Hello again! I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone again for taking the time to drop me a kind word or two - and I apologize that this update did not happen sooner.
Taking the suggestions left by a few of you, I made up my mind that I wouldn't try so hard to censor the mature nature of my story elements as much. So, with that said:
Warning: The end of this installment includes sexual situations between two individuals. I have also included a segment that I had edited out of a previous installment. I make no promises about my ability to write sex scenes well. It isn't something that I have explored much in my writings. Please let me know if the style works (and isn't rushed, forced, etc.). I am always looking to improve on my skills so that I can be more entertaining to you lovely readers! For now, proudly sail with me on the flagship of the UK/US Navy - ahoy!
World Conference – 1845
It was a definite climate shock to be in Russia's territory. America had experienced a few winter storms during his time in the northern part of his own home – this, however, was an unending cold the like of which he'd never previously known. He was fortunate that Canada had sent him a letter in time to warn him about what to expect from the weather. America had been able to scrounge up some extra items to wear for the trip; gloves lined with fur, a jacket padded similarly by the local natives that he often visited. They had even given him a hat that covered most of his head, with drooping flaps of fur that hung over his ears to protect them from the cold.
He felt ridiculous. He was pretty sure that he looked ridiculous. And to top off that potential for humiliation was the fact that he still felt really cold. America touched absently at his face to adjust his glasses. They were also new and he certainly was not used to them yet. They'd only been finished just days before his voyage, and though he'd checked himself over and over again in the mirror and had decided that they didn't look too bad on him, America was still self-conscious about showing up to the meeting in them.
When he arrived at the complex, America handed his luggage over to the Russian attendants that greeted him, glad that one of them could speak English enough for him to communicate. That helped him to get a sense for when the actual meetings would start, where the nations would gather, and where his lodgings were assigned. It made him feel better seeing that everyone else here was dressed in similar fashion, though these Russian citizens struck him as a serious sort of people. America smiled at the man who was carrying his other case of luggage as they walked towards the boarding rooms. "So, do you know who I'm going to be bunking with?"
The man led them to a door without responding to the question or the smile. He took a key out of his pocket to unlock it, pressing it open to reveal the room inside. It had a rustic, cabin-like feel. America could certainly handle sleeping in a place like this – he had a place just like it back home. Once America's case had been set down, the man handed him over the key, stating simply, "You will be staying with our delegate from Russia."
"Okay, well, thank… you…" America trailed off as the man marched from the room without even giving him enough time to speak. He glanced down at the key in his hand and tucked it into the pocket of his coat. It appeared that he was going to be rooming with the host nation this time around. America had never met Russia, aside from casual introductions across the meeting tables. He'd always seemed so remote and unapproachable. That, and everyone else kept warning him about establishing solid relations with the frozen nation.
America had arrived well ahead of schedule. Since his itinerary was wide open, he made up his mind to explore the place and see who might have already been there. Of course, there was some risk involved that he'd run across certain nations that would have made him feel awkward if he came across them. Even after all this time, America still wasn't comfortable around France after 1803. Mexico was still very angry with him after his nation had helped with the Texas Revolution – and now that Texas had been absorbed as part of him, Mexico had made his feelings on the subject rather clear. In fact, he'd had a cactus delivered to America just last month – decorated with strange looking skulls and a large knife pointedly driven through its midsection.
Mexico had never been one for subtlety. America had been afraid to touch the thing and it had eventually frozen over on his doorstep. As much as he hoped to avoid it, the possibility of going to war with Mexico was becoming inevitable.
Then, of course, there was England. Just thinking the name of that island nation caused America to blush fiercely. He had not spoken to England since they had solidified their treaty several years back. It had been easy to avoid the older nation during the Conferences. America had been distracted with the Texas Revolution, and England had been at war with China over… well. Over something or another. Frankly, it didn't seem like England ever waited to have much of an excuse to enter into a war with another nation. As far as he had heard, England had been victorious. Again. And now the British Empire had even more colonies.
If America paid more attention to the world outside his borders, he'd probably be more informed on everything that had happened. It was just easier to focus on his own progress, his own expansion, as his territory flourished. His agricultural industry was booming as people moved further west. New, untapped resources were being discovered where they had been ignored before. America could feel himself fleshing out even more; stronger, taller – a steady, sturdy nation that was blossoming all on its own without the outside interference of others.
One day, maybe, he'd reach out and show Europe his true, real potential. For the time being he was content to let them wonder, asking questions that he dodged with vague responses, while America enjoyed the fact that he was still something of a mystery to the rest of the world. It was easier to keep his secrets guarded. He was not prepared to open up his house and receive their company just yet.
Canada knew. Once they had been back in good terms, Canada visited him several times. He had seen America's expanding maps, his notes on progress that his people had made. They never touched upon that side of things in their quest to simply enjoy each other's company now that the British and American governments had settled into a steady, if still tense, time of peace. America was all too aware that Canada absorbed all the changes taking place in America's borders, and he knew that his brother was probably reporting everything back to England. He just didn't care enough either way to raise it as an issue of contention.
America walked out into the hall shutting his door behind him as he looked back and forth to see which direction he should go. He went right, since there were voices coming from that way and America was curious to see who might have been hanging around. As he got closer, his speed began to slow as those voices started to rise, followed by the sounds of a struggle. America stuck his head around the corner to peer down the corridor to see what was going on. There were still rules regarding fights between nations during the Conference.
Of course – the Conference hadn't technically started yet.
He raised an eyebrow at the unlikely sight that greeted him. There were three nations in the hallway. The man and woman America did not recognize, but the third was unmistakably Prussia. And right now Prussia was on the floor, twisted in a rather uncomfortable position by the woman. She had his arm twisted up behind his back, a booted foot pressing him down to the floor as she glared at him. "I told you to stay away! When will you get it through your thick skull that you can't just go around doing what you want?"
The other man was plucking nervously at his garments, seeming horrified with the exchange. America wondered if he was more fearful of Prussia or of the woman. Prussia was groaning where his face was buried in the floor, turning his head to growl up at her. "You damn harpy! Just wait until I get up off this floor – I'll make you sorry."
"You have already made me sorry." She snapped harshly down at him. "Sorry that I ever made any association with a spoiled brat like you!"
Prussia looked like he was in a lot of pain. America wanted to simply walk away and let them have it out, but he would have felt guilty leaving his old ally in such a predicament. With a sigh, America came out into the hallway, walking towards them with a polite smile. "Is there a problem here?"
When he interrupted their argument, the woman released Prussia with a scowl. She took her foot off the other nation's back, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. "There's no problem, aside from Prussia being Prussia."
"I can understand how that might be a problem," America said pleasantly, "though I don't think attacking him is worth the risk of being forced out of the Conference." He ignored the dirty look that Prussia gave him for the comment, America extending a hand to help the other nation up.
Prussia just swatted the offered hand aside and climbed to his feet without assistance. He clutched his shoulder, rolling it around to check that nothing was broken or sprained. Red eyes glared at each of them before he gave a flourish of his cloak, a finger stabbing itself in the woman's direction. "You may have caught me unawares today, Hungary, but next time you will not be so lucky. Stupid, ugly, man-thing!" Prussia righted his hat where it had gone askew on his head, stomping away from them once he'd made his warning clear.
"I should have brought my frying pan to hit him with." Hungary said sullenly after the other nation had gone, curling a fist against her hip.
The other man shook his head, still in awe of everything he'd just witnessed. "It would not have done any good. Nothing gets through his skull, not even pain." He turned towards America with a wry smile. "I am very sorry that you had to see our altercation. We are normally much better behaved than this." Extending his hand out to America, he introduced himself. "I am Austria. This, as you may have overheard, is Hungary. We have the distinct misfortune of being neighbors to Prussia."
"You have my sympathies." America said lightly as he clasped the other nation's hand. "I'm America. It's a pleasure to meet you both."
"You're America? Britannia's old colony?" Austria asked in disbelief.
America slumped a little. "Do people still think of me that way?"
Hungary laughed. She was rather lovely when she wasn't committing violence. "Not all of us, no. I suppose Austria is just surprised – we had expected you to be different. More like Britannia in demeanor."
"Trust me – I am very far from Britannia in demeanor." America assured them as he waved his hands in the air. "Luckily, there isn't much that I retained from my time with him, aside from a few key things."
"That is good to hear." Austria murmured. He didn't seem to be a fan of the island nation. America wondered why but decided not to ask. Austria gestured down the hall. "We were just on our way to the dining hall for an early lunch when Prussia found us. If you aren't busy, you are more than welcome to join us for a meal."
"I'd like that." America answered. The mention of food made his stomach growl as if on cue. He patted it with a smirk. "I haven't ever had the cuisine from this far to the East – I'm curious to try it."
After he'd shared an enjoyable lunch with Austria and Hungary, America parted company with the pair on his way back towards his room. While he had enjoyed the conversations that they'd shared, the young nation had the impression that his presence there was something of a distraction. They obviously cared for each other considerably. It was rather sweet to think that such a relationship could be possible between nations. America had never experienced something like it – though he supposed, in a way, that his colony days under England's care had been similarly close. Before everything had gone sour.
His thoughts about that certain nation worked as some sort of summons. As America returned to the door of his room to change for the meeting, he came across one of the few individuals he had been hoping to avoid. By the look on England's face, the surprise was mutual. The older nation's green eyes were enlarged with shock. As usual, England recovered his composure first and settled immediately into a scowl – apparently his favorite expression for America. "America. What… what on earth is on your face?"
"My glasses?" America touched two fingers to the earpiece as he adjusted them. "Too many nights staying up reading with too little light, I guess. Either that, or else Mexico figured out some way to put a curse on me – I'm still undecided. Why do you ask?"
"They don't suit you."
America snorted. Leave it to England to practically greet him with an insult. He forced a smile, knowing that it didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps if I maintained a healthy diet of conquering the world on a daily basis then my eyesight might be as pristine as yours. Unfortunately, I've had my energy invested into other ventures."
An argument formed on the tip of England's tongue, America bracing to receive the scathing retort that would undoubtedly follow his own insult towards the older nation. Instead, England's cheeks colored as he averted his gaze. "I suppose I deserved that. It wasn't my intention to insult you. That appears to be an automatic habit." His eyes scanned America's face more thoroughly, looking him over. "They… look nice. On you. It… makes you seem more mature."
"I suppose that counts for something." America murmured wryly. He found it difficult to keep his eyes focused on England too long, especially when the older nation blushed like that. It conjured glimpses of memories that he'd tried hard to bury away deep in the confines of his mind. With an awkward cough, America gestured past England. "Well, I… I should get going, then. I still need to change for the meeting."
"Yes. Yes, of course." England nodded quickly, his eyes also wandering everywhere but America's face. At least he behaved as if he was just as uncomfortable with the strange tension between them. It made America feel just a bit better about his own reaction. England acted like he wanted to say more, but simply shook his head and hurried past America as he continued on his way.
America turned to watch him go. He saw England stop at the end of the hallway to glance back at him. The older nation was alarmed to be caught doing so, America left with curiosity over why England would blush so furiously as he hurried that much faster out of sight. America's hands settled on his hips with a musing sound. He was never going to be able to figure out how the hell that nation's mind worked.
"What was that about?" Canada's voice suddenly piped up from beside him, causing America to jolt in surprise.
Whirling around on his brother, America threw his hands up in the air. "Would you stop doing that? How many times have I asked you to stop sneaking up on me like this?"
Canada glared at him. "I was standing here the entire time."
"Oh. Were you?" Now America felt silly and very much like an ass. "Sorry. I guess I was just absorbed."
"Absorbed in yourself, as usual, or absorbed in Britannia?" Canada asked him, obviously feeling like being mean in retaliation of his brother's slight.
America turned his face away from his sibling. "Can we not talk about him? You know that it's a sore subject."
"If you want." Canada shrugged. "Hey, are you free right now? There's someone that I want to introduce you to. He's been staying with me these last few months while transitioning as a new British colony. I think you'd like him."
Canada looped his arm through America's, starting to pull him forward just when America started to protest. "I don't know… I don't think Britannia likes me having anything to do with his colonies much. He probably believes that I'll give you all bad ideas about independence."
"Britannia has several meetings to attend before the main conference starts." Canada explained. "He'll be occupied for hours. What goes on in the meantime is not really anything that he needs to know about, right?"
America chuckled at his brother's logic. "See what I mean? You've been hanging around me on and off and now you're doing things behind Britannia's back. Naturally, that must be my influence."
Canada led the way through the maze of lodgings. A few of the doors along the way stood open, so America was able to see some nations standing inside them. They were settling into the accommodations or preparing for the meeting, too distracted to notice him walking by. America wondered if he was going to make it back to his room in time to get ready himself. While Canada didn't seem bothered by the lack of time, he wasn't expected to perform the same duties as America, which gave him plenty of lenience.
They arrived at a door, Canada knocking briskly before letting himself inside. America hesitated at the threshold as his brother went into the room. "Hong Kong? Are you here? I have someone that I would like for you to meet."
Canada waved him inside. America shut the door behind him with a quick look around. There was a small teenager seated on the bed on the left side of the room. He was different than the Europeans that America was used to dealing with. His hair was a deep inky black, skin just as pale as the snow outside. When his face lifted so that America could see it, he saw that the teen's eyes were equally dark, with a delicate shape to them that reminded him of almonds. Those black eyes watched him without fear, or interest, or…much of anything. That vacant yet penetrating stare made him feel slightly uncomfortable.
It didn't phase Canada at all. He smiled as he placed a hand on the teenager's shoulder, gesturing towards America. "This is my brother, America, that I've told you all about. He actually made it to the Conference this year. America, this is Hong Kong – one of Britannia's latest conquests."
"Um. How do you do?" America said as a formal greeting. He stuck his hand out towards the teenager with a faint smile.
Hong Kong's eyes lowered to fixate on that extended hand. His manner was similar to that of a feline, cautious and on the verge of displeasure. America saw that his hands were swallowed up in a flowing sleeve of red fabric, his clothes very much styled in the fashion of the Orient. That was a style that America had seen glimpses of in the past and had always admired. He was curious if he could pull that kind of fashion off as well as others did. America waited patiently for the teenager to respond, until Hong Kong's hand finally emerged from all that fabric to clasp his.
Shaking it enthusiastically, America began to unleash a barrage of questions on the teenager, as all the things bubbling up in his brain boiled over. "What's the Orient like? Is it really hot there? Someone told me that you guys have actual real-live dragons – do you really have dragons in the Orient? Are they trained like dogs? Can I see one or are they invisible to foreigners?"
Hong Kong's mouth dropped open. He looked quickly away from America with a desperate gaze towards Canada. The older colony seemed to understand his difficulty, making a face at America. "If you're going to ask him questions, you'll have to ask one at a time. And ask him slowly – he's just now learning our language, America."
"Sorry." America blanched. He smiled sheepishly at Hong Kong. "I'm very sorry. I guess I got carried away there in my excitement. You're just the first non-European nation that I have officially met."
"You… are excited?" Hong Kong asked haltingly, his volume so low that America had to lean in to hear him.
"Yes. Very excited. I only know about the Orient from what I have read and heard about from sailors and merchants." America explained to the teenager. "It's always been a fascinating culture to me. I mean we're sort of like neighbors – America and the Orient, yet I don't know much about you."
Hong Kong tilted his head to the side as he considered America's words. "My… brothers are… much stronger than myself. China. Japan. Why are you excited… meeting me?"
America shrugged. "It's just like I said. You're the first member of the Orient that I've ever met. That means a lot to me just to have the honor to make your acquaintance." He smiled broadly at the teenager.
Canada sat down on the bed next to Hong Kong, who actually seemed flattered at America's frank expression. Lacing his fingers together, Canada smiled faintly up at his brother. "It's quite a shock for Hong Kong to be here at the Conference. He's had to travel quite a ways, between having to sail all the way to my home at Britannia's request, and then back here to Russia with me. As I understand it, his homeland is a very closed culture right now, similar to the others. Britannia has been too busy to help him transition into his new position as a British colony – so the rest of us have tried to do what we can to make him feel more comfortable."
"So… what's he supposed to do here, then?" America asked with a frown. "If he doesn't even really speak our language, and doesn't understand all these cultural changes, then how can Britannia expect him to possibly be happy here at the Conference?"
"You know how it is. We're here to represent Britannia's power throughout the world, to maintain the authority that he has over so many nations. The tactic has worked for him so well throughout the years – and now Britannia has quite a few of us to make him look even better." Canada murmured. He sighed, shaking his head. "It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't so boring for us. Aside from our expected appearances at the Conference, there is little else for us to do besides stay cooped up in our rooms. At least the other guys got to have rooms with a view."
America blinked confusedly. "The 'other guys'? Exactly how many of you are here for Britannia to show off?"
"Quite a few. Do you mean to tell me that you don't know about the other nations in the British Empire?"
"I haven't kept track, honestly." America shrugged dismissively despite his brother's incredulous tone. "I don't involve myself in the business of the world so long as they don't involve themselves in mine. I'm in a unique position where I can pick and choose what I want to take from the rest of the world – if it doesn't interest me then I tend not to pay much attention."
"That… is infuriatingly like you." Canada said darkly. "It must be nice to live blissfully unaware of the rest of the world. You do realize that it can't last, right? One day, whether you like it or not, you're going to have to step outside your own borders. It wouldn't hurt you to be a little informed on international matters."
America laughed. "You sound like my boss. Polk is always pretty baffled by my ability to ignore the affairs of Europe, too."
Cupping his chin with his hand, America turned an idea over and over in his mind. While it was true that he needed to be leaving soon for the meeting, he felt bad hearing his brother lament over the boredom that their predicament caused them. And having just met Hong Kong, America wasn't entirely ready to leave without delving a little further into the questions that he had for the teenager. He needed to do something about it – because America knew that if he was skilled at something, that definitely would have been problem solving. America nodded decisively. "Okay. I've got it. Canada – how many of Britannia's colonies are currently here at the Conference?"
"I guess…" Canada trailed off, doing a quick mental count, "there are about eight of us who made the trip. Why?"
America clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms against each other with a budding grin. "Because I have a great idea for something that you guys can do to keep entertained. Granted, the rules are fairly new and the general sport is still in its infancy stage, but I think you guys will get a kick out of my latest, greatest slice of American genius. Go get the other colonies and meet me outside in ten minutes."
"…Ukraine is 'present'. The United States of America." Russia looked up from the list of nations when there was no answer. His violet eyes searched the faces of the table, the small smile that curved his mouth making the nations nearest to him quickly nervous as Russia repeated his words as a query. "The United States of America?"
There were murmurs around the table. England stood up from his chair with a frown. "He should be here somewhere. I saw him just under an hour ago in the complex."
Hungary lifted her own hand into the air. "Austria and I had lunch with him this afternoon, so we can confirm that he is on the location somewhere."
Russia's smile didn't waver, despite a sudden frostiness in the room. "Hum. I see. He must be running late. Again." He turned towards an attendant standing nearby and his voice was lightly pleasant. "Would you gather some others to see where our friend from America scampered off to?"
"Actually, sir, the American is down in the courtyard with some of the other representatives and they are—" The attendant started to inform Russia as to the other nation's whereabouts, when one of the windows of the room suddenly shattered inwards as something came speeding through it. Glass shards sprayed across the table in a glittering mess, a few nations ducking instinctively to avoid getting hit by anything. Winter air whistled in through the hole in the window, sucking in some of the snow that clung to the windowsill.
England was one of the first to react, blinking in wide-eyed astonishment at the broken glass. "What the bloody hell just happened? Are we under attack?"
Russia stepped away from the head of the table. He crossed the room to where the projectile had eventually landed, crouching down to retrieve it from the floor. Russia studied the round, white ball with some interest, squeezing his fingers around it to test its firmness. "I do not think it was an attack. But there definitely had better be a good explanation for why that just happened."
America dropped the bat down to clatter at his feet, clutching his hat down further on his head as panicked horror coursed through him. His face was locked in a grimace of alarm and had been that way since the very second that the ball went sailing off the top of his bat with astonishing speed in the wrong direction. "Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please tell me that didn't just happen."
As America squeezed at his head, Australia stood up from where he'd been waiting to catch the pitch from Canada, the only colony that hadn't been bothered by the idea of being close to people's swinging bats and flying balls so near to his face. He let out an impressed whistle. "Did you see how fast it flew? You couldn't have done any better firing it out of a cannon."
Bombay was making gestures to Calcutta from his assigned base, motioning his arms in a replay of America's swing and an upward gesture to indicate where the ball had flown. India held out a palm to Gibraltar, who trudged over from the outfield with a sigh to deposit some coins in the other colony's hand, Gibraltar muttering unhappily. "I still think the bet should only apply to people getting hit, rather than objects. Him smashing the window really shouldn't count!"
"A bet is a bet. I called it." India purred as he deposited the coins into a pouch at his belt.
New Zealand gaped at them from his position mid-field. "You guys can't just go around making bets! That's so un-sportsman like." When they ignored him, he marched over to where they were standing with a growl.
Canada ran over to stand on America's other side, wincing as he saw the damage to the window. "That… is unfortunate. I did warn you that this would happen, didn't I? Do you think anyone was inside that room?"
"Yeah…" America swallowed thickly. "I'm pretty sure that's the conference room."
Hong Kong stepped over from where he had been observing the game as a referee. He looked from the window, to America, then back to the window. There were several people that were standing at the windows now – none of them looking very pleased. Hong Kong cocked his head to the left. "Would that be… a 'foul' or an 'out'?"
"That would pretty much count as a game ender." America groaned.
World Conference – 1848
Spain filled up another glass of wine for him, speaking animatedly. "I still don't see what all the fuss was about. A broken window, a minor disruption – it still boggles me that they would have sought to bar you from attending the Conference as a result. Naturally, I was not one of the nations that voted in favor of the motion."
"Naturally." America murmured with a vague smile as he picked his glass back up to sip at its contents. Spain had selected an exquisite wine to share with his guest. The nation certainly knew how to woo for favor, that much was obvious. "I was rather surprised to receive your personal invitation to attend this year's meeting. They had been rather implicit about me not being allowed to return for a full five years – I had not been anticipating another invitation until 1850."
"I tend to make my own decisions based on what I feel is right." Spain murmured as he settled back into his chair. Their table was remote from the others in the dining room. Spain, being the host nation, had explained it away as wanting to provide America with some protection from the others who might still have been bitter with him about the Baseball Fiasco of 1845, as they called it. "You have as much right to be here as anyone else, amigo. Everyone was in strange spirits during that Conference – undoubtedly the cold got to their minds. I anticipate that they will be much more forgiving this time around."
America placed his wine down with that smile still in place. He took his fork back up to return to his food. The wine had loosened him up enough that America no longer felt the need to censor his behavior. This polite charade had gone on long enough. "I anticipate that they will myself. Given my recent… discoveries, I wouldn't be surprised if all of you came falling all over yourselves to get a part of my new wealth." Spain choked on his wine at America's choice of words. He tried to look offended by the insinuation, though America lifted a hand up to calm him before Spain could speak. "It's fine. Really. You don't have to try so hard to please or impress me, Spain. I appreciate all the efforts that you've been making on my behalf, but I'm a little too modest for you to go to all this expense in an effort to earn my favor."
"I wasn't—"
"You were. I can understand your desire to acquire permission to come reap the benefits of all the gold that has been uncovered across my western lands. California has yielded an impressive harvest of wealth. More than I even know what to do with myself." America smiled at the other nation. "If you want my permission, all that you had to do was ask. Of course you have my permission, Spain. Let my bounty become yours as well."
Spain was caught off guard by America's frank demeanor. "I didn't… think that it would be that easy."
"No one ever does." America chuckled quietly. "That's why everything is so difficult between you Europeans. None of you ever consider just asking for what you want. I'm no European. I march to the beat of a different drummer." He let his fork fall to clatter on his plate, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin before America rose up from the table. Spain was still reeling over America's response to his efforts. America patted him consolingly on the shoulder. "Dinner was lovely, by the way. Thanks again for all your hard work, Spain. I'll see you around."
As he walked alone through the rest of the dining room, America knew that other nations were looking at him. They had been curious about him before and now their curiosity was partnered with a more admiring regard. Word had traveled fast through the world about his accomplishments this year. Not only had he managed to force Mexico to the south; America's consequent expansion into his newly acquired land of California had turned up a sea of gold. It amused him that he'd become one of the most popular nations in the world overnight.
In fact, it did not surprise him in the slightest when he returned to his room for the evening and found England waiting for him at the door. America smirked as he walked up to the other nation, lifting an eyebrow. "Well. Fancy meeting you here. What an unexpected surprise."
"You shouldn't be surprised to see me." England said blandly. "I heard that Spain was trying his best to win you over. I'm sure that some of the others have made advances to earn your favor already. You should have known that this would happen."
"Oh, I did. The moment they told me about the discovery, I knew that everyone's attitude towards me was going to quickly change." America hitched his shoulder in a shrug. He looked England over from head to toe. The older nation was wearing a tidy suit of black; the buttons of his silk waistcoat carved out of pearl. America's smirk increased as he reached down to finger one of them. "Look at you. You even dressed up for me – I'm impressed. Though why all the black? It's sort of funereal, isn't it?"
"I'm mourning the pride that you're undoubtedly going to make me sacrifice in an effort to earn your approval." England's voice held a trace of bitterness. He cherished his pride so much, after all, and America knew how much of an effort it was just for him to admit to wanting something. The British Empire hardly ever expressed an open desire for anything – it was so easy for them to simply take what they wanted. Now, though, they could only get what they wanted on America's terms.
"Shall we get this over with, then?" America asked mockingly, echoing back the same words that England had spoken to him years ago when their circumstances were far different. He took out his key, opening the door to his room. Spain had been so kind as to arrange a private suite for him – another effort that was wasted, but one that America would enjoy to his advantage. America gestured for England to enter ahead of him, the older nation hesitating briefly before he hardened with resolution as he went in.
America shut the door behind him and leant back against it. England had gone to stand in the center of the room. He was looking around, surveying the quality of it, though when his eyes touched upon the large bed England went scarlet and turned away from its direction. America turned the lock of the door behind him. It was fairly obvious what was supposed to happen here. The best part about it was that England had come here knowing that whatever America asked for was more or less his duty to deliver. He slid a finger up to his throat, unlacing the ribbon tied around his neck as he studied England's figure from a distance. "It seems a shame, doesn't it? Spain got me this room, with that mighty large bed, and he doesn't even get to share it with me like he'd probably intended to."
"You're saying that you have no intention to make the others do this for you?" England asked him with a scowl of disbelief.
"Nope. I'm not really interested in those kind of relations with them." America said dismissively. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he crossed the room to where England stood. The man's spine was stiff, refusing to turn around and acknowledge him. America's hands took hold of England by the hips from behind. When the elder nation would not allow his figure to be drawn backwards, America just closed the space between their bodies so that he was pressed flush against the warmth of England's back.
He bent his face in, deeply inhaling the scent of England's hair, relishing that particular mesh of smells that was distinct to that one nation alone. America's eyes slid half-mast as he studied the side of England's face from that angle, whispering to him. "You know, I'm a little drunk from the wine Spain gave me. They say that if a person gets too drunk that they can become impotent when it comes time to perform – I never have that problem myself, do you?"
England didn't answer his question. He did, however, turn a deeper shade of scarlet, saying huskily. "I didn't… I didn't bring anything to prepare for… for intercourse."
"Intercourse?" America's fingers tightened against England's body. He threw his head back with a laugh, sliding his hands up from their hold on those hips in order to clasp against England's stomach instead to keep himself steady as he laughed. "Wow. Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Who said anything about that sort of activity?"
"I had thought…" England trailed off with a frown. He pushed America's hands roughly down from his waist, forcing the younger nation to release him so that England could turn around to glare up at him. "What the hell sort of game are you playing at, America?"
"Was I playing? Funny, I don't even know what game it is that I'm supposed to be involved in." America smiled lightly down at England's angry face. "If you aren't careful, you'll give me the impression that you're disappointed that I don't want to make love to you."
England shook his head with a huff. "Forget it. You are going to make this impossible. I would rather lose out on the resources than endure having to put up with you any longer." He pulled his waistcoat straighter with a stiff motion, stepping past America towards the door.
His hand was just gripping the doorknob when England found himself driven into from behind. He grunted with pain and surprise as America sandwiched the older nation there against the wood of the door. England attempted to squirm free, though America pressed tighter until those struggles ceased. He was furious, yelling at the younger nation over his shoulder. "Stop this right now! I said that I was finished with you and I meant it. Now let me out, America."
"No. Not yet." America informed him calmly. His wine-fogged mind was relishing the feeling of having England's body so thoroughly pinned, all the hard planes and slight curves of the island nation fitting so well against the front of him. America's fingers pried the older nation's away from the doorknob, while his other hand danced down the front of England's thigh. "I'm not finished with you yet, Britannia."
He pressed his lips to the shell of England's ear, dropping his voice to a whisper. "You misunderstood me. I have no intention of going that far with you. Making love is an incredibly intimate, meaningful exchange. We have had each other, sure, but I will not take you, nor will I allow you to take me. That is not something that I could ever treat as lightly as you other nations do. When I make love, when I finally really make love, it will be for something other than greed."
America slid his hand forward. He felt England's body jerk when he grabbed him intimately through the cloth of his trousers. Apparently, England was not as unhappy with their positions as he let on, judging by the hardness of the flesh that greeted him behind the shield of that fabric. America's teeth grazed the lobe of England's ear as he began to move his hand so that his palm danced over the heat of the older nation, stroking the fire that had already been building. "Still, I'm impressed. Were you really ready to come here to whore yourself out for some fields of gold dust?"
"Th-that wasn't…" England tried to deny it. His breath and his words hitched in his throat as America squeezed him through his trousers. He touched his forehead to the door with a low groan of protest, as America's fingers deftly teased him.
"…wasn't your intention?" America finished for him when England was unable to continue. It made him smirk, and he knew that it probably appeared as cynical as he himself had been feeling lately. Who would have thought that he had it in him to become this jaded so soon? "I don't know that I believe you. It's fortunate for the both of us that my morals are still too high to carry it that far, don't you think?"
When he felt England start to tremble all over, America decided to pursue his efforts a little further, his unoccupied hand gripping hold of England's hip in order to pull them back from the door. He blindly worked the older nation's belt open, peppering kisses along the flesh of England's throat when it was offered up to him. Once he'd gotten those trousers open, America freed the flesh from inside it, finding that England was hot and thick and pulsing in his hand when he wrapped his fingers around that length.
There were no words of endearment. America did not coo affectionately at him, nor did England ask for more. All they shared were the shaking sounds of America's breaths as he labored to bring England to climax and the soft, keening moans that England gasped against the wood grain of the door. Even when the rhythm intensified until England finally succumbed with a cry that he muffled by biting his bottom lip, spilling himself across America's hand, they shared nothing beyond a silence neither of them wanted to break.
Once England had ridden through his climax, America finally stepped back to give him some room, leaving England to slide down to sit on the floor when his legs decided not to support his weight. America panted, feeling himself hard in response to the shared intimacy, but more than willing to ignore it. He stared at England from a few feet away, as the other nation rolled his head back against the door, green eyes glazed from pleasure as they regarded America in turn. Lifting his hand up, America eyed the slick fluids that coated his palm. "Don't get me wrong. This doesn't mean that I love you."
England nodded once, eyes closing. "I know."
World Conference – 1861
America sat on his side of the table long after the meeting had ended. He stared out the nearby window, watching as the sun set on the horizon. Everyone else had probably gone off to dinner. Right now, he just couldn't find it in him to feel hungry. Something was bothering him that he couldn't place. It was stirring inside in a deep, dark place that America did his best to ignore. He tried to dismiss it as just a result of too much strain. The last few years had been endlessly busy for him.
He looked up quickly when the door to the conference room opened. Canada stepped silently into the empty room, coming up to stand beside America's chair. He rested the back of his knuckles against his brother's forehead to check his temperature. "Are you… all right? I overheard a few nations mentioning the fact that you seemed out of sorts."
"I'm fine." America murmured quickly, twisting his head to get that hand away. His skin felt sensitive all over, so much so that Canada's mild pressure had felt like it were burning him. "I guess I'm just tired. There have been a lot of issues building back home. I've been so busy helping with this China business that I haven't had a chance to really address any of it." He smiled faintly. "I'll take care of it when I get back home. Then I'll be as good as new."
"You want to go get some dinner with me?"
"No, I'm… I think I'll pass, if that's okay?" America smiled wanly up to his brother. "I'm just going to stay here a few minutes longer and then I'll head to my room for the night."
Canada frowned at him. "I'll wait with you, then. We can walk to your room together."
"I don't need the escort." America shook his head. "Really, Canada, I'm fine. Stop being such a worrywart. Even I can be a little distant from time to time."
His brother didn't look satisfied with his explanation. Canada pursed his lips, still troubled. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure." America angled his head back on his chair, smiling brightly up at Canada. "Go get yourself something to eat before you become even more transparent."
Canada cuffed him on the shoulder with a snort. "Rude buffoon. See if I come checking up on you again." He smiled faintly back to demonstrate that he was only jesting. "Okay, America. I'll take your word for it. Just… come find me if you want to talk about… anything."
After Canada left the room, America raised his eyes up to study the ceiling overhead. Several people had already asked him today if he were feeling unwell. Was he really behaving so uncharacteristically that they'd be concerned? Sure, he hadn't been as social as he normally might have been, and maybe his energy level was lower than usual – yet wasn't that acceptable behavior for someone that had been doing so many things lately? America couldn't understand what they expected out of him.
When he finally went to his room, America saw that there were a few people waiting for him. England was speaking quietly with Canada there in the hallway, his brother's face lined with concern as he talked with the nation. Hong Kong lingered nearby them as he listened in on their conversation. He silently tugged on Canada's sleeve as he saw America approaching them. Both Canada and England turned his way as America closed in on their little trio with a mild smirk. "Well, well. If you guys fret any louder then you'll probably wake my neighbors."
"Canada is worried about you." England said tersely. "It would do you well to at least appreciate the concern."
"There is nothing to be worried about." America waved a hand in the air. "I'm fine. Just tired. If you guys would move out of the way then I could go into my room and sleep to help take care of the problem."
Canada scowled at his brother's casual remarks. "Stop pretending like nothing is going on. I've heard the rumors, even up in my territory. There's talk that civil unrest is brewing in your land, between your people."
"Those are just rumors. Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. A few states have gotten a little carried away and have seceded – but they'll return soon enough. It'll all get sorted out." America murmured. He placed a hand against the wall beside his door. They were standing here talking at him when all he wanted to do was go to bed. His head wasn't steady enough for this nonsense. "Look, just… just let me go to sleep, okay? Please."
England was examining him. Nothing ever escaped those green eyes when they were so intent. He searched America for something, as if to confirm the suspicions that lurked inside his gaze. America turned away from the older nation with an irritated noise, fishing his key out of the pocket of his jacket. His vision swam as he tried to fit the key in the lock, a gray fog coating his eyes as America felt the world shift under his feet with sudden force. He wasn't aware of falling until his head cleared enough to make him aware that he was currently being supported halfway to the floor by England's arms, the older nation having stopped his collapse.
America blinked uncertainly as he heard them talking around him. England's voice was firmly directing the other two. "Canada, help me get him into the bed. Hong Kong – go get some help. Someone will know what to do. Hurry."
America's awareness was patchy. He felt the softness of the mattress beneath him, hands fighting ineffectively with the ones that were taking off his jacket and his glasses. "I'm fine. Knock it off."
The faces of England and Canada were blurry in the air above him. They went in and out of focus quite beyond his control, America unable to hear exactly what it was that they were saying to him. This behavior on their parts was ridiculous. If they had just left him alone like he'd asked, then he'd have been able to go into his room without their interference, and then he would have gone to…
America's mind came awake, hearing the sound of voices speaking nearby. He detected the lilt of England's voice amongst the exchange of whispers, though the sound of China's voice was quite unexpected. America tried to open his eyes yet found that his body was not prepared to obey his commands. China spoke from near his head, as America felt fingers gently probe at his abdomen. "I have never seen it to this extent before. You say that seven of his states have already broken off in an attempt to form their own country?"
"And if these tensions continue to the point of an outbreak of war, four more have said that they will also leave the United States and become part of this… other America." Canada said quietly from somewhere across the room. "It's… I mean the entire thing has divided him completely in half. It's a miracle that he's been able to stay on his feet this long. This should have crippled him, shouldn't it?"
"It's rather unprecedented." England murmured. He sounded close at hand. America heard the sound of a chair creaking, as a cool cloth draped across his forehead. "Civil war is nothing new. We've all experienced it. Those instances were always small, scattered incidents that were quickly quashed. I've never seen it this extreme before. China?"
"Something is happening to him. What that might be I cannot say for sure." The fingers probing at his body stopped and withdrew before China continued. "My only suggestion would be to keep him under observation. Aside from that, and trying to make him as comfortable as possible, there is nothing else that we can do for him now."
England swore softly. He obviously did not approve of the diagnosis. America had regained enough sense of his body by now in order to roll his face in that direction. His eyes cracked open, flinching against the lights in the room. How long had he been unconscious? England's eyes were on his face when his eyes opened up again, calling to the others in the room as he shifted forward on his chair. "He's waking up."
China stepped into America's line of sight, standing beside England's chair near the bed. He bent in close, a hand falling to pry up both of America's eyelids a little further apart, checking the condition of his eyes. "Still glassy. I don't know that he's fully coherent right now."
"America – can you hear us?" England asked him gently.
"Yes…" America whispered, his voice croaking out of him. "I need to… I need to get home. They're calling for me. I hear them…"
"I would strongly advise against it." China told him sternly. "You are in no condition to travel right now, especially not across the ocean. We are not certain what is happening to you, America, but you are obviously very, very ill."
"Just get me on a boat." America weakly shook his head. "Canada can come with me – I don't care. I just need to be home now." He appealed to England with his eyes, trying to get the older nation to understand his need. "Britannia, please. It's my place to be there with my people. Please help me get home to them."
China and England exchanged a look. China was the first to turn away with a sigh, while England nodded faintly at America. "Very well. If you're that determined, then I shall sail you back to your home myself."
A/N: Too many nations. TOO MANY NATIONS! What the hell did I get myself into by setting these things at the World Conference? Ha ha.
Now, for the bits of history:
The Texas Revolution took place between 1835-1836. Texas became independent from Mexico thanks to the United States. And their slogan during the revolution? "Come and Take It." Am I the only one that thinks that Alfred definitely made that one up?
Texas became part of the United States of America in 1945. That made Mexico angry enough that the country entered into the Mexican-American War (1846-1848). Mexico was more or less bitch-slapped down into the south by the United States, and the U.S. ended up gaining the territories of New Mexico and California as a result.
1845 was also the year that American Baseball was invented. The rules were different than the current sport, and an official game wasn't played until... 1846? I think?
1848 - When people began exploring the new California territory out west, they discovered gold. Not just a little gold, but tons of it. Foreigners from all over the world came hoping to get some of America's riches for themselves. Oddly enough, the nation became quite popular as a result.
1861 – Abraham Lincoln was very open about his desire to work towards a slavery-free nation. The new states being established in the west weren't allowed to be slave states, which infuriated the South. Several states seceded from the United States before Lincoln was even able to take office as President. The rest of the Confederate states sided with the South when the battle officially began.
Also: This installment merely touched upon the time leading up to the start of the Civil War. I have most of it already written, and it was so long that I decided to make it its own installment – so tune in next time!
Also Also: And for those of you who were interested in the naughty bit I left out of the 1814 segment of the World Conference, I decided that it would be easier to include it after these author's notes for your enjoyment. It has been forever since I have written anything too sexual in nature – as evidenced by my very short bit featured in the installment above (ehhhh…). This features a little plot and some UK/US loving – because Arthur is King, and the King gets to top.
Streamingwords' Poor (5 page?) Attempt at A Sex Scene Starts Here:
The government officials cramped the small room that they'd arranged to meet in to sign the official treaty. It had required a trip to Ghent in the Netherlands for America and his delegates, though they had been more than willing to make the journey if it meant putting an end to the war with Britain once and for all. America had been forced to dress in a presentable suit of dark brown, his waistcoat just a shade darker than his eyes. He wouldn't have bothered with it, not caring much about how he appeared to the British delegates, but the suit had been a gift from Mrs. Madison and America would have felt ungrateful if he hadn't worn it for the occasion.
Everyone was saying that it was like America had won independence from Britain all over again. The notion struck him as silly and just a little offensive. He'd been working very hard on his own for several years now without paying one bit of attention to the disapproval of the British Empire. America would have continued to do so if events had unfolded in the manner they had, if his people had not decided to go to war (he still firmly denied what England had told him about being responsible for it). Perhaps his biggest issue with the situation was that he was being dragged through these formalities once again, having to sit and smile and be polite to these British officials that were only slightly nicer than they had been the first time around. America could tell that they didn't hold as much respect for his American officials as they pretended to; he'd had extensive years of practicing how to tell the difference between forced politeness and veiled dislike.
After all, he'd grown up with the very nation that had coined the practice for his people.
America's gaze drifted to where England sat on the opposite side of the table. They had spent the last hour avoiding eye contact with one another, not even when they grudgingly shook hands during introductions. England was currently reading over the Treaty, meticulously dissecting each passage once it had been written down. He was much more involved in the process than America. Of course, America could probably have invested his energy into it just as much, but he had people with him that knew and understood these things better than himself, so America was content to let his officials judge for themselves whether the Treaty was fair and balanced.
It took several hours as they bickered back and forth over the details. While it wasn't as impassioned as it had been back in 1783, neither side was willing to relent on issues of importance. At one point, one of his delegates asked America if he had any particular requests, utilizing the alias that he was forced to go by for these meetings. "Mister Jones? Is there anything else that you'd like to add, or do the terms posed by Britannia sound agreeable to you?"
"No, there's nothing. So long as the lands seized by the British in this war are returned to their rightful owner, I could care less about the rest." America murmured, which surprised many of the delegates since it was the first time he'd bothered to speak at all.
They hammered out the rest of the Treaty without any more input from him. When the copies were slid in front of him, America barely looked the documents over as he took up the quill they offered him and quickly scrawled his pseudonym in the appropriate spaces. The only item that even held his attention for very long was the sight of England's own alias there at the bottom in neat, flowing script. America handed everything back to his officials, sat back in his chair, and waited for it all to finally be done.
Finally, at least, he was free. America sighed in relief as everyone shook hands and started to gather their things to leave. He stretched as he stood up from his chair, wincing at a pinch in his shoulder from having sat idle too long. As he trailed after his officials, one of them turned back to blink at him. "Mister Jones? Where are you going?"
"I'm following you. We're leaving now, aren't we?"
"Well, you…" The man's eyes darted between him and the direction of the table. "You still have arrangements to make, sir, with Admiral Kirkland. Were you not listening when it was explained to you?"
America stared at him flatly. "No. I wasn't." He twisted reluctantly around to face the table, seeing that England was still seated there. England did not look at him, but America could tell that he was waiting, expectant and patient. Great. Just great.
His official patted him on the shoulder with a small smile. "Good luck, sir. We shall see you at the docks tomorrow for the trip home." Then he stepped out of the room, and America found that he'd been left alone with no other company besides England.
America crossed his arms over his chest with a frown, wondering when they'd discussed this part during the meeting. He'd been bored, daydreaming, and not paying any attention – that should have been obvious enough to them! By sheer default, whatever obligations he'd been agreed to by his ignorance should be considered void. "What did you get me into?"
"I didn't get you into anything." England murmured pleasantly. He laced his fingers together below his chin, green eyes finally swinging over to fix on America. "You're the one who decided not to listen. I could tell the exact moment when you stopped paying attention."
"That's similar to trickery. As far as I'm concerned, whatever I ended up agreeing to is invalid." America protested, angry that England would use that against him. "The meeting is finished, the Treaty is signed – our business is concluded. Now I'm going home."
He headed for the door when England spoke again. "You can't leave. Not yet, anyway." America glared at him over his shoulder, as England plucked up his copy of the Treaty. "Not only did you verbally agree to my terms, you also signed your name to them as well. To decide to go against them now would be a breach of contract, America, and I doubt your officials would appreciate knowing that you invalidated all their hard work today."
America stiffened all over. Now England was blackmailing him? The sneaky bastard really knew how to play dirty! America narrowed his eyes at the other man. England, immune to his anger, grinned lightly as he pinched the document between two fingers and swung it back and forth in the air. "If reading it is too hard for you, I suppose I could translate it into more common terms? Basically, you're mine for the night, 'Alfred F. Jones'. Didn't I tell you, after that business with France, to be careful when dealing with us conniving Europeans?"
"You bastard." America grit his teeth together. "How the hell could you-?"
"Did you honestly think that I would let you get away with things so easily?" England interrupted, a thick eyebrow lifting on his forehead. He placed the Treaty down on the table in order to skim his fingers over the written words. "You have caused me endless trouble, America. While my government is satisfied to write everything off for the sake of 'letting bygones be bygones', I am not as polite, patient or as tolerant as my subjects."
Despite England's threat to invalidate the Treaty, thereby causing further issues for America's people, the young man was still sorely tempted to allow him to go ahead and do so. He didn't appreciate being placed in this position, even if it was partially his fault for not having been attentive to their deal. America clenched his fists at his sides until the pressure of his fingernails digging into the skin of his palm grounded some of the anger out. His voice was sullen but resigned when he spoke. "Fine. Fine! You're so very clever, Britannia. Well played."
"Thank you. Now lock the door."
America glanced at the door. The lever of the lock was old steel. He turned it silently, hearing the sound of the pins sliding into place within the mechanism. When he faced the table again, America saw that England was sitting back in his chair, watching him with an expression both amused and eager. "What do… what do you want from me?"
"Come over here, America." England patted the table beside his chair with a hand, his smile distracted by whatever thoughts were milling through his mind.
"I don't think that—"
"America." England's smile vanished. "Part of the terms was that you weren't going to argue with me. That's a right that you signed away. Now kindly follow our agreement, belt up, and do as you're told." Then he smiled again, pleasantly patting that spot again in a silent repeat of his command.
Making no effort to mask his displeasure with the situation, America trudged over to where England was seated. He waited for the older man to remove his hand before he sat down on the edge of the table. While he might have been forbidden to talk, that didn't mean that he couldn't effectively glare all the choice things he felt about England right then. America's eyes narrowed down at the blond from his place on the table as he towered above the island nation.
Once he was settled, England rested a hand upon his leg, just above America's knee. Those emerald eyes focused on the appendage as England's fingers began to slide lazily back and forth over the fabric. His fingers were warm; America could feel the heat radiating from them through his trousers, the effect making the flesh around his knee tingle. England spoke quietly. "Now, don't misinterpret my intentions here. I am doing this to teach you an important lesson, America – nothing more, nothing less. Exacting the same price from you that you were so willing to pay France is hardly asking for much."
"It does bother me, though." England continued, as his hand began to slide up the length of America's leg. His fingers dented the flesh of the young man's thigh when they reached it as England experimentally squeezed it. "I should have been the first. You were mine, even after you became a young man. Had I not been so bloody distracted, had I been a little bolder, then it would have been me."
America frowned at his words. He was resolved not to respond to England's efforts with any more enthusiasm than he had for France. America schooled his face into a picture of indifference, watching England with a bored stare. "It wouldn't have been any different. Whether it was you or anyone else. I'm no more interested now than I was with France."
Anger flashed across England's face. He stood up slowly from his chair, narrowing his eyes as they locked with America's. England then let his mouth twist in a slow, mirthless smirk. "Shall we get this over with, then?"
Those cautious caresses from England gave way to his more demanding nature. Fueled by his dislike of America's declaration, England's fingers took on a cruel edge as he began to work the younger man's belt open. He slapped aside America's hands when the younger man tried to detract the efforts, a low growl leaving England's throat as he wrenched the belt loose of the loop. America started to twist his hips away when England got his trousers open, yet the older man proved more adept and before America could act in further protest England's hand had dove into the fabric in order to clench around the intimate length of America's flesh.
America yelped as the sudden contact zapped through his nerve-endings. England's skin was cold to the touch, the sensation of it wrapping around flesh that was far hotter startling enough that America's muscles locked with tension. One of his hands clamped down on England's forearm to prevent him from continuing, while the other pushed firmly against the older man's chest in an attempt to force him back. England, however, anticipated America's efforts to push him away and had braced himself enough that the push was ineffective. His green eyes were smoldering with anger and something else as England growled out. "Not this time, America. If it doesn't bother you one way or another, then why the hell are you fighting it so much?"
"I'm not… not bothered." America gasped out in a strained whisper, adding a complaint. "Your hand is just cold. It's annoying."
"It'll warm up soon enough." England informed him tersely. Already, his grip on America had shifted, and the young man felt the pressure of England's fingers around him as they began to slide over his length with short, demanding strokes. There was clearly no attempt to make this a gentle encounter as England sought to force his flesh to respond.
Much to America's dismay, it was doing precisely that. His body was betraying him, because despite the fact that England was being rough enough that it nearly hurt, it also felt exquisitely good. He made the mistake of looking down at where they were connected, America's eyes locking on the sight of England's hand as it slid over his length, the calloused texture of the older man's fingers creating a delicious friction that his flesh approved. England had freed him completely from his opened trousers, so that there could be no mistaking the intimate act that he had exposed.
America ceased using his hand to push against England's chest, fingers curling over to clench the fabric of the older man's shirt instead. He released his hold on England's forearm so that he could brace it behind him when his head began to spin. It shouldn't have surprised him that England would be good at this – the older man had mentioned that he'd had some experience, far more than America. Still, something about the fact that this was England made it seem more erotic, more dangerous somehow. America's breathing had gone uneven, softly panting as his body went that much further beyond his ability to control it, driven by lust and wants and desires that were more powerful than his willpower.
Then, England performed some skillful trick that caused America's eyes to roll back in his head. The young man didn't bother to mute the moan that tore out of him as a result, as America found that his arm would not even support him anymore. He arched back over the table as the pleasure stole all the stiffness from his spine. America turned his face aside with a gasp, feeling the heat of his cheek as it pressed to the cold wood beneath him.
"Look at you." England teased him at a whisper, his voice husky. "So wanton, so greedy. You're melting right here on the table."
"Don't act… don't act like you don't… don't appreciate the view." America managed between desperate gasps for air. He brought his hand up and bit at his knuckles to muffle some of the wailing noises pouring out of his mouth.
A shadow fell over his face, America opening his eyes to see that England was bending over him. He wasn't sure what possessed him when that face got so close. America's hand withdrew from his mouth in order to curl around the back of that looming head, and even England was surprised when America strained up to fuse their mouths together in a kiss. He wasn't certain at what point their initial anger had mutated to passion, or when England had stopped being rough with him and had actually begun to make it an act of pleasure rather than punishment. England's mouth was hot and wet and eager, clinging to America's with a hungry embrace.
America heard the sound of England's belt opening; the pace on his flesh slowed down as the older man was briefly distracted. It did not alarm him until he felt England's other hand start to probe its fingers lower on his body. His pleasure was nearly killed as America choked on a breath, a hand clamping on England's forearm again as he whispered, with a sudden desperation. "Don't."
England looked at him curiously. His fingers ceased probing as he questioned America with that look. The younger man quickly shook his head, trying to express with his eyes what he did not have the courage to say aloud. "Just… anything else but that, okay?"
"Very well." England acquiesced in a low voice, relenting on his efforts. He returned his focus to America's length instead. The flesh had begun to wither in response to the young man's fear, yet England was able to work it back to life with a few timely strokes. America rewarded his kindness by latching onto England's mouth with another kiss, their tongues fencing together.
Another gasp wrenched out of him, breaking off the kiss when England compromised, as America felt the hot pulse of England's length pressing flush with his own. He fed a sigh of delight into England's mouth as the man began to stroke them together. It nearly caused America to release the tension in his body right then, but he fought that back in order to make it last.
America's eyes were heavy-lidded as he cracked them open to gaze at England's face. The older man was flushed, pleasure coloring his features, those green eyes squeezed shut as he enjoyed the physical sensations of them frictioning together. England was completely unaware of himself in that moment; his hair was becoming matted with sweat at his hairline, tousled even more from America's eager fingers, lacking any semblance of composure. He looked attractive. He looked beautiful.
Shaken by the revelation, America lifted a trembling hand from the table in order to trace his fingers over England's unguarded features. England pressed a clumsy kiss to that wandering palm, before he shifted yet again so that his hips were thrusting over America. The younger man followed suit, pushing up eagerly to meet England, America arching from the table into that firm hand that was driving him hotter, hotter.
England was relentless. It wasn't that much longer before America could not hold himself back any longer. The pleasure in his body had wound tightly, coiling inside him like a spring wound tight. That tension snapped with a loud cry, America's vision going hazy as something snapped inside him and his eager thrusts exploded into a wild, uncontrolled bucking as pleasure crashed over him with gale force.
As he rode through his own climax, America felt England stiffen with his own release. He was quieter than America, with only a strained grunt to signal the moment that England's control broke. Their bodies slid together clumsily, as America clung to the figure hovering over him. When it was over, the tension having flooded out of both of them, America felt the weight of England as the older man sagged on top of him with a shuddering sigh. They remained that way for several minutes. America could feel England's heart thundering with his.
Finally, England withdrew from him, sinking back to sit down heavily in his old chair. When he felt like he'd recovered enough, America sat up from where he'd been laying across the table. He looked down at his shirt only to find that it was now marked with the evidence of his pleasure. His face twisted up wryly. "…Dolly made me this suit."
"It was a nice suit." England murmured. He had already begun to put his clothes back in order, having been spared the same issue as America. "It's ruined now, though."
"Obviously." America muttered darkly as he gingerly plucked at the fabric. "Maybe I should petition for your government to cover the cost of replacing it." He began to shrug out of the soiled garments, removing the jacket and waistcoat. Thankfully, aside from being soaked from sweat, his shirt had been spared. America eyed the buttons of his jacket for a minute, before venturing to ask, quietly, "Hey, Britannia…?"
England had stood up while America was undressing. He recovered the Treaty from where it had been knocked on the floor, inspecting it for any damage. As England's eyes skimmed over the document, he undermined whatever question America had been about to ask by opening his mouth to quickly speak. "Don't mistake me. This doesn't mean that I love you."
America finished getting his remaining garments in order, though the other man's words made him pause. He looked up from where he'd been rolling his sleeves, blue eyes locking on England's. Faintly, America smiled. "Oh, trust me. I know."