He could feel it. There, right in the pit of his stomach, was the all familiar feel of coiling heat as it made his toes curl and mind fuzzy. America was above him, one hand propping himself up and the other on his hip in a bruising grip. He didn't care. With America pounding into him relentlessly, release so very, very close, England couldn't find the will to care about much.

His own hand reached down, intent on stroking himself to relieve the pressure building in his nether regions. America caught the gesture and moved to do it himself. The nation pried himself away from England's chest. The hand that had once been holding America up went England's painfully erect need. Instead of stroking, he just squeezed and kept his hand still.

England growled, "Fucking - ngh - move."

America did not comply. His eyes were squeezed shut and lips slightly parted. Arms, chest, neck and face all gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat. He was relentless with his thrusts, driving home each time with a raw ferocity and a sense of wild abandon. America's head tipped back when England released another throaty snarl.

He was so close, but America's hand was squeezing tight and the pressure only mounted. It was making his head spin, driving away all thoughts, and only leaving him with the vague notion that he needed release. He needed release and America was denying him it. Mounting, mounting. England began to wonder, the thought just barely clinging to the edges of his consciousness, if it was becoming too much. He could barely think, barely breath. Pounding, again and again, hitting that sweet spot, making him mad with lust and want and need.

So lost within the all consuming need to find some purchase from the nearly hellishly divine torture, England almost didn't catch America's keening cry. America's voice was low and deep, twisted and beautiful and rugged from their less than appropriate coupling at that moment. His mouth was twisted into a taunt grin, eyes still closed.

"Mortal Kombat!"

The words almost made England lose his rhythm as he faulted in thrusting his hips back into America. England's eyes snapped open, having closed them but not having realized it. For a moment, he tried to work up a glare to shoot America's way but, before he could even get a foothold on his brain to even muster the energy for the motion, there came a cry from behind the closed door from the living room. Canada's words rung out, clear as a bell over their ragged panting, and England flushed.

"Finish him!"

There was no time to be embarrassed. No time to scold and yell and belittle America for his antics. No time to chide Canada for assisting. America's hand began to move, gripping tightly and stroking roughly. All thoughts were driven away once more and England's head snapped back as he felt that god aweful coil finally come undone.

His vision went white, his body rigid, and his mind completely and utterly blank. There was nothing, only the heat spilling across his belly and America's warmth filling him as the nation rode out his own climax with lazy, rough thrusts. Both were panting, out of breath and spent. America stilled and leaned down to sprawl across England's chest, not bothering to pull out.

"You bloody tosser," was all England could manage as his face turned an unruly shade of red.

America smirked.

A/N: HOOPLA. Good, no good? It's early morning, I'm tired, oh well. Personally, I'm not a big fan of USUK - UKUS prz - but hey, whatever. My friend told me about how a guy did that once during sex. Textsfromlastnight or from somewhere of the sort. Naturally, I could not resist. Hurhur, I'm a horrible person.