Huh, this is pretty much the second fic I've written with a historical background. Though I guess Edward II's reign isn't too well known. When most people think English monarchs, it's more about Henry VIII. While his reign was way more historically important because of all the things that changed the country, Edward's was probably surrounded by just enough scandal.

If you want a somewhat historically accurate account, read Marlowe's EdwardII. That's what started all of the research. Though the timeline isn't the same and it's a bit dull at the beginning because of all the politics, it's a wonderful story. Marlowe is a genius *cough* Better than Shakespeare! *cough cough!*

Ah, and if you're still interested, then you should read Brandy Purdy's TheConfessionofPiersGaveston. It's a beautiful story, and she does a great job with all of the historical details.

Italics are the past, everything else is the present. Do not own Hetalia. Or Piers Gaveston. Who was an actual person.

Maybe it was because he was so much like him that he was so attracted to the younger man.

Yes, that had to be the reason. That was why he was attracted to his haughtiness, his overindulgence, his dashing good looks…his…

"Ah…ah…"

"Lord Kirkland," he saw him in his mind, those tan fingers, slightly calloused from his life as a knight, cupping his chin as Arthur stared up at him with a look of shock and fear in his eyes, the other man tilting his face so that the two could see eye to eye. He couldn't help but admire that brilliant black hair and those deep blue eyes as their faces drew dangerously close and closer, and after what must have seemed like an eternity but was really only seconds their lips gently touched.

Why was he thinking about these things in the middle of sex? Christ, since when was being shoved onto your back being fucked senseless a perfect opportunity to dwell on the past?

"I hate you. I despise everything you are and everything you stand for."

"But you cannot help but love me, can you?"

He was right. Arthur was a country and the voices of his people were what fueled his emotions, made him who he was. Those same voices despised him, called him "witch", "Lord of Misrule", "cuckold", "catamite". But his King spoke the loudest of them all, and while the others deeply loathed the Gascon and demanded his exile or death, the ruler of his nation loved him so dearly. He was his favorite. He was his lover.

"Fuck…fuck, I'm so close…fuck, it's almost there…"

But he couldn't deny it. His current lover, America, Alfred F. Jones, "Alfie" on the rare occasions, him and that man from his past were so similar. Which is why, instead of America's name (or some garbled version of it), he closed his eyes, let himself explode within the other's hand, and did the unthinkable.

"Piers!"

"Why are you back?"

"Ah, Lord Kirkland, it seems as if you are not ecstatic for my return?" the Gascon said, putting his hand to his forehead as he overdramatically feigned sadness. "Though I guess you are not the only one, so I suppose I shouldn't expect much."

"Damn right. You are supposed to be in Ireland. Why have you returned?"

"Why else would I be back? The King sent for me himself. You cannot say that you yourself haven't missed me, can you? How cold."

To which all movement ceased, even though the two had both reached that point of boiling over, the same instant he shouted out the wrong name Britain was able to feel the other release inside of him. He could also feel the hole the other was staring into him, a blank look on his face as his mind slowly caught up to speed with what had just happened.

"…Britain?"

That silence. Oh, how he hated that silence, it was awkward and miserable and made him want to die. Why did he have to say his name, why?

"Back again, I see," the Brit laughed at the Gascon, though to say it was of true amusement would have been a lie. It was rather half-hearted. "This has to be, what, the fourth time you've returned? Perhaps the fifth?"

The Gascon had definitely lost weight, looking rather exhausted and gloomy. He let out a small chuckle as well. "Only the third, Lord Kirkland. You give me too much credit; I don't know if I could pull off as much as you ask of me."

"I see time has treated you well," Arthur murmured sarcastically, but the comment was caught by the other. Nevertheless, he just smiled, staring down at his hands, taking in shallow breaths as he sat in silence.

"Arthur?"

And he was using his real name. Oh fuck, this was bad.

"Arthur? Hey, c'mon, listen! I'm trying to talk to you!"

The American hit his shoulder lightly, still towering over him like the giant he was, flaccid member still encased in that tight heat. But all Arthur could do was embarrassingly look to the side, not making a single sound as he wished the other would just leave him alone.

"Perhaps now," he whispered, the other catching the soft tone in his voice, much different from the defiant and haughty one he usually donned, "I can be free."

"You speak nonsense," Arthur scoffed. "I'm sure he will come back successful. He promised you a whole army ready to fight when he left you here at Scarborough."

"He won't come. Everyone has abandoned me; it surprises me every time I look up and see that you are still there. I would have thought you'd be the first to leave."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Fine then, don't talk to me," America spat out, finally pulling out of the other and turning the opposite way, their backs to each other as if a wall were physically dividing the two. He rustled a bit in bed to find a position he was comfortable in before grunting "good night" to his lover, not concerned at all of the physical mess they had made together and the emotional mess Britain had just created and was only making worse as each silent second passed by. "Crying out someone else's name in bed," America said under his breath, "least you could do is explain."

Britain was able to emerge from the crowd as he broke into a run, but he was unable to escape the sound of the sharp blade slicing through the other's skin and stopping at the block, the sound of a heavy object clunking to the ground as the now separate head rolled to the floor. In his mind, his feet could not take him far enough from that wicked place; from Blacklow Hill, where it seemed as if the whole country had gathered to watch him die.

He was helpless. Pembroke's chivalrous act and his honor had been breached, and even with this charge against Warwick, demanding justice for the crime that had gone against his word, Pembroke himself was also just as helpless.

What he was able to do was wait until he had run into an alley, tucked between stone walls, in a place where no one could see him.

And then, in the midst of no one but the constant chatter of the voices moving about outside, he collapsed and wept. His tears fell upon deaf ears as he sank to his knees, ruining some of his best vestments, and cried like a small child.

"Piers…dearest Piers…damnit, why?"

Britain rolled to face the American's back, reaching out to him as tears slid down his cheeks. He hadn't meant to utter someone else's name in bed. He hadn't meant to damage the other's pride as he dwelled upon a figure of the past.

They were just so alike, not so much in appearance as attitude and how they carried themselves. They both were haughty, always forgetting where they had come from and looming over those in power and rubbing it in their faces. They were both handsome, the kind that stopped you in your tracks. And they were both so kind, so loving to those they actually did cared for.

They had both wanted to be free of him. They had both wanted that independence.

Yet they had both come back to him so many times.

"I'm sorry," Britain managed to force out between his cries and hiccups, hugging the other from behind. He could feel the American tense as he uncontrollably cried into his back, tears soaking the other's skin as he pressed himself into the taller blonde a bit more. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm…"

The American simply turned around, the sheets shifting beneath as he returned the hug, drawing Arthur into his chest and holding him close. He laid a kiss to the top of his head, a hand gently ruffling his hair as he hushed the Brit soothingly, the other hand rubbing his back in an attempt to get him to calm down.

"We can talk about it in the morning. Let's just get some sleep, okay?"

To which the Brit nodded, his sobs finally petering out as he cuddled closer into the taller man, taking a deep breath as he allowed himself to settle down.

"I love you, Arthur."

That was what he had needed to hear the most. He swallowed hard, feeling an enormous weight being lifted from him, voice quiet as he whispered back, "I love you too, Alfred."

In the morning. Yes, they would definitely talk in the morning. He could tell him about the King's favorite turned lover and how everyone, especially him, despised his very being. He could explain how even though this intense hatred was there he still found room to love and adore him. He could defend that even though this had happened it was years ago, and for some strange reason tonight happened to be the night that his past came back to haunt him. He would assure America that he was the one he loved now, had loved for years, and maybe they would even joke about how the American and the Gascon were so much alike.

Whatever happened, it would all the cards would be laid out tomorrow. The story of Piers Gaveston, a secret the Brit had kept locked up within him for centuries now, would finally be told.

He wasn't sure if he was absolutely terrified or really excited.

I may make this into a two-shot? I really don't know. I thought about where it'd go from here, so maybe?

Well, I guess since you made it this far, I can give you a bit of historical background.

Piers Gaveston was a knight and the favorite of King Edward II. They met when the two were teens, and because Edward I thought Piers would be a good influence on his son, he appointed Gaveston as a member of the court for his son. Though it didn't work out as planned. He was banished. But then Edward I died and he was brought back. But he managed to piss off a ton of important people and was banished again. Though because Edward II missed him so much, he was brought back again.

Life pretty much went this way and he was banished and brought back so many times. Anyway, he was beheaded. There were a ton of rumors that Edward II and Gaveston loved each other, and that Edward II was the king but it was Gaveston that really ruled.

Anyway, that's basically it in a nutshell. I kind of went the path of Brandy Purdy in that Gaveston was very sick of his life and everyone hating him and that he wanted to be free from Edward's love, but he could never really escape him. I've kind of adopted a new theory to the whole USUK thing I named The Gaveston Theory…or something or other. Basically how their relationship is kind of like a historical representation of what happened in the 14th century between the king and his favorite. Though there are still some things I'd need to work out…hmm…

Anyway, enough of that. Comment if you want me to write more; I don't know if I will, but if it goes over well it'll get changed from a maybe to a definite maybe. Read and review, over and out! -Nibzo