. A big red circle was around Thursday to Sunday. BIG BORING WORLD MEETING. He froze. World meeting. Meeting of all the countries. All the countries. Including former communist countries. Former communist countries like Russia. America didn't feel very hungry anymore as his stomach had dropped to his knees.

He'd have to give a speech on the environment without staring at Russia and thinking terrible, dirty thoughts. He had to watch Russia talk without staring too hard at Russia and thinking terrible, dirty thoughts. He had to sit through everyone else's boring presentations without staring at Russia and thinking terrible, dirty thoughts.

He didn't even like Russia! It was just that the nightmare would probably flash in images. Hideous, scarring, sexy images. He was blushing just thinking about it. Damn.

He had the worst luck ever.