This was the life.
America sighed contently as he floated lazily down some nameless, quiet mountain stream in Montana in a bright red inner tube. Or maybe it was Wyoming? Oh well, it really didn't matter; he was enjoying himself immensely.
As a bald eagle soared elegantly overhead, he dipped his fingertips in the unusually tepid mountain water, using his other hand to supply himself a taste from his cool, refreshing bottle of beer.
With a deep, soothing, breath he smiled happily to himself, basking in the warmth of the sun on his skin. Closing he eyes, he allowed himself to let go, relaxing into the water that slowly lapped at his shorts as he floated along.
With a blissful sigh, he-
Oh.
Oh no.
Blue eyes shot open in instantaneous horror.
He was dreaming. He had to have been dreaming. He had fallen asleep on the river. That was it. Any moment now, he was going to wake up back on his inner tube, completely sun burnt, hungry, thirsty, and about a mile past his get-out point.
Yeeep. Any minute now.
He pinched himself. "Ow!" Oh fuck, that actually hurt. Dreams aren't supposed to hurt.
With a gulp and a shaky hand, he fearfully pulled back his covers, wincing as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The mocking 3:23AM on the digital clock sitting peacefully on the bedside table gave him just enough light to allow him to see his worst nightmare become even worse reality.
He, the hero, the United fucking States of America, had wet the fucking bed.
"Okay, don't panic." He hissed to himself quietly, carefully pulling his legs out from under the covers. "You can do this, just get to the bathroom and don't. Wake. England."
The second his foot hit the floor; it collided with the clank of porcelain, and the spilling of now lukewarm water onto the hotel carpet. Wincing and Cursing, he picked up the offending object.
A teacup.
His eyes narrowed, gripping the small handle and shooting a murderous glare at the, he now noticed, smirking, sleeping nation across the room.
"England."
Once he was changed out of his dirty and, he shuddered, slightly damp, boxers, he returned from the bathroom with his tube of foot cream and an evil glint in his eye. Quietly, he tiptoed to the bed and filled the older nation's hand with the lotion, leaning over to tickle England's nose with a soft grazing of his fingers.
In response, England scrunched up his nose, furrowing his eyebrows. "Mmnf."
America bit his lip, cocking his head to the side in annoyance. He reached out and tickled his nose again.
"Mmmnf, 'merica… -ut it out. M' tired."
Okay, this was getting annoying. "Me too old man, so just itch your damn face already so I can go back to sleep," America mumbled, choosing this time to run his fingers along the nation's smooth cheeks and forehead, ignoring the light blush that came to his own as he did this.
"Mmm… 'merica…" England chuckled, a small smile creeping on to his lips. "Jus' kiss m' already…No more teasin'…git."
…Well.
That was certainly unexpected.
America gulped, his face burning uncomfortably hot. He tickled England's nose once more hastily, thanking God he finally itched at it, smearing the foot cream all over his unsuspecting face.
Nodding in satisfaction, he carefully crawled into the other side of England's bed, making sure his back was firmly placed towards him. Promising himself he would write a very apologetic letter to the poor cleaning lady about the newly saturated sheets, he willed his eyes closed, pushing England's words out of his mind.
"It's your fault I'm sleeping here old man, so you better not get all pissy at me in the morning."
England smiled in his sleep, snuggling into his pillow.
"England."
England opened his eyes, bringing his hand to his forehead to shield them from the blinding light. Blinking a couple of times to adjust to his surroundings, he turned in a small circle, stopping once his eyes landed on a familiar figure smiling at him from across the small, quaint playground.
"America?"
"Hey there." His eyes glimmered in the setting sunlight, and with a gentle grin, he gestured toward an old swing set. "Have a seat."
England raised an eyebrow. "Why would I-"
America laughed, interrupting him and grasping his hand. "You can't just go along with me, can you? Come on, I'll push you."
"You will do no such thing you git! Let go of me this instant!"
America chuckled softly, pulling England gently into the swing from behind. Placing his hands on his shoulders, he positioned his head next to England's own and whispered breathily into his ear. "Just relax. I'll take care of you."
England gulped, his face turning six different shades of red. He had no fucking idea what was going on, but he wasn't about to ask questions. A light push at his back sent him forward slightly and shook him from his thoughts and back to his surprisingly pleasant reality.
"Want me to push you higher?"
"N-no, this is quite alright."
"Okey-dokey."
England rolled his eyes. Honestly, the way that boy butchered his language, it was insulting, it was infuriating, it was….
Okay, it was actually quite adorable, but that was beyond the point.
"Why are you doing this?" England asked finally after swinging for a few peaceful minutes.
America shrugged, moving to the front of the swing and catching it before it fell forward. England let out a small 'gak!' in the sudden stop of movement, but kept his eyes firmly planted on the young American.
"Cause it's fun." He smiled warmly, and England hoped America would mistake the reddening of his cheeks for the setting sun. "And I like spending time with you."
"Y-you-"
"Mmm-hmm." He let England fall to the swing's resting position and leaned over so they were face to face. "And I have a pretty good feeling you like spending time with me, too."
England ran a hand through his hair, suddenly finding that particular rock over by that particular tree to be rather interesting. "Well… that is to say…"
America chuckled, using his index finger to turn England's face back to his. "You've always sucked at lying."
England stared into those blue, blue eyes, his heart beating loudly in his chest. America moved closer, smirking cheekily, causing England to gulp and lean back as far as he could without falling from the swing. "A-America…"
Grin. Lean. "Hmm?"
"W-what are you doing?" He leaned back farther, America's half-lidded eyes getting closer and closer.
"Exactly what you want me to be doing, England."
"America, wait! I-"
THUD
"Owww, bloody hell." England rubbed at his newly sore head from his place on the floor, wondering to himself how the fuck he ended up down there. With an irritated groan, he lifted himself back up to his knees and peeked tiredly over the mattress, and straight into the face of a sprawled out, drooling America.
"Ack!" He gasped, falling back. What the fuck was that tosser doing in his bed?!
Oh yes.
He smiled pleasantly to himself. The old fingers in the warm water gag. It was an oldie, but definitely a goodie, if the now ruined sheets on the other country's bed were anything to go by. He itched at his cheek with a smile, standing up and stretching. It was only 6:30AM and the meeting wasn't until 9, but where was the harm in getting a head start to the day?
Scratching a little at his nose, he made his way to the drawer, rummaging though his clothes. A nice suit with a powder blue tie would do nicely and-
Why the fuck did his face itch so fucking bad?!
With a huff, England stumbled to the bathroom, flicked on the light and studied his face in the mirror. His rashed, blotchy, and scarlet face inspected him back with quite a horrified expression.
"What the hell?! America!" The very irritated and itchy Brit stormed from the bathroom, and with forceful kick to his stomach, freed America from his peaceful slumber.
The young nation let out a whelp of surprise, his limbs flailing as he crashed to the carpet in a frazzled heap of blankets and sheets. His head popped from the blankets, his eyes wide and his hands frantically searching for his glasses on the bedside table. "What?! What's going on?! What happened?!"
Finally making connection with his spectacles, they were thrown in front of his eyes, allowing a very aggravated, very blemished British man to materialize mere centimeters from his face. "What happened?" England asked, venom dripping from his husky, far too calm voice. "You look at my face and tell me what happened, you blasted wanker!"
"It's way too early for this shit," America mumbled, rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times to bring them into focus before finally looking at England and choking back a guffaw. "Holy crap! Look at your face!" He exclaimed, falling back in hysterics, "You look like a freaking unripe strawberry!"
England fumed. "I do not look like a bloody unripe strawberry, you git! What the hell did you do to my face?!"
"Oh, I didn't do a thing." America smiled, wiping a few tears out of the corner of his eyes. "All I did was put a little foot fungal cream in your hands, it's not my fault you rubbed it all over yourself."
"Foot fungal cream?!" England cried. Okay, first off, he didn't need to know America apparently had foot fungus. Secondly, the blasted idiot wasn't even taking blame for it!
America nodded, crossing his arms. "Uh-huh, I had plenty of time to put it in your hand when I woke up in the middle of the night after pissing my damn pants."
"Well it's certainly not my fault you wet yourself, America." England crooned, mimicking him bitterly. "All I did was put your hand in a little water. It's not my fault you felt the need to urinate all over yourself."
"Bastard."
"Pisslord."
"Strawberry."
"Pee-wee."
America's eyes narrowed, his lips in a tight frown. "I'm going to shower, before you go in there and screw with something." He stood up and huffed his way to the bathroom, taking one last moment to make an 'I'm watching you' gesture in England's direction before slamming the door shut.
"It's bloody well time!" England called after him. "You smell like piss!"
The door creaked open slightly, a single hand popping out and greeting him with a one-finger salute before slamming shut once again.
England rolled his eyes. Well wasn't that mature. He huffed, plopping himself down at the foot of the unsoiled bed. His nose crinkled, it really did smell dreadful in the room. He stood up and walked aimlessly to the window, cracking it slightly and taking a moment to admire the early morning sunshine.
Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, he closed his eyes, absentmindedly scratching at his still rather itchy face. Yeah, that was going to get really old really fast. Stupid America.
America…
Before he could stop himself, England found his mind wondering back to his abruptly ended dream. A small blush crawled onto his cheeks. What would have happened had he not fallen off the bed? What would have happened had America closed that small space between them? Why did he almost feel disapoin- no. No, no, no. He was not going to let his mind go there.
England stepped away from the window and found his way back to his dresser, finishing his task of picking out his clothes. He definitely wanted to be out of there before America was out of the shower. Thank the good lord he had showered the night before.
Once fully dressed, he raised an eyebrow curiously. "Now where did I put my shoes?" His eyes landed on something poking out from under America's bed. It certainly wasn't his shoe, but it was curious…
He reached under the bed and pulled it out. America's pants; presumably the pair he was going to wear for the day. Hell, probably he only pair of suit pants the guy owned. A smile came to England's lips as he itched at his blemished chin.
Pants in hand, he reached into his luggage and pulled out his trusty pair of pinking shears.
If he had to go to the meeting looking bloody ridiculous, he was going to make damn sure he wasn't the only one.
Canada sighed nervously, adjusting his tie and smoothing out his hair. This was it. He hadn't hosted a G8 summit in years, having usually been forgotten, but this year was different thanks to the Olympics. He had so much to talk about!
With one last deep breath, he pushed open the meeting room door and stepped inside. Germany sat at the head of the table next to a large stack of paper filled folders, as per usual. He was a rather commanding figure, so unless the meeting was being hosted by America, who rather liked being the center of attention, Germany usually took the role of getting things started.
"Vee~! America is here! America is here, Germany!" Italy cheered, poking at the stoic man's shoulder happily.
Canada smiled sadly. "I-I'm actually Cana-"
"I'm glad you have arrived on time, America." Germany nodded in approval. "It's a pleasant surprise. We're now just waiting on England."
"But I'm not-"
"I am concerned." Japan said solemnly, glancing uneasily at the door. "It is very unlike England to arrive after America."
"But I'm not America! I'm Can-"
Russia smiled pleasantly. "Perhaps he was in a horrible accident on his way over, da?"
…
Everyone stared blankly at the cheery man for a moment before Germany finally broke the silence by clearing his throat. "Yes, well, the meeting doesn't officially start for ten more minutes, so I'm sure he'll be here any moment." On cue, the door opened and England strode in, nodding respectfully to he rest of the table.
"'Ello, everyone, sorry I'm so late. Bloody waitress took forever to bring me my check at breakfast." He sat down and started causally unpacking his briefcase, keeping his eyes firmly on his task. "All I ordered was a cup of tea and a scone, they were quite delicious I must say, but the service was dreadful." He clipped his case shut and placed it delicately on the floor, finally turning up his head and letting his eyes meet the other countries. "I see everyone has arrived, so let's get… What the hellare you all bloody gawking at?"
The other countries respectfully adverted their eyes, with the exception of Italy, who pointed a frightened finger in England's direction. "Vee~! Germany! What's wrong with England's face?!"
"I can enlighten you, cher Italie." France grinned. "That would be the result of a grand night full of l'amour for our Angleterre." He leered at Canada, who shuddered in response, wishing especially now that everyone would stop mistaking him for his brother.
"Oooh!" Italy cheered, clasping his hand together in delight. "England and America! It's so romantic! Isn't it Germany? Isn't it?"
"It's lovely." Germany sighed, rubbing his temples, wishing that just once, they could have a normal meeting. Just once.
England's eye twitched in irritation. "What the fuck are you people talking about?! This-" He gestured wildly to his face. "Is result of that git's fucking foot fungus cream! Bloody hell, a bunch of perverts, that's what you all are."
France smirked. "Is that what they are calling it now-a-days? Foot fungus cream?"
"I will fucking kill you."
Japan smiled apologetically. "Now, now, England-san, You know France is simply kidding with you." He turned his attention back to Germany. "Now that everyone is here, shall we get started?"
Germany nodded, straightening up his papers and opening his mouth to speak before the sound of flesh colliding with the hard tabletop interrupted the action. Bewildered, the G8 members turned their attention to the panting, angry Canadian standing at the end of the table.
"Is everything okay, America?" Russia asked happily.
"I'm not America!" Canada exclaimed. "I'm Canada! Ca-Na-Da! I am hosting this meeting! You are all in my county! Maple! America hasn't been here at all! It's been me! Me! Canada! Remember the Olympics? Yeah, that big sporting event with all the snow and the ice? That was here! I hosted that! Ca-Na-Da!"
Everyone blinked in surprise at the loud exclamation as Canada calmed himself down. Coming to his senses, France grinned at the flustered nation. "Ah, Bonjour mon petit Canada! When did you arrive? You are looking tres magnifique, as usual."
"I give up." Canada mumbled, sighing as he let himself fall, defeated, back into his chair.
Italy glanced around the room in confusion. "Vee~? But if that's Canada…Where is America?"
Once again, on cue, the poor abused door to the meeting room was thrown open with tremendous force. Standing in its absence was a very angry, very flustered looking America. The light flashed against his glasses as his blue eyes scanned the room, landing on a knowing, smirking England.
"You."
"'Ello America. Nice of you to finally show up."
"Don't you play innocent with me!"
"What ever do you mean?"
America's eyes narrowed and he spun on his heels, shoving his behind right into England's face. In the seat of his pants, his proud star-spangled boxers peaked through a gaping hole that was expertly cut into them. "What the hell was this for, man?! These are my only good suit pants!"
England made a face of disgust and pushed America's rump from his face. "Get that thing away from me, git."
America huffed and shoved it back into place. "I walked over halfway here before I realized what you did. Half of Ottawa was greeted with the sight of my underpants this morning, strutting down the sidewalk. Why?!"
"Why?! Look at me! You can always get new trousers. And get your bloody arse out of my face!"
"No. You messed with it, you get to deal with it."
The rest of the G8 shared glances and sighed. This was going to be a long week.
Oooooh boy! We had some fluffyness going on up there! Sorry this took so long to write, last week was HELL, and I was at the Drake Relays all weekend... Qualifying for nationals in the 4x800 relay!! Woo! I'm pumped. Just saying.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed that chapter! It was pretty long, now that I look at it! Anyway, read, review, etc! Have a good day!