Dinner had passed by in a blur of candlelight, food, and laughter. France had brought his own wine - a rich red that made America’s head spin after just one glass. The others helped themselves to it liberally, especially Spain who grew more animated as the night passed. If France was anything, he was a gracious host, and he made sure no one’s glass stayed empty long. As the night wore on, the candles grew shorter, the scent of melted beeswax joining the savory and spicy odors of the meal. Prussia gnawed at the leg of a lamb with gusto, only relinquishing it when the servants began to clear away the plates.
France leaned over to refill America’s glass one last time, just as the younger was reaching for it to finish off the final few dregs. Startled, America almost dropped the crystalline glass, and it was only France’s grace and speed that allowed him to save his expensive tablecloth from being irreparably stained.
“Aw fi-!” America bit off a swear at the last moment. God, what a way to embarrassing himself in front of allies! Provincial, and clumsy. It was a good thing France detested England enough that he was still willing to support the colonies in their rebellion. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
But France only smiled, a slow upturning of his lips. He set the bottle of wine down, withdrawing his hand in such a way that his fingers brushed over America’s on the wine glass. America shivered at the touch and the smile, his skin goose-dimpling.
“What is there to apologize for?” France asked smoothly, indicating the still-pristine table cloth. His eyes flickered over to Spain and Prussia, both of whom were paying attention now. Prussia looked smug for some reason, lazily picking at his teeth with a toothpick. He nodded at France, and Spain lifted his glass in an approving salute before draining it. “But perhaps, we should take it as a sign?”
Pushing his chair back, France stood, offering his hand. “Shall we?” America hesitated. The butterflies in his stomach stirred. “What - what exactly needs to be done? I mean, I do have some idea of course. But...” He trailed off, unsure how to request more detail without embarrassing himself, especially considering that they were in public and what had been implied about the... sensitive nature of such negotiations.
He wasn’t at all surprised when Prussia burst into loud laughter, but that didn’t make him feel any happier about it. Damn Prussia, always being amused to other's expense, he thought grumpily.
France laughed too, and while that irritated America as well, he was relieved by the reply that followed. “It will be a ceremony of sorts. A small one to be sure, what with the current circumstances of war with England and all that.” He waved his hand about airily, and quickly traced the sign of the cross. “Still, some traditions must be up held, and it won’t do to begin our alliance without first presenting it before God and his saints.”
Oh. Was that all? America felt the butterflies settle back down to sleep. He wasn’t a papist (at least not outside of certain cities), but a ceremony didn’t seem like anything he couldn’t pull off. He’d been to weddings before. France and he weren’t being united in the way some nations like Austria and Hungary were, but it was similar enough, so he figured he had a good idea of what to expect. He’d been spooked over nothing, he decided. Influenced by all those horror stories England told him about France and his habits most likely. He straightened his shoulders and pushed his own chair back from the table, rising without taking France’s proffered hand of assistance. He might have needed France’s alliance, but he didn’t want to give the impression he was some sort of timid damsel in distress. France had, after all, only agreed to this treaty after America had proven himself by winning a significant victory over England.
Re: Nations as trade items - France/America (Dowry) - 5/?
anonymous
March 15 2010, 13:05:53 UTC
France dropped his hand, something like approval glimmering in his eyes. He led the way out of the dining room, Prussia ushering America after him and Spain taking up the rear. His home in this part of the New World was a far cry from the palaces of his own cities, but he had seen fit to have a small room added off of the left wing to serve as a chapel. It was rather sparsely furnished by his standards, but much more elegantly than the little churches and meeting rooms that dotted the colonies. The stained glass had been imported all the way from Italy. The benches and altar had been carved by colonial craftsmen, but the Bible itself was from Europe, as were the candlesticks, the censor, and the crucifixes and icons. As for the holy man, well, Spain had seen to that.
America stumbled when he caught sight of Romano standing in front of the altar, tugging angrily at the sleeves of his white robes. The older of the two Italy brothers glared back at him when he caught the blond staring.
“What are you looking at?” Romano snapped. As suddenly as his glare had hit America, it left and fixed on Spain. When Spain’s only reaction was a shrug and a smile, Romano coughed and made a show of brushing off his robes. “You didn’t think an ordinary priest would do for this sort of thing, did you?” he muttered. “I’m not supporting any one of you in this though! I only came because that bastard wouldn’t stop whining at me. Now get up here, so I can get this over with and head home.”
America blamed the alcohol for the way the ceremony seemed to fly by. He repeated the words when Romano paused in expectation, and almost repeated when he was supposed to say I do, but just barely caught himself in time.
“Under the eyes of God and the Saints, I now pronounce this alliance sealed. May their blessings be upon it and you both,” Romano proclaimed, gesturing his hand hand above the two of them. America blinked as holy water was flicked at him. “That’s it,” Romano scowled, already tugging at his vestments to remove them. “Now get out of here already.”
Notes: My god that took me forever! I apologize for my massive writer's block. The next part is in progress and hopefully won't take as long. It is, I should warn, heavily inspired by the bedroom scene in Marie Antoinette.
Re: Nations as trade items - France/America (Dowry) - 5/?
anonymous
March 15 2010, 13:13:04 UTC
Notes: Fuck, I missed part of the end of part 4 -- here! Enjoy it!
America beamed. That had been easier than dumping tea into Boston Harbor, and sure to get under England’s collar just as badly. He turned to France, near-bursting with a thousand questions and ideas. Visions of blockades and sieges danced in his head, along with plans for new trade routes and cultural exchanges once the war was over and won.
Too bad that just then Spain tugged him backwards, away from his new ally.
“Just a minute!” America exclaimed, “What - wait a moment! What-?”
France chuckled and blew him a kiss from where he stood at the alter. Beside him, Prussia wraggled his eyebrows. “Just go with Spain for now mon lapin. We will see each other soon enough.”
Grumbling, America stumbled after Spain, who hadn’t released his wrist yet and was babbling about how cute Romano had looked in his robes, and didn’t America agree with him.
“Yes, he was adorable,” America agreed just to get him to shut up for a moment. Personally, he didn’t see what was so attractive about a nation older than he was wearing something that looked like his nightdress from when he was a newly founded colony. “Spain - where are we going?”
Finally, Spain turned to look at him, letting go off his wrist. “Why, to get you a bath of course,” he answered, his smile never leaving his face. “You stink.”
Re: Nations as trade items - France/America (Dowry) - 5/?
anonymous
March 15 2010, 15:33:58 UTC
Anon, I didn't even know I needed this in my life and here it is. I'm enjoying your attention to detail and characterization especially. America! Ben Franklin! Prussia being Prussia but still acting his age! America's thoughts and the bits about the Queen! And I'm actually looking forward to reading more France scenes for once. More please! Er, when it's convenient for anon, of course... orz
ReCaptcha says: wants cleaner Holy shi- Gollum? In this kinkmeme? O_O He's totally a France/America shipper
Re: Nations as trade items - France/America (Dowry) - 5/?
anonymous
March 15 2010, 17:50:08 UTC
*flails*
This...oh this...I was hoping against hope that this would resurface someday and not just disappear as so many other fics have...and now here it is and it is still so, so wonderful.
I adore all the characterizations you've set up here and poor confused, innocent America...so adorable.
Love, Love, Love and can't wait to see where this is headed next!
Re: Nations as trade items - France/America (Dowry) - 5/?
anonymous
March 16 2010, 02:08:06 UTC
OMG. \;;A;;/ You should have seeeeen my face when I noticed the comment at the fill list. I had thought for SURE that you had abandoned this. Thank you so much for continuing!
.... Oh my god, priest!Romano. Is. So much. Pure. Win.
Nations as trade items - France/America (Dowry) - 6/?
anonymous
April 28 2010, 13:47:10 UTC
Notes Author-anon wants to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter of this. I had no idea so many of you were enjoying it so much! Honestly, it blew me away, as I worry a great deal about the quality of my writing. It was incredibly encouraging to hear from all of you! I only hope the next chapters will be as well received.
Here`s your warnings for this next chapter: There be smut! Also, the influence from the Marie Antoinette movie continues (specifically, the bedroom scene); after official weddings, the tradition in France was for certain people with the `right of entry` to accompany the bride and bridegroom to their bedroom and, well, tuck them in as it were.
Feeling quite thoroughly molested, America stumbled nervously into the bed-chamber. Spain had insisted on a good scrubbing, which apparently meant his help was required. America didn’t think he’d been this clean since he and Canada had gotten a little too excited about making maple syrup and spilled a vat of the sticky stuff all over them. England had spent so long scrubbing them that America had started crying because he was sure their fingers and toes would be permanently wrinkled.
He swallowed, and tried not to think about how much he missed his brother just then, or those happier times with England. Instead, he tried to concentrate on how raw and warm his skin felt, and how obnoxiously frilly the nightshirt and robe Spain had forced him into were.
Fortunately (or not, he supposed), he was distracted by the large bed in the middle of the room, France standing next to it. America felt his cheeks heating as he was looked over, France giving Spain an approving nod in the end.
France had bathed as well, if his damp curls were anything to go by. He wore a thick, ornate robe, even fancier than America`s. Prussia stood next to him, and America glanced back to see Spain still there, having no apparent intention of leaving.
“Uh, um...” He began, wondering if he’d missed something. Across the room, Prussia stepped up to France, tugging on the tie of his robe and setting to work on it. America about choked. “Shouldn’t you two, um, give us some privacy? I mean, we have a lot to talk about, right France?”
France laughed. “Oh, that we do,” he agreed, suggestion dripping from his voice like dark honey. It did little to reassure America who yelped audibly when Spain grabbed a hold of his own robe and started to remove it. “But they have right of entry. It wouldn’t be proper to go against tradition, would it?”
America couldn’t form an answer to that. He needed France’s help, and that meant he had to do this France’s way. But there was nothing proper about this! He watched wide-eyed as Prussia disrobed France, knowing he was gaping and unable to help it.
France clearly didn’t mind, a fox-like smile playing over his lips as he noticed America’s stare. He winked, and America at last managed to avert his eyes. Spain’s hands were at his shoulders now, pulling away the robe and letting it fall to the floor. America shivered, clad only in the thin nightshirt, its fine silk suddenly feeling less substantial than cobwebs. When he dared to peek, he discovered France similarly undressed and already sliding into the bed.
He - it - they - They couldn’t expect-! But Spain was already ushering him towards the bed, and Prussia joined him to help hurry things along. Stunned, America allowed himself to be herded, sliding under the covers beside France. He was surprised the heat from his skin didn’t cause them to burst into flame.
Spain and Prussia stood over them, wide smiles on their faces as they congratulated themselves. Prussia tossed off a salute to France.
“Well, that’s it then,” he drawled. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do to the boy.”
France chuckled. “I hardly think that’s possible.”
France/America (Dowry) - 6/? CON`T
anonymous
April 28 2010, 13:50:37 UTC
“See you in the morning,” chirped Spain, tossing something small to France who caught it easily.
“Yeah,” Prussia added, butting in. “And don’t be too late or I’m eating all of your breakfast and starting this war without the both of you.”
He clasped Spain on the shoulder and they both exited. Incredibly relived that they weren’t staying for - for whatever, America sat up slightly and breathed a sigh of relief.
France too sat up, unmindful of the covers that slipped to his waist. Whatever he’d caught from Spain had been palmed and tucked somewhere. “Do you understand what happens next cher?” he murmured, not unkindly.
America took a deep breath and nodded. “Our treaty allows you certain rights. Mr. Adams and Dr. Franklin explained that to me.” Or, well, they`d tried to, but there`d been an awful lot of stammering and shouting (mostly on John`s part). America had bopped his head a lot and pretended to understand out of desperation to get them to stop, but in reality, he`d followed very little of it. “They said I would have to allow you access to my, uh, vital regions.”
France laughed out loud. “Is that how they put it?” He shook his head. “I would only expect as much from Mr. Adams, but Dr. Franklin? The man was never so shy in Paris. Why, he had half the skirts at court up about the ladies’ waists! That many, at least.” Noticing the way America’s eyes widened and the nervous way his fingers played with the covers, France softened his tone. “Ah, but don’t worry,” he soothed. “I will take good care of you, as I promised.”
France shifted under the covers so that he was kneeling facing America, who swallowed hard, entranced by the contemplative expression on the elder nation`s face. He allowed himself to be pushed back down onto the bed, France`s hands warm against his shoulders.
Breathe, America reminded himself as France settled over him. Although France kept their torsos from meeting, their legs brushed together under the covers. America had shared a bed with Canada for years, but his twin`s legs, like his own, were still that of a young teen. France`s legs - and the rest of his body as well - were obviously that of an adult, and a hairy one at that. America shifted at the strange feel of it, tentatively running one shin up France`s．A dark look flittered through France`s eyes at the action, but his lips curved up slightly, and America found it more pleasing than frightening, so he did it again.
The second time stirred France into action. Time seemed to flow strangely to America, because there didn`t seem to be any sudden movement on France`s part, just a slow lean downwards. Yet, at the same time, America was shocked into stillness by the time the other nation`s lips finally met his. He breathed in France`s breath as the other nation took advantage of his shock to move his lips against America`s. They were soft and warm, and tasted faintly of the chocolate mousse and red wine they`d finished off dinner with. When France pulled away, he found himself straining up after him, wanting to re-capture that taste.
France chuckled softly at that. “Don`t be greedy,” he said, eyes twinkling. He traced the outline of America`s mouth with his fingers. “Is that what you expect me to say? But you can be as greedy as you want here.”
He swooped back down, recapturing America`s lips. This time, his tongue danced over them, and America let it slip inside with a sigh. Thus distracted, he didn`t resist when France`s hand stole up his side, rucking his nightshirt up with it. France`s weight settled more fully against him, anchoring him to the bed. The weight and warmth were welcome. France`s hands stroked lightly up and down his sides, and the combination of sensations was so pleasant that America allowed himself to close his eyes and soak them up, even after his mouth was released. Now and then France would wander close to a more sensitive area and he would tense, but the older nation kept his pace steady and his touch light, and soon enough America relaxed and let himself be explored.
France/America (Dowry) - 6/? CON`T 2
anonymous
April 28 2010, 13:53:15 UTC
The gentle waves of pleasure seemed to bear him away like a ship, but France`s mouth on his neck dragged him back suddenly. He gasped at the warm, wet suction, hips rocking up. France`s groin pulsed hot and heavy against his thigh, and America flushed as he felt an echoing surge through his own body. When France`s teeth closed down, he groaned out loud, surprised by how beyond his conscious control his own actions were.
That feeling sobered him, and he began to shift about awkwardly. Despite the part of him protesting at the loss of warmth, he shrank away from France`s touch, pressing himself deeper into the bed.
Mercifully, France pulled back, but his eyes all but sparkled. America stared up at him, wide-eyed and panting, fearing he looked silly the way his mouth was hanging open but unable to close it at the moment. Catching his breath a moment, he opened it wider to protest or ask France to stop, or something, but before any words could emerge a finger had been slipped inside. It rubbed the back of his teeth, tickling under his tongue a moment. Shocked, America closed his mouth around the invading digit. France`s eyelids drooped down until little more than a slit of blue was visible, and his head tilted back. A shock of heat flickered down America`s spine at the sight.
He wrapped his tongue around France`s finger experimentally, and was rewarded with a low moan. He wriggled against the bed, pleased at the reaction, at the clear evidence he was doing something that pleased the other.
France pulled his finger free, tapping the now-moist digit once against America`s lips. “Am I too much for you after all?” he asked, his voice husky.
“No!” America lifted his chin defiantly, his stubbornness and pride winning out over his nerves. France`s fingertips danced up America`s inner thighs, and he parted them obligingly, sucking in a deep breath. He was awarded with a smile and a nuzzle at his neck.
“That`s right,” France soothed. “You`re doing fine.”
Then he took America in hand and stroked, and all thoughts flew out of the younger`s head. He cried out, hips arching off the bed, feeling drops of thick liquid leak from him only to be smeared around by France`s grip.
The fabric of his nightshirt was shoved up and out of the way as France`s free hand raked over his chest. His eyes closing, America heard a soft click, and the scent of flowers and pressed olives stole into his nose. France abandoned his cock to massage the muscles of America`s butt. One slick finger slid down between the gently-rounded cheeks, causing America shifted awkwardly at the strange new sensation.
France`s fingertip circled his entrance, pushing in slightly. America froze. “You - you shouldn`t,” he stuttered. “It`s dirty.”
France cocked an eyebrow at him, clucking his tongue. “Nonsense.” His free hand kneaded at America`s left butt cheek. Ignoring America`s protest, he slipped his finger further in and twisted it slightly. “You`ve just bathed and besides, it feels good, doesn`t it? It`ll feel even better soon, but you`ll have to be strong for a little while yet. You can do that, can`t you?”
America choked as France`s finger slid almost all the way out, only to push back in, this time joined by a second. “Of course,” he blustered, and set his jaw. It didn`t hurt really - more of a stretching sort of burn in an awkward location. He could tolerate it. He could tolerate just about anything for the sake of becoming a nation.
As France`s fingers continued to push and twist inside of him, the stretching feeling gradually melted away into pleasure. America relaxed back into the bed and knotted his fingers in the covers as he struggled to keep his breathing steady.
France/America (Dowry) - 6/? CON`T 3
anonymous
April 28 2010, 13:54:10 UTC
“There, there, mon petit lapin,” France cooed down at him, pulling his fingers all the way out at last. America`s eyes flickered open at the words to see France stroking himself. America swallowed, unable to look away. It took on a glossy shine as the oil coated it, and he wondered about what was coming next.
He had his answer soon enough as France urged him to lift his hips. He grabbed a pillow and quickly slipped it under them. His knees on either side of France and his hips thus elevated, America felt uncomfortably on display. He tried to tug down the hem of his nightshirt but France caught his hands. Arms caught above his head, America looked away.
“It`s not going to fit,” he tried to explain, but France continued to push in.
“Hush little one. In this case at least, I know your body better than you do.”
America very much doubted that at the initial pain of entry. His breath hissed out from between his teeth and his nails dug into the palms of his hand. But France moved slowly, and after a minute, America discovered the truth of his words. His mouth opened and he let his head fall back against the pillow. The pleasure seemed to pick back off where it had left off before, only to increase exponentially until white and dark red spots danced before his eyes and his body slumped against the bed, spent. Exhaustion overcame him, and he barely noticed when France came as well. Eyes drooping, he murmured faintly, too tired to do more than shift as directed when a gentle hand wiped him clean between his legs. Finally, a large block of body heat settled beside him and America curled into it, sinking into a proper sleep for the first time since leaving Philadelphia.
Re: France/America (Dowry) - 6/? CON`T 3
anonymous
April 28 2010, 15:23:32 UTC
How did I discover this just now? I LOVE IT <3333 The prompt corresponds with my headcanon rather nicely, but the way you wrote it sold me in. I keep chuckling every time you mention the contrasting rage of John Adams and mischievousness of Ben Franklin. Moar Founding Fathers, please! I keep picturing the 1776 cast doing this and I can't help laughingXD
America is adorable here, so strong and determined but shy and naive. His naivete is lovely; I certainly hope there are many parts after this and you go on describing the actual war and yes, mpreg, pliz (the first of many for you, America, take heartXD). I specially like his reaction to the other characters, his helpless nerves and attraction to France's superior seductive expertise, his disconcert and appreciation of Spain and his admiration and near-emulation of Prussia (specially later on! I love that line when he reasons that he wants to be someone that comandeers respect, authority and importance to his person; things will go well for you, dear America ;) But I also like his pride, specially when France half-mocks him for his clothes. And I'm so happy to have state-tans around too ^^ (and the little details? wonderufl. like America being too soft for European wine, thinking something is more lace that cloth, France's hairy body, Prussia's red tinted feathers, Spain's toast to the occasion...I lvoe all of them. And I like to amuse myself thinking the three friends are so touchy-feely and comfortable undressing around each other because they've lay together at some point. Come to think of it, who was their first, in your verse?)
Prussia and Spain are a wonderful add, and you got them nailed. The Bad Touch Trio blooms under your writing, really, their interactions are my favourite thing in the story so far. I like how sweet but also disconcerting they are in their actions and kind jest at America's expense, and their smugness and amusement at France's condition and the way things are going. The constant mentions of England are win too! (I hope we get to see his supreme rage when the news hit himXD). And the reason that England asked for Canada was sweet, the brotherly bond is portrayed really cute and important.
France was so manly and seductive and delicious! Wow, he really is a master lover, the sex scene was hot and tender and also really sexy; he made it wonderful, America is certainly lucky ^^ (I also like how most things come to America naturally; whenever I see virgins in fiction I brace myself for some ridiculousness, but even so, most of them make me cringe anyway with their absolute blankness regarding the proceedings; sex is instinctive in many ways, and you showed it here very well).
I'm wondering what Prussia and Spain are getting out of their help? I ask because, if you're gonna bring mpreg to the story, Prussia could be a father to one, and Spain is certainly father to many...but really, I'm just waiting delighted for what you'll give next ^_~
Re: France/America (Dowry) - 6/? CON`T 3
anonymous
April 28 2010, 20:36:03 UTC
I'm so glad you updated this. I was following it, and got worried that perhaps you had abandoned it. This new update was TOTALLY WORTH THE WAIT!! Wow, that was hot! I think I love young, inexperienced (but feisty) America with sophisticated and powerful France. Nice job, anon!
Parts 1-4 here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10456.html?thread=19872984#t19872984
Dinner had passed by in a blur of candlelight, food, and laughter. France had brought his own wine - a rich red that made America’s head spin after just one glass. The others helped themselves to it liberally, especially Spain who grew more animated as the night passed. If France was anything, he was a gracious host, and he made sure no one’s glass stayed empty long. As the night wore on, the candles grew shorter, the scent of melted beeswax joining the savory and spicy odors of the meal. Prussia gnawed at the leg of a lamb with gusto, only relinquishing it when the servants began to clear away the plates.
France leaned over to refill America’s glass one last time, just as the younger was reaching for it to finish off the final few dregs. Startled, America almost dropped the crystalline glass, and it was only France’s grace and speed that allowed him to save his expensive tablecloth from being irreparably stained.
“Aw fi-!” America bit off a swear at the last moment. God, what a way to embarrassing himself in front of allies! Provincial, and clumsy. It was a good thing France detested England enough that he was still willing to support the colonies in their rebellion. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
But France only smiled, a slow upturning of his lips. He set the bottle of wine down, withdrawing his hand in such a way that his fingers brushed over America’s on the wine glass. America shivered at the touch and the smile, his skin goose-dimpling.
“What is there to apologize for?” France asked smoothly, indicating the still-pristine table cloth. His eyes flickered over to Spain and Prussia, both of whom were paying attention now. Prussia looked smug for some reason, lazily picking at his teeth with a toothpick. He nodded at France, and Spain lifted his glass in an approving salute before draining it. “But perhaps, we should take it as a sign?”
Pushing his chair back, France stood, offering his hand. “Shall we?”
America hesitated. The butterflies in his stomach stirred. “What - what exactly needs to be done? I mean, I do have some idea of course. But...” He trailed off, unsure how to request more detail without embarrassing himself, especially considering that they were in public and what had been implied about the... sensitive nature of such negotiations.
He wasn’t at all surprised when Prussia burst into loud laughter, but that didn’t make him feel any happier about it. Damn Prussia, always being amused to other's expense, he thought grumpily.
France laughed too, and while that irritated America as well, he was relieved by the reply that followed. “It will be a ceremony of sorts. A small one to be sure, what with the current circumstances of war with England and all that.” He waved his hand about airily, and quickly traced the sign of the cross. “Still, some traditions must be up held, and it won’t do to begin our alliance without first presenting it before God and his saints.”
Oh. Was that all? America felt the butterflies settle back down to sleep. He wasn’t a papist (at least not outside of certain cities), but a ceremony didn’t seem like anything he couldn’t pull off. He’d been to weddings before. France and he weren’t being united in the way some nations like Austria and Hungary were, but it was similar enough, so he figured he had a good idea of what to expect. He’d been spooked over nothing, he decided. Influenced by all those horror stories England told him about France and his habits most likely. He straightened his shoulders and pushed his own chair back from the table, rising without taking France’s proffered hand of assistance. He might have needed France’s alliance, but he didn’t want to give the impression he was some sort of timid damsel in distress. France had, after all, only agreed to this treaty after America had proven himself by winning a significant victory over England.
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France dropped his hand, something like approval glimmering in his eyes. He led the way out of the dining room, Prussia ushering America after him and Spain taking up the rear. His home in this part of the New World was a far cry from the palaces of his own cities, but he had seen fit to have a small room added off of the left wing to serve as a chapel. It was rather sparsely furnished by his standards, but much more elegantly than the little churches and meeting rooms that dotted the colonies. The stained glass had been imported all the way from Italy. The benches and altar had been carved by colonial craftsmen, but the Bible itself was from Europe, as were the candlesticks, the censor, and the crucifixes and icons. As for the holy man, well, Spain had seen to that.
America stumbled when he caught sight of Romano standing in front of the altar, tugging angrily at the sleeves of his white robes. The older of the two Italy brothers glared back at him when he caught the blond staring.
“What are you looking at?” Romano snapped. As suddenly as his glare had hit America, it left and fixed on Spain. When Spain’s only reaction was a shrug and a smile, Romano coughed and made a show of brushing off his robes. “You didn’t think an ordinary priest would do for this sort of thing, did you?” he muttered. “I’m not supporting any one of you in this though! I only came because that bastard wouldn’t stop whining at me. Now get up here, so I can get this over with and head home.”
America blamed the alcohol for the way the ceremony seemed to fly by. He repeated the words when Romano paused in expectation, and almost repeated when he was supposed to say I do, but just barely caught himself in time.
“Under the eyes of God and the Saints, I now pronounce this alliance sealed. May their blessings be upon it and you both,” Romano proclaimed, gesturing his hand hand above the two of them. America blinked as holy water was flicked at him. “That’s it,” Romano scowled, already tugging at his vestments to remove them. “Now get out of here already.”
Notes: My god that took me forever! I apologize for my massive writer's block. The next part is in progress and hopefully won't take as long. It is, I should warn, heavily inspired by the bedroom scene in Marie Antoinette.
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America beamed. That had been easier than dumping tea into Boston Harbor, and sure to get under England’s collar just as badly. He turned to France, near-bursting with a thousand questions and ideas. Visions of blockades and sieges danced in his head, along with plans for new trade routes and cultural exchanges once the war was over and won.
Too bad that just then Spain tugged him backwards, away from his new ally.
“Just a minute!” America exclaimed, “What - wait a moment! What-?”
France chuckled and blew him a kiss from where he stood at the alter. Beside him, Prussia wraggled his eyebrows. “Just go with Spain for now mon lapin. We will see each other soon enough.”
Grumbling, America stumbled after Spain, who hadn’t released his wrist yet and was babbling about how cute Romano had looked in his robes, and didn’t America agree with him.
“Yes, he was adorable,” America agreed just to get him to shut up for a moment. Personally, he didn’t see what was so attractive about a nation older than he was wearing something that looked like his nightdress from when he was a newly founded colony. “Spain - where are we going?”
Finally, Spain turned to look at him, letting go off his wrist. “Why, to get you a bath of course,” he answered, his smile never leaving his face. “You stink.”
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ReCaptcha says: wants cleaner
Holy shi- Gollum? In this kinkmeme? O_O He's totally a France/America shipper
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This...oh this...I was hoping against hope that this would resurface someday and not just disappear as so many other fics have...and now here it is and it is still so, so wonderful.
I adore all the characterizations you've set up here and poor confused, innocent America...so adorable.
Love, Love, Love and can't wait to see where this is headed next!
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*deep breath* SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE! OmigoshIcan'tbelieveitIlovethisstorysosomuchandEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!
It's back it's back IT'S BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!
*ahem*
And that's all I have to say.
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.... Oh my god, priest!Romano. Is. So much. Pure. Win.
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Here`s your warnings for this next chapter: There be smut! Also, the influence from the Marie Antoinette movie continues (specifically, the bedroom scene); after official weddings, the tradition in France was for certain people with the `right of entry` to accompany the bride and bridegroom to their bedroom and, well, tuck them in as it were.
Feeling quite thoroughly molested, America stumbled nervously into the bed-chamber. Spain had insisted on a good scrubbing, which apparently meant his help was required. America didn’t think he’d been this clean since he and Canada had gotten a little too excited about making maple syrup and spilled a vat of the sticky stuff all over them. England had spent so long scrubbing them that America had started crying because he was sure their fingers and toes would be permanently wrinkled.
He swallowed, and tried not to think about how much he missed his brother just then, or those happier times with England. Instead, he tried to concentrate on how raw and warm his skin felt, and how obnoxiously frilly the nightshirt and robe Spain had forced him into were.
Fortunately (or not, he supposed), he was distracted by the large bed in the middle of the room, France standing next to it. America felt his cheeks heating as he was looked over, France giving Spain an approving nod in the end.
France had bathed as well, if his damp curls were anything to go by. He wore a thick, ornate robe, even fancier than America`s. Prussia stood next to him, and America glanced back to see Spain still there, having no apparent intention of leaving.
“Uh, um...” He began, wondering if he’d missed something. Across the room, Prussia stepped up to France, tugging on the tie of his robe and setting to work on it. America about choked. “Shouldn’t you two, um, give us some privacy? I mean, we have a lot to talk about, right France?”
France laughed. “Oh, that we do,” he agreed, suggestion dripping from his voice like dark honey. It did little to reassure America who yelped audibly when Spain grabbed a hold of his own robe and started to remove it. “But they have right of entry. It wouldn’t be proper to go against tradition, would it?”
America couldn’t form an answer to that. He needed France’s help, and that meant he had to do this France’s way. But there was nothing proper about this! He watched wide-eyed as Prussia disrobed France, knowing he was gaping and unable to help it.
France clearly didn’t mind, a fox-like smile playing over his lips as he noticed America’s stare. He winked, and America at last managed to avert his eyes. Spain’s hands were at his shoulders now, pulling away the robe and letting it fall to the floor. America shivered, clad only in the thin nightshirt, its fine silk suddenly feeling less substantial than cobwebs. When he dared to peek, he discovered France similarly undressed and already sliding into the bed.
He - it - they - They couldn’t expect-! But Spain was already ushering him towards the bed, and Prussia joined him to help hurry things along. Stunned, America allowed himself to be herded, sliding under the covers beside France. He was surprised the heat from his skin didn’t cause them to burst into flame.
Spain and Prussia stood over them, wide smiles on their faces as they congratulated themselves. Prussia tossed off a salute to France.
“Well, that’s it then,” he drawled. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do to the boy.”
France chuckled. “I hardly think that’s possible.”
America tried to sink deeper under the covers.
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“Yeah,” Prussia added, butting in. “And don’t be too late or I’m eating all of your breakfast and starting this war without the both of you.”
He clasped Spain on the shoulder and they both exited. Incredibly relived that they weren’t staying for - for whatever, America sat up slightly and breathed a sigh of relief.
France too sat up, unmindful of the covers that slipped to his waist. Whatever he’d caught from Spain had been palmed and tucked somewhere. “Do you understand what happens next cher?” he murmured, not unkindly.
America took a deep breath and nodded. “Our treaty allows you certain rights. Mr. Adams and Dr. Franklin explained that to me.” Or, well, they`d tried to, but there`d been an awful lot of stammering and shouting (mostly on John`s part). America had bopped his head a lot and pretended to understand out of desperation to get them to stop, but in reality, he`d followed very little of it. “They said I would have to allow you access to my, uh, vital regions.”
France laughed out loud. “Is that how they put it?” He shook his head. “I would only expect as much from Mr. Adams, but Dr. Franklin? The man was never so shy in Paris. Why, he had half the skirts at court up about the ladies’ waists! That many, at least.” Noticing the way America’s eyes widened and the nervous way his fingers played with the covers, France softened his tone. “Ah, but don’t worry,” he soothed. “I will take good care of you, as I promised.”
France shifted under the covers so that he was kneeling facing America, who swallowed hard, entranced by the contemplative expression on the elder nation`s face. He allowed himself to be pushed back down onto the bed, France`s hands warm against his shoulders.
Breathe, America reminded himself as France settled over him. Although France kept their torsos from meeting, their legs brushed together under the covers. America had shared a bed with Canada for years, but his twin`s legs, like his own, were still that of a young teen. France`s legs - and the rest of his body as well - were obviously that of an adult, and a hairy one at that. America shifted at the strange feel of it, tentatively running one shin up France`s．A dark look flittered through France`s eyes at the action, but his lips curved up slightly, and America found it more pleasing than frightening, so he did it again.
The second time stirred France into action. Time seemed to flow strangely to America, because there didn`t seem to be any sudden movement on France`s part, just a slow lean downwards. Yet, at the same time, America was shocked into stillness by the time the other nation`s lips finally met his. He breathed in France`s breath as the other nation took advantage of his shock to move his lips against America`s. They were soft and warm, and tasted faintly of the chocolate mousse and red wine they`d finished off dinner with. When France pulled away, he found himself straining up after him, wanting to re-capture that taste.
France chuckled softly at that. “Don`t be greedy,” he said, eyes twinkling. He traced the outline of America`s mouth with his fingers. “Is that what you expect me to say? But you can be as greedy as you want here.”
He swooped back down, recapturing America`s lips. This time, his tongue danced over them, and America let it slip inside with a sigh. Thus distracted, he didn`t resist when France`s hand stole up his side, rucking his nightshirt up with it. France`s weight settled more fully against him, anchoring him to the bed. The weight and warmth were welcome. France`s hands stroked lightly up and down his sides, and the combination of sensations was so pleasant that America allowed himself to close his eyes and soak them up, even after his mouth was released. Now and then France would wander close to a more sensitive area and he would tense, but the older nation kept his pace steady and his touch light, and soon enough America relaxed and let himself be explored.
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That feeling sobered him, and he began to shift about awkwardly. Despite the part of him protesting at the loss of warmth, he shrank away from France`s touch, pressing himself deeper into the bed.
Mercifully, France pulled back, but his eyes all but sparkled. America stared up at him, wide-eyed and panting, fearing he looked silly the way his mouth was hanging open but unable to close it at the moment. Catching his breath a moment, he opened it wider to protest or ask France to stop, or something, but before any words could emerge a finger had been slipped inside. It rubbed the back of his teeth, tickling under his tongue a moment. Shocked, America closed his mouth around the invading digit. France`s eyelids drooped down until little more than a slit of blue was visible, and his head tilted back. A shock of heat flickered down America`s spine at the sight.
He wrapped his tongue around France`s finger experimentally, and was rewarded with a low moan. He wriggled against the bed, pleased at the reaction, at the clear evidence he was doing something that pleased the other.
France pulled his finger free, tapping the now-moist digit once against America`s lips. “Am I too much for you after all?” he asked, his voice husky.
“No!” America lifted his chin defiantly, his stubbornness and pride winning out over his nerves. France`s fingertips danced up America`s inner thighs, and he parted them obligingly, sucking in a deep breath. He was awarded with a smile and a nuzzle at his neck.
“That`s right,” France soothed. “You`re doing fine.”
Then he took America in hand and stroked, and all thoughts flew out of the younger`s head. He cried out, hips arching off the bed, feeling drops of thick liquid leak from him only to be smeared around by France`s grip.
The fabric of his nightshirt was shoved up and out of the way as France`s free hand raked over his chest. His eyes closing, America heard a soft click, and the scent of flowers and pressed olives stole into his nose. France abandoned his cock to massage the muscles of America`s butt. One slick finger slid down between the gently-rounded cheeks, causing America shifted awkwardly at the strange new sensation.
France`s fingertip circled his entrance, pushing in slightly. America froze. “You - you shouldn`t,” he stuttered. “It`s dirty.”
France cocked an eyebrow at him, clucking his tongue. “Nonsense.” His free hand kneaded at America`s left butt cheek. Ignoring America`s protest, he slipped his finger further in and twisted it slightly. “You`ve just bathed and besides, it feels good, doesn`t it? It`ll feel even better soon, but you`ll have to be strong for a little while yet. You can do that, can`t you?”
America choked as France`s finger slid almost all the way out, only to push back in, this time joined by a second. “Of course,” he blustered, and set his jaw. It didn`t hurt really - more of a stretching sort of burn in an awkward location. He could tolerate it. He could tolerate just about anything for the sake of becoming a nation.
As France`s fingers continued to push and twist inside of him, the stretching feeling gradually melted away into pleasure. America relaxed back into the bed and knotted his fingers in the covers as he struggled to keep his breathing steady.
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“There, there, mon petit lapin,” France cooed down at him, pulling his fingers all the way out at last. America`s eyes flickered open at the words to see France stroking himself. America swallowed, unable to look away. It took on a glossy shine as the oil coated it, and he wondered about what was coming next.
He had his answer soon enough as France urged him to lift his hips. He grabbed a pillow and quickly slipped it under them. His knees on either side of France and his hips thus elevated, America felt uncomfortably on display. He tried to tug down the hem of his nightshirt but France caught his hands. Arms caught above his head, America looked away.
“It`s not going to fit,” he tried to explain, but France continued to push in.
“Hush little one. In this case at least, I know your body better than you do.”
America very much doubted that at the initial pain of entry. His breath hissed out from between his teeth and his nails dug into the palms of his hand. But France moved slowly, and after a minute, America discovered the truth of his words. His mouth opened and he let his head fall back against the pillow. The pleasure seemed to pick back off where it had left off before, only to increase exponentially until white and dark red spots danced before his eyes and his body slumped against the bed, spent. Exhaustion overcame him, and he barely noticed when France came as well. Eyes drooping, he murmured faintly, too tired to do more than shift as directed when a gentle hand wiped him clean between his legs. Finally, a large block of body heat settled beside him and America curled into it, sinking into a proper sleep for the first time since leaving Philadelphia.
_(~~End Part 6~~)
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Oh gods...oh gods that was hot and sweet and just...perfect.
Guh!
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The prompt corresponds with my headcanon rather nicely, but the way you wrote it sold me in. I keep chuckling every time you mention the contrasting rage of John Adams and mischievousness of Ben Franklin. Moar Founding Fathers, please! I keep picturing the 1776 cast doing this and I can't help laughingXD
America is adorable here, so strong and determined but shy and naive. His naivete is lovely; I certainly hope there are many parts after this and you go on describing the actual war and yes, mpreg, pliz (the first of many for you, America, take heartXD). I specially like his reaction to the other characters, his helpless nerves and attraction to France's superior seductive expertise, his disconcert and appreciation of Spain and his admiration and near-emulation of Prussia (specially later on! I love that line when he reasons that he wants to be someone that comandeers respect, authority and importance to his person; things will go well for you, dear America ;)
But I also like his pride, specially when France half-mocks him for his clothes. And I'm so happy to have state-tans around too ^^
(and the little details? wonderufl. like America being too soft for European wine, thinking something is more lace that cloth, France's hairy body, Prussia's red tinted feathers, Spain's toast to the occasion...I lvoe all of them. And I like to amuse myself thinking the three friends are so touchy-feely and comfortable undressing around each other because they've lay together at some point. Come to think of it, who was their first, in your verse?)
Prussia and Spain are a wonderful add, and you got them nailed. The Bad Touch Trio blooms under your writing, really, their interactions are my favourite thing in the story so far. I like how sweet but also disconcerting they are in their actions and kind jest at America's expense, and their smugness and amusement at France's condition and the way things are going. The constant mentions of England are win too! (I hope we get to see his supreme rage when the news hit himXD). And the reason that England asked for Canada was sweet, the brotherly bond is portrayed really cute and important.
France was so manly and seductive and delicious! Wow, he really is a master lover, the sex scene was hot and tender and also really sexy; he made it wonderful, America is certainly lucky ^^
(I also like how most things come to America naturally; whenever I see virgins in fiction I brace myself for some ridiculousness, but even so, most of them make me cringe anyway with their absolute blankness regarding the proceedings; sex is instinctive in many ways, and you showed it here very well).
I'm wondering what Prussia and Spain are getting out of their help? I ask because, if you're gonna bring mpreg to the story, Prussia could be a father to one, and Spain is certainly father to many...but really, I'm just waiting delighted for what you'll give next ^_~
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