Hey, this is my first Hetalia story so go easy on me. My friends got me into the show a few months ago and now thanks to Christmas I have seasons 1-4 on DVD and I'm offictially obsessed. Now all I need is Paint it White and I will be complete.
England comes back late from fighting Fance and he's drunk. Some say that drinking changes who you are and others say it just brings out the real you. Either way Colonial America's childish innocence blinds him from the truth of England's drunken intentions.
~America's POV~
I had just finished cleaning up and getting everything ready. England was coming home today! It'd been almost 5 months sense I'd seen him and I was SO excited. I can't wait till he gets home! I ran outside and got to the shore in only a few minutes. His ship should be coming in any time.
I sat on a large rock and started waiting. After about 5 minutes I got bored and started chasing crabs and playing with the minoes. It was almost 3 hours later that I started getting tired. I walked over to a shady tree at the edge of the forest and sat under it before taking a nap.
~7 Hours Later~
When I opened my eyes it was starting to get dark. The sun was setting on the horizon and the sky was tinted orange and pink. I made a mad dash for the sea shore expecting to see the ship at port. Twigs and sharp grass stabbed my bare feet but I didn't care. England was back!
When I looked at the dock though my heart sunk into my stomach. The dock was empty. The sound of heavy waves running up and down the wet sand was the only thing to be heard. No men yelling and cursing at each other, no creeking of the boat as it rocked back and forth, ... no England.
I felt warm tears prick at my eyes before falling. I ran. Through the forest, over the stream, and in the front door before slamming it shut. I cried the whole way home. I cried the whole way to my room and I cried while I thought what I had feared since he left. 'He's not coming back home...'
~England's POV~
'God am I late.' The sun was already down and the stars were showing now. I was supposed to be on land by this morning! America must be so worried. With the sun gone we docked into port and got off as fast as we could- well as fast as we could while drunk.
There wasn't much preservation of water with what a long trip it is to get from Europe to North America. Most of what everyone drank was beer and anyone who knows me knows that I'm not a good drinker. Usually I make sure to get plenty of sleep the night before getting home and wait to get a cup of tea on shore to nurse my hangover and refused anything else beforehand.
But there was a storm and the ship was set off course. We're lucky we got back as soon as we did. I stumbled my way through the woods and tripped a few times getting across the stream but I'd finally made it back home. The door to the small cabin was left unlocked and I made my way in.
The first thing I noticed when I came in was what a mess the place was but it seemed like America had done his best with tidying up. I made my way through the short hallway toward his room when I heard something. It sounded like crying.
I huried to the door and opened it to find America sitting in the corner with his knees pulled to his chest and wiping his dripping nose on his stained white gown.
~3rd Person POV~
"America?" England asked while holding his weight to the door frame with an arm. America jumped at hearing his name and looked in surprise. "What's wrong?"
"Engwand!" the colony screamed jumping up and tackling his older brother. He wrapped his arms around one of his legs and almost knocked over the drunk nation in the process. Tears of relief sprung from his eyes.
England knelt down and pulled the small colony into his arms. "Why are you crying?" He slurred. The small boy simply burst into more tears and started babbling his worries and fears with his older brother.
When his sobs were more understood than his words England simply tried to shush him the best he could and told him in little whispers that nothing bad would happen to him and that he was fine.
America understood what he said but was confused by his brother's speech problem. He didn't question it though; England was back and that was all that mattered. They hugged for a few more moments before pulling back and America wiping his nose on his sleeve again.
England's nose wrinkled in disgust. "America, don't do that. Your clothes are disgusting enough already." The small colony bowed his head and twiddled his thumbs feeling embarrassed at what his brother thought. "Well come on then," he said standing upright with the assistance of the door frame again. "Lets get you cleaned up."
They walked down the hall and to the large back-kitchen area were there was a large metal tub. England soon clumsily filled the tub with as much warm water as he could before turning to his younger sibling. He knelt down again and took hold of the bottom of his white gown.
"Arms up," he said. America did as he was told with a smile as England pulled the stained garment up and over his head leaving him in nothing but a dinghy pair of tiny briefs. England couldn't help but hesitate to continue as his eyes briefly roamed the small body in front of him.
America, tired of waiting, pulled off the last of his dirty clothes and stepped out of them before running over to the tub. The small colony running in another direction snapped the nation back to reality. Blushing from and trying to ignore the slight bulge forming in his trousers, England went over to help his little brother into the tub.
His head just barely came above it so he always needed help getting in. Any other time that he bathed without him there to help he would usually wash in the creek. England rolled up his sleeves and picked up his brother's dirt-coated body - taking the time to appreciate his dark, golden hair and sunkissed skin - before gently placing him in the metallic tub.
England pulled out a bar of soap, a cup, a rag, and a little toy boat from under the cupboard. He sat the soap, cup, and rag in the floor next him before sitting the little toy boat in the water. America grabbed hold of the small toy before looking up at England expectedly. "What?" he asked the small child indignantly.
"You're all dirty too," he said simply. It was true; over the long trip his clothes and skin were filthy with the grime only a ship of the century could cause. His hair was straw-like and salty from the sea but he smelled like old sweat and cheap beer. A smile formed on his face.
"Alright then," he slurred to his brother who only smiled innocently. "How about I hop in there too?" he asked taking off his vest and shirt. To this, America moved to the far end of the tub to make room for his big brother.
He watched as England sat down to take off his shoes and socks and then stand up to undo his trousers. As the fabric fell away from his waist and he clumsily tried to shake it off his ankles America could only cock his head to the side curiously.
He had seen England naked many times before. It wasn't uncommon for them to bathe together; but he'd never seen this before. He knew that he and England both had the same parts down there and he had asked England before why it was that he had hair down there and America didnt - to which England replied "You'll find out when you're older" - but this had him simply perplexed.
As England continued to try and pull off his pants his member stood out straight and had grown bulbous and red. Before the small colony could say anything on the matter, England had finished wrestling with his pants and had started to climb into the tub.
He let out a sigh and closed his eyes as he sunk down into the steaming water. America had started playing with his boat when England's eyes opened. He narrowed them predatorially at his little brother. The small colony took no notice of this even as his older brother pulled him over into his lap.
They sat like that for a while with America sitting sideways in England's lap still playing with the toy boat. It was only after he felt his elbow hit something hard and his older brother let out a slight groan that he looked and saw that England's erect member was standing up straight and pressed between them.
England picked up the cup that sat beside the tub while his baby brother was busy staring at his impressive need. Without his brother knowing he scooped up a cup full of the warm water and poured it over his head. America started sputtering trying to get the water out of his eyes and mouth.
England saw this as an opportunity and grabbed the soap that sat next to the tub. He began to lather it in America's hair until he complained about it stinging his eyes. Taking the cup again, he poured more water over America's head and washed away the soap.
He forgot the rag and began simply rubbing a soapy hand over his baby brothers soft skin. America kept trying to play as much as he could but his big brother wouldn't let go of him long enough for him to. As England's hands trailed lower on the innocent child's body he began to linger on the soft flesh longer.
When he finished trailing soapy hands down his baby brother's delicate chest, an arm was wrapped around the child pulling its back against the nations stomach as another hand delve between the innocents legs. Gruff, slick fingers worked their way around the small member not even 2 inches long.
His fingers slowly stroked off his small sibling as he began lightly grinding his now throbbing need against the child's back. With all this going on all America wanted to do was go to the other side of the tub with the toy boat. No matter how strong the boy was though, he couldn't get his big brother to let go of him to get there.
In average years, America was over 50. In the years only the personifications of land masses could live, he was barely 4. He didn't understand what was happening. England had never acted this way before. He remembered the last time he saw his brother, Kanata. He had said that France would always do strange things like this when he came home.
Maybe England was spending too much time with the Frenchman and he was starting to rub off on him. He hoped not. Kanata had said that sometimes France would do things that hurt but he couldn't remember what he had said those things were.
He remembered his brother crying and holding onto him like his life depended on it. "It hurt so bad," he had said through choking sobs. America could do nothing but comfort his brother and offer him a place to stay. It was declined. "I still love Papa," he had told him.
It hurt him to see his brother go back home. He knew that now France was probably either with him or on his way. He hated France for hurting his brother. But now would England hurt him? He was starting to get scared, especially when his grip tightened around him and he started grinding harder and groaning loudly.
He cried out when he couldn't breathe anymore. England immediately let go of him and America ran to the opposite side of the tub as fast as he could. His sore back was pressed against the metal tub and he just knew that there would be a bruise there later.
England looked down at his little brother who was staring at him with fearful eyes that were still red and puffy from earlier as they once again filled with tears. His heart sunk knowing that he was the one that caused those tears but another organ simply twitched with excitement.
His two heads were arguing with each other now. The one perched on his shoulders said to stop this, to apologise for what he had done and never touch him in any way, shape, or form again; the head that sat between his legs was begging him not to stop, to reach out and ignore what America says, to touch to boy and to use him.
With the argument still raging on a shaky hand reached out and took hold of the small boy's arm gently. England stayed silent for a moment, his face holding no emotion as America's fear-filled eyes stared into England's that were oddly large and trying to focus.
The room was silent and the water was getting cold. "You're clean enough," said the intoxicated nation, breaking the silence. With wobbly arms he lifted up his little colony and sat his wet body on the wooden floor.
America stood there for a moment as his big brother grabbed the wash cloth and wet it in the soapy water before wiping his own face and standing up to get out himself. He noticed that his brothers member still stood at attention. "Why are you acting so weird?" he asked quietly.
England looked down at his baby brother not knowing what to say. 'Because you're just so cute,' a voice in his head told him as he saw how red the child's boyhood had become from his rough touches. 'Because you're a sick, disgusting monster,' said another.
"I don't know," he had told him honestly. He needed to get a hold of himself if he didn't want to hurt the child. 'In more ways that one,' he thought to himself as his need throbbed painfully.
Without another word he went over and grabbed 2 towels out of the cupboard and gave one to America before drying himself. He took no time seeing as how he was barely in the water at all. When he had finished he turned to America to see that he was just wrapped in the towel and didn't make an effort to really dry himself beyond that.
England just sighed and made his way down the hall again to get some clothes. He kept his towel wrapped around his waist to try and hide how hard he was. America trailed behind him and went into his brother's room.
Two oil lamps were lit by the older of the two and he watched as England went to his dresser and pulled out a nightshift. When England turned and saw his brother standing behind him he sat down his own nightclothes and got out some for his colony. Which consisted of a clean, billowy, white gown much like the one that was removed earlier.
He didn't bother getting any underclothes for him, knowing that he'd be fine to put them on in the morning. He simply tossed the white fabric in his little brother's direction before turning around again to look for nothing in particular if only as a distraction.
He turned when he heard struggling and saw that his little brother couldn't get his head through the hole. He knew he was going to regret this. He stepped forward and undid the top button on the shirt before quickly pulling it down over his head.
~England's POV~
His hair was sopping wet but I shooed him out of the room and told him to go to bed before I slammed the door shut and leaned my body against it. With him gone my own nightclothes were forgotten as the towel fell to the floor and my hand reached down to work out the throbbing pain between my legs.
This was wrong. This was horribly wrong. I wanted to open the door again and pull my little brother out of bed. I want to take him back to my room and take back off those angel white clothes. I wanted to touch him; I wanted to have him touch me. 'What is wrong with me?'
I walked over and blew out the oil lamps as I felt myself starting so sober up and a headache starting to settle in behind my eye. My hand never left my groin for a moment as I did this, or as I slipped under the covers of my bed, as I reached into the drawer of my bedside table and pulled out the slick oil.
The only time I took my hand away was when I coated it in the runny liquid and cap off the vile before throwing it back into the open drawr. It didn't rest for long before getting it back to work with renewed agility. All I could think of was him. I thought about how soft his bare skin was and how delicious it would taste. I thought about how strong he was and how he could use that grip in the most perverted ways possible.
With everything on my mind I didn't hear the door creak open. I sat in my bed with the blankets only covering my legs as I shamefully pleasures myself to the thought of those bright blue eyes. It was only then that I realized how loud I was being.
Moans cascaded from my lips at the thought of his on my own. 'Amongst other places,' a voice in my head said. 'Go get him,' it whispered to me. I took a quick glance at the door before looking away, telling myself that I couldn't. 'Wait, why is it open!?'
"Engwand?" asked a small, familiar voice. I froze before rushing to cover my shame with the blanket. I looked and saw that he was standing beside my bed looking at me with big, curious eyes. "What are you doing?" he questioned innocently.
Innocence. Innocence is what coated every fiber of his being. It was what made him who he was. 'I want to destroy it.' "N-nothing!" I said a little too loudly. To this he simply cocked his head to the side. 'Those eyes.' I could feel myself twitch at the sight of them. 'And those soft, warm lips...'
"You're lieing," he said crossing his arms. His bottom lip stuck out in a stubborn pout. 'Oh God, you're killing me.' I wanted him so badly. The voice in my head that didn't care about the repercussions of such things spoke aloud now.
"All right then," it said. "You've caught me. Come up here and I'll tell you." Before I could think of stopping he was already struggling to get on the bed. I quickly grabbed the back of his nightgown and pulled him up. He landed face down.
As he tried to right himself his gown had flown up showing off his tight little hole between those soft cheeks. I couldn't take it anymore. "Take off your clothes," I told him. He gave a cute, confused look that was coming close to breaking me.
"Why?" he asked. He looked like an angel. God had sent me him. He must have the wrong address because there were demons here. He should have known that this gift of pure innocence wouldn't last.
"Do you want to find out or not," I hissed through clenched teeth. He looked frightened now. His wide, blue eyes stared back at mine. He started to move back to the edge of the bed.
"Maybe I should just go back to bed," he said as a leg moved to touch the floor. I was done playing. I grabbed hold of his arm and threw him under me as I hovered over him. He screamed from surprise and pain from the rough treatment but I didn't care.
A demon had truly taken over me. A demon that forced my lips against my baby brother's. A demon that didn't waste the time to remove the clothing but instead grabbed hold of the front of the nightgown with both hands and ripped it open.
This demon was evil. This demon was putting his mouth on my baby brother's body and bit down on the soft babyfat on his shoulder. This demon was making an angel cry and scream in pain.
I hated this demon for touching and hurting what I held dearest to myself in the word. I hated myself for not stopping him.
When the demon tasted blood he reached a hand down and touched himself while his lips trailed lower on the angel. He wrapped his lips around the cherub's small, limp shaft and started sucking on it harshly.
The cherub screamed out pleas and begs as he tried to push the demons head away from his extremities. The demon let go with a popping sound and set his lips next to the small charab's ear. "If you do as I tell you, I'll stop being so rough," he whispered huskily. The frightened cherub emitted a shudder.
"O-ok," he said through choked back sobs. The demon's lips curled into a sadistic smile.
"Good boy," it breathed. The demon sat up and took a closer look at the injured cherub. The bite wasn't deep but it still drew blood. Tears coated his face and his fearfilled eyes were red and puffy.
The demon's smile grew wider. He leaned down and the cherub shut his eyes and turned away from fear. The demon was not amused. He grabbed hold of the cherub's hair and forced the small innocent to face him. "Open your eyes," it snarled.
The cherub shook with fear but did as he was told. Fresh tears rolled down his face.
~America's POV~
This wasn't England. It couldn't be. England would never hurt me. I didn't know who this was but he wanted me to look at him. He wouldn't let me look away.
His hand was moving between his legs but I couldn't see; he had too tight of a grip on my hair for me to see but it was probably what he was doing earlier when I came in. I didn't know why he would touch himself the way he was. I didn't know why he kept saying my name while he did it but it didn't seem right.
My shoulder hurt and I could feel something wet around it. It was probably blood. This stranger leaned down and put his lips on mine again. It wasn't as rough this time though but I still didn't like it. His tongue slipped out and licked my lips. When I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing his tongue darted in.
It started choking me but I couldn't bite down. He would start hurting me again if I did. After a minute or two he pulled back and I started coughing while I tried to catch my breath. He sat up and pulled me in front of him by my hair. He let go of me and I opened my eyes again to see the bulbous length sticking out and pointing at me.
"Touch it," I heard him say. It scared me. It seemed even bigger and redder than before and now there was something white dripping from the tip of it. When i looked back up to his face he looked like he was getting mad again. I didn't want him to hurt me.
I reached out a shaky hand and touched the tip, avoiding the white stuff coming out of it. He let out a groan and put his hand over mine. He made me put my hand in the white stuff and started to have me repeat what he had been doing earlier.
My hand couldn't go all the way around it so he made me start using both. After a few minutes he tightened his grip so that I had to too. Once I'd done that he let go and left my hands where they were. I was about to take my hands away when he said "I didn't tell you that you could stop."
I went back to what I was doing before. He leaned back on his hands and watched me. He kept saying things like "Good boy" and saying my name but I didn't want to see his face while he talked like that. I started crying again. "Look at me," he whispered.
The tears streamed down my face and fell off my chin as I looked up at him. His face was red and he was breathing hard. 'Those eyes aren't England's. England's eyes are kind and intelligent. These eyes have a look that I don't understand.'
"Open your mouth," he said. More tears fell and landed on his spread thighs. He started to look angry again. "Open. Your. Mouth," he seethed. I opened my mouth a little hoping that it was enough to please him. "Wider." I opened just a little wider. "Wider." I opened my mouth as wide as I could without straining my jaw.
He reached up a hand and put it on my head before gently pushing it down to put the tip of the length in my mouth. I had to keep my mouth opened as wide as I could to fit it around his girth. He pushed me down farther to take in about two more inches before I gagged.
He moved slowly at first. He gripped my hair again and had me bob my head up and down on him like he made me do with my hands. It didn't take long before he started to speed up and I was already having an impossible time trying to breathe.
It was no time before I was gagging uncontrollably. I had almost lost consciousness when he let me come up for air. "Now lets get to the REAL fun," he said sadistically. Everything was already so horrible; how much worse could this get?
He reached into his opened dresser drawer and pulled out a half-full vile plugged with a cork. 'What would he do with that?' He popped the cork top off and let some of the liquid inside drip on his fingertips. He coated them and then pushed me over to lie on my back.
His hand rested on my chest as he rubbed his fingers together before sliding one between my cheeks and pressing into my small hole. He was using his pinky but it was too much. It hurt so bad that I started to scream.
He payed no attention to me. He pushed down to the second knuckle before starting to pull it out. When he was almost out though he pushed back in more roughly and this time went down to the third knuckle.
I screamed every time he pushed in and cringed every time he pulled out. After a while though it started to hurt less. I stopped screaming. BIG mistake. He pushed in a second finger and I screamed louder than I had in my life.
This time he held them there and started to kiss the tears pouring down my face. The pain stayed longer than before and he moved after my screams and sobbed turned to sniffles and hiccups. After that he moved his fingers again a few times before pulling them out all the way and letting go of me.
I rolled over onto my side and tried to hide in the blankets with more tears in my eyes. I looked to see him pouring the last of the vile into his hands before reaching down and coating his member in it.
He was staring me in the eye while he did this, his sick smile growing wider. 'Oh God, no. He wouldn't. Would he?' He pulled the blanket from my naked body and grabbed my arm, yanking me forward.
He held me above his lap and made me put my legs on either side of him. I didn't think that my legs could stretch that far with how much bigger he was than me. He spread my cheeks and positioned himself at my already sore entrance. "P-please..." I begged hoarsely.
He lowered me onto the tip and pushed me down slowly. I clenched my eyes shut and opened my mouth for an ear-splitting screech. It never came. It hurt more than anything else in my whole life. My nails dug into his shoulders as I tried to push him away.
I wanted to die. Why couldn't he just kill me? At least I wouldn't suffer this way anymore. He pushed it all the way in before lifting me up again to pull it out to the pushed me down faster this time. Why can't I scream?
When he pulled out again I looked and saw droplets of blood coming with it. Now I was getting even more scared. He pushed it back in again. Sobs escaped my lips again. With it still in, he moved so that I was laying on my back and he was on top of me.
He held onto my hips as he started pulling out slowly before slamming back in. I kept crying and trying to look away from him when he grabbed me by my hair and made me face him. "Open your eyes and look at me," he breathed.
I just tried to pull away before he pulled hard on my hair. "I said open you eyes and look at me!" he screamed. I opened my eyes to see a sick, murky green that seemed more like scum from a pond than the bright emerald green that I saw in England. But then again, this wasn't England.
Everything he did hurt so bad. But it wasn't long until him slamming himself into me was completely distracted by his eyes. I wanted to look away. I wanted to disappear. I wish I never existed. His thrusts got even faster and rougher. He just kept staring into my eyes.
He let out a low moan and I felt a greater pressure build up inside me as his thrusts turned slow and deliberate. He pulled all the way out and planted a soft kiss on my lips before rolling onto his side and curling up to me.
His length was no longer swollen but it was red with streaks of blood. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest. My backside throbbed with pain. I was facing away from him but I could feel him hands rub up and down my thighs.
He reached up to cup my cheek in his hand and caressed it for a few moments before trying to turn me to face him. I pulled away and hid my face in the pillow. I never wanted to see him again. I wanted England back. I want my big brother.
He gave up without a fight about me looking at him after that. But his hands never left my body. Before long his mouth was placing small kisses on my neck where he'd bitten me. I looked over and saw my ripped gown on the edge of the bed.
I didn't cry anymore. My throat hurt too much but I wasn't out of tears. They fell silently onto the pillow. The stranger reached over and pulled the blanket over the both of us. My eyes throbbed in time with my lower half from pain.
My eyes hurt from crying. His embrace frightened me but it seemed like he was done hurting me for now. I closed my eyes. I didn't go to sleep though. At least I don't think I did. But all I heard after that was a whisper. "I'm sorry," it said. "I'm so sorry." After that the world went black.
Now I know what some of you are thinking. "WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" My responce to that is "Do you want me to write the list in alphabetical order or least disturbing to most? Or do you mean just one thing that stands out above all the others?"
Anyway, I'm thinking about making a sequil to this. It's either going to be about what's happening at the moment to Kanata (French Colonial Canada) or older America reliving supressed memories about his childhood and stumbling apon this.
Tell me what you think and your ideas about the sequil in a review.