This was written to celebrate one of the pages I admin on Facebook's 5000th like. The prompt was in two parts - someone asked for USUK and another gave me this as a prompt: ((A Halloween party where all the nations are in full costumes so no one can see their faces. They are mingling with regular people which makes it harder to tell who is who and by chance, they totally end up together, not realizing they are the other until later))

And that was from an America RPer, too. ;) Or maybe it was actually America...

Anyways, the flirting is horrible (I can't flirt dammit) and the ending seems weird but I just can't get my head round it. I'm sure you'll know what I mean, though.

Although he didn't like complimenting him often, England had to admit that France had done a good job with this Halloween party. Instead of the huge celebration that America had had before, this was more elegant and genteel. There were no sparklers or fireworks or large screens or awful pop music by Bieber and that Rebecca girl or too bright food. And it even incorporated the tradition of wearing masks.

Then again, it was more reminiscent of the Renaissance masquerade balls in Italy. On the invitations (sent out at the end of August, to make sure America hadn't commandeered the holiday) they had been encouraged to not act like themselves, keep everyone guessing. The key to this, of course, had been the humans from every nation he had invited, people normally found at these sorts of charity functions. Now, if anyone spoke with a particular accent, you could not presume them to be the nation.

Apparently, this had sparked a lot of interest, imagination and effort in people's costumes. Everyone glimmered and gleamed as they waltzed to the music (provided by Austria – he tried to deny it but no-one else took over other people's orchestras). There were glints in their eyes as they flirted and giggled, fans hiding smiles and revealing come hither looks, masks making eyes darker and more dangerous.

Of course, the Frog was easily recognisable, what with the harem of women and men he had hanging off his arms. England scowled and sipped at his wine. It was annoying that it came to France so easily when he had had to coach himself through his manner before attending (and also drink at least one glass of rum before emerging from his hotel room). The irritation increased when the stupid Surrender-Monkey turned his head towards England and he knew the git was looking at him and mocking him because he knew who England was.

It was not as though England had not danced with anyone or flirted in the few hours the party had been going. He had seen quite a few pretty girls – and some dressed quite scandalously for a masquerade ball. But none of them had that spark; none of them could flirt in an interesting manner.

So he was currently taking a break at the edge of the dance floor, glaring at France laughing with his hangers-on. He wondered, briefly, if they would all end up in France's bed by the end of the night. Then he swiftly dismissed the thought as his imagination tried to grasp hold of it. There was no way he wanted that image.

Especially since it had been a good few years since he had found someone to take to bed.

In fact, England was fairly sure that teenagers nowadays had sex more often than him. Which was why he had decided to adopt a suave, James Bond-esque demeanour. No blushing and stuttering, no matter how embarrassed he got. He had to be more open, more forward, less like a gentleman and more like-

"Ahoy there, Captain," came a voice to his side and he turned, knowing it was addressed to him; for he had come as a pirate.

However, instead of his famous red coat – or even his beloved green – he was wearing a royal blue. His hat had a large peacock feather attached to it. Belts hung low on his hips, dragging his black trousers down a little, teasingly. A sword, a pistol, a compass and a small spyglass were attached to it, making the belt heavier. Boots came to his knees, the buckles shining in the light. The mask which covered his eyebrows and elongated the shape of his nose was a deep blue, no jewels in sight. Black and gold filigree decorated it, swooping around the entire expanse of the mask to draw attention away from his bright green eyes.

"Aye?" he asked of the man he turned to as he let his gaze slip from top to bottom. Whoever it was appeared to be slightly taller than him, his hair hidden by his own wide, black hat. He seemed to be wearing a cowboy sort of getup, all in black, a small capelet to accompany it. A rapier was strapped to his hip. The eyes behind his black cloth mask seemed to be a dark colour, perhaps a dull blue. He had a glass of champagne in hand – or, perhaps it was lemonade. After all, he was American and the same height as America himself but... He didn't have any food in hand and, with the magnificent spread laid out for the guests, England had no doubt that America would have his hands full of the pastries and sweets. America would have insulted pirates by way of greeting or called him Sparrow or something ridiculous like that.

His attention was recalled to the man before him when he spoke again. "Have you found any treasure yet?"

"One or two bits, yes," England answered with a well-practised devilish grin. He purposefully let his gaze roam the man's body, noting on second glance that he was muscular. His posture was excellent and he had an air of cocky confidence that England took pains to enjoy in his survey. "And a few other trinkets, too," he added once he had let his eyes settle on the mask once more.

"Really? I hope none of them come from good people."

"Ah, Zorro, you have a lot to learn about pirates. We're a rascally lot."

"Then I suppose I shall have to keep an eye on you."

England scoffed. "Will you now? And what will a vigilante do if I misbehave?"

Zorro moved closer until he could lean down and whisper in England's ear. "I would punish you, Captain, make no mistake about that."

Barely, England managed to stop himself from shivering in anticipation. Before Zorro could sweep past him completely, though, he snagged his elbow and leaned up to whisper a retort. "If I catch you on my ship, vigilante, you will be sure to walk the plank." And, with that, he moved off to find himself more wine, refusing to look back and seem too interested.

"May I have this dance, my dear?" England asked the young woman who was dressed as a prince, her green mask matching her suit. She turned from her previous partner, grinning.

"Of course," she said in an Eastern European accent. England tried to place it for a moment but decided to concentrate on dancing instead. He proffered his arm and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Leading her to the dance floor again, he realised that she was attempting to lead him.

"Will you be dancing the woman's part?" he asked as they stopped to face each other, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"If you insist," she said, giggling.

"I do. I'd rather not make a fool of myself tonight."

"Do you make a fool of yourself other nights?"

England shook his head, his eyes glinting and a slight grin crept onto his face. "Of course not, dear. I would rather not begin to make a fool of myself. If I did, people would need to be put down so they couldn't spread nasty rumours."

The woman laughed, gripping his arms tightly. "So, pirate – what brings you here?"

"Well," said England and pointedly glanced up at the small crown balanced on her head. "The priceless trinkets, the good wine and, of course..." He trailed off and glanced to one of their neighbours, looking deliberately below their waists. "The booty."

This time, the woman didn't laugh and England glanced up. She was frowning, concentrating. Then she opened her mouth and said, quietly so no-one else could hear, "England?"

And, all of a sudden, England knew what her accent was. He paled. "Hungary?"

She laughed, drawing attention. England tried to shrink from her while trying not to appear to be doing so. "I knew it! I told Austria that it had to be you but he didn't believe me!" Her face morphed into another frown. "Now I only need to figure out who America is and I will know who all the nations are."

"You've been...? I thought that was entirely the opposite of what we were to do tonight?"

"Don't fret! I won't tell anyone. Especially not... certain people."

It was England's turn to frown. "'Certain people'? The Frog already knows who I am."

"Hm," was all Hungary said with a knowing smirk. England reasoned that the smug expression was something to do with the things Japan had been giving her to read. He sincerely didn't wish to know and hoped the music would finish soon so he could escape.

As a matter of fact, he was lucky in that respect. Just as Hungary opened her mouth to say God knew what, there was a harsh screech from the orchestra. The dancers stopped and stared in amazement as Prussia – who else had that colour of hair and would pull a prank at something as sophisticated at this – lifted himself from the heap of violinists he had collided with. Austria appeared ready to explode.

"It looks as though I must depart, kind sir," said Hungary, resuming her role as a gallant prince. With a bow, she hurried off to give Prussia a beating or whatever she was intending to do.

As he retreated to the edge of the room, bereft of a dance partner, he spotted Zorro looming over a petite woman dressed as a swan. Her white mask had a beak on its nose piece, shorter than a swan's but enough to give herself the appearance of one. The skirt on her dress ended and curved at the top of her thighs, large feathers affixed and protruding from her backside in the semblance of a tail. Short red hair was curled and bobbed as she giggled. The blush on her cheeks was visible from where England stood.

Grinning, England decided to cut in.

"Madam," he said, once he arrived. Zorro glanced around in surprise and the woman blushed more as she peeked at him from under her fringe.

"Da?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

"May I ask you for your name, my beautiful bird?"

"Anya," she replied, seemingly without thinking.

Zorro decided to speak up. "Excuse me, villain – I do believe I was here first." He raised an eyebrow, a signal for England to back off. The nation dutifully ignored it.

"I seem to have lost my dance partner – I had promised her riches but, hm, the interruption seemed to have encouraged her to flee. Would you be willing to fill the void? It will be worth your while, I assure you." Here he paused and leaned towards her, cutting off Zorro completely as he put his hand inside his jacket. Anya looked a little confused and alarmed but relaxed when she saw the small scroll he had fished out. Glancing around, he lowered his volume so that Zorro couldn't hear. "This is a map to a very special place. If you dance with me, I will give it to you, Miss Swan."

Meekly, the girl nodded, her shy smile widening a little. He nodded to her in acknowledgement and stuffed the map away. Straightening up and backing away a little, he held out his hand for her and smirked at Zorro. The vigilante's eyes had narrowed behind his mask.

"Don't think I will forget this," he declared.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, love," England replied, his smirk widening.

With that, he accompanied Anya to the centre of the floor and pulled her towards him, relishing the small gasp of surprise. Her cheeks, if possible, had become a darker red. They positioned themselves properly and, before the music started, England cast a glance at Zorro. The man was staring at them and England allowed himself to grin. In response, Zorro rose his head, sticking his nose up at him. England had to suppress his laughter.

"Are you having fun, darling?" he asked of his partner.

Anya nodded. "Da. I did not expect something quite like this."

"Where is it you are from? Russia?"

"Da."

"Ah."

They lapsed into silence, each focussing on their steps. However, England's mind was with Zorro. He knew now who he wanted to give the map to – or, possibly, just drag him away from here himself. Once he had found him again, of course.

As they neared the end of the dance, a huge man suddenly appeared at England's elbow, causing him to start. He was wearing a suit from the Forties and a simple black mask. His height and bulk was rather intimidating.

"Mogu li ya sokratit' v?" he asked England and his companion.

Before England could respond with some form of 'no', Anya perked up and replied eagerly. "Da!"

Blinking, England stepped back. No sense in getting in the way of whatever was going on between these two. The swan was swept away and England once again retreated from the dancing. This time, he decided to get something to eat and drink, to rest before he went on the prowl again.

England had acquainted himself with a young Japanese lady in a kimono and elegant mask when Zorro reappeared. The movement caught both of their attention and they glanced at him. Zorro was frowning but England was unsure as to whether it was directed at him or the woman. He hoped it was the latter, for then he would have ensnared him and need only tighten his hold over the man.

"That's enough, Captain Asshole!" he declared, pointing. A few surrounding people looked around to see what this was about.

Calmly, England retorted with a growing smirk. "I fear you have mistaken the situation, dear Zorro."

"All right," the man replied before seeming to realise what he had said. "Wait... What?"

Tilting his head so that Zorro could see his eyes (and more of his neck), England rolled them. "I am not being an 'asshole' to these exquisite young ladies. In fact, if you asked the ten or so I have conversed and danced with, I do believe they would call me 'Captain Sexy'."

The blush on Zorro's cheeks was definitely worth attributing the ridiculous name to himself. However, he had not been expecting him to draw his short rapier and point at him with relish. "I do not take kindly to men who play with women's hearts only to toss them to the wayside."

Raising an unseen eyebrow, England decided to go along with whatever strange scene Zorro was trying to create. He drew his sword and held it aloft. "I do not know what you think you have in store for me, love, but I assure you – I am a better swordsman than you."

"Ha! I live by the sword!"

With a sigh, England lifted the tip of his weapon. "I am not going to answer you in the way you expect."

Zorro looked surprised for a moment before he chuckled. "Apparently not." And, with that, he attacked. England parried and glanced around. They were surrounded by people and, if this got out of hand... He absent-mindedly parried another blow as he looked around for an exit. "Ha!" cried Zorro, apparently noticing that his attention wasn't on the fight completely. "Are you looking for an escape route?"

"No. I am looking for somewhere to dispose of your body." England surged forward, causing Zorro to retreat a few steps towards the French windows. They were open and led out to the gardens which England knew France had permitted people to go if they needed fresh air. (Or, likely, for a bit of 'privacy'.)

"You will not be successful, villain!"

"Do you think you can best me, lad? I'm a pirate captain – I ascended the ranks by killing more people than you likely have."

His opponent seemed to hesitate and England used this to his advantage, driving him towards those windows. Then he laughed boisterously. "I bring justice to the land! I will not fail!" he declared, using some sort of bad Mexican accent.

Flinching, England used a little more force to punish him for the stupid statement. "I expect none of them fought dirty," he said before kicking at the man. Of course, he reigned in his unnatural nation strength and tried not to actually make contact, hoping Zorro would keep up his act. The American did splendidly, allowing himself to stumble backwards and clutch at his 'injury'. England used this to his advantage and pushed him through the window and onto the veranda. "And no-one fights as dirty as me."

Straightening up, Zorro glared at him, his eyes flickering to the crowd beyond the window, safely watching the display. Then he turned his head to look over his shoulder. England was tempted to 'run him through' but allowed him the brief respite, wondering what he was looking for. Apparently he found it, though, as he fled from the nation.

"Hey-!" he began, alarmed at the sudden change of attention.

"You may fight dirty, señor," he called as he ran, "but I doubt you will follow me – you have no need to be humiliated!"

England growled and followed. This may be all in jest but he would not allow someone to claim they had embarrassed him in a fight. Besides, he was not prepared to let him get away – for other reasons.

It took him a few seconds to realise that Zorro was heading for the maze. England knew that France had had it installed a few days beforehand. This was surely going to be interesting...

Zorro darted inside and England followed, twisting and turning with his prey. Occasionally, Zorro would turn and fight whenever England got too close, forcing him away. Eventually, Zorro ran down a passage and halted just in front of England. Squinting in the moonlight, England saw that he had come to a dead end, the high hedge mocking him as it loomed over the vigilante.

"Aha," breathed England, trying not to pant. "It seems you are at my mercy."

After turning to face England, Zorro seemed to consider the truth of this. He dropped his rapier and lifted his arms. "I think, Captain Sexy, we should talk about this."

England approached, the rush of the literal chase making his heart pound. He grinned as he got closer, holding out his sword so the tip touched the man's neck. It was made intentionally dull so that England wouldn't hurt people with it. "Talk about what, exactly?" he enquired.

"Hm," said Zorro before grinning wider than England. "Maybe about how God damn hot you are."

He almost lost his composure then, but England quickly let his grin grow wider, a wicked glint in his eyes. "I'm listening."

"You actually want me to explain what your voice and words do to me?" asked Zorro, stepping a little closer. England let him come, drawing his arm back so the tip of his weapon was still pressed lightly against his neck. "Or how fine that ass is? And those eyes, when they're on me..." He trailed off and visibly shivered.

Cautiously, England lowered his sword. "You seem to be a nice, strong man – I do like strong men," he told Zorro suggestively.

Zorro reached out and took hold of his wrist. "And I'm good with my hands."

"Interesting... Perhaps I could use you aboard my ship. A cabin boy, perhaps."

"I'd prefer a first mate, really. Then you'd talk to me more."

England let his sword drop to the ground as he closed the distance between them. "Hm, I would have to see what positions are available. Although, I am sure I could smuggle you on board. Maybe lock you up in my cabin to prevent anyone else getting their hands on you."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that – if anyone else tried to touch me, I'd give them a black eye."

"Well, I am rather possessive."

"So'm I. For instance, I won't let you leave me here without a kiss."

"Good," answered England and leaned up, letting Zorro press their lips together. It felt amazing, sparks spreading through him and taking his breath away. Quickly, he wrapped his arms around Zorro's neck and gripped his hair; Zorro chose to place his arms around England's waist, his fingers teasing at his belt. He licked at Zorro's lips and they opened for him. Instantly, he thrust his tongue in, intending to dominate him. However, Zorro seemed to want to take charge and, soon, they were battling with their tongues. It was much more satisfying than their sword battle.

When they finally parted, they were both short of breath and staring at each other with darkened eyes. "Wow," Zorro breathed against England's lips and he remembered where they were.

"I have something for you," he told the man and quickly drew out the map and handed it over.

"What is it?" asked Zorro, seeming dazed. The abrupt change in conversation was obviously disconcerting.

"A map. To my hotel room." He quickly bent to grab his sword and sheathed it. "In case you can't catch me."

"What? No!" Zorro protested, stepping towards him and reaching out. "You can't just leave!"

England smirked and removed his hat. With a sweeping bow, he handed it to the American. "Well, if you are quick enough..." And, with that, he darted away. The curse and noise behind him assured England that his quarry was following. Now he was the one being willingly hunted.

As he reached the corner, he paused and looked back at Zorro. The man skidded to a halt and stared back, obviously waiting to see what would happen. England obliged by undoing his cravat and dropping it to the ground. He could hear, even with the distance between them, the poor man quietly gasp. If he strained, England mused, perhaps he would hear his pounding heart.

Sending the boy another cocky grin, he turned and hurried off. Every so often, he would stop at the corner of a passage and slip off another piece of clothing, leaving the articles for Zorro to collect. Finally, he was bare-chested and barefoot, his belt and trousers left on specifically so his conquest could take them off himself. His mask, of course, was kept on – if anyone saw him and recognised him between here and the hotel...

Unfortunately, England turned a corner and found himself in a large space, obviously the centre of the maze. A gazebo sat in the corner, roses winding up its white walls. Inside it was an ornate chaise longue, a small table near it with a vase of red roses. England instantly knew what this was supposed to be used for – and also realised that he had gotten lost in the maze with his attention elsewhere.

He heard movement behind him and he turned to see Zorro having difficulty holding onto the discarded clothes. For a moment, he seemed confused; then he glanced around and a grin slipped onto his face.

"This doesn't look like a room but... It'll do, right?"

England was surprised but didn't show it. He was also awfully embarrassed: anyone could come along and find them. Including France who had no doubt set this up for himself. Yet he felt excited, daring, Zorro's eyes on him causing him to push aside these misgivings. He grinned and nodded, grabbed Zorro's arm and dragged him to the couch.

Before they fell down on it, England pulled Zorro's head towards him and crashed their lips together, kissing him hungrily. Zorro responded eagerly and there was lots of licking and biting and moaning.

Though he had lost himself in the moment, he was aware enough to feel fingers in his hair, searching for the string that kept his mask attached to his face. Quickly, England pulled away and grabbed his wrists. "Leave them on," he whispered, his voice low and husky.

His partner blinked at him as he absorbed the request before he shivered. "Okay..." he said, breathlessly.

And they fell together with another kiss.

Although he was loathe to move, England figured he had better start gathering himself and making his way out before France caught him. He had no doubt the Frog would try to turn the evening into even more debauchery. A ménage á trois indeed. So he knelt up, his legs intertwined with Zorro's.

"Aww!" he whined, his façade completely slipping now. During the entire act they had Kept up their disguises, calling out 'Zorro' or 'Captain'. It turned England on more than he'd like to admit.

"Sorry, love," he told his partner with a smile. "But it's October and I'd like to be warm."

"I know a way we can warm up."

England chuckled. "I'd rather not be here when the host appears."

"Oh, all right." The man sighed and propped himself up on his elbow. "Hey, can we...?"

"Hm?"

As he watched him, he noted the sudden frown. It was evident that he was thinking something over. But he didn't expect what the man said next. "Can I see your face?"

Resisting the urge to correct him, England eloquently said, "What?"

"I want to know what you look like." Zorro smiled fondly at him causing his heart to leap and his stomach to flutter. "I bet you look gorgeous."

Knowing he was blushing, he coughed and turned his head to stare at a rose. "I don't think that's a good idea..."

"Aw, c'mon." There was a pause when England didn't look at him again. "Here, I'll go first."

"Eh?!" England looked back to him at last and watched him frantically untying his mask. Finally, it was free and he dropped it to the ground. England could only stare at that face in shock, his eyes wide; his jaw certainly dropped.

It was America, after all.

He immediately froze, his thoughts refusing to become coherent. Panic and shock crowded his mind. Oh. My. God. How-? This is impossible! No, it can't be – but it is! Oh, God, what have I done? If he finds out it's me... No, I don't want to die! Not that I would but, still- Argh, no, what do I do? I can't let him find out it's me!

"W-Well... You're certainly handsome," he breathed. And then he silently cursed that statement. Play it cool. Calm and collected. You are Captain Sexy – that is a ridiculous name. How did I not notice it was America?!

"Okay, your turn!" America declared happily.

"Ah..." England stood. "I think... maybe we should... Why did you want to see my face, anyway?"

"So I can meet you again whenever I'm around your place," said America as if it was obvious.

"I- What?"

America pouted. "Dude, that was awesome! And you totally promised to let me top next time."

"Er. Um. Perhaps if I kept on my mask and went to my hotel room we could...?"

The man – nation, rather – frowned. "Why don't you want me to see?" he asked, seeming insulted.

Shit! "No- It's just- Scars! Horrible scars! Yes, horrible. And, uh, scarry...?" Did I really just say 'scarry'?

Instantly, America's face softened and he grabbed England's hand, pulling it towards the scar on his chest, the one England now realised he had caused. And here he had been wondering how he had managed to burn his chest like that. "Look," America told him, pressing England's hand against it. "I have scars. You shouldn't be ashamed of your appearance because of them. And I definitely won't make fun of you or recoil or nothing."

"But-"

Before England could react, he was pulled down until he was lying on top of America again. He blushed deeply and tried to sit up even as he heard the other nation sigh. "Let me," he mumbled. England didn't get a chance to question what he meant for he felt fingers fumbling at the string of his mask.

"Hey! No, don't-!" But he was too late as America snapped the string easily. Then he was pushed up slightly so that he was straddling America. The mask fell onto America's chest and he watched America's expression.

At first, there was an encouraging, fond smile on his face. Then it relaxed into a shocked, horrified expression. "E-England?!"

"I-" England broke off and began to struggle to get off the chaise longue. "I-I told you! Why don't you ever listen to me, you idiot!" He realised he was falling back onto his usually snappy self but his disguise had been swept away. Without the mask, he felt naked and terribly exposed. Especially since they were outside in a semi-public place with the chance of France discovering them.

Stumbling to his feet, he began to look for his underwear and clothes. He was dimly aware of America watching him but neither of them seemed able to say anything. When he was halfway dressed, he had to turn for his coat which had been dropped in a pile at the head of the couch. Their gazes locked for a moment but England hurriedly looked away.

"Shit," he heard America mumble. "Did we really just-?"

"Yes!" snapped England and shrugged on his coat, not bothering with his shirt and accessories. "It was a stupid, horrible mistake, encouraged by that fucking Frog and I shouldn't have come!"

"Actually, I don't think holding it in-"

"Not now, America!"

"Come on, England. It's not that bad." But his voice was quieter than usual, unsure. He was obviously mulling over what they had done and how it would affect the future just like England was trying not to.

Still not looking at him, England glanced around and, satisfied he had everything, he turned away from him. "It's- I am just going to go now. I'll-" He broke himself off, not wanting to promise anything to America, not even saying that he would see him at the next World Meeting. Unable to say anything else, he hurried off, refusing to look back even though America called out to him.

England wasn't sure how he was going to bring himself to trudge to the next World Meeting. America would surely blab to someone and then he would have France to deal with and probably the Italies and Greece and- But he would have to force himself. He would just have to pretend that nothing happened.

Not that he hadn't enjoyed it or that he hadn't wanted to do it- Not that he had thought about it or wanted to beforehand. Not with him. Not with America. Honest...

Maybe he could claim he was drunk. He had been drinking wine and he had that rum before he arrived. Then again, he wasn't sure if anyone would believe that when he had been mostly coherent.

Talking of alcohol... He wandered over to the refrigerator, still wearing his coat and trousers, and peered through the glass door. If he drank enough, maybe he would forget about the rest of the night.

That wouldn't be fair to America, though. Would it? England growled at himself in frustration just as someone knocked on his door. He jumped and glanced at it. "Who the-?" he muttered as he crossed the room and threw the door open.

He froze in shock. America was on the other side.

"H-H-How did you...?" England breathed, staring at him wide-eyed.

America held up the scroll England had given him earlier. "X marks the spot!" he declared, happily. The taller nation stepped around England and stood in the centre of the room. He was wearing his black shirt and trousers: the rest of his costume was nowhere in sight.

Grumbling, England slammed the door shut and turned, crossing his arms. "What are you doing here?"

With a wide grin, America finished surveying the room and turned towards England. "Well, I wanted to talk but you ran off."

"Ah. Er." England cleared his throat. "What exactly is there to talk about? I expect you want to forget about this and that's fine by me. In fact, I've forgotten already. I'm a little drunk."

"You don't sound drunk," America pointed out, frowning now. "And don't assume I want to forget about it."

"Eh?"

"Actually, I was serious. Y'know, about meeting up when we were in each other's countries. I mean, I thought you were a human and everything but... well..." America's cheeks turned red. "You fascinated me and I wanted to get to know you."

"But- Really?"

"Really. But, hey! We already know each other so we don't need to do the awkward date thing!"

"Um," England said, surprised by the way this conversation was going. "I doubt any dates we had wouldn't be awkward..."

"All part of the experience, then, right?" said America, dismissively.

"America," sighed England. "I really don't think this is a-"

"Aw, c'mon. We can totally make the Special Relationship thingy a reality."

England raised an eyebrow. "You know fine well that that title was just a political thing. It has nothing to do with... us."

"We can make it to do with us," America assured him. "Come on – I thought you'd like that. You loved Churchill. Er, not in that way," America added as he noticed England's surprised and outraged expression.

"Look. We both know this was a mistake. We should definitely move on."

"Don't wanna!" whined America with a pout.

"Eh? And why not?" England's heart was beating quickly and he waited on tenterhooks for the reply. What did America mean? Why was he so adamant about having dates? Was he-?

"You said I would top next time!" he wailed, his pout becoming more pronounced.

Clicking his tongue in annoyance, England shook his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

"Dates would be nice, too, though. Not been on a date in a while."

This was becoming ridiculous, in England's opinion. It was almost as if the boy was trying to ask him to be in a relationship of some sort without actually saying so. "Why would you want me to go on a date with you?"

America sighed in exasperation. "Would you just say yes?"

"Why should I?"

"Because if you keep resisting, we won't be able to test your bed, right?" America grinned at him.

Staring at him, England shook his head. "Don't be so crass."

"Please, Sexy!" cried America and England's heart stopped. "I really need you right now."

England's eyes flickered downwards but he didn't take anything in as he averted his gaze with a blush and a cough. "That's-!"

Finally, America seemed to have lost patience and moved back towards him. "Come on, England," he said as he gripped the older nation's arms. "I want to- Er, well..." America took a deep breath and caught England's gaze. "I want to call your name and for you to call mine."

That was really all it took to get England to agree. Although, strangely, he felt as though he was agreeing to more than being shoved onto the bed.

This became so long... one of the reasons I didn't include the sex scene. Also couldn't be arsed doing it, either. And then there was the trying to keep the Facebook page slightly more... appropriate? Besides, it's not really important.

The end is supposed to be America asking England out - but trying not to say it. And England accepted without actually saying it. I have no doubt the beginning of their relationship (special or no) would be bumpy to begin with.

(I wanted, for some reason, to include the "Special Relationship" - and yet... I dunno. Everyone does it. Way too mainstream. :P But I also thought that America would use that but England would be all "It's just something one of my bosses said - it doesn't bloody well mean anything, sheesh.")

America totally calls England "Sexy" now. (This may have been a totally accidental reference to Doctor Who.)

Speaking of references - I'm not hating on Bieber and Rebecca Black. Not intentionally. I just don't like them. You can if you want. But I don't think England would appreciate their pop songs being blasted in his ears for a night. He'd much prefer the ball.

History: Masks were used to ward of spirits and evil things, etc. on Halloween - a tradition derived from the Celts. During the Renaissance, people in Italy started using masks more for disguising themselves instead of what they were originally used for.

Anyways, the women - apart from Hungary - are not nations or female nations. Just OCs. I just used Anya for a name because it was the first one I thought of and I like it. It's pretty. (The Japanese woman was called Usagi. Sailor Moon's name. Not that I meant that - again, the only name bar Sakura that was Japanese that came to mind.)

The tall guy was Russia. He said, "May/Can I cut in?" to which Anya, relieved someone spoke her language, was mightily pleased to allow.

America was dressed as Zorro because my mind went: dressed as a cowboy - masked cowboy - wait! Zorro!

For a brief moment, I toyed with America having worked it out or Hungary had let it slip. Then I though, nah, prompt actually specifically says he doesn't know. (Although, that's not to say that Hungary didn't figure it out and notice them slipping out, etc.)

He didn't get to use his spyglass or compass as chat up lines. ;A;