Australia knew very well what his reputation was among the other nations: flighty, insane, hedonist, adrenaline junkie (that one was thanks to New Zealand bitching about him and Russia bringing bears back to wrestle with and accidentally winding up in his place because both of them were so drunk), blah, blah, blah. That didn't mean he liked to have to pretend he was asleep while a cluster of nations tried to convince Canada that it was a really really bad idea to date him.

It wasn't like he was going to jump Canada's bones after a beer or three: they'd got drunk together a few times, and not a bloody thing had happened. Apart from a lot of giggling and some traumatized polar bears, anyway. Besides, Canada was at least as tough as he was, and just as scary when he got mad. Maybe more - Australia couldn't say how much he'd scared others on the one or two occasions he'd really lost his shit at someone. Sure they'd got out of his way, but it was the middle of a war and everyone's temper was high.

He might be the only nation-continent, but Canada was the second-biggest country in the world by land area, and while he didn't have America's freaky strength, he was still strong enough to arm-wrestle with Russia and even win sometimes. And, well... Canada was like Australia in a few other important ways, too. He was old and young at the same time, old for his first peoples, and young as a modern nation, he had a tiny population and a huge land mass, and you had to know what you were doing to survive in his lands.

The two of them had so much fun together because they had so much in common. If Russia's bosses ever got their shit together and his people ever figured out that the bosses weren't their friends, Australia figured he, Canada, and Russia would get on like a house on fire. They'd probably scare the spit out of everyone else, but.

When America started muttering about nukes if Australia so much as looked at Canada funny, he figured it was time to shut the gossip session down. He yawned and stretched, hiding a cynical smile at the way the conversation stuttered and died.

The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows over the beach - when Australia hosted the World Council he did it properly and put everyone in one of the big isolated beach resorts so the damage got contained and everyone had a pleasant environment to relax in after they'd finished beating up on each other in the meetings - and bringing a pleasant land breeze with it. "Wanna swim? The stingers won't be out this time of year, and there's no crocs or sharks here."

America paled a bit, Russia complained that it was boring without potentially deadly critters to fight - Australia figured he'd better not mention stonefish - and New Zealand gave him the look that said he'd be getting a lecture later.

"Maybe a walk along the beach, eh?" Canada suggested.

"Yeah, that'd be good." Australia was quick to agree. With all the nations in togs of one style or another, Hungary was going to start drooling soon: most of the male nations weren't wearing shirts, and Hungary's bikini was one of the more modest choices among the females. Belgium and Seychelles appeared to have a contest for the ittiest bittiest bikini that was still legal.

Australia knew bloody well his D.T.s weren't hiding anything, and that he wasn't exactly a slouch in the budgie smuggler department, but he could have done without so many nations talking to the package. He didn't stare at the women's boobs, not even Ukraine's (he'd bought her a better set of togs for a Christmas gift: the one-piece she was wearing had no support at all); they didn't need to stare at the Rock. He liked that about Canada - the northern nation talked to him, not his dick. He wore D.T.s because they were comfortable, not to show off.

It didn't take the two of them long enough to get out of earshot of the others, and that was when Canada said, "Sorry you had to listen to that."

Australia shrugged. "Not your doing, mate." Yeah, he was pissed, but not at Canada. "I dunno how you put up with the bastards."

Canada laughed softly. "Eh... They mean well." He turned to look back down the beach. "We're well out of sight now." His tone shifted, darkening a bit. "It's really unfair of you to display everything like you are, you know."

Australia turned and studied Canada for a long moment. "You know, sex on the beach gets sand in your vital regions."

The glint in Canada's eyes said quite clearly Australia was the one whose vital regions would be pounded into the sand. Not that it would be the first - or the last - time. Unlike some, he figured good sex was good sex no matter who topped.

"And?"

A slow, lazy smile spread over Australia's face. "Mate, if you don't mind a bit of sand in the works, neither do I."

"Oh, trust me, sand will be the least of your worries."

Yep, Canada was very like Australia, right down to sex as a way to let stress out. Beaut.

Then Canada pushed his board shorts down and Australia's eyes opened wide. "Mate, you're not the second-biggest."

"Eh?" That was almost purring.

Australia sank to his knees in the sand, all but worshipping the glorious sight in front of him. Canada was indeed, as the song said, really big. Really big. That was one hell of an outcrop, even bigger than Russia's. "You've got the world's best dick and you're hiding it away."

A little northern ice crept into Canada's voice when he said, "I'm not into dick-waving contests. You know that."

"You don't need to wave it," Australia retorted, leaning close but not - quite - touching. Waiting for permission, since that was what Canada wanted from him.

"Stop talking, Australia, and use that mouth of yours the way it should be used." Canada's hands curled into his hair, and Australia took that as both permission and command, and obliged.

When, much later, Australia muttered, "Acres and acres, and it's all mine," Canada just giggled.