Hello~ This one shot is written for Sexykill69 for being my 300th reviewer!

The prompt: RussiaxAmericaxEngland, hot and heavy

Writing a threesome was hard as hell! -dies- Definitely the most difficult thing I've attempted really. It's probably not that great but I really did try my best! I hope you enjoy it despite its shortcomings. And once again I use the category of 'romance' very, very loosely. Very loosely. I wish there was a 'sex' category. -laughs-

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor its characters forever

As always, England finds his eyes locked on the painfully oblivious America who is talking casually to France and an almost invisible...what was his name? Canada. It is so frustrating. Whenever he came near, England's skin would flush with heat and wanting. But did the bloody idiot even notice? Of course not. Not in a million years.

He sighs wistfully and lets his head fall into his arms. After a moment he looks up again and nearly jumps out of his skin when he notices Russia sitting eerily close to him.

England clutches his heart. "Bloody hell! Where did you come from? I could have died!"

Russia tilts his head, smiling pleasantly. "Then why didn't you?"

After contemplating how he probably could not dislike Russia more, England clears his throat. "Well. Is there something you want or do you just feel like terrifying people?"

Not that he had to try very hard.

Russia leans his chin on his hand and speaks clearly but softly. "I know you want America."

England's face turns bright red and he nearly chokes. "Wh-what are you talking about? Of course I don't! He's a git!"

Russia titters. "It doesn't matter how much you deny it. The way you look at him when you think no one is watching says everything."

England gets a bad feeling. "So... Are you hoping to blackmail me or some sort of rubbish like that?"

Russia looks thoughtful. "Mm, I guess you could almost say that. Though probably not in the way you think. No matter what, America will never feel that way for you. An idiot like that would never notice such subtle desire. He can't be yours."

England feels anger bubbling beneath the embarrassment. "As if I didn't know that. Are you here to taunt me then?"

Russia turns towards him, a small smile playing on his lips. Like he has a secret he is bursting to tell. "I'm here to make a proposition. I'll let you in on a little secret. I want America too. Before you think to ask, my feelings and motives are my own and none of your business."

England's mouth feels dry. Once the words have fully sunken in he speaks with some difficulty. "You... want America? Is that a threat? A warning?"

Russia's smile becomes a grin and he begins to speak more rapidly. "I told you, I am here to make a proposition. America is very powerful. Alone it would be exceedingly difficult to overpower him. And even if it was accomplished he would fight tooth and nail. To keep him restrained would be tiring without the use of drugs and that would take all the fun out of it. But two... Two could stand a fair chance."

England feels a bit dizzy all of a sudden. "What... what are you saying?"

Russia leans in very close, his violet eyes boring into England's own green eyes. "Together we can both have what we want. We can both have America."

England begins to shake his head very slowly then with more emphasis. "N-no you can't... you can't be serious! I would... I would never! How could you even ask something so... so..."

Words fail him. This had to be a dream. A nightmare.

Russia is not discouraged. His voice continues on appealingly. "Don't be so quick to say no. Just think about it for a moment. Think about it very carefully. Do you not lay awake at nights wondering what the freedom that is always on his lips tastes like? How it would feel to run your fingers through that sun kissed hair? What it must sound like when he moans from pure bliss?"

England can feel his pulse quicken as these words play on secret fantasies that he has privately indulged late at night in bed. No, he couldn't let himself even go there. What Russia is proposing isn't only immoral and indecent, it is rape!

Russia notices the growing look of opposition on England's face. "Is something the matter? Does his smooth skin beneath your fingers not appeal to you?"

England hardens his face. "You are a sick fuck Russia. You want me to help you rape America? What is wrong with you? I am going to alert-"

Russia grabs his wrist tightly. "Listen to me before you make a decision you will regret. Think about his arrogance. The way he looks right through you, totally oblivious to your feelings, your needs... Think of it more as teaching him a lesson. He doesn't have to be treated too roughly."

England glowers at him. If Russia really thinks-

"Let me inform you of one final detail. I have already anonymously given America a note asking to meet very soon. If you join me then you shall have exactly what you desire. If not I shall take care of you now and handle the situation to the best of my ability. It will happen no matter your decision. You are not really as washed up as everyone thinks, are you? I remember an England that raped quite a few countries and I do not think he considered himself 'a sick fuck' by any means. He just knew how to take what he wanted."

Russia gestures with his head very subtly. "Look at him Arthur... Look at him."

Reluctantly, not understanding why he didn't try to cry out instead, England turns his head and sets his eyes once more on his lovely America.

Russia's voice continues softly, coaxingly in his ear. "Look at how carefree he is. It makes you sick doesn't it? That he has never been beneath you. That he thinks he's beyond such assault... He deserves to be fucked to let him know the world does not in fact revolve around him. Don't you want to help teach him that lesson?"

England swallows hard. Despite how strongly the majority of him screams out against this, a small part is more than a little tempted. An old, self-righteous anger is awakened. Where did he get off being so bloody oblivious? He was mocking and shaming England's dignity every time he smiled at him. Perhaps he did deserve to be punished...

No, no, it's wrong to think that!

Suddenly America glances at his watch and waves to France and Canada before leaving the room.

"Tick tock England. What is it going to be? Do you intend to join me?"

England opens his mouth to very firmly say no. "Yes."

What? What?

Russia smiles. "I am glad to see that you have not become a totally spineless worm. Though you still are one. Come quickly, we do not have much time."

As England is dragged along behind Russia at a rapid pace his mind tries to process what he has just done. Once it has accepted the fact that he has agreed to join Russia it switches to justifying the response.

Obviously if he is with Russia he can warn America. If he is with Russia then America can not be brutally raped. If he is with Russia, Russia will not be able to have England's coveted America to himself.

This thought process was starting to go down a dangerous route...

Russia stops and England runs into him with a small grunt. Russia turns and puts a finger to his lips. England notices that he is holding a water pipe and wonders where in god's name that had come from. Russia gestures for him to stay where he is and walks silently towards a room. After a moment of incomprehension, England soon follows as silently as possible not once considering that by making noise he would be warning America of lurking danger. He peeks into the room Russia has entered and sees America sitting obliviously in a chair, tapping his foot, with earbuds in—of course he is listening to an iPod or something ridiculous, he never did pay attention to his surroundings—as Russia stands behind him, pipe raised. England realizes that if he calls out loud enough or makes a sudden movement America will turn and be able to dodge Russia's blow.

His mouth opens but nothing comes out. He thinks of moving but does not.

The pipe comes down and America's body goes stiff before slumping over onto the ground. Never knew what hit him.

Dear God, England was officially an accomplice.

Russia picks up America and throws him over his shoulder. "Well the easy part is over. Come along England. He won't be unconscious forever."

England is horrified. Even more so by the fact that he wordlessly begins to follow Russia. The still rational part of his mind screams at him to go alert someone. No, but if he left then even if he got help Russia would surely just escape with America and ravish him. At least with England there he could make sure America is treated gently. Dear Lord, he had actually made up his mind to go along with this hadn't he?

Yes. Yes he had.

There is something horribly wrong with him. It was undoubtedly America's fault.

Russia turns to look at him. "Something the matter England?"

"I do believe I am going to vomit."

Russia giggles. "I didn't think gentlemen were allowed to vomit."

Russia finally stops in front of another door. "No one should come in here and there are no windows. It will be perfect. Make sure to lock the door behind you."

Putting America down, Russia immediately begins to strip him. England rushes over and grabs Russia's arm. "W-wait!"

Russia looks at him impatiently. "What do you want? Oh, did you want to help undress him?"

England releases him nervously. "W-well no that's not..."

With a shake of the head Russia ignores him and continues to undress America. England watches, simultaneously turned on and irritated that Russia is also getting to see his body. Soon America is naked. He looks oddly vulnerable and England suddenly gets the urge to make this all stop. He can't. He can't do this. He-

Russia runs a hand down America's chest, down his abdomen, lower...

England is suddenly on the ground next to Russia, shoving him over. The two of them glare at one another. Russia finally shakes his head. "Give me your tie England. I need something to bind his hands with."

"Why can't you use his?"

Russia shakes his head again. "It's cheap quality. Yours will hold better."

England scowls and silently begins to loosen his tie. He puts it in Russia's waiting hand. Russia is quick to flip America over and ties his hands expertly with it.

Giving it a final tug, Russia licks his lips as his eyes wander down America's body. "I suppose we should discuss how we are going to do this. As I knocked him out and set this up I insist that I get to fuck him first."

England flushes angrily. "Am I supposed to just watch you until you're done?"

Russia shrugs. "You can join I suppose. Though I absolutely will not do double penetration. Particularly not with you. Besides, there definitely wouldn't be enough room."

England feels sick again. "As if I would! But I do not want your sloppy seconds!"

Russia sighs. Maybe he should have done this alone after all. It was proving easier than he had originally thought. "I suppose if you don't mind riding him we could go at the same time."

This whole conversation is making England entirely uncomfortable. Having sex with America at the same time as Russia... But he wouldn't mind riding America—even the idea makes his body flush—because that way he would get the front and no matter what Russia thought, that is the best part.

And that is when it strikes him. He would be face to face with America. As he is double-teaming him with Russia.

"He'll... he'll be able to see us!" England squeaks.

"So?"

England shakes his head violently. "N-no! Absolutely not! We have to blindfold him! He can't... I would die if he knew I was a part of this!"

Russia rolls his eyes and picks up America's tie. "Very well. I suppose that means we won't be able to talk then so everything has to be decided this moment. Though it really doesn't matter what I do. He's sure to recognize me immediately by my size alone."

England glares at him. Russia chuckles as he does his best to fasten the widest part of the tie around America's eyes as a makeshift blindfold.

"Satisfied?"

England still feels apprehensive. It could easily slip... Still, it'd have to do. He nods. "I also have to insist on something. He has to be prepared. You can't just enter him, understand me? I'll kill you if you do!"

Russia scoffs, barely paying attention to the threat. "Please England, let us not waste our precious time throwing empty threats, mm?"

"I'm being completely serious."

Russia glances over. Oh it was such a shame England had to be the one who was so infatuated with America. This was going to be unpleasant with the little вредитель in the mix. It was a bit late now... He really should have done this alone.

"Very well, to be clear then: America is to be prepared. You may do that if it matters so much to you. I will take the back, you will take the front. Physical contact between yourself and myself is to be kept at the very barest minimum. I hope you aren't too loud or he'll know who you are little England. Anything else?"

Something about dividing it up so clear made it seem... it felt so factual. It made it seem more dirty somehow. "...So, er, if I'm riding him while you're... How will we...?"

Russia can't help think that, as annoying as they could be, any of the romance countries would have been much easier to do this with. "Just get on top of him. I can handle both of your weight just fine. Are there any other questions?"

England shakes his head after thinking about it. Nothing came to mind anyway. Bloody hell, it's not like he hadn't done things like this, it has just... been a while.

"Very well then. Make sure you aren't too distracted when he comes to. Otherwise he might very well escape and then your cover will be blown anyway."

With that Russia begins to take off his own clothes. England looks away, definitely not interested in that sight in the least. Embarrassed beyond all reason and more than a little disgusted with himself, he slowly begins to unbutton his shirt. What is he doing?

His eyes slide to America's body and the feeling of doubt is shoved very far back. Right, he is committed and he might as well enjoy it. He could be guilt ridden and try to make up for it for the rest of his existence afterwards.

Once England has folded his clothes and put them aside he feels painfully self-conscious. The last person he wants to see him naked is Russia. Not that Russia probably cares. Which he certainly doesn't. In fact, he is far more interested in the blond that is currently sprawled appealingly on the floor.

England can't bring himself to look up at Russia in his current state. "So... are we just going to wait until he comes around?"

Russia laughs condescendingly. "Of course not. I thought of that. I didn't hit him too terribly hard and he's a hearty boy. This should do the trick."

Russia picks up his discarded coat and digs through one of the pockets, looking for a pouch. Once he has located it he sits America up, whose head falls back at a severe angle. "Come now England, you must be more lively than that. Don't just sit there like a prude."

"R-right..." England makes his way over and sits before the two of them on his knees, not sure what to expect. Russia puts the bag under America's nose. It takes a moment but he finally jerks in Russia's hold, eyelids fluttering, mouth turning down in a frown. "Wha...?"

He starts to try and sit up. He doesn't get very far as Russia's grip tightens around him. The face is rapidly becoming alert and panicked. "What the fuck? Who- Shit, what the fuck is this?"

He starts to struggle in Russia's grasp. Russia gives England a meaningful look as he grabs America's arms to keep him from snapping his bonds. England hesitates then puts his hands on America's legs. America's whole body freezes. "...Two?"

Russia raises an eyebrow as he notices America relax instead of doubling his efforts to get free.

"...Who's there?"

England and Russia are silent. America turns his head blindly. "Seriously, who the fuck is this?"

England can feel the blood rushing in his ears. This was a horrible idea. Oh bloody hell this was a horrible, awful idea.

Russia readjusts America so that he is between his legs and begins to kiss America's neck. America jumps at the contact. "I demand to know who-"

Russia grabs the back of America's head, fingers tightening around blond hair, and forces the inquiring mouth against his own. England stares with growing resentment as Russia thoroughly invades America's mouth, barely pulling back to let either of them take a gasp of fresh air.

Finally Russia pulls away for a moment and glares at England then looks down suggestively at America's crotch.

Get to it already.

America, who has been gasping for breath opens his mouth to protest again when Russia engulfs it once more.

It takes a moment for it to click and then England remembers Russia had told him if America was to be prepared he had to do it. Well. Fine then. With shaking hands, England pushes America's legs further open and crawls closer to him, face radiating warmth. What he has fantasized for ages is finally right in front of him. Though Russia is an unexpected and unwelcome addition.

England begins by gently stroking America, who twitches at the contact. Pre-cum would have to do as a lubricant. As he touches America he leans in and begins to kiss his shoulder. His body trembles and he feels something similar to relief. He is really kissing America's body, touching it. It feels and tastes as good as he had imagined. No, better. Any punishment is worth this.

England is a bit surprised to feel America getting so hard so quickly. Particularly considering the situation he is in. It is almost obnoxious how young and vital he still is. Though it does please him that he is the one making him hard. He chooses to believe Russia, who has started playing with one of America's nipples, has very little to do with it if anything at all.

America's cock finally becomes slick with pre-cum and England does his best to cover his fingers in it. If need be he could always resort to saliva but he would prefer not to. He nuzzles against the nape of America's neck and begins to suck as he inserts the first finger. America squirms beneath him. He wants to whisper words of comfort to him but remains mute.

Russia is thinking. He is thinking about how sweet America tastes, like cola. He is thinking about how much he wants to fuck him, if England would ever hurry up. He is thinking it odd that America has not attempted to bite his tongue despite his quite forcefully exploring his mouth with it. He is also thinking that it is strange America hasn't particularly been fighting back ever since England came into play.

These thoughts are there yet the latter two are not nearly as important as the first two. He breaks the kiss, licking those lips that sprout such dreams and nonsense it could make the world crumble from their weight.

The moment he does a soft moan escapes America and Russia can not help but smirk. He knew America had a bit of a reputation but he didn't realize how bad he really is. Giving in to two unknown countries forceful advances without a second thought... It is horribly amusing. Russia traces the letters of what America really is onto his free shoulder with his tongue. S-L-U-T. He hopes America is literate enough to pick up on it.

He looks down at England who still seems to be working on his task. So slow. Too slow. Russia is getting impatient. He begins to leave kisses and love bites across America's shoulder. He stops at the back of America's neck and begins to suck. England is still on the other side doing as he will and Russia is more than happy to give him his space. Once a lovely red mark is made he begins to amuse himself by spelling out more words across America's back and shoulder with his tongue. Words to shame him.

America is such an ungodly arrogant creature. He's beautiful though. Prideful. Who wouldn't want to take that pride in their hands and perhaps crack it a bit if given the chance? That is exactly what Russia wishes to do. America is playing along quite nicely, making all those erotic sounds. He isn't even protesting.

Russia brings his mouth to America's ear and begins to bite at the lobe. It is tempting to whisper to him in Russian, tell him just what he thinks of him. He would restrain the urge. For now at least. Another seductive moan and a shudder from America. Russia glances down and is pleased to see that England is up to three fingers. That should be good enough.

England leaves love marks up and down the side of America's neck, his shoulder, beginning on his chest. It is the part of him that still desires to claim things, particularly things he very much wants. And oh how he wants America. Let the Russian brute do his worst, but by the end of this his claims would outweigh Russia's.

America suddenly moans and a shiver runs up and down England's spine. He glances up and sees Russia has relinquished America's mouth and moved to his shoulder. He thinks of taking the now free space but decides he wants to listen to America for a while longer.

Bloody hell though, had he done such a piss poor job raising him that the boy couldn't even pretend to resist when he was in any sexual situation? Even when he is being sexually assaulted?

'Stupid git,' he thinks to himself.

America lets out a low keening sound as England puts in another finger.

'....Stupid git with the voice of an angel,' he concedes.

England is horribly ripped from his hypnotic mindset when Russia reaches over and taps on his head. He looks sharply over America's shoulder and mouths, "What?"

Russia mouths back, "Done."

England starts to shake his head but when Russia begins to lift America's body, he realizes it was a command and not a question. Resentfully he withdraws his fingers and hopes that he had enough time to get him ready. It will kill him if Russia hurts America.

America turns his head blindly at the sudden change. "What the- Unn! ...Oh...shit..."

Russia nuzzles America's cheek as he begins to lower him onto his cock. He can feel the rise in temperature as America's face flushes with heat and he almost chuckles.

America begins to pant heavily as Russia eases him down. Russia is conscious of England's sharp eyes on his actions. No need to upset the idiot. He might make things unpleasant. It might not be as fun as outright taking America but he still intends to thoroughly enjoy every second.

England watches Russia to make sure he is gentle with America, his jealousy rising every second as a pretty blush appears on America's cheeks. His only satisfaction is the slightly uncomfortable expression he wears. He doesn't want America to be in pain but he also doesn't want to see him in bliss because of some other bloke's prick.

Russia hums appreciatively as he is finally engulfed by America. So deliciously warm. He runs his fingers across his torso and abdomen, loving how America's body shakes as it tries to adjust to him.

He licks America's neck and looks tauntingly at England.

England meets Russia's impertinent gaze with one of defiance and leans in close, touching America's other cheek. He kisses the side of his mouth before kissing him more fully, eyes closing as he soaks in the feeling of America's lips pressed to his.

Russia moves his hands down to America's thighs. He would have to do most of the work in this position, no doubt double the work if England is going to be riding America. He mentally calculates the best way to go about this. It would be easier if he had England to account for. Without a second thought he reaches over and grabs England, pulling his pelvis closer.

England jumps at the contact and pulls away from America. Russia raises an eyebrow and gestures with his head. England opens his mouth, quickly shuts it, hesitates. All patience gone, Russia grabs England with both hands and presses him against America. England bites his tongue to keep from crying out.

He pushes at Russia's hands and nods impatiently.

I get the picture.

England inwardly curses. He hadn't even thought of preparing himself and Russia is obviously impatient for some reason. Then again if he waited too long he would most certainly be left out...

He places his hands on America's shoulders, lifting his body up. He takes a shaky breath. This was going to be uncomfortable. He bites his lip as he lowers himself onto America.

America gasps and his back arches. England winces and wishes he wouldn't move yet. Russia adjusts England's legs and his own position as comfortably as possible.

"Mind moving my left leg Russia?" America inquires casually with only a slight hitch in his voice.

Russia and England freeze. America turns his head as far as he can to address Russia. "Surprised? I've known it's you for a while. The size of your hands and body in general is pretty big which narrowed down the list of who you could be drastically. Not to mention only an asshole like you would write out insults with your tongue even while you're sexing me up."

America turns his head towards England. "As for you... I haven't quite figured it out yet. You're much more careful about being quiet. You're too big to be Latvia but too small to be Estonia. When you leaned in to kiss me your hair didn't brush against me so you aren't Lithuania or anyone with particularly long hair. I wonder Russia, who did you convince to help you...? No, don't help me. I will figure it out. Tell you what Russia and friend, I won't declare war on whoever gets me off first."

England's hands begin to tremble. He and Russia lock eyes for a moment. Yet another layer of rivalry has been added.

Russia giggles, no longer particularly worried. He had known this would happen. "Very well America. Let us get serious."

Russia starts to thrust into America and America grunts. England shivers too as America involuntarily presses farther into him. England is unsure what to do. He can't be discovered. Absolutely not...

But America doesn't know who he is... And it's not like America knows his body well enough to identify it based on that. This is the most intimate they have ever been. The thought makes England more confident. That's right, the brat would never guess as long as he doesn't slip up. Not to mention his threat had all but implied consent meaning he no longer has to feel guilty about this. America could declare war on Russia when all is said and done. The two have been dancing on the verge of it for ages. Seeing them fight is like watching foreplay, might as well get to it if they want it so badly. Maybe that's why Russia wants America so badly...? Best not to think about it.

Taking a calming breath England begins to rock his hips. He closes his eyes. Heaven... Total Heaven.

Russia leans in and bites the tips of England's fingers harshly. That hand is on what is firmly established as his side of America. England nearly cries out at the unexpected sting and he withdraws it, glaring at Russia. Russia simply leans in and starts to suck on the skin his hand had just been on.

England tries to ignore Russia and concentrate on the movement of his hips. He's a bit shaky—damn his cursedly long dry spell—but he's starting to build a good rhythm. A rhythm that is utterly unharmonious with Russia's.

America wonders who Russia got to double team him with. Whoever it is, the two of them have obviously never worked together before. They sucked at this threesome business.

Well shit, if they were going to fuck him they should at least do it right. "Do you mind trying to get in sync with each other? It's a bit awkward when you're both doing your own thing."

England flushes and Russia looks up. Once more they glance at each other. Finally Russia reaches over and grabs England's shoulders. He starts pressing his body down in time with his own thrusts, guiding his pace.

America sighs. "Ooh that's better. Much better."

Russia smirks and lets go of England. Somewhat miffed, England does his best to keep time with Russia's movements. It's for America, he tells himself.

Staying alert to what the pace is, England leans down and begins to kiss America. Who knew when he'd get the chance again. America never kisses back, simply sits back and lets England do as he will. He nips America's bottom lip passive aggressively a few times. Occasionally America moans against his lips and he likes the way the vibrations feel.

Russia runs a restless hand across America's body, mouth just as restless. He whispers all his grievances in Russian against America's skin, into his ear.

An almost casual atmosphere descends upon them. Everything is gentle, unrushed. Fingers ghosting across skin, sensual and lingering kisses, soft murmurs and nothing more. For a moment there is peace.

It does not last long. Urgency and lust silently and suddenly steals over them and there is no time for subtlety. Russia begins pressing America more insistently against him. He presses a kiss onto the top of America's hair. He smells of hard work and overindulgence.

As England rolls his hips ever faster, his cock pressing maddeningly against America's body, it becomes harder for him to hide his voice. He presses his face to America's shoulder then bites it, burying the betraying sounds in flesh.

Russia's fingers begin to dig into America's skin as he attempts to penetrate him further, wanting more. England is also searching for more, more of America, needing to get as much as he can. America is a creature of more, their desires reflected in him. More, if they want more they can have more, because he wants more too.

With England's muffled cries and Russia's grunts, it is America's voice that fills the room with moans and whimpers and want. It is deliciously erotic. It sends his lovers even closer to the edge.

England's body is singing as he comes closer to orgasm. He feels hypersensitive and he presses more urgently against America, onto America. He loves America so much it hurts him. He takes his mouth from America's shoulder and quickly kisses him, a demanding, possessive gesture. He loves him.

Russia is also close, an arm tightly wrapped around America, pulling him closer. England's weight is actually welcome because it makes America that much closer... He wants to hear America scream. He wants him to remember that at least once in his life he had wanted Russia.

Heat builds, as does pleasure, and desires, and wants, and needs until their weight, their imminent release, creates an almost physical atmosphere in the room. The order of their thrusts begins to break down, becoming once more individual and selfish. After all, the other never mattered. Only their own desire and America.

England feels release coming like a wave and he's glad he's finishing before America. The final aftershock hits him just as Russia pulls America's head back, breaking their kiss. It's too late to do anything. The spike hits him and his body convulses, uncaring of anything but the sweet pleasure that makes it clench and shudder.

A single sob escapes him, "Alfred!"

Fear shoots through him, traveling across his body. Had America heard? Oh god, he hadn't heard had he? Even as he rests exhaustedly against America's shoulder, shivers of panic mingle with those of pleasure.

Meanwhile Russia kisses America, deep and rough and with a smirk. He pulls away just in time to hear America unleash a final, beautiful cry as he comes. Back arching, muscles straining, face contorted with bliss, Russia has never seen such a lovely sight. A moment later, despite all the dead weight, Russia reaches his own climax, leaving a final dark bruise on America as he leaves a matching bite mark to England's on America's other shoulder. He closes his eyes and lets it run over him, temporarily washing away all of the ugly history burned into him by time.

There is nothing but the sound of heavy breathing for a long time. No one says anything. No one moves. The three of them float in a pleasant limbo, their thoughts and feelings private things.

Finally Russia starts to push at England's shoulder. "Hey, do you want us to sit here all day? Get off."

Silently, somewhat reluctantly, England pulls away from America and stands. His legs feel weak and for a moment he thinks he might fall. They hold. Russia pushes America up and lets him lie unceremoniously on the floor as he gets up. England looks at America and is shocked at the amount of hickeys and bruises that cover him. Between Russia and himself they have made quite the mess of America. He glances up at Russia and sees he is already well on his way to being dressed. Looking around he finds his clothes and starts dressing quickly. It embarrasses him how dirty he is, how dirty he is leaving America.

It occurs to him they had never discussed what they were going to do once they had finished. Did they just leave America?

Bullocks, he couldn't leave America's hands tied because Russia had used his tie. But the second they untied him he could easily pull off the blindfold... Maybe Russia could hold him long enough that-

Russia walks over to the door and turns. "Прощайте, мои американские шлюха."

With a hateful smirk at England he leaves. England almost calls out to him. He couldn't just leave him! What was he supposed to do? Angry beyond reason, England finishes getting dressed. Then he tries to think through the problem at hand. How is he supposed to get his tie back?

After thinking about it a moment he finally crouches down next to America, who has been uncharacteristically silent the entire time. He touches his shoulder.

"Oh, I was wondering when you were going to untie me. For a second I thought both of you had left and I was starting to wonder what I should do. I wouldn't put it past Russia to pull some bullshit move like that."

England tingles with apprehension. America still hasn't made it clear if he knows who he is. Without a word he starts to tug at America's arm, silently asking him to stand up. America obeys. He leads him towards the door.

"Uh... what are you doing? You aren't taking me somewhere like this are you?" There is a touch of panic in America's voice.

England takes his face in his hands, caressing it reassuringly. He leans up and kisses America softly. The best apology he can give without words. He turns America around and begins to untie his hands.

America turns his head back slightly. "I think I know who you are. But-"

Heart pounding in his ears, England barely manages to undo the final knot. Once he has the tie he shoves America forward and shoots out the door, sprinting down the hallway. He doesn't stop running until his lungs feel on the verge of collapse and his sides ache.

Bloody hell...

~.

England feels physically ill. America hasn't shown up yet but every time someone walks in he expects it to be the younger nation ready to declare war with the UK. Suddenly a set of hands rests down on his shoulders.

"Greetings comrade."

England jumps, his heart nearly stopping. "Don't do that! You bloody wanker, you're going to kill me!"

Russia smiles as he sits next to England. "That's the plan."

England glares him. "I can't believe I let you talk me into that! If America figured out it was me he will never forgive me! And you just left! I can't believe you just left me there."

Russia giggles. "You sure are annoying England. You should be thanking me for giving you such an incredible experience."

England is about to attempt to knock his lights out when America walks in. He looks around the room then sets his sight on the two of them and begins to walk over. His face is hard to read. England wants to sink into himself. Russia straightens up and smiles welcomely.

America puts his hands on the table in front of him. "I want to talk about what happened yesterday. First of all, I did figure out it was you England. Even if I hadn't you looked so guilty right now it totally would have given it away. Second of all, who told you? It was France, wasn't it?"

England and Russia stare at him blankly then look at each other. "...What?"

America shakes his head. "You don't have to cover for him. Actually I'm surprised that pervert didn't brag about it a lot sooner. Still, you'd think for Matthew's sake he wouldn't talk about our threesomes."

England chokes. "Th-threesomes with Francis and Matthew?!"

America nods. "Well yeah. I mean, how else would you know that I liked them? Shit, I have to admit the two of you scared the hell out of me at first. Waking up tied up, naked, and blindfolded... Pretty startling. I figured it had to be some sort of game as soon as I knew you were there, England. I'm not going to lie, it was pretty fun once I figured out what was going on. No wonder Mattie likes to be in the middle so much. That was crazy intense!"

England sputters, "B-but you said you would declare war on..."

America laughs. "Oh yeah, wasn't that great? It was super realistic right? I felt it matched the situation pretty well."

He tilts his head. "You know... I never would have figured the two of you ever teaming up. Isn't life interesting? Well, that's fine. I would be okay with doing it again...I even liked the element of surprise. Though you'll have to be much trickier now that I'm on to you. But next time could you maybe schedule it around France and Canada? I had something arranged with them two hours after you guys jumped me and boy was that a lot of physical exertion. I went home and slept the rest of the day."

England is utterly speechless. Russia is horribly amused. "Oh of course. Sorry we didn't think of it."

America gives him the thumbs up. "No problem. Just for future reference. Oh... and just so both of you know... France made this mistake once and I just want it to be very clear. Neither of you better try to jump me on your own. If you do I'll kick your ass hardcore. It's double or nothing, got it? Well, be seeing you soon."

He waves and walks off, his stride confident and whimsical.

England's hands clench into fists. "France.... I'm going to kill France so hard he's going to die to death!"

Russia laughs. "Who would have guessed? Well... I wouldn't mind. I could tolerate you again if it means another shot at America. We'll strategize our second attack soon."

With a mock salute he stands and wanders off.

England sits in stunned, furious silence. He had told himself he would accept any punishment for his actions but this... This was more than he thinks he can take.

Still... if it meant getting to be more intimate with America—even with that bastard Russia in the mix—he can find it in himself to do it again.

Double it is.

~End

Translations:

вредитель pest

Прощайте, мои американские шлюха-Goodbye, my American whore

AN: I wish I could claim the brilliant line "I'm going to kill - so hard he's going to die to death!" but alas that is from something. It slips my mind what and who though.