Love of the Half Eaten Peach

America is glad that he had the foresight to get a few cheeseburgers to go when they had stopped at McDonald’s earlier. That in itself had been an ordeal. Every damn thing on the menu was close enough to english in pronunciation but really? They were french fries, not “furaido potato”. But a teriyaki burger? Shit, that was something he could definitely stand to see more of; he’d eaten two of those. By the time they get back to the hotel it’s already past dinner. Fortunately for them Japan seems to be obsessed lately with serving everything in elaborate courses and as they exit their room fully prepared, it seems as if the halls of the inn are still mostly empty. Only North and South Italy are in the upstairs hallway exiting the elevator..

“Mmm... they’re serving dessert... at least I think that’s what it’s supposed to be. It’s terrible!” he exclaims with an overly dramatic expression an answer to America’s query. “Have you seen what Kiku’s done to my poor gelato? It tastes like bitter tea! I didn’t think anything could taste worse than that salmon-yucky stuff Tino served when the conference was in Helsinki...” He looks at his brother who’s impatiently staring at his watch and tugging uncomfortably at the yukata. “Or remember, fratello, when we ate those bull te- mmph!” Romano seemingly out of nowhere pulls out a small tupperware container of biscotti and stuffs one in North Italy’s mouth.
“I did not eat that!” he yells red faced, grabbing his arm. “‘C’mon, if we don’t hurry up, that fucking pervert’s gonna try and sneak back into the room.” Romano tugs at him insistently.

“But his clothes are still in there, Lovi,” North Italy protests through a mouthful of cookie practically planting himself on the floor.
“Then I’ll throw them off the fucking balcony so he can get them! He should be glad that’s all he gets for not staying in his own fucking bed!” Moving behind his brother, Romano pushes him on the slippery floor like a broken down vespa. “And I can’t believe you just slept through… through that!” He gives a particularly hard shove as the elevator dings again. “Dammit hurry up!”
“Waaa! Can’t I finish the cookie first? I think I’m gonna be sick from that dessert.”
“No!” And as they continue to argue down the hall, America half expects to see Spain actually come out of the elevator.

It’s not of course, instead the twins come face to face with the ash blonde Montserrat coughing violently into a hankerchief. He shoves past them followed by that little bastard America is convinced is determined to upstage him. Canada puts a warning hand on his brother’s shoulder at the last moment, lest he cause an altercation right in the hall. America backs down almost immediately realizing that one, neither Montserrat or the Falkland Islands seem to recognize them; especially when Canada thinks to greet them in french. Two, the poor British Territory seems about to keel over on the way back to the room, but more importantly, the last fucking thing he needs is to end up disrobing his rival; two slices of underaged pedo bait are plenty, thank you!

Hearing the bells outside chiming 8, America is thankful that they should make it on time as they exit the elevator downstairs. Taking Canada’s arm, he half drags him along in spite of his brother’s protests.
“Jeez, Mattie, you’re so slow, hustle a little, wontcha?” God, at this rate, pedobrows might even be too damn drunk to walk to the door on his own…
“Al, slow down already. And have you even thought of how you’re gonna get him out by himself?” Canada wonders why he hadn’t thought of that earlier but he supposes he was too swept up in America’s sinister enthusiasm to be quite thinking clearly. He almost trips as his brother runs faster.

“Ha! Betcha think I forgot about that, didn’t ya?” America rushes out somewhat breathlessly as they round the corner. “Well it just so happens that-“
“Al!” Canada screams in a rather unmanly fashion as the two of them nearly collide headlong into France. America’s eyes are wide as he puts on the figurative breaks silently cursing Japan for oh so politely requesting that everyone please remove their shoes while inside. His stockinged feet slip rather predictably, and the twins both end up in a heap at France’s feet. The older nation laughs even as he takes in the two of them disentangling and rearranging their clothing.

“There’s no need to run, there’s still plenty of dessert, children.” Canada sighs as he picks himself and America smiles, realizing that France doesn’t seem to recognize them. They aren’t wearing the nametags or the souvenir yukata of most of the guests and America thinks back quickly to two nations they passed in the hall. He starts coughing, hoping that France buys it.
“We got plenty earlier,” Canada supplies with a smile. Looks like he’s the Falklands then. “I thought we’d step out for some air-”
“And we totally wanted to dress up for ped-er... daddy.” Cough. “But well...” America turns feigning embarrassment and Canada fills in with a shy smile.
“We don’t really want everyone staring at us.”

Canada wishes like hell right about now that he’d actually paid more than two seconds attention to the less notable British Territories but hell, England is ridiculously covetous of the last remaining shreds of his empire and Canada hardly gets to see anyone of them other than Turks and Cacaos.
“Oh and stare they shall,” France coos slinking an arm around Canada’s shoulders. “Have you ever thought of joining the French Collective?” he asks stroking a finger down his cheek. Canada can’t help but shiver, always finding France’s scent of orange spice and clove intoxicating. He licks his lips unconsciously and leans into him before swearing to himself trying to remember exactly how the Falkland Islands would actually respond because he somehow doubts that “oh yes, please, papa,” isn’t it.

A subtle kick from America brings him back to the present and he thinks back to dinner the previous night.

It took Russia’s intervention to help Canada and Australia hold America back after England had drunkenly subdued the young Falkland Islands. He could hear the snarl of “Insolent whelp, so help me Arthur I’ll put him in his place, I don’t care how strong he is.” Canada remembered in that moment that while he hadn’t been a territory for even 200 years, he was apparently older than either America or Canada. He didn’t hear what England had whispered back, only there was an oddly telling hand on the “child’s” shoulder and he sat back. It was right about then an inebriated Austria stood up amongst Germany and Prussia and declared in some garbled heavily accented english “I… am the earth mother! And you… are all flops!”

Germany, red faced and mortified had attempted to quiet him and received a slap and a slurred declaration of “go to hell” for his troubles. It took the two of them- Germany taking his arms, Prussia taking his feet- to carry the drunken aristocrat out amidst a cry of “unhand me, houseboy.” Canada never would’ve pegged Austria for being a fan of Albee. In the confusion, Canada had forgotten mostly about England, but there was something odd even than that he couldn’t put his finger on. He took note of a hushed conversation before they took a cue from the Germans in hauling America bodily out. The Falklands had raised his voice, called England “Arthur”, and from there America had lashed out and knocked his glasses off and it was a blur til they were back in the room.

No, definitely not the same reaction to France’s advances. He sighs inwardly, reminds himself that they’re there to seduce England and not engage in any useless -but oh god it’d probably be mind blowing- sex with France, and pulls away with a half hearted glare.

“B-Back off,” he says forcing his voice to a much louder volume than he’s accustomed and if it sounds a tad breathless well dammit, who cares? Okay, you can do this, Matthew. Get mad. Get really mad. Just think about this morning when Al fucking stepped on you on the way to the bathroom… or how he ate your breakfast when you weren’t even done... Okay, now he’s mad… he’s downright furious! America almost facepalms when Canada only just manages a stammered out “W-we’re waiting for Arthur you… you… and...” Okay… madder… real angry and… Oh god who am I kidding? “Sowhydon’tyougogethimpervert,” he rushes out in a hurried mumble and America just barely refrains from smacking his forehead..

France doesn’t give any indication that he suspects and pats him on the shoulder.
“Of course, mon petit, we wouldn’t want him to miss out on this little treat now would we?” He smiles and bows out headed into the dining room getting lost in the crowd and America lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. The two wait for a time outside the door, America growing impatient as the time seems to tick agonizingly by.

He pokes his head inside finally and frowns when he manages to spot England but not a sight of France.
“What the fuck? He disappeared!” America exclaims watching a disgustingly sober England having another spot of tea. Canada sighs and frowns.
“Probably chasing some virgin territory... or one of the hostesses,” he mumbles toying with the somewhat tight collar of the button up shirt. As they wait, he takes the time to admire the striking picture the two of them make. His twin is innocence personified in the grey knickers and white shirt. The matching grey vest and cravat complete the ensemble and the white stockings are too perfect. He can’t help but admire how well the outfit suits him, even. America insisted on a jaunty newsboy cap and it reminds Canada of the artful dodger.

Canada squirms somewhat uncomfortably after awhile as he feels the slight wetness between his legs. It might have been his suggestion to prepare in advance but did America really have to use so much lube!?

“There’s no such thing as too much lube, bro,” America informed him cheerfully as he squeezed what felt like half the fucking tube up his ass. Canada yelped at the cold and automatically twisted away like a wet cat, leaving a trail of the slick lube on the mattress. His legs clamped shut faster than a mousetrap and he glared up at his brother. “Whoops. Probably shoulda warmed it first, huh?”America’s expression was sheepish and he leaned up and kissed his brother on the lips in a soothing gesture, oddly chaste all things considered. Canada relaxed, hands on America’s shoulders. He gripped tightly as he felt his twin start to work a finger inside. God, he couldn’t even imagine England fucking him at this rate.
“Christ, Mattie, try and relax,” America said as if reading his thoughts. “Even eyebrows’ little pinky dick is gonna be too much for you at this rate.”

Canada took a deep breath and tried to refocus his attention as America stroked his tight passage.
“Is… is Kiku going to be okay with this” he asked, the question coming out breathless.
 “Huh?” blue eyes blinked in confusion as he tentatively added a second finger. Canada winced.
“Y-your boyfriend,” he hissed at the uncomfortable burn. America still seemed puzzled but understanding dawned and Canada squeaked as the fingers shoved in harder as he exclaimed..
“Oh that!”
“GentleAl!” Canada yelped his fingers white.
“Dude, he’s not my boyfriend, we just fuck around.” America winced and took the cue to move more slowly. “Jesus, Mattie, how the hell did Francis ever bone you back then?”

“Noneofyourbusinessjerk...” Canada looked away with a flush to his face. There was no way in hell he was going to tell America that he was the one who actually topped. Thinking of that... remembering the feel of France’s strong older body underneath him. His fingers kneaded at the mattress absently and America smiled as his brother finally relaxed. He couldn’t resist the temptation to tease his inner walls, and rub at the small wrinkled gland.
“So yeah, he’s kinky as shit too. Did I ever tell you he’s got this weird like... giant strap on thing that- whoa!” America watched as Canada whimpered and came a small spurt over his pale smooth stomach. “Damn, I haven’t seen you come that soon since-”
“Sh-shuttup Al!” He covered his face with his hands, his legs trembling. “Just hurry up and finish and I’ll do you next.”

Canada squirms again as America continues to look inside.
“Is he coming?” he asks looking around uncomfortably. The more nations that leave the dining room, the greater the chance of them being recognized. His brother shakes his head and he sighs.
“He’ll be coming soon enough though,” America snickers at the joke. Canada can’t help but smile in nervous amusement. He’ll worry about feeling guilty later. Perhaps he had gone a bit overboard, but a reminder of England’s constant forgetting set something alight that perhaps was better left untouched. “I bet he’ll come in me first, too,” America declares, the statement met with an answering snort.
“You always did have too high an opinion of yourself, Al.”
“Oh please. If he even remembers your cute little ass is there I’ll eat my hat.”

They both hear familiar old footsteps and almost panic. Well, America did leave him a good opening...
“Yeah? Well how about you eat it now, eh?” And with that he pounces. America as always hadn’t actually heard him and was caught off guard when he was suddenly tackled to the ground. He recovers fast, however and flips the two of them over easily.
“Ha! You gotta wake up pretty early to get one over on me.” he grins down and then remembering their fight slaps him across the face. Operation Pedobrows Phase 3 is a go, he thinks triumphantly before Canada reaches up and grabs his vest, wedging a knee between them and flipping him over. Fuck! I forgot how strong he is... America is on his feet in an instant and once again the two lock horns like two young bucks fighting for mating rights.

“England is mine, canuck!” America yells remembering to put on a good show and Canada growls- a rather kittenish sound really considering their smaller bodies- and with a fistful of hair wrestles him back to the ground.
“In your dreams, yank!” America rips the cravat and a few buttons from the vest and Canada thinks- as he slaps at his brother’s head- that this is actually somewhat therapeutic. He’s careful to keep the smile off of his face, however and it occurs to him as America flips them and sits on his chest that England isn’t exactly leaping on them with wild pedo abandon as America would say…

Oh god it’s not Arthur it’s- His eyes widen as he looks over America’s shoulder and catches a glimpse of France. Crap, he was supposed to be long gone!
“Al-“ He squeaks out far too late.
“C’mon Mattie you can’t give up now, we- Hey!” His legs suddenly kick uselessly in the as a rather effective hold is executed on him from behind and France yanks him off. Canada can’t help but be impressed by the old nation’s strength but a part of him supposes that it only makes sense; he too was once a great empire after all.
“What is this? Two beautiful young men should be making love, not fighting,” he tsks.
“Dammit, Francis, let go!” Alfred hisses as Matthew rises, shoulders slumped in defeat. “We’re right in the middle of-“
“Ahh, but I’m afraid that rosbif has already deserted us.”

“What?!” France releases him and America shoves his head inside the doors blinking stupidly. “Where is he?!” Fuck, that pedo fucker must’ve gone out the other door! He cranes his neck back around to look up at the other nation. Why the hell would he take the long way? Did Francis fucking say something? France shrugs thoroughly unapologetic.
“That I cannot say, but it is for the best perhaps that he escapes your darling little clutches tonight, non?” He shoots both of them a knowing look and America swears to himself wondering just how in the hell he figured out that they were up to something.

At the twin expression of adorable incredulity the hall is filled with  that infamous oh hon hon hon laughter.
“Ah, children, children,” he looks at them still laughing. “Ah, you really are children now aren’t you?” He tips America’s cap affectionately watching him bristle, watching their plans go up in smoke. Canada however isn’t ready to call it quits yet after the hell that America put him through. He looks away at that moment and catches China exiting the hall by himself. An improvisation forms at that moment; it’s one of his specialties after all. Maybe this will work out even better... so what if we don’t get Arthur. He isn’t the only one who’s got something we want. He makes sure America is paying attention as he speaks.

“Yeah... guess you got us, eh? But it’s just like Bruno said to guy, right?.” His expression towards America is meaningful and he prays that his brother understands. “Criss, cross Al.” Canada sees the flicker in America’s expression at the reference to Hitchcock’s “Strangers on A Train” - it’s one of his favorite movies, after all- and he sees the faint smirk as understanding dawns.
“Oh absolutely,” He schools he expression neutral again after giving Canada a discreet wink. Bruno kills Miriam, Guy kills Bruno’s father- I take Francis and you take Yao... good thinking, bro. He watches as Canada turns with an almost imperceptible nod as if to leave and deliberately runs into China..

America turns back to France knowing that right now, the game is seriously back on. You want those international waters, bro? Fuck that shit I’ll get you Saint Pierre and Miquelon too. You trick Yao into signing off on my debts, Mattie and the two of us will have these ancient fuckers by the nuts.


Notes:

Monserrat had a volcanic eruption in 1995 that forced inhabitants to flee. The eruption is still going on on a much smaller scale and inhabitants are attempting to rebuild other areas, I figure this would give the poor thing a chronic cough for the time being.

"I am the earth mother, and you are all flops." is a quote from Edward Albee's play "Who's afraid of Virginia Woolfe."

The "giant strap on thing" America references alludes to a device Japan owns that appears in "Fahrenheit 451 Centigrade J". That story takes place after this chronologically in this universe but they're not tied in together except here and there.

The Territorial Collectivity of Saint Pierre et Miquelon is a group of small French Islands in the North Atlantic. A dispute arose over the maritime boundaries beyond the territorial seas between France and Canada that was settled in arbitration but is still in contention. Mostly it involves fishing rights.