A/N: Look! It's more porn! This time, though, I have to warn you: as you can tell from the title, there's an Iggy who's enjoying being hurt. And also tops. If either of these things bother you, please turn back. Anyway, I'm sorry that this so short, but it didn't wanna be longer ;_;

"Come on, old man! Gimmie it harder and deeper. I ain't gonna break!"

England grunted a response as he shifted slightly, burrowing deeper into the tight heat of his partner's ass.

"Oh, Lordie. Right there, England, right like that!" America's hands gripped England's shoulders, even though there wasn't much room next to his ankles.

The older nation looked down to see America's face twisted in pleasure. His beautiful blue eyes were shut tightly, but his mouth was wide open to show off those perfect teeth and the tongue that had been wrapped around England's cock not ten minutes ago. The larger man's entire upper body was flushed, making him a lovely shade of pink. He was shaking, making the strong thighs in England's hands quiver. His breaths were labored, making all of the muscles in his broad chest and toned stomach flex.

England stuck his tongue between his teeth and picked up the pace. Finally getting over himself enough ask America back to the hotel with him? Best decision of his fucking life. He'd expected to be thrown inside (onto something soft if he was lucky) and fucked with neither finesse nor satisfying completion on his end. Instead, America had strolled over to the bed, laid down, taken off his glasses slowly and almost seductively, and in the most spine-tingling bedroom voice England had ever heard commanded him to come over and make love to him.

He hadn't said fuck; he hadn't said do it; he hadn't said "put it in me" or any other vulgar phrase. He had said, with half-lidded eyes no less, "Make love to me." It made England's heart flutter in a way that it shouldn't before casual sex. It was surely because of Hollywood's influence on the lad's thinking, but England couldn't help but wonder if it didn't mean he wasn't the only one who had wanted more than one night of sex every now and then.

England shook his head. Why on earth was he worrying about that when America was right there beneath him and around him, finally allowing him to bring all those years of longing to fruition? He didn't even know how many more moments he'd have to rock against the younger nation like this. The boy was shaking harder and harder every second and his breaths were catching more and more often. America's hands slid down England's back to grip at his hips and help to force him deeper quicker.

The smaller nation let out a laugh that was more breathy than he would have liked, "That's not going to help, idiot."

America scowled, "It's only 'cause you were going so slow I thought I was gonna fall asleep."

"It's not a race, imbecile!"

"No it's not, but it ain't a-" Whatever comparison America was going to make was cut short when England thrust in especially hard at just the right angle, forcing the younger man to let out a yelp. America's hands moved up to his chest, pulling England down, "I'm so fucking close, England."

He wasn't the only one, but England wasn't going to admit that. However, he did let go of one of America's thighs to slide his hand down and wrap around the younger nation's dripping cock. America let out a groan and England felt his hands tighten. The nails on his back were digging quite a bit, but he didn't care. He had put up with a lot worse before. In fact, he'd had his arm broken once during one of the many three-way-hate-sex sessions with France and Spain in the later sixteen hundreds. A little bit of scratching didn't bother him in the slightest.

However, as he continued on, the pain started to get worse. With a gasp, he realized that America had broken his skin. America let out a groan and began to drag his hands up England's back, never letting up on the pressure. England's skin was tearing, he knew it. He let out a scream, but America seemed too far gone to care.

To his surprise though, England realized that it wasn't entirely painful. Yes, it hurt. It hurt quite a bit, actually. But that was what made it good. He felt his heart beat faster and adrenaline coursed through his body. He was aware of every single inch of his body and how each was being pleased or tortured. England let out a groan. He hadn't felt this alive in decades.

America reached back down and pulled up again, leaving new trails, although these weren't as deep and painful as before. However, the other man's sweaty hands would pass over the places where his precious scratches had broken the skin and the salt would make them sting even more. Once he reached England's shoulders again, he just stayed there, holding on for dear life.

It was only a few seconds before he climaxed. England felt the warm sticky spend covering his hand, but even more than that he felt America's nails digging into him hard. It was more the pain than the feeling of America coming that sent him over the edge, but that was something he was never going to admit to ever.

"Oh my God," America said, letting his hands relax, "I don't think I've ever had sex that intense."

England smiled, and slid the other man's ankles from his shoulders, "Glad you enjoyed it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get something to clean us up." He stood and walked towards the bathroom.

America gasped, "Oh no…"

England stiffened and turned around. The younger blond was looking at him, eyes wide with horror.

"Dammit, England, what did I do to you?"

England shrugged, "It's not so bad."

"Dude, you're bleeding! That's not normal!" He leapt out of bed and ran over to England, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I've had worse."

"That's no excuse. I hurt you, England." He looked like he was about to cry and he was obviously disgusted.

"If you feel bad, just wash them for me. They'll be gone by the morning if not sooner."

"Okay," America said softly.

England flicked the light on as they entered the hotel bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, throwing it to America.

"I really am sorry, you know," he said, wetting the cloth.

"Do you know what caused it?" England asked, "If we do this again, I'd like to know beforehand what the trigger is." …So that he could make sure to pull it.

"It's… It's when I bottom," America came over and began to carefully wash at the cuts, "When I bottom I tend to… I get overwhelmed. It just feels so good to give everything to someone else for a while, lay back and just take what people give me. When it's really, really good I'll… I stop thinking and I just feel." England looked back at him. The younger nation was staring at the floor with an embarrassed flush across his cheeks, although he continued to wash England's back, "And when that happens I scratch. And if I'm all trancified sometimes I forget how strong I am. Usually it's not nearly this bad, but you…" He looked back and smiled, "You're really good, England."

England felt himself blush and have to look at the wall this time, "Th-Thanks."

"Still, that's why I usually top. But with you I just couldn't. I've kinda… kinda wanted this for a while," England stiffened, but America either didn't notice or didn't care, "And whenever I imagined it you always topped. I didn't think it would happen in real life, so I didn't worry about it. But tonight I was just so damn worried about fulfilling my own fantasies, I…" He stopped washing and he tightened his hold on the washcloth for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and looked England in the eye, "I'll understand it if you don't wanna do this again, or at least don't let me bottom ever again."

England turned around and yanked the cloth from his hands, "Idiot," he said, "I'm not giving you up so easily." He reached down and began to wash America's lower regions, cleaning off both of their spend.

America beamed, but didn't say anything.

England didn't pay him any heed. He just finished America, took care of himself and then headed back to bed.

"I'm gonna stay here tonight, okay?" America asked, "I just wanna make sure you're better by tomorrow."

"That's fine." England said, "Maybe this way you'll actually be on time tomorrow."

At first, the two took opposite sides of the bed, looking away from each other. However, somehow they both ended up in the middle, although America was asleep by then.

He was genuinely concerned when he saw he'd hurt him. He'd said he wanted this, that he'd wanted England for a while. It was implied that he wanted to make love again. His smile when he realized that England wasn't mad or worried at all was so sweet and pure…

A big arm fell over England's side and pulled him flush to America's chest. The scratches were rubbing against the other man's smooth skin, but it didn't hurt in the slightest. England blushed. Maybe his hopes of being more than friends with benefits weren't too outlandish.

But, he thought with a yawn, that was something to worry about later. He turned around to tuck his head under America's chin and fell asleep.