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(via Sedat Photography)

Author: You guys, I know I haven’t written much this past year, and a lot of people keep sending me nice messages to update stories or write anything at all, but I’m slow at finishing, so here’s a bit of an incomplete story to tide you over.

Summary: In which England wants to dirty talk and America is denser than a pit full of wet sand.

“Talk dirty to me.”

America let out a shout of alarm, followed by a string of curses. He furrowed his brow, his tongue licking his lips in concentration as he angled his video game controller higher at the television screen. He was certain one day it would help him beat this son of a bitch (TeddyBearJim12, who he maintained wasn’t really a twelve year old child for the sake of his manhood, thank you very much) who he constantly challenged on his Xbox.

Shit – What’d you say, England? I couldn’t hear you very – Ah, son of a – That was a cheap shot!” America yelled, squeezing his cordless phone to his shoulder.

“I said, talk dirty to me, America,” England patiently reiterated. Even all the way across the ocean, England maintained he would be able to hear America’s loud, obnoxious voice, regardless if he was talking to him with a phone or just reading the morning paper. However grating America’s voice could be, though, when it was coming out of that sweet little mouth of his in the right instances, England found it to be quite exhilarating. Sometimes he just needed to nudge the topic of conversation in the right direction.

America continued to fight off a barrage of bullets before answering. “What? Why would you want me to do that?”

England smiled and gave a shrug of his own, making himself very comfortable on his couch by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth it emitted. “I’m sure even you could take an educated guess.”

America raised an eyebrow, allowing some of his attention to partially go to this random conversation instead of the important task at hand. Seriously, no Hello when he answered the phone? Pfft. Rude. “Uhh, your cable went out.”

England paused, placing his cheek in his palm and letting out a slow breath. “Try again.”

“You need a reason to take a shower and use that new lilac shampoo you said you got on Facebook.”

England pursed his lips, a little frustrated. He didn’t think he’d really have to walk America through something like this. For Heaven sake, if he knew the boy was going to be this dense, he would’ve just used Let’s have phone sex as his opening line. They rarely got to see each other, after all, and England had had a particularly rough week at work. Allowing himself to daydream a moment on the Tube about his last visit to America’s place made his mouth go dry and a sudden urge to call him sprung to life, causing him to briskly jog home all hot and bothered.

It was a good thing he knew of America’s all-nighters with video games or he would have had another frustrating night tossing beneath the sheets, sleepless, but for an entirely more unpleasant reason.

“The reason doesn’t matter,” England said, choosing to take the high road and direct the subject back to the more important topic. “Just talk dirty to me, won’t you?”

America hummed to himself, trying to wrap his mind around England’s request. He was acting pretty strange, but what the hell. If that was all he wanted. “If you say so.”

England sat up, skin tingling and head buzzing as he waited for America to start speaking. He smiled, already feeling the warm wave of excitement wash over him with the thought of America agreeing to this so easily. He assumed he’d have to badger him, and by then it would be too awkward to be enjoyable. What could he say? The possibilities were near endless.

“Pig.”

There was a long pause, England’s mouth opening in questioning, but no words coming out. Well, that was a strange start.

“A big group of pigs, and they’re all crusty. Like, they never left this huge pile of mud and doo-doo. And all these pigs just start running in it to go eat their slop and garbage, ‘cause the farmer’s too lazy to pay for premium pig chow–”

“What the bloody hell was that?” England blurted, cutting off America’s senseless rambling.

“What?” America responded, laughing when he managed to shoot that pesky sniper in the face.

“I said I wanted you to talk dirty to me, not discuss the happenings on a third world farm,” said England, running a disturbed palm down his face.

“Not what you were looking for, huh?”

England only had to reiterate one thing to make his point. “Doo-doo?”

America grinned. “Okay, okay.”

England sighed and leaned back into his chair, attempting to relax once more. He ran his hand down his thigh and lightly brushed some lint from his pant leg. “From the top, then.”

“Alright. Don’t get your knickers in a knot.”

“That’s the whole point of this exercise.”

“Whatever you say.” America waited until he could hear only the soft sounds of England’s breaths into the receiver. He pictured England just sitting there with his eyes closed, waiting for America to say whatever the hell he wanted him to say. Well, if he wanted something dirty…

“A hospital. And it’s totally not a clean one either. There are bacteria and the doctors don’t even try to clean their tools or anything after they treat their patients. Even the proctology gloves get reused. You’ve never seen anything so covered in germs; it literally makes you want to get into a disinfecting shower and just go crazy with a certain flowery shampoo. I mean, this place is just so,” he stopped, whispering the last part with emphasis, “dirty.”

The line was silent, save for the sound of shooting coming from his television speakers. America wasn’t sure England was even still on the line after a long time until a groan met his ears. “What? Still not dirty enough?”

“Christ, lad … I don’t even know how you lost your virginity,” England complained, burying his face in his hand and shaking his head. America snickered into the phone.

“Well, duh. You were there, genius.”

“I suppose one of us has to be one, and it clearly isn’t you,” England muttered under his breath, frowning at the wall. Okay, perhaps he just needed to go about this differently. “America, forget dirty. Never mind about that. I want you to tell me something bad that you’ve done.”

“Bad?”

“Yes, like naughty. Tell me something naughty.”

“Ohh, I get what you’re saying,” America said, grinning and nodding. England smirked on his end of the phone, a ray of hope forming inside his chest. America just needed the right sort of nudging. All of those communication classes they took over the years apparently weren’t a waste of time. “I think I know what you want to hear.”