Wrote this for the kinkmeme, and then edited it to be more readable. Took out some stuff, fixed some stuff, you know. Little things.
I figured that, hey, this is one of the very few fics I managed to finish before losing interest at the last paragraph, so I may as well post it here, lest it be lost in the endless pile of links that is the kinkmeme.

And Jesus Christ that goddamn website. I think I'm good enough at computers to do certain things. I can take them apart and tell you exactly what the parts are called. I just can't navigate the internet and know what I'm doing. I must have made like seventy mis-posts in that comm. Like. My god. I hate livejournal.

Anyway, this is about 80% sex and smut, and it gets pretty fun, so if you're into fluff and all that, skip to the last eight lines and forget the rest of it.

A light tickling sensation 'round the front woke me – it was something cool scraping against my chest. When I roused myself enough to take stock of my status, three thoughts went through my head.

Fuuuuck why does my head hurt...

Oh. I went drinking with England… then what happened?

Wait. Why can't I move my hands?

Declaring robustly to myself (I'm such a man!) that I should access my surroundings, I tried to ignore the pounding behind my eyes and cracked them open.
It was blurry. There was something green in my face. Fuck. thought the awesome manly hero America, Glasses.

I must have said something out loud, because a second later, there was a shifting in my lap – was somebody sitting on me? – and the world suddenly came into focus.

There on my knees, holding Texas by the frames and trying to straighten them (like the anal queen he is), sat England.

The first thing I noticed was his hat. It was a sort of sharp looking black piece, probably leather or something similar considering its shine, and it reminded me of my country's totally cool police hats.

It covered his eyebrows, and made England's head look less gigantic. While I missed the huge black face monsters, the hat was pretty cool.

"Glad you think so"

That must have been said out loud too. God, why does my head hurt so much? And it's so damn hot in this room...

"Probably a side effect of what I gave you"

Gave me? England drugged me?

"It wasn't anything dangerous," I heard a chuckle, "I just wanted to put you down for a while". Well this explains why I don't feel right.

I tried for a second time to move my arms – no luck. I was tied to a chair. England laughed again.

"Couldn't have you moving around"

I grimaced. England had obviously had a few (anyone could smell it, especially at this distance), and when he drinks, things usually don't turn out well for me. The abduction, restraint, and date rape drugs didn't exactly help the situation.

I opened my mouth to try and complain, but closed it again to try and concentrate on why England was undoing my tie.

His face is so close...

As I ignored my now racing heartbeat, he slipped the thing off, then pushed away from me and strode his way to a tri-fold mirror in front of us.

It was then that I finally saw the outfit he was in.

Oh lord.

The hat made him look sharp, sure, but the rest of him? Amazing. Utterly dangerous. Black pleather covered him from the shoulders down. Over his usual white dress shirt, he'd put on some sort of corset, laced up in the back with a neat knot (which was very him), and to match it, a pair of long black gloves, covering hands that began to do my tie loosely around his neck (unlike him, even drunk, to forgo the collar, but by gods did it suit him). I saw every angle of him in the mirrors, and tried to squirm my way out of the ropes tying me to the chair for a chance to grab him from behind and do what I do best (but with no speakable amount of success).
My eyes however, were unable to stay north - as if pulled by gravity, they were drawn down to his hips.

I could have wept, that ass looked so fine.

Black shorts stretched seamlessly over a perfectly rounded, firm butt. It was as if the ass had been sculpted for squeezing, feeling, rubbring, and oh god the joy it would be to grip and pound in, between those cheeks. The dim light bounced off them as a moon off an endless ocean, and I had to exhale hard to keep my wakening libido under control when he shifted his weight from one – is that a pair of fuck-me boots? – foot to the other.

But his hips! Oh Jesus, those perfect, smooth hips.

England caught my eyes in one of the three mirrors. I tore mine away to pay attention to his face, and he licked his lips.

I licked mine in response.

He ran a pleather hand down his side, and tilted his head back, pulling his hat over his face a bit while he shook his body from side to side.

I bit the inside of my mouth, trying not to growl.

He grinned, and put his hands behind his head. I saw his face in the mirror, flashing teeth at me. Showing off those fucking canines. Swaying his hips from side to side, with those fucking amazing shorts worshiping his every crevice. Fuck. Fuck, "Arthur..."

He threw a sideways glance to the hapless, powerless, hand-less hero in the chair, and brought his hands up to knead at that glorious, god's-gift ass in response to his name.

"Arthur..." if my eyes hadn't already glazed themselves over with lust, my voice had. Dunno if it's the drugs or the costume or what but god damn it this got me hot.

He then put his hands in front of him, on the mirror, and leaned forward, stretching the lucky plastic over his scones, showing off the goods and giving me a look in the mirror, swaying. I saw every muscle. Every hairless inch of skin between the high boots and the bottom of the shorts. I saw the bulge of his balls from behind, and I saw the pleather stretch over his crack. I saw his muscles tense and relax, and imagined him in that same position, but with the wonderful shorts down around his waist, and my cock foot deep in his ass.

England turned around with a smile, obviously pleased with the mostly hard bulge pressing against the front of my pants, and sauntered up to me, shaking his hips like a true whore of London. I couldn't speak. I couldn't do anything but look at him. But behold him, in all his godly sensuality.

He mounted the chair, two knees on either side of my legs, hands on my shoulders. His face was close, but when I leaned forward to capture his lips, he moved away.

"Arthur…" it was a question.

"In due time" he replied.

But I want it NOW complained my inner child. England must have either read my face, or I'd spoken my thoughts again, because he raised a gloved finger to my lips, and shushed me, "Don't worry Alfred," he whispered, raising his arms above his head and licking the finger he'd just poked me with, "I'll take good care of you".

I whimpered, feeling both Nantucket and good ol' Las Vegas twitching in anticipation. In need. England shifted closer to me, and found a steady spot to sit right above my pelvis, "Alfred...oh Alfred my boy," he said into my ear, arms snaking around my shoulders, hot breath warming my skin. He took the edge of my earlobe between his teeth, and ran over it with his tongue.

I strained against my slacks, unintentionally poking at England's ass, "Aa..eh...Eng..."

He moved away again and slapped me, mirth in his eyes. I felt the inside of my lip tear, "Just be a good boy," he whispered, taking my hair into his hands and pushing my head against the chair with a snicker, "Big brother England'll give you a show you'll never forget,"

I wished he would stop calling me his brother.. after all this time, and all the things that happened, it just sort of makes you go limp, you know? In this sort of situation, and with your brother…

England must have seen my grimace, because he gripped my hair harder, slamming me into the back of the chair again, and lowered his head to the bit of neck underneath my ear, "Don't make that face at me little brat," he gave a long, hard lick. I couldn't contain the moan, "Hm~? Did you feel that?" I felt him rub his chest against me, lowering his entire body on me to go down on me neck and lick upwards for a second time. Straining against my ropes, I moaned again. That hot, wet tongue – aaah gods he's blowing into my ear – could be put to better use. More than anything in the world I wanted to feel it further south. But oh it was doing so well where it was now...

He grinned against my now slick skin, and set to work on marking it. Licking it, biting it, sucking it. Rolling his hips, hands groping slowly down my back to the crown of my buttocks, occasionally thrusting into my belly and murmuring dirty, terrible words. He told me what scum I was, and exactly what he did with scum, and there was so much friction and energy and I was so hot and England's tongue was so incredible and I'd begun to go completely insane so, "Please~" but the more I begged the more he teased me. I was powerless and dizzy with want, oh lord.

England, probably satisfied with the number he did on my neck (it stung, but I wouldn't know that it was because my skin had been broken until later) moved on to work on ripping my shirt apart, and bruising the skin under that (I tried very hard not to mourn the loss of the perfectly good dress shirt and its buttons). It quickly became harder to focus on keeping my breathing even, while watching him drunkenly find his way from my collarbone to my nipples. His ass bobbed against my vital region at a one-two pace, heat made through the friction our clothes created seeping into my skinn. Then Arthur gave a particularly hard nip and my head lolled to the side, and my muscles finally gave in to his ministrations and rocking according to how he played it. I felt myself very close. Between England's little play and the warm heat rubbing against me, there wasn't much likelihood that I could hold the first one back any longer. I tried making the thoughts into mouthwords, but all that would come out was a whimper.

"You want to come?" England said with a sneer, in one of his annoying accents, "Dirty fag, he'll come still wearing his slacks? Go on then, sport," he ground down against me, harder this time, latching onto a nipple with his front teeth and speaking into it "Go on~".

And on I went, thrusting upwards to rub against England's ass. The blistering heat peaked for a moment, spilling an uneasy warmth over the innards of my boxers. England laughed (that asshole) and continued on with his business - I still hadn't had nearly enough to be satisfied, and he knew it. He raised himself over me, and looked down with love and fire spilling out his eyes, into mine, hands massaging and caressing my chest and shoulders.

I was once again, entranced, "Arthur..."

He put on a mock stern face, "That's Great Britain to you,"

Never calling you that. Go to hell England, "Help me outta these pants,".

England scoffed, lowering himself off the chair and standing before me, "You never were one for patience, but good things come to those who wait you know". A gloved hand slipped to the front of his blessed shorts, kneading at the owner's own hardness. I licked my lips again, mouth suddenly feeling very wet, and very empty.

He followed my gaze, and gestured to it. I nodded eagerly, eyes half lidded.

He laughed, and stepped closer to me, nudging the back of my head with his hand. Obediently, I leaned down and rubbed the side of my face against his pleather crotch, kneading the boner with my cheek and chin. England's heat greeted my skin in waves, and I felt my own body flush, pulsing with desire. I mouthed the protrusion a few times, breathing hotly onto it, the yearning in my mouth growing. Multiplying.

A hand fisting in my hair, pulling upwards, told me to continue. Eagerly, I bit the waistband of the shorts and pulled them down and under England's balls, exposing my prize. A musky smell assaulted my senses, coming strong off the newly uncovered flesh, and I breathed it in, wanting to savor it. This scent I'd already long since memorized. To experience it again and again and again, this aroma unlike any other in the world.

Impatiently, he tugged at my hair, "Lick it, cretin". Oh gods, oh stars and stripes, yes sir.

I obediently stuck my tongue out, making sure to coat the pink muscle with saliva, and ran it up the bottom of his shaft slowly. I worshiped Arthur's sweet meat, widening my tongue and covering the bottom of his member devotedly, to taste it from as many angles as I possibly could, then reaching the top of the shaft and scraping it with my teeth very gently. Not wanting the experience to end quickly, I returned to the base, this time whetting my tongue and traveling a side of the plump cock. He tasted as rich as he smelled. My chin nuzzled at his balls and rolled them as I worked my way up, then back down, tempting one of them into my mouth and suckling gently, releasing it, and drawing my tongue over the other on my way back up to the tip. Once there, I took the top portion into my mouth, circling it with my tongue and cheeks, cleaning off the dribbles of precum gathering at the slit.

Then, once again, I returned to his base, and drew my tongue upwards along a new angle. Before I even reached the tip however, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold back my hunger. England, anticipating this somehow, slackened his grip on my hair, and gave me freer reign over his member.

The tip of my tongue bumped the tip of his cock, and I swirled it around the nub before kissing it once, twice, and taking it between my lips, sucking once and then pulling off.

"There's a good boy," he said gently, holding his erection with the pleather fingers, stroking the sides of my face with it, "Open your mouth".

My torpid compliance is followed by a hot, thick cock in my mouth, slowly pushing in. I did my best to open myself to it, and licked along the underside as it thrust in, out, in and out again. A little harder, and just a bit faster every time. Over and over, in and out, the friction burned my lips and tears stung at the corners of my eyes. My glasses were completely fogged, and England began to beat unabashedly into me, stroking my hair and face as his tempo increased. I did my best to suck at the right times, and not shift the angle of my head, minding my teeth and swallowing the extra liquid whenever I could. I felt him grow in my mouth, pulsing and throbbing. As he rammed into me, I did the same, sheathing England's cock with my hot cavern, burying my nose against his pelvis, beseeching England to come - to let me taste him more.

Faintly, I heard a throaty moan from above me, and the lower half of me – already recovered from the orgasm and rock hard – twitched in response. England's thrusts lost regularity, and he gripped my hair harder, pulling it as he fucked my mouth, my lips started to sting from the friction.

He made another sound, thrusting all the way into me, and I moaned around him. He then withdrew himself ('nooo, come back' I whined in the back of my mind) pumping himself, and releasing all over my face and glasses. I stuck my tongue out, desperate to catch a stray drop for a taste of England.

He laughed, holding his cock by the base again and smearing the seed into my face with it. The slime settled hotly in globs against my skin, and the feel and smell of it drove me wild. Groggily, I sent my tongue out to run over my raw lips, and the rough flesh stung lightly at the pressure. Dribbles of England's flavor collected on the tongue, and I brought it back into my mouth. My face felt wet, and the semen began to dry on my cheeks.

I was probably quite a sight.

England must have thought so too – when I looked back up to him, those emerald eyes were lit with fire once more, eying me with the look of a predator. The burning eyes sent shivers up my spine. Those eyes raked violently over my body, top to bottom, cutting into my flesh and burning it, eventually resting hungrily on my crotch.

He grinned, and bent down to palm the hardness straining against my zip.
"Aah..!"

"Loo'kit this. Fag got hard from sucking cock, mm?" more laughing, "If only your precious Washington could see you now, Alfred F. Jones". I tried to grin at him, and it earned me another slap. He always brought up Washington during sex. Maybe he was jealous.

England smirked, staring at his hand, "…now look at this. You've gone and dirtied my glove,"

I threw a long glance to the thing, and it was indeed covered in Arthur's liquid love. The translucent goo shone, looking sleek and sexy against the pleather in the dim light.

He offered the hand to me, palm down.

"Kiss it".
Gladly.

I leaned forward to press my lips to the rubbery material, closing my eyes and being as regal and graceful as I could with sperm on my face, tied to a chair by the arms with soiled boxers, cheeks rosy from the blow, and lips moist and puffy from the blowjob.

England made a satisfied noise, and I allowed myself a breath, before raising my eyes to meet his and pulling my lips away from the blackness. He now turned it, showing me the smeared whiteness in his palm.

"Now clean it". Obediently, I ran my tongue over it, trying to take back the seed for myself. It had gone a bit cold, but still warmed me, and the musky saltiness filled my belly, coated my throat, it was all I could smell and all I could think of – if only I could live in this fog of England's glorious taste for eternity – but the hand was withdrawn, "Good boy. I'd say you've earned yourself a reward".

The wet hand roughly gripped me about the chin, forcing my face up and my mouth open, and crushed our lips together, waiting neither for approval or response to stick his cold tongue down my throat (after all that talk, look who doesn't have blood anywhere north, eh Arthur?). The tongue rammed itself in, pushing past my teeth and blocking off my airways, stealing my breath. Roughly, dexterously, it ran over every inch of my inner cavern, tasting me and feeling me and stealing my warmth and melting into me as our lips locked together and moved and moved and ohhh. I grew lightheaded, moaning and whimpering into his mouth, submitting to his kiss and loving it loving it loving it.

Arthur's tongue probed hungrily along the roof of my mouth to my teeth, licking and flicking along its way, hardening and caressing my insides at his own leisure.

I felt the hot muscle whirling around my own defenseless tongue, intertwining itself with it, leading me in a magnificently carnal dance, then crushing lips harder against mine, forcing my jaws further open, going deeper, deeper, deeper, lords, then I felt him breathe into the kiss, stealing the air straight from my lungs, suffocating me. I turned into jelly. Fog assaulted my mind, and dizzying insanity poured in from every facet.

I moaned and whimpered helplessly, immediately ashamed of how unmanly I was sure I sounded, but he purred straight back, the dual vibration spouting from our throats making the kiss ever more sensual, banishing worry from my already muddled mind. It was hot, it was amazing, oh Arthur, and then, all of a sudden everything stopped. I caught myself wide mouthed to nothing but open air, with no hands in my hair, no knees pressing into the sides of my legs. Cold hit my whole body, and confused, I opened my bleary eyes, wondering if all that had just been another crazy, fantastical dream, but found England standing right there, back to me. I was relieved, but a little miffed, sitting there tied to the chair, all lonely lips and wet boxers, "..Arthur? What's wrong?"

He threw me a sidelong glance over his shoulder, and grinned like the cat he was. I couldn't help but notice that sometime between the blowjob and the kiss, his hat had been knocked to the floor, and his shorts hung loosely from one of his legs, exposing the entirety of those beautiful round wonders for me to see.

From the proud, hardly concealed huff, I surmised that England had noticed my stare. I licked my lips again, flexing my bound fingers, my throbbing member standing at attention. Lord in heaven, just one feel…

Mockingly, or at least that's how it seemed to me, England bent over, leaning his head on the mirrors in front of us, and pawed at his right buttock. I strained against myself not to cum just by the sight of it – fingers pressing into the round rubbery perfection that was England's ass, sliding over the warm, smooth, pearl-like surface.

Suddenly, he smacked it. The sound echoed throughout the room, and I gasped, squirming in my confinement as the scones jiggled softly. Another hand was added, and he spanked both sides this time, spending a moment afterward to knead and rub, taunting me.

Just as I was thinking how unfair he was being, he bent down further, and started stroking his crack – I swallowed, hard, and he reached to a little tube on the floor that I hadn't noticed before, stepping down on it with his heel to get a handful of gel.

Looking to be a rosy pink (it may just be the light) the gel was carefully spread. A finger dipped into the lump of goo in his hands, and taking just a bit he traced the line of his crack, rubbing up and down. Even from this distance I could see his blushing hole, twitching and contracting as the index finger ran over it. Another finger joined the fray, and they made motions like waves breaking on rocks. Despite himself, England's legs started to visibly tremble.

Said finger dipped into the goo pool once again, this time taking more, and concentrating it over the anticipating opening, rubbing little circles as it twitched. He turned his head to me and licked the remaining gel off his hand, bringing the naughty fingers to his mouth and spreading the gel over them with his tongue, winding it around them with his eyelids low and breath obviously labored. I positively throbbed in response.

Leaning against the mirror, now using his other arm to balance instead of his forehead, with the other arm coming out from under him between his legs, England pushed the two digits in with a gasp, and I positively throbbed with need. England's fingers pushed in, in, in and then slooowly out, with him trembling and whimpering like a woman the whole way. I began to make small, uncontrollable thrusts into the bare air, if only to relieve a little of the building tension in my loins. My entire body flushed and throbbed with fever every time the fingers surfaced, seeming to be slicker with each painstaking emergence.

He began to lightly scissor himself, stretching the hole in preparation for what he'd been denying me for so long. After what seemed like an eternity of wanting, wanting, wanting so badly, a third finger, and then a fourth were added. England had effectively fingered himself to the ground, as his legs were no longer functioning well enough to support his quivering weight. He lay prostrated before me on his knees, fingers thrusting into him at an alarming rate, and I could do nothing. I was harder than I'd ever been in my life, and I couldn't even touch myself. I couldn't even touch England. I began to heave against my restraints desperately, angrily.

From his spot on the floor, the green eyed nation lamented me, "Nnn, be a…. be a good boy and let…ah~…let big brother put on a…a show for you~mm.."

I could stand it no longer. Ropes be damned, I was the United States of America, Greatest Dang Nation on this here globe, and I would not let England deny me my relief any longer – I summoned up a huge burst of energy by taxing the middle class, and ripped the chair arms clean off. Tension and fury combined as raised one to my mouth and took the ropes between my teeth, tearing the bindings like paper, and tossing the chair arm to the side. Arthur, while fully aware of my rebellion and full of loud complaints about his chair and his plan, seemed to be completely incapacitated, unable to right his position, or will his hand to stop. I tore the ropes on my other hand, and ripped off my ruined clothes, then took England's hair into my fist and grinding his face into the floor. I took less than a second to right myself and free his hole of occupancy, before plunging in. The tip made contact with the quivering hole, and forced it's way in, like a sword into flesh.

Even with his preparation, England was a tight fit, and my engorged mass had to stretch its own shallow path. I watched England in the mirror, pawing at the ground, writing and twitching below me, eyebrows furrowed in pain, but eyes rolled back in ecstasy, drool pooling on the floor by his upturned lips. He moaned and berated me, but I couldn't really understand any of the words that came out of his mouth. Either he was rendered a babbling sex crazed whore, or I felt too good for my mind to want to bother understanding language.

But the simple feel of him around me was amazing - better than I could have hoped for. Better than I ever remembered it being. I felt something high pitched and embarrassing try to fight its way out of my vocal chords, but suppressed it and leaned over, breathing in the smell of his hair as I sheathed as much of myself as I could force into England. His hot, slippery walls convulsed around me, sucking me in and then willing me out in short increments, the intensity of his spasms increasing every second. He moaned, gasped, and cried out beneath me, thrashing his head, pleading with me no, no oh god, don't move yet, please, oh god Alfred, please.

Disregarding anything he may have said, I took a moment to pull out half-way quickly, and squeezed those damn ass cheeks for all their worth, palming and scraping at them with my hungry hands, finally feeling fulfilled. They were just as smooth as they looked, but had an underlying firmness to them that gave shape and heat and god they were perfect. My fingers felt electrically charged as they ran over him, leaving nail imprints and bruises. I gave a particularly hard wringing and began to throb once more inside him, hard as hell. Possibly in response to my overly honest body, England jerked harshly upwards, gasping and oh'ing and pleading.

Now completely ready to claim what was mine, I roughly grabbed him about the thighs and began to lick a trail up the side of his neck to his ear, which I bit down on as I pulled him backwards hard onto my waiting phallus. England cried out and almost fell as dead weight at the shock of being filled so quickly, but I held him up by the hips and forced his body backwards and forwards as I moved my hips in an unceremonious off-pace rhythm determined by how fast different parts of my body could be made to move. In and out, my length disappeared into England's body again and again. I began to lose myself in the basal pleasure, wanting to be deeper. Further into him. Wanting to carve my passion into his body. I'd completely lost myself in the thrusting, and all that mattered was that we were connected in the most primal way.

"Oh~! Oh god, oh good god, Alfred! Alfred~!" he cried out, chanting this same thing as I wrecked havoc on his hole. He clawed at the mirror and ground, screaming my name. Right now was all about using England's body like a rag. Making him dirty. Wearing him down. Making him scream, "Oh god, Alfre~d~~!"

Panting and sweating and squeezing his hips as hard as I could to bring them down harder, faster onto me, I glared down at his passion enthralled face in the mirror, "Yeah, uff… you like that.. hah… don't you?" He just choked on a scream in response, insides twitching madly. At some point, his corset had loosened, and hung about his hips, bobbing up and down to our carnal rhythm.

"Yeeees~" his eyes continued to roll to the back of their sockets. I grinned, and grabbed one of his legs by the boot-covered knee to flip him, and draped it over my bare shoulder, fucking Arthur half suspended in the air, one leg dangling, arms and torso being thrown and shook around on the floor to the beat of my thrusts, "Oh~! Oh yes, yes..!"

Now with one hand free, I grabbed England's erection and began to pump it, feeling his walls open to me further. The lube was beginning to rub in, and the beginnings of friction felt amazing, but I couldn't even force myself to pound into him any faster. My hips were already moving at an animal pace, and the sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, accompanied only by grunts and cries born of pure pleasure. My glasses were completely fogged, but I could make out the curves of England's body, flushed and spasming underneath me. I could feel my load ready to shoot off, and lifted England by the arms up into the air, slamming his back against the mirror and holding him up, slamming and plowing into him with as much force as I could find. He locked his arms around my neck and moaned into my ear, close, co close.

We simultaneously bit down on each other's shoulders as I came, uncontrollably beating into him, blinded by the white hotness momentarily, my entire body surrendering itself to the thundering orgasm, forcing myself to not stop thrusting into England and riding it out and. It was so hot. So fucking hot. I just kept thrusting into the fire, filling England to the deepest depths with my stimulus package. England bit and clawed at me, slamming his head into the mirror, and with a few more pumps, he was finished as well, hot seed pouring all over my hand and belly.

For a good while, I just held him up there against the mirror, mind and body completely exhausted. Both of us just stood there, or in Arthur's case, hung sandwiched in the air between a cracked mirror (when did that happen?) and a panting giant. Tentatively, or maybe he was just really sleepy, England pressed our lips together. We were both chapped to hell, jaws aching and minds calling for sleep, but all I ever wanted to do for the rest of my life was stand here and kiss England.

Oh wait.

SLAM. CRACK.

"ACK! Fuck, what the hell was that for?"

"What, the headbutt?"

"What else you bleeding dolt!"

"You drugged me!"

"And?"

"And tied me to a chair!"

"So?"

"So, I'm angry you goddamn drunk!"

"Oh please, I just gave you the best time you'll ever have hoped to see"

"You tortured me! With sex! How is that fair play?"

"You fucking loved it, don't go on denying it!"

"Oh don't you pretend you're a high horse, you just-"

"There you go again misusing my language..!"

"YOUR language? I'll have you know--"

France looked on silently from the air vent, pants down, mess everywhere. Show was over, and he had other houses to visit tonight. "Au revoir~" he whispered sweetly to the pair below him with a smirk. Their afterglow always looked like this...

FIN.

I hope you enjoyed it. Also, I pretty much live off reviews and acknowledgment that my writing isn't horrible. They're like the source of my power. Lifeblood and stuff. I can't use my laser eyebeams without reviews. So. Yep. Even if you thought it was bland, I'd love to hear from you.