Old habits

The air was thick with passion and perspiration. Ten minutes in and already they were wearing each other down. He felt her warm breath on his neck and she could feel his chest heaving against hers. Drunk on raw emotion, they’d given in to their most animalistic desire.

The desire beat each other up, of course.

Russia and America were fighting again.

What started as a typical argument over military intervention in Central Asia turned into a sloppy brawl. While both of them knew techniques befitting a spy movie, precision and tact were boring. Sucker punches and kicks to the groin were not.

By the time America’s back slammed into the rather thin wall, scaring everyone in the adjacent conference room, he and Russia were both so disheveled that they looked like they’d just been thrown out of a bar.

Together they took a pause in their battle while they struggled to catch their breath, wishing that their skin would stop feeling like it was on fire.

“Why do we fight?” Russia whined after some time, taking his hand in hers. “We’re so good when we work together.” Red-tipped fingers curled around his wrists, but the gesture was more tender than it was threatening. “America, we destroyed fascism! What happened?”

“It was good,” America said through a pant. “It was good… until you tried to destroy peace and freedom by spreading an assbackwards, self-defeating ideology and forcing everyone east of Berlin to bow down and lick your boots—”

Suddenly the wind was knocked out of him as he was thrown several feet and sent crashing into a nearby table.


Everyone knew what was happening. They could all hear the grunts, the thuds, the screams, and the Russian profanity.

It was very awkward.

“I should stop them,” England began muttering, mostly to himself. “I should go in there and break it up. I should do that, right? I should do that. Right, right.” He looked around at the displeased faces of his Security Council peers and nodded to himself. “I’ll go stop them, then.”

When he opened the doors, he saw a red-faced, grinning Russia straddling a squirming America with her hands wrapped tightly around his neck.

“Go on, America, beg for it to stop!” Russia hissed as she began rattling him.

“Ha! You call this choking?” He could barely squeeze the words out.

England slowly backed away and muttered to himself again. “Okay, this was not my best decision. Nope, nope. I am not dealing with this. Absolutely not. No, no, no.”

Carefully closing the door, he allowed them to settle their issue in the way they knew best and enjoyed most.

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