A/N: Sweet Jesus on a pogo stick, I'm sorry for this being so danged late! Please forgive me; I put a little something in this chapter that'll hopefully make it better! I've just been having some personal problems lately, and this next chapter might be a little slow coming. ...*immature 'that's what she said' joke*

In any case, this contains LEMONS! No, not that one, the FOOD lemon. Though there is a lime. Not the food type.

:D Enjoy!

*in the morning...*

America moaned and opened his eyes. Russia was sitting in a chair in the corner of his room, reading a book. There wasn't a lot of light; the shades were drawn over the windows. America was grateful for that.

"Good morning Alfred," Russia said. America flinched and made a "shh" gesture. Russia smirked.

"I still hate everything," America whispered.

"Come on down to the kitchen, Alfred. I have a hangover cure downstairs," Russia told him.

"Could you bring it up here, please?" America begged. "If I get out of bed I'm a thousand-and-four percent sure I'll die."

"No you won't; just come downstairs whenever you feel like it." Russia smirked again and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

America groaned softly and threw his hand over his eyes. His head was pounding like mad, and he was slightly curious as to what he did last night. After a few more moments of self-pity, he dragged himself downstairs and into the kitchen.

Lithuania shook his head indulgently and couldn't help but smile when he saw the American. Estonia chuckled a bit, and even Latvia's lips twitched when America just kind of slumped in a chair, cradling his head in his hands.

"Mmmnnph."

"Alfred, how much did you have to drink?" Estonia asked.

"Far too much, da, America?" Russia suggested.

"Mm-hm. ...What'd I do last night?" America questioned. Russia took out his cell phone and started to play one of the videos he had taken of America. Said nation picked his head up at the noise, and blinked as he saw precisely what he had done. More specifically, he saw an extremely drunk version of himself dancing across a stage with a couple other hammered guys, singing Avril Lavigne's "Hot". America groaned and put his head back in his arms.

"Alfred, cheer up," Lithuania said. "We both know this isn't the worst thing you've done when you've been drunk."

Russia looked to the Lithuanian curiously. He must remember to ask Toris what other things the American had done in the past while inebriated.

"Mm...guess so," America said slowly. "Doesn't mean it's not stupid."

"Da, Alfred, it was rather stupid," Russia said, "though it was amusing to watch."

"Whatever I did, let me apologize," America said. "I don't remember half of it, but the half I do remember...let's just say I'd rather not."

Russia chuckled. "I don't doubt you would, America."

"Oi, Comrade, did you say you had some sort of magical hangover cure?" America asked. Russia debated protesting the name, but decided against it; it wouldn't do any good with America in this state, anyhow. He could always get him back for it later.

"Da. I'll go get them," Russia said, disappearing into the kitchen.

America started and glared blearily up at the Russian when he set down a tray in front of him with a bang. The American didn't recognize half of the stuff, and didn't want to know what the rest of it was. Russia started pointing to each one in turn.

"This is nikolashka," he said. "It is a lemon with a teaspoon of coffee and a teaspoon of sugar."

"What do you do with it?" America asked.

"...Eat it, of course." Russia looked at him like he belonged in a mental asylum. One to talk, America thought. "This here is what you might know as Sick Head; it has vegetable oil, an egg, salt, and red and black pepper. Oh, and two tablespoons of vodka."

"I thought the point was to make me less hung over," America commented. "Not get me drunk again."

Russia ignored his complaints and kept going. "Finally, the most common hangover cure in my country. It's called rassol."

"...And what exactly is it?" America questioned.

"Pickle brine."

America stared. "So I either have to eat a lemon, an egg-mixture-thing, or pickle brine?" Russia nodded, hiding a smirk. America paused. "Okay, well, there's no way in hell I'm drinking pickle brine, so that's out. And when I was a kid, France dared me to eat a lemon, and I don't think I've been able to taste anything normally since then. Plus, I think that traumatized me for life. I guess I'll go with the egg-thing..."

Russia picked up the glass and set it down in front of America, who reluctantly peered into it. It was a sickly green color, and America wondered where the green came from, since the main ingredient - egg - was yellow...

"I haven't seen any food in a shade that didn't derive from Nature since I lived with England," America muttered. "Meh, at least it isn't moving."

He honestly figured that since it was mainly egg and pepper, it wouldn't taste that bad. After all, he liked omelets back home, and this was like an uncooked omelet, right? Though he was sorely disappointed when he attempted to drink it. He immediately clapped a hand to his mouth in order to stop from gagging, and he could feel his nose burn. Eventually, he was just choking on air and trying to get the abhorrent taste out of his mouth.

"Okay, it's official: that was the worst thing I have ever tasted, ever," America proclaimed. Latvia passed him a cup of clear liquid, which America was happy to find was actual water, and not vodka.

"When's the hangover gonna go away?" America asked. His hatred of everything was only worsened by the so-called hangover cure; all he could taste was raw egg, his nose and throat still burned, and his head pounded.

"Soon, Alfred," Lithuania said. "Go lie down somewhere and go to sleep; it'll feel better when you wake up, probably."

America grumbled something unintelligent and stumbled out of the room. Lithuania looked at Estonia and Latvia, subtly nodding his head back to the door.

"Eh, Russia-san?" Lithuania asked.

"Da, Toris?" Russia didn't seem to have that creepy-ass purple aura around so far, so it was probably okay to ask...

"Could Latvia, Estonia, and I spend the day at Poland's?" Lithuania asked. "He invited me a while ago, and he's been 'dying' to see Latvia and Estonia."

"Da, of course," Russia said. "Just come back before the snow, da?" Ah, there was the creepy aura they all knew and feared immensely. Lithuania all but dragged Latvia and Estonia behind him as he plowed out the door.

"Lithuania, did Feliks really invite us over?" Estonia asked. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because he didn't," Lithuania answered. "Did you see the aura? You don't want to be around when he has the aura."

"Well, that's simply common knowledge," Estonia reasoned. "I'm just wondering how Poland will react when we randomly show up on his doorstep at nine in the morning."

"He'll throw a little hissy fit, but really enjoy the company," Lithuania said. "I've known him for long enough to know he loves having people over."

"True, and you more than 'know' him, Toris," Estonia said, smirking.

"You shut up!" he said, blushing. "At least in front of Latvia."

It didn't take long to trudge through the snow to Poland's house, but by the time they arrived, the Baltics were covered in snow and Latvia was shaking even more than usual. Lithuania rammed on the door.

"Feliks!" he called. "Feliks, are you home?"

The door swung open, revealing Poland in all his cross-dressing, plaid-schoolgirl-skirt glory. "Geez Liet, what the hell?" he asked.

"Sorry Feliks, we just needed a place to get away from Russia," Lithuania explained as Poland let them in.

"He got the aura," Estonia helped explain.

Latvia trembled.

Poland sighed dramatically. "Liet, could you, like, warn me before you bring random people over?"

"Of course, Feliks, I will in the future," Lithuania promised. "This was just kind of unexpected."

"You tell me. Well, it, like, doesn't matter right now. Since we're all here, I'll totally get something for us to do!" Poland ran off down the hallway. The Baltics shared another look.

"It better be safer here than at Russia's," Estonia threatened. He wondered whether it would be better to take his chances with Russia when Poland reappeared with a boxful of stuff.

"Feliks...are those poker chips?" Lithuania asked warily.

"Totally! We're going to play strip poker!" Poland announced.

Yep, Estonia decided as he tried to think of an excuse to have Latvia not participate, we definitely should've chanced Russia when we could have...

America, after being left alone for a very long time, surmised that Russia had gone off to do something else. Like torture something, or sign papers, or whatever; Russia stuff. So, with his hangover ever-so-gradually beginning to dissipate, America logically drew the conclusion that he should do America stuff: like being a hero, making hamburgers, and pissing off England.

When he sat up, though, the blood rushed to his head quickly, making him fall back over onto the bed again. That meant no heroism, no hamburgers, no pissing off England, basically nothing that required being in an upright position for too long. He smirked; there was a good idea. Now where was Russia...?

Deciding that getting up again probably wouldn't work, he began to call Russia's name over and over in the most pathetic voice possible. It reminded him of when he'd gotten sick as a kid, and England had taken care of him. No matter where in the house England had been, whether it was in the room next to him or all the way across the house, America would call for him as obnoxiously as he could until his guardian was actually in the room, earshot be damned.

Eventually, Russia arrived. America ignored the small spatters of crimson on his gloves that most certainly hadn't been there that morning. Perhaps it was that all those horror films that he and Japan had watched had desensitized him. Or maybe it was just that he was so used to seeing Russia with blood on his hands - both literally and figuratively - that it just didn't faze him anymore.

"Da, Amerika?" Russia asked.

"Vanya, the hangover's going away," America said, forcing himself to sit upright, slowly so the blood didn't all rush to his head. Russia smiled his patented Innocent-Serial-Killer smile and sat next to America on the bed. America smiled, too. "Can you think of anything you wanna do...?" America asked, tilting his head to the side. Of course, Russia knew exactly what America was doing, but decided to indulge him, and then some.

He leaned forward to kiss America roughly, twisting his fingers in the American's messy blond hair. Sighing, the other man obliged to Russia's silent request of entrance, parting his lips. While he was wrapping his arms around America's waist, Russia took the opportunity to tilt his head so he could deepen their kiss. When he pulled America closer to his body, the Russian noticed something very intriguing.

"Excited?" he asked vaguely, arching an eyebrow at America. America faintly blushed and looked away, grinning slightly in embarrassment.

"Guess so," he muttered, the flush on his face growing more intense. He knew Russia had felt the slight bulge created in his pants bump against his leg. "It's sorta your fault," America claimed. And it was, in a way; how was he not supposed to get turned on when Russia kissed him like that?

"Is that so? Well then," Russia determined. "I should be the one to rectify that problem." America looked at him with disbelieving eyes; Russia had never before allowed them to do anything at that level. Hell, he had never let them do anything beyond kissing. Granted, it was hot kissing, but the facts still stood.

"Oh really? How are you going to do that?" America asked, slipping an arm around Russia's waist. Wordless answers seemed to be Russia's specialty, as he was completely silent. But inactive he was not; the Russian pulled America's face back to his own, enveloping him in a passionate, slightly wet kiss. Hearing America's wanton moan, Russia smiled in a devilish manner. America was now practically in Russia's lap.

Once again, Russia felt America's clothed arousal brushing his hips and suppressed a violent shudder. He moved a hand from the small of America's back to his crotch, rubbing the hardened length through the American's jeans. America tilted his head back and let out a loud moan. Encouraged, the Russian began to stroke his hand along the bulge, bringing America's head back up to kiss him again. America's breaths became interspersed with moans, soft at first, but growing in volume as Russia stroked harder.

"You like that, da?" Russia asked slightly breathlessly. Unable to speak, America nodded before realizing that he had been pressing his hips forward as hard as he could into Russia's hand. A moan of regret escaped America's throat when he could no longer feel Russia's beautifully sinful hand on him. But where he put it next was much better in America's eyes. Russia slipped his hand past America's belt and began rubbing the hardening length through the thinner fabric of America's boxers. It was rather hard to do, seeing as America was sitting on the edge of the bed, so Russia pulled him into his lap for easier access.

America groaned into Russia's mouth, bucking into that hand that was doing those amazingly sensual things to him, hoping Russia would get the picture and hurry up. But no, Russia seemed perfectly happy to keep going at his agonizingly slow pace, moving his hand around in lazy circles that was turning America on a lot faster. He began bucking harder, but felt Russia's other hand pressing against his hips, stopping him from moving the lower half of his body.

"Calm down," Russia whispered. "If you want something, just ask for it, da?"

For a moment, America thought about how to construct a semi-coherent sentence. On his first few tries, all the sounds he was able to make were a collection of erotic moans.

"God, Ivan...just do something more!" America finally managed, still trying to buck his hips against Russia's tight hold. Russia looked thoughtful, then complied, moving his hand past the waistband of America's boxers. A long moan was ripped from America's throat when Russia's skin met his own, taking hold of his heated member and stroking it slowly. America began trembling slightly and groaned, leaning his head forward to rest on Russia's shoulder.

Russia began to experiment, seeing what would happen if he stroked harder, or if he gripped it tighter and pulled slightly. America's reactions were almost as good as the actions themselves; the younger blond would moan and buck and press harder into Russia's hand. He slung his arms around Russia's neck, pulling him into a hard, desperate kiss. Russia slipped his thumb over the tip of America's length, pressing down lightly. America bucked his hips roughly and moaned at quite an impressive volume.

"Ah! ...Ngh, Vanya...stop teasing," America panted, trying to press as close to Russia as he could. Russia pulled back to look at America, observing his fervor-flushed face; heavy pants escaping parted lips; and half-lidded eyes brimming with pleasure.

"All right, Alfred," Russia agreed. "I will stop teasing you." Living up to his promise, the Russian moved his other hand from America's hair to his waist, using both hands to undo America's belt and pants. America helped him remove the offending articles, kicking them aside. Russia gave a half-nude America one more above-risqué kiss before tossing America on his back on the bed. He climbed over top of him and immediately took America's length into his mouth. The suddenness of Russia's actions elicited a loud, extremely erotic moan from America. He wanted to buck his hips hard into Russia's mouth, wanting to feel that warmth envelop him, but knew that Russia wouldn't find that as hot as he would. So he kept moderately still, twisting his hands in Russia's platinum hair.

At first, Russia took only the tip of America's arousal into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the hot skin playfully. Hearing America's moan, he took in more, little by little. He stroked his tongue along the underside of the fully-hardened member. America groaned louder as Russia began slowly bobbing his head back and forth in a manner much too slow for America's tastes. He arched his back off the wall, once again sending Russia a message that he ignored. Well, mostly ignored. Russia stopped moving his head, and began taking all of America's length into his mouth, relaxing his throat to suppress his gag reflex. America gave a whimper, which was supposed to be some form of sentence, but he was too far gone to do anything else. He could only moan and shudder as Russia moved his sinful tongue along his erection, pinning his hips to the bed. America could feel himself wearing out, and becoming unable to hold back anymore. He needed his release right motherfucking now.

Russia smiled and made swallowing motions with his mouth, tightening the muscles in his throat around America's erection. A flash of white masked America's vision as he came, without any warning, into Russia's mouth with his loudest moan yet, which sounded like Russia's name. He was slightly surprised, but Russia swallowed it all, carefully extracting America's member from his mouth. Unable to hold himself up, America flopped back onto the bed again, with Russia sitting just beside him.

America was breathing hard, still riding the high of his release. Russia sat cross-legged, like a kindergartner, smiling in a far too innocent manner for what he had just done.

"Where the hell did you learn to deep-throat?" America asked once he had caught his breath. Russia shrugged.

"Around," he said. "I'm not sure where." Then, for a reason Russia could not fathom, America blushed. It wasn't his after-orgasm flush, but a blush of embarrassment. "Something wrong?" Russia questioned.

"The Baltics could have come back," America muttered. "And I don't doubt they could've heard us. Or, well, me."

"Nyet, Alfred, they have not arrived home yet, most likely," Russia mused. "And they know better than to bring it up, were they to hear anything..."

Something in Russia's tone made America shudder. No matter how good of a blow job the man could give, Russia was still fucking scary. Be it when he was acting like an innocent first-grader, or beating something to death with his pipe. Both were equally creepy in different ways.

"Anything else wrong, Alfred?" Russia asked. It almost sounded like, 'If anything else is wrong, I am going to strangle the first thing I see. Which, most likely, will be you.'

"Well, that and, er..." America trailed off. "You've got some, uh...well...er..." He gestured to Russia, blushing deeper than ever and giving up on his half constructed sentence. Russia had picked up what America was getting at about halfway through the muttering, but had let him continue, simply because it was funny. He also knew that some of America's seed was on his face, but had wanted to see if America would point it out. Russia smiled and licked it off easily. America stared, obviously enjoying the little show.

"Careful, you can't expect this kind of treatment every time you get excited," Russia warned, only half teasing. "Next time, I'll make you take a cold shower." America blushed again and began trying to don his pants again. From then on, the shower ran much more often than usual during America's stay at Russia's house.

A/N: *hides* Please don't kill me for such a sucky Lime...I have family living in wherever you happen to be at the moment! ...Okay, probably not, but still. I swear all future sexytimes will be much better-written hey, aren't you happy with me? It only took me NINE CHAPTERS to get them to do anything...and let the kinkiness begin! :D So if you could, please just name a random Kink that you think either Russia or America has. You know, like Sex in Public, etc.

As I said, I'm having some problems at the moment (mainly because of my Sensory Integration Disorder) so I might not update immediately. But just know that in every second I can, I'll be writing the next chapter. Whether it be on this sucktastic computer, or my iTouch, or my writing notebook.

And I'm also writing a Switzerland/Japan fic, too, so that'll take some time, too. It's just a PWP one-shot, though; no chapters. And I can never stop myself from writing some Death Note...God, you'll be seeing quite a few PWPs from me soon. :D

Anyhow, I'm going to stop talking. Review, subscribe, flame, sacrifice to Joshin, whatever. :)