Author owns nothing. Gets nothing for this, except some praise :D
Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. Based off of the erotic manga 'Hero Sand'. Just so that is clear.
Guys, I know there are errors. I spell check, and I try to re-read it aloud. I miss some stuff. I am sorry.
I own nothing. You know that already. Rated M.
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America had always had a soft spot for England and France. How could she not? They were integral to her very founding and history. So, in that at the very least, she was indebted to them. And, it would not be remiss to state that she cared for each of them dearly. There were past feelings, emotions too deep and vast to truly name, that simmered to the forefront when she thought about them over long.
But, only on a personal level, and not politically speaking.
Because, there were times she keenly... missed them. They had always breezed in and out of her life on the very winds. The winds that filled sails as they both left her alone. Waiting in her little nightdress. Waiting for them to come back.
As time passed, and she grew, America learned not to expect them to ever stay. Oh yes, they often promised her that they would spend time with her, but something always called them back to their shores. A place she hadn't been able to go.
Once upon a time, she used to dream of what it would have been like for them to stay with her. How the loneliness she felt would melt away for forever. When they looked at her, she was special. America felt wanted and needed. They praised her and looked after her so carefully, as if she were something worth the keeping.
Yet, time stood still for neither man nor nation. Time changed her as it had changed them. They were no longer the men she remembered, but parts of them shined through now and then. The constant bickering lacked true heat anymore. However, that wasn't a bad thing. America liked to see them getting along, as much as England and France truly could.
She didn't expect miracles after all. The lack of bloody brawling was more than enough to make her happy.
However, today, as she watched them chat quietly, she wondered at what exact moment they had drifted apart.
When was it, that they stopped loving her?
She tapped her pen against the pad of paper as her blue eyes clouded behind Texas. Nantucket still stood tall and proud. Yet, the nation herself was lost in thought.
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"I'd say the skin of her neck," England commented from behind America.
She turned, as they walked down the hall to their respective hotel rooms, her blue eyes narrowed and she was half ready for a fight. For no particular reason, except that the meeting had been rather tame by comparison and that usually lead to someone doing something to piss off another country.
In many respects, they were like children and teens. Or crotchety old men. Eh, yeah, that was a lovely mental image when she thought about it.
"What?" France replied with a condescending smirk on his lips. "You are clearly blind. Obviously it would be the tender flesh of her inner thighs."
What the hell? She blinked at both of them.
"What are you two going on about? This already sounds like a PR nightmare, and I am not having that crap today. Women everywhere would take offense."
England smiled charmingly, with a bit of his older persona shining through. A cheeky glint entered his green gaze.
"Women? What women. We are talking about you."
America glared at him.
"I am a woman, you ass."
England shrugged, loosening his tie.
"Well, yes, but only one. I am sure even France-fancy pants can handle a single woman." He approached her as she eyed him warily. "However, you needn't fret, love, I'll make sure he keeps his grubby hands off you."
"How dare you?" France scoffed rhetorically. "If anyone should keep his soiled hands off America's softness, it would be you."
The two male nations leveled looks at each other that spoke volumes. America blushed to the roots of her hair.
"Stop being so freaking weird." She snapped out, trying not to over think the situation. This had come out of nowhere. "I chose who does or doesn't touch me."
It was the wrong sentence to utter. England and France rounded on her then, twin cat-like grins on their faces.
"Oui?" France murmured as he circled around her. "Then perhaps you would let us settle a debate."
"What debate?" America asked reflexively, caught off guard.
England leaned closer to her.
"Which part of you is softer. Now I, with my remarkably better taste,-"
"Ha! Now that is truly amusing," France sniped.
England glared at the other nation, but went back to speaking to America, so close that he was almost whispering in her ear.
"Say that it is the sink on your neck."
America slapped a hand on her neck, as the soft puff of his breath caressed the very area he was speaking of.
"M-my neck?"
The Star-spangled nation flushed a deeper red.
"That is his faulty opinion," France touted with a charming smile. "I, on the other hand, know that it would be the silken patch of softness on your inner thighs."
The thought alone was provocative, and overly intimate. America took a step away from them.
"W-w-what the hell, you guys?" She demanded faintly, her features twisted in shock as she blinked at them in disbelief. Okay, had Denmark given them alcohol during the meeting again? She was going to find him and kick his ass. She should sue him for having to deal with their...
Perverted... perversion... harassment!
Yes, harassment, that one.
England leered at her as she forgot to take a breath.
"Well, it tossed your tummy into the mix, the debate would be over in an instant."
The blush dropped away, and she paled in mortification. He was calling her fat. That English douche-nozzle! Her blue eyes narrowed heatedly as the Island nation had the gall to actually poke her stomach.
France looked vaguely horrified, and America slapped England's hand away so hard, that he nearly face-planted into the floor.
"Don't touch me!" She hollered, and turned on her heel to run down the hall.
"Oi! Where are you going?" England shouted in the very next instant, as America did not bother to turn around. "She's running away!"
"What woman wouldn't, after that?" France demanded in a harsh tone.
America nearly flew down the hall, heading toward her room, the number gleamed at her from a placard on the door. She rushed inside, and turned to slam the door, when it refused to shut fully.
"Bloody hell woman!" England shouted, as she did her best attempt to crush his foot, which was wedged between the door and the doorjamb.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She questioned hotly, her face now flushed from anger, hurt, and embarrassment. He had to be drunk, or she was kicking his ass for this tomorrow. Then again, she might do it anyway.
England a gentleman? Her ass.
"Wrong with me?" He questioned, looking highly offended. Dude. She wasn't even making it up. England looked offended by her question.
"You're the one that is trying to amputated my foot with the blasted door-"
"Why are you chasing me?" America demanded, her voice rising in volume.
England stared at her for a moment.
"Because you ran?" He stated, but it ended up as more of a confused question.
France appeared, yanking England backward. The more flamboyant nation waved at America apologetically.
"I am terribly sorry America," he started in a calm tone.
She huffed at them.
"You should be. Acting all wired and shit, and what the hell?" She articulated elegantly.
France gave a small laugh, shrugging.
"Sorry, we just wanted to have a little fun. All those meetings get tedious and so boring. I'm sure you understand."
A little, she supposed.
"We will get going," France said lowly to England who looked vaguely chastised. "Good night! We'll see you again America."
The last words. The ones that she had always hated and dreaded as a colony were said so carelessly. They brought up all the old memories, of having to watch them leave. Empty promises on their lips, and a longing for some more of their attention if they would just look at her like she mattered again.
America's throat went dry, and she opened the door wider.
"Wait!" She said, louder than necessary as their gazes swung to her. "I mean..."
"Yes?" England asked, gentler this time.\
America looked down, and her blue eyes glanced away, as she blushed.
"I ... forgive you, even though you guys are strange, and I guess... I don't... have anything else to do. So we could hang out. You know, for a little while."
France beamed at her, and England only scowled faintly.
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America said 'hang out'. Apparently her English must truly have been flawed, because that somehow conveyed to the pair of male nations that she said 'Oh please, grope me to your heart's content!'
Well, she was only surmising that must have been what it translated to, because they were. With France, she wasn't terribly surprised by it, but England. Now, him caressing her neck and slowly wandering to her chest...
That was surprising. It was new, and a bit alarming. But in a way that did not frighten her, she simply wasn't sure what she should feel about this. America blushed and looked away as France's hands wandered up her clothed thigh to rest on her derriere.
"Watch it," America snapped, feeling slightly aroused and mortified at the same time. She was being groped, and actually allowing them to do it. This was a cross between being totally un-cool and incredibly awkward, with a hint of 'I'm strangely okay with this' tossed in for spice.
Suddenly, the world moved as France grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down with him onto his lap, as he plopped down on the bed.
"Hey!" The Star-spangled nation squawked in surprise. Her blue eyes widened as England leaned closer toward her.
"Stop acting like such a child, America," he chastised lightly, with a grin on his features. One that did not seem to scream merriment, but 'Come into my parlor said the spider, to the fly'. She swallowed heavily.
France's breath tickled at the back of her ear.
"Oui, how are we to accurately tell which part of you is softer, if you don't relax?"
She turned her head slightly, but could not really see him from her position.
"That makes no damn sense," America replied with a grumble, "you can feel my skin just fine without me relaxing. You've 'relaxed' with half the women in my country."
"Ah, 'tis true, but it only left me with an appetite for the nation of those women." France returned flirtatiously as his lips ghosted over her neck.
England flicked him in the forehead.
"The neck is mine," he warned with narrowed green eyes.
"My apologies," France replied, sounding anything but sincere.
"Quit it," America groused, trying not to shudder at the feel of him behind her, as England pressed closer in the front. Her blue eyes stared into deep green, with only Texas to shield her from his direct gaze.
"Quit what?" England asked, with a faux innocent expression.
America gasped as she felt hands undoing her business pants. France chuckled quietly behind her.
"Being so forward," she sputtered, as France's hands seemed to take on a mind of their own, slipping inside to move over her the outsides of her thighs. She glanced down, and could see his hands -well the outline of them- as he moved them closer toward her inner thighs.
England looked terribly amused.
"You're complaining about that now?" He flashed a wide smile, and he gave her a quick kiss.
America was startled into a momentarily silence. England had never... kissed her before. Her blush deepened, and she could feel how hot her face was.
"And, besides, you agreed to let us decide which part of you is softer."
Not... really. Well, not in so many words. Honestly, she thought he was interpreting here.
"How can we judge if you still have your clothes on?"
Holy cow! America's mind sputtered and she realized that they were sincere. They weren't clowning around, or trying to fluster her. Or at least, that was not the main goal. What was she supposed to do? Supposed to say?
Granted, if she actually felt like stopping, she could make them at anytime. Though she had the gut instinct that France and England would not try to force her. Which made her more comfortable with what was happening. Still very embarrassed, but not afraid.
Nervous, maybe. It was certainly acceptable to be nervous when England was undoing the buttons on her blouse with a deliberate slowness that nearly had her forgetting to breathe. As France's fingers wandered closer to her nether region, guarded by a mere slip of cloth.
"He makes a very good point. I agree." The romantic nation proclaimed with enthusiasm.
However, his tone changed when he nipped at her shoulder.
"It's alright," France purred in her ear. "We won't hurt you. I promise."
"W-wait-" America trembled. Her thoughts were a swirling mass of confusion, desire, concern, worry, disbelief, and many others. Overall, she wanted to participate, but she was also painfully shy about this sort of thing, and England calling her chubby at the start was certainly not helping America's ego any.
"You're blushing," England cooed at her, as he started to trail kisses down her 'soft' neck and to her collarbone, but it was obvious he did not intend to stop there. Her shirt was open entirely, and he could easily see her bra, and America did not doubt his goal was what was concealed behind the needed female support.
"I know!" She cried out, trying not to lose her cool at the moment.
"Someone is enjoying the French way of seduction," France muttered lowly, as he kissed the skin of her shoulder, his right hand ghosted over her most sensitive place, and America jerked upward in his arms, a bit straighter.
England scoffed.
"Don't be ridiculous, clearly, it is my technique." His accent was making parts of America throb. She had always loved the sound of England's voice and it was weakening her resolve at the moment.
If she did not spontaneously combust from this, she was going to kill them.
England reached for her back, and she felt France shift to accommodate whatever it was he wanted. America felt him tugging at her bra clasp, before it gave way, and slipped down, revealing her breasts.
Ones that England wasted no time in lavishing with attention. His hands were on her, kneading one nipple, as he took the other in his mouth. Her mouth parted in a silent gasp as he suckled at it, causing a wonderful sensation of pleasure to shoot through her.
France chose that moment to push her undergarment to the side, and ease one finger into her slickness.
"Ah!" She cried out, nearly dislodging England from what he was doing.
The island nation stopped and glared over her shoulder at France.
"What the hell are you doing?" He questioned, slightly louder than needed, as America tumbled into his chest.
"Making her feel superb!" France gloated happily as he searched for a particular spot inside the female nation.
"I... I don't-" America began as she mumbled into England's shirt, only to cut herself off an moan loudly.
"Hold on, France," England replied trying to keep them all from falling to the floor. "She's deceptively heavy."
America squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to be embarrassed.
"Well, support her properly."
"What the hell do you think I am doing you stupid Frog?" The Island nation fired back with anger in his words.
"I don't know, but you obviously aren't doing it correctly," France snaked out loud.
"You damned-"
America gripped his shirt, as she looked up at him. Tears pooled in her eyes. England looked horrified. France stilled instantly as she let out a little sniffling cry, that sounded as if she were sobbing.
"Stop!" The Island nation said urgently.
"Whoa! I am so sorry love," England muttered, pulling her toward him, and away from France. The romantic nation looked scandalized by the sight of her tears.
"I am sorry, as well, I did not hurt you, did I? I am terribly sorry, if I did." France expressed sincerely. He tried patting her on the shoulder to offer comfort.
"I'll kick his ass for you," England promised. "Don't cry."
America shoved him away, and he fell off the bed. She turned away and dashed at her tears.
"Ameri-" France started, wanting to sooth her.
She turned back to them, hurt fury on her face, as well as embarrassment.
"Just shut up!" She snapped out, and they were both silent. "If you want to sleep with me, then stop getting distracted with yelling at each other. Focus on me, damn it! I'll make you both feel as good as you make me. But we are not having this threesome with the pair of you bickering as if I am not even here!"
They stared at her, confusion on their faces and concern, until her words sunk in, and they nearly hopped to attention.
"Yes Ma'am!"
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France was at her front now, and England was behind her. The first British 'invasion', she'd ever welcomed was surging repeatedly into her. America shuddered as their hands tormented her with gentle caresses and small pinches or circles in just the right places. The Star Spangled nation could not help the moans that tumbled from her mouth.
With their full attention on her, America could scarcely think as they swiftly brought her t the point of 'earth shattering'.
France kissed her hungrily, swallowing the desperate plea for more that she would have voiced.
"Relax love," England whispered to her, with his accent deepening. "We've only just begun".
France pulled back and gave her a suggestive wink.
"Oh America, you look so adorable like this," he gushed as he leaned down to latch on to a pert nipple. His tongue laved over the sensitive nub with experience. It caused her to whimper in delight.
"I know," The island nation grunted as he thrust into her again. "I could just eat her up."
For once, France whole heartedly agreed.