Not A Word
America loved his people. He did. He loved them to absolute bits. That's why he preferred to turn a blind eye to a lot of the things they did.
It was a little harder to ignore what was happening at this moment, in this seedy little bar in the outskirts of the city. What was supposed to be an evening out to watch the game and take a break from world politics was quickly becoming a test of his restraint.
More than anything he was regretting his decision to invite the others along. Now he didn't even have the benefit of pretending it never happened.
"You know, yur reaaaaaal preddy missus." A hand slid down America's back and he shuddered, flushing. Why the hell did his body have to be so responsive?
"Not interested." He tried to make his voice sound even manlier than usual. He obviously wasn't a woman. How many drinks had this guy had? Why hadn't the bar cut him off? Hadn't they heard of the dramshop laws?
The man chuckled. "Heh. Yur funny." He leaned in closer, pressing into America's back as his chin hovered over his shoulder. America's nose cringed as he got a whiff of the alcohol permeating the man's breath. "Sober Glenn wouldn't have even approached you, but Drunk Glenn knows that you got another hole that works just as well."** An arm moved around America's shoulders, fingers snaking up to trace along his lips.
"Stop touching me." America resisted the urge to shove the man, knowing that even under restraint he could seriously injure the man. He couldn't bring himself to hurt one of his people, even if he was pig.
Even if the undesired touches were leaving his body betraying him. He could feel himself getting harder in his pants, and it was just making his mood even worse. He sent a quick glare across the bar to where his beloved had gone a few minutes earlier to boast about something or other about hockey. Instead of rushing to America's side to defend the honor of his boyfriend, as was expected, he was sitting over there watching, staring with the rest of the drunk idiots that were no longer considered his friends. He had half a mind to make him—Oh. Ooooohhhh.
America groaned as the man started fingering the end of Nantucket, tugging on it gently, cursing himself as he leaned back into him.
"Wassis? Ya shure have a cute lil curl fer a manboy, huh? Ya shure ya aina chick?" He glanced down, noting the obvious symbol of manhood straining against the seams of America's pants. "Mm….ya ain…" His hands moved, sliding down America's chest.
America groaned, gripping the end of the bar tightly, ignoring how it was cracking beneath his fingers. "Stop… Don't touch me…" He shot another glare across the bar. If that twat didn't get over here NOW, he was going to have America's foot shoved far up his ass that it would be coming out his Great White North.
And why the hell were England and Australia standing there drooling along with him? How could they be enjoying thi-IIIISsssss, oh God why was he touching there?
It seemed the man deigning to touch what was Canada's alone was enough to finally get him to come back over.
America let out a breath of relief as Canada walked over, pulling the man's hand away. "I believe that's mine, eh? But thank you for keeping an eye on it for me while I was busy."
The man scowled, sneering. "I dun see yer name on it." He shoved Canada back.
Canada nodded a bit to himself before reeling back and punching the man. "Check a map. I have a 5,000 mile long claim on his borders." He grabbed America's arm, pulling him out of his seat and the bar.
America scowled, shrugging Canada off him when they got outside. "What the hell? You couldn't have come a little sooner? You know I can't hit one of my people!"
Canada rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? He was one of mine."
small** Glenn Wool is a Canadian comedian. If you get a chance, I suggest listening to him. If you have XM radio, you should listen to Laugh Attack, the Canadian Comedy station. They play his skits, including "Drunk Glenn" frequently. /small