Warnings: Sensitive material

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

~Think Of England~

Lie back and think of England.

When the phrase came about, it was an instruction given to brides and woman in general in the Victorian era regarding on how to cope with the sexual demands of their husbands. Because childbearing was considered a patriotic duty, women were not supposed to enjoy sexual intercourse; they were told to lie back, close their eyes, spread their legs, and think of England.

Of course, the women of the time probably thought of the country itself, with its gray skies and beautiful buildings, rolling green hills and magnificent castles. They thought of tea and scones, crackling fires, laughter around a pub with warm gin and tonic resting in their stomachs. They thought of a bath waiting for them when it was over, a chance to complain about it at afternoon tea while they embroidered with their lady friends.

America instead thought of a man a few inches shorter than himself, with hair the color of straw and skin pale and creamy. He thought of thick, dark-haired eyebrows over amazing toxic-emerald green eyes, of the smallest little dusting of freckles on each of his cheeks, so light and tiny that you had to be extremely close to see. He thought of lithe, lean limbs and a beautiful smile.

At first, America thought that perhaps he could pretend that it was England who was doing these things to him.

But England would never do this. England wouldn't shove him back and climb on top of him with terrible intent, wouldn't touch his stomach and his chest with such pinching, painful hands. Those hands… they grabbed his hair and forced his head back, exposing his neck for teeth and lips to bite and tear, pressed down with such a hard, awful force on his ribs and on his sides. They pinned his wrists above his head and dug sharp nails into his skin, forcing beads of blood out and around the fingers.

England would never humiliate America in this way.

The times that England did top, he did so with such care and love that America practically had to beg for him to remember that he was, in fact, a superpower and could therefore handle himself. Despite those words though, America was never left wanting, always feeling as though he was truly cared for, and while neither of them particularly liked that positioning as a regular occurrence, it was never bad.

America had asked England once why he preferred to be on the receiving end and was a bit startled by his answer; he'd spent his entire life conquering and dominating and taking what he wanted, but he never received love, never experienced a situation in which defeat and humiliation wasn't a factor. Now that America was in his life as someone who did in fact love him, he wanted to receive that care and have that ability to receive and enjoy affection that he had rarely been given.

Lie back and think of England.

So America found that he couldn't imagine England as the one above and over him.

He still thought of him, though.

He wondered where he was, if he had realized America was gone yet or not. Probably. America had left him sleeping, with a kiss to his forehead and a note on the coffee table, telling him not to worry and that he was just going to visit China. Of course this was a lie, but America figured that because of the time difference, if England did in fact question the letter and called up China, the older nation wouldn't pick up a phone call at three in the morning. And that bought America a bit more time.

England wasn't stupid, though. He would call around, try and locate exactly where America had gone. Japan, Canada… they would all be contacted, and none of them would be able to tell him.

And when America got back, he wouldn't tell either, because he knew. He knew how England would react.

It's wasn't as though America had known exactly what to expect, though. He knew that back in the days of Empire's, in the days when he had been nothing more than an infant in the arms of Native America, that nations would rape and plunder, conquer or be conquered. It was an awful time, and he had heard stories of it. More than once, England had woken up screaming about some nation or another, scrambling to try and run away, tangled up in sheets, and America would hold him and remind him of the time they were really in.

But America wasn't as old and experienced as most of the countries, and when the deal had been offered, he had taken it without a second thought.

Lie back and think of England.

He had of course done this for England in the first place, so he had to think of him even if he didn't want to. It had to have been a quick decision- his boss couldn't be involved in this. Eventually he'd find out, of course, but for now, America couldn't have let anything stop him or get in his way.

America had had sex before England.

It was a way of trying to maintain peace, to try and stabilize failing allies and treaties and even to prevent war. America's first time had been with France for the Louisiana Purchase. There had been Russia during the Cold War. There had been South Korea in the Korean War. It was all mutual business, something they all had to do without feelings and without emotions.

But what America considered his first time was with England, because he had been human, because there were feelings behind it.

America felt human right now.

He felt scared and humiliated and hurt. There was no business to this other than the personal ones, there was hatred and fear. He felt as though he were being ripped apart, as though he was being suffocated. There was hot breath on his ear and sweaty hands on his chest and arms, the feeling of being violated and put through pain as legs gripped his hips and awful, horrible green eyes looked down at him.

Lie back and think of England.

Green was America's favorite color, above even red, white, and blue. A specific green that he had yet to find anywhere other than England's eyes. The green above him right now was nothing like that.

England's eyes had been so scared.

America couldn't let him feel like that again, not now, not ever. When he had walked in and saw those eyes, he had felt so hopeful, so relieved… and then he saw the bruises, the cuts, the swollen lips. He had seen England bound and tied and so utterly defeated his heart had physically hurt.

The deal had to have been made, it had to.

Because America was going to protect England with everything he had, and if giving up his body was the price, he paid it.

Above him, words were slipping out from lips, marred by a thick accent. Words that America didn't understand, words in a language so old no one remembered it anymore. But in between those nonsense words was America's own name, said with a slurred lust.

It was disgusting.

But England wouldn't ever be taken again, would never have to be beaten and hurt and put through pain.

And that was why he was here with fire licking up his spine and pain searing through his entire being.

Lie back and think of England.

America was thankful that his body didn't betray him. He felt nothing but hurt and pain, and that was good. There had been no pleasure, not a single thing, and when he was filled, he had felt nothing but disgust.

A hand came down to him, as though to finish him off, but there was nothing to finish, and it went away.

The weight left him and he lay there, staring at the ceiling.

The bed shifted and something was picked up from the floor, something pulled out of a pocket. A snap, a click, and then the smell of tobacco filled the air.

"Want a fag?"

How dare he act civil.

"Eh, never mind."

The bed creaked and the mattress moved again. America forced his gaze down, looking at the naked man at the foot of the bed, at the cigar clamped between his teeth.

"Best lay I've 'ad in a while," A long drag was taken from the cigar, and smoke curled up through the air. "If ya 'ad let yerself enjoy it, ya could've gotten off too."

In hell.

"I won't touch 'im again," Smoke was exhaled from his nostrils. "Now tha' this has happened. Don' forget that I get yer vote at the next meetin' as well. And the land, once I've gotten what's needed."

America stared at him.

"… an' if ya ever get bored with my wee little brother," the country smirked. "Come on back 'ere, and I'll show ya a real good time."

Silence.

"Dun look at me like that, lad. I told you I was gonna be takin' what I needed from ya, so ya can't call it rape. How's England going to take that, I wonder… when he finds out ya had a shag with his older brother…?"

England was never going to find out.

"He'll not be pleased, I reckon. Might just leave ya, might throw somethin'- you can never tell with me little brother. But he'll be safe, right? I bet that's all worth it to you, huh… yer precious 'Arthur' all safe from his older brother, hmm? Comfortin', I bet… even if he hates you forever. Maybe he'll find another lover, someone who at least-"

America lashed out with his legs, his foot landing a solid kick to Scotland's neck, the heel of it hitting a pressure point. Scotland didn't have time to make a single sound- the cigar fell from his lips and he slumped over. He waited a few moments before sitting up, pain shooting up his spine. He reached for his clothes, hand trembling, but instead curled up into himself and retched over the side of the bed.

Lie back and think of England.

England was safe.

That was all that mattered.

A/N: …

Scene from a RP done with a friend a while ago, haha… ha… yeah.

Hopefully you understand, but plot was that England = kidnapped by Scotland, Wales, and N. Ireland, who want to be soverign nations/represent the UK/are being stupid. America rescues him with a promise to Scotland that he'd give him something if they left England alone. So he goes back to him and makes a deal- Scotland, Wales, and N. Ireland have the American government's support of becoming independent and they get a teeny bit of land that America owns. Scotland, however, wishes to hurt England and America BOTH, so he basically rapes America. Well, America agrees without knowing: signs a paper and then finds himself being forced into bed.

SO.

YEAH.

Read and review, I suppose… O.o

(RP had a happy ending, by the way :P)