SWEDEN + UK AND BITING (nooooooooo. . .)

England has had a very colorful, very explorative sex life. There was a time when sex was freer than it was now, and England had a Hell of a lot less shame. Please understand this before you pass your judgment on him and what he is about to do. As for Sweden, well, no one is entirely sure what goes on in his mind, so who knows, really?

"Eh," England slurred, stumbling up to the lumbering Swede where he sits at his bar. "You look like a reasonabibly man . . . whatcha say ta lettin' me bunk with ya tonight, mate." England gave him his most smoldering look, which just made him look like he was about to throw up.

Sweden just stared at him. He could honestly say he had no idea how to handle a situation like this.

When Sweden still didn't seem to get the picture, England dropped some over-exaggerated winks at him, smiling sultry sweet. "Whatcha say ta that?" He asked again.

Something that needs to be said about Sweden right now before you start judging him too. Please don't misunderstand; this isn't how Sweden normally goes about his day. He hardly ever picks up horny drunkards to fuck at late-night bars. He knows that having relations with other nations could greatly affect his people, so he usually stays out of it. But cut him some slack here—he's only human. He's no saint. He likes sex. There's nothing wrong with that. If someone wants to offer it to him for free, he'll take it.

What are you anyway, his mother?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sweden didn't bother asking England why he was staying in his house; he was probably too drunk to remember anyway. England had a room rented at a fancy hotel near the pub they were staying, and tried to twirl the keys sexily as they made their way down the lobby, but only succeeded in dropping them five times, once almost knocking them down the air vent. Sweden held the keys after that.

The room was fairly barren, so Sweden suspected he'd dropped in spontaneously, without any real luggage. England walked across the one-room suite and dropped himself unceremoniously on the bed. He laid there face-down for a while, and just when Sweden was starting to think he'd fallen asleep, he rolled over and looked at the other man. "Well? Ya comin' er what?"

Sweden didn't really have an eloquent answer for that, so he simply came over.

He leaned over the bed, over England, and looked at the ancient empire. There were no signs of wear on his face —he looked as young as twenty, even. His eyes were half-lidded and sleepy from the alcohol; his cheeks were ruddy and his breath shallow. He was in danger of falling asleep if Sweden didn't do something soon.

He leaned down, kissed a soft patch of flesh underneath England's ear, and when that didn't prompt any response, he bit down softly, then harder.

England gasped, and rolled his shoulders. "Got my attention, good sir," He laughed weakly.

Sweden didn't respond, but moved his head down so he would have access to England's collarbone. England groaned, distractedly lifting his hands to run through Sweden's short hair. His fingers had already started unbuttoning his shirt.

Sweden's teeth bit into the skin on his neck and shoulders. He ran his hands up his sides and pressed them so close together you couldn't wedge a knife between them. England pushed his legs up on either side of him so he could start grinding softly against his growing erection. Sweden continued his journey down England's front, nipping his shoulders, his nipples, anything he thought would coax out a response. England sighed appreciatively, murmuring sleepily.

Wait, Sweden paused and listened to England's breathing. He is asleep. He sat up and frowned. Sweden was not a sensitive man, so one wouldn't say his feelings were hurt, he was merely confused, and a little baffled.

England moaned again, and started tugging on Sweden's jacket. He mumbled something incomprehensible, and then said, "Am. . . America . . . hm . . ."

Oh. Now it made sense.

He'd been hearing rumors about the colonist's rebellious nature as of late, but hadn't really connected how it would affect England. If anything, he thought it would just make him mad. But Sweden knew that it wasn't a man who was angry at his brother that went into a bar and drank himself into oblivion.

Gently, so as not to wake him, Sweden pulled the covers up around England's half-dressed self, then turned the lights off, then went to go make some coffee.

Let me repeat: Sweden is not a sensitive man. Not at all.