Space Daddy

It has been a while since America and England hooked up, and today is an opportunity for such a thing. England is hosting this year's World Meeting. He hasn't hosted one in years, it was always Germany or some other first rate country. America was hoping to get some after the meeting, if England would ever respond to his texts.

Their relationship isn't always the best, and at times can't even be deemed a relationship. America has issues, and England just can't deal with him anymore. He loves America, but he has his own issues. He wants, he needs attention and America is just too childish, too distracted to be there for him. He'll tell him tonight, after the World Meeting.
                  ******
The meeting was terrible. Germany droned on about some stupid shit that no cared about. America fell asleep about five times during that report. He just can't wait for England. England hated the meeting. During the whole thing, America kept staring at him like he was a piece of meat. The younger man really bugged the hell out of him sometimes. And here he is walking towards him with a shameless grin on his face.

"Iggy!" He yelled as he made his way towards the scowling man.

"What do you want, Alfred?" England asked, unpleased by his nickname.

"So, I was thinking we get drunk and get a little busy tonight~" America suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

England had an uncomfortable look on his face. "Alfred, about that..." he took a deep breath and looked America straight in his eyes, "I don't think we should do that anymore."

"Huh? Why?" He asked, not knowing where this was going.

"Let's go our separate ways, Alfred. You and I, we're... just not meant to work." England turned around and started to walk away. He stopped and sighed, "Remember the revolution..."

America was baffled, how dare he bring up the Revolution! Memories of the battles and arguments flashed back to him as England walked away. Like he did all those years ago. America was salty, he waited for tonight and England just walked out on him! How dare he, typical Brits. To drown his heartbreak and sexual frustration, America decided to hit a pub and get drunk off his ass.

Coincidentally, another country was dead tired and in need of a drink. Russia walked into an Irish pub by the name of The Drunkard's Mistress, where one quite drunk Alfred F. Jones was drowning down his woes and getting dangerously close to alcohol poisoning. Russia ignored the drunkard and went off to get himself a drink, hoping to wash his tiredness away with some good brew. "It's not vodka, but it shall do for now," he mused as he drowned his first tankard.

America has drowned his fifth tankard and the staff members are getting slightly concerned with his fast pace. It has barely been two hours since the man stumbled in, slightly buzzed from an early bar. America sat by himself, wallowing in his woes when a certain Russian entered his view. Ivan settled himself into a booth by the window, enjoying the delicious food and glorious alcohol.

America is a terrible drunk. He's the type of drunk that will argue with you over the smallest detail for hours only to forget the moment you two stop talking. When he saw the Russian walk in, he remembered the Cold War. The Cold War started in a simple way, they were both drunk and made a bet. The bet turned into a competition, which turned into a war. He did win the war, but America is drunk. He picked himself up and walked up to confront the poor Russian.

"Ivan Braginsky, you and I have a debt to settle," America tried to justify himself.

"Stupid American, I have no debt with you." Russia scoffed. Drunk America is quite amusing, and he is just bored enough to entertain the poor man. England broke it off with the poor lad right outside of the meeting room after all. Everyone heard it, their employers apologized to everyone on their behalf. Russia almost pitied him, America and he were alike in unusual ways.