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Not meant to cause offense in any way, shape, or form. :) By popular demand, the continuation of Pirate!EnglandxMermaid!Fem!America.
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Alright, it didn't take a genius to see that England was getting a wee bit ahead of himself here. That and part of him was proudly standing at attention. Not that America was really looking or anything...
'Cause, you know, that would be weird and awkward. And... whatnot. Wasn't England like her cousin or something? America shook her head ruefully. The whole nation thing was highly confusing. Not that she'd really had a reason to give it too much thought. And, it totally did not cross her mind that England at this time in history was really alright with cousins marrying.
Wait, why was she thinking marriage? A blush crept up her features. It scaled her cheeks and America knew he could see it easily. His lips descended upon hers again. Slightly warmer than the chilling bite of cold from the sea that he tasted of previously. She should push him away. Heck, she should smack the living daylights out of him! However, he had just recently been brought back to consciousness. His fingers were icy as he traced the warming skin of her shoulder. Yes, the fire helped some, but England was still in potential danger here.
Now, America fretted over what might happen if she shoved him off of her person. He wasn't hurting her. His kisses were searing in their own right. Her mind twisted over what she should do and what was morally expected. Given the circumstances.
She was also going ot make it a point to kick Norway in the balls. At least once. When she got back. Wide blue eyes closed marginally at the sensation of his mouth against hers.
No America. Bad America! Her mind yammered and shouted at her while her hands twined into the wet strands of his hair. They were still dripping with the ocean water, but she pulled England closer, clutching to him tightly. Fiercely. Perhaps, too tightly. Even with her rapidly fading strength as a nation, she heard him gasp as she clutched to him.
It was enough to wrench her out of the strange, messed up 'la-la' land she had somehow gotten herself into.
"Woah," she said loudly into England's parted mouth. Her hands moved from his hair to his chest as she pushed him. There was a slight wince from them both as he nearly toppled onto his back again.
Whoops. That had been an accident. Hold the phone, when had he let go of her wrist? He had been holding it. America recalled because of the power England had exuded over her weakened state. Her brow furrowed as she watched him with questioning blue eyes.
"Forgive me, fair maiden," England rasped with a husky tone that sent all the right sort of shivers down America's spine.
Don't even think about it.
Her thoughts chastised her, but the flush of heat that warmed her loins was a force to be reckoned with. Also, she couldn't help but notice that part of Engalnd was still absolutely standing at attention.
Weeeeelllll, hello there soldier.
Mentally she slapped herself as she looked away. Twin spots of color on her cheeks, as her blush burned hotter. Okay. Okay, she could handle this. She was just not going to speak to England for about fifty years after this whole debacle. When she got back. Because now the image of his manhood was etched into the back of her eyes. Figuratively speaking.
America cleared her throat, nearly daintily.
"Not a problem," she said with a breathy squeak to her voice that should not have been there. Which she was going to completely deny and forget about all of this. Including the Pirate version of England that thought she was one of his strange 'other worldly' friends that no one else saw.
Yes.
Perfect plan.
His hardened emerald eyes regarded her behind thick lashes. America bit her lip, trying not to think all the modern thoughts that were currently putting Fifty Shades of Grey to shame in her head. Yet, she couldn't exactly pin the blame on crazy England who was already moving closer to her again. America belatedly realized that the only thing shielding her 'virtue' or whatever the hell England called it in this time, was some underwear and sea shells.
Yeah. That wouldn't give any guy the wrong impression.
At all.
Especially guys that had been trapped on a boat with only men for months at a time and... well, that would explain why he was looking at her with that smoldering gaze.
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England considered himself a very fortunate Kingdom. In this instance, he was heartily glad that he was far superior to the peasantry and could avoid being forced to spend coin on an Amober. There was no higher lord, save the King that ruled England that would have a chance to deflower this fair creature before him. Their Flitterwochen, as that German whore-son deemed its name, would be the thing of his legends. Tales so vast and complex with their age that even he, who had lived them, could not recall every detail.
Mermaids could be highly fickle creatures. That was the Danish bastard's warning of the tale he told. However, he detected no lyrical music from the spell-binding creature before him. She was, in truth, no siren. Yet, she called to his heated blood more strongly than any ale or wine could manage. She was intoxicating in the soft warmth that now radiated from her mortal skin. Her eyes, far more striking than any gem or jewel in his vast treasury, watched him with surprise before flicking away. He took that moment to strike.
He was the ruler of the seas. He was the demon that men feared when they sailed. Almost as much as the changing winds and storms that rattled men's bones. England could sense it on her, much more potentially now. His hand made contact with her skin, as the power pulsed from her. He could feel it, deep in the marrow, that this maiden with sun-kissed gold hair and the bluest eyes he had ever glimpsed. Was akin to him. No matter her origin, she was his.
England felt his blood thrum with anticipation, not at all deterred by her pushing away from his lustful embrace. Any woman of good standing and virtue would do so. The fact that she was not screaming for assistance nor attempting to fight him more spoke highly of her obvious love for him. A concern that broached so deep and wide in its berth, that England nearly felt a single moment of humility.
It was quickly discarded. He was a force to be reckoned with. By land or by sea. The two realms were his to conquer, and he would do so. There was no doubt in his mind, the mind of the most formidable and terrifying Kingdom to ever grace God's green earth, that he would rule the world one day. All the known world was to be his.
He swallowed heavily, blood simmering with sheer want to possess the fair maiden. It was his nature, vicious and cunning, that permitted him to push her further to the dusty ground. This bewitching creature, was no match for his strength. He glorified at the feel of her warm skin, now changed, as it warmed him. Greedily, his gaze devoured the exquisitely exposed skin. The way her figure molded against him. Firm, warm, and supple all at once. She was perfection. Ripe and ready. His for the plucking.
He lowered himself more toward her. The last of the scales appeared to have melted away. Even their colour could no longer be detected. Leaving the unblemished skin for his tasting pleasure. A moan built in his throat. Part prayer of thanks, and part concern that he would be unable to pull himself back to the Lord's work once he sampled her delicious body. Without hesitation, he licked his lips in anticipation.
He could taste the clinging salt of the sea and the sweetness of her upon his tongue.
Azure eyes, impossibly wide, stared at him without guile.
"England," She whispered. Oh! How she reduced him to a lust-filled fervor. The sound of his name across her lips, was akin to a benediction. Her peculiar speech, which was nothing of German, French, nor Danish... captivated him. She clearly could understand his noble language, but she did not appear to have mastered it. Ah, in that he could provide excellent tutelage.
A burning need was growing within the space of lust and want for the care she was so capable of providing him on the long, lonely nights at sea.
"I beseech thee," he uttered a hoarse command, desire thickened his voice considerably, "Whither I go, thou shalt go? How shalt I address thee?"
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She swallowed heavily. This was all going to be a cluster fuck in a little while. Some part of her could simply feel it. Yet, the hard green eyes were so out of place from the warm, gentlemanly, orbs of the England she'd known. It was electrifying and America had to admit that she'd had a fantasy or two about something like this. Most women had.
Her head moved of its own accord, nodding slightly, at his questioning. What did he want?
Her thoughts churned and she realized that she still thought this Shakespearean stuff was a pain in the ass. However, when the intensity of his gaze continued to bore into her heavily, America could only answer what she understood.
"America," she whispered, still shaken by the closeness of England in this time. In this really, really, naked state. Their uglies were almost a' bumpin'. Her voice sounded off, more breathy than she really thought it should sound. As if it was everyday that England was pinning her down to the floor... in the nude.
Yeah. That happened, like... all the time. Okay, so never would be more accurate. How was she going to fix this?! Panic laden her thoughst as he seemed to glow with pleasure at her reply. The jaded orbs, hooded in a predatory like gleam.
"America." he nearly purred her name off of his tongue and the Star-Spangled nation just about came unglued. It freaking looked like he was savoring her name. She'd known England as the gentleman he always gripped about being, but there was something about this version of him that laid the previous memories of him to shame.
Her blue eyes wandered to wear rivulets of salt water moved down the skin of his arms, dripping to the ground, painting it a slightly darker hue. She was never going to remember Halloween the same after this. And, she was going to skip past kicking Norway in the balls. She was going to rip them off and hand them to Denmark. Maybe, she'd make a purse out of them. Who knew? She had some artistic flare in her, she would think of something.
What was this going to do to her timeline? For fuck's sake! He was practically crawling all over her. Not that a couple parts of her minded all that much. However, that was besides the point! What was she suppose to do?! Her strength was waning and his was growing. America knew she wouldn't be able to win by a display of brute strength in this, and he was watching her with sharp eyes. Taking in every part of her. It was exhilarating as much as it left her feeling utterly exposed.
Burning hot lips, descended upon the tender flesh of her neck. The female nation arched into him at the contact gasping softly. Oh lord! How was she ever going to face England after this? s
"Stop," she said, a tad loudly. Just in case he couldn't hear her, right underneath him.
England did not appear to understand what the word 'stop' meant, because he trailed a path to her shoulder, nipping slightly. America shivered, twisting to move away. How the hell could he forget 'Stop' and-...
Oh.
Oh right.
"Cease!" She pleaded, her hands clenching as his slowly entwined with them. He pulled back, as America breathed a slight sigh of relief.
It was then, that she realized this England was wholly different from the one that appeared in all her memories. A wicked and sinful grin lifted his lips. His hardened eyes looked amused and lustful.
"Nay," he responded lowly.
A tingle shot up her spine. Part of her viciously chose that moment to remind her that Pirates enjoyed plundering. Her cheeks turned a deeper crimson. She was not seriously getting turned on right now. By England?
"Mermaid. America," he corrected with a flash of teeth. "Thou art mine."
Mmmmkay.
Wait. No. The other one. The refusing one. Yeah. The Start Spangled nation could only gape at him. The sun danced high in the sky, casting their little den with it's merrily crackling fire in a cheery light. While her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.
Dimly, the sound of something large sloshing in the waves drew her attention. England settled himself more fully upon her, and she knew he was attempting to shield her from prying eyes.
"Ah," he said evenly. His hard gaze twinkled with pleasure.
America dared to peak under his arm, to see the ship not far from the coast. A dingy of some sort was rowing closer, with someone inside. Yet, that was not what caused her breath to still. It was the sails and the flag that waved in proud display.
An English vessel. The old flag she recalled seeing illustration of once.
This was going to get more complicated. America peeked at him with a silent question. His nod was the only affirmation she needed. England was taking her with him.
Well... shit