Emerald and Sapphire
"Selfish brat," England seethes. "The world is not your plaything, nor am I."
Apparently, America ripping England away from France's ever-wandering hands has merited his anger rather than his gratitude. Though maybe it had begun as gratitude and then transformed into ire when America had proceeded to dip him towards the ground and kiss him right in front of his most hated enemy in order to prove a point.
America scowls, very much wanting to contradict his words. His greed knows no bounds, England is quite aware of this. He demands the finer things in life: power, money, prestige, the world bowed at his feet as he sits upon his gilded throne.
Once he had to hide it, he was weak back in those dark times, but now… now he can to whatever he wishes without thought to the possible fallout. After all, who is willing to stand up to the most powerful country in the world? With one word he could send the world into Armageddon, ashes to ashes, and the thought fills America with a dizzying giddiness.
Above all though he is greedy for England, for his body, for his mind. America craves every little piece of him- wants to consume him whole. Every look, every painfully accented word spoken from those silky lips is his and his alone.
Not France's. Not anyone's. Not if he has any say in it.
England has his untouchable pride though. He will not be bullied into submission, refuses to treat America as anything less than what he deems him to be.
Jealousy is very much a two way street though.
And America loves to play with England's pride.
He loves the challenge England presents, his Pride against America's Greed.
It's their own little personal game, and the world are their unwitting game pieces. England may have made the opening move with his little stunt with France, but America is rather experienced in the art of getting even, has learned how to play with emotions in the same fashion a skilled musician plays their instrument, and of all the nations alive he knows England's emotions- perhaps better than his own.
He enjoys toying with that indomitable spirit, watching it try and hold strong as America leans his head in towards Japan's, feeling that familiar caustic glare meticulously disguised under indifference boring into him as they speak in hushed voices. England holds memories that spans millennia, and can hold grudges for just as long. America also knows that England still hasn't quite forgiven his brief affair with the Asian nation back in the 18th century which, unfortunately for Japan, makes him the perfect pawn for him to sacrifice.
"America."
"Yes, England?" America asks, drawing his head up, a smug smile curling at his lips at the fury carefully etched into England's eyes. Oh how he enjoys to toy with his pride so. It's such an easy little thing to wind up yet he never gets tired of the reaction it garners.
"I have something from our bosses that I need to discuss with you," England tells him, the excuse falling from painstakingly controlled lips and America's smile grows wider at how false his words are.
"Maybe later England," America says, waving him off. He even turns away and towards Japan. "Japan and I are in the middle of a discussion, isn't that right Kiku?" Japan seems flustered at the sudden usage of his human name, eyes darting uncertainly between the two English speaking nations.
"Um, if it's important this can always wait-" Japan offers, his quiet voice cut off.
"Just because you're a bloody superpower doesn't mean you can simple choose who and who not to talk to!" England snaps, his meticulously constructed mask cracking.
"I'm sorry Kiku, what were you saying?" America asked, ignoring the island nation's sputtering behind him.
"Well-"
Before Japan can get out another word America is harshly pulled out of his seat.
"Quite sorry Japan," England's voice cuts in smoothly. He does not yell, does not reveal another crack in his mask as his dignity will not allow it, this gentlemanly construct that he presents to the rest of the world in order to hide his real face, the one only America gets to see. "But this really is urgent business that needs to be discussed in private. I'll make sure to return him to you when I'm through with him."
Then America is being yanked out of the room and through the hall and though he knows he has the strength to stop England he allows him to continue manhandling, his body humming in victory.
Even Pride has its limits.
And Greed loves it when it snaps.
The noises that stream from America would make even France blush. They embody the very heart of sinful and lewd, low and keening as they fall from kiss-swollen lips. Above him England has lost any and all sense of propriety as he fucks America into the mattress, and America loves it. Loves the way his body is slick with sweat, the way his bangs are sticking to his forehead, the feeling of England's body pressed oh so intimately against his, the moans of appreciation from his partner as he slams into him.
He drinks in every garbled word of endearment, the wicked whispers pressed into his overheated skin, the feeling of love bites that break skin and being thoroughly used by the nation above him. He revels in the knowledge that he is the only one to see England like this, that he can make him come undone so utterly. He is beautiful, mesmerizing, and he is all America's.
"I could do it you know," America states offhandedly in the afterglow as he presses feather-light kisses against England's skin, tasting him with little flicks of his tongue as he goes about. "Just one word and I could reduce the world to ash. It might be fun to try."
England drags his fingers through America's hair and America nearly purrs.
"You'll never do it though," he tells him with a quiet confidence of a man who knows he's right. America works his way up to his neck and pauses over his pulse point.
"Hm, and why not?" He teasingly nips at it, feels England shiver slightly beneath him.
"Because you're too greedy to destroy all your toys." America pauses for a moment, letting England's words sink in before continuing his journey, taking his time along England's jaw before hovering above his lips.
"No," America breathes, emerald locking with sapphire. "Just one."
He can feel England's smile against his lips as they kiss, lithe fingers winding through his hair.
Body, mind- America owns every inch of England.
And in return England owns every inch of America.