Shots Fired

How high is your count?

Something was wrong. When America woke up, he had a number floating above his head. None of the humans noticed it, but when he went to the meeting, he saw numbers above everyone else's heads, too. Some were higher, some lower than his own. But no one knew what it meant or if it had any purpose. He saw England arrive, calm and composed as always. He sat down on his seat and started organizing his paperwork. America took a closer look and his eyes went wide. England's number was ridiculously high. Not even all the numbers in the room combined were half of his count. America decided to approach him.
"Hey, England." England stopped organizing his papers and looked up. "What is it?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow. "Umm, just wondering, y'know. Do you know what these numbers mean?" England's gaze flickered up to America's number and he leant back, letting out a sigh. "I do indeed." It got silent, everyone's attention was on England now. England closed one of his folders before he sighed again and started to explain. "So, I was bored yesterday and decided to dwell into some of the spells I never practice because they're either childish or cruel or not needed. I managed to undo them all again, except this one. Nothing to worry about, it's harmless and will disappear in a week." America interrupted him. "Yeah, but what do these numbers-" he waved his hand around in the area over his head, "-mean?"
"I was, in fact, just getting to that part. These numbers tell how often you've masturbated in your life." It was dead quiet. The reactions were different. Some flushed, shameful, other's laughed and some other's didn't seem to mind that much. Especially England. He just continued to organize his papers. America's eyes wandered from England's face, which showed no shame or anything at all, up to his count. 9.999.989 times. In his whole life. Yes, they were nations and yes, they were old, but this was absurd. One couldn't even masturbate that much. America pulled out a calculator, put in the number and devided it through England's age, then again to through 365 days a year. His calculator told him that he had an average of more than 10 times each day. America let his calculator sink and stared at England, who now was drinking tea like he had all the time in the world. He couldn't imagine England to be that sort of person. England seemed to have noticed his gaze, because he suddenly looked up, their eyes met and he smirked at America. America blushed and looked away quickly, but it was no use, England already knew he had been staring. Dammit. America vowed to not let England get any teasing material and not even look at his dick until this week was over. Well, except for showering, of course.

The meeting continued on the next day. No one's number had changed, it seemed like everyone had made a similar vow like America. Almost everyone. When England strided in, America choked on his drink. England's number had risen from 9.999.989 to 10.000.004 times. 15 times within a day. Holy fuck. Literally. Did he have no shame? Wasn't he embarrassed? America had heard about England being the 'Erotic Embassador', but he always brushed it off. That boring old man? No way. Seems like America had been utterly wrong. That guy was a pervert, no doubt. England caught America's gaze and gave him a coy smile. How did he know he had been staring? America turned away. Damn it all.

Five days had passed and each day, England's count increased. America couldn't take it anymore. He would talk to England and kindly ask him to stop masturbating for the rest of the time his count was visible. America didn't know what would happen else. Just seeing England's count grow each day made America imagine it, England sitting there, naked, with a flushed face and giving himself the time of his life. America knew he couldn't deal with it any longer. If he saw that count increase one more time, his count certainly would increase, too, because of obvious reasons. So he walked along the floor, searching for England's hotel room number. When he found it, he hesitated. Was it just his imagination or did he really hear a moan behind the closed door? He waited. There it was again. England was at it. Oh. My. God. America clenched his teeth, preparing himself internally for whatever would happen as soon as the door opened, and knocked. The moaning stopped. It was quiet. After a while, the door openend and revealed England, only dressed in a bathing robe. He seemed slightly disgruntled. His count had increased by four since the last time he had seen it. "What is it?" America gulped. "Could you- uh- I want you to- um- could you stop masturbating for the rest of the time?" England raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"Just stop it, okay? I can't stand seeing your count increase day by day!" England blinked in confusion, then something clicked in his head and he laughed. "Are you perhaps-" he took a step closer, "-turned on by the thought of it and now you have to hold yourself back because you don't want your own count to increase?" America's face went bright red. Bullseye. England laughed even more. "So what if! Your count is way too high!"
"Your count isn't exactly low either, my dear America."
"Well, it's lower than yours!" England huffed. "That may be. But your count is about the same level as France's and considering you're much younger it's not something to be proud of." America sputtered. "Wha- wha- wha-" England rolled his eyes and pulled America inside the hotel room. "Back to the subject. If you have such a hard time holding back a week because you imagine me wanking, then how about you change that?" America blinked. "I don't get it." England smiled, and that smile told everything. "Sleep with me, America. I've fancied you for quite a while and I know you have the same feelings towards me. Who do you think I've been masturbating to? If you don't want to masturbate and don't want me to either, then sleep with me. I'm not going to stop pleasuring myself just because you are young, horny and can't hold yourself back."
"Says the pervert." America muttered, but started to undress anyway. It seemed like a good deal. England only smiled and slipped off his bathing robe. There he stood, naked, still erect and lube slowly running down his beautiful thighs. America took England's hand and kissed it. "I love you." He whispered softly. England smiled. "I love you, too."