Yumi- For the usxuk livejournal community's fanworkathon. For what you are about to read, I am sorry. I finished this at midnight last night, but couldn't get the cuts to work so I fell asleep. I'm sorry if this makes no sense and/or doesn't match the prompt right. ^^' But, I hope I haven't done something wrong and that you enjoy the story~

-x-

Honey

France is a pervert, England is uncomfortable and America finds a teddy bear

England was uncomfortable.

He was also angry, irritated, highly exposed and in a freaking dress, but he was mostly uncomfortable because, no matter how used to France's perverse nature he was, he was not really used to being leered at by a childlike Frenchman while willingly (to some extent) wearing a Goddamn nurse's costume.

He pulled the hem of it down, stretching it until it reached his knees but he had to, as it had started riding up at the back, let it go again. France was around the back of him in a flash and England could almost feel the frog's gaze on his rear end. He kicked back with his foot, missing the pervert's vitals by a mere inch.

France was suddenly in his sight again, his face too close for comfort, knowing England's hands were preoccupied trying to keep the outfit from riding up on him. "Harsh, mon ami," he grinned impishly, reaching out to poke the little hat that sat atop his counterpart's head. "You look rather fetching, I must say."

England made a low noise that resembled a growl as he retorted, "I think my fist would look rather fetching punching you in the face."

France pouted, tweaking his cat ears perched upon his own head. "Yet again, so very harsh."

"Drop dead."

As if being in such a revealing outfit wasn't bad enough, he could still feel America's burning stare in his back from earlier, even though the younger had gone off on an escapade to attempt to get Russia out of the gutter. Maybe he had scorched a hole or something, leaving him even more freaking exposed.

England was a very prideful man, and this having happened to him was humiliating to say the least, even before his easily impressionable former charge had arrived and witnesses him having a hissy fit at a wriggling France. But that photo was worse. Far worse.

That photo that France kept bringing up.

"You know," France smirked, "Those photo's could be anywhere by now."

England's mouth drew into a grimace and then a scowl. He hated these situations for two reasons. One, because what France had said was true and two, because he had to admit this. "Drop dead, idiotic frog."

The other blonde grinned wildly. "You're reusing insults, Angleterre. Is your mind really that preoccupied?"

England's mind wasn't too preoccupied as it was, although, the fact that public humiliation could be around any corner up until he got his hands on that bloody picture and destroyed it with his bear hands was rather distracting, to say the least.

"Shut the bloody hell up," he grumbled, tugging the hem of that freaking outfit again.

France opened his mouth as if to say something to England, but at the last minute, turned a smidge to the right and called out, "How's Russia, America."

England realised, too late, that his foe was waiting patiently for his reaction to this statement, and cussed outwardly, checking around for any approaching Americans, fidgeting with the uniform to make sure that anyone happening to approach him from behind wouldn't get an eyeful.

But there were no approaching Americans and England stopped dead, mid-fluster. He turned, his eyes like acid as he watched the triumphant look on the other man's face grow.

"You're so easy to tease," he sneered and England, once again, had to resist the urge to punch his lights out, "I mean, oh look, there's America!"

England gave a short laugh. "Oh God, how stupid do you think I am?"

But then a certain American's arm landed on his shoulder and England suddenly didn't want the answer for the above statement. He jumped, shoving the hand off his shoulder and, once again, tugging at the hem of the dress he was still, unfortunately for him, wearing.

"Dude, chillax," America muttered, dropping his arm from it's perch, mid-air. England just scowled as America continued to talk. "Russia bit me when I tried to get him out of the gutter. Do you think I need a tetanus shot?" He laughed at his own joke while the other blondes stayed aloof.

France coughed awkwardly before turning to England and asking, "Rosbif, do you think you could give me my proper body back again. It is rather infuriating being in a park with pretty girls who wont touch you because you look like a ten year old."

A smirk grew across the Englishman's face. "No, I already said. Find the photographs, then I'll turn you back. It's not like the girls are missing much anyways."

Now it was France's turn to scowl, but his sour expression was soon dropped in favour of his usual smirk as he leaned in, placing his elbow on the Englishman's stiffening shoulder. "Well, Angleterre," He said softly, directly into the younger's ear, making him shiver unpleasantly, "Since you sleep with a teddy bear, would you, taking his outfit into account, also sleep with America?"

And so, England gave in to what he had wanted to do all day, and punched France square in the jaw.

"Why didn't you book your own hotel room?"

America continued to hang out of the older man's arm as he was attempting, yet failing, to open the door. "I tried, but they had no rooms left!" he wailed, "You wouldn't make me walk to the next hotel dressed like this would you? It's two blocks away!"

"I'm in the right mind to, yes," England growled, finally getting the card to swipe through, as the hotel room door swung open, "You knew what was happening; you think you'd bring spare clothes or book a hotel in advance to stay in."

"Well, I didn't," America replied, sourly, before exclaiming, "Look! You've a sofa! Can I sleep on that?"

England stared at him for a moment, trying and failing to come up with a reason against the idea. "Well, it's your back you're going to do out," he muttered, entering the room, "I'll get you a blanket."

The younger smiled cheerfully, running into the room after his elder, slamming the door shut behind him, catching the blanket England threw, aimed at his face. "Awesome! Tony'll be here in the morning with my clothes, so I'll be outta your hair in no time! And you wont be cramping my style anymore, hah!" He laughed at his own joke again, which England, once again, remained aloof to.

"Right," he said, putting the hotel kettle on and going to his suitcase for teabags.. "There's some sachets of your blasted coffee there if you want some."

"Nah," America replied, looking around the room whistling awkwardly, "They ain't strong enough."

England tapped his foot impatiently, leaning on the counter, happy that he was able to now that, Spain having been done with his stupid, humiliating photographs for the monstrosity known as 'Facebook' and letting them leave, he had changed into trousers and was out of the God awful clothing he had been wearing. America was looking around the room-unlike England, he was still wearing his shameless apron and even the ears-, making the odd comment that nether cared much about about the wallpaper and curtains. But by the time England realised his suitcase was wide open on the ground and America was a nosy little git, it was too late.

"Hey, who's this little guy?"

A shaky hand placed the tea cup on the counter as England slowly turned to face the mortifying sight of America lifting a stuffed teddy bear out of of the the suitcase on the ground. He had to think of something. He desperately racked his brains for an excuse as America smiled patronizingly at his face, which was slowly starting to look like Spain's tomatoes.

"I-it's Sealand's," he mumbled, pathetically, clenching the sleeves of his jumper tighter.

"Really?" America asked, disbelievingly, "I thought his was darker than that. You know, I saw it when he dressed up as what's his name."

"You mean you," England replied, desperate for any mistake on America's part to change the subject.

"No," he hummed, "That guy who looks like me. Cambodia? Anyways, this isn't his bear, so it must be yours!"

England deadpanned. There was no conceivable way out and, in all his years of getting out of tricky situations, he was at a complete loss for an excuse. "Y-yes," he stammered, averting his eyes as America clapped the teddy's paws together, "I-I own it..."

America look at him again, surprised that he so willingly owned up. "Oh, so you sleep with this thing?" he asked, smiling slightly at the blush now covering the entirety of his elder's face.

"No, I-I...Ye-es..."

England hung his head. He had worn the bloody dress for nothing because now, photo or not, everyone was going to find out the weakness of the former British Empire through his loudmouthed, enigmatic former colony and the only thing he could do about it was tell everyone that America wet the bed as a child for revenge afterwards which no one would take seriously anyways.

"Okay, cool!"

England's head shot up, and he looked at America through narrowed eyes. "Cool?"

America grinned, putting the bear back in the suitcase, sitting nicely on top. "Yeah, I mean, you do have some human qualities after all," he chuckled, flopping down on the sofa, "Here was I thinking you didn't have a heart!"

England glowered. "What has owning a damn cuddly toy got anything to with my organs?"

America shrugged. "I didn't think you'd be the type; It's pretty damn awesome."

The older watched his counterpart as he continued to stare up at him, an expectant smile on his face. England's cheeks flamed again. "I-it's late, he stuttered, "I-I'm going to bed, and you should too! There's spare pajamas in my suitcase, take them."

And so, England snatched the nameless teddy bear and his own night clothes off the top of his suitcase and left a still smiling America on the sofa.

England was still blushing an hour and a half later, with his head buried in his pillow and the Godforsaken bear next to his chest.

America hadn't teased him. There were no, 'wait until the guys hear this!' or obnoxious laughter at his expense. America had just been nice. And England had just been honest; and he didn't die. The ground didn't swallow him up from embarrassment.

In fact, he wasn't even blushing from embarrassment. America had been nice to him, less condescending than he had been in years and at the perfect time to act as such too.

England sat up, automatically swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and turning on the light beside him, still holding the bear to his chest as he padded into the other room where America was lying back on the sofa, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

The younger turned around on the chair when England came in, smiling wryly. "You're right, this is uncomfortable," he laughed quietly, rubbing his back comically.

"I'm sorry!" England blurted, taking his younger and himself by surprise, "Uhm, you can sleep in the bed!"

Blinking for a few spare moments, America smiled. "Yeah, you're not sleeping on the couch though," he laughed, "Come on, I'll sleep with you!" England watched for a moment as the other shuffled around in the too small pajamas, before finding the toy ears he was looking for.

He caught England looking and smiled, putting them on his head with a grin, "In case your Teddy fails to help you sleep!"

England felt the grin spread across his face as he replied, laughing in mock exasperation, "Take them things off!"

But, in the early morning, when Tony came in looking for his friend to give him the spare clothes and his car keys, he instead found a British man curled up to said friend, who was wearing the most outrageous ears, and a teddy bear clamped between them.

"Limey," he grumbled, dropping the stack of clothes and the key, with the lightly coloured, teddy bear key-chain, on the foot of the bed.