Title: A Heavy Subject
Prompt: http : /www . toonpool . com/user/356/files/cold_war_again_201155 . jpg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: There's a very important question about Russia and America that must be answered.
In other words, unfunny. But hey, I tried.
"It's definitely Russia," China said above the din of the conference room.
"That's ridiculous," England countered immediately. "You don't eat out with America enough; you wouldn't know. All those burgers have to go somewhere."
"He works out a lot, though, doesn't he?" Prussia interrupted, "My vote goes to Russia too. Why do you think he wears that coat all the time?"
"I will have you all know that I have seen them both in their natural states," France purred, "And that they both have very fine bodies."
Denmark snorted. "Yeah, and how long ago was that? I'm with England, that kid inhales crap like it's actual food or something."
France looked affronted. "Just a few decades ago Russia and I—"
"Um, I-I really would rather not hear about what you and my brother have done, please." Ukraine's face had turned bright pink. Next to her Belarus was staring eerily at France.
"I can't believe we're debating this." Germany muttered to himself, still at his seat at the head of the table. He'd even made a powerpoint for this meeting, too. Beside him sat Japan, back absolutely rigid. Germany suspected he was too shocked at the topic of conversation to really function effectively.
"Has anyone slept with either of them recently?" Spain asked.
Poland waved a hand dismissively. "Tch, as if. Can't you see that they're, like, totally all over each other?" There was a general murmur of assent and some disappointed looks around the room.
"If only America's brother was here," England mused. He looked around hopefully, but a scan of the other nations didn't reveal the country he was searching for. In the back of the room, Canada rolled his eyes.
"It's not I see him naked all that often," he told no one in particular, "although… he does fit into my jeans." Unsettled by this last thought, Canada lifted his shirt and pinched his stomach. Maybe he should spend some more time on the ice this winter.
Across the room, France seemed to sense that someone was undressing, but try as he might, he couldn't catch sight of anyone's bare midriff. He sank into his chair, feeling vaguely let down. Fortunately, Spain's chair was next to his.
"Wasn't America going around recently asking for diet advice?" Estonia asked as Spain's shirt went flying.
Finland was laughing. "Well, I doubt Russia even knows what the word 'diet' means," he snorted.
"Hold on," England said suddenly. His eyes lit up, and a devious smile had curled its way onto his face. "Lithuania's worked in both their houses, hasn't he? He would know."
As one, the assembled countries turned to look at the Baltic nation sitting by the window. Lithuania looked startled, and glanced pleadingly at Poland, who didn't appear to notice. Possibly he simply didn't care.
"Yes, I did work for them both... Of course, that was some time ago!" he hastened to add as the other nations leaned in expectantly.
"It wasn't that long ago," Turkey said, "C'mon, just tell us what size pants they wear and that'll be it."
"I-I really don't think…" Lithuania began, but he was drowned out by a chorus of other voices. "No, I really don't think I should…" he protested weakly, as the noise level grew higher.
Germany had had enough. Not only had he forgotten his noise-cancelling headphones, but his boss had asked him to cut down on the headache medication. He grabbed a notebook out of his briefcase and banged it on the table, getting the others' attention. "Just tell them which one weighs more so we can be done with this," he ground out.
Lithuania still looked uncertain, but Germany was unwavering. "Well," he began, "I still don't think it's right to tell you this sort of thing, but…"
In the broom closet in the hallway, America was trying to loosen his tie, breathe through his nose, and make out with Russia all at once. Admittedly, this wasn't easy, but sometimes heroes had to take on the tough jobs. And sometimes heroes really needed the air to cool down a little, because it would seriously suck to pass out in the middle of closet time. Russia pulled back to kiss his neck, and oh, that was nice and cool. America sucked in air in great, unsteady breaths.
"You don't think they're looking for us, do you?" He managed, turning his head a little to look at the side of Russia's head. Russia growled a little negative sound that reverberated up America's throat.
"Really, though," America said as his tie was whipped off. The first three buttons on his shirt didn't last much longer. "You don't think they noticed we're missing?"
Russia detached himself from America's skin long enough to mutter, "No," before continuing his voyage south.
"No?" America echoed, although at this point he had mostly forgotten what the question was. Russia was wearing too many clothes. He wondered for a moment where his own shirt had gone.
"They're not talking about anything important anyway." Russia informed him, efficiently unbuttoning his pants.
"Oh. Okay."
When the two nations stumbled into the conference room an hour later, there was only carnage left form the meeting. "I think these are Spain's." America said, picking up a pair of vividly yellow and red boxers off the floor.
"Germany's notes," Russia volunteered, flipping through the papers scattered across the table.
"Hold on, what's that?" America fished out a brightly-colored page from the pile. "What the… is this us?" The page contained a crudely-drawn picture of himself and Russia on a seesaw, with a large question mark hanging over the middle. "What the hell do you think they were talking about?"
He dropped the page in surprise as suddenly he was hoisted onto the conference table. "I don't really care," Russia said, and just like that he'd lost his shirt again.
Well. Russia was right. It probably wasn't that important. He did wonder, a little bit, why exactly there had been a circle around him in the drawing, but in the end, he found that he really didn't care either.