A/N: So I recently got into Hetalia and well, I've fallen in love with the thought of Pirate!Uk and Pirate!Spain :3 It's the only time England seems so badass and seme, and Spain... is always just a sweetheart. I've been RPing Spain a lot that this was almost painful for me to write. Buuut not really. Anyways, this has been inspired by various fanarts of Spain under England's control, so I think you know what to expect. This fic contains torture and violence, and *may* contain rape in the future. So please, if any of these themes bother you, you're free to click the "back" button. Full translations are at the bottom. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, AMIGO :D

Edit: I changed the summary a bit, because upon writing the 2nd chapter (almost done with it,) I could finally see where I really wanted this to go. Yay.

Genre: Drama/Suspense/Romance(?)

Pairing: Pirate!Uk x Conquistador!Spain. Slight Spamano.

Rating: R16 (M) for language, violence, suggestive themes and graphic scenes. Drama. Torture. Other things.

~x~o~x~o~x~o~

"D-dios mio... where am I?" Spain struggled to open his eyes, as he felt himself being rocked back and forth-still somewhat dizzy from his sleep. He was lying on an unfamiliar wooden floor, and when he tried to move his hands, he couldn't. They were shackled together behind his back, and his arms were tied to him with a thick rope. 'That bastard caught me...' Spain thought bitterly, as he recalled the previous night's events. The attack. The fighting. The sound of the cannons firing at his ship. He could still somehow smell the gunpowder in his clothes, and hear the sound of steel meeting steel in his ears. He vaguely remembered being knocked out, and quickly tied up and hauled into the cell by one of the other captain's crew members. He was alone in the dark until he finally heard footsteps heading his way, echoing through the halls.

"Rise and shine, 'tonio." A voice came from the railings, as Spain tried to focus his eyes onto the figure across him. It was his captor—none other than the infamous Captain Arthur Kirkland, the commander of the British Empire. "It's so nice to see you awake." England made his way into the cell, followed by a few of his men. It seemed as if he couldn't even visit him all by himself.

"Desátame ahora, hijo de puta!*" Spain exclaimed, as the Brit got closer. He struggled against his binds furiously, trying to break free to no avail. His shackles just rattled behind him and he looked up—his furious stare burning right into the light green eyes that looked down upon him.

"Don't waste your breath, I don't speak dog." England said, as he stood right in front of Spain. "You're probably not surprised why I'm keeping you here, but I actually have business with you today." England smirked and crouched down, holding up Spain's face in his hand. "My, the rumors were right. You really are lovely." He laughed, scanning the other man's features. The sun-kissed complexion, the wavy brown hair that framed his face perfectly, and the deep emerald green eyes that shone with a passion, almost made England envious. "And to think I've hated you... all these years."

"Tch. ¡No me toques, cabrón!**" Spain spat out at England, pulling his face away from the grip. The very touch of the other sent chills down his spine; England's hand was so cold that the floor against his skin just earlier was nothing. But it figured; Spain had heard a lot of chilling stories about the man. He was ruthless and cruel, and didn't live by any code. No morals, and no God. It wasn't surprising if his hands mirrored his heart.

Spain didn't really know much about him; and this was actually the first time he had seen the man up close. The feathery blonde hair, the pale skin, the light green eyes and that certain air of supremacy about him—it was the first that Spain ever got to observe them all like this. All he really knew was that like he—England was an empire. His king's latest orders were to enter British waters and judging from his predicament, it seemed to have been a big mistake.

England slowly wiped away the spit from his shirt, his smile replaced with a tinge of fury. "I told you, I don't understand a thing that you're saying, really." He held his hand back, hitting Spain on the cheek, as the Spaniard let out a small cry in pain. "I will not let you treat me like this on my ship." England said and took a fistful of his hair, holding Spain up to meet his gaze. The crewmen around him started laughing, and cheering for their captain. "Right now, some of my men are searching your ship for your gold. They've covered half of it, but have yet to find any, save for a couple of trinkets and coins scattered around. You will tell me where your gold is, or I will make sure that you suffer."

Spain just smiled and licked the blood from the corner of his mouth. "You hit... like a little puta***."

Another strike landed on Spain's face, as England pulled back his hand and struck him with his fist. He pushed his boot against Spain's chest, knocking him down as he ground his heel into the other's sternum. He quickly drew his sword and brought the tip to Spain's neck. "I'd choose my words carefully; that happens to be a word I'm familiar with." He lightly grazed the sharp tip of his sword against Spain's skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

"I.. I wouldn't... be surprised." Spain chuckled, as he struggled against the pressure of Arthur's boot that threatened to crush him. He felt a sharp pain in his neck, as the sword cut through his skin. "I will never tell you where my gold is." Spain smirked despite the threat of the blade against his throat.

"We'll see about that." England said, as he pulled his sword away slightly, and put it against Spain's chest, digging through the cloth. "If you don't tell me," he started, as he slowly began to drag the blade down. "I will torture you within an inch of your life and you wil die. What good will your gold do for you then, Antonio?" With a quick flick of his wrist, the sword slashed across Spain's chest—leaving a long trail of red across his white shirt. The sudden pain made Spain scream, as he gripped onto his shackles tightly; trying to divert the pain. "Y-you bastard! That gold is for the people of España. I would rather die than see any of it your filthy British hands!" Spain said as he felt England's heel over his chest again, now digging into the fresh wound. It wasn't that deep, but it stung, and England's heel against it opened the wound further. He promised himself however, that no matter what pain he was going to be subjected to, he wouldn't waver. That gold, the gold he had worked so hard for was for his people. And without his people, he was nothing.

England brought the sword up to his mouth, licking away the blood without breaking eye contact with his prisoner. It tasted just like any; and he was somehow disappointed that it didn't taste any different from his own. He was almost certain that someone like Spain would bleed something sweeter.

England quickly put the sword back to its hilt and he snapped his fingers at his men. "Untie this gentleman and if you would so please, disrobe him down to his undergarments. Leave his hands tied though, and chain him up in the corner." He said, as he removed his foot from Spain's chest. "And oh, can one you retrieve my cat, please? It's been so long since I got to play with it." He smirked as he watched his men huddle around Spain.

"Quítame las manos de encima! Voy a matarlos a todos si es la última cosa que haga!****" Spain exclaimed as two men handled him roughly, undoing some of his binds. One of them gripped him by the hair and the arm, as the other worked with the knots behind his back. The rope had dug into his skin so deep that removing them left cuts across his arms. Spain kicked and flailed trying to escape, as his shirt was ripped off of him—the cool air in the cell made him shiver. His eyes flew open as he felt hands grope him discreetly in places he was not meant to be touched.

"Just look at the arse on this one." One of England's men put his hand over Spain's ass, and rubbed over it with his fingers. The feeling made Spain's skin crawl. The other man followed suit, and squeezed it, the hands eventually snaking their way to the front. "D-deje que hijos... de puta!*****" Spain shouted, as he gritted his teeth. The men had him in their grasp, and he couldn't do anything to fight back.

England just laughed.

"All right, all right that's enough. Just tie him up already, I'm getting excited." England said, addressing his men. He rubbed his palms together as he watched the half-naked Spain be chained up in the corner like an animal. Now, all he needed was his cat.

Spain groaned as he was made to kneel, his wrists bound to a metal ring in the corner of the room. He balled his fists and sighed, thinking of what lay ahead for him. What on earth is that British bastard talking about when he mentioned a cat? Spain thought as he looked back, and watched England wait eagerly for what he asked to be fetched. Whatever it was, there was no way it could be good. The smile on that devil's face, said it all.

"Do you have pets, Antonio?" England asked as he slowly approached Spain, trying to make contact. "I am personally not fond of animals, but this is an exception." He snapped his finger once again, and one of his men handed him something that looked like rolled-up cord. England brought it into clear view, and dangled it in front of Spain's face. It was a whip.

"So I lied, it's not really an animal but it's something we the British call the Cat o' nine tails. It's a recent innovation, really, and I'm proud of it." He brushed through the strips of leather with his fingers, as he watched Spain's expression. "Nine knotted thongs of cord... just how much damage can it do, I wonder?"

Spain looked at the device, and his stomach churned inside him. There were floggings in España, yes, but the whips they used were not nearly as intimidating as the one being held before him. He closed his eyes and started uttering a silent prayer, letting the Lord help him decide what to do.

"Last chance, Antonio." England said as he crouched down, lifting Spain's chin up with the handle of the whip. "You tell me where the gold is, or I swear to God I will hit you with this until your throat gives out from screaming." His eyes were serious as he stared into the dark green eyes that held emotions he couldn't seem to decipher. Was it fear? Hate? Both? He waited patiently for his captive to answer.

"Do what you will." Spain said, as he stared back at England's unforgiving gaze. "I am not afraid of that, and I am not afraid of you. You are nothing but a coward, and you're right. That thing is not an animal as much as his owner is." he smirked, as he watched England stand up and shake his head in disbelief. There was no way he was backing down to this hijo de puta.

"You call me an animal while you're the one chained up like that?" England laughed, as he removed his gloves and handed them to one of his men. "Don't be absurd. We'll see who'll be screaming like an animal once I'm done with you."

Spain looked to the front and gripped tightly onto his shackles, trying to prepare himself for what was to come. Antonio... don't be weak now. He thought, as he steadied his breathing. Think of your homeland, España. Think of the constant sunshine, the overflowing wine... the carnations, and the meadows. The bullfights, yes even those really entertaining rowdy events that you only pretend to like. Think of the sound of the guitar playing, and flamenco in the moonlight. Think about your friends. Francis and Gilbert and...

Spain felt a tear roll down his eye, as the image of a certain brown-haired tomato-loving boy crossed his mind. He remembered the times they shared; the way he'd tuck him in bed every night, the way he would sing him Spanish lullabies and tell him stories. He remembered how his curl would stand up just right, and how angry he would be when Spain would teasingly pull on it, or even accidentally brush against it. He remembered his green dress that made him look like a girl at first sight. He remembered his promise—that he would return as soon as possible with all the tomatoes money could buy. Spain missed him, and a pain grew in his chest, the more he thought about him. His cursing, and his shouts, and his fits. Everything. Most especially how beautiful he looked, whenever they took a stroll out under the stars at night.

Oh Romano... how long has it been?

Spain blinked away his tears as he shook his head, and closed his eyes, picturing him once again. Instead of thinking of the past, he chose instead to think of the future... How happy Romano would be once he was out of here, and he can happily hold him in his arms again. He drew strength from that as he readied himself for whatever pain was to come his way.

Romano. Just think of Romano.

Translations:

* Untie me now, you son of a bitch!

** Don't touch me, you bastard!

*** Bitch

**** Get your hands off me! I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do!

***** S-stop it you... sons of bitches!

A/N: That's all for now :D Cliffhanger! Well, not really. This was my first time to write something not fluffy and romantic, so I hope I did okay D: Reviews would be highly appreciated so that I can make the next one faster. If you have any suggestions, feel free to tell me. And yes, I feel like a sadistic monster but ehh it had to be done D: