USUK/UKUS One Shots

Take It Off (UsUk Lemon)

Based on the song Take it Off by Ke$sha. Request by Ashley on Archive of Our Own. Sorry it took so long!

Warnings: Sexual content, language

Word count: 3,989

Estimated read time: 30 minutes

If he weren't used to the pounding music of the club, England's head would have hurt. Most of the time, he spent his Friday nights inside, curled up with a good Dickens novel or a compilation of Shakespearean sonnets, but every third Friday of the month, he found himself in this club (named Pangea), dancing with other nations until he collided with America or Belarus- whichever came first. Then, he'd be with them until the third showed up and they could retreat to one of the Pangea's private rooms.

On this particular night, he'd already been ground on by Sweden, France, Portugal, Denmark, and Mexico before he bumped into America- literally.

The beer in his hand sloshed, but it didn't spill. When he first turned around, he looked like he was about to tell England off, but then he saw who it was and grinned.

"Hey, Artie," He slurred. "Found Natalia yet?"

"No, she wasn't with Ukraine or Romania, which is who she normally hangs around."

He shrugged and took a swig of his drink. "We'll find her eventually. Wanna dance?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

America tossed the bottle aside, which England would have scolded him for (safety hazards and all that), but he was already being dragged onto the dancefloor and America quickly had him by the hips, rubbing up against him.

Laughing, England ground, too, giving into the dirty dancing. There was nothing to worry about here, after all. The club they were in only allowed entrance to nations and had no windows, so the press couldn't take pictures of Scotland and Canada fucking on the stage, Germany seducing Italy into a BDSM scene in the corner, or Austria watching Hungary slide down a pole, making bedroom eyes at him while the music blared and the lights flashed.

It wasn't Sunday school, that was for sure. No, Pangea was specifically designed for debauchery, and England couldn't get enough (no matter how much he'd deny being there if his boss brought it up).

America nipped at the shell of his ear and England allowed his head to fall back against his chest. "Frisky?"

He snorted. "Spain has Romano tied down to the bar for body shots and you're calling me frisky?"

"Fair point." England turned around to press his front against America's and say, "I'm getting impatient. We need to find Natalia."

"I'll go ask Russia to see if he knows where she is. How about you go get a room?"

England smirked. "It'd be my pleasure."

This was just what he needed after a long day of work. The Prime Minister had dropped twelve fat files on his desk that morning and he swore to god if Parliament didn't get their shit together, he'd burn down the Palace of Westminister with them all inside.

No, not now. No reason to focus on work right now. He was about to participate in the highlight of his month.

He strutted to the desk in the corner, run by one of the few employees at Pangea. They didn't need too many rumors spawning from their secret club, so the owner (China, and he made a fortune off it) only hired people he had completely under his thumb. There were searches conducted before they were allowed to enter their workplace and they all knew if they said a word about it, they'd die. Maybe it wasn't totally ethical, but that fit with the theme of the rest of the party, and England could turn a blind eye to employee punishments if it meant that he got his monthly fix. Besides, as far as he knew, none of them had been stupid enough to break China's rules and therefore had been unharmed.