America says those three little words. To the wrong person.

A silly little story for a silly pairing.

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine

A weak groan emanated from America's bed, preceding the arm that slid out from the nest of blankets to fumble around on the nightstand. The clock radio was knocked onto the floor, followed by a much-abused pair of glasses, before the groping hand found the bottle of aspirin it had been hunting for. With another groan, the rest of America pulled itself into a sitting position. He chugged down more pills than was probably good for him, then gripped his poor head, wondering why a miniature construction crew was going to work inside his skull. I'm never drinking again. I'm never drinking again...

He braved the possibility of falling onto the floor to reach down and rescue his glasses, bringing the world back into focus. I wish I could remember what happened last night, he thought as he looked around, relieved that he was at least in his own home. The messy state of his room brought a smile to his lips. His pants were on the floor, his shirt was on the dresser, someone else's shirt was on the foot of the bed, and his underwear was hanging from the ceiling fan. I really wish I could remember last night...His body was aching from more than just a hangover. It must have been fun.

America finally turned to see who had ended up in bed with him. Messy blond hair covered the other pillow, and his smile widened. What a relief. So we did leave the bar together last night! I guess this means we're back together. He and England had broken up a month ago—again. But no matter who they saw in between, the two of them always ended up together again, eventually. The previous evening, they had met up at a bar, just to go drinking together. The last thing America remembered was purchasing a variety of drinks, with names that sounded like innuendos or weapons of mass destruction.

The monstrous headache started to fade to a dull roar. With a sigh, America leaned over to kiss the sleepy blond head beside him. "I love you," he murmured, and the other man gave a muffled response.

He was so cute. America turned again to take in the state of his room. There was a sock over there, somebody's wallet over there, a long black coat (had either of them been wearing something like that?), and Oh my God, my DESK! America pressed his hands to the side of his head as he gaped at the state of his desk. His beautiful, antique desk. There was an axe stuck in it! Who could have done something like that? Who had an axe on them?

America licked his lips, glancing back at the black coat. Then back to the weapon. Oh no...

Strong arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind, drawing him back against a broad, muscular chest. Something was definitely off. As England's old friend wrote, something's rotten in the state of...oh God...

"Morning!" a cheerful voice exclaimed, much too loud for America's current state.

"Good morning, Denmark." He was proud of how steady he kept his voice.

"Wow! I'm so impressed!"

"You are?"

"Well, when I came over to cheer you up after your ex left with someone else, I assumed you were inviting me over for a pity fuck! I had no idea you felt this way about me!"

"Ah..." England had left with someone else? What a prick. But...that didn't explain how he had ended up with Denmark of all people. Seriously. Denmark?

"So, I was just going to slip out, but do you want me to stay? I can, I suppose."

Now what did he do? I just had to tell him I love him. Why did I do that? I will never say that without first making sure I'd slept with the right person again. America might not have the most tact in the world, but he wasn't going to just toss someone out after saying that, even if it had been a mistake. He couldn't help but wonder, though, why Denmark so readily accepted it. I am pretty great. I'd want me to be in love with me if I were someone else, too.

"I know! Let's get food!" Denmark rolled out of bed, unashamedly naked, and stood up tall with hands on hips. "I'm hungry."

"Er." America kept his eyes averted, much as they desired to roam over that nice expanse of skin. He kept the blankets firmly over himself, feeling his cheeks heat.

"Oh ho!" the other blond chuckled. "Now you're bashful? Last night you whipped your pants off and started singing 'And the rocket's red glare...'"

"I, uh..."

"Are there any good Danish places around here? I could go for a bowl of øllebrød. And some coffee, lots of coffee."

America looked up, startled, forgetting about being embarrassed. "Coffee? You like coffee? Not tea?"

"Are you kidding?" He gave a grin that reminded America of...well, himself. "I'm a Dane! We love coffee! Not as much as beer, though."

"Wow..."

"We can stop and get you a burger, too. That's what you like, right?"

America fiddled with his bottle of aspirin, rolling it between his hands. "Yeah. But it's morning. Wouldn't you think that was a weird breakfast?"

"No..." Denmark scratched his head. "We should eat whatever the hell we want to eat! Breakfast rules aren't set in stone!"

"You like coffee, and don't mind me having burgers for breakfast?" America finally turned to actually look at the Dane. He swallowed thickly. No wonder he was so sore!

"Well! Let me get dressed." And Denmark was definitely limping. "Ow. I tried to warn you before round four, but you wouldn't take 'We're going to be sore as hell tomorrow' for an answer. Not that I'm complaining! I can go all night."

"Ah." Curse his alcohol-induced amnesia! "So, um. My desk..."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that." His laugh didn't sound sorry. "You know how it is, getting caught up in foreplay."

"Right." Foreplay...? He watched Denmark retrieve his clothing and pull them on over taut muscles. It was...well, it was different. Not that he didn't love England—even when they weren't actually a couple—and his smaller frame. But this was...yeah.

"So how long have you known?" Denmark braced a now-booted foot against the desk, gripped the handle of his mighty axe, and pulled it free with a surge of his shoulders.

America watched those shoulders work, then reached up to wipe away a bit of saliva. Oh right, he'd asked something. "What? Known?"

"That you love me!"

"Oh, that." His cheeks heated again. Oops. Damn. Now what did he do? Tell the truth and crush the poor guy, who had had his hopes raised sky high by an awesome new potential boyfriend, or lie and possibly feel bad? "Today? I mean...seeing you sleeping there, looking so cute, and..."

"Aww!" Denmark tossed his axe aside (America cringed at the thunk) and reached over to pull the other nation into a bear hug. America was reminded of how naked he still was. "That's so sweet! Wait until I tell Norway! And we should go rub it in England's face!"

"Oh, I don't know..." But the British bastard had left with someone else. "Well, maybe." They'd done worse to each other. It'd do England some good to see that he wasn't the only one moving on for now! Or something. It was becoming hard to think, with his naked body pressed up against the other man.

"I'll try to be nice, I promise!"

"Um. Okay?"

Denmark finally stepped back with another blinding grin. "My other housemates have been known to escape. I'll try to be nicer so that doesn't happen. Maybe. Unless you don't want me to! I seem to recall somebody asking me to spank him hard."

"Housemates?" It was hard to keep up with the train of thought. Was this what other people experienced when they talked with him? No, of course not. America wasn't like that.

"Well, sure! You love me! That leads to the Danish-American Union, doesn't it?"

"Wha?"

"Oh, here! Let me get those." Denmark plucked the striped boxers from the ceiling fan, and handed them to America. "I'll have to talk to my boss first, you know."

"Yes?" America said weakly. What was happening? Were they getting married now? "Um. No! No, no. No unions. No, we're just...just dating for now. Okay?"

"Sure!" Denmark retrieved the rest of America's clothes and tossed them onto the bed. "Now let's go get breakfast! And make out in front of people, to impress them or make them jealous."

"Heh, yeah. Sounds good." Well, why not? May as well have fun.

Øllebrød is a traditional Danish porridge made of bread and beer.