And Then They Got Bored
Summary: Seriously, America thought, this had to be the most boring meeting of world history. Ironic that it's a world meeting. And then he noticed England chewing his pen.
Warning: M for the three S's: Sex, Swearing, and Stupid Sealand.
This was a prompt given to me by another friend of mine, not elepaio. I think I write better if given parameters than if I just start thinking and scribbling. I get crappy results like that…

America was bored.

Very, very, very bored.

He sighed, head resting on the table as some part of his conscious mind attempted to catch the meaningless words that spilled from the others' mouths. The presentations amounted to nothing and nothing and nothing more, in his opinion.

Boring. Utterly boring. They weren't saying anything about him. He was the hero! Everyone should have been talking about him! But they weren't. Therefore… bo~ring.

Germany was standing and blathering. Of all people, Germany! The single person that no one would dare to interrupt by starting something was talking at the utter height of America's boredom. What luck.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…

America stopped paying attention altogether. One blah after another didn't really actually mean anything. It didn't matter if he missed one or two things. Well, actually, knowing Germany, ten or twelve things, or… whatever.

His clear blue eyes drifted about the room, looking for some form of entertainment. Anything. Whatsoever.

And they alighted on England. The emerald-eyed nation seemingly entirely focused on Germany, taking in every word. But America could see the truth – He could see it all too well. The ghost of a frown – a pout, maybe? – lingered on the blonde's lips, so faint that anyone who didn't know Iggy as well as America did wouldn't have noticed. His hand was unmoving, taking no notes. The slightest of tremors traveled through his body at regular intervals – America checked under the table. Yep, Iggy was tapping his leg.

America grinned. England was just as bored as he was.

He smirked as he watched England silently, that foot bobbing up and down and up and down, up-down-up-down-up-down, faster and faster… It was actually pretty entertaining. He could really watch that for awhile.

And then… some blond guy had to bring his attention away. Call him back to boring reality – why?! Who was this guy, anyway?! Oh, yeah. It was Canada.

His brother was tugging at his collar to persuade him to at least pretend to pay attention to Germany. Key word being pretend.

"-the least you can manage!" He caught the latter part of what was obviously a hissed, whispered, chastising snap. Whatever. Back to abject boredom.

For about half a minute.

Because, again, he caught England. Just barely out of the corner of his eye, though, because Canada wouldn't allow him to turn his head. Apparently, England's boredom had just reached a new level: He was chewing on his pen.

Chewing. On his pen. And – oh, what? – sucking on it. How bored was he?

America was helpless to prevent his wandering entertainment-starved mind from latching onto the idea with an unparalleled glee.

His thoughts drifted alarmingly, and he idly pictured that mouth being put to better use – much better use than simply biting a pen. He imagined taking those lips for himself. He'd suck lightly on the lower before he kissed hungrily, forcing his tongue into the other's mouth to taste, lick, explore.

England would respond by sucking on America's tongue in a subtle plea for more – which, of course, America would provide, because the hero was incapable of disregarding any pleas. He even pictured how England would taste – husky, deep, very much like his tea, but with a trace of a bittersweet tang.

Then America would wrap his hands around England's waist, wrench him out of his seat and into a tight embrace. He realized that the movement would grind their hips together. He would growl at the friction, shocked but loving every second.

With a wild hunger, America would tug at England's shirt with enough force to begin to tear the fabric. Again, he would growl against England's lips, pulling harder until finally, blissfully, the buttons and the jacket would tear away. Without any encouragement, without breaking the kiss, he'd strip off his bomber jacket, wanting England's skin on his own instead cloth or fabric.

England would gasp again the harsh action, eyes narrowing in irritation for a second before America's lips banished coherent thought.

America could almost feel England's arms wrapping around his neck, desperately clutching at him, pulling him closer. One leg would be twisting around America's own, successfully locking the connection.

They would manage to strip off the each other's shirts in the course of their hungry desire, and then their bodies would crash together, skin crushing to skin and hands wandering and roaming and-

America shuddered, suddenly remembering exactly where he was – In a boring, boring, boring meeting. However, it suddenly wasn't the selfsame boring meeting. No, his previous predicament of simple plain boredom now seemed, did he dare think so, utterly insignificant.

Because now, he sat in this boring, boring meeting, in the midst of the crowd, except now he had a very prominent, slightly painful bulge in his pants.

Shit. How'd he let his thoughts get so horny?

His eyes caught sight of England, who was, unfortunately, still busy fulfilling his boredom-born habit. That is, still disinterestedly biting and sucking his pen.

America's pants grew tighter.

ShitshitshitshitshitshitshitShit.

He forced himself to stare at Germany and cloud out the rest of the world. Boredom would soon take care of this. Right?

Yeah, sure. As if. It wouldn't be hard, really, to grab England and take him away from here. But even America was aware of his abysmally low level of self-control. They'd never make it anywhere close to home. A closet, then. He could fuck Iggy's brains out in a closet.

Then his brain caught up with his hormones.

"Stay." He whispered to himself, although his eyes were unable to deviate from England, from his lips, from what he was doing to that damn pen. "Stay right where you are."

Gritting his teeth and steeling his mind, he wrenched his eyes forcibly away from England and to the head of the table. Focus on the blablablablablabla… don't think about dragging England away by the arm and fucking him senseless in a closet… don't think about his arms around your neck, or about his lips pressing themselves lower and lower until he has to remove his arms to continue… Or about him removing your pants and running those lips and tongue over-

Shit! Not. Helping!

"Is it hot in there?" He asked weakly, glancing over to the blond at his left. Who was…? Oh yeah. Canada. Right. He really needed to work on remembering Canada.

"No, not really." Canada shifted ever so slightly, blue eyes still focused on Germany, taking notes where America refused to. "Why?" It was disinterested, blank, making it obvious that he didn't intend to look away from the presentation.

"No reason." In hopes that you'd speak to me and distract me from this little problem of mine!

Fuck. He had to get out of here. He would die if he was left to being bored and daydreaming about England because of his stupid habit. He prayed for somebody who wouldn't get offended to stand up and take Germany's place so that he could just leave.

No one did. Germany had much to say, unfortunately. And England was still chewing his pen. And tapping his foot, which only made America want him more, strangely – The bouncing motions upset his hair slightly, leaving it disheveled, just perfect for America to grab in one hand and pull, to drag the seductive older nation away and into perfect seclusion.

Did some higher power just hate America today, or something?!

Finally, America just couldn't stand it anymore. He gathered his papers together and made a subtle show of arranging them neatly before standing and (hopefully discreetly) holding everything in front of him at waist-level.

"England. May I speak to you for a second, outside?" He asked, apparently businesslike, while he mentally patted himself on the back. So far, nothing had gone wrong. He hadn't launched across the table and had his way with the blonde there and then.

Germany barked out America's name, eyes fixed in a searing glare that could boil water. Somewhere in the back of America's mind, he wondered if he did that sometimes for Italy's pasta. "We are in a meeting, America. Can it wait?"

America ignored him. "Now."

Confused, England stood, gathering his things. "If you'll give me a moment-"

The blue-eyed nation strode out of the door, impatient, unwilling to remain where he could be found out for so much as a second longer. Fuck. It wasn't his fault, damn it!

Slightly irritated footfalls alerted America to England's approach.

"America, what is so important that you feel the need to drag me aw- mph!"

America, with as much lusty hunger as he had shown in his daydream, had turned around and closed the distance between their mouths, clutching desperately at the smaller nation's shoulders.

England stood there, stupefied, feeling the warm and slightly rough lips of the younger nation cover his own, moving slightly, attempting to coax his lips apart.

He blinked, slowly considering complying before he realized – America. Was kissing him. In public. While they were supposed to be in a World Meeting. Oh. God. Stupid git. What the hell?

"Bloody hell, America!" He yelled, or rather, whisper-yelled. The last thing he wanted was that blasted bloody frog coming out when he was involved in anything that even remotely resembled a compromising situation. "What the-?!"

"It's your fault." America growled, interrupting, his arms pressing the emerald-eyed nation closer with a possessive need. He lifted England just the slightest amount to better reach his thin, light neck."Your-" Suck. "Damn-" Lick. "Fault."

"How is this in any way my fault?" England managed, severely distracted by the hands which were beginning to roam up his shirt and across his back, the nails skidding over the flesh in the most diverting, but satisfying manner.

"You- with your habit." America bucked his hips, alerting England to his very uncomfortable erection.

"What habit?"

America smirked, hearing the sudden breathiness of the words. For a moment, he busied himself with attacking England's bottom lip, sucking and licking with a hunger that England had witnessed only on the rarest of occasions – When he was purposely being a severe tease.

"That utterly begging, boredom-born habit." Nip, nip, suck- "You." A whisper followed by a nuzzle. "Biting. Sucking." Kiss, nibble. "Licking." Enunciating his words with a long lick, collarbone to earlobe. "That stupid pen of yours."

Oh.

"So… it got you like this?" England asked, working to remove himself from his persistent lover. But the heat between America's legs had spread, coursed through his body and then been passed to England. Between his legs, up his spine, over his face and into his mind, making his limbs weak and his voice waver.

"Yes, oh, yes, yes-" America panted, pulling England into his arms and continuing to bite and kiss and lick. "Yes."

He stepped backwards, off-balance slightly, England moving and twisting to wrap his arms around his lover's waist. Whatever. He surrendered.

"Closet." He whispered huskily – It didn't matter anymore, the meeting was painfully boring and bloody fucking hell did this feel good – "To my right. Behind you. Go. Now."

America laughed quietly, turning around to see said closet. "Yes."

Stumbling, various papers left littering the floor, they pushed open the closet door and fell into the wall, mouths moving against each other, gasping and purring.

America tugged, as his fantasy had, at England's shirt, pulling steadily and hungrily in need of the feel of skin.

England scowled, pulling away, emerald eyes clouded over with a haze of delicious lust.

"Rip my shirt and I will kill you." He muttered, slowly and tauntingly disentangling to loosen his uniform. "And I'm not taking it off, either."

America whined, determined, hands beginning to slide under and push up England's shirt. "Tease. Tease!" The material bunched halfway up England's chest, but the elder was just as stubborn as he. He was going to keep his shirt on, it was better that way.

England laughed shakily, breathily, feeling America's own exhales on his waist before nips followed, trailing down to his hip and circling up again. Each little non-nip was a drag of teeth over sensitive skin. He adopted America's own phrase: "Whatever."

Surprisingly, the latter didn't bother to answer with words, pulling up and away to shrug off his own jacket and shirt.

Disheveled and top-bare, America was simply too much for England to resist. He latched on, lapping his way lower and lower, pausing at delicious patches of skin – Collarbone, neck, chest, nipples… He bit, nibbled, sucked at the sensitive nubs of flesh, relishing in the sweet gasps that he managed to elicit from America. Gently, his fingers drug down America's side, heightening his lover's sensitivity.

Lower, lower, strongly, lovingly, passionately, the fingers twined in his hair encouraged England's every movement.

America panted, falling back into the nearest wall, desperately trying to restrain his limbs from pulling – or pushing – at England's smaller frame. The older nation always knew exactly what would always drive him-

Oh, fuck.

America's hands flew to his mouth, muffling his wanton, unprecedented moan.

When exactly had his pants come undone?

England's head bobbed up and down, mouth gliding over America's heated flesh, slick and hot and oh fuck so damn fucking good-

Licking, kissing, sucking, his fingers ghosted tantalizingly where his mouth was not. Little by little, in small increments, England took more and more of America's cock in his mouth with each dip of his head. His teeth scraped over the sensitive flesh, and America had to bite his hand in an effort to muffle his loud cry.

England smirked, taking extra care to move slowly. He lingered for a second longer than necessary with his tongue at the very tip of America's tearing erection, lapping at the pearly drops of pre-cum that were making themselves known.

"H- hey, st-" America broke off, words swallowed by a long, drawn-out moan. "Stop fucking teasing!" He whined, pushing down on England's head with his free hand.

England promptly ignored him. Rather, he listened and then proceeded with the opposite course of action to America's wishes, pulling away, tauntingly placing the tip of one single finger in his mouth thoughtfully.

"Why?" He smirked benignly upwards, his free hand loosening his shirt, the finger dropping from his mouth slowly. "When it's so entertaining?"

America, desire-hazed and wanton, saw red. Growling, he ducked down and harshly pulled England up by the hair, racing forward, crashing the smaller nation's back into the opposite wall, grinding their hips together. A surprised gasp fell from England's lips, and was promptly swallowed by America's overaccepting mouth.

"You love to tease? It's entertaining?" He whispered against England's lips, eyes closed. The orbs of sapphire blue snapped open as he growled, "What if I taunt you?!" He tore at England's pants, letting up only when they and the boxers beneath them lay discarded on the floor. He hoisted England into the air so that he sat on his arms, grinning at the lighter nation ended up with his legs falling over America's shoulders.

"My turn."

Hot breath touched England's bare erection for a moment, the most minimal warning before he swallowed it all to the base. He purred, the rumbles in his throat sending arcs of ardour and desire up England's spine.

England choked on air, biting on his lower lip, muffling his cries. He would not let America make him scream, he would not, he didn't do screaming. His hands twisted into America's hair, holding on for dear life and bloody fucking hell – he squirmed in his lover's grasp, pressed against the wall, attempting to gain more, more-

"Ah-ah." America's voice managed around England's cock, sending gentle waves of reoccurring pleasure up the emerald-eyed nation's spine.

Clear blue eyes stared up at England's lidded own. The message passed from one to the other, silent, yet just as intoxicating: This is MY teasing. Enjoy.

Bloody hell.

America refused to move his mouth, humming and purring enough to drive him mad, utterly mad, God damn it do something America you bloody arse!

Humming, vibrations, causing England to quiver in want, one hand tearing at America's hair as the other scratched against the wall, moans beginning to spill from the abused lips of the teased nation with a tumultuous- Oh, who the bleeding hell cares, the world could hear him and what did it matter come on, please, you bloody arse, god, help-

He bucked his hips desperately, almost choking America, but past the point of caring because all he wanted was… was… something! Anything! When nothing but pained, angry rumbles rewarded his efforts, he swore and whined breathily, staring down at the man who was driving him to insanity.

"Ah-ah." Again, those garbled syllables, sending head pooling in his belly, the breath gracing over England's yearning erection as well as an unbeknown vibration and lick. "Ah-ah."

"You had better do something or I will hurt you, rape you, and then kill you."

A laugh, sweet and delicious and more but not enough. Just not. Not yet.

Too bad.

Almost angrily, England bucked his hips again and swore. Eyes narrowed into glaring emerald slits, he stared hard at America.

One or two more hums, a strangled smirk. But then he bobbed, up and down, teeth dragging slightly over the heated flesh, drawing a low groan from the depths of England's throat.

And yet, as you wish.

Suck, lick, drag, swallow, each subtle movement elicited quiet, passionate cries from his lover. England thrashed against the wall, fingers spastically twitching in America's hair and against the side of the closet.

Whimpering, choked moans became words, "God, oh God, oh please, don't stop, don't you dare, don't you fucking dare stop-"

A small thump alerted England to the fact that he was lower now, America having moved from his appraising position of holding his lover in the air to now being bent over on his hands and knees, England settled on the floor. When did he-?

"I want," Lick, lick, suck, "you," pant, purr, breathe, "to scream," down again, rumble in the throat, "my name," lick, "as you come."

America grinned, breaking his routine, a hand replacing his sinful, pleasurable mouth so that sapphire blue eyes could gaze, unhindered, into England's hazy emerald own.

"And I want you to come now."

When phrased like that, who would resist?

England surrendered to America's ministrations, back arching, mouth falling slack, the heat in his stomach tightening into an unbearable density before crashing outwards in a wave, a tidal wave of emotion and feeling that brought forth a cry, a name, that was swallowed by America's mouth, not escaping for long. Slowly, ever slowly, England settled back to earth, eyes swimming in a haze of passion.

Opposite from him, radiating lust and need and desire, America sat on his knees and stared, the hand that currently made its way to his mouth coated in something slick and white and apparently delicious.

England managed to smirk at the sight, working hard to push away from the wall and sit on his knees as America was, breath escaping in harsh, rapid, heavy pants. "You want me, don't you?"

America nodded, just barely resisting the temptation to turn his lover around and fuck him senseless into the wall, then and there. But he was the hero, and heroes didn't take advantage of anyone. He would wait, he could wait, until England said okay but fuck that was hard, so hard, he was so far gone already, where the hell was sanity?!

The emerald-eyed nation was about to nod, about to purr, about to allow America to have his way and take him against the wall and drag him back to oblivion but-

"C'mon Ravis!" Sealand's voice floated through the door, close, almost on top of them. "I'm sure they were here!" A rattle, a rattle at the closet door!

Angrily, America reared back and lunged at the door, grabbing one handle as the other pulled back, keeping the door shut even as Sealand wrenched and pulled. He snarled, silently: Stupid fucking Sealand!

"Huh? I swore this was open…" A murmur, confused. America shot a glare through the wood, and maybe Sealand felt it because the next second he had relinquished his grip. "Somewhere else maybe, this one is locked…"

England sighed, momentarily mortified, before stiffening again. They- He-

Desperate, America turned and looked imploringly at England. Don't care, please don't care, don't drive me mad any longer please don't make me wait any longer please, please, PLEASE!

But England remembered with aching finality – They were in a closet. The closet had no inside lock. Anyone could walk in, as Sealand and Latvia had nearly done.

"Not here." He said, shaking his head, fully aware of what he was doing. But… "No." Definite certainty. He refused to have sex in a public closet. It was disgraceful, improper. What was this closet anyway? Coat closet. Duh.

America looked ready to cry – That, or track down the small person on the other side of the door and murder him for bringing a panic to England's mind. Most likely the latter: "Heroes don't cry."

So England reached up, pulling America's head close and moving so that their foreheads bumped together. With a sultry smile and a light kiss he muttered, "So you'd better hurry up and take us home, right?" He wasn't that cruel.

With England that close, half-naked, America didn't need to be told twice. Rapidly, he almost tore his shirt to shreds as he pulled it on, followed by a haphazard attempt to wrench on the bomber jacket. England, smirking at the desperation, pulled his pants back on and buttoned America's jeans (with a quick kiss to the overly sensitive, responsive erection therein) as the eager nation worked hard to get back into his clothes.

With a quick check to see that, yes, Sealand and Latvia were well and gone, America pulled England into his arms, bridal-style.

"Which is faster," he began, sucking at England's neck, "Running, or taking one of your fairy friends? A unicorn, maybe?"

England scoffed, aware that the undying attention was causing the heat radiating off his body to condense again. "Unicorns get jealous. Just go, you bloody git."

"As you wish."

And then they were gone, America running faster than any human and almost any other nation despite the amount he eats. He did his utmost best to keep his lust at bay – Just a little longer, England's house was close this time, a little longer! Each pause in any motion was accompanied with a heavy kiss, drowning in impatient need. More, more, more, fuck – More!

"We're here." England heard himself say, the sound a key in a lock reaching his ears – Oh, he was opening the door? They fell through, the door slamming behind them, England back on his feet as the pair somehow, haphazardly, made their way to the bedroom.

Clothes hit the floor, some feet away from the struggling nations, some tearing from the wild attempts to remove fabric from skin – Mostly America's attempts. Finally, they looked as they had in the closet, except now England's shirt had become undone, hanging off his shoulders, and America was pressed against him as a predator, hungry, clad only in his red, white, and blue boxers.

"Where is," America began, pushing England down onto the bed – when exactly did they get to the bed?! – and stroking his cock with amazingly gentle fingers, "the lube?" No matter how close he was, no matter how desperate, he wouldn't hurt England.

England's head rolled to the side, arm following his one-again heated, lusty gaze. "There." The words sounded distracted, his mind more focused on the man who was busying himself with other things. "Top drawer." Don't ask why he bought it. He just did.

America laughed, somehow now entirely naked (England had stopped paying attention to the details), and pounced halfway over the bed to hunt out the vital little bottle. His chest was positioned directly over England's face, heaving from the restraint that a hero must have – And how could England resist? He pulled down on America's shoulders, smothering himself, lapping at whatever skin he could reach.

"I want you." He said, remembering when America hunted him, trapped him, made him come – He was so damn sensitive to the younger nation – and it was high time to return the favor. "In me." England bucked his hips demandingly. "Now."

America groaned, willing himself to not roll England over and fuck him dry. With a loud "pak", the lid to the bottle flipped open, messily coating three of America's fingers before said digits made their way to England's ass and within.

England swore, small stabs of pain making themselves known but mostly being wholly swallowed by the pleasure – Shit, no matter how recent his last session had been with America, it was too bloody fucking long ago since when did he swear so much oh who the bleeding hell cares?!

He arched against the fingers, against America, bucking and silently begging. Just hurry up and fuck me!

America groaned, moaned, eyes fluttering closed in a rather futile attempt to save dignity and control. "Fuck, Iggy, if you keep that up I'm not going to be able to last, I've been waiting too fucking long."

Letting the 'Iggy' pass, "So you'd better," A long, drawn out moan as America's fingers pressed against his sweet spot, "hurry up and take me, damn it, hurry up!"

Well, what kind of hero was he if America couldn't even fulfill the wishes of his damsel?

"As you wish." A quick hiss and cool gel slid over the length of his cock oh shit how was he supposed to last long enough for-?!

Coherent thought flew from him as America threw England's legs over his shoulders and thrust into his lover's tight heat. He panted, head resting on England's shoulder, bent, hearing each and every heavy whimper and plea that fell, sweet and delicious, from England's lips. Tight, so tight, clenching around him and pulling him headlong into ecstasy.

"Move." A command, followed by a pull on America's ass. "Move."

He didn't need to be told twice.

America's hips rocked back, withdrawing almost entirely, before slamming in with his return. With each movement, each subtle reposition, fuck, just with each glance at the moaning-thrashing form beneath him, the heat in his stomach clenched and undulated, demanding release.

"Oh fuck oh god oh shit oh fuck so fucking tight damn it all, damn it, damn Iggy I'm not going to last-" The words tumbled out before America realized he'd been thinking at all, let alone speaking.

Somehow, England managed to smirk, one hand pulling America's head centimeters from his own, other hand reaching down to palm his aching, needy, weeping erection.

"So come already."

The words had barely left England before he'd pulled America down by the hair, crashing their mouths together, feeling those piercing blue eyes flutter shut as a moan forced itself into existence even past England's lips. Suddenly, explosively, England felt America release into him and he cried out as, again, pristine white clouded his eyes. His back arched, head slamming back, a wordless scream falling from his lips as his cum spilled for the second time over their stomachs.

Satisfied, spent, America barely had the energy to withdraw and roll onto this side, breath coming in heaves. England allowed himself to smile, pulling himself up to grab a fistful of tissues from the box near the bedside. Carefully, tenderly, slowly, he wiped the cum off of their chests and lay beside America, soft and unsure.

Conversely, America wasted no time in wrapping around England and pressing chaste kisses on any area that seemed appropriate.

"- love you." England barely heard the quiet words through the new haze of tiredness. "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

England blushed, hands wrapping around America's, a small smile creeping onto his lips. "I love you too, you git."

Silence, heavy breathing. For a minute, England truly thought that America had fallen asleep.

But then he felt a light poke at his shoulder, America gently prodding his side for attention.

"Hey, Iggy, did you know that we've officially ditched the World Meeting?"

Prompt: USUK. In a World Meeting, they get bored. Closet~ But Sealand interrupts, so they need to finish Iggy's house.
Second lemon ever. I love it!~ USUK. This was actually hard to write, I couldn't figure out how to get them from a closet to Iggy's house. But I did, mua-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Okay, going now. Else I'll start rambling.

Review, please? They make me very happy. Very happy indeed.