[Fic] Love Your Country
Title: Love Your Country
Pairing: America/Presidents
Genre: Challenge
Rating: R
Summary: There's always something tying a country to it's government.
Notes:hotbabysitter showed me this video of one of our national policitans ( No I'm not going to tell who) saying he more or less wanted to bone America. This is the result because I am unable to write crack. So I went with angst instead.
This was a part of being a nation Alfred had never liked - one he'd wished he'd actually known about before declaring his independence. He'd been less then thrilled when his founding fathers had uncovered the reason for the unrest in the newly formed United States of America. It was the part of the inauguration that the public, even members of the government, didn't know. Only those who were in immediate line for becoming the next President were in the know.
Every nation, for better or for worse, was bound to their leader. At every start of a President's term, Alfred was required by that which ruled over every nation, to bind his president to him in the most....personal of ways. He had to date, bedded every President he'd ever had. At first, no one had believed Francis, when he'd told Alfred the reason behind the strife in his land. It had taken Gilbert to convince the Founding Fathers. Some had fought the very idea, claiming the ritual was too perverse to be real; or if it was, some European idiocy. Good old Ben had been furious, so much that Alfred had never seen him that angry before.
His beloved Father, George Washington himself, had simply looked tired and worn out at the news. Alfred had wanted to scream and yell at him when he'd come and sat down beside Alfred to tell him of what had been decided. It wasn't fair, he'd wanted to yell. Alfred had asked so much of all of them, how could he ask this?
At the same time, how could he not?
"You will not feel it," he was promised. And true enough, during the evening meal he was given a glass of wine, heavily dosed with a sleeping drought designed to keep Alfred unconscious while the act took place. And so it was for years. The previous President would host a dinner for the new President, in which Alfred drank his drugged wine and woke in a fine bed, body aching with subtle pains that told him all too well what had happened. It wasn't until Buchanan failed to host a dinner for Alfred's honest Abe that the system broke down.
He hadn't known what to do. All the times before it was handled for him. Alfred had never had to take an active part in this ritual, it had always happened while he was unconscious and done in the dark of the night. Alfred fretted and fought with himself for four years. It wasn't until shortly before the 1864 reelection that he worked the courage up to talk to his President. He remembered Abe gently brushing his hair back - longer in those days and ragged from the fighting. He curled up beside the President as Abe gently told him he would do no such thing, that his respect and love for his country was to great to dishonor Alfred like this.
Alfred had wept in relief. Surely if Abe said it, then it had to be true he reasoned. The civil war was just ill-timing, and not a failure on his part.
Six weeks later Lincoln was shot dead.
Alfred had never left the ritual up to fate since then. He'd taken it into his own hands, setting up a system where the men who might become his President knew what would happen come Inauguration night.
Some of his Presidents were rough, angry with him. He got used to it. Most viewed it as duty, something that had to be borne in order to reach the end goal. Very few viewed it as as their right to have Alfred - whenever and however. Alfred for his part, didn't care anymore. He'd disregarded something essential to nationhood and had paid a price for it.
He'd found it easier to be drunk when it happened. None of the other nations ever commented on the dark circles and silences he bore on the Day After. Arthur would look worried at him while he buried his head in his hands. The Day After, no one ever forgot Matthew - who took over his brother's roles and let him sit on the sidelines. On the Day After even Ivan left him alone to his silences.
Tonight was a new Inauguration, a new President, one who'd never made any bones about how much he wanted to be in Alfred's bed. He closed his eyes and took another swig of his beer. In a few hours it would be over, and he'd have four years with this new President.
And then, it would be another, and another, until Alfred ceased.
Pairing: America/Presidents
Genre: Challenge
Rating: R
Summary: There's always something tying a country to it's government.
Notes:hotbabysitter showed me this video of one of our national policitans ( No I'm not going to tell who) saying he more or less wanted to bone America. This is the result because I am unable to write crack. So I went with angst instead.
This was a part of being a nation Alfred had never liked - one he'd wished he'd actually known about before declaring his independence. He'd been less then thrilled when his founding fathers had uncovered the reason for the unrest in the newly formed United States of America. It was the part of the inauguration that the public, even members of the government, didn't know. Only those who were in immediate line for becoming the next President were in the know.
Every nation, for better or for worse, was bound to their leader. At every start of a President's term, Alfred was required by that which ruled over every nation, to bind his president to him in the most....personal of ways. He had to date, bedded every President he'd ever had. At first, no one had believed Francis, when he'd told Alfred the reason behind the strife in his land. It had taken Gilbert to convince the Founding Fathers. Some had fought the very idea, claiming the ritual was too perverse to be real; or if it was, some European idiocy. Good old Ben had been furious, so much that Alfred had never seen him that angry before.
His beloved Father, George Washington himself, had simply looked tired and worn out at the news. Alfred had wanted to scream and yell at him when he'd come and sat down beside Alfred to tell him of what had been decided. It wasn't fair, he'd wanted to yell. Alfred had asked so much of all of them, how could he ask this?
At the same time, how could he not?
"You will not feel it," he was promised. And true enough, during the evening meal he was given a glass of wine, heavily dosed with a sleeping drought designed to keep Alfred unconscious while the act took place. And so it was for years. The previous President would host a dinner for the new President, in which Alfred drank his drugged wine and woke in a fine bed, body aching with subtle pains that told him all too well what had happened. It wasn't until Buchanan failed to host a dinner for Alfred's honest Abe that the system broke down.
He hadn't known what to do. All the times before it was handled for him. Alfred had never had to take an active part in this ritual, it had always happened while he was unconscious and done in the dark of the night. Alfred fretted and fought with himself for four years. It wasn't until shortly before the 1864 reelection that he worked the courage up to talk to his President. He remembered Abe gently brushing his hair back - longer in those days and ragged from the fighting. He curled up beside the President as Abe gently told him he would do no such thing, that his respect and love for his country was to great to dishonor Alfred like this.
Alfred had wept in relief. Surely if Abe said it, then it had to be true he reasoned. The civil war was just ill-timing, and not a failure on his part.
Six weeks later Lincoln was shot dead.
Alfred had never left the ritual up to fate since then. He'd taken it into his own hands, setting up a system where the men who might become his President knew what would happen come Inauguration night.
Some of his Presidents were rough, angry with him. He got used to it. Most viewed it as duty, something that had to be borne in order to reach the end goal. Very few viewed it as as their right to have Alfred - whenever and however. Alfred for his part, didn't care anymore. He'd disregarded something essential to nationhood and had paid a price for it.
He'd found it easier to be drunk when it happened. None of the other nations ever commented on the dark circles and silences he bore on the Day After. Arthur would look worried at him while he buried his head in his hands. The Day After, no one ever forgot Matthew - who took over his brother's roles and let him sit on the sidelines. On the Day After even Ivan left him alone to his silences.
Tonight was a new Inauguration, a new President, one who'd never made any bones about how much he wanted to be in Alfred's bed. He closed his eyes and took another swig of his beer. In a few hours it would be over, and he'd have four years with this new President.
And then, it would be another, and another, until Alfred ceased.