Disclaimer: I don't own APH or any of the characters.
Warnings: Mild smut, angst, maybe some historical inaccuracies.
England wished he weren't in Boston right now.
Boston was full of whispers and outrage and rebellion. England's skin tingled by the stirrings occurring amongst the public in the town, and he was hardly even nearby any people at the moment.
The home that America had built several years ago, during one of England's drastically long journeys across the sea, was perched on a small hill on the outskirts of Boston. The view wasn't as spectacular as it used to be, given that trees had grown to obscure the view of the northern side of the building, but it was still a rather picturesque landscape.
But the deceptively peaceful scenery was teeming with rebellion, tense with people holding in their breath as they waited for the moment to strike. England could feel it, smell it, and even taste it in the air. He hated it.
Surely this place would be a bad influence to America. Naïve boy that he was, he would be utterly confused and disturbed by his people's ridiculous disobedience.
Yes, this would be exactly why England would have to stamp out this silly little uprising before it swallowed up America whole.
"Now, where is that silly little boy," England muttered to himself.
America had a tendency to slip out of his sight these days. It was becoming a regular occurrence to find the colony napping away in a tree or trying to lure rabbits near the clearing. Though the scene England came upon every time was quite amusingly adorable, the habit itself was slowly morphing into an irritating one.
"Alfred?" England called aloud as he stepped down the small hill in search of his charge.
His feet stopped when he heard a faint reply from his left.
"I'm here, England!"
The boy soon appeared from behind a tree, his clothing soiled rather spectacularly with leaves and dirt from what England presumed was another rabbit chase.
Good heavens, the boy would never grow up.
"What did I tell you about disappearing like that?" England scolded, his hands moving to brush off the twigs and leaves clinging to America's hair. The clothes would not do with just brushing the dirt off, England noted as he took in the smudges. They would have to be washed properly.
"Sorry about that. I lost track of time." America presented an especially sunny grin, a sign that the boy was cheekily trying to find favor in England and receive forgiveness as quickly as possible.
England sighed and flicked the boy's nose, ignoring the small yelp of pain.
"Go tidy yourself up. Dinner is almost ready."
Still clutching his nose, America nodded and darted away, leaving England to stand at the foot of the hill. England took in the scenery once more, letting the peace be imprinted into his mind. The tingling on his skin felt like an itch.
Rebellion. He would squash it before it bloomed.
After supper, tea, and paperwork, England was quite ready to call it a day and head to the bedroom. He made sure to check if all papers were in order and double-checked the time to go out to greet his incoming soldiers for the upcoming day. After England was satisfied and thoroughly prepared, he made his way to his room for a good night's sleep.
He had not anticipated the nation lying on his bed in waiting. England groaned.
"Alfred, what are you doing here?"
"Well, I was rather hoping you would share your bed with me tonight?" America questioned sheepishly, burrowing shyly into the pillows and digging deeper under the covers.
Well, that was a change. America had recently been very adamant that he had grown up enough to take care of himself, even as going far as to fix meals for the two of them on his own or refusing to let England tuck him into bed.
Secretly, England thought it was quite a welcome change.
Any other day, England would have huffed and told the boy to stop acting like a child, perhaps shooing him out of the room as he did so. However, today was a different day and England could not help but allow his colony to share the bed with him. After changing into bedclothes and readying himself for some rest, England slipped under the covers and lay down to face America.
"I feel like a child all over again." America chuckled into the dead of the night.
You are a child. England bit his lip as to not say his thoughts aloud. You are my child.
The moonlight spilled over America, illuminating the blonde's hair and skin with a pale white glow. The shadows that stretched across the boy's face made it difficult to discern whether he was smiling or not, so England reached out and brushed his thumb along the curve of America's lips.
The action made the curve deepen into a smile that wobbled at the ends. Another hand reached out from under the covers to grasp England's wrist, and England could swear that he saw America crying.
But it was a trick of light. There were no tears.
Just a smile.
"Daddy," America breathed, and England stopped breathing at all. He had not heard America call him that since he was a tiny tot who fit into the crook of his arm.
"Can I have a good night kiss?"
The request brought back a surge of memories, of when America was but a child and England was his parent, sky, and god.
England remembered when America's height used to barely reach his waist. He remembered scooping the child up and kissing his forehead and smelling the dandelions in his boy's golden hair. He remembered how every night he used to tuck his son into bed and kiss him goodnight.
It had been a ritual of sorts, come to think about it. America had always whined for those little kisses if England ever refrained or stalled in giving one. The goodnight kisses had become a routine, so much so that the boy used to refuse to go to sleep without one. It was nothing special; just a brief kiss to the temple or cheek.
The habit had been dropped after England had returned from a long stay at London, when the British Empire found his little America suddenly taller than himself. England had been so flustered and shocked by the growth spurt; their daily routine turned and toppled over into a mess. When the younger lad jokingly asked for a goodnight kiss like the old days, England, unable to think straight, had just shut his eyes and kissed America. On the lips.
It had been an excruciatingly embarrassing experience for England, whereas it had been a strikingly amusing moment for America. They had both agreed to not ever mention the incident again, and with that their ritual of goodnight kisses had dissolved entirely.
Until now.
"Wh-what?" England sputtered with a mortified blush coloring his cheeks.
"Please?"
"No! I-I mean, why would you want me to do that?"
America grasped England's captive wrist now with two hands, blue eyes glinting in the dark with a wild kind of desperation. England could feel America's breath rush over his fingers.
"Kiss me goodnight, daddy." America begged. "It makes me feel safe."
Safe from what?
And then suddenly, England felt like he didn't want to know. He didn't want to know why America was acting like a child after trying to act maturely for so long. He didn't want to know why America was suddenly clinging to an old habit. He didn't want to know why America needed to feel safe.
He just wanted his child safe by his side.
Without a second thought, England slid his free hand under America's cheek and pulled the boy closer to press their lips together.
America's lips were very soft, he noted. So was his skin, his hair, his breathing…
When England pulled back, he noted in dull surprise that they had somehow wounded up pressed against each other with each other's arms wrapped around their necks. Somewhere in the back of his mind, an alarm sounded with a scream that vaguely sounded like what on earth are you doing with your child?
Child, hah. He wished America was one.
"One more?" England asked, already nudging forward so that their lips were only a breath apart.
"Yes," America replied in dizzy want, and England wasted no time in pressing his lips to America's. England easily persuaded America's lips open, his tongue expertly challenging his colony's for a taste.
They repeated that for a while, parting for a few gulps of breath before they were kissing again and again and again.
England felt America's erection before America probably even realized that he was drowning in need. Without even thinking twice about it, England pressed his thigh hard against the sensitive area, eliciting a loud, muffled moan from his colony's mouth. Unable to suppress the need to gloat, England released America's mouth to smile at him. "Uncomfortable, love?"
The throaty groan that filled the room was enough to answer the question.
England's grin grew wider. "Do you need your daddy to help you?"
This was not the time for such low jokes, he thought in the back of his mind. But that instinct that came with being an empire, that innate habit of emphasizing and exploiting others' weaknesses could not be contained.
However, America was not in any state to assess the cynicism in England's words. England mentally clicked his tongue. Right, the boy was a virgin.
Oh God.
The sudden realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. America was still a virgin. He had not taken that into account, or thought about it…or just plain even noticed it until now, frankly. It wasn't like he had been planning on sleeping with America…
Okay, maybe he had thought about it fleetingly, once or twice. But that was beyond the point. The point was that he and America were five minutes away from fucking each other into the mattress and America obviously would not be ready to, crudely speaking, take it up the ass.
England groaned and quickly kissed the younger nation again, all the while palming the growing erection still trapped under nightclothes.
Dammit, he needed to get rid of those layers of cloth fast. His own erection was starting to bother him.
America would most definitely not last long, if the inexperience and the whines were anything to go by. And since England was not about to force the boy into what he knew was a painful experience on the first night, especially without any sort of lubricant right now, England would have to sacrifice.
England rolled over on top of America and sat on the taller blonde's stomach. America looked at him with glazed eyes. "England, wha-?"
Without letting his charge finish speaking, England shoved his fingers into the other's mouth. "Suck."
Immediately, though still confused, America started to lather England's fingers with saliva. The older nation subtly shuddered. America was damn talented with his tongue.
Losing no time, England started to shove his pants and undergarments off. The shirt would have to stay on, he supposed. Sensing the loss of layers in between England's skin and his own, America's eyes widened.
"Good enough." England commented after awhile and slid his fingers out of America's mouth. A trail of saliva connected America and his dripping fingers, and England couldn't help but think that the sight of America blushing in the moonlight with his lips bruised and wet was very lovely.
The thought connected straight to his groin, and England felt the pleasant flush of arousal tingle through his body. Without taking his eyes off of America (who was speechless for once), England slowly took his saliva-covered hand back and proceeded to push one into himself. It had been a long time since he had slept with anyone, England realized as the sensation made his eyes roll back and force a moan out of his mouth. America, apparently triggered by the moan, made a small animalistic noise in the back of his throat.
"England?" America very nearly might have squeaked. "What are you doing?"
England let out a low, shuddering moan as he pushed in a second finger. "We have no lubricant, so I'm improvising."
Now America looked a tad bit unsure of himself.
"Improvising for what?'
England paused before he spread his fingers, wincing at the feeling. Preparing himself for the third digit, the empire leaned forward and yanked down the clothing still covering America's erection. Ignoring the other nation's hiss at the sudden motion, England leaned forward further still and licked the shell of America's ear. Pleased with the gasp that escaped the other's lips, England purred into America's ear.
"To help you feel safe, my darling."
England drew back and watched arousal and confusion mix in those wonderfully blue eyes, until America finally understood and the confusion cleared away.
He was busily working in the third finger when America's voice held his attention captive.
"Kiss me, Arthur."
And as England started to settle over America's erection and leaned forward to comply with his colony's request, America closed his eyes and sighed.
Dimly, Arthur thought that it sounded like a sob.
"It makes me feel safe."
In the dead of the night, America's blue eyes fluttered open.
The younger blonde quietly lifted his torso up and gazed down upon the peacefully sleeping England. A doleful smile briefly flitted past the American nation's feature before he leaned down and chastely kissed his guardian's lips.
With that done, America rose and silently moved off the bed. Placing a single, folded piece of paper in his place, the blue-eyed nation walked out of the bedroom, throwing back one last glance before the door clicked shut. After a long period of time, presumably in which America changed his clothes, the unmistakable sound of the house's front door closing shut echoed through the house.
Rubbing his eyes to clear his sight, England pushed himself up into a sitting position and snatched the paper off the bed. He had been awake and alert the moment America had made rustling sounds in his attempt to escape the bed soundlessly.
He had been well aware that America was leaving.
England slowly unfolded the paper, as if afraid that it might burst into flames at sudden movement. Unable to decipher the written characters in the darkness, England stood and walked to the window so that he could read in the moonlight.
He anticipated and dreaded what he would see, but he swallowed down the fear and began to read the letter America had left behind.
Dear England,
I am leaving behind everything I had with you: this home, this life, and everything else we have owned together. I now plan to have my own home, my own life. One that is free and governed by me and only by me.
I am so sorry to leave you like this, but you knew this was coming. Don't lie to yourself. We both knew this day would come eventually, and you could have avoided it if you had given me my freedom.
From today we will go to war.
Do not think that I was unaware of your soldiers coming here; my people are ready for you and your armies. I am leaving everything behind to go to war, and to win my liberty.
I am ready.
From, the United States of America.
England's hands shook as he dropped to his knees on the wooden floor, the paper crinkling under trembling fingers as he struggled not to let the tears come.
Of course he had known. He had known all along.
England had known that those rabbit hunts and naps were simply excuses for those disappearances. He had known America was rounding up his men, preparing for a war that had been coming for such a long time. He had known America was no longer a naïve child. He had known that America had asked for that goodnight kiss as a good luck charm for this revolution of his.
He had known that America would never come back.
But England had still kissed him.
He had still wished his boy good luck and kissed him for safety, for protection, for everything. Even though they had a war coming tomorrow, England still wanted his boy to be safe.
Just when England was about to crumple the letter up and throw it away, his eyes caught a very small postscript scribbled into the corner of the paper. England smoothed the crinkles out to read the last sentence America had given him the night before their war.
P.S. Arthur, I am leaving behind for you a kiss–
England didn't need to finish reading the sentence to know what America meant. The empire buried his face into crumpling paper and his hands as he finally let the tears blur his sight.
–a kiss to keep you safe.
England's sobs faded away into the tranquility of the dawn of April 19, 1775.
/And yes, DPZero is officially back on FFNet!
Long story short, my life went to hell and back for this past half year, but I'm on recovery and will start updating all my fics now! :D
Happy Birthday, Alfred (and Happy late Birthday, Matthew). This is sort of an Independence Day fic (please nobody shoot me) and all honors go to our favorite American. Excellent day to return to the fandom.
The day that the American Revolutionary War began was April 19, 1775. So yeah, Arthur gives everything to America the night the kid decides to start the war. These guys are messed up.
For those who are about to hit me because of this angsty ending, wait up! I have a short sequel coming for this fic and it's a happier one! It'll be titled "Give Me a Kiss" and I'll upload it within 24 hours. If you want to see a sorta sequel with a happier ending (and yeah, that one will be much more Happy Independence Day fluff), it'll be there soon.
Oh, about the smut parts. I'm sorry. I can't write smut to save my life, and I honestly didn't want to make it too detailed. Gah, I'm so sorry. I have no words.
Comments, feedback, constructive criticism, etc are appreciated.