A/N: Pairings: Canada/America, England/America, Russia/America, Prussia/Hungary, Prussia/America, America/Germany, Belarus/Ukraine
Note: Believe it or not, this was a dream I had. So. . . It's. Weird. And crackish. And more weird. You can tell where my dream ended. A hurrhurr. Blame my sleep addled brain or subconscious or whatever. Blame my pons. Also, it's very lightly proof read. My boyfriend is going to go over it later to help with that.
----
Some days, it seemed the entirety of the world just needed to take a step back, throw up their hands, and grab their preferred alcoholic beverage. Some days, or nights rather, such an event did occur. Natural disasters getting you down? Pop open a Bush and drink up. Economic downturn pushing a few buttons? Snag yourself a Michelob. Tired of diplomacy? Ditch the conference hall, rent out a bar, and get trashed.
Least, that had been Alfred's thinking.
With the unemployment of his nation reaching troubling heights and his economy refusing to really pick up, the man had just shot his hands into the air. He had groaned, covering his face and fearing the conference just the next day. Then the idea had come. The wonderful, horridly devious idea.
Sure, a few of nations got to together on occasions to hang around and have a few to drink. No one had really planned anything, though. It had always been haphazard affairs with no real planning, no thought. Heroes did thinking. That meant Alfred did thinking and his thinking was getting all over a rather official looking document as he scribbled out his plan.
The day had come. The conversations were dull and bland. Alfred had smiled through it all, despite the odd look other nations shot his way. Once the whole business was over, the entire three days worth, Alfred ran about the hotel where the nations were staying. He knocked on doors, grabbed at peoples arms, and dragged a bunch of his fellow nations off to Salley's.
Some had complained and whined on the way.
Now everyone was too drunk to complain. Least, too drunk to complain intelligently.
The party was in full swing as Arthur watched on in dazed horror. There was a mug clutched in his left hand while his eyes scanned over the bar. Prussia was flirting unsuccessfully with Hungary as the woman ruthlessly teased him despite her constant hiccuping. Somehow, France had gotten both Antonio and Lovino under an arm while lecturing the two on the proper ways of 'loove', as France had slurred.
There was more madness. Much, much more. A rather deprave sight was unfolding just beside England at the bar. His lazy gaze slid over to the two women beside him, Belarus and Ukraine. The two were lost in a lip lock while Germany and Japan stared openly. The Brit snickered when he thought he saw a thin trickle of drool seeping from the corner of Germany's wide open gob.
Then a funny little noise caught England's attention. It started as an annoying buzz in the back of his mind. He had figured it was the alcohol, but the noise grew louder and a rhythm quickly spread throughout the bar. Someone, namely Alfred, had pulled out the karaoke and gotten his stumbling fingers on the volume control. The entire bar throbbed from the bass as the song just got louder.
America drew away from the knob just as Canada hopped onto the low rise stage with him. The duo grabbed the microphone together and began to sing. "If you're alone and you need a friend. Someone to make you forget your problems. Just come along, just take my hand. I'll be your lover tonight."
Into the chorus the North American twins went. All smiles, no shirts, and hips bouncing around to the beat, Alfred and Canada looked wonderfully pleased with one another. The two stood close when singing, sharing the single mic even as they unceremoniously pressed their naked torsos to one another. The sight made England jealous in a way.
What really got the Brit's blood boiling was when the duo on stage turned to the side and began a sort of. . . Humping motion. It was the only way Arthur's alcohol addled brain could describe the movements. Canada and America, Matthew and Alfred, were imitating sex. On stage. In front of some of the others nations. And looking completely plastered and damned pleased about it the whole while.
"I want you in my room! Let's spend the night together from now until forever. Boom, boom, boom, boom!"
Alfred had stolen the mic and was singing exuberantly into the small device. He was off key, voice cracking as he tried to raise his voice up farther. As the song came to a close, apparently singing on stage had grown stale for America. With a displeased whine, even as "If You Seek Amy" came across the speakers, Alfred launched himself at Canada.
His brother caught the taller of the two easily, arms wrapped around his brother, as their lips met in one fluid motion. While Arthur's eyes bugged at watching the two North American nations completely and utterly lip locked, he faintly noted in the back of his mind that the two looked far too practiced as their hands began to wonder. There was that familiar pang of jealousy as Arthur watched his former colony be ravaged by France's former colony.
Then France popped up, staring at the affair on stage as well. His brow was quirked, languid smile perched across his lips as he leaned on Arthur for support. The man was half in the hole, just as everyone else. Francis' eyes slipped over to Arthur, just staring at him rather. . . Hungrily, before he launched himself onto the other nation. England squawked and tried to shove the offending man off. It seemed in his moment's hesitation, France had grabbed a handful of his bottom. It was rather awkward, considering Francis' hand was now squished beneath Arthur's bum and seat.
"Mon cheri!" the French nation gasped, pulled back but never releasing his hold.
The Brit silently fumed, face going red from embarrassment and rage. "Get your sodding hands off me!"
"My dear England, but look at our former charges? They look happy, non?" France reasoned with a wide sweep of his arm towards the pair still on stage. Canada had long ago bent Alfred over a near by table while the America had wrapped a leg around his brother's waist as they continued the feverish kissing, wandering hands, and generally intimate display. "We should follow their example!"
"No way in hell, frog!" the Englishman scoffed.
He effectively pulled France's hand from his bum and gave the other nation a weak kick. The other stumbled but recovered quickly. With a careless shrug and flip of his hair, France skipped off to try and make some moves on Germany. Arthur was rather pleased. He was no longer being molested and had no spilled his drink.
His eyes soon sought out America and Canada, though. The good mood soon fled. The two were. . . He couldn't even find the words to describe it. The act had become so lewd. His jealousy rose and a rather paternal instinct arose to break up the two. His lips were set into a determined line as he set the drink down and stormed over to the stage.
England grabbed at his former colonies upper arm, given there was no shirt collar to grab a hold of, and yanked Alfred away from Matthew. The taller man stumbled, looking confused, as he was dragged half way down the stairs. A giggle rose from America's throat as he clumsily took his arm back. England turned a glare on the nation.
"You're done! You're making a bloody fool of yourself, twat," the Brit admonished.
Alfred gave no inclination that he really cared. Instead, the blond fixed a smile and mischevious gleam to his eyes. Then, all at once, Alfred launched himself onto Arthur, legs wrapped around the elder's waist and arms around his neck. The two effectively fell forward. Both were rather unskilled and unprepared for the sudden adjustment movement. They toppled down onto the steps, Arthur on top of Alfred, as they lay there.
The younger of the two wasted no time. He gave another drunken giggle before he all but yanked England's head down and locked lips with the smaller nation. It must have been the alcohol or his own mental resolve cracking, because England immediately returned the affections and braced himself more comfortably on the stairs while Alfred clung and ravished his mouth.
Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying it. Alfred's lips were soft and he tasted of whiskey and scotch and cheap beer. His body was over heated and the waves of warmth washed over them both as Alfred's fingers drew lazy circles at the base of England's skull as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. It was sloppy, their teeth clattering every once in a while, but time seemed to stand still as both tried to breath through their nose and keep from breaking the kiss.
England moaned. He was sluggishly becoming aware of the need growing within his trousers. The thought brought a bright red flush to his face. Soon the blush descended to his neck, but he still refused to break the kiss. It was Alfred who did so. The blond haired nation pulled away and let his head quickly stoop down to Arthur's neck. Another giggle and America was licking, nipping, biting, having a roaring good time as he attacked England's neck.
The smaller of the two gasped and writhed from between Alfred's legs. They were drunk. One utterly sloshed and the other damn near there. Even if Arthur was relatively more sober than the one beneath him, his brain was too addled to really want to stop. He could always blame it on the inhibition loosing alcohol if questioned later.
He was faintly aware of feet moving beside them on the stairs. When he threw a half lidded, hazy gaze to see who, he saw Russia taking the stage. With half-hearted horror, he watched as Russia grabbed up the microphone and began to sing as the tune of "Take It Off" began playing.
He had never thought the larger man could. . . Move like that. Ivan's body rocked to the beat, moving in time with the beat as he purred out the words in broken English. He looked totally absorbed in the song, almost serious in his rendition of it. England was struggling to understand, especially given Ivan's lack of scarf and coat. The man stood up on stage, sing his heart away, as he danced rather provocatively in just a white tank and his pants. Even his shoes were gone.
Yea, Russia was completely wasted.
Alfred's attentions to Arthur's neck slowed the the larger nation tilted his head back to watch Ivan as well. Idle American hands were roaming England's body while they both watched. There were a few whoops from the crowd as they watched and danced along to Ivan. It seemed Russia had started an impromptu dance party amongst them all. Prussia was trying to coax Hungary into dirty dancing with him and, somehow, Canada had found himself being sandwiched between Belarus and Ukraine. France was trying to get Germany to dance with him, but the German sat firm at the bar.
Then the song came to a close, only to be replaced by "Radio Radio Radio". England blanched. The entire song was about car sex. He was further horrified when he found himself unceremoniously dumped onto the floor as America went back up on stage. The smaller of the new duo stood in front of Russia, their hips moving side to side against one another as they sang together.
A lazy arm wrapped around Alfred's naked torso as Ivan pulled the two closer. Alfred's own arm came up to grip the back of Russia's head as the American began to dance in a manner more suited to a strip club. He dropped down into a crouch, knees spread as the material of jeans strained. America tilted his head back against Ivan's leg, arching his back as he hips thrust word with each beat in the music. Soon his body began twisting before he slowly rose, dragging his behind rather suggestively against the other nation's leg before he turned and began moving side to side once more.
The stripper-esque display continued all through out the song. At one point, Alfred had even sneaked behind Russia while he sang and began moving his hands in slow, rhythmic motions to the music as he rubbed and teased the Russia for the crowd. Everyone was engrossed in the sexually suggestive tune, each following suit as they tried to feel up their partner.
England had recovered from the humiliation and shock and was standing at the edge on the stage. The wino bastard came up and tried to entice the Brit into dancing seductively with him. When Arthur stood unmoving and furious, France gave up and just decided to imitate Alfred's move on stage. The British nation did not move. Instead his face went red as he stood stock still. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like France's treatment. He blamed it on the alcohol.
"Free drinks on the house!" the bartender shouted over the roar of the drunken nations.
He was a fine, young man. All throughout the activities, he had looked thoroughly amused with everyone's silliness. He had no intention of stopping it. If anything, he wanted to get the others far more far gone than they already were if only for his own amusement. A few of the others drifted off from the stage to grab at the offered drinks.
Then another sang rang out: "Womanizer". Ivan and Alfred seemed undisturbed by the switch in artist. Their motions became more fluid, least, as fluid as two drunken nations could possibly get. In a flurry of movement, Canada was on stage with them. Everyone stared this time as Alfred was squished between the other two. He looked completely comfortable with one hand on the side of Canada's cheek and the other on Russia's hip. There were more approving calls from the on looking group. A certain Brit knocked his head against the bar.
Things were getting so out of hand, yet, he couldn't stop staring at the trio on stage as they literally ravished each other stage. Miraculously, they all stayed in tune with the song as they all sang together. England could still feel the bump in his pants, unrelenting. He could see the three on stage, and certainly some of the onlookers, were in the same state. Hungary was hungrily pointing her cell phone at the display on stage. No doubt she was recording a video. Many of the others were following suit and snapping pictures even as they teetered of leaned to the side.
It all changed once more as the song ended an, surprisingly, an upbeat Japanese pop song rang out. The entire mood from the preforming group on stage completely shifted. Canada approached the mic and did his best to imitate the sounds coming from the speakers. They were garbles of noises, clumsy, uncertain. He was totally enthralled in them, even letting his eyes slipped shut. Behind him, the smiles had dropped from America and Russia's faces as they gave a serious deadpan look while going through the moves of some pop dance in a mechanical fashion.
The scene was absolutely hilarious. The trio were switching places, each taking a turn at the microphone as the other two continued the repetitive steps with an cool seriousness about them. As Alfred was dancing, though, he broke away from the group and drifted off. England never saw where to the American went. He was too busy looking mortified as Canada attempted to repeat what Alfred had been doing earlier to Russia, despite the ill befitting music.
Soon the duo descended from the stage, instead choosing to go to the bar and drink up. Conversation, slurred and nonsensical, resumed once more as the drunken antics kept going. That was, until the loud call of, "I'm the hero!" rang out. Everyone, or most, turned their attention to Alfred as he stood triumphantly with hands on hips, missing Texas, with his hips jutted to one side. Even Hungary stopped waving a frying pan at Prussia long enough to stare in awe.
Somewhere somehow, Alfred had gotten his hands on. . . No one really knew what to call it. Only Japan really did. The usually stoic nation looked about ready to jump over and feverishly attack America with kisses or otherwise.
"Sweet lolita maid," Kiku murmured in awe.
It was an accurate description as any. America looked wholly proud standing there in the soft, baby pink and white dress. There was a frilled choker around his throat, askew. The top was a pseudo-corset, revealing the dip of his hips as the side as it descended into a rather short chaotic spill of frills that only fell to half thigh. Somewhere somehow, Alfred had gotten a hold of a pair of high heeled pink pumps to match the outfit.
"Hey! My old uniform!" the bartender called out. He was thoroughly amused as he doubled over from the laughter rocking through his body.
There were more pictures being snapped of Alfred as he strutted, posed, strutted, posed. He was soaking up the attention thrown his way as he bobbed and weaved over to the bar. He stumbled and found himself between Germany's legs. The typically serious nation just stared, flush rising to his face as he leaned back away from America to try and escape the other. Alfred would have none of it.
He leaned forward and placed both hands on either side of Germany's head, palms flat on the bar. In a fluid motion, one which a drunken man should not possess, trapped Germany as he pressed forward and let his lips meet Germany's. America was totally engrossed in the kiss, uncaring to Germany's rather unmanly squeal. The two continued for only a short while before Prussia came up.
"West!" The Prussian slipped a hand up Alfred's thigh, catching the material and pulling it up as he pressed himself against the others back. "Don't hog the little whore."
Alfred didn't miss a beat. Without breaking the kiss, one one foot came up and pressed into Prussia's stomach. One shove and the nation that had once occupied America's backside was lying half way across the bar. After that, no one really tried to stop Alfred as he dominated Germany.
Hell, for the rest of the night, no one really tried to stop Alfred. Even as he began to shed his clothes with the half-hearted complaints that it was too hot. No one even stepped up to help the nation when the night was winding down and America lay on the floor, completely nude, and unable to get back up again without falling back down. The others just let him lay there, singing one Lady Gaga song to the next.