Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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Tom caught America’s hands in his own, clasping them anxiously. The young nation was startled, nearly dropping his chaise on his toes.
“America,” the redhead Congressman started, his gaze and voice earnest. “Are you sure this is all right? I was told you’d given your consent to this, but I want to hear it from yourself. Are you absolutely certain this is what you want? At your age is this truly - ?”
That was enough! America interrupted the man. “Can we win if I don’t?” he asked challengingly. Tom stammered something, dropping his eyes. America nodded. “I thought so.” His voice softened as he continued. He really liked Thomas. The redhead was young too, honest, and passionate about his ideals. Those were all things America approved of, things he respected about the man. “It’s really all right Tom. I’m nervous, but everyone gets jittery on their wedding day, right?”
His forced chuckle won a wan smile out of Tom, who reluctantly let go of his hands. Ben came up from behind, clasping them both on the back.
“That’s the spirit,” he cheered, giving a quick wave at one of the men carrying out America’s trunk. There wasn’t much inside, considering how quickly they’d been forced to flee from New York City when England had taken it. America was sure most of his possessions had been burned by now, if not his entire house. He’d been shuffling back and forth between rooms, staying with whichever member of Congress would house him, when he wasn’t sneaking away to the front to try and get a few knocks back in against England.
He wondered if he’d get the chance to sneak away like that after France claimed him. He doubted it, and his shoulders drooped at the thought. He wanted to be there with his soldiers and his generals. Franklin was cheerful enough though.
“You shouldn’t fret so much,” Ben continued with a hearty pat to America’s back. “France is a good one, he is.” He gave a lascivious wink that didn’t reassure America as much as it disconcerted him. “In more ways than one, if you’ll take my meaning. Besides, he’s coming here, isn’t he? That’s a good sign I think. I heard from her majesty that she had to come all the way to France by coach, and then had to strip to nothing but her lily-fair skin before she was allowed to cross the border. They really didn’t have any use for those Austrian underclothes it seems!”
Franklin’s boisterous laugh was cut short when John Adams elbowed his way in with a glower. “That’s hardly proper conversation under the circumstances,” he snapped. “Or any circumstances for that matter! Besides, he’s only coming here because damn well can’t fight a war on the continent while lounging over in Versailles, now can he?”
America felt John’s eyes settle on him, and forced himself to stop worrying at his lower lip. The man looked concerned enough as it was; he didn’t need to know how much Ben’s tale had spooked him. So, instead, he lifted his chin to meet the man’s gaze.
“You’re too young for this,” John admitted, his voice gruff but low.
“I’m not.” America was proud of how steady his voice came out. “I’m older than all of you, when you think about it. And I can do this. It’s what’s best for everyone anyways.” He looked at each of the three of them, the men who’d cared for him like they were his fathers. “I can do it,” he repeated.
That was the truth.
“I’m not scared.”
That was the lie.
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*** ***
When the coach finally arrived that would take him to France’s residence (a chateau just west of New Hampshire called La Vert Montagne he’d been told), America was surprised to find that his escort was no other than Prussia himself. He clutched his bag tightly, his fingers suddenly nerveless.
“You?” he stuttered, before recovering. “Aren’t you supposed to be off training the Army?”
Prussia grinned, tossing him a crisp salute. “My man’s got that covered. When I heard the news, I figured I could spare the time to help you get squared away.”
He opened the door to the coach, gesturing for America to take a seat. The blond did so, adjusting himself several times as he tried to find a comfortable position. When Prussia slid in next to him, he settled down, still not comfortable but giving up on remedying the situation for now. The elder leaned out the window and shouted the driver onward, and America clutched at his bag as the coach lurched forward.
Prussia laughed loudly. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“For what?” America felt stupid as soon as he asked it, his cheeks colouring. Stupid - what else would the other nation be congratulating him on but the cementing of his new - and very first for that matter - alliance. But Prussia just laughed it off.
“Nerves, huh? Don’t worry about that - they’re natural. It’s your first time, right?” He leaned in close, his lips turning up in a teeth-bearing grin. “I mean, you’re still a virgin, aren’t you?”
America sputtered and turned away, his cheeks burning. That was hardly proper, even if it was true!
If anything, Prussia’s laughs grew louder. “Well, you’re lucky then. Its France you’re going to, and if anyone knows how to treat a virgin, it’s him. He’s deflowered enough of them after all!” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t treat you as nicely myself - or Spain either. Hell, I don’t think any in Europe would and Russia... Well, let’s not go there. That’s not an image you want in your head tonight is it? I doubt your brother is going to have it half so good himself at England’s hands when his time comes. If it hasn’t already that is, but him being your twin and all and England hadn’t done you yet... Well, anyways. Eyebrows is still more than half pirate you know.”
America felt ill. England taking Canada’s virginity was close to the last thing he wanted to think about just then. He shuddered. “Can we stop talking about this?”
Prussia shrugged. “All right. You should get try and get some sleep in any case. It’s a long ride, and I doubt you’ll be getting any tonight.” He leered, but then pulled his hat down and slouched into the seat to take his own advice before America could manage a reply.
When America’s attempts to do the same proved futile, he gave up and pushed the heavy curtain’s aside to stare at the scenery flying by. He tried to amuse himself by recalling old stories from his time as a little colony: the folktales and fairytales he’d heard about knights and heroes and princesses being sent away and ending up with the handsome prince anyways. He tried to recall the ones where everything worked out right in the end, but instead he kept remembering England’s voice as he told them, and Canada’s hand clasped tightly in his own. Suddenly, even with Prussia snoring away next to him, he felt incredibly alone.
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More A/N: That's what I have so far, if it meets with the OP's approval. I do have plans to continue it, including working in another request (that I sadly lost the link to) about a sort of formal ritual around a nation losing his or her virginity. I subscribe to the state-tan theory, with the original 13 being around with Al, but the others being his kids. If the OP doesn't object, the continuation will eventually include some male preg. If there are objections... Well, I'll continue it anyways, but end it earlier on the kink meme and just have that part on my personal journal or something.
I know OP wanted the nations to be used by their higher ups, but I couldn't see America's founding fathers (or even the original 13) being completely callous about it. I hope OP didn't mind America going willingly either. It seemed the sort of thing he'd do, what with his hero complex, in order to help his people.
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I didn't plan on Prussia coming actually, but he invited himself. He does stuff like that.
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Vermont maybe?
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Apologies and thanks! I hope you enjoy the next bit. I’m not sure how long it will take ME to get where I want to go yet, but I appreciate the encouragement!
“On your feet lover boy!” Prussia crowed, startling America out of an uneasy sleep with strange dreams. He rubbed the sand out of his eyes, blinking dumbly for a few moments as his brain took a minute to catch up with the rest of him. They’d been traveling for several days now, leaving early in the morning and continuing until dusk. It was more tiring than he’d expected, though that might have had something to do with his traveling companion seizing on the trip as the perfect time to quiz his captive pupil on military formations and tactics.
Prussia exited the coach, all but leaping out of it onto the ground. He stamped his feet a few times to get the blood flow going, then spun about and tapped his cane against the coach’s doorway impatiently. “What are you waiting for? Summer?” His lips quirked up into a wicked smirk. The late rays of the sun lit up the large curling feather perched on his hat, colouring its white edges red. “Got your heart set on being a June bride?”
America gritted his teeth at that, and angrily clambered out of the coach. He needed to shield his eyes against the sun for a moment as they adjusted, but the light felt good against his cheeks and the backs of his hands. Unfortunately, that bit of warmth didn’t last long. It was early in the year yet, and night was encroaching. He shivered, wishing he’d brought warmer clothes, then remembered that between the war, the blockades, and fleeing from his home, he didn’t have any. He watched as Prussia strode confidently up to the large white house, envying both his fur-lined cloak and his easy, brash manner. Prussia always carried himself like someone important, someone who deserved people’s attention. America remembered how impressed he’d been when they’d been introduced - awed and, in all honesty, a little intimidated. He wished he could be like that someday too.
He set his jaw. That was why he was here, wasn’t it? He had to win his freedom from England now, if he wanted a chance at earning any respect later. And to do that, he’d need France’s help. It was reason enough to pull up his courage, lift his chin, and join Prussia at the door.
Prussia glanced over as the boy took up a place beside him. “That’s better,” he commented, awarding him with an approving nod.
America managed a grin, despite the roiling of his stomach that had started up again. “Chin up, shoulders back, right?” he replied cheekily, repeating the oft-heard orders that Prussia and his man shouted at the Continental Army-in-training.
Prussia’s answering laugh was loud enough to echo in the still air. America’s grin steadied, grew, then abruptly vanished as the door opened.
“Well, look what the cats have dragged in tonight!” their welcoming party exclaimed. Spain’s eyes twinkled under his mess of dark curls. He was dressed up in continental finery, a fancy looking ruff about his neck and a ruby red waistcoat over his cream-colored shirt. His battle axe was nowhere to be seen thankfully.
“Come in, come in,” the Iberian nation urged when they didn’t immediately step in the door. He leaned out to gesture to the coachman. “The servants will bring your luggage up, so don’t worry about any of it.”
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“France is off bothering the cooks,” Spain confided, leaning in close to Prussia as he did so. “You know how he is - everything must be perfect. ¡Dios mío!” He threw his hands up into the air as if in fact tossing the whole thing up to god. “I tell him he should let it go, let the moment sweep it away. But that is passion, and our Francia is all about the romance, no?” He laughed and Prussia grinned in the manner of old friends who know each others’ habits better than any, and are still amused by them. America wanted to say something but an olive green eye winked at him and left him momentarily tongue-tied. “This will be done perfectly then, so I hope you’re hungry after your trip.”
America’s stomach growled in reply, and he made a face. “I’m starving,” he confirmed. “I could eat a horse! Well, probably not a horse,” he amended. “But a good half of a cow at least.”
“Will a lamb do instead?” came a deep, heavily accented voice from the other room. America swiveled abruptly about to see France striding towards them, patting his hands on a handkerchief that appeared to be more lace than cloth. His hair was tied back with a peacock blue ribbon that matched his coat, though the usual stubble shadowed his jaw line.
All smiles, France caught Spain’s hand in his and gave it a tight squeeze, smoothing down the dark-haired nation’s waistcoat with his other, though America didn’t think that part had really been necessary. Then Prussia was grabbed by the wrist and pulled into a hug, France planting a loud kiss on each cheek. For his part, Prussia seemed amused but offered a hearty pat on the back in return for the welcome rather than more kisses. America soon found his own hands seized. Kneeling, France placed a light kiss on the back of one with a wink. Then he stood, and the next thing America knew, France’s gaze was locked onto his.
Two pairs of blue eyes stared back at each other for a long moment.
“You’ve grown taller,” France murmured at last, tapping a finger fondly against the younger nation’s nose. America straightened up with pride, though his cheeks were turning pink. He remembered barely reaching France’s chest the last time they’d seen each other face-to-face. Now, he could meet his eyes without needing to look up. His blush deepened as France ran his hands over his shoulders, smoothing out fabric of the coat there. America had yet to fill out all the way, his frame still lacking the breadth of a full-grown adult’s. France’s touch lingered, as if he were measuring America for some new frock or the like.
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America flushed again, this time mainly with embarrassment, although a pinch of anger simmered underneath of it. Admittedly, his homespun garments weren’t anywhere near as fine as that of the other three, but he had worn the best he had, and even borrowed a pair of stockings from Tom when he’d found out that he didn’t possess any of his own that hadn’t been darned multiple times. He had only one suit better, but that was the one England had given him, and he’d be damned if he’d ever wear that thing again.
He took a step back, perturbed as the memory of Ben’s tale of her majesty Marie Antoinette’s own experience came back to him. “I am fighting a war right now, and it’s not like -” he began, his voice rising, but Spain cut him off smoothly.
“Is this really the time?” the older nation asked, addressing France. “The boy has a point. I hear Holland has still been able to smuggle goods through that old pirate’s blockades, but you know what a hard time we had sneaking by them.”
Prussia nodded, stepping in to defend his sometime pupil. “He made those himself you know. And hell, it’s not like any of us over here have had much time for fancy dinner wear in any case.”
France’s expression shifted at Prussia’s words, growing speculative. He tilted his head to the side as he studied America more closely. Finally, he gave in with a shrug. “It’s a useful skill,” he admitted, offering a smile to soothe the boy’s ruffled feathers. Despite himself, America found it working. He heard little enough from England in the way of compliments since the troubles in Massachusetts. “They’ll serve well enough for dinner certainly, if you feel you can still stomach that lamb.”
“Yes!” America nodded fervently, all talk of his clothes flying from his mind as the mention of dinner. The others laughed, and France led the way to into the dining room.
AN: I'm afraid that's it for now. I'm off to work on the next part, which I hope will contain a bit of smut for you all.
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