Of Politics and Unlocked Doors: Part 1
anonymous
May 23 2010, 20:25:54 UTC
The reporters buzzed. The man spoke clearly and concisely.
“…and so we are forced to terminate the Special Relationship.”
At that, the crowd clamored, obscuring his concluding “thank you”. Reporters vied for his attention and microphones were thrust closer as he left the podium.
Walking deliberately across the stage, the MP, Grey, reunited with a colleague, Whitby, who handed over the briefcase he’d been holding. The two retreated from the chatter and camera flashes to the serenity of their black government vehicle. As the car drove off, the men chatted and exchanged comments on the weather.
The car pulled up to their destination. The two men got out and ascended the steps to the entryway.
It was lunch hour and as a result the halls were mostly empty. Nodding amiably to the old security guard, they made their way up to Grey’s office.
“I just need to grab a few files and then we’ll go out to lunch,” Grey called from inside the room to his friend out in the hall. It was then that they heard the noises. He paused.
“What’s that?”
Their attention was drawn to a door across the hall from which the sounds seemed to be emanating.
“That’s England’s office, isn’t it,” Whitby inquired. He rarely came to this part of the building.
“He didn’t come in this morning. I figured he must have been feeling under the weather. Perhaps he merely overslept?”
“Old boy must be working through lunch to make up for lost time,” Whitby mused. “I hope he isn’t working through an illness again…”
“We should inform him of the decision before we go,” Grey said, walking towards the door. He smiled. “If he is working through another cold, we’ll just have to make him take a break, now won’t we?”
As they neared the room, it should have become apparent that England was most certainly not doing paperwork inside, yet they continued blithely advancing towards the door. It vaguely occurred to Grey to knock, but the courtesy was forgotten. Hand on the doorknob, they would sorely regret that oversight.
Re: Of Politics and Unlocked Doors: Part 1
anonymous
May 23 2010, 20:27:46 UTC
They walked in on their country splayed across a desk on his stomach, being mounted rather enthusiastically by a larger blond man. Clothes littered the floor amongst abandoned documents. As they stood there, scandalized and flabbergasted (that was not how one used a desk!), one of the writhing persons finally noticed their presence and halted with a jolt. Immediately, the other stopped as well and four eyes trained on the newcomers like deer caught in the headlights of a van. Twin yelps of surprise were heard as a realization was reached.
“Oh! Erm… Hello, gentlemen!” England was sporting a prominent blush, as was reasonable for a man caught literally with his pants down (Off, rather. Hanging over the lampshade, in fact.). The other man, pale-faced, seemed to be stuttering without really saying anything. They unconsciously scootched forward to obscure their genitals from the intruding party. That had the unfortunate consequence of causing England to moan, his partner having inadvertently sunk in farther.
The MPs were frozen in place. Grey consoled his mind that this must just be a crazy dream brought on by eating too much before bed and that any moment he would wake up, curse groggily at his alarm, shower, and get ready to go to his job where people never copulated on furniture! Whitby said nothing, and in fact appeared to have gone comatose still standing up.
Clearly this had happened some times before, for, instead of yelling or throwing things at them as expected, England simply turned his head down to stare at the desktop before sighing and addressing them in a calm manner.
“Would you mind waiting outside as we compose ourselves?” The man behind him turned away too, his face red, adding a mumbled “fuck” under his breath.
Stricken dumb by the situation, it took a moment for Grey to shakily nod and pull the other out by the arm, closing the door firmly behind them. From the other side, they heard a shrill whine of, “You mean we don’t even get to finish!?” This was followed by a thud and a grunt of pain. The accent wasn’t English, or any British dialect for that matter, but the trifle went unnoticed in the midst of the Bigger Issue.
Plastered to the door, their eyes wide as saucers, they stared straight ahead. Unsettling images of their recent discovery played through their minds to the soundtrack of rustling clothes, thumps, and soft curses coming from inside the room.
They passed their expulsion from the office in uncomfortable silence, Whitby gaping like a fish and Grey trying to comprehend what they had unwittingly witnessed.
Their country, England-the bloody United Kingdom-was just caught by them having sex in a government office. Gay sex. Well… It wasn’t that bad. Nothing wrong with homosexuality really… Wait-that wasn’t the issue here! Moreover, he was bottoming. Somehow that struck a blow to Grey’s pride, though he wasn’t sure why. Dammit! That’s not what he should be focusing on either!
One thing nipped at the back of his mind: who in the hell was his partner? Grey liked to think that England hadn’t invited a random stranger to fornicate with him in his office. Maybe it was one of his appointments? Well THAT was certainly an unorthodox method of greeting a visitor… He mentally crossed out “rentboy” out of confidence in his nation’s character.
Thinking back, there had been two (discarded) military uniforms. So he was a soldier? The imposter’s clothing had been a different color. Grey certainly didn’t go around memorizing service uniforms so he couldn’t guess as to what nationality or division to which it belonged. Was it possible he was another nation? There was something familiar about the man…
The MP wracked his brain but failed to place it. It was then that they heard the soft “come in”.
They re-entered the room. Before them was a slightly ruffled but fully dressed England. Behind him, nonchalantly leaning against the offending furniture, arms crossed at his chest, was America.
Of Politics and Unlocked Doors: Part 2
anonymous
May 23 2010, 20:29:28 UTC
They walked in on their country splayed across a desk on his stomach, being mounted rather enthusiastically by a larger blond man. Clothes littered the floor amongst abandoned documents. As they stood there, scandalized and flabbergasted (that was not how one used a desk!), one of the writhing persons finally noticed their presence and halted with a jolt. Immediately, the other stopped as well and four eyes trained on the newcomers like deer caught in the headlights of a van. Twin yelps of surprise were heard as a realization was reached.
“Oh! Erm… Hello, gentlemen!” England was sporting a prominent blush, as was reasonable for a man caught literally with his pants down (Off, rather. Hanging over the lampshade, in fact.). The other man, pale-faced, seemed to be stuttering without really saying anything. They unconsciously scootched forward to obscure their genitals from the intruding party. That had the unfortunate consequence of causing England to moan, his partner having inadvertently sunk in farther.
The MPs were frozen in place. Grey consoled his mind that this must just be a crazy dream brought on by eating too much before bed and that any moment he would wake up, curse groggily at his alarm, shower, and get ready to go to his job where people never copulated on furniture! Whitby said nothing, and in fact appeared to have gone comatose still standing up.
Clearly this had happened some times before, for, instead of yelling or throwing things at them as expected, England simply turned his head down to stare at the desktop before sighing and addressing them in a calm manner.
“Would you mind waiting outside as we compose ourselves?” The man behind him turned away too, his face red, adding a mumbled “fuck” under his breath.
Stricken dumb by the situation, it took a moment for Grey to shakily nod and pull the other out by the arm, closing the door firmly behind them. From the other side, they heard a shrill whine of, “You mean we don’t even get to finish!?” This was followed by a thud and a grunt of pain. The accent wasn’t English, or any British dialect for that matter, but the trifle went unnoticed in the midst of the Bigger Issue.
Plastered to the door, their eyes wide as saucers, they stared straight ahead. Unsettling images of their recent discovery played through their minds to the soundtrack of rustling clothes, thumps, and soft curses coming from inside the room.
They passed their expulsion from the office in uncomfortable silence, Whitby gaping like a fish and Grey trying to comprehend what they had unwittingly witnessed.
Their country, England-the bloody United Kingdom-was just caught by them having sex in a government office. Gay sex. Well… It wasn’t that bad. Nothing wrong with homosexuality really… Wait-that wasn’t the issue here! Moreover, he was bottoming. Somehow that struck a blow to Grey’s pride, though he wasn’t sure why. Dammit! That’s not what he should be focusing on either!
One thing nipped at the back of his mind: who in the hell was his partner? Grey liked to think that England hadn’t invited a random stranger to fornicate with him in his office. Maybe it was one of his appointments? Well THAT was certainly an unorthodox method of greeting a visitor… He mentally crossed out “rentboy” out of confidence in his nation’s character.
Thinking back, there had been two (discarded) military uniforms. So he was a soldier? The imposter’s clothing had been a different color. Grey certainly didn’t go around memorizing service uniforms so he couldn’t guess as to what nationality or division to which it belonged. Was it possible he was another nation? There was something familiar about the man…
The MP wracked his brain but failed to place it. It was then that they heard the soft “come in”.
They re-entered the room. Before them was a slightly ruffled but fully dressed England. Behind him, nonchalantly leaning against the offending furniture, arms crossed at his chest, was America.
Of Politics and Unlocked Doors: Part 3
anonymous
May 23 2010, 20:33:39 UTC
There was a bit more gaping in shock as Grey processed his updated knowledge of the situation. His mind in tatters, he was unable to appreciate the irony.
“I truly apologize for what you witnessed,” England said. America was pouting in the background, irritated at being interrupted. “Now… did you need something from me?”
“I… er… We just came to inform you that we-Ah, this is horribly awkward… It’s about the ‘Special Relationship’”
England eyed him expectantly.
“Er… it’s over, you see… We ended it.”
England shot him a harsh look. Tension mounted in the room.
“Over,” he inquired darkly.
America broke it by opening his mouth.
“Sooo… Whaddo we call it now?”
“Umm… What?” Grey couldn’t understand the question. His head was spinning and his brain was overloaded.
“If it’s not the ‘Special Relationship’ anymore, then what should we call it?” He really was dense…
“Eh… Well… Nothing at all. Nothing exists so there’s nothing to say.” Grey felt like he needed to lie down. At the pub. In a different city. Far from here.
“Then… Whaddo I tell my boss when I wanna fly over here for a week or four?”
“You’re, ah… saying that you intend to keep seeing each other.” It was a statement rather that a question. He tried his best to wrap his head around the concept.
“Well… yeah. Just cuz it’s not ‘special’ anymore doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop coming over here and-”
“Quite enough” England interjected loudly, his blush coming back.
America shrugged. Grey blanched.
“When was this decision reached,” England demanded.
“Th-the meeting was this morning. You failed to show up, so we proceeded without you. This was the vote.”
England reddened in anger, then embarassment, recalling that what had occupied him this morning had been strong pair of American arms and a bed that was simply too comfortable to be abandoned. He had been detained there despite his half-hearted protests until America’s growling stomach forced him out of bed around 11:30. America was terrible for his willpower…
He was about to start drooling when his thoughts were cruelly broken by America trying out new monikers with an embarrassed Grey.
“…Then how ‘bout the ‘Sexalicious Relationship’?” He winked and Grey felt sick.
“You!” England pointed at America. “Doesn’t this bother you at all?”
“Well… to be honest, your guys do it so much I don’t even think about it anymore…”
As England shook America by the lapels, yelling at him, Grey turned to his colleague.
“We’ve buggered up, haven’t we,” he groaned miserably.
Whitby seemed to have recovered by this time, or else he was in a state of shock-induced indifference. He coolly nodded at the inquiry and gathered himself, his dignity restored.
“Right. We’d better pop off then,” Whitby said over the lovers’ spat. He eyed them. “Do find a more suitable spot next time.”
As they turned to leave, he addressed the shamed couple from the doorway.
“You chaps should know,” he said, pointing up at a corner of the room, “There are security cameras in here.”
With that, he closed the door on the horrified nations.
Of Politics and Unlocked Doors: Part 4 (END)
anonymous
May 23 2010, 20:36:36 UTC
“Due to some… unforeseen factors, it seems that calling the Special Relationship off may have been a bit hasty.”
America smiled. He snaked his arm around England’s shoulder, bringing him closer. The TV flickered with the images of politicians scrambling to cover their asses in front of a nationwide audience. The nations themselves sat in bed, cuddling side by side.
“Whelp! That’s the end o’ that, huh?” America planted a kiss on England’s cheek. England initially tensed and reddened with the affection, but submitted to the several that followed. He fiddled with the recently-liberated security tape in his hands.
“Yes…” he sighed, “Until next month.” England rolled his eyes at the anticipation that they, his government, would be doing it again in the near future. America smirked, hoping that they, the two nations, would also be doing it again in the near future.
“Soooo…” He trailed his hand down England’s naked left side, coming to rest at his thigh, which he caressed. England shivered.
“Wanna go a celebration round?”
England smirked and tossed the tape at him.
“Idiot.”
"I'm sorry, Father... I tried..."
Hopefully that didn't set your eyes aflame with its badness. and i did misfire once. oopsie.
Re: Authornon 2
anonymous
May 24 2010, 02:19:45 UTC
Grey felt like he needed to lie down. At the pub. In a different city. Far from here.
*snorts helplessly* Don't be so hard on yourself, authoranon, I thought it was pretty funny! (of course, I also just posted the beginning of my very first probably-bad fill, so I might not be the most confidence-inspiring person ever... but I still thought it was funny.)
Nnnnoooo, don't be so self-deprecating! D: This is wonderfully witty, anon. I laughed. One of my favourite parts was the mention of them instinctively scooting to hide their bits, and then the consequence...*giggle*
And it was brilliant that all it took was the uniform for the MPs to realise that they just saw their Nation taking it up the arse from America. XD
pfffft "Sexalicious Relationship". Never change, America honey. Especially since, whether or not England admits it, good gravy is it ever. ;)
In short, this was lovely. I was amused. <3
And don't worry about the perfectionism shortcomings, luv. There's nothing wrong with fudging a bit for hilarity's sake. ;)
Despite spellings, a caveat: this humble 'non is an Americanon as well. Just with a major crush on our friends across the pond.
“…Then how ‘bout the ‘Sexalicious Relationship’?” I will for serious bear your children simply for this line! XD Because America would so fucking do that! Though, really, the whole thing was hilarious and beautiful. I love the way you write America especially. He's so...American...
You were silly to worry, because you're awesome, and I'm so unspeakably glad you filled this too! <3
Re: First Filler
anonymous
May 24 2010, 13:27:27 UTC
hah... thank you. that means a lot.
"American" is all i'm good at. when i was writing the MPs, i kept repeating to myself "NOT American. NOT American..." and then i read it and it looks like an American mocking a Brit. dammit.
i don't think it's possible to be truly satisfied with one's own story.
“…and so we are forced to terminate the Special Relationship.”
At that, the crowd clamored, obscuring his concluding “thank you”. Reporters vied for his attention and microphones were thrust closer as he left the podium.
Walking deliberately across the stage, the MP, Grey, reunited with a colleague, Whitby, who handed over the briefcase he’d been holding. The two retreated from the chatter and camera flashes to the serenity of their black government vehicle. As the car drove off, the men chatted and exchanged comments on the weather.
The car pulled up to their destination. The two men got out and ascended the steps to the entryway.
It was lunch hour and as a result the halls were mostly empty. Nodding amiably to the old security guard, they made their way up to Grey’s office.
“I just need to grab a few files and then we’ll go out to lunch,” Grey called from inside the room to his friend out in the hall. It was then that they heard the noises. He paused.
“What’s that?”
Their attention was drawn to a door across the hall from which the sounds seemed to be emanating.
“That’s England’s office, isn’t it,” Whitby inquired. He rarely came to this part of the building.
“He didn’t come in this morning. I figured he must have been feeling under the weather. Perhaps he merely overslept?”
“Old boy must be working through lunch to make up for lost time,” Whitby mused. “I hope he isn’t working through an illness again…”
“We should inform him of the decision before we go,” Grey said, walking towards the door. He smiled. “If he is working through another cold, we’ll just have to make him take a break, now won’t we?”
As they neared the room, it should have become apparent that England was most certainly not doing paperwork inside, yet they continued blithely advancing towards the door. It vaguely occurred to Grey to knock, but the courtesy was forgotten. Hand on the doorknob, they would sorely regret that oversight.
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“Oh! Erm… Hello, gentlemen!” England was sporting a prominent blush, as was reasonable for a man caught literally with his pants down (Off, rather. Hanging over the lampshade, in fact.). The other man, pale-faced, seemed to be stuttering without really saying anything. They unconsciously scootched forward to obscure their genitals from the intruding party. That had the unfortunate consequence of causing England to moan, his partner having inadvertently sunk in farther.
The MPs were frozen in place. Grey consoled his mind that this must just be a crazy dream brought on by eating too much before bed and that any moment he would wake up, curse groggily at his alarm, shower, and get ready to go to his job where people never copulated on furniture! Whitby said nothing, and in fact appeared to have gone comatose still standing up.
Clearly this had happened some times before, for, instead of yelling or throwing things at them as expected, England simply turned his head down to stare at the desktop before sighing and addressing them in a calm manner.
“Would you mind waiting outside as we compose ourselves?” The man behind him turned away too, his face red, adding a mumbled “fuck” under his breath.
Stricken dumb by the situation, it took a moment for Grey to shakily nod and pull the other out by the arm, closing the door firmly behind them. From the other side, they heard a shrill whine of, “You mean we don’t even get to finish!?” This was followed by a thud and a grunt of pain. The accent wasn’t English, or any British dialect for that matter, but the trifle went unnoticed in the midst of the Bigger Issue.
Plastered to the door, their eyes wide as saucers, they stared straight ahead. Unsettling images of their recent discovery played through their minds to the soundtrack of rustling clothes, thumps, and soft curses coming from inside the room.
They passed their expulsion from the office in uncomfortable silence, Whitby gaping like a fish and Grey trying to comprehend what they had unwittingly witnessed.
Their country, England-the bloody United Kingdom-was just caught by them having sex in a government office. Gay sex. Well… It wasn’t that bad. Nothing wrong with homosexuality really… Wait-that wasn’t the issue here! Moreover, he was bottoming. Somehow that struck a blow to Grey’s pride, though he wasn’t sure why. Dammit! That’s not what he should be focusing on either!
One thing nipped at the back of his mind: who in the hell was his partner? Grey liked to think that England hadn’t invited a random stranger to fornicate with him in his office. Maybe it was one of his appointments? Well THAT was certainly an unorthodox method of greeting a visitor… He mentally crossed out “rentboy” out of confidence in his nation’s character.
Thinking back, there had been two (discarded) military uniforms. So he was a soldier? The imposter’s clothing had been a different color. Grey certainly didn’t go around memorizing service uniforms so he couldn’t guess as to what nationality or division to which it belonged. Was it possible he was another nation? There was something familiar about the man…
The MP wracked his brain but failed to place it. It was then that they heard the soft “come in”.
They re-entered the room. Before them was a slightly ruffled but fully dressed England. Behind him, nonchalantly leaning against the offending furniture, arms crossed at his chest, was America.
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“Oh! Erm… Hello, gentlemen!” England was sporting a prominent blush, as was reasonable for a man caught literally with his pants down (Off, rather. Hanging over the lampshade, in fact.). The other man, pale-faced, seemed to be stuttering without really saying anything. They unconsciously scootched forward to obscure their genitals from the intruding party. That had the unfortunate consequence of causing England to moan, his partner having inadvertently sunk in farther.
The MPs were frozen in place. Grey consoled his mind that this must just be a crazy dream brought on by eating too much before bed and that any moment he would wake up, curse groggily at his alarm, shower, and get ready to go to his job where people never copulated on furniture! Whitby said nothing, and in fact appeared to have gone comatose still standing up.
Clearly this had happened some times before, for, instead of yelling or throwing things at them as expected, England simply turned his head down to stare at the desktop before sighing and addressing them in a calm manner.
“Would you mind waiting outside as we compose ourselves?” The man behind him turned away too, his face red, adding a mumbled “fuck” under his breath.
Stricken dumb by the situation, it took a moment for Grey to shakily nod and pull the other out by the arm, closing the door firmly behind them. From the other side, they heard a shrill whine of, “You mean we don’t even get to finish!?” This was followed by a thud and a grunt of pain. The accent wasn’t English, or any British dialect for that matter, but the trifle went unnoticed in the midst of the Bigger Issue.
Plastered to the door, their eyes wide as saucers, they stared straight ahead. Unsettling images of their recent discovery played through their minds to the soundtrack of rustling clothes, thumps, and soft curses coming from inside the room.
They passed their expulsion from the office in uncomfortable silence, Whitby gaping like a fish and Grey trying to comprehend what they had unwittingly witnessed.
Their country, England-the bloody United Kingdom-was just caught by them having sex in a government office. Gay sex. Well… It wasn’t that bad. Nothing wrong with homosexuality really… Wait-that wasn’t the issue here! Moreover, he was bottoming. Somehow that struck a blow to Grey’s pride, though he wasn’t sure why. Dammit! That’s not what he should be focusing on either!
One thing nipped at the back of his mind: who in the hell was his partner? Grey liked to think that England hadn’t invited a random stranger to fornicate with him in his office. Maybe it was one of his appointments? Well THAT was certainly an unorthodox method of greeting a visitor… He mentally crossed out “rentboy” out of confidence in his nation’s character.
Thinking back, there had been two (discarded) military uniforms. So he was a soldier? The imposter’s clothing had been a different color. Grey certainly didn’t go around memorizing service uniforms so he couldn’t guess as to what nationality or division to which it belonged. Was it possible he was another nation? There was something familiar about the man…
The MP wracked his brain but failed to place it. It was then that they heard the soft “come in”.
They re-entered the room. Before them was a slightly ruffled but fully dressed England. Behind him, nonchalantly leaning against the offending furniture, arms crossed at his chest, was America.
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“I truly apologize for what you witnessed,” England said. America was pouting in the background, irritated at being interrupted. “Now… did you need something from me?”
“I… er… We just came to inform you that we-Ah, this is horribly awkward… It’s about the ‘Special Relationship’”
England eyed him expectantly.
“Er… it’s over, you see… We ended it.”
England shot him a harsh look. Tension mounted in the room.
“Over,” he inquired darkly.
America broke it by opening his mouth.
“Sooo… Whaddo we call it now?”
“Umm… What?” Grey couldn’t understand the question. His head was spinning and his brain was overloaded.
“If it’s not the ‘Special Relationship’ anymore, then what should we call it?” He really was dense…
“Eh… Well… Nothing at all. Nothing exists so there’s nothing to say.” Grey felt like he needed to lie down. At the pub. In a different city. Far from here.
“Then… Whaddo I tell my boss when I wanna fly over here for a week or four?”
“You’re, ah… saying that you intend to keep seeing each other.” It was a statement rather that a question. He tried his best to wrap his head around the concept.
“Well… yeah. Just cuz it’s not ‘special’ anymore doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop coming over here and-”
“Quite enough” England interjected loudly, his blush coming back.
America shrugged. Grey blanched.
“When was this decision reached,” England demanded.
“Th-the meeting was this morning. You failed to show up, so we proceeded without you. This was the vote.”
England reddened in anger, then embarassment, recalling that what had occupied him this morning had been strong pair of American arms and a bed that was simply too comfortable to be abandoned. He had been detained there despite his half-hearted protests until America’s growling stomach forced him out of bed around 11:30. America was terrible for his willpower…
He was about to start drooling when his thoughts were cruelly broken by America trying out new monikers with an embarrassed Grey.
“…Then how ‘bout the ‘Sexalicious Relationship’?” He winked and Grey felt sick.
“You!” England pointed at America. “Doesn’t this bother you at all?”
“Well… to be honest, your guys do it so much I don’t even think about it anymore…”
As England shook America by the lapels, yelling at him, Grey turned to his colleague.
“We’ve buggered up, haven’t we,” he groaned miserably.
Whitby seemed to have recovered by this time, or else he was in a state of shock-induced indifference. He coolly nodded at the inquiry and gathered himself, his dignity restored.
“Right. We’d better pop off then,” Whitby said over the lovers’ spat. He eyed them. “Do find a more suitable spot next time.”
As they turned to leave, he addressed the shamed couple from the doorway.
“You chaps should know,” he said, pointing up at a corner of the room, “There are security cameras in here.”
With that, he closed the door on the horrified nations.
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America smiled. He snaked his arm around England’s shoulder, bringing him closer. The TV flickered with the images of politicians scrambling to cover their asses in front of a nationwide audience. The nations themselves sat in bed, cuddling side by side.
“Whelp! That’s the end o’ that, huh?” America planted a kiss on England’s cheek. England initially tensed and reddened with the affection, but submitted to the several that followed. He fiddled with the recently-liberated security tape in his hands.
“Yes…” he sighed, “Until next month.” England rolled his eyes at the anticipation that they, his government, would be doing it again in the near future. America smirked, hoping that they, the two nations, would also be doing it again in the near future.
“Soooo…” He trailed his hand down England’s naked left side, coming to rest at his thigh, which he caressed. England shivered.
“Wanna go a celebration round?”
England smirked and tossed the tape at him.
“Idiot.”
"I'm sorry, Father... I tried..."
Hopefully that didn't set your eyes aflame with its badness. and i did misfire once. oopsie.
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*snorts helplessly* Don't be so hard on yourself, authoranon, I thought it was pretty funny! (of course, I also just posted the beginning of my very first probably-bad fill, so I might not be the most confidence-inspiring person ever... but I still thought it was funny.)
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thanks for the kind words (and the hug i stole)
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And it was brilliant that all it took was the uniform for the MPs to realise that they just saw their Nation taking it up the arse from America. XD
pfffft "Sexalicious Relationship". Never change, America honey. Especially since, whether or not England admits it, good gravy is it ever. ;)
In short, this was lovely. I was amused. <3
And don't worry about the perfectionism shortcomings, luv. There's nothing wrong with fudging a bit for hilarity's sake. ;)
Despite spellings, a caveat: this humble 'non is an Americanon as well. Just with a major crush on our friends across the pond.
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*snerk* Oh, that was glorious, authornon! <3
I think Grey secretly liked the sechs.
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"...and get ready to go to his job where people never copulated on furniture."
THAT MADE MY DAY. I was giggling like a lunatic. People are frightened. Good work!
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Because America would so fucking do that! Though, really, the whole thing was hilarious and beautiful. I love the way you write America especially. He's so...American...
You were silly to worry, because you're awesome, and I'm so unspeakably glad you filled this too! <3
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"American" is all i'm good at.
when i was writing the MPs, i kept repeating to myself "NOT American. NOT American..." and then i read it and it looks like an American mocking a Brit. dammit.
i don't think it's possible to be truly satisfied with one's own story.
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That had the unfortunate consequence of causing England to moan, his partner having inadvertently sunk in farther.
WAS DELICIOUS.
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