A Different Sort of Problem [Fic]

[brillig-and.livejournal.com]

It has been way too long since I've actually posted fic. Especially since I've had this piece hanging around on my computer since... oh, about the last time I actually posted something. Probably none of you remember the fic this one is a semi-sequel to (aka "Only if You're the Problem"), but yes. This is what this is.

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A Different Sort of Problem
Characters: Netherlands/Canada/Ukraine, America, England, others
Rating: mature subject matter
Disclaimer: Do not own. Characters only bear resemblance to living counterparts or other people through extreme coincidence. Characters' views do not represent my own.
Warnings: implications of M/M/F threesome, crossdressing, foodkink. This seems to be becoming a pattern...
Summary: It's a weird relationship, but it seems to work for them. Russia seems to be cool with it; it's nice not to see his kind but weird big sister crying all the time, after all. And by extension, Belarus is also cool with it, as long as her beloved brother is happy. Belgium thinks the whole thing is simultaneously adorable and hilarious, and Luxembourg just pretends he doesn't have a brother who is dating two people at once. France is wholly supportive, being France. It's just the rest of Canada's family - his otherwise rather prudish family - that Canada is worried about....
Notes: This is ridiculous and I have no excuse except *OT3*, and delight in causing America to need to use brain bleach. Aftermath of OiYTP, basically.

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April 28, 5:30 pm. World Conference Centre.

Contrary to popular belief, America actually noticed quite a lot of what was going on around him. Sure, he had difficulties with subtext sometimes, but he wasn't oblivious, and he was far from stupid.

It was just much, much easier to forget or suppress a lot of the things he did have to deal with.

For instance, he would much rather forget about all the times he'd taken a wrong turning in the summit building, only to discover other nations - on the stairs, in the elevator, in the middle of the hallway, on the floor, etc - indulging way too personally in their international relations policies.

Ahem.

Not that there was anything wrong with a good healthy, physical, relationship with another nation. But there was a right place to express it, and a wrong place. The wrong place being in public forums where they were not hidden from anyone. There were kids here, for crying out loud! What if Sealand saw some of his family members hitting on each other? What about Hong Kong, or Seychelles, or Liechtenstein? Or even Andorra?

Or worse, Vatican! He shuddered to think what Vatican would have to say about some of the goings-on here. He would make an explosion from Romano seem positively mild in comparison with his holy fury.

Or what if poor innocent Antarctica saw something?

... So Antarctica might just decide it was like penguin mating rituals and start up an observational log. But that didn't mean it was a good thing for him to see anyways!

America shuddered.

This summit in particular had been very bad for PDA. He'd unearthed Poland seducing a very flustered Lithuania in an empty office the first day wearing nothing but a short schoolgirl shirt and a hairbow, followed a few hours later by Sweden and - what was the name of the cute perky-faced boy who he remembered Sweden introducing only as "m'wife"? Oh, right - Finland, getting very close and very cuddly during break just outside the conference room, where anyone could see them. When the meeting had reconvened, it had been disrupted by France feeling up Spain, who was sitting beside him, completely oblivious, and consequently interrupted by an outraged headbutt from South Italy.

That had been just the first day. America was pretty sure his headache hadn't stopped throbbing since hour one. The days since had been worse, and not all of it was even France's fault. A lot of mayhem had been caused by Korea and Prussia on Wednesday, as they met head-on and got into a contest for everyone's breasts and vital regions. And then England had got drunk and started coming on to Japan Wednesday night, and North Italy and Germany had been found Thursday morning doing something unspeakable in the kitchen with wursts and meatballs, and he'd found Belgium sitting at a table with France at supper on Thursday and allowing him to slip his hand up her skirt, and then England had got drunk again, and started coming on to him, and Russia had just been all-round horrible and, and Russia, and America really couldn't wait for the summit to be over.

The only other nation he could count on to not step across the line was his brother, which was a relief. If nothing else, North America was united against the moral and sexual misconduct of the rest of the globe. America had been worried. After all, Canada was part French; who knew what sort of things he'd picked up from France as a child? But his brother was dependable, and shy, and not at all given to public displays of anything.

Canada was a blessing at times. Maybe America could convince Canada to leave the building for a calm, normal supper somewhere where he didn't have to worry about hormonal nations for a few hours. Yes, that would be good.

He hurried up the stairs and headed for Canada's room. With luck, his brother wouldn't have gone off with some of his friends already, and would still be around, and tired enough of the other nations' antics to agree.

Just outside Canada's room, however, there were two nations giggling, and touching, and kissing. America slowed to a stop, took a deep breath, and prepared to tell them off.

"That tickles," said a feminine voice, almost playfully, and America recognized it as Ukraine's with some difficulty. She sounded much different when she was happy, and not on the verge of tears.

Anyways. What was she doing making out with - he strained to see features past Ukraine's feathery short golden hair - Mr. Spiky-haired Pothead? He hadn't been aware they even spoke to each other, let alone were close enough to... do that. Not that he wanted to know if they were. But why the hell had they chosen to do it right outside Canada's room?

"Know what else tickles?" Netherlands said, voice low and seductive.

"No, what?" she all but purred.

"This!"

And he started tickling her into submission, and she wriggled and shrieked with laughter, face pink, chest - Um. Well. OK, maybe he could see why Netherlands - that dirty bastard - seemed to like her so much.

It dissolved into light kisses again, and then Canada's door opened, and he poked his head out, looking vaguely cross, a towel draped over his bare shoulders.

They broke apart, and turned to him, grinning and not looking at all sheepish.

"Could you not wait to start that until I'm back out?" he said. "I swear -"

"You didn't tell us you were showering," Netherlands accused, looking miffed.

"Maybe I actually wanted to get clean this time," Canada said, but more fondly than anything. "Just give me a minute to finish getting dressed and then we can go out, all right?"

"Can we go somewhere to get pancakes afterwards?" Ukraine asked hopefully.

Canada blinked, and then smiled almost shyly at her, cheeks pink. "Well, there is a kitchenette in my suite... and I did bring maple syrup..."

"Look at that, Ukraine, our schat is prepared for all occasions," Netherlands beamed.

"It would be horrible not to be prepared for our anniversary," Canada said softly, and then stepped out of his room just far enough to pull first Ukraine, then Netherlands, into a gentle, very affectionate, kiss.

America was pretty sure his jaw had just hit the floor.

He turned, and left, and headed back downstairs. He didn't even blink an eye as he passed Spain cuddling and nuzzling South Italy like a kitten as the other nation hissed and spat and raged.

And he didn't even flinch when he saw Russia looming over Lithuania and molesting him with the help of his scarf, although he did pause to help his trembling friend escape him. Russia tended to focus on him with terrible intentness whenever he walked into a room, but America was a much faster runner than Russia was, so escaping wasn't that hard, and he could be sure to throw him off for awhile at least.

He walked straight out of the building, and down the street to the nearest bar.

England was there. That wasn't really a big surprise.

America sat down a stool away from him - just in case England was going to act up and be violent, or clingy, or both - and ordered a beer from the bartender before turning to England and going, "So."

"So what?" England said bitterly.

"Did you know Canada was... involved?"

"I didn't before this morning," England said, and took a deep draught of his own beer. Stared blankly at the wall for a long moment.

Then he made a face. "I went up to his room to make sure he was awake."

"Ah," America said. "So. Er... Ukraine, huh? And... um, Netherlands."

"Yes," England said, and drained the rest of his beer in one go. "Bartender, another, please."

"Me too," said America, even though he wasn't even halfway through his first. He had a feeling he might need it soon. "Well, not the waking them up bit. The, uh, seeing them kissing outside his room and then him joining in bit."

"Did you know Canada had a tattoo?" England said finally.

"Wait, Canada has a tattoo? Where -?"

England lifted one of his impressive eyebrows, and gave him a Look.

"..... Oh."

"Yes," said England. "A beaver."

"That would be funnier if he were a girl," America said, almost automatically, and England's eyebrows drew together.

"I was right behind Netherlands at the airport when security did a random bag check on him," England said. "It isn't that funny, not if you got a good look at the pair of lolita dresses he had packed in his suitcase."

America's brain almost immediately shorted out. "Uhhg. TMI, man."

England nodded, then turned and started having a conversation with an invisible pixie hovering somewhere over the napkins.

America finished off the rest of his beer just as the bartender came back with his second. Wondered, before he could stop himself, what exactly Canada had blushed about when Ukraine had mentioned pancakes.

It was looking like a really good idea to drink until he saw pixies too, he decided, and downed his second beer in one go.

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