Notes & Warning: Please take not that this story depicts 2p America as the Confederacy & contains real historical figures portrayed in a fictional manner.

Ch 1: Soulmate

America accepted it. He hated it but he accepted it. What other choice did he have? Civil wars were hell on any nation, but he resolved to do his best. In fact, he really didn't know too much about how they truly affected nations, and that deeply concerned him. This was definitely a time when he wished England had been a little more thoughtful in raising him properly. Or that he had bothered to ask more important questions to the other nations throughout his admittedly short life. Still it was not an easy subject to breach.

However, no amount of talking and informative discussions could have prepared him for what happened on his attempted trip to Fort Sumter. He was enroute to South Carolina with a group of men to personally witness the place that his Civil War had officially started. It was a foolish idea and the president had tried to talk him out of it. He couldn't articulate exactly why, but America felt that he really needed to see the fort in person, even if just from a distance. In the end the president had reluctantly agreed and assigned a group of experienced military men to offer some protection. They all wisely dressed as civilians to disguise themselves and set on out on the long journey.

After they had passed through the border of North Carolina to South Carolina the incident happened. America's men had stuck relatively close to the coast for most of the trip. There was still a little further to go before they reached Charleston. Most of them felt fortunate that the trip had been entirely without incident considering they were Union soldiers in Confederate land, even if they weren't dressed the part.

The deafening blast of a rifle sounded, and America felt a spray of warm liquid hit his face. He turned stunned eyes in enough time to see the man next to him fall from his horse and crumple to the ground dead. The remaining men surrounded him, drawing their weapons, and America forced himself to pry his eyes from his fallen soldier and the blood and brains now decorating his coat. He could not see beyond his shouting men and figured at this point it was pretty obvious they were not simple travelers. He was an easily recognizable person, he was certain. More gun shots rang out and he scrambled to draw his revolver as more men fell.

"Get out of the way and let me fight!" he yelled while trying to keep his agitated horse calm.

The man in front of him, Williams was his name, turned to respond just in time to be shot in the chest. He grimaced grasping at the torn hole and slumped forward. Another bullet hit him in the arm and he finally fell to the ground with a thump. When America raised his eyes to gaze around he was brought to the alarming realization that all but one of his men had fallen, possibly all dead. But there he sat, bewildered and untouched. Panic gripped his heart as he slipped from his horse and tried to hold his gun steady in his trembling hands. The fact he was virtually immortal did nothing to calm his nerves.

Men in Confederate uniforms started to emerge from the forest around them and they were without a doubt outnumbered. Mercifully they did not shoot the remaining man with him, and allowed him to surrender. Two Confederate soldiers advanced on America, grabbing him roughly by each arm and confiscating his weapons. They drug him a short distance and shoved him forward. He stumbled and fell to his hands and knees. His hands clenched the leaves and dirt below them as he grit his teeth in frustration. They had to know who he was to be giving him this special treatment.

"Hey, pretty boy, what are you doing on my side of the fence?" came a familiar yet totally foreign voice.

America jerked his head up and stared, eyes impossibly wide, at the man walking leisurely towards him. He took in the man's appearance quickly. Clean Confederate uniform perhaps a general rank, he wasn't sure, dark auburn hair, tan skin, a sleazy smirk, brown eyes that appeared almost red, and a build similar to his own. A strange sensation washed over him, and he reared up onto his knees as the man came to stop in front of him and knelt to eye level. It churned in his stomach before breaking and spreading throughout his limbs in a sickening wave. The eyes looking directly into his own, the face, the body, the hand now reaching out for him…they were all his mirror image. The hand of the twin stranger came to rest on his shoulder and sent little jolts, like an electrical charge, coursing through his arm upon contact. He tried to recoil but the hand tightened.

"Oh, that's interesting!" said the man raising his eyebrows. "Feels kind of nice." The whole time he addressed America his eyes never wavered, and upon a closer look, they were indeed red.

"Who…are you?" ground out America. Somehow he felt simultaneously repulsed and attracted to this man that had his face. His hands rose to grip the uniform jacket of the man against his will, and he clung to him in a desperate attempt to gain some sense of reality.

"My name is Thomas F. Jones," said the man inching his face uncomfortably close to America's, "better known to you as the Confederate States of America."

America felt nauseous and broke out into a cold sweat as his fears were confirmed. Was such a thing even possible? Could a civil war create such a being? Why had he never been warned of such an important thing? His mind reeled and the son of a bitch's face was far too close. He tried to push him away, but his arms would not obey him. Instead the traitors tried to pull Thomas closer.

"Strange, right?" asked Thomas obligingly pulling America against him and loosely wrapping one arm around his back, while letting the other rest on the back of his head. "I can feel your disgust for me resonating in my chest, yet…you can't pull away. Can you?"

As Thomas tightened his hold on America, the jolts intensified making him twitch slightly. At first it was nearly unbearable, but it soon started to morph into something close to pleasure. His arms started to shake as he mustered all of his willpower to push Thomas away. This time it worked and he was panting from the effort as his twin smiled back at him amused.

"You sure are a stubborn one," laughed Thomas. "You'll be a lot of fun to play with."

Abruptly, Thomas withdrew from America, and much to his horror all he wanted to do was pull him back. For a brief moment he thought he was going to be freed, but Thomas was taking the rifle from his back. He started to sputter protests thinking that he was likely going to be shot…by himself. Almost too quickly to follow, Thomas moved behind him and brought the rifle butt down sharply against the back of his head. The world slipped away and he swore somebody caught him before he completely lost consciousness.

Clips of sounds, murmuring voices, the feeling of movement, the sound of horse hooves. The world came back into view briefly, unfocused, and then faded out again. This happened maybe once more, perhaps it lasted longer, America wasn't really sure. The third time, he slowly blinked his eyes gazing blearily into harsh sunlight. His surroundings came into focus, and he noticed that he was now in a room in a house. It was obviously a very elegant house. Shiny, pine floors, fancy wood panel walls, long, lacey curtains flowing softly in the breeze of the open windows, an imported area rug, and expensive furniture set quite a lavish picture for him to take in. As his hands curled into the soft quilt below him reflexively, he also took note that he was laying upon a large bed.

He sat up and gingerly touched the back of his head where a knot was forming, and startled when he heard the door to the room open. Swiveling his body, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and was hit with a sudden wave of dizziness. He tried standing and lurched forward as his vision darkened at the edges. Strong arms caught him as quickly as he fell and he instantly knew who had caught him.

"Easy there, Alfred," soothed Thomas holding America tightly with one arm while brushing his wayward bangs out of his eyes with a gentle hand.

"Don't call me Alfred, you bastard." The words slipped out of America's mouth in a haze of confusion. The room eventually stopped spinning and he saw that he was once again clinging to Thomas. "Where…am I?"

"We're at a plantation not too far from where I found you," answered Thomas. "I would prefer to call you Alfred," he said with an almost shy smile. "It feels weird to call you 'America' since that's my name too."

"You are not America!" burst out America trying to struggle out of Thomas's embrace. It seemed their strength was evenly matched, though, which explained why he had been able to knock him out in the first place. That in itself was not an easy task, as England often declared, and then threw in some thick-skulled jokes for good measure.

"Oh, but I am, and I think you can feel it when I touch you," said Thomas holding America fast until his struggling died down. "We are definitely two halves of a whole," he said nuzzling his face against his captive and sighing contentedly.

Frustrated tears sprung up in America's eyes as he indeed felt every touch and brush of skin resonate firmly in the core of his being. "Please," he said, his voice cracking, "let me go…"

"I can't do that, darling," said Thomas as he picked up America and lifted him back onto the bed. "You've probably got a concussion. I can't let you go injured. Plus…" he paused as his eyes shifted a shade darker, "I want to know what it feels like."

"What?" asked America lying back against the pillows in defeat as the dizziness threatened to return. "What…do you want to feel?" His mind was growing fuzzier and it was becoming difficult to focus.

"I want to know what it feels like to have sex, essentially with myself," answered Thomas nonchalantly, his lips curling into a lazy grin.

America's own eyes widened at this declaration, and he started to sit up. Thomas firmly shoved him back down while shaking his head. He moved to the door.

"Try to get some rest," he suggested, then left. As an afterthought, he poked his head back into the room. "Oh, and don't try to escape. I've got guys all over the property and forest, and I've given them the okay to shoot to kill. You wouldn't get very far."

The door clicked shut and America wanted to rage with indignation. He wanted to throw a tantrum of epic proportions, but he was simply too weary and exhausted. The long journey and head injury rapidly caught up with him, and before he knew it he was fast asleep.

The sensation of hands and cloth sliding over his chest awoke him, and he fumbled to grasp the person who dared to touch him while so vulnerable. When his vision cleared, he was staring into the eyes of a shocked young woman. She winced at the crushing grip he had on her wrist and he immediately released her. Scooting into a sitting position, the covers pooled at his waist and he became aware he was completely naked underneath them. The woman had been bathing him, and she averted her gaze as she picked up the water basin and hurried to the door.

"Wait!" he called to her and she froze at the door, brunette curls bouncing slightly. "How long was I asleep?"

She hesitated. "Almost two days," she said softly, then disappeared.

America sighed heavily and lay back on the pillows. He brought a hand to the back of his head relieved to feel that the wound there seemed mostly healed at this point. Maybe now that he was better, the maniac version of him would let him go. He let out a chuckle at how ridiculous that sounded. The door opened again and he did not even bother to move.

"I was informed my sleeping prince woke up," said Thomas sitting on the side of the bed.

America intended to ignore him but he heard a clatter of glassware and instinctively turned towards it. Thomas had brought a tray of food and he was famished. He once again sat up as his mouth watered and his stomach growled. Thomas merely smiled and slid off the bed, sauntering to a table by the window. He sat down at the table admiring the clear, calm night, pouring himself a drink from the decanter that rested on it. America took the opportunity to start unceremoniously shoving food into his mouth as quickly as he could chew and swallow. He was somewhat grateful for Thomas's consideration in not creepily focusing his attention on him as he had most of the short time they had been acquainted. He silently sipped on his whiskey, a small smile ever-present.

"Hey," spoke America in-between bites, nearly finished with the entire spread of meats and bread. "Where are my clothes?" he asked after chugging some water.

"I had them sent to the wash house," answered Thomas glancing at him before returning his gaze to the yard dimly illuminated by pale moonlight. Crickets chirped and the breeze carried in the fragrance of grass and spring air. It was peaceful, tranquil, deceptive. He stood up slowly, walked towards the bed, pausing to dim the lamps on the way.

America had finished eating, but he figured Thomas would have removed the tray from the bed either way. He set it on a dresser, downed the rest of his whiskey, and practically slinked onto the bed next to America. He shifted, uneasy, and pulled the covers up higher on his abdomen, but Thomas paid him no mind pressing his body flush against his side. One of Thomas's hands rested gently on his face urging it to turn. Their mouths hovered mere centimeters from each other, sharing breath, and America hated how natural it felt, how perfectly gratifying it was.

Dark eyelashes descended, delicate and long against his cheeks, as Thomas tilted his head slightly and rubbed his lips against America's. They were so soft, America thought as a surge of desire welled up in his chest. He abruptly crushed their lips together. It was a desperate, sloppy, kiss with clashing teeth and delving tongues. Fingers curled into America's hair and pulled roughly, then roamed down over his cheek, neck, collar bone, and down his chest and abs. Thomas continued to kiss him passionately as America hooked a hand at the back of his knee and pulled him closer, partially over his lap. He then let his hand roam up Thomas's thigh to his ass, kneading the toned and clothed flesh.

America pulled away gasping for air, and his hands groped Thomas's ass, pulling him completely onto his lap. Thomas started languidly grinding against him as his fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt, quickly discarding the unwanted garment. He leaned forward sighing as he placed his hands on America's face, caressing him too tenderly. America wasn't sure he could go through with any of this if it was gentle and loving. Then again, he wasn't sure if he could stop even if he wanted to. He slid his hands up Thomas's back noting that the electric sensation was still there, only now it felt more like an undercurrent, something his body had grown accustomed to.

"I…really don't want to do this," he said. He moved his hands to Thomas's chest, his beautiful tan chest, and tried to push him away. He barely managed a light shove.

"Are you having some performance anxiety, darling?" asked Thomas airily before latching his mouth onto America's neck, sucking and kissing it.

"Fuck you, no…" His hands trembled as he forced them to remain idle. He felt Thomas bite his neck as his hand plunged beneath the blanket to grip his erection. Letting out a strangled moan, his hips jerked up into that warm hand, and he grabbed Thomas's hips painfully hard.

Thomas leaned back, seemingly not bothered by the crushing hold on his hips, and tugged down the covers obscuring his view. The expression on his face was of fascination as he stared for a moment, then started fumbling with his trousers. He unbuttoned them and shoved them down a little, exposing his own erection.

"They really are the same," said Thomas marveling at the sight before him. He pushed his cock down slightly with a thumb, only to have it spring back up, tapping America's in the process.

America shivered unable to pry his eyes from the captivating sight of their matching, aroused phalluses, only differing in color. He continued to gawk as Thomas scooted closer and wrapped his hand around both of them, stroking slowly. Too slowly. America covered Thomas's hand with his own, quickened the pace, watching the alluring and lascivious sight of their cocks sliding together. Some distant part of his mind was screaming at him to stop this obscene act immediately, but it felt so ridiculously good that he staunchly ignored it.

Thomas suddenly withdrew his hand and smacked away America's as it tried to dart back. He kissed America briefly on the mouth, jaw, shoulder, pectoral, and down his abs. He pulled the covers away as he moved down, pausing as he settled in between his legs. His breath ghosted over golden skin as he hooked one arm around a plump thigh, and used the other to gently hold America's cock. He did not take any further action and looked up at America through auburn bangs. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, the tension in the air thickening, and they both knew they were on the verge of something magnificent and disturbing. A true paradox.

Breaking eye contact, Thomas dragged his tongue up the underside of America's cock and then took it deep into his mouth. America groaned, threading his fingers into the shiny hair at his lap. He had experienced fellatio before but it did not feel anywhere close to this amazing. His mind struggled to process all of the foreign yet eerily familiar sensations running rampant throughout his body. There was warmth radiating from his loins and his chest, and the two sources were overlapping, filling him with a searing desire. Starting to feel the telling signs of orgasm, he tugged sharply at Thomas's hair. It had been a while since his last sexual encounter and apparently he was a little pent up. Honestly, it was fairly embarrassing to come this quickly, considering he usually prided himself on being able to last a while.

"Thomas…s…stop," he stuttered, tugging his hair again.

Thomas glanced up at him briefly, red eyes ablaze, and his mouth stretched erotically around his swollen cock. Instead of releasing him like he asked, Thomas started to bob his head faster, reaching a hand to fondle his tightening balls. America tried to buck up, but Thomas's grip on his thigh prevented it. The pressure surged to a critical point and his body froze lingering on that point of intense pleasure.

"Shit," America swore digging his fingers tightly into Thomas's hair. "I'm gonna come!" He rolled his abdomen, struggled to thrust his hips. Everything went fuzzy and white hot as he started to ejaculate into that warm mouth, throat muscles moving to swallow everything he had to offer.

America fell back against the bed panting and spent. Thomas licked his lips, raised his head, and crept up over him with a lopsided grin. He smoothed his bangs out of his eyes, kissed him softly making him taste himself. America grimaced slightly and Thomas chuckled. Before he knew what was happening, America was being rolled onto his stomach.

"What…are you doing?" he asked, still drowsy and definitely wary. The covers had been mostly kicked to the wayside, so he was now completely naked before Thomas's eyes.

"Shhh…don't worry, darling," cooed Thomas in between peppering America's back with kisses as he descended, eventually cupping his butt cheeks with a hum of appreciation. "I'm definitely going to take care of you and this amazing ass."

His mind struggled to decipher the exact meaning of Thomas's words and he distantly registered the rustling of fabric, no doubt pants being discarded. He figured he should be moving, trying to take control of the situation, but he was so comfortable and what was the point, really? He felt his legs being nudged open, and Thomas settled between them heavily, kneading his ass, spreading the cheeks.

"Ah!" America startled at the sudden invasive tongue licking up his perineum and over his entrance. "No…wait…" his voice cut off and he choked out a gasping cry when Thomas's tongue returned to push past the ring of muscle.

It was definitely a new feeling, and America would have squirmed right off of the bed if Thomas did not have such a secure hold on him. Thomas pushed his tongue in deeper, wiggled it as much as he could in the tight canal, and moved his thumbs to its sides to massage the muscle open a little further. His mouth lingered and sucked a bit before disappearing briefly as he reached into his nearby pants to retrieve a small vial. Opening it with a pop, Thomas slicked his fingers with the oil, making sure to close the vial when he was done. His lips returned first, next the tongue, and last a finger joined, pushing into America marginally, carefully. A moan tumbled out of America and he ground his pelvis into the mattress, already starting to get hard again. The finger inside him moved slowly, the tongue retreated, and a second finger slid inside.

That talented, sensual mouth pressed a kiss to his ass, breath rushed into the small of his back, harsh and panting as Thomas rested his forehead there and continued to move his fingers inside America, methodically stretching him open from the inside. He worked patiently, gently probing until he found special, sensitive spots inside America that had him mewling and writhing. Even through a haze of desire America simply could not believe he was allowing this scenario to continue. And it wasn't just because it felt extraordinarily good. Putting these new emotions into words would have been difficult, but it felt like he had reached some sort of epiphany, some grand realization, yet he did not truly understand much of it. Adversely, it also felt visceral and carnal, connective on the most basic level. So naturally, anything Thomas chose to do to him his body and mind readily accepted and responded to. It was more than a little disconcerting because it essentially felt like he had no free will.

Pulling his fingers free, Thomas opened the vial of oil once more, coated his cock, and crowded in closer between America's spread thighs. America felt the head press into him and he let out a long breath, trying to force his overly excited body to relax. Thomas sunk into him in increments, mindful of the cues America's body gave him. It was a shame America could not see the expression on his face when he fully settled in. Thomas hunched over him slightly, let out a shuddering breath, gasped it back in, smoothed a hand up the flawless, golden skinned back below him.

America marveled at the fact that having Thomas buried in him to the hilt was not more uncomfortable. There was definitely a sense of pressure, maybe a slight twinge of pain here and there, but for the most part it felt like he fit…well, like he belonged there. He felt something drip onto his back once, then a couple more followed. Twisting his head around confused, he saw tears overflowing in Thomas's eyes, spilling over his lashes. Before he could ask why he was crying, Thomas pulled out half way and slid back in making America cry out. He set a steady rhythm, not too fast, not too slow. Any discomfort America had felt quickly abated and transformed into leisurely waves of pleasure, and he was soon rocking back to meet every thrust.

Slowing his pace down to a rolling grind, Thomas leaned over and nuzzled against the side of America's turned face. "You feel like heaven, Alfred," he murmured. "Does it feel good?"

America merely nodded not really wanting to justify the question with a verbal response. It felt fucking incredible, but he wasn't about to admit it. Thomas hummed happily and hitched America's hips up until he was resting on his knees, changing the angle. He returned to thrusting, sinking in further than before, and started to rub against a tender spot that sent jolts through America's body, making his toes curl. A sense of euphoria started to flood his body and a slew of embarrassing sounds started to escape his parted mouth. Thomas picked this opportune moment to reach down between his legs and take hold of this throbbing cock, pumping it with determination.

"Oh!" America exclaimed as he felt those tan fingers close around his length and stroke smooth and quick. "Ah! Ahh, fuck! God…don't stop! Go faster!" He could hardly believe what he was saying and he frankly no longer cared.

The pressure was building, steadily climbing as all of his tactile senses started rushing to a point, begging for release. Thomas obliged him by hammering into him at a fast pace, starting to let out low grunts and groans. He once again bent over America, putting his mouth close to his ear so he could hear every lewd sound that slipped out of it. The sensations spiked sharply, and he let out a sob arching back against Thomas, trying to gain as much friction as possible, shove him in as deep as he could go. He hit the peak and it lulled briefly causing his body to go taut. Thomas turned his head slightly, rubbed his lips against America's sweat slicked neck, and gave a couple clever twists of his wrist that was jerking him off.

America's entire body shuddered violently as he felt the pressure break into surging waves of what felt like adrenaline but was likely some other hormone entirely. He felt his essence shoot out of him in steady intervals as Thomas continued to stroke him through his orgasm. It was the hardest he had ever come in his life and it was mind-blowing and overwhelming and incandescent.

"Oh god," gasped Thomas finally releasing his cock. He braced his arms on either side of America and ground down hard, shoving the trembling man back against the mattress. "Fuck...Fuck!" he cursed loudly as he gave one last harsh thrust and emptied himself deep inside of America. He gave a couple more languid thrusts before collapsing against America as his shaking arms and legs gave out.

They stayed relatively still for a while, struggling to catch their breath and process the intensity of their sexual experience. Without even properly thinking it through, they both knew that they could probably not reproduce this experience with anyone but each other. It had a bit of a sobering effect, yet it was so ripe with possibility. Thomas pulled out carefully, rolled onto his side, and gathered America up into his arms. He nudged the blanket up with his foot and covered them. America wrapped his arms around Thomas seeking any and all physical contact he could get. He lazily noted that the electric feeling had morphed into something different, something far more mild and pleasant.

"I love you, darling," mumbled Thomas pressing a kiss to America's forehead, then his eyelids, and lastly to his mouth.

America made a noncommittal hum as a response and drifted to sleep feeling overwhelmingly content. Despite the peace he felt, sadly all he would have throughout the night were vivid nightmares.

End Notes: I am doing my best to properly research for this fic, but there will probably be some mistakes. This story will have RusAme in future chapters, and more characters (that may not be completely historically accurate, but I will try to keep it close). While I do love historical accuracy, I want to be a little flexible with this story. Thank you for reading and comments are appreciated! Please try to keep them constructive, though.