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It is like this:

It isn’t that he isn’t in love with Lithuania because he is. He loves the other nation, he really does.

Poland lets his eyes slide shut and pulls the blankets closer around him. The blankets are soft under his hands and smell clean and the bed is large and comfortable.

He’d been so happy when Lithuania had come to him the first time after the other nation’s independence. Lithuania had said he wanted to make up, wanted to start over.

Poland had been so happy, is still happy.

They’d gone out together, shopping, coffee and dinner. Then Lithuania had started coming around more and more making him dinner, staying over at Poland’s house to curl up together and watch a movie.

Poland sighs, and gets out of bed; he drags himself into the bathroom and sheds the pink, satin pajama top he’s still wearing and showers. Out of the shower he grabs a bathrobe that’s a little too big for him and pads down stares.

He smells something burning, like really on fire kind of burning, half way down the stairs. That is really all it takes for him to know that his lover had gotten to the kitchen first. England’s swears and throws a heavily smoking frying pan into the sink as Poland steps through the door. His face is red, hair still rumpled and damp from his own shower, shirt tails not really tucked in. He glares daggers at the still-smoking frying pan and Poland can help but laugh.

“Like you totally can’t cook Arthur, so I don’t know why you keep trying. Just, like, give it up already.”

England throws him a nasty look and Poland pads over to the cupboard where England keeps the instant coffee. Instant coffee tastes like ass but it’s better then no coffee Poland reasons, making a face as he takes a sip and then bring it over to the kitchen table. He’d whore himself out to France or Romano for their coffee anytime, except of course that he actually wouldn’t, even for tasty coffee. He snags himself a slice of bread, a jar of jam and I knife on his way past. Then dumps everything onto the kitchen table and starts covering the bread liberally with jam. England settles himself across from Poland. He picks up his own tea still eyeing the pan, this time more ruefully then anything else.

“Today may be a good time to eat out. That was my last good pan.”

“I’m leaving this afternoon. My Prime Minster, like totally, emailed me.” Poland takes a bite of his bead and jam and England glances at him and then looks down at the teacup in his hands.

“Yes, well of course, work and all that.”

“Like, stop frowning all the time!” Poland gets up and moves around the table until he’s leaning against England’s side and rubs the frown lines on the other nation’s forehead with his fingertips, “you’re going to end up looking your age if you keep that up. Look at me.” Poland tips England’s face up towards him. “You know how come I look this good? Because I smile.” He does, then just to prove his point and England leans up slightly and kisses him. Poland sinks into the kiss, kissing back with eager lips and tongue.

When they pull apart England leaves on hand resting gently on the back of Poland’s neck, a warm, firm presence. He seems to steel himself and Poland watches him through his lashes as the other nation licks his lips. “Are you coming back then?”

“Don’t be silly.” Poland lets his fingers twist in dirty-blond hair and smiles with his eyes, “of course I’m coming back.” He kisses him again; leaning against the other nation feeling how firm and sturdy England’s body is under all those frumpy clothes. “Just let me get this stuff sorted out with my bosses.” And there was also someone else he had to see. Poland’s stomach knots itself and for a moment he wonders if he might be ill. The arms around his waist tighten and Poland looks down to find England watching him closely, he sifts a little in the other nations’ arms. “I, like, need to get dressed now and don’t you like have a meeting?”

England sighs and lets go of him, checking the clock automatically “yes, actually I do.”

“Well then.” Poland gives him a little smile much tenser then the last one and flees back upstairs to the bedroom.

It starts like this:

Poland leans forward, closing the small gap between them, and presses his lips against Lithuania’s. Lithuania’s hand comes up to cup the side of Poland’s face and Poland can feel Lithuania tremble very slightly and moves closer, moving their lips together. Lithuania’s hand slide down Poland’s neck to his shoulder, down his arm to clasp his hand briefly. Poland makes a small sound and Lithuania’s hands land feather-light against his chest. They pull apart just far enough to breathe.

“Polska.” Lithuania murmurs voice soft and low.

Suddenly it’s too cold in their room and Poland’s stomach drops out just like it always did the second before he could hear the soldier’s boots coming down the hall to the room they kept him in. All he can hear in Lithuania’s soft voice is pain and fear. He screws his eyes shut and tells himself it’s okay now-it’s okay. That life isn’t their life anymore. It doesn’t stop the panic from rising though.

Poland finally manages to open his eyes and Lithuania is pale, too pale, like all the blood’s been drained from his face. His hands are clenched, he bites his lower lip.

“Maybe . . .” he starts hands clenching tighter, “maybe we shouldn’t do this tonight.”

Poland shakes his head snapping his mind back from the past to the present sitting here in this airplane flying from London to Warsaw.

He and Lithuania had that conversation almost a year ago now and so far they hadn’t gotten past kissing. It’s not that he doesn’t love Lithuania because he’s never doubted that he loved him since the founding of their Commonwealth. In fact Poland is pretty sure that his love for Lithuania has been what has kept him alive through all he’s had to endure.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch Lithuania anymore either. Touching Lithuania always feels so good, right up until the flashbacks start. It really isn’t Lithuania's fault that Poland can do nothing but think of being cold, alone, helpless, and afraid when he touches Lithuania. It really isn’t his poor Liet’s fault that just looking at him sometimes reminds Poland of Russia or Germany, of secret police and death camps. If he could figure out a way to stop it from happening he would. He, like, totally would because he loves Lithuania and he wants it to be like it had been before. He wants to be with Lithuania like that again, warm, happy and content.

After several failed attempts at intimacy Poland had just assumed he couldn’t sleep with anyone anymore. That was a scary thought in and of itself; the idea that someone had managed to break something inside him that badly. At least that would have explained why he couldn’t manage to be with the one person he loved most in the entire world. He hadn’t been happy with the idea but he’d been, well sort of, content. Then England had happened, and now Poland didn’t know what to think beyond how badly he’d screwed up.

Poland sighs and tries to move his legs into a more comfortable position in the cramped little airplane seat.

He is kind of looking forward to seeing Lithuania that night. After all he’d missed his Liet and they could eat pierogi and maybe watch one of America’s romantic comedies together. Lithuania would suffer through the silly chick-flick in silence because he knew it made Poland happy and hold Poland’s hand like they were teenagers.

Poland shifts again and frowns out of the little window at the passing clouds.

Of course he is also kind of dreading seeing Lithuania. It’s getting harder and to come back from England to Lithuania. Especially since his Liet is always so patient and gentle with him. Poland knows he definitely doesn’t deserve it. Not anymore.


It’s such an ugly word Poland doesn’t want to think about it, it makes him sick inside and angry at himself.

He’d been forced to have sex with other nations of course, after losing to them in war. He’d also slept with a couple nations he’d formed alliances with once Lithuania had been taken from him the first time. He’d never taken another lover though not when he had Lithuania. Not until now.

He knew some nations slept with whomever they wanted whenever they wanted, but not him. Marriage meant something to him, it always had, it was a sacred vow after all. Sure he was no longer technically married to Lithuania but it still meant something.

Poland frowns harder out of the plane window as the plane begins its descent.

He knows, he totally knows, he should talk to Lithuania; confess what’s happening with England see if they can work it out. See if there is anything left to work out. He’s too much of a coward though because he can’t even imagine not loving Lithuania, can’t image Lithuania not loving him anymore. There had been one time when he’d thought Lithuania didn’t love him anymore and it has been the worst thing ever, and he’d . . .

He’ll tell Lithuania, because that’s the right thing to do and he knows it, just not tonight. Tonight he wants to hold Lithuania, and snuggle a little. Tonight he wants to pretend everything is going to be all right.

It is:
Lithuania almost slices through his fingers instead of the potato he’s chopping for dinner. He curses softly and set aside the knife.

Poland is coming home tonight.

Lithuania feels a familiar warmth settles in his stomach when he thinks of Poland. Even as that warm is overtaken almost immediately by guilt. He wants to hold Poland tight, kiss his hair, tell him how sorry Lithuania is, what an awful person he is. Tell him how much it hurts, really truly hurts that Lithuania can’t even look at Poland sometimes without seeing everything he’s lost, everything he’s suffered. Being with Poland feels too much like not moving on, like constantly being dragged down into a past Lithuania wants so desperately to forget. His physical scars have almost all healed now, but Poland’s still there, still small and beautiful with scars of his own and it hurts.

Even so that doesn’t excused what Lithuania’s done. All just because he was lonely and frustrated and America had stood him up. Lithuania growls softly and grabs the knife again cutting through a potato with too much force, he has no one to be angry at but himself. He’d never meant to do this to himself or Poland, or England really. It had just kind of happened six months earlier.

“Oh for God’s sake! Bloody Hell, that boy.” England slammed his cup down on the small table on the London café causing Lithuania to jump slightly. America was supposed to be meeting with England and Lithuania to discuss some finer points of international trading law. Except for the fact that Lithuania had been waiting there for fifteen minutes already and England had been there for six and America still hadn’t shown up yet.

Lithuania stares down into the tea that he’d ordered, when he’d gotten there early, to try and curb his nerves. He still didn’t feel completely comfortable having these one-on-one meetings with other nations especially other nations as powerful as America and England. About nine minutes after he’d sat down, fingers curled around the warm cup of tea, England had come blustering in, hair rumpled and scarf only half on, muttering about being late. He’d dumped coat, scarf and briefcase down on one chair before settling in another and finally looked at Lithuania.

“America’s not here yet?”

Lithuania had shaken his head, and watched England push heavy blond hair out of his eyes with annoyance.

“I can’t think what’s taking the boy.”

After a moment England had gotten up to get a tea of his own and brought it back to the table. Still they’d waited. Lithuania had looked for things to distract himself from practicing his little speech on international trading over and over again in his head. He watched the way England’s hands curled around his cup instead, the way it looked as if England was in the habit of biting his nails, maybe when he worked. Lithuania could imagine the other nation bent over the computer in his living room biting at his nails has he went over economic reports and felt a pang of sympathy. England blew a little on his tea to cool it down and Lithuania watched the way the surface broke and sent out tiny ripples. He tries not to watch the way England’s lips moved, when England licked across them nervously with the tip of his tongue.

“I’ll go check see if he’s outside.” England finally said shifting awkwardly before stand, but Lithuania already knew America wasn’t coming.

“Would you like to go out to dinner?” Lithuania had said so quickly the words slide together as England stood. England had looked back a him large eyebrows drawn together, and Lithuania couldn’t keep himself from blushing, “If he doesn’t come I mean, we might, talk about those trading agreements, maybe?”

He bit his lip and felt his blush deepen, God, oh Sweet Lord, why had he said that, what must England think of him now? God let England not think Lithuania was coming on to him.

England had only nodded slowly. “Yes, that is, why should we let America’s irresponsibility stop us from getting this work taken care of and it is starting to get late.”

Lithuania had noticed as they left the café together that England's cheeks were a little redder than they had been a moment earlier, but then it had been a little cold out that day.

In Poland’s kitchen, Lithuania bites his lip, his hands shaking so hard he almost drops the knife. He doesn’t want to be this person anymore, he needs to talk to Poland just like England’s been telling him to. He needs to tell him . . . he bites his lips again this time hard enough to draw blood. He needs to tell Poland what he’s done, that him and England are romantically involved. That Lithuania’s been taking advantage of Poland's pain and confusion and passed horrors to start seeing someone else on the side. Then Poland will get that hurt look in his eyes, the one that Lithuania hates more then anything in the world, and leave him. Lithuania stares dully at the knife lying there on the kitchen table. He’s fucked up, and now he can only pray that there is someway to fix this.

It seems:

England has that feeling in the pit of his stomach that he only gets when he’s done something wrong and he knows it. He’s beginning to think he’d made a mistake.

He’d always known they were a couple, everyone knew. Ever since the Commonwealth Poland had only had eyes for Lithuania. Russia could think what he liked but it was so painfully obvious to whose arms Lithuania would run once he gained his independence again.

Which was why it had been so confusing when Poland had leaned into him when they’d been walking back to England’s flat after particularly lengthy after-meeting drinking session. Poland had wrapped his arms around England’s neck and pressed into him muttering something as England tried to get his keys out of his pocket. Poland had kissed him then. England had forgotten all about finding his keys or anything else and after a stunned moment kissed the other nation back. When they’d pulled apart Poland had looked wide-eyed and a little dazed and he’d kissed England again, pushed his whole body into England’s, almost grinning against him and made a low sound of need. Things had moved fast after that.

The next morning England had thought it had been a mistake. One night of indiscretion every nation had once in awhile when they had been drinking with another nation who they had too much history with, which was basically everyone. He expected Poland to pretend it never happened, or to get mad. He didn’t expect Poland to turn up a few days later and cook him dinner.

He’d asked the smaller nation once, when he’d finally worked up the courage, about Lithuania.

“Things are complicated between Liet and I.” Poland had sighed brushing his hair out of his face as he sorted through paperwork in England’s living room.

“But doesn’t he mind?” England had hesitated for a moment not sure what to call what the two of them had, “about us.”

Poland’s hands had stilled, “let me handle it England, please.”

It wasn’t the answer England wanted to hear, but he’d left it alone.

“You have to trust people,” France had told him once, “that’s your biggest flaw when it comes to relationships you know, you don’t trust your partner, not with your happiness, not with their own.”

England’s trying to change.

If anything he’d been happy, if a little confused, when Lithuania had come to him. Lithuania was more tentatively than Poland, he didn’t move into England’s life like Poland had. He flirted around the edges instead, taking England out to eat, writing him sweet emails, and buying him things.

It wasn’t hard to understand that things between the two nations were different now. During the Commonwealth they had been bound exclusively to one another, but that was a long time ago and each nation had been through so much. England knew their relationship must be different, judging by the two nation’s actions, more open and no longer monogamous. Maybe Poland slept with a lot of other nations; maybe Lithuania had dinner dates with everyone.

Something doesn’t add up though. It’s in the way Lithuania’s lips thin and he ducks his head whenever England mentions Poland. It’s in the way Poland had grabbed his arm that one time in the hallway after an EU meeting

“Like, don’t talk to Lithuania about us okay?” he’d told England earnestly, “I’ll handle it, it should be me anyway.”

England’s trying to trust both of them but he’s getting the sneaking suspicion he’s screwed up, possibly in a way that can’t be fix.

He sits at his desk ignoring the paperwork in front of him and the charts and data glowing from his computer screen and considers breaking it off with both of them. Every time though he imagines the scene he sees Poland curled up on England’s settee with his head on England’s shoulder while they watch t.v. at night. He thinks of watching Lithuania try to use chopsticks while they eat Chinese take-away out of cardboard containers sitting together on the floor in the living room.

Maybe he should break it off with them, but England isn’t afraid to admit, at least himself, that he doesn’t want to be alone. If they both want to be with him, he’s not going to say no. At least not yet.


Poland does not hesitate in the face of danger; at least that’s what he tells himself. No matter what, no matter how dark and dire the situation he marches ever forward and places his trust in God.

Lithuania is doing the dinner dishes. His soft brown hair pulled back from his face curling a little bit around his face. There are little wet handprints on his jeans. Poland had offered to do the dishes but Lithuania had insisted he do them, in fact he’d been insisting on doing all of the household chores lately. Poland didn’t know what was up with that. He’d told himself the only thing he’d do tonight was enjoy Lithuania’s company but he can’t. Not when all of the clothes he takes out of his suitcase still smell like England. It’s not fair; it’s not fair to any of them.

He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath; smoothing one hand down the sweater he’s wearing feeling the comforting texture of angora under his fingers.

“Like Liet?”

The other nation turns and gives him a small smile and Poland hates that Lithuania is still so tense, so nervous all the time, almost guilty. It makes him want to take Lithuania in his arms and tell him that he’s safe now, that it’s not like that anymore.

Poland swallows, “we have got to, like, totally talk.”

Emotion flits across the other nation’s face too quick for Poland to identify and Lithuania turns away placing the last dish in the drainer, “All right.”

Poland reaches out for him almost hesitantly as Lithuania undoes his apron and pulls it off. He leads the other nation into the living room and they curl up on the couch together. Poland pays with the hem of his long tunic sweater. He hadn’t planned what he was going to say to Lithuania out, the plan was simply to tell the truth. He sighs and stares up at the ceiling or a long minute.

Don’t be a coward

“Liet I’ve done something awful.”

The other nation’s eyes grow wide at that but he doesn’t say anything and Poland rubs both hands across his face.

“I, like, never, never meant to hurt you, but I’m afraid I have anyway, and I’m a completely idiot and a jerk and-”

Lithuania’s hand closes around his wrist and the other nation speaks calmly over Poland’s rant, “what have you done Polska?”

They stare at each other and Poland swallows “I-” say it “I’m cheating on you with England.”

There is dead silence and Poland would like to be looking anywhere but at Lithuania right now but he can’t take his eyes away from Lithuania’s face. A hundred emotions flick across Lithuania’s face: surprise, shock, fear, hurt, and a little relief.

“Don’t joke about something like that.” Lithuania says softly, finally and Poland can’t read the edge in his voice.

He looks down at his own hands sees that they are shaking slightly. “I’m not.” God he hates this, it’s been so long since he’s felt really and truly ashamed like he does now. Even more so because he knows given the chance he’d do it again. The idea of leaving England makes his chest hurt almost as much as the idea of hurting Lithuania does.

Lithuania’s face has gone white, and his own hands are shaking where he’s twisted them in his lap, “Oh my God.”

Poland can’t help but make a movement toward him before he stops himself, Lithuania probably doesn’t want Poland touching him right now.

“Oh my God.” Lithuania says again eyes closed, then he laughs, a sound that comes out little too hysterical, before pressing both hands over his mouth, “I need to tell you something.” He says when he finally takes his hands away and Poland looks at him, his own hands clenching into fists so hard that his nails bites into his palms and his knuckles ache. Lithuania ducks his head so he’s not looking at Poland anymore, “I’ve been seeing England too.”

Of all the things Poland had been expecting to hear this was definitely not even on the list. He blinks, “What?”

Lithuania shakes his head and bites his lip, “I’ve been going out with England too, and he didn’t tell you because I told him not to, and I didn’t tell you because I was afraid.” He takes a long shaky breath, “afraid of hurting you.”

There is a strange mixture of pain and relief churning inside of Poland and he lets out a long breath of his own. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” Lithuania says very softly inching toward him on the couch until their hand bump against each other, “I truly never meant to you hurt you.”

“No.” Poland brushes his fingers lightly across Lithuania’s “neither did I.” They sit quietly for a minute and Poland looks down at where they’re hands touch, “so I guess this is it. We are, like, totally breaking up.” He says even though everything in him is screaming no, no. He feels like he might be sick of bust into tears and clenches his teeth to hold back both.

“Then what?” Lithuania asks gently giving him a small ironic smile, “we both go to England? Or does . . .” Lithuania’s smile drops and he bites his lip, “does he love you?”

“I don’t know.”

Lithuania is still biting his lip and he moves his hand away from Poland’s just enough that their fingers no longer touch. “Do you love him?”

Poland can’t help himself then and he reaches out for Lithuania, wrapping his arms around the other nation and pulling him close until he can bury his face in the curve of Lithuania’s neck. “Not like I love you,” he says softly and shuts his eyes letting his body go limp in the other nation’s arm, “Never like I love you.”

“Don’t,” Lithuania tries to push away from Poland, “I can’t . . . just don’t.”

“Hey,” Poland grabs the other nation before he can pull away entirely and forces Lithuania to meet his eyes, “I love you Liet, no matter what I’ve done or all the ways I’ve screwed up.” He takes a deep breath, “I get it if you want to leave, I like totally deserve that, but please, please believe that I love you, that I’ve never stopped loving you.” A thought hits him hard then, so painfully that it makes his head spin and for a moment he feels nausea rise up in his belly again, “unless you don’t love me anymore.” The words come out in a whisper.

“No!” Lithuania’s hands on Poland’s shoulders tighten so much that Poland thinks he might bruise “No, don’t think that, please don’t. I love you, I still love you.”

Lithuania looks like he might cry and Poland pulls the other nation close, clings to him, shaking hard, “What are we going to do?” He asks almost plaintively and Lithuania shakes his head.

“I don’t know.”

Poland looks up to see Lithuania is biting his lip again and reaches up to touch the other nation’s cheek, “Liet?”


“I can’t blame you for this,” Lithuania says softly but Poland focuses in on the pain behind the words, “especially considering my own actions, but I don’t-you said you’d never lie to me.” He closes his eyes and Poland opens his mouth to answer and Lithuania shakes his head sharply, “no, never mind, I lied to you too I can’t hold that against you, I’m being selfish and unfair.”

“No.” Poland strokes Lithuania’s cheek until the other nation looks down at him, “there’s, like, nothing selfish about wanting your partner not to lie to you baby, or being hurt when the jerk does.” He tries to smile through the pain and almost overwhelming guilt that nearly doubles when he sees the doubt in Lithuania's eyes. “I haven’t been very good to you.” the last come out as almost a whisper and Lithuania shakes his head.

“No, I don’t deserve-”

“Don’t.” One of Poland’s little hands presses against Lithuania’s mouth his eyes suddenly fierce, “don’t you dare, Liet. You promised me no more of that kind of thinking.”

They look at each other for a long minute. Poland’s gaze is hard and Lithuania’s eyes wide with surprise until finally Lithuania nods, and Poland sighs leaning against the other nation’s shoulder again.

“We can’t just go back to the way things were before.” Poland feels so tired all of a sudden and he concentrates on the feeling of Lithuania’s hand against the back of his neck.

“No.” Lithuania sighs then rubs one hand across his face, “I think we need to talk to England.”

What might be:

After several minutes of staring blearily at the ceiling England identifies the pounding as not coming from inside his head. He stumbles out of bed, and down the stairs swearing vigorously, fumbles with the lock and finally get his front door open.

“What the bloody hell is your problem!?”

Poland still has one hand raised to continue his assault against England’s front door. He lowers his hand and Lithuania smiles a little apologetically from behind him.

“I’m sorry, we’re intruding but this can’t wait I’m afraid.”

England scrubs one hand across his face and tries to get his brain to work enough to curse them out again. Poland doesn’t wait for that though, before pushing by him and into his flat.

“Like, this is important England.”

“So important it can’t wait for morning?” England asks and Lithuania scoots by him and then closes the door.

“Remember when I told you that Lithuania was fine with us being together?” Poland pulls his coat off and heads into the kitchen putting the kettle onto the stove. “Well I lied. Lithuania didn’t know anything about us until this evening, and I,” he turns away from the stove and looks squarely at England, “didn’t know anything about the two of you either.”

England simply stands there in his pajama pants; t-shirt and dressing gown and stares at him for a long moment.

“Bloody hell.” He rubs one hand across his face, “Poland you have to understand I didn’t mean-I never meant . . . with either one of you. Damn it all!” He goes to the shelf where he keeps the teacups and digestives and roots around until he finds his emergency whisky and takes a swig straight from the bottle before doubling over coughing vigorously.

“Give me that.” Poland swipes the bottle and then chugs from it like it’s water while England looks on in a certain amount of awe.

“That’s enough.” Lithuania strides across the kitchen and takes the bottle away from Poland corking it and setting it on the table, “the water’s boiling.” He takes the kettle off the stove and fixes the tea. “We should go into the living room and talk about this like adults.”

England nods tiredly, trying to ward off the headache he can feel starting between his eyes. Poland crosses his arms over his chest suddenly looking small and Lithuania leads the way with the teapot into the other room.

England flops down into the settee and puts his head in his hands almost immediately. “You have to believe that I never meant to hurt either one of you. I had no idea you both didn’t know, I thought-I thought it was something you had agreed on together.” But you didn’t think that, you knew something was wrong the voice in the back of his head tells him snidely.

“It’s all right.” Lithuania sits down beside him, gently putting one hand on England’s shoulder, “we don’t blame you.”

England shakes his head mutely and after a moment feels Poland settle beside him, “What Liet said, we know this isn’t you fault.”

England holds himself very still as Lithuania’s hand begins to rub small soothing circles against his back, “but I should have known, I should have realized and said something.” He laughs, which comes out both sharp and a little hysterical, “I did know something was wrong and I never said.”

“Yeah we all should have handled this better but we didn’t” Suddenly one of England’s hands is being forced away from his face and clasped between Poland’s slender ones “and you have to believe that I never meant to hurt you either. I wasn’t trying to use you England I really wasn’t.”

“Nor was I.” Lithuania says very softly and when England jerks his head around he sees the other nation biting his lip looking at the carpet.

“I know.” He reaches out for Lithuania then brushing fingers across the other nation’s cheek and Lithuania gives him a small hesitant smiling. “I’ve made such a mess of thing.”

“No” Lithuania shakes his head firmly a dark strand of hair escaping his ponytail to fall along his face, “we messed up not you.” He hesitates for a long moment nervously licking his lips before leaning forward and kissing England gently. The kiss is sweet and very chaste and England lets one hand rest against the side of Lithuania’s face, brushing the stray strand of hair away behind the other nation’s ear.


The nation’s jerk back and England watches a bright blush crawl across Lithuania’s face even as he can feel his own cheeks heat.

“You two are just too cute.” Poland grins at them, twisting a piece of blond hair around his finger and looking so self-satisfied that England’s eyes narrow.

“What are you on about?”

“You two, together.” Poland points at both of them, “hey have you two done it yet?”

Lithuania makes a choking noise and when England turns to look at him Lithuania has a hand pressed against his mouth, eyes wide.

“Oh!” Poland wiggles into a kneeling position on the couch his grin downright predatory, “you haven’t.”

“Poland.” England’s voice has a warning to it. “I don’t know what you’re thinking but don’t. I’m not going to . . . to ravish Lithuania for your voyeuristic pleasure.” Lithuania makes another strangled squeak and Poland opens his mouth and England holds up one hand, “Now that we’ve all had this little talk shouldn’t it be you two having sex and me getting on with my life?”

A silence falls across all three of them, so pregnant with things unsaid that it’s practically tangible. England glances from Poland to Lithuania and sees the two nations sharing a look across the top of his head. Poland is the first to look away. The smaller nation sighs suddenly shoulders slumping, head bowed. England looks across to Lithuania who is rubbing one hand across his face.

“Liet and I don’t have sex.” The statement is flat with done of the teasing edge that had been in Poland’s voice just a moment before. “We haven’t had sex since before the second world war.” Poland shoulders hunch even further like he’s trying to hide. Lithuania makes a soft noise full of tenderness and concern as he reaches across England to takes Poland’s hand.

“But-” England looks back and forth between the two of them, “but why?”

“We can’t.” Poland takes a breath that sound a little too much like a hysterical laugh and England reaches out for him without thinking, “too much baggage, too many memories, far too much pain.”

“But you can have sex with me.” England rubs one hand soothingly up and down Poland’s arm before realizing what he’s just said and blushing. He throws a worried look at Lithuania whose eyes are dark and unhappy.

“Yeah,” Poland sniffs a little rubs his fist across his face, brushing away tears, “just not with Liet.”

“Poland.” Lithuania shakes his head and leans across England’s lap to take the other nation into his arms.

“I need a drink.” England slides out between the two nations and leaves them hugging on the settee as he goes in search of the alcohol. He finds it still on the kitchen table and takes a swig. He leans against the counter, closes his eyes and concentrates on the way the whiskey burns down his throat.

Someone clears their throat and England opens his eyes to find Lithuania leaning against the kitchen table across from him. “Poland needed to use the toilet.” The other nation tells him in way of explanation and England nods and takes another mouthful of whisky.

“Are you mad?” He asks finally, “about me and Poland?”

Lithuania sighs and after a moment shakes his head. “I should be.” He crosses his arms over his chest, more of a self-hug then anything else. “But I’m not. It’s good that he has that.” Lithuania offers him a small smile, “that he has you. I don’t even know if I can be with someone like that now.”

“I’m sure you can.” England offers but Lithuania only looks away down at the ugly floral linoleum. England sets aside the whisky bottle and moves toward Lithuania framing the other nation’s face between his hands. “I know you can.” England says finally and Lithuania leans forward and kisses him as chaste and sweet as last time. Only this time England presses forward, presses his tongue against Lithuania’s lips until the other nation’s mouth opens. England explores Lithuania’s mouth carefully like he had on several other occasions when Lithuania had been over at his flat before. Lithuania sighs tilting his head and opening his mouth and England sucks gently on the other nation’s bottom lip. Lithuania’s hands tentatively drift from the front of England’s shirt to his hair, clutching at unruly stands. While England’s own hands cautiously smooth across Lithuania’s shoulders, trace down his arms, across his chest. His hands settle on the other nation’s hips, and he rocks them together. It’s only gentle little touches of their hips, yet Lithuania trembles against him, makes a small needy noise into England’s mouth, shifts his hands from England’s hair down to grip his back-

“My God.”

They break away from each other again to stare at Poland who’s standing in the doorway. England sees the dull flush of Lithuania’s cheeks, watches as the other nation straightens his own shirt with still trembling hands. Poland’s eyes are dark and intense with none of the earlier teasing.

“Poland-” Lithuania starts and Poland holds up one hand to stop him.

“I, like, totally don’t need to hear it.”

Lithuania stiffens and his lips go thin, “and what do you need Poland?” He crosses his arms over his chest again and glares at the smaller nation.

Poland moves across the room with a speed and grace England often forgets he has and fists the front of Lithuania’s shirt almost violently. He jerks the other close until their chest brush together and their faces are less than an inch apart.

“It isn’t about what I need,” despite his actions Poland’s voice is nothing but tender, “it’s about what you do Liet.”

His eyes slide across to England the question clear and England takes a deep long breath, eyes sliding shut for a moment before he squares his shoulders. “We’ll need to talk,” he warns the smaller nation and Poland’s lips curve up into a sweet smile.

“Yeah, we will.”

“What is going on?” Lithuania tries to break Poland’s grip on his shirt but Poland only tightens his hold.

“We are all going to go upstairs,” Poland says very matter-a-factly, “and you and England are going to have sex and I’m going to jerk off while I watch.”

What is:

“What?!” Lithuania stares at Poland while the other nation looks calmly back, “we can’t, you can’t just . . . Poland!”

He throws a helpless, panicky look at England who rubs both hands across his face. “Poland we can’t do this if Lithuania doesn’t want to.”

“Don’t you?” Poland looks up at Lithuania from below his lashes and Lithuania swallows hard.

“Poland.” This time his tone is pleading and Poland’s hands let go of his shirt and he moves to clasp Lithuania’s face between his palms.

“I know this is scary for you, I get that.” He says, voice soft and tender, and Lithuania nods and swallows hard again, biting his bottom lip. “But it seemed like to me that you and England really like each other, really like touching each other.” One of Poland’s hands stroke along Lithuania’s cheek and jaw, “and I really love watching the two of you together. I think it would be totally hot to see someone love you like that. ”

Lithuania reaches forward to touch Poland’s cheek with a hand that shakes ever so slightly then he glances over his shoulder at England. The other nation gives him a small tentative smile.

“Do you want this?” Lithuania asks England bluntly and England feels himself color.

“If you do.”

Lithuania suddenly smiles “that was rather a lukewarm response England. I’m not feeling terribly wanted here.”

England opens his mouth in shock and then closes it again, “that . . . that’s not what I meant.”

The other nation actually laughs, “I know.” He gently detaches himself from Poland and moves back towards England, letting his hand come to rest, one on the older nation’s shoulder and other at his waist. Lithuania’s touch is light, almost shy, as are his lips when he brushes them across England’s. England sighs into the kiss; eyes sliding shut and hands come up to cup Lithuania’s face. When they pull apart Lithuania’s fingers gently trace across the older nation’s features.

“I would-” Lithuania’s voice stumbles a little bit but then he smiles, “I would like to make love to you England. I would like that very much.”

Poland claps excitedly next to them, and when they both turn the smaller nation is grinning. “We should go upstairs.”

They all traipse up the stairs to England’s bedroom, but once there no one seems to know quite what to do or how to start besides awkwardly look at each other. England shifts from foot to foot and Lithuania plays with the buttons on his shirt. Finally Poland sighs and crosses the space between him and England. He drapes his arms lightly around England’s neck and kisses the other nation. England’s lips open to Poland’s probing tongue, and Poland break the kiss just long enough to pull England’s t-shirt over his head. That leaves the older nation in only light pajama pants and Poland’s fingers skim along the waistband, play with the blond curls that run down from England’s navel. England groans, Lithuania makes a small noise, and Poland turns away from England with a smile. He reaches out for Lithuania, lightly petting at the other nation’s hair, before pulling the tie holding it back free. Poland sprinkles small, feathery kisses across Lithuania’s face and the other nation, pulls him close, and tilts his head to capture Poland’s lips. For a several long moments they kiss, but when Poland’s hands begin rubbing across Lithuania’s chest the other nation pulls away gasping for air. Poland pulls away immediately, biting his lip a little, he looks towards England helplessly.

England only hesitates for a moment before wraps his arms around Lithuania pulling the other nation close and strokes his hair. “There now,” he says a little awkwardly, “it’ll be alright.”

“I know.” Lithuania sounds more annoyed then anything. Light brown hair shielding his face, and England strokes the other nation’s hair back with one hand. Lithuania looks up at him and England meets his eyes steadily and smiles. Then, suddenly, Lithuania is kissing him deeply, hands gripping England’s face tightly to keep it in places as his tongue pushes into the other nation’s mouth with force. England’s arms wrap around Lithuania’s waist as the other nation walks them back towards the bed. Lithuania sucks on England’s bottom lip before letting go long enough to lie down on England’s unmade bedspread pulling England down on top of him. They kiss again and Lithuania sighs into England’s mouth pushing his thigh up just enough to press between England’s legs.

“Touch his chest England.” Poland’s voice is soft but strong, breaking through the haze of arousal overtaking England’s mind.

He brings his hands down to hover just above Lithuania’s chest and undoes the last couple buttons on the other nation’s shirt and pulls it aside. England’s fingers find and squeeze at the other nation’s nipples causing Lithuania to gasp below him.

“Rubs your hands against his pecs.” Poland instructs from behind them where England can imagine the little nation curled up on the armchair in the corner of his bedroom. “He likes to have his entire chest touched, and don’t be afraid to be a little rough.”

England rubs his hands across Lithuania’s chest, tweaks his nipples, and knead gently at the muscles their. Lithuania’s eyes slide shut and he sighs, head falling to one side, breath coming short. The skin along the other nation’s neck is pale and looks tender and England can’t help but lick and then bite at it carefully.

“Liet, like spread your legs a little more.” Poland commands and Lithuania’s lips quirk up into a small smile at the sound of the smaller nation’s voice but he does as Poland says. England kneels between Lithuania’s thighs and kisses him again this time on the lips and Poland gasps as if he is the one being kissed. “Beautiful.”

England glances over his shoulder to see Poland is indeed curled in his armchair one small hand rubbing the bulge of his cock through his violet colored jeans. His legs are thrown open and his eyes are half lidded. When their eyes meet England sees no hesitation, pain or self-consciousness in Poland’s gaze only a fierce lust and possessiveness that makes heat crawl across England’s skin and his cock swell. Lithuania makes a small, needy noise and pushes up against England.

“England takes off Liet’s jeans.” Poland tells them and England’s hands slide down to undo the other nation’s belt.

“Pushy little thing isn’t he?” He mutters as he eases Lithuania’s jeans off his hips and the other nation grins up at him.

“He is, but I love him for it.”

England kisses Lithuania again and tosses the jeans off the bed.

“I want to watch you play with Liet’s cock.” Poland’s voice is high and breathless the end of the last word cut off into a little hiss.

Lithuania gasps and then nods, spreading his legs farther apart for England who reaches out to wrap his hands around the other nation’s erection. He strokes him, root to tip, while the other nation gasps and trembles, then gently circles the head with his thumb, letting one hand trail down to play with Lithuania’s soft balls.

“Faster, a little harder.” Poland is breathing in ragged little gasps through his nose. England does as he’s told and Lithuania cries out, back arching into the older nation’s hands.


“England!” Poland cries out urgently as Lithuania continues to pant and writhe. “take your pajama’s off, I want . . .I want to see . . .”
There is a moment of silence where they all breathe in harsh, little bursts and then all three are moving. Lithuania hands go for the waistband of England’s pajama bottoms as England pushes himself up high enough on the bed the reach for the bedside table. Poland almost flies across the room to help yank the drawer open. Condoms and lube are thrown onto the bed and Poland reaches forward, hands fisting roughly in England’s hair and kisses him hungry and open mouthed. England’s whole body jerks as Lithuania pushes his pajama bottoms down to his knees and wraps one hand around the older nation’s length.

“Please,” Lithuania whispers, “oh please.”

Above him Poland and England break apart with a gasp to look down at him. Poland reaches for him before letting his hands fall to his sides to fist in the bed sheets, and England reaches for the lube. He pushes one of Lithuania’s legs up and out and Poland gasps and then groans at the sight. Lithuania closes his eyes as England’s fingers push into him, he struggles to relax, to push out instead of clamping up. He reaches out one hand clutching at England’s shoulder, feels the way England moves his fingers inside of him, gentle and slow.

“Beautiful.” Poland tells him, voice filled with love, “so gorgeous Liet, your body all open and wanting like that. Just so, so beautiful.”

The joy and desire so obvious in Poland’s voice grounds Lithuania, makes him feel safe and wanted.

“There love. Poland’s right,” Three fingers are inside of him, and then four and England kisses the inside of his thigh, “you are so beautiful.”

Lithuania whimpers and rocks down finally into England’s touch, allows himself to finally just relax and accept the feeling of being full. England’s fingers pull out slowly and Lithuania opens his eyes just enough to watch Poland slide the condom onto England’s cock. He watches Poland’s hand, slick with lube, stroke England’s length until the older nation hisses through his teeth and leans away. Lithuania can’t take his eyes off the other nation as England pushes Lithuania’s legs apart and hips up. He lines himself up with Lithuania’s opening. All three of them breathe for another moment before England slowly pushes into Lithuania. Poland gasps and England bites back a curse and Lithuania closes his eyes and concentrates on just feeling.

“So tight.” England mutters, slowly easing himself all the way in before stopping, panting slightly. Lithuania breathes out in a long sigh before opening his eyes again and he brings both of his hands up to cup England’s face, shifts his hips a little. England smiles faintly and then starts thrusting slow but without hesitation. Lithuania arches and gasps and the strange ebb and flow of pleasure he’d only distantly remembered washes over him.

“Dear, sweet God.” England grits out thrusting in hard and pushing against Lithuania’s prostate with force causing the other nation to grip desperately at the sheets as his body arches.

“I love the way your bottom looks when you fuck Liet.” Poland remarks and Lithuania’s eyes roll up to see the other nation kneeling not far from them on the bed hand stroking down his own slender cock. “So round and firm and just a little plump.”


England’s eyebrows draw together as he pushes hard into Lithuania again, and he mutter “plump?” soft enough that only Lithuania catches it.

“It makes me want to fuck you.” Poland tells him softly, “I want to know what it would be like to push into you while you are buried inside of Liet.”

England’s body jerks and he makes a strangled noise of want, hips snapping forward and hands gripping Lithuania’s legs hard, body going finally taught. Lithuania cries out at the feeling of England’s climax. His hand goes to his own dripping cock, pumping himself hard and fast before he too stiffen in release.

Lithuania comes down from his orgasmic haze slowly. Above him England’s breath is starting to even out but he can still here Poland gasping softly. He turns his head enough to see Poland has taken off his jeans and underwear and is kneeling there in only a little black lacy blouse, hand wrapped around his cock stroking himself frantically.

Their eyes meet and Poland draws in a shuddering breath, “I’m going to come Liet, I want . . .I need. I want to come on you, please let me, please, please.”

Poland sounds desperate almost like he might cry and Lithuania feels has if he’s in some kind of orgasm induced trance when he nods and watches Poland shuffle forward on his knees. On impulse Lithuania reaches out and brushes the tips of his fingers against the back of Poland’s knuckles where they grasp at his own length. Poland gives a strangled cry, his cum falling across Lithuania’s chest. Lithuania sighs in contentment, he feels relaxed and credibly sated and his own cum mixes with Poland’s across his stomach and chest and he can feel England’s still side of him. It should be discussing and far too messy for him but instead it makes him feel almost sexy. Well loved, Lithuania thinks.

“I love you.” Poland tells him at almost the exact same moment before falling backwards on the bed.

England mutters something for the first time since he’d come and moves out from between Lithuania’s thighs. The older nation pulls at a sheet for a moment until he gets it out from underneath Poland’s limp body and wraps it around himself before beginning to snore.

“Liet?” Poland sounds on the verge of passing out as well, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Lithuania laughs a little, “I am. I’m wonderful in fact.”

“Good.” Poland reaches for one of the pillows before wrapping his little body around it like a limpid.

“Are you alright?” Lithuania asks and Poland snuffling into the pillow.

“I’m fantastic Liet.”

Lithuania finally makes himself move and reaches out to brush some blond hair out of the little nation’s face. After a moment Poland’s shoulders relax and he start snoring in small wheezing bursts. Sleep doesn’t come so easily to Lithuania who after several minutes finally gets up and goes into the bathroom. He runs the shower and regretfully washes himself clean of lube and the other men’s semen. After several minutes he gets out and dries himself off before heading back to the bedroom.

He hesitates at the bed looking down at the other two nation’s curled up asleep, he doesn’t feel like crawling into bed naked but he can’t sleep in any of the clothes he had come there wearing. After a few moments of uncertainty he finds another pair of England’s pajama bottoms and slips them on before crawling into bed. There is a space between Poland and England and Lithuania fits himself into the curves of the two nation’s bodies and finally lets sleep take him.

Poland wakes up feeling good. A little bit stiff maybe, with a little bit of jitters at the back of his mind that reminds him he’d suffered some pretty intense emotional ups and downs the day before. All things considered though he feels really good.

England is still curled up in the blankets at the far end of the bed with only a tuft of spiky blond hair visible. Lithuania lies on his side, hand curled up under one cheek, wearing only a pair of England’s pajama bottoms. They are dark blue and green plaid, his hair falls loose around his face, and Poland thinks he looks very peaceful. Poland slides out of bed and heads for the bathroom where he washes himself off and brushes his teeth with the spare toothbrush he keeps there. Coming back into the bedroom he grabs one of England’s dress shirts which had been folded neatly on one of the chairs. He rummages through England’s underwear drawer until he finds a spare pair he’d left there as well and puts them on too.

Now semi-dressed Poland pads down the stairs into the kitchen. He puts the kettle on before digging out the coffee and the coffee pot. He’s just pouring himself a cup when he hears someone come down the stairs.

Lithuania is standing in the doorway of the kitchen when Poland turns away from the counter. The other nation is still bear chested looking a little sleepy and rumpled.


Lithuania looks up at him, blushing slightly and crossing his arms over his chest as if realizing for the first time his state of undress. Poland becomes uncomfortably aware of the fact he’s only wearing a man’s dress shirt half unbuttoned and a pair of girl’s underwear with a little rainbows on them. He shifts uncomfortably leaning against the counter, and bites his lip looking up at the other nation again. Lithuania’s nipples have peaked in the cool air of the kitchen and Poland thinks about last night, thinks cuming across Lithuania’s chest. They’d come closer to having sex last night then they had since before the second world war Poland realizes and suddenly there are tears in his eyes.

“Hey, Poland, hey, don’t-” Lithuania is suddenly right in front of him eyes worried, hands hovering close to Poland’s shoulders. “Don’t cry.” Lithuania almost whispers and Poland shakes his head.

“Don’t be stupid Liet, you know I don’t cry. You’re always the one who cries.” Which isn’t true, Lithuania has hardly ever cried. Poland lets himself fall against the other nation, his body shuddering and his cheeks wet. Lithuania’s arms come around him and hold him close. They stand like that for several minutes until they hear the sound of a throat being cleared behind them.

England is standing in the kitchen doorway where Lithuania had been, looking even more sleepy and rumbled then the other nation had. His large eyebrows are drawn together, and he’s only wearing a t-shirt that doesn’t quite cover the important bits.

“You two are between me and the tea.” England informs them eyebrows drawing even further together.

Poland grabs the coffee pot before leading Lithuania to the table and out of England’s way. Poland sips his coffee and watches England stamp around the kitchen, or more correctly watches England’s bear backside as he stamps around the kitchen.

“Poland.” He looks over at Lithuania’s blushing a little bit but also smiling, “stop molesting him with your eyes and let him get his tea in peace.”

“I’m not molesting.” He sticks his tongue out childishly at the other nation and takes a sip of coffee he then has a hard time swallowing as England reaches to get a teacup causing his t-shirt to ride up even further. Lithuania can’t help but stare too. England’s bottom looks soft and round, and Lithuania wonders what it would be like to touch it. Or grab it, spank . . .

“So,” England sets his cup down on the table and Lithuania starts, “we need to talk.”

Poland nods “we do.” He takes a sip of his coffee and then sighs placing both hands on the table palms down and stares at them for several long minutes biting his lip. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Lithuania’s heart almost stops because Poland is looking directly at England when he says it.

“But I know I’m in love with Liet.” Poland finishes, Lithuania finds he can breathe again and England nods.

“Look.” England fidgets with his cup, “I’m, fond of both of you I really am.” He looks away for a moment and swallows, “and I respect what you two have and for how long you’ve both managed to hold on to that, but you need to know I’ve never stayed with one nation for that long,” England mouth twists into a small self-deprecating smile, “mostly because I’m a right arse and don’t treat them like I should. You just need to know it’ll be a few good decades-a century maybe-before it all goes to shite.”

Lithuania looks across the table at Poland whose lips are pursed, hands folded in front of him and Poland meetings Lithuania’s eyes and nods.

“I would like to try having a relationship with both of you.” Lithuania tells the table at large, and then holds up a hand as both of the other nations open their mouths to speak, “and not because that’s what you two want, or because I’m afraid of losing you.” He sets his jaw, “Make no mistake here, either one of you, if I didn’t want to do this I wouldn’t. Even if that meant leaving both of you. I’d live.” Heart broken and alone but he’d serve it somehow, “but,” Lithuania takes a deep, calming breath, “I would like to try this.”

“I, like, totally want to try to. Of course I do, why wouldn’t I want to live with the two people I’m in love with?” Poland blushes a little but holds both of their gazes and England sighs, eyebrows drawing together again. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Alright then, we can try this, but bear in mind I did warn you.”