A/N- Oh gosh! I'm so sorry it's been ages since I last updated this! I've been so busy preparing for exams, and I've had the worst case of writer's block ever too! It was only after I got my first biology exam out of the way today and the guilt at not writing built up to epic proportions that I was actually able to force myself to write something. That and this is the first time in weeks a semi-decent and/or roughly complete storyline has come to me. Please forgive me!

Okay, notes. If you're interested in and/or don't know about some of the things mentioned in this fic, I'll put up a list at the end of what and how to find them.

Also- WARNING- mild shounen-ai ahead! Don't like, skip this one.

Disclaimer- I don't own Hetalia. If I did, there would be even more stripping.

America's Pastimes

Sirens blazed out over the town as a dark shadow raced over the rooftops. With feline elegance it darted across the gaps between houses, speeding away, prize in hand.

"Stop him! I want that man caught!" a greying police officer yelled, face blazing red with anger. There was no way in hell he was letting this phantom thief get away this time.

The ethereal shadow flicked his head back, sapphire eyes glinting in the moonlight as his desert-coloured hair whipped about his mask and he flashed a cocky grin at his pursuers. His smile turned almost predatory as he shifted his bodyweight and leapt another gap, landing surefootedly on the next roof and clutching his ill-gotten reward firmly.

There was no chance of them catching the Phantom Artist tonight.

ooo

England shut his book with a sigh, tucking his hand-embroidered bookmark between the pages. Just how long was that oaf going to take? He shot the Yank a disapproving look as the hamburger-lover clicked away on his laptop. He'd said he just wanted to check his e-mails and he'd only be five minutes.

That was an hour and a half ago.

"Pfft…" America cracked up, grinning sickeningly at the screen. England twitched in surprise at the sudden reaction, almost dropping his novel on the floor. With an intentionally loud thump, he placed the tome on a nearby table and strode, chest puffed up for maximum intimidation, over to the Yank.

"Just what the bloody hell do you think you're playing at? !" he snapped, ripping the cord of America's headphones out of the socket. Music and strange noises began to echo around the room as the machine switched over to its speakers.

"Huh?" America asked in puzzlement, slipping his headphones off his head. They were an overly-large black pair with a ridiculous amount of unnecessary gold decoration, if you asked England. If you asked America, he'd say they were stylish.

"You were supposed to be checking your e-mails. How the bloody hell does that take you over an hour, you damn wanker? !"

"Oh, sorry England. France sent me a link to this video so I went to check it out. I must've got distracted by all the things popping up in the suggestions box."

England sighed and rolled his eyes. Of course he got distracted.

"Just what are you watching now anyway?"

The Brit flicked his cold emerald eyes to the screen, already preparing a snide remark to roll off his tongue. On the laptop, strange little cloud-like figures danced and cheered.

"This?" America replied. "Rejected Cartoons. It was in my recommendations. It's hilarious."

England cocked a bushy eyebrow as he continued watching. All of a sudden, he felt a little sick.

"Is that-?"

America started to crack up.

The video played on.

Soon America was rolling around in hysterics. England couldn't quite bring himself to tear his eyes from the screen, caught up in a mixture of repulsion and bafflement.

"'FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY MY ANUS IS BLEEDING!'"

America couldn't breathe anymore, he was laughing so hard. England just stared.

"That… is sick," he declared, leaning over and seizing the mouse to pause the video.

"Aww c'mon dude, that was hilarious!" America argued, clutching his gut. A tear trickled from one eye as he began to cry with laughter.

"No. That was just wrong."

America rolled his eyes as he brushed the moisture from them with the back of one finger, his other hand lifting up his glasses. Leaning back in his swivelling office chair, he retorted, "You just have no sense of humour."

England glared at the man, the fires of Hades beginning to sizzle and dance, rising from the embers like a phoenix, in his eyes. The two gazes locked for a long moment, fiery plumes of anger warring with cold mocking blue, before the Englishman silently surrendered, unwilling to have another fight with his ex-colony, and turned his gaze away.

America blinked curiously for a moment, partially unable to comprehend why the light blond had diverted his eyes to the floor. After a few seconds however, his brain decided that trying to comprehend why England did anything was too much like hard work, and started sending signals for him to go get a burger.

"Well, whatever. You want a burger?" he asked, starting to push himself up from his seat.

England had been doing a lot of thinking, however, during the long seconds it had taken for America's mind to give the metaphorical shrug. At first it had been concerned with dealing with the mild humiliation and dent to his pride from losing the stare-war. It had then turned its attention back to the video, first of all trying to muse what America found so funny about it. When his mind determined that it would, however, never be able to comprehend the inner workings of the bloody Yank's head, it began to idly wonder just what video France had linked him to in the first place. He had said France had e-mailed him a link to something, but what sort of thing would the Frog send America of all people? It was more likely he'd send something to Spain or even England himself.

Yes, it certainly was strange that France would send him a video. So then, it must be something suspicious. And if it was sent to America, then it might perhaps be something rather embarrassing about himself. But of course, there would be only one way to find out.

So when America went to rise out of his seat and fetch a burger, England planted one elbow right in his stomach and pushed him back down. Cupping his chin with the hand of the elbow resting on his former territory, he gripped the arm of the chair tightly with his other hand and grinned wolfishly at the blond man, field-green eyes glinting demonically. America's eyes opened wide in surprise and he let out a strangled grunt as his back hit the chair hard.

"Hey, America, I know…" England began, tongue ghosting over his lips. "Why don't you tell me what was in that video France sent you…?"

ooo

"Y-you're the Ph-phantom Artist… a-aren't you…?" the man gasped, back pressed tightly to the cold, damp alley wall. He let out another sound, somewhere between a moan and a pant, as gloved fingers grasped tighter around his chin.

"Well, you have me all figured out, don't you…?" the masked blond's voice sounded almost musical in its soft delight. "Tell me about myself…"

The man gulped, breath coming out in ragged puffs. "Y-you steal h-historical artefacts, ancient t-treasures, from museums, and… a-and leave behind a crude sketch a-as your calling card… Y-you-"

The man was cut off as the back of his head was ground against the brickwork. His captor's eyes glittered dangerously.

"Crude? Care to rephrase that?"

"S-sorry…" the man huffed, cheeks dyed a pale red. "I meant inventive modern art m-masterpieces."

"Much better," the masked man grinned. He looked at the man's eyes and caught sight of something there, a look which showed there was something more. "Oh? Do you have something you want to ask?"

He leaned in close as he said that, and his breath tickled the other man's neck.

The man gasped again, cheeks unwillingly burning. "I w-wondered… w-why did you g-grab me?"

His captor raised one eyebrow, mildly surprised, but grinned. "Why you?" He leaned in even closer, until their faces were almost touching, and breathed his next words no louder than a whisper. "Because I heard you once dominated so many, but that you yourself love to be dominated…"

ooo

America quivered under England's predatory gaze and bodyweight for a moment, before somehow managing to pull himself together. His eyes lost their fearful and surprised tint, and, using his superior strength, he pushed himself up into a proper sitting position, forcing England off him. The Brit staggered backwards, startled, with a yelp.

"England, just because there's a new Pirates of the Caribbean movie coming out, doesn't mean you can go around pretending to be a pirate like you used to be!" America complained. England's jaw hung slack, and he faintly and only half-coherently mumbled something about being nothing like a pirate.

"You really wanna know what was in the video?" America asked, teasing England by giving him the same look schoolteachers give to disobedient pupils while berating them.

England nodded dumbly.

"Well, y'know how there're people in the world who are interested by 'us'. Y'know, us nations," America began to explain, dragging his chair up to the desk with his feet and grasping England's sleeve with one hand to tug him closer to the computer screen.

"Yeah…"

"Well, France found a bunch of videos they'd made online, and he sent me a link to one of them." America tapped a few keys on the keyboard and clicked around until he pulled up a page on the internet which began to buffer the video.

England leaned in closer, eyes flickering along the title. "Big Ben…" he muttered. "Why would they be interested in Big Ben…? Why would France be interested in Big Ben?"

All of a sudden, taking the Englishman slightly by surprise, the video began to play.

England watched.

England blanched.

England slammed the lid down on the laptop and cursed the Frog so loud the whole of the United States could hear.

Which really annoyed him, because he was sat right next to the guy and he was screeching so loud it was hurting his ears. Wincing, he waited for the Brit to calm down a little before he chided, "Did you have to slam down my laptop that hard? If it's broken, you're paying for it."

England looked ready to commit murder, but the American noticed that he was also blushing ever-so-slightly. The Yank grinned. He'd make sure to remember that.

After a lengthy silence, England finally hung his head and let out a long sigh. "Now I can see why France sent it to you."

America chuckled a little, before giving a shrug. "It's not the first time he's sent me something. He's being doing it more and more recently, actually. It's getting kind of annoying."

England looked up, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. "Really?"

America nodded and started spinning around in his swivel-seat. "Yeah. A couple of weeks ago he told me I needed 'educating' or something, and then a few days later this videogame arrived in the post."

He gestured to a disc case lying haphazardly on top of a stack of old magazines. England, curious, stepped over and picked it up. "Have you played it?" he asked as he flipped it over and began reading the back cover.

"Nah. It's for the PC, which is kinda boring. Not to mention it's one of Japan's virtual novel games, so there's not really any death or shooting, which is kinda lame."

England raised an eyebrow in a 'says you' fashion, before returning his attention to the game. His eyebrow migrated further up his forehead, and was quickly joined by its companion, as he finished reading the text.

Oblivious to the Englishman's astonishment, America had kept on talking. "-and then I found you can't really do that with a shovel, so I was kind of bored. Which is why I was watching some movies with Tony before you got here… Huh? England?"

The American had only just realised his fellow nation's expression. Tilting his head to one side, America watched, both curious and anxious, as he waited for a response.

England, who had been staring wide-eyed at America, took a look back down.

'Warning- this game contains explicit content. Not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. Objectionable content includes- sex, yaoi, rape, dub-con and violence.

Due to the nature of its storyline, this game contains graphic yaoi sex scenes. Purchasers have been warned.'

"You should try it sometime," he told him, and tossed the case onto the desk next to the laptop.

ooo

"Mmn…" the pale blond moaned contentedly into the shoulder of the other man, clutching his chest with long, slender fingers. The other blond chuckled quietly, brushing a hand across the other's cheek, before scrunching up the covers as he sat up.

"Huh?" his partner murmured in confusion, eyelids fluttering back to reveal his bright green irises as he rolled over.

A pair of blue eyes blinked back at him, as the other man looked his way whilst sliding out from between the covers. The sapphire depths held a tinge of sadness, but there was also a trace of love there, amongst the myriad of other emotions pooled together.

"Do you have to go?" the green-eyed man asked, voice sounding pained. He hadn't wanted this night to end.

"You know I have to," the other replied, clothes rustling as he crudely tugged them on. "I can't linger around, not carrying what I'm carrying."

The lighter blond sat up, eyebrows clenching in anger. "But it's all because of you that I-!"

"I know," the other cut him off, a small smirk twitching at his face. "And hey, maybe I'll find you again sometime."

The paler-haired man opened his mouth to retort, but the blue-eyed blond simply gave one last wink before grabbing his bag and opening the door. Slipping on a plain black mask, he muttered,

"Don't ever forget the Phantom Artist, alright?"

ooo

America sat bolt upright in bed, chest heaving and a faint sheen of sweat glittering across his body. The clock to his right glowed 00:48 amidst the darkness. His eyes were opened wide, blinking as they struggled to make out anything amongst the blackness of the room and adjusted to seeing without his glasses. His cheeks burnt a faint pinkish-red as his mind whirled over the thing that had woken him, and his whole body felt uncomfortably hot.

"I can't believe…" he muttered, speaking out loud to try and bring some order to his thoughts. "…that I was dreaming about that!"

His lungs continued to inhale and exhale deeply as his mind finally grasped and filed away the 'fantasies' that had been troubling him. Eventually, after another glance at the clock, he decided that all he could do was go back to sleep and pretend nothing had ever happened. Maybe he would even try to dream about waffles. Or Call of Duty.

As he snuggled his head into the pillow and settled down, drawing his duvet back over himself, he childishly muttered,

"I am never playing anything that England suggests ever again!"

ooo

A/N- Me again! Just a note for if you're curious about anything.

'Rejected Cartoons'. Just type it into you tube and click on the first result. That's how i found it after a friend recommended it. It's... weird. Has some... gore. Watch out for that.

'Big Ben'. Actually 'Nice Big Ben' is the full title. Another you tube video. May not be suitable for younger viewers. There's a bunch of them. Each has a different Hetalia nation. Alternative way to find- google 'Hetalia meme' and click on the wiki link. Links inside.

'Dominated'. Based on content in another you tube video, titled 'Arthur Kirkland, Hes English But Hes Good!'. This is really funny. I only found it whilst writing this fic. I recommend it. One of the best 51 seconds of your life.

'Phantom Artist'. Made this up. Supposed to be America (although that should be pretty obvious now). Kind of subconsciously merged together elements of DNAngel and the latest Japanese virtual novel game I'm currently playing. Which, incidentally, is the inspiration for the game in this fic. (And, incidentally, is why I will not name the game. This fic is only a T.)

Also, yay new PotC movie! And a new Johnny English film's coming out soon too! I'm so excited!