Anonymous said:

"Are you still writing? If you are could I request a oneshot of SpUk please? I'm sorry if this came across as rude or pushy I've just been seeing a few posts here and there and I really enjoy your writing"

Spain isn't grinning anymore. England walks around him in a slow circle, refusing to smile, but he throws back his shoulders and lets Spain's sword drag on the planks. Oh, poor Spain.

"First ship you have caught in a while?" Spain asks, finally, tilting his head.

England doesn't let this affect him. "You can say what you want, but it's your boat sinking into the sea, isn't it?" England gestures with Spain's sword. "It makes quite the majestic picture, there, doesn't it? Disappearing into the waves? Poetic."

Spain doesn't look, but England can see how relaxed he's making himself. Too relaxed. Spain shrugs.

"Those who don't win many victories, ah, dwell on the small stuff."

…

Spain meets England's eyes over the top of the board. The edges of his eyes always crinkle when he smiles, and England knows that Spain's figured out where something is. He looks over his shoulder, calls out something to someone, and England is tempted to look around the board.

"Are you getting nervous?" he asks, glancing back at England.

"Why would you say something like that?" England murmurs. "Perhaps you're projecting. How many battleships have I sunk, again? You're the one who was scowling not a few minutes ago."

Spain laughs, and England frowns.

"Are you going to make your shots?"

Spain shrugs. "You are funny when you're angry."

England makes to stand, and Spain hold out a hand, tries to make his face serious and sincere.

"Ah, calm down! We still have all lunch to finish the game! And I'm sure we will have another recess. You will get a win, eventually."

…

"You're here on strictly legal means?" England asks.

He wishes Spain would look at him, but all the nation can stare at is that swift, thin ship sitting in the harbor. England clears his throat, and Spain finally looks over at him, gives a little shrug.

"What else would I be here for?"

England scoffs. "Are you really asking me that? Everyone under the bloody sun knows you enjoy a little 'officially sanctioned' privateering on the side of your ambassador duties. And then you just show up in a port town? Get out."

Spain gives another little shrug. "Ah, you make it sound so dirty. Is a little hobby." Spain grins. "Just a hobby. No different than attending kings." He switches to Spanish. "And besides, there's nothing wrong with lining the coffers. I get bored."

England struggles to keep up with the language. "Your colonies do not keep you busy?"

"Ah, they do how they do. Mainly, complain and don't produce what's expected them. It's a long journey over there, you know? If I see a foreign ship…" He grins. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"I never said there was." England's eyes skip over the ship. It is beautiful though, isn't it? "I just do not—" He switches to English. "I don't want you sniffing around my land, do you understand?"

Spain laughs. "Okay."

…

Germany calls out, warns the meeting will begin again in a few minutes. England wants to throw the board after the German as he turns to leave, but only Spain replies they'll be there in a minute.

"I fucking hate this game," England spits.

"Really?" Spain hasn't reminded England it's his turn. "I do. I think it's fun. Not as much fun as cannonballs, but torpedoes are not that different." He leans back in his chair, crosses his legs. "Remember that one time you left me on an island?"

"No, I don't," he says quickly. "B-six."

"Miss."

England let out a sharp sigh. "We need to get to the meeting."

Spain's face falls. "I'm sure you will hit something eventually."

"I'm pretty sure you don't even put any pieces on the board!" He smooths out his suit. "I have actual work to do. Unlike some of us, I believe in paying attention and trying to better myself through—"

Spain sighed. "Alright, fine. I'll get France to play."

England is still angry. "Fine!"

Spain shrugged.

…

The sea crashes and turns underneath the boat, and it looks much more appealing. England stand at the edge of the plank, backwards, his heels hanging off. The rope is already uncomfortably tight.

"What can I say, you inspired me!" Spain laughed, and his crew broke into uneasy chuckles. "I burn on an island until some poor fisherman finds me, and then I spend all this time tracking you down, and you're pretending to be a gentleman!"

England doesn't bother responding in Spanish. "I am a gentleman."

Spain makes a face, but England doesn't play into it.

"And now you do not even speak Spanish!" Spain's smile is strained. "Do not say you are not going to play along anymore."

England glares. "Let me go."

"Why do you pretend—"

"Spain, let me go right this instant."

Spain frowns. "Why do you pretend you don't have fun doing this?"

Because it isn't healthy. Because it's too fun, because each time England leaves, pillages, he doesn't want to step back on land. He wants to ride those seas until he becomes them. Flooded by the ocean.

Primal. It isn't good.

"Doesn't your monarchy need you to do actual work? Attending to colonies—"

"I attend to them," Spain interjects. "That's fun, too."

England can feel his face slowly roasting under the sun. It's been a while since he's been out on the deck of a ship. Politics called him away, and he had almost forgotten the sun could be this bright.

Spain lets out a savage laugh. "Fine, then. Don't." He reaches forward and grabs the rope, drags England back onto the deck of the boat. "You would have looked better than a sail hanging on my boat," Spain mutters.

…

England likes seeing Spain chained on the deck of his ship. He can see Spain's jaw clench and relax, see him pull, test the caliber of the chains. The smoke billows away from the sinking ship, and England's happy he can breathe deeply and enjoy the sight.

"How long are you going to keep me?" Spain asks.

England walks back around. "Oh, well, that depends. Last time I allowed you on my boat, you proceeded to steal my fine china after swearing on your good Pope you wouldn't cause havoc."

Spain grits his teeth. "Oops."

England unsheathes Spain's sword, examines the blade. "Perhaps I should just demand a ransom from your country."

Spain watches him.

"Perhaps, I should just lock you down below and hope a canon blows a hole through your stomach. Or hang you from the sails, rope around your throat. Too bad I already sank your boat, or I would have pillaged it for everything of value."

Spain smiles. "Ah, you're still angry about the coast of Africa, aren't you?"

England stiffens. "Excuse me?"

Spain eyes widen. "You are!" He laughs. "Are you angry I smashed that nice little gift for your colony? The nice machine?"

The crew members begin to stir, whisper to one another. England whirls around and they quiet. He turns back to Spain and steps closer, tests the weight of the sword in his hand. Spain is naturally relaxed now, hands loose behind his back.

"I didn't—"

England runs the sword through Spain, leaves it in, supports Spain's weight as his knees give out. "You annoy me, you uncouth fucking pirate." He lets the sword and Spain drop and walks away. "Where's the nearest island?"