AUTHORS NOTE:

Story: England reflects of some annoyances with Bunking with America.

Warning: There is some immaturity and sex talk in here. Just a little Strong T rating.

Hetalia isn't mine.

England really really really hated war. He really did. While sometimes it allowed him settle scores with nations he hated, but over all it just hurt him, his people, and forced him into uncomfortable situations and choices. The thing that was bothering him currently was being forced into uncomfortable situations.

It was the second World War, the sequel to the Great War. At first, he thought he would be in good shape, even if he was aligned with France, Russia and China, and admittedly enough he could have worse allies. Even if he would mostly be working with France while Russia and China just sort of threw their massive amounts of troops at Germany. But then France, that froggy bastard, did what France does and got his ass kicked by Germany and so England was left to fight mostly by himself. Sure there was small amount of troops from other Allied countries, and they were important, but they mostly fought against Germany in their own countries with assistance from England. He was stretching to his limits, no he could win like this. He didn't even know where to start with Japan.

And then, America came. Sigh. Japan just had to go attacking America, getting him involved. And he really liked Japan to... shame. That was were his current pain was coming from. America. It did seem like it was him were alot of his pains came from. The thing that was bothering him was him having to share a camps with the twit. He hadn't really had to share any space with the lad in recent years, since the boy was his colony. Since then many things about America were a mystery. A lot of things had changed in the boy since that time. Sure he had fought with him briefly in the first World War, and had visited him every once and a while but for the most part he didn't really see America much, no one did, because that jackass George Washington told him to stay away from other countries. He was unpleasantly suprised to find out that America was even more of an annoying, brutish, and lewd then he ever was during any of his previous visits with the country. Worse off, they had to share a tent. They had begged to their generals to let them bunk apart, they were told to stop being babies and that war was no time for petty arguements. They both pouted, but didn't ask again.

There were so many things America did that was agitating, for one thing, the man had no sense of the mood around him and was inconsiderate of the feelings of others. As such, the man over shared. A lot. It seemed like the gaint idiot had no manners at all.

Britian sighed as he entered his tent. He was very tired, they had just finished their march for the day and had dinner. He was ready to go the hell to sleep, because marching in the desert was a pain in the ass. But of course that wouldn't be happening. Because America.

"Hey, dude!" America greeted about twice as loud as what England thought was nessasary.

"Not now, America, I'm tired." He sighed as he tossed himself on the bed.

"No need to snap, man." America rolled his eyes before rolling over on his side and rubbing his stomach with his hand. "Dude, something in those rations from today are not agreeing with me."

Ugh, gross.

"America, please." Britian muttered, digging himself as deeply into his uncomfortable matress-cot-thing as he possibly could. He really didn't want to deal with this right now. His tone was begging for some sort of mercy. America gave none.

"Seriously, it feels like there is glass in my guts." America complained. England willed that America would stop there. His wish was ignored. "And I've got gas to beat the band, if you know what I mean."

England heard an unsavory gurgle from America's side of the tent. He was wide awake now.

"America, don't you dare pass gas in this tent!" England turned to face him, pointing a menacing finger at the younger nation.

"Oh come on, England, it's not like you never!" America sneered slightly, looking even more uncomfortable. "When go to sleep at night you rip ass like the brass section is crashing into a box of whoopie coushins!"

"I do no such thing, wanker!" Britian's face was bright red with denial.

"Do to! And it stinks to. Maybe it wouldn't be such a problem if you weren't such a tight ass!" America snapped, sitting up in his cot more, his stomach cramping incressed. Ow.

"I have manners, unlike you! I'm a gentleman, I don't pass gas!"

"Your not much of a gentleman when your sleeping." America scoffed.

"Shut up, you bloody git!" England rolled back over. His was done with this. It was late, and they had an early morning tomorrow. America was silent for several seconds. When there was a long, high pitched squeak and a sigh of relief from his tent mate. England screamed into his pillow.

But that wasn't all that was annoying about sharing space that he found insufferable. Then there was the young man's sex drive.

Not like that, you perverts!

Since both of the men's sex culture was rather repressed, if they heard a bunch of grunts and shuffling from the bed across from them, it would ignored. Say one of them caught the other with a porn magazine, they would give the other a small ribbing and then go on like they didn't have a large stash of their own under their matress. England could normally handle it, he was an adult, and he was far from a prude. And he knew sex drives sometimes rose during war, usually resulting in spikes of gayness in the troops and rampent pregnancies when the troops got home to their wives. But it happened so often with America. It baffled his mind. Now, he remembered being a simular way when he was America's age, or maybe when he was a pirate, but seriously. And there was... the incident.

England made his way over to his tent after a long day of him and America chasing Italian forces to the ocean. It was time to rest, maybe read a book before nodding off. Hopefully America would be off working out or drink with his troops. In his hurry, he didn't notice the note pinned to the tent or all the grunts from inside. So he entered the tent and was immediately scared for life by the sight of America banging one of the nurse maids into his materess. America definetely heard England flee, but he didn't stop.

It was awful. His eyes hurt. Everytime he closed his eyes he saw America's bare, lily white ass, pounding that poor woman. England felt like he was going to puke. It was like watching his best friend have sex. Nasty.

After a few minutes, the nurse tumbled out of the tent, her attire sort of wrinkled and her hair a little wild. She briefly looked at England before blushing and walking away even quicker. A few second later, America and his 'I just had sex' hair poked out from the tent.

"Heeeyyyy, Britian, dude." America said slowly, stepping out from the tent and sitting next to the Brit. "You want to talk about it?"

"No, America, I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to think about it; I can't even look at you." True to his word, England didn't look at America. But that didn't stop him from smacking the young nation upside the head. "What are you, a damn savage!?"

"Ow! What did I do!? I put a note by the door..." America rubbed his head.

"You're disgusting, defiling that woman like that." England groaned into his knees, which were pulled up to his chest.

"I dunno, she seemed to be enjoying herself." America seemed proud of himself. Groan. "And... I mean... It's not like you are so innocent. I mean surely you've... With someone..."

"Well, yes, but someplace private! Not in a space I share with someone else like a savage beast!"

"Oh... uh, okay... So do you wanna go to bed, because there is a smell and-"

England punched America in the nose. They didn't speak for two weeks.

England really, really hated bunking with America.

Author's note:

Sorry it took so long to update. My sister graduated from her highschool on Friday, and then there was a party that night, and then another the next day that I had to help set up. I mean, I could have written, but I find it is generally a bad idea to write while tipsy. So there is that. Then I had to recover from all the dancing and whatnot. Afterwards, I developed a big block caused by a build up in writing ideas from when I was... out of comission. I just couldn't choose an idea.

Don't worry, i'm still working on requests. Got some good stuff planned.

Review!