After months and months of waiting… I finally update Sex Burns Calories! Finally! There are a few things you should be aware of, though.

i. This is unbeta-ed. I haven't even looked it over twice. There may be innumerable errors- Sorry.
ii. I don't have /any/ links in this chapter. Not a one. "Russia" might.

I have nothing more to say. I feel uninspired. Sorry.

America: *sighs, grin deflating*

America: Don't care if you see these messages... I went too far?... Che. You're really, really too sensitive over My Little Pony.

America: *minimizes window, bringing up Internet Explorer, intent on searching for something until you decide to come back*

-Russia has signed in-

America: *blinks, returning the screen up* Hello.

Russia: *eyes narrow acutely, smoldering* Imbecile.

America: Hey, I'm being nice now!

Russia: As if I believe you, Америка.

Russia: Are we in agreement that you shall no longer refer to me as "My Little Pony?" *glares, gaze frigid enough to cause Florida to ice over*

America: *he bites his tongue, unwilling to let the joke pass (it was insanely fun, after all), but equally unwilling to give you another chance to sign out*

America: ...

Russia: Well? I demand a response.

America: Fine. 'I'll just find something else to call you... I can't get away with "cute horsey," can I?'

Russia: I'll grudgingly accept that.

Russia: Now, dear, would you care to hear my song selection? *smiles with deceptive innocence*

America: *blinks, plotting set aside for now* We're still playing?

Russia: Of course. *shakes his head bemusedly* You really believe that I would permit you to get away with that... atrocity without attempting to retaliate?

America: *leans forward, now entirely suspicious*

Russia: I'm sure you will find this song quite enjoyable. It is rather replendescent of our relationship, as I see it~ *gives a low purr*

You have received 1 file(s): When_You're_3

America: *he opens the file, suspicious at your words, listening to the song with a slightly skeptical look*

America: WTF

America: *his eye twitches at the lyrics, staring at the magic-bright pictures on Windows Media Player in slight shock*

America: ... This is why you don't ever listen to me?

America: *the first thing that jumps to his mind is the first thing written, the enter key pressed too fast to delete the letters*

Russia: Ah yes, darling, that is entirely possible~ *self-satisfactory smirk* It was to your liking, yes?

America: ...

America: NO. *he intends a brain-dead, monotone voice over the internet, while in reality he swears every few seconds as the acursedly strange lyrics continue to replay in his head long after shutting the window*

Russia: But, dear, the lyrics are intended to be romantic~~

America: "When we get mad together and have angry sex"

Russia: Yes...? This is how it occurs, is it not?

America: "Just want to make me take off all your clothes"

America: One, you just sounded like France, and two...

America: THIS IS ROMANTIC?

America: "And sex you all over the place"

Russia: America, you are incredibly adorable when you are mad. Of course it is romantic. I do not believe I am aware of a song that holds more romantic connotations than this. Except, perhaps, that song entitled The Horror of Our Love...

America: ... *curiosity getting the better of him, he turns to search up the newly mentioned song*

America: *at the first line, he stills, wondering* 'What. The. Fuck.' *he stares at the screen, attempting to understand your entire concept of the word "romantic"*

America: *He decides that it's entirely different than his and that he needs to play along so that you don't leave again*

America: O... kay.

Russia: What is that supposed to mean? *small frown*

America: This one's a little more... forceful and... different than "When You're Mad"...

Russia: Much more romantic, correct? It is a lovely song~...

America: If... if you say so.

Russia: It seems you do not grasp the concept of "romantic"... ah, if only you were intelligent enough to understand Russian... then I could show you some truly remarkable songs.

America: It's different music than what I'm used to, that's all. *he maintains the guise of a person who somewhat understands for now*

Russia: Never mind. It is quite above your level of comprehension.

Russia: Nnnnn... Америка, those selections were merely intended to mock you. Would you be interested in hearing the song which I feel truly represents our relationship...?

America: ... Alright. *he watches the screen, half-expecting some other new, creepy, strange music*

Russia: Here you are~...

You have received 1 file(s): Where_Would_You_Like_Them_Left_.mp3

America: Nothing to hide...

America: Don't we have... a lot to hide?

Russia: I do not perceive it within the... emotional sense of the phrasing. I am, of course, also disregarding the government secrets we must keep from each other. "Strip for me, I'll strip for you, I have nothing to hide and less to loose..." I see it as entirely carnal, within these connotations... often, Америка, I feel that our relationship dwindles down to mere sexual desire. We meet, we fuck, and we depart, with the exception of a few memorable occasions where we actually spent the night together. So, physically, I feel as though there is nothing I am capable of hiding from you, and accept the resignation that comes with knowing it is unlikely that I will ever come to trust you.

Russia: ...Is this making any sense to you?

America: *he nods* Yeah. I guess.

Russia: America... I feel as if we are constantly acting under the pretense that we have nothing to hide and nothing to lose, rather than facing the reality that we attempt to conceal the most important things about ourselves from each other.

America: Attempt to conceal the most important things... Huh. *he looks down, feeling somewhat crushed, constricted, almost betrayed, not understanding the origin of the feelings enough to quench them* Yeah, I guess we probably won't ever trust each other, right?

America: *he shakes his head, angered at himself for feeling so weak for "no apparent reason"*

Russia: *gives a soft exhale, inspecting the fingernails on one hand, as he responds rather remotely and detatchedly* No... I do not believe it is feasible, while the memories of our years of hostility remain.

America: *he nods again, not caring that you can't see him, loath to say any more on the matter*

America: It... It's my turn to ask, right? *he puts the thoughts from his mind as much as he can, banishing the strange hurt*

Russia: Yes... go ahead. *he responds slowly, uncharacteristically subdued*

America: Okay... *he shakes his head again, searching for any question, legs proping themselves on the table as he reclines* Your favorite game.

Russia: That is quite obvious. Russian Roulette. I enjoy the apprehension, the tension, and the adrenaline rush that comes from risking certain death and surviving. Being a nation, the risk is minimal enough to enable me to play to at my leisure. As I'm sure you're well aware, it takes far more than a bullet to the head to kill us, so the game becomes far less foolhardy and suicidal.

Russia: *slight, languid tilt of the head, coupled with a narrowing of the eyes* There is, of course, another game...

Russia: It is quite rewarding to toy with you, America. *leans back, propping up his arm with an elbow on the armrest and resting his chin on his wrist* I like experimenting to see which minstration procures the loudest scream... *shallow, glazed smirk*

America: *he hits his face, almost hiding behind his fingers, but not because he tells himself that he would never hide from you, wondering why the fuck didn't he see this coming*

Russia: It is unfortunate that you always insist upon using lubricant, because you tend to writhe and shriek uncontrolably when I slam into you unprepared... It is truly saddening that since that one incident which occured around the time of what you refer to as the Cuban Missile Crisis you have been adamandtly opposed to repeating the experience again. It was quite pleasurable for me, I must say. *half-lidded purr*

America: IT HURT LIKE HELL.

America: NEVER. AGAIN.

Russia: But you enjoyed it... *countenance laced with false innocence*

America: No comment. IT STILL HURT.

Russia: Fffffffffffffttt. Whatever, Америка. There is no use attempting to deny that you liked it.

Russia: And your answer to the question...? *mentally readies himself to be exposed to a scathing attempt at retaliation along the lines of "best submissive one"*

America: I said no comment. *he frowns, searching for an appropriate response and suddenly smirks, remembering one but uncertain if he should take that path* 'Well, it's true so... I can just answer the question.'

America: Cowboy. I love to play cowboy, although once I didn't play cowboy, I was a cowboy and the adrenaline rush was horribly exiting as I rode after cattle and wild horses, sometimes on rocky ledges almost to doom. But now with the cities, there aren't many places to actually be one, so I resort to games...

America: I really hope you don't take offence. But you know when I play Cowboy the most, don't you? You're always present. And it's exhilarating, the ride and the following exhaustion. You're such a good mount, eager enough to buck and rear but when I tell you, really tell you, you stop and let me ride you out, no matter what you're feeling. And remember, all the fun we, or in this instance, I, have with guns? Russians aren't the only one that play with them, a good cowboy always has one, whether to urge on his ride or challange rivals. You seem to move faster, always, when I command you with it, a perfect mount, the best ride. I can't say I've ever encountered one any more thrilling, adrenalized, exiting.

America: *he's still smirking as he leans back, remembering the last time he was able to "play cowboy"*

Russia: *glowers at the mention of being "ridden", though thoroughly aware that what you chose to bring up is decidedly less offensive and humiliating than it could have been* Hmph. I have not actually found it too compromising to play "horse" in such instances. Do remember, dear, that it occurred with my complete assent, and that you would have been incapable of "riding" me unless I had given permission. Unlike so many times when I have been the one in control...

Russia: You look quite ridiculous in spurs and chaps.

America: I remember when I had to "break you in", you gave no consent on that one and I still had you tied to the rail as I hammered in, even though you thrashed and bucked and kicked and the railing broke near the end, and I still was able to do that.

America: You're just sore because every time I wear spurs and chaps you get dominated in some way.

- You have sent 1 photo(s): Russia_is_best_on_

Russia: Oh, fuck you. *scowls, sulking* FUCK YOU. That was not in any way amusing.

Russia: ...And if you intend to fight that way, I may just have to fight right back...

America: I'm not fighting, I'm just stating the facts as I remember them. 'Whether that's a fight or not, whatever.'

You have received 1 photo(s):

Russia: Remember this, dear cowboy? When I tied you up?

Russia: ...And that picture is, again, a courtesy of our dear friend Hungary... *wince*

America: ... When'd you get a camera in ther- Oh.

America: ...

America: WTF.

America: *he seethes loudly, not a word typed as he shouts at the computer, both at being seen by the crazy-insane female pervert and at being reminded of his, actually many, forcefully taken times*

America: ... I can't believe you didn't notice a camera there.

America: And that time doesn't count. I consented to being tied up.

America: ... I just didn't consent to being that tied up...

Russia: ...We should have anticipated a camera. After all, this occurred following that world conference held in Austria... I'm positive that Hungary has installed "surveillance" devices in every corner of that country.

Russia: Ah yes, but you consented~ *sugary smirk* I merely determined the parameters.

America: ! THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU? You're supposed to be the one that thinks these things through!

America: ... Fuck you.

Russia: ...Actually, Америка, in most situations, I could not care less about being photographed while invading you. It is only when it goes the other way around and I am wearing embarrassing garments that I begin to be concerned about such matters.

America: ... But you were so cute, so desperate~ *he can't help but rub it in*

America: I like that picture.

Russia: And for every time I have appeared that way, there have been ten such incidents where you were the one moaning and screaming. You would do well to remember that in the... very near future. *menacing grin*

America: *he shivers, starting to reconsider meeting you to endure your plans*

Russia: ...Well? No mocking comeback? Have I outwitted you once again? *flippant smirk*

America: *he scowls, temper flaring in an instant* I'll make you eat those words, Russia.

Russia: Hnnn~ I am afraid you have become confused again - it is impossible to eat words, they are intangible substances.

America: ... You have no knowledge whatsoever on figures of speech, do you?

Russia: I am well-versed in Russian figures of speech. Your ridiculous American ones are below me.

America: *his voice drips with sarcasm* Suuuuuuuure. That's just rude, you know?

Russia: Of course. I'm completely aware~ *contentedly brushes you off*

America: ... This coming from the nation who's word for Red Square is "bullshit". *He makes a face, knowing he could do better, but it's beginning to get late - Not nearly too late, just late - and he feels too lazy to look for more dire attacks*

Russia: Yes, and at least six towns in your country are named "Cumming." You couldn't be any more subtle, could you?

America: At least I'm not like Austria. When Iggy gets drunk, you can't shut him up about Austria's "Fucking".

America: AND I DON'T NAME MY CITIES.

Russia: Perhaps you yourself do not name your cities, but their names are often designated by a significant event which has occurred in the area, yes~? *his eyes sharpen, gleaming*

Russia: I would very much be interested in knowing the circumstances which caused each of these "Climaxes" to occur... *slight chortle*

America: OFTEN ISN'T ALWAYS!

Russia: ...It seems I've struck a nerve. *grins*

America: *he almost growls at the screen, a light blush on his face (from anger, he tells himself), wishing more than anything to rub "my little pony" in your face once again* Bullshit. *he is determined to say nothing more on the matter, lest you get any new ideas* Your question, las niyah bopka.

America: *with what little Russian he knows, he knows this is nothing like an insult but it seemed the best thing to substitute for his previous endearment*

Russia: *blinks* Is that intended to be... derogatory?

America: Not particularly. I just wanted to call you that.

Russia: Why darling, I am quite pleased that you like my ass~...

America: It's so fuckable. And so accepting... *nod*

Russia: *amused smirk instantly dwindles into a sinister twist of his lips* And yours isn't?

Russia: I believe that this is yet another thing which I will have to reconcile when I arrive... *purrs with anticipation*

America: Hey, I'm not the best submissive one here, only the usual one. You take me in so quickly, even if you're spitting angry words in Russian and trying to get out of whatever situation I put you in, your body's always eager for me~

Russia: That's only because you're so small, Америка. Of course it would be much more difficult for me to enter you.

America: FLORIDA IS NOT SMALL. *he does growl now, nerves struck at your attack on his above-average size in comparison to your much larger endowment*

Russia: It is miniscule~

Russia: ...But this is leading us nowhere. We have discussed this matter before.

Russia: Care to hear my question?

America: Go ahead.

America: *he's clipped about it, form slightly hostile, unwilling to continue the debate but loath to let you have the last word*

Russia: Your favorite flavor of lube.

America: *he coughs, staring at the screen, anger deflated from the sheer randomness of the inquiery*

America: Vanilla. It's sort of sweet-smelling and creamy. Stawberry's nice, but too fake, and cherry's sort of sour. Chocolate is interesting but also as fake as strawberry, and I'd try a cinnamon if they had it but as far as I know they don't. And others that I've seen that appear interesting but I haven't the time to really try them: green apple, cherry cola, bubble gum, mint, pina colada... Among others.

America: There's a lot of creativity in this department...

America: There's even watermelon.

America: And... um, banana...

Russia: Hnn. I suppose it is not surprising, that your favorite flavor is vanilla, considering your... shall we say, endearment to it.

Russia: Then why is it that at your house the only flavors I recall us using are orange, cola, and nonflavored...?

America: *eyes narrow* No comment.

Russia: Was it perhaps purchased when you were with a previous lover? I would not assume that England would have a preference for cola flavor, considering how adamantly he condemns it.

Russia: Or possibly - oh yes, this is far more sensible. - Received as a present from France?

America: Some of it, yeah, present from France, but I do get my own when I want to, and no, not from my years with Iggy, that was a long time ago.

Russia: ...You are quite entertaining, dear. I cannot fathom why you refrained from commenting. *leans back in the seat, chin tilting upwards as he stretches his neck and gives a brief, wide yawn, realizing that he should intend on sleeping soon as it is growing extremely late*

America: I... just don't want to. It's technically none of your business.

Russia: Whatever. *quick flick of his pupils intended to suffice for an eye roll*

Russia: My favorites...

Russia: My initial preference is watermelon, as should seem quite obvious. Surprisingly enough, it does not taste too artificial or sickly sweet. I like coconut, and would be interested in trying peach or plum... although it is always better without, don't you agree? *maliciously slips in the reference to the single incident where he fucked you without lube, smirking deviously*

America: Go fuck yourself on a waterpipe and eat a scone, you and your sadistic streak both.

Russia: Mmm-hmm. *smiles slightly, absolutely unfazed* Darling cowboy, go ride a rattlesnake. Or perhaps a wolverine.

Russia: ...I also believe I would like to try butterscotch flavor...

America: But I'd rather ride you, you're a perfect mount, you and your las niyah bopka.

America: And... why butterscotch?

Russia: Your ass is nicer. So tight and warm.

Russia: Butterscotch, because has the concept of trying something because you believe it will taste good ever occured to you?

America: Just never saw you for butterscotch... That seems like something... that guy to the north of me... Oh, Canada!- might use.

Russia: I am almost certain that Canada would prefer maple. What is so fundamentally wrong about me wanting to use butterscotch? *quirks one eyebrow, still grinning lazily*

Elepaio is no longer going by that name. I can't spell her current one, so I'll update who you should PM for links later… Kay? I don't know if she has them still, but it's worth a try.

I, Rhen Nightshade, bring you depressing news.

This roleplay is on indefinite hiatus. Why? I'd tell you, but I'd burst into rant, so let's suffice to say that the roleplay died. Just rolled over and kicked the bucket. I didn't want it to die, but it just did… Very sorry. I apologize tenfold.

Well. I'll see you again if I write anything more, or if by some miracle this becomes one of the undead (living)…