Chello effrybotty! It's Russia here, sendink you ze latest fanfic of my writing.
Me: piss off you, and stop stealing my fics! There are copyright laws!
Russia: I am Russian. I haf no copyright laws... kol...
Me: well... still. Now let's go and annoy France, so that the nice people can read their fanfiction.
Russia: ^.^
"Hey Britain! Britain! Arthur! LOSER! WAKE UP, DUUUUUUDE!"
Britain sat up with a jolt, a high-pitched wail leaving his mouth as he struggled to get away from whoever was leaning over his bed. The person immediately beamed with joy; he could see the flashing of white teeth even in the early morning darkness. They immediately proceeded to leap on him and squeeze him in a hug tighter than Germany's arse.
"GAH! Don't rape me! Who are you!" screamed Britain, as they both fell off the bed.
"It's me, dude! America!"
"… but it's three in the morning, you git! Why are you here?"
"Because it's my birthday, and I wanna spend it with you!"
Britain moaned in exasperation. He wasn't quite awake yet, despite the commotion. America was still grinning widely at him, an expression of hopefulness on his face that wasn't unlike that of a dog that thinks it is about to get a treat.
"No! Now piss off, Alfred!"
America pouted at him, his arms folded.
"Come on, you meanie! And since when do you call me Alfred?"
"Since I'm annoyed at you for waking me up at three in the morning, you wanker!"
"Fine then, I'll leave…" muttered America. And he moped off with an expression of great pain and neglect on his tanned face. Hmph… Britain snorted to himself, before pulling the covers over his head and sinking back into a dreamless sleep.
As he woke up for the second time that morning (this time at a reasonable hour), Britain was completely content. He had forgotten about his unexpected visitor, and was already planning the day ahead of him. After he had had a refreshing shower and brushed his hair – although it still stuck out from his head at various extreme angles – the blonde went downstairs for breakfast in high spirits.
"Good morning, Flying Mint Bunny! Some toast and jam please, if you don't mind. And could you make me a cup of tea, while you're at it?"
"Certainly, Mr Britain, sir!" squeaked a small, green thing that was hovering near the window. Britain sat down at the table, eyes closed, twiddling his thumbs. Today, he was going to get some business done. On the other side of the table, America leaned in and peered curiously at him.
"DUDE! Who the heck are you talking to!" he shouted, about five inches away from Britain's left ear. The mortified Brit jumped about a foot in the air, and knocked his chair over.
"You complete git! Why did you come back?"
America looked puzzled. "What do you mean? I never left, man."
What? He's been sitting here at my kitchen table all this time, in the dark? I'm not sure if I find that creepy, or deserving of applause… thought Britain blankly. He sighed and ruffled up his hair. Supposing that he did spend the day celebrating America's birthday with the annoying fool, that would mean that no paperwork would get done whatsoever… it was a big sacrifice, but he knew that America wouldn't leave him alone unless he agreed to whatever ridiculous idea was fixed in his mind.
"Alright," said Britain through his piece of toast and raspberry jam, "what are we going to do today, then? Hmmm?"
America stroked his imaginary beard thoughtfully – which earned him a dry roll of the eyes from his comrade – as he contemplated an answer.
"I've got it! How about we go to a baseball match, and get some McDonald's, and go on the dodge 'em cars, and get some McDonald's, and then come home and watch the Super Bowl! Maybe we could even grab some dinner at McDonald's!"
"ARE YOU CRAZY? WHAT KIND OF BIRTHDAY OUTING IS THAT?" yelled Britain, flinging his breakfast across the table. A bit of jam stuck to the curvy piece of hair on America's head that never sat properly, and hung there like pink jelly.
"Aw, man! You got jam on Nantucket!"
Britain let out a frustrated groan of anger through his teeth. Getting a tea-towel, he leant over the table and wiped America's hair clean as gently as he could while feeling like he needed a punching bag. A pair of inquisitive blue eyes peeked up from underneath his hands, and he held back a smirk. Sure, he was a moron and irritating as hell, but this guy was worth his while.
"Come on then," said Britain. After a quick brush of the teeth, they were out of there.
Strolling through London, the two boys made their way into the CBD. They were surrounded by tall, shiny buildings, and Britain suddenly realised something.
"Er, Alfred… I don't think that we are going to be able to go to a baseball game here. Or the dodge 'em cars. I doubt that we'll even find a helter-skelter for you to ride… Would you like to pick somewhere else to go instead?" he asked, smiling kindly.
"Oh, I dunno…" America looked a little downcast. "… say, why'd you call me Alfred again? Are you gonna get mad like this morning?"
Britain chuckled. "It's 'going to' not 'gonna'. And no, I'm not going to get mad. I simply called you Alfred because I think we've known each other long enough to use names that show a higher level of friendship, or affection if you like."
"Wow, Arthur! Man, I can call you Arthur now! We're best friends, aren't we, Arthur!" and he leapt on the shorter man and gave him a huge bear hug.
"Aargh, don't do that in the middle of the bloody footpath, you git!" exclaimed Arthur. When Alfred let go of him, he straightened his suit in a dignified manner. A secret smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, though Alfred never saw it.
In the end, after a romp in the botanical gardens was cut short by a downpour of rain, Alfred convinced Arthur to go into a McDonald's store with him. He was practically jumping up and down with excitement at the front counter, while Arthur leaned against the cold surface, feeling his will to live getting weaker by the second.
"Hurry up," he moaned, "I want to get out of here. This place stinks of oil…"
After Alfred had paid – "That'll be thirty quid, love." - for his three huge take-away bags of hamburgers and the tray of frozen cokes which Arthur begrudgingly held for him, they went back outside and into the rain.
"We'll have to go home now, Alfred!" shouted Arthur over the pounding rush of the rain. The umbrella was taking a battering, and they had to huddle close together underneath it to avoid getting drenched in the icy flow.
"Alright then. We'll take that bus over there! Quick, before it leaves!"
"I'm not getting on a bus! They're filthy and common!" But Alfred was already pulling him along by the arm, to a bus that was twenty feet down the road. They managed to catch it in time, and stood shivering beside the driver as the bus pulled away into heavy traffic. Arthur stood there indignantly, the still erected umbrella dripping cold water on him. There was no one to put it down; their arms were both laden with now slightly soggy junk food.
Ah… this is more like it.
Arthur was reclining in the comfort of his own lounge room, a hot cup of tea in one hand and some paperwork in the other. Alfred had gone to take a hot shower, after complaining that he was probably 'gonna' get a cold. That imbecile… it was his fault that we were out in the rain in the first place! thought Arthur, his peculiar eyebrows mashing together. They immediately disappeared up into his fringe the next moment though, on account of Alfred making a very strange entrance to the room.
"Er… Alfred? W-what on Earth are you wearing?" Arthur said shakily, his face turning very pale.
The hyper, nay, excitable nation was definitely in one of his stranger moods. Wearing nothing but an American flag as a cape and a pair of star-spangled boxer shorts, he galloped into the room at high speed, arm raised in the superhero pose.
"IT IS I, THE HERO!" he exclaimed with a wild grin spread across his handsome face. And he ran across to where Arthur was stretched out on the couch, scooping him up in the next instant. Arthur had to rest his head against Alfred's chest, closing his eyes to keep mild nausea at bay as he was swung around and around in circles. When Alfred finally put him down, he tottered unsteadily.
"Ahem, good show," he said with a smirk. "But I repeat, what on Earth are you wearing that for?"
"This is my cake-cutting attire! I wear this same flag with these boxer shorts every year, and I even have a red-and-white striped knife to cut the cake with!"
Arthur blushed, feeling a little guilty. "Um, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I haven't gotten you a cake…" he looked at his feet, waiting for the smile to slip from Alfred's face and shatter on the floor.
"That's ok, dude! I'll go out and get one!"
"NO! PEOPLE WILL THINK YOU ARE DERANGED! Erm, I mean, you might get a cold. It is pouring rain out there."
"No worries, I'll be back before you can say 'hero, come and be my hero!" and he grabbed his wallet and bolted for the door, his cape flapping absurdly behind him. The door slammed shut, and there was silence.
"Hero, come and be my hero," Arthur muttered dryly.
Half an hour later, Alfred had returned from his dash to the cake shop. He had amazingly managed to find one embellished with an iced American flag, every white star in the blue section as clear as crystal. He sat it proudly on the table while Arthur stood back and chuckled to himself. The Flying Mint Bunny hovered near his shoulder, and various pixies – as well as the purple unicorn – had gathered on the floor. Apparently Alfred still couldn't see them, despite the fact that the unicorn was chewing idly at the corner of his cape.
"Got your knife, then?"
"Yep!"
"Ready, and-"
And the whole kitchen burst into a rousing chorus of 'Happy Birthday to You', the pixies making a terribly high-pitched squealing noise. Alfred blew out the candles and made a wish. Arthur saw his cheeks glow pink as he did so, and immediately wondered what he had wished for…
"Alright, time to cut the cake!"
"Don't touch the bottom," said Arthur, out of habit. Alfred fixed him with a teasing look.
"What, are you scared that I'll have to kiss you if I touch the bottom of the cake? I thought that only kids believed in that kinda stuff."
"Shut up, wanker!" replied Arthur huffily, "I said it out of habit."
Alfred looked doubtful, but proceeded to slowly and painstakingly run the knife through the foot-high cake, inch by inch. When he got to the bottom, he purposely shoved the knife down as hard as he could, staring evilly at Arthur.
"No! You git!" exclaimed the Englishman.
"Uh, I think you mean 'yes, you git'?" voiced Alfred, putting the knife down and stepping closer. He backed Arthur, who was getting more freaked out by the second, into a corner near the fridge. Tackling him playfully, Alfred planted a big wet kiss on Arthur's cheek, before pressing a row of gentle nips all the way down his neck.
"Gah! W-what in God's name are you doing? I was only larking about when I mentioned the kissing thing! Stop it! No!" cried Arthur helplessly, as Alfred began to unbutton his shirt. He felt himself letting go however, submitting to Alfred's long fingers and cool blue eyes, which somehow burned holes in him as well. This wasn't going to hurt anyone, was it? Of course not.
As they sank down onto the polished timber floorboards, Arthur wrapped his legs enthusiastically around Alfred's waist. This earned him a snort and a particularly lingering bite. Tangling fingers in Alfred's silky, caramel hair, Arthur pulled him back up for a proper kiss. Their lips moulded wetly together, a shy tongue poking and prodding every now and then.
"Please, stop teasing me," moaned Arthur, wrenching Alfred's cape off. He got no reply, only a faint 'ha' as if to say 'no way, I'm going to torture you like this for as long as I can'.
"Can we at least go upstairs?" pleaded Arthur, desperately pushing his hips upwards. Alfred paused, considering his friend's plea.
"Okay, but when we get there you have to try the cake," he told Arthur matter-of-factly. And the sacred cake was carried upstairs, feeling very honoured to be given its own spot on the bedside table.
Tumbling onto the huge white bed, everything was a frantic blur. Arthur's clothes were flung here there and everywhere, while he had no problem simply ripping Alfred's boxer shorts off.
"You tore them!"
"Oh, I'll sew them up later," he grumbled, forcing his very-very-imminently-to-be-sex-partner down onto the fluffy white duvet, securing that long and lanky pair of hips between his knees.
"Now kiss me, you great big hunk!" and he placed his lips once more over Alfred's smiling ones. There was a soft whump as they swapped places rather suddenly, Alfred climbing on top and straddling him. The bespectacled man stared down hungrily, a dominating grin on his face that Arthur wasn't sure to be pleased or scared about.
"I think you've forgotten who started this, my little love muffin. Yes, that's right, I went there. Stop cringing; at least I didn't call you 'spunk-rat'! Just relax, okay?" Alfred murmured in Arthur's ear. A plethora of slow, sweet kisses followed, leading all the way down to the blonde's sensitive nipples. Alfred began to lick tentatively at one, chuckling at the stifled moans Arthur was trying to hold back. He scraped over it lightly with his teeth, and felt something rising beneath him. That really gave him a reason to grin. Working his way lower and lower on Arthur's narrow but pleasingly-sculpted body, he finally reached the source of ultimate pleasure.
A long raking of fingers up his inner thigh made Arthur squeeze his eyes shut. His hard-on was so big now that is was almost hitting Alfred in the side of the face…
"Oh, just get on with it you git!" he said in a strained voice.
"Nyeh!"
He let out a cry of surprise and pleasure, as Alfred ran his tongue lazily up and down his velvety cock. Gentle strokes on the tender underside made his hips rise into the air, pushing upwards for more. A feeling of complete contentment enveloped him as Alfred took his almost fully-erect penis into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down. Moaning loudly seemed to have the desired effect; Alfred added little flicks and licks of the tongue, but he wasn't yet trying his hardest. Arthur ran his fingers through the brunette's hair, holding the back of his head.
"Oh Alfred, baby, do it harder… I'll do anything you want, just suck me harder, baby," he said in his huskiest and most seductive voice. He gasped in delight when Alfred began to suckle wetly on his growing erection, the pressure getting more and more intense.
"Mmmmholysaints, that should be illegal! Ngh, more!" Alfred's tongue swirled deftly around the end of Arthur's hot, reddened shaft in response. Panting and thrusting, guiding Alfred's warm, moistened mouth in an ever-increasing rhythm, he felt himself reaching the verge of orgasm. With one last shuddering cry, he released himself into Alfred's mouth. Lying there gasping for breath, he felt little ripples of pleasure running through him still.
Alfred licked his lips, that cheeky grin back on his face.
"My turn now!" he said cheerfully, turning Arthur onto his stomach. Swiping his fingers through the thick icing on top of the nearly forgotten birthday cake, he put a hand in front of Arthur's face.
"Go on, eat it," he growled playfully. Arthur sucked sensually on his fingers, pushing his tongue between them and getting every last skerrick of the sweet icing.
"Okay, that's enough!" said Alfred, before abruptly shoving two of the slick, smooth fingers up Arthur's anal opening.
"Gyah!' yelled Arthur, eyes watering in pain. He bit his lip to stop himself from yelling any more, hiding his face in the duvet as Alfred's fingers slipped in and out of him. Eventually, all four fingers were added and then taken away; the American let out a sigh of pleasure as he lowered himself down, his lengthened member sinking into Arthur's loosened arse. He rocked back and forth to find a comfortable position, either oblivious to the Englishman's low whimpers of pain or enjoying them.
"Oh, right there!" Arthur cried out suddenly, as a deeper thrust hit right on the sweet spot. Alfred rammed himself further in, thrusting forwards to touch it every time.
"Arthur, you sexy bitch! You're mine now! No-one else's!" Alfred gave a maniacal laugh as he gripped his lover by the shoulders, grinding his hips hard and fast. They shouted out in unison, both climaxing, and Alfred bit down hard on a spot above the top of Arthur's collarbone. After he had released his cum inside of him, he pulled slowly out of Arthur's cavity. The British man winced slightly at the motion, even though the pleasure he felt far outweighed the discomfort.
"Whew," he sighed, stretching out beside Alfred, who was turned away from him. "That was a bloody strange turn of events. I thought we were going to have a boring evening, watching telly and reciting stupid jokes. What do you thi-" the end of his sentence was muffled as Alfred turned over with a big chunk of cake, which he proceeded to shove into Arthur's mouth. Arthur choked for a moment, trying to swallow his mouthful. His spluttering was interjected with incessant cursing.
"Bloody wanker!" – cough cough, choke – "Git-faced prick!" – cough, wheeze, splutter – "You smarmy bloody prat!"
When he was done, there was some icing left around his lips which Alfred obligingly licked off. Arthur glared at his upturned mouth and smiling eyes.
"So did you like it?" said Alfred.
"What, you, or the cake?" questioned Arthur wittingly.
"The cake, you dumbass!"
"Oh, erm, it was very nice. I'd like to try it again when I'm not in danger of choking to death on it."
"Well perhaps we can do this again sometime. I believe that there's a minor celebration coming up next week. It's not a public holiday, but it's worth having cake for."
"Excellent… I like your thinking, Alfred."
And they held on tight to each other as the night faded into morning.
Ah, chello, is me again. Russia. Did you enjoy my story? If you not enjoy, that is okay. I vill simply put curse on you and zen you vill run to me begging to become one, yes? Zat sounds good.
Me: aaargh, enough already! Go and drink some vodka!
Russia: okay, but you're buying.
Me: pff, whatever you say... look, we just have to write some general crap down here to let people know that it was only my first USUK, blah blah blah, then we can go.
Russia: yes, and was finished at three in the morning.
Me: that's right! So I hope you all liked it. Please review, comment, rave about how there wasn't enough lemon, whatever you want to do. Thanks, everyone! :)
Russia: Kol...