Canada's moan of pleasure was muffled by the stiff flesh of France's member thrusting between his lips. The small man's amethyst eyes were hazy with lust as he looked up at the European nation, greedily lapping at the precum that was spilling onto his tongue.

"Such a little slut," America moaned as he drove his cock deep into that tight, needy hole. His Northern brother made another sound of appreciation, rocking his hips back against the thick, hot intrusion. The two nations fucking him shared a glance and a nod, slowing their pace torturously, moving in and out with shallow, unsatisfying thrusts, making the delicate man between them whine desperately; needing, wanting the friction. Canada pulled back from France's cock,

"Please," he whimpered desperately, his voice breathy as he rocked his slim hips back against the Southern nation's cock, his lips and tongue caressing the Frenchman's shaft, "Alfie~ Papa~ Fuck me please! I need you! I want you to fuck me raw! I want cum dripping down my legs and lips, Please~!" The little Canadian panted heavily, his lavender eyes heavy-lidded and his pale cheeks flushed beautifully.

With a synchronised groan, the two other nations thrust forward, America buried in his ass and France in his throat, thrusting themselves in and out with strong, powerful movements. Canada's arms began to shake, tears of pleasure forming at the corners of his mauve orbs as he felt his climax –

"United States of America," Matthew's face was torn between amusement and horror, "What the actual fuck is this?" Alfred looked up and squinted at the piece of foolscap paper that his twin was holding between his thumb and forefinger like a pair of soiled underwear. His eyes grew comically wide as he realised exactly what it was that Canada was holding.

"I… don't know what you're talking about," the American said loudly, looking anywhere but at the other blond. In fact, his eyes were fixed about two feet above Matt's head.

"The hell you don't. Why was this in your notes for the last meeting?" he was absolutely horrified that Al could have written this in full view of himself and Mexico without either of them noticing. But then again, he mostly assumed that Alfred was doodling in his margins, not writing gay porn.

"It's a forgery," America said quickly. Yes, that way he could deny everything and pin it on someone else.

"It's in your handwriting, signed and dated. It even has the little superman I saw you scribbling g at the start of the meeting."

Alfred said nothing, the red of embarrassment marching up his cheeks; he hated that blush like he hated the thought of Communism in his country. Damn Reds.

"You do know that we're the same height, don't you? And we're pretty much the same build?" Canada asked, slightly concerned in an amused sort of way, "And you've used three different words for purple, all of which are completely different and none of which are accurate. Why are my eyes orbs? Because it sounds like you're saying that my whole eye, cornea included, is mauve – which is more of a pink, by the way – not just the iris. Also, you can't see the whole eyeball, so orb isn't really an accurate description of shape unless it had dropped out of its socket and was rolling around on the floor. Which is a whole other genre of writing."

"Shut up, Mattie,"

"And nobody wants cum dripping down their legs. It's disgusting."

"For the love of fuck, Matthew!"

"You know what else?" America groaned. That had just been a stupid page's worth of writing to stop himself going insane in the meeting and now he was getting critiqued by the subject of it, "If this really was happening, the chances are that with the motion of you fucking me and me deep-throating France – that's just an assumption that I would be, I'd probably bite his cock off. Especially since I wouldn't be able to breathe properly."

"Are you quite finished?"

"No. The motion you're talking about here," Canada set the piece of paper down and pointed to the paragraph, "You'd both be moving in at the same time, wouldn't you?" he asked, bringing his hands together like a mechanical clapping monkey, but without the cymbals.

Alfred nodded dumbly, a little bit afraid of how into this conversation his twin was getting.

"That would really do a number on my spine, eh. It should be a rocking motion; one goes forward, the other back, that would give me a chance to breathe and then nobody gets hurt."

There was a long silence as America studied Canada intently, his face contorted in his scrutiny.

"You are way too concerned about this for it to be healthy," he grumbled sullenly. Once more, he was completely ignored in favour of another comment about his writing skills.

"Don't get me wrong, this is pretty good, but look here, about three quarters of the way down the page," Again, Matthew leant over and tapped the paragraph he was talking about, even going so far as to read it aloud, "'America moaned as he saw the Northern nation's face contort in extasy when his prostate was struck.' Look at that, you've spelled 'ecstasy' incorrectly. And I'm also kind of wondering if Francis has a mirror on his stomach, because otherwise how could you see my face in that position? It's basic biology, Al, and I know you have a degree in that. People can't bend that way, and even if they could, I'm not that flexible."

Alfred's face was buried in his arms, and he was seriously considering the option of knocking himself out on the table top. This was humiliating. It was just for fun. It wasn't like he was going to have it published in hardcover and translated into twenty-three languages for international readers.

"Drop it, Matthew," he muttered into the varnished pine beneath his lips.

"Are either of you wearing condoms? Actually, never mind that, I already know the answer. God damn it, Al, I know you know how hard it is to get dried cum out of your pubes – Oh, wait; I don't appear to have any in this." The Canadian gave America a stern look that was completely lost on the back of that blond head. "You do realise, don't you, that you've been referring to me as 'blonde,' which is the feminine of the word? And I know you take liberties with the English language, but this 'thrusted' you speak of? It's not actually a word. Thrust, yes, thrusting, also yes, thrusted, no.

"On that note, why is my ass moist? Because you never said anything about lube, and unless you have a problem with premature ejaculation, then there is no way either of us would have been able to produce that much spit or precum. And neither of those makes for great lubrication. Have you ever actually had sex with a man before?" Matthew shook his head forlornly, before turning around to the rest of the slowly emptying conference room and yelled,

"Arthur?"

Alfred sat bolt upright as though he had been electrocuted, eyes wide and panicked, "Matthew Williams, you shut the fuck up, right now!" he hissed, a petulant whine in his tone.

"Arthur, when you gave this boy The Talk, what exactly did you tell him?"

~====o)0(o====~

This has been lying half-finished on my computer for months now. Since late last year, I think. Anyway. This is not intended to offend anyone, it's kind of a jab at bad slash fanfiction, but I actually read that kind of story quite happily, so I'm not trying to discourage anyone from writing. Maybe just prompting people to get a beta (I have been accused of Grammar Nazism). It just includes a few of my pet peeves: blonde is female – blond is male; orbs is not an appropriate synonym for eyes; thrusted is not a word; when describing something, pick a colour, know what it looks like, and stick with it; basic anatomy – learn it. The prostate is not where you think it is.

But I know that fanfiction is just for fun; it's okay. You keep practising, and one day I'm going to be complaining because your books aren't shipped to my country fast enough.

Keep writing, everybody!