Chapter Rating: on the lighter side of M for nudity and kissing.

Warning: This chapter contains brief mentions of current politics. I've tried to keep things pretty apolitical, but if you don't like seeing actual politics in your hetalia fanfiction, you might want to skip this chapter.


London Olympics 2012, Part II – The XXX Olympics

"America, get up! You did not come all this way just to sleep through the Olympics." England's voice echoed in the stairwell, an unpleasant reminder that England's side of the bed was cold and empty. America grumbled as he pulled the sheets closer. England shouldn't have been downstairs; he should have been curled up by America's side, whispering sweet nothings instead of shouting from the kitchen.

"If you don't come down, fully dressed in the next five minutes, I am leaving without you," England added in an exasperated tone.

America glared at the clock. It said 8am, but in his heart (his capital city of Washington D.C.) he knew it was actually 3am. Truthfully, he had never been very good at dealing with jet-lag. He could manage the six hours of time zone change in his own country just fine, but time zones outside of his borders always messed him up. He wished—not for the first time—that England was five hours earlier than him instead of five hours later, that way England could wake up at 7am and America could roll out of bed at noon, and they would both be up at the same time. Alas, nature had seen fit to stick the British Isles in the Atlantic instead of the Pacific, so America would just have to make do with a highly caffeinated breakfast.

8:01am. One minute down, four to go. America grumbled, but nevertheless stumbled his way to the bathroom. There wasn't much point to staying in bed if England wasn't there with him. He took a very quick shower, tossed on some clothes (just whatever was lying on the top of the suitcase), and arrived at the bottom of the stairs with 30 seconds to spare.

"See, the hero always arrives just in the nick of time!" America proclaimed with a grin as he grabbed the travel mug of coffee England had prepared for him. The coffee was a touch burnt (America was never sure if England did it intentionally or if 'burnt' was just the ground state of being for all English food except tea), but it was far too early in the morning for America to care.

"If you had gotten out of bed the first five times I called you, you could have eaten breakfast," England replied tartly. This so-called 'breakfast' of some sort of blackened mess sat congealing in the frying pans on the stove. America's normally heroic stomach quivered in terror at the sight. America breathed a sigh of relief that he had decided to sleep in instead of braving the horrors of an English breakfast made by England himself.

"Don't worry, I can just grab some fast food," America happily replied, pleased by his own cleverness in finding a way to sneak in a trip to Mickey D's. He caught the unhappy frown on England's face and decided to make an attempt at this diplomacy business all the other countries liked to talk about. America leaned forward and gave England a good-morning peck on the cheek. "Thanks for the coffee, babe," he said with a grin.

"I still don't understand why you drink it," England replied, but he seemed mollified. "Come on, with all of the tourists clogging up the tube, if we don't leave now we'll be late." America followed England through the entry hall and waited impatiently as England grabbed his umbrella and locked the door.

"So, what are we going to watch first?" America asked as they began briskly walking to the nearest Jubilee line station. The day promised to be surprisingly warm and sunny for London, a good start for the games.

For the first time that morning, England smiled. "Archery," he replied.


The first thing America discovered was that archery was super boring. He thought it would be just like Robin Hood, with swash-buckling and witty one-liners and arrows splitting other arrows, but instead all of the bows were strange-looking and modern. If people wanted to use modern weapons, why didn't they just get a gun? A nice ground-to-air missile could take out all of the targets (and the rest of the Lord's Cricket Ground) with a single shot.

The second thing America discovered was the England had purchased decaffeinated coffee. Again. England really had no idea what he was doing when he bought coffee. America had to fight to keep his eyes open, and he didn't think it was simply because the archery was really, really boring.

Finally, America just gave up on trying to stay awake. With any luck, England would be too entranced by the archery competition to pay attention to his slumbering companion. America leaned back, closed his eyes, and was fast asleep within moments.

He quickly fell into the most amazing dream. Like all good dreams, it involved England. Like all truly great dreams, it involved England wearing very little clothing. England was dressed in a skimpy toga and he hovered in mid-air over the empty streets of London, holding himself above the ground with large, fluffy white wings. His toga extended to mid-thigh, leaving England's perfect legs completely bare except for his sandals and the leather straps wrapped around his calves. America absently noted that England didn't seem to need to flap his wings to stay airborne—how was he flying without any lift?—but then England flew a little higher and America realized that England had nothing on beneath his toga. At that point, all thoughts of aerodynamics flew completely out of America's head.

England smiled quite seductively for an angel, and he cocked his head to the side, as if expecting America to do something. America glanced around and for the first time noticed that he had wings of his own. His wings were black and leathery, like a bat's and America briefly considered that he might be dressed up as Batman—how cool would that be?—before he realized that he wasn't wearing a cape and therefore definitely couldn't be the Caped Crusader. Tired of waiting, angel England tucked his wings to his side and soared into the air, leaving America far behind. America grinned and launched himself into the air, chasing England through the streets of London.

They played a game of chase through the cityscape. Unfortunately, England had the home turf advantage, leaving America in the dust at every corner. America grew increasingly impatient—he knew that if he could only catch England, that he would very much enjoy his reward. America grinned with the sudden realization that if he was dressed like a devil, he really ought to try using some dirty tricks. He waited until England glanced back and then America closed his eyes, allowing his body to plummet to the ground.

With a sudden whoosh, he felt England's arms close around him, catching him before he could hit the ground. America instantly grabbed onto England and grinned slyly at the British angel's surprise. Taking advantage of the angel's shock, he switched positions so that he was the one holding England, both arms wrapped around England's waist, leaving their bodies pressed pleasantly close together. Angel England blushed fiercely and tried to free himself from America's grip. America retaliated by kissing him on the mouth. He felt England melt into his embrace. They rose ever higher into the air, grasped tightly together as England tangled his fingers into America's hair and twisted his tongue into America's mouth

They shared hot and hungry kisses in mid-air, hands grasping the other tightly as moist lips met skin. Angel England wrapped his legs around America's waist, giving America the opportunity to push England's toga up to his waist. America wasn't sure how he was going to take off his own clothes, but the angel solved that problem with a single flick of his wand. In a flash of bright light, America's clothing disappeared.

America's final thought before he was pulled out of the dream by a quick jab in his stomach, was that he was finally going to find out what zero gravity sex felt like. America grunted as England's elbow jab brought him out of his wonderful dream and back to the reality of boring archery. "I was just getting to the best part!" he complained, still half-asleep.

England huffed. "Honestly, I'm not going to let you sleep through the Olympics."

"Pff, I wanted to stay in bed with you for the whole Olympics. I never said anything about sleeping," America retorted with a grin. "Besides, you're the one who called them the XXX Olympics."

A pink tint dusted England's cheeks. "It's just a number," he protested indignantly, sensitive to all of the jokes about him being the erotic ambassador and a closet pervert. France had complained mightily when Paris placed as the runner-up for hosting the XXX Olympics, but he had eventually clapped England on the shoulder and said that England would make a good host given all the records his people held in the sex department. The wink and leer had not made England feel any better.

America grabbed England's hand and smiled. "Well, I'm glad you're the one hosting the XXX Olympics." He leaned closer and whispered in England's ear, "You know I like to lie back and think of you."

England flushed a gratifyingly dark shade of red and pointedly turned his attention back to the archery match, but he kept a hold of America's hand. "Don't worry, love, we'll have plenty of time later," he whispered back.

Not quite as angelic as he appears, America thought to himself as a grin plastered itself on his face. He loved that England liked to adopt the persona of a proper gentleman, but America knew how kinky the old nation could be behind closed doors. In fact, he made a mental note to suggest that they try some angel-devil dress-up, because he knew England would love it.

America absent-mindedly pulled out his smart phone with his free hand to check his email and twitter. He was hoping for some fun distraction, but began to panic as he saw the current trends on twitter. An America politician was visiting London and had made all sorts of negative comments about London's preparedness for the games. The British newspapers were heavily mocking him, calling his trip "the worst bombing seen in London since the Blitz." But America didn't care what they had to say, he worried what England was going to think and he suspected that England was going to be furious. He did not want to spend the next two weeks with an unhappy England.

America sent a hurried text to his boss's private line and he marked it urgent.

Say sumthing nice abt the london olympics or im sleepin on the sofa tonite! :(

After a few minutes, his phone buzzed slightly and a message from his boss appeared, reassuring America that he was aware of the situation and already had a message planned and ready to go. America relaxed and gently twined his fingers in England's fingers. He rested his head against England's shoulder and spent the rest of time happily day-dreaming about how much better archery would be if England competed while wearing a skimpy toga and wings.

Later that afternoon, England discovered the various twitter messages about the American politician's multiple gaffes, just as America suspected he would. England frowned as he made his way through the backlog of tweets criticizing the comments. But when he got to the last message, his lips curled upward into a gentle smile.

In keeping with our special relationship, the president made it clear that he has the utmost confidence in our close friend and ally, the United Kingdom, as they finalize preparations to host the London Olympics.

America grinned and hugged England from behind. Oh yeah, he was getting really good at this whole diplomacy business. "You'll have plenty of time for politics later. I want to tell you about this amazing dream I had…" he whispered into England's ear.


Author's Notes

Okay, Britannia Angel and Sweet Devil Alfred have nothing to do with the Olympics, but they look damn hot together. Also, as you may have noticed, these stories are only loosely tied to the Olympics. Mostly it's just an opportunity for some shameless self-indulgence ;)

Yep, Romney made some unfortunate comments about London's preparedness for the games and the line at the end was the White House's official response, which honestly sounds like something Alfred could have written, except with better spelling. My timing is a little off here, since the comments and response happened before the official start of the games, so you'll have to forgive me for playing slightly loose with the timeline. Artistic license and all that jazz.

For the six hours of time zone change within the United States, I'm including Alaskan and Hawaiian time. If you include Puerto Rico, American Samoa, and Guam, there are actually nine time zones, but I think Alfred would only count his states.

Finally, my apologies to archery fans! I actually like archery, but I don't think Alfred would enjoy it very much. He definitely seems the sort to prefer guns to bow and arrows.

Edit: Thanks to Trumpet-Geek for correcting my time zone discussion!