Title: Conquests of a Failed Gentlemen (Or: The Ballad of Arthur Kirkland's Convoluted Sex Life)
Summary: Okay, seriously, this is the UN. Kindly keep all nymphomaniacs outside the building.
Pairing(s): America/England (overall), The World/England, hints of everyone else.
Words: 3,359
A/N: -dodges flying chairs-

There were several ideas in the world that claimed the title of 'bad' – the crusades had been a bad idea, electing Hitler had been a bad idea; letting Prussia mix with alcohol was always a bad idea. However, whoever had come up with the idea of nation world meetings needed to be crowned the almighty lord of bad ideas.

"-and so," Germany concluded, completely oblivious to the all-but-dead nations around him - Denmark even had the gall to be snoring at the back, drool forming at the corner of his mouth, and head lolling dangerously close to Sweden - "those are the reasons we should always fill in box 290c of the health and safety form when sharpening pencils."

Denmark slumped out of his seat, head connecting with a rather unimpressed Sweden's shoulder, not even flinching at the impact. Sweden's only reaction being a mild twitch in his left eye, which, in itself, was extremely impressive progress in the emotion department from his usual stoicism.

America jerked his head out his hands, accidentally-on purpose elbowing England in the face, and shaking his head violently, as if to dispel the haze of boredom by force alone.

"Has he shut up?" he asked of no one in particular, directing his attention back to the rather unimpressed Germany. "Have you shut up?" he repeated. Germany's eyebrow twitched.

"I-"

"Of course he's finished you twit! Weren't you listening?" England snapped, and an irate groan ran round the meeting room. Japan – who seemed to have been in the process of making his own miniature air force out of paper aeroplanes – sensed the oncoming war and hastily began to build his own shield, mostly out of empty drink bottles.

"Oh please, like you could stay awake through that." America gestured at the unimpressed Germany, who was still stood as if awaiting a round of applause, or expecting that he'd need to run soon; the latter seeming far more likely. Then, feeling as though he hadn't filled his standard insult quota, America added - "Ain't it nap time old man?"

"It's 'is it not' you dunce!" England corrected before he could help himself. "And I am not senile!"

"Of course not," America replied in an infuriatingly patronising manner, patting England on the head and nearly having his arm ripped off. "I mean, you're only as old as you feel, right? Even if you are...really, really, really, old."

"I am n-"

"Really, old." America stated flatly. "Way old." He hissed darkly.

England's hands performed a strange spasm, as if he wanted to wrap them around America's throat but couldn't in front of such a large group of witnesses, most of whom were still comatose from the earlier speech.

"Eurgh," Ireland, who was focused rather intently on the not so subtly hidden DS grumbled; "could you two please get a fucking room. Some of us are bored of the UST." There was a grumble of agreement, a snore from Denmark, and a level-up noise from Estonia's laptop – the latter promptly flushing red and slamming the lid shut, World of Warcraft momentarily halted.

"IRELAND!" England screeched, spinning to glare at his brother, who blinked innocently before realisation dawned.

"Oh...oh!" He responded, turning to face a rather bewildered Romano. "I mean a room, sorry about that, bad Catholic and all that." The Southern Italian kicked up an eyebrow in mystification. Ireland grinned – apparently satisfied - and turned back to his video game, swinging his heavy combat boots up to rest on the table.

"Perlease," Hungary suddenly interrupted, before England could explode into scone filled pieces. "England and America?" She scoffed, America frowned. "It's blatantly England and France. I mean, hello, how long have they been fighting?"

England had turned a rather sickly green colour, France looked decidedly unimpressed.

"UST?" He repeated. "Nothing with me is unresolved sexually my dear Hungary!"

"And why are you scoffing at me?" America leapt in, casting a dark glare France's way as if it were his fault entirely. "I could totally solve ST! I can make it SST!"

"Don't," Norway grumbled, massaging the bridge of his nose with an extreme display of patience; "call it SST, sounds a tad too close to STI for my taste."

"Also, if it's solved, how can there be tension..." New Zealand grouched.

"Yeah well..." America fumbled, before inspiration struck. "Your mom." He beamed with pride, China groaned and Turkey slapped a palm to his forehead. Korea, however, all but leapt out his seat, knocking Hong Kong's card pyramid (that he'd spent the last, what felt like days, constructing) to the floor, beaming and raising a finger toward the sky.

He inhaled noisily. "That comeback was inven-"

"SHUT UP-ARU!" China snapped. Korea started, caught sight of the pipe Russia had managed to get past security that China's hand was itching dangerously close to, and quickly seated himself, staring determinedly at the table.

"Hey! How come, when China and Korea fight, they don't get called the UST couple?" America demanded, glare turning to Hungary, who flushed in mortification at being so suddenly put on the spot.

"Because...because..." Hungary fumbled. Austria dived to her rescue. Stylishly.

"Because that's stupid." He stated flatly.

"Exactly!" Hungary exclaimed, pounding her fist on the table for emphasis, several glasses of water wobbling dangerously in the process. "Russia and China, now that is where it's at!" China, who had been screaming incomprehensible Chinese at his younger brother, promptly froze. A visible shudder rippled up his spine, as he slowly turned round to shoot the beaming Hungary a petrified stare.

"China?" Italy piped up. "I thought Lithuania and Russia were a couple, or is that a secret like us Germany? Eh, Germany? Why have you gone all red!" It wasn't only Germany, Lithuania all but died at the mention of his name, turning so pale that he almost matched the wall behind him.

"I don't mind~" Russia chirped, "it's only a matter of time before you all join me anyway~!"

"Like hell," America grumbled under his breath.

"AHA!" Prussia, who had been disguised as a pot plant from the start of the meeting, erupted from behind Denmark. The latter shrieking in surprise and face planting into the carpet – Sweden tried not to look to overjoyed at this - as Prussia, covered in foliage, stalked toward the table, slamming both his hands on the surface. The poor table creaked under the abuse. "I KNEW YOU TWO WERE IN TOTAL UST!"

America's mouth hung open, for once rendered speechless, and Russia twitched slightly, his smile becoming a tad more forced.

"Ha!" Prussia crowed, hands on his hips. "They don't deny it, I'm so awesome~!"

Crickets chirped.

Finland coughed.

"I agree with Holland!" Denmark suddenly erupted, pulling himself upright with his arm resting on the table, hair in complete disarray, beaming at the bewildered nations around him. Even Ireland lowered his DS long enough to kick up an eyebrow. "...What?" he asked in genuine confusion.

"Tch, idiot." England snarled, rolling his eyes skyward. Denmark beamed.

"I wub you too wifey~!"

If America had been shocked before, now his jaw hit the table. France choked on his drink, and Spain's shoulders hunched as he attempted to restrain his laughter. Norway just made a rather disgusted 'I don't want to know' expression.

"WHAT?" America screeched, at the same time as England snarled: "THAT WAS A LONG TIME AGO, YOU TOSSER!"

"Wait...Denmark married England..." Romano frowned, and then realization struck. "...Someone married England?" he continued, shuddering slightly at the thought.

"Hey!" Portugal interrupted; "Don't knock it! He may have awful weather, terrible food, a sour personality, too many sheep –" "Oi! That's Wales!" "– rubbish family life, a horrendous public transport system, an obsession with aggressive expans – where was I going with this?"

"PORTUGAL TOO?" America flailed, spinning to stare at his former mentor – who was giving Portugal a rather betrayed glare - "Who else is there?"

Several hands went up.

"...Jesus England, you got around!"

"Oh are we including just sex then?" Australia chirped, his hand and at least 10 others instantly – if a smidge reluctantly in certain cases – joining the others. America stared at all the blank faces, all of them completely nonchalant about revealing their past experiences with the frumpy old man sat next to him.

"...CANADA?" America squeaked, spying his brother's hand among the already raised. "You too? Wait." He paused, "When did you even get here?"

Canada pursed his lips. "I've been here the entire time you bas-"

"England!" America had grown bored of listening to his brother talk; instead spinning back to watch the island nation slam his head rather painfully off the table in rapid succession. "Is-" slam "-there-" slam "anyone-" slam "you haven't-" slam "slept with?"

"How dare you!" England hissed, slightly less intimidating with a giant, angry, red mark on his forehead, and his eyes crossed from the force of his blows. "Qu-questions like those should be directed at the frog! Not me! I'm a gentleman!"

"Alright," America agreed, leaning round the Brit to attract the Frenchman's attention. "France, is there anyone England hasn't slept with?"

"NOT LIKE THAT!"

"Oui, Amerique, he hasn't slept with you."

"Oh burn~!" Australia crowed. America threw a ring binder at him, which the other nation dodged quite successfully, whistling as the window behind him shattered on impact; the sound of cars screeching, metal crunching, and people screaming quickly filling the vacuum.

"That was smooth-as." New Zealand drawled.

"Dude, I think you killed, like, the emperor of, like, Sweden or something." Poland announced, tilting his chair a little further back to get a better view of the carnage below. "Which is the, like, nation with the cross on the flag? Kinda looks like one of England's, like, hospital logos?"

"Switzerland."

"Oh, well, Swiss, your ride homes like...totally totalled man. By a ring binder. That's like...failure of a highest degree." There was the sound of an explosion and the ring of sirens wailing in the distance, a fireball engulfed the car park, giving the Baltic nation an eerie hellish glow.

Poland shrugged and closed the window, bored with the usual proceedings.

"I thought those things were like...moose-proof or something?" he announced, mostly to himself, before twisting in his chair to stare at the others. "So, like, we were at England being a total whore or something? Good times."

Said nation had given up all pretence of dignity and simply lay his forehead against the desk, internally weeping, externally fuming.

"I'm going to murder you," he vowed. The papers on nuclear policy trembled under his furious gaze.

"Ah," France cooed. "I do believe that was the chat-up line he used on me." He wiped a faux tear from his eye, snickering as England attempted to stab at him with a biro. He wisely relocated to the other side of the room, chirping as he fled. "Or perhaps that was Wales? I can't remember, you two look so alike! Especially when on a hormonal rampage..."

"DIE." England eloquently proclaimed, lunging halfway across the desk, kicking a rather startled New Zealand into Australia. The latter looking delighted at the lapful of the other nation. France twirled out of the way of the oncoming Brit, who was now scrambling across the tabletop with murderous intent in his eyes, and ducked behind Russia.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Ireland started, putting down his DS to observe the carnage, catching his brother by the ankle and not flinching as England's chin connected with the table top. "France, you, you, got it on with England and Wales...and survived?" England began to struggle; Ireland clambered up and sat on him, effectively ending his rampage, as well as causing Hungary to squeal with delight and start frantically scribbling notes down all over her budget report.

France preened, England glared and Ireland's phone vibrated.

Curious he flipped open the device, opening the latest message:

Don't talk about me when I'm not there~!

Wales x.

Ireland shuddered. "How does he always-?" He was cut off as his phone buzzed again, another new message filling the screen.

Also, I topped.

Wales x.

(P.S. Tell England he's out of milk.)

"TMI little brother, TMI." Ireland muttered sliding the mobile closed once more. Of course, in his momentary lapse of attention England had managed to wriggle free. This seemed to be a frequent occurrence whenever Ireland finally managed to pin someone down.

He didn't have to worry about it for a particularly long time though, for as soon as England had got free of his previous captor another swooped down and resumed Ireland's prior position. America – having been silent for a record-breaking 5 minutes – grabbed the island nation by the shoulders and yanked him bodily off the table.

"I'VE GOT IT!" he proclaimed suddenly, shaking England to such a violent extent that it was a wonder the elder's eyeballs remained within their sockets.

England gurgled rather intelligently in reply, trying to hold down his lunch and simultaneously stop the room spinning.

"England! Don't you see! Only I can rescue you from this downward spiral of promiscuous deceit!"

"What the fuck did he just say?" Prussia enquired, having never heard such large, polysyllabic words from the superpower. He felt as though he'd stepped into some sort of Twilight Zone, where up was down, left was right, and America was intelligent. He shuddered at the thought.

"I think it's American for: I can stop you being a whore...could be wrong though," someone else replied. Prussia snorted, not at the translation, but at the idea that someone could stop England from being a repressed nymphomaniac. Now that was funny.

Ignoring the bemused and disbelieving stares from around him, America ploughed on. "Don't you understand England? The only way to save your honour and virtue is to marry me!"

There was a deathly silence. Well, it would've been if not for the screams of the burning innocents from outside, but it's not like they mattered very much in comparison to this anyway.

"...Oh wow..." Italy chirped, breaking the silence and grinning at the spotlighted couple. "America thinks England has virtue! Isn't that cute Germany?"

"Didn't you swap that for a pack of Polo's?" Ireland asked his brother, who was in the middle of some sort of experiment to see if it were physically possible to die from embarrassment, and could only gurgle in response.

"Spain!" America rounded on the rather taken aback nation with a flourish. "You're the place that has the guy with the pointy hat right?" Spain didn't really have the heart to tell him otherwise.

"...Sure America. Close enough...I suppose."

Romano glared - his glare said: 'You know that seating thing we have in the lounge? Get yourself reacquainted with it.' Spain could only sigh, he couldn't do anything right, could he?

"Excellent!" He dragged the still comatose England bodily across the room with as much grace as a drunken elephant, not really noticing as his beloved clattered into various chairs and pot plants on the way. "Right. Okay." He stared expectantly at Spain, who gazed a little mystified back. "...Well, go on, then." America prompted, as if it were some kind of magic trick as opposed to an actual religious ceremony.

"Erm...dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to-"

"Discuss the effect of Global Warming on America's brain waves!"

"Find out when our next break is!"

"PARTY HARD."

"NO HECKLING." Germany roared, slamming his fists on the table (at this rate they would probably need another one, this model was likely to collapse from all the abuse.) If he was getting interrupted for a bizarre, improvised marriage then they were going to get the damn thing DONE quickly and correctly! They had forms to be filling in!

"Er, right." Spain coughed. "Where was I? Oh yes...the start. Dearly beloved we are gathered here today to celebrate the-"

"PARTY IN MY PANTS!"

"AMERICA YOU CAN'T HECKLE AT YOUR OWN WEDDING."

"I think you better skip to the end, Spain." Austria advised, sensing the oncoming war of 'hilarious' one liners. That and England's brain looked like it was starting to reboot.

Spain nodded in agreement. "Rings?" he asked. Everyone looked blank.

"...I have a pack of Haribo?"

"It'll do." The packet of gummy rings was passed to the front. Spain selected the two that looked least likely to fall apart and handed them to the duo. America put them both on himself, as England was still staring blankly at the ceiling, steam almost visibly pouring out of his broken brain.

"Okay, you're married!" Spain announced. "Kiss! At last." He added the latter part under his breath; the sentiment was echoed around the room with sighs and exclamations of relief.

Unfortunately it was at this point that England's restart sequence had fully finished. He blinked groggily, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead. Regrettably he used the hand that had the gum ring on it. He stared at the ring, then at America, and finally at the crowd of onlookers all staring expectantly at them.

"...DARLING!" America proclaimed, before England could so much as comprehend what all of that could mean, and swept him into a perfect Hollywood-esque kiss, bending England over backwards and all. England's brain all but imploded again.

"Wh-what the bloody fuck!" he managed to squawk as they broke apart. Pushing himself back and more importantly away from the other. "What the hell? Don't I get any say in this?"

"Don't be silly England." America chastised. "73,200,000 Google results for America/England say I make all the decisions."

England floundered, momentarily thrown by this latest horrifying piece of information. "B-but you can't! I-I'm already married! To...the rest of the UK! And Europe! And my commonwealth!"

"Like fuck you're married to me." Australia protested, still holding the by now rather flustered New Zealand tight against him. The other nation attempted to break free, succeeding only in knocking them both under the table, which was probably the intention the whole time anyway.

"And you are not married to my North! I'm the only one allowed to marry my North! She's MINE!" Ireland hissed with a crazed, an all-too-familiar murderous look in his eyes.

Choosing to ignore any of the proposed arguments, like the diplomatic nation he was, England ploughed on. "I object!" he exclaimed, half hysterical. He span back to face America; "We are getting this annulled, right now!"

America however had other things in mind.

"Too late, gotta run!" America announced, swinging England up and over his shoulder with effortless ease. England flailed, trying desperately to find somewhere other than America's arse to rest his hands - it was an extremely difficult job. "Well, we're off for the honeymoon! See you in a month!"

"A MONTH?" England shrieked. Face burning at the thought.

"Oh...better make that three then. Geez England you really are insatiable."

"Have fun you two!"

"Wear protection!"

"Remember, the more England says no, the more he wants it! Especially if there are handcuffs and/or costumes involved!"

The doors slammed shut, England's indignant yelps disappearing down the corridor.

Silence.

(Except for the screaming, but again, nothing worth worrying about.)

"Ah," France sighed, slipping back into his chair. "Well, that worked better than expected."

"Indeed." Japan agreed, nodding minutely, eyeing the door the others had left from with unnatural curiosity – hand twitching for his camera.

"America honestly thought it was his idea?" Denmark scoffed. "Please, you'd have to get up a lot earlier in the morning to spontaneously marry England." There was a thump, followed by a yelp of pain, and a rather ruffled New Zealand popped back up from under the table, rearranging his shirt and smoothing out his hair. Australia was quick behind him, looking all too pleased with himself.

"I thought you all acted splendidly mates!" Australia chirped. "France, the way you totally got up in England's face was awesome!"

"It's a talent; I've had years to hone it. Though I think that credit must go where credit is due, we all know who the genius behind all this is really." A round of nodding travelled round the room, and somewhere in the UN building England smirked in triumph, wrapping his arms a smidge tighter around America – oh, he was just too good.

A/N: :D?