You Take Me In (15/?)
anonymous
October 21 2010, 19:41:25 UTC
He waited for a moment, watching the window beside it for any signs of movement. When no one answered England knocked again, sharply this time, to make certain he was heard. At long last the sound of hurried footsteps came from the second floor growing louder as whoever was rushing to answer him came down the stairs.
“Aye, I'm coming!” came the cheerful shout muffled inside. He held his breath as a figure moved past the window, a better view of who was obscured by the curtains.
Before England could even begin to contemplate what awaited him within that old colonial structure, the door opened to reveal America.
The taller man was dressed in a loosely fitted ivory shirt, unbuttoned at the top and hanging slightly off his left shoulder. The breeches were dark brown and well fitted over the off-white stockings. His shoes were caked with mud; that was to be expected from a man who worked off the land, but never the less, England found it tasteless. The most striking thing about the man was his face. His youth was much more prominent with the absence of Texas. England could see the blues of his eyes more clearly now.
Oh God in heaven, England knew his heart was racing, could feel it beating so violently he was almost certain his ribs would break. Sweet jesus, that boy was simply gorgeous...
“England,” America spoke, looking startled. His accent, while distinctly American, sounded more like England's. It was an older dialect, but it rolled off the his tongue so fluently, it was almost hard to imagine the more clipped and easy-going adaptation of that very same language falling from America's lips in modern times. “You're... here.”
He seemed nervous somehow. America was usually happier to see him, the smile that seemed so bright on it's own grew in luminance whenever the older man surprised him. This smile, however, was forced. Like he had something to hide, perhaps...
“Can a nation not pay his colonies a visit?” England quirked a brow, face perfectly cordial as he looked America up and down appreciatively.
The younger man leaned against the door, eyes trailing away uncomfortably. “No... I mean, only- I thought you had business in Europe.”
“Yes...” England whispered eyes taking their time to meet Americas, lingering a tad longer on that bare shoulder instead. “Well, actually, there's been a change of priorities, for the present. My business is here.” England looked over America's frame to the inside of the house and nodded pointedly. “May I?”
“Mnn? Oh!” America frowned slightly in confusion before his eyes grew wide, remembering himself and moving aside sheepishly. “Yes, of course.”
England swept past him, his heels echoing off the polished wooden floors as he entered the house, eyes flickering up to the iron chandelier handing above him, then downward, following the staircase down to the hallway where the parlor was situated just to the left. Everything remained the same; the same open entryway, the wallpaper dark green and decorated with paintings framed in bronze and gold. The interior smelled of cedarwood and cinnamon and earth from the mud America dragged with him after working the fields outside.
You Take Me In (16/?)
anonymous
October 21 2010, 19:43:06 UTC
He heard America shut the door and step cautiously behind him, his steps hesitant and soft and very unlike the younger man who was usually more assertive and loud. England shifted himself to the right so he could better see America out of the corner of his eye. The colony was fiddling with the hem of his sleeves while balancing from one foot to the next. The fidgeting of the feet was a trait England recognized from America's youth. A nervous tick of his whenever he was about to be scolded. Or if he were anticipating a scolding.
“So,” America cleared his throat and grinned pleasantly, ceasing his incessant fidgeting. “You said you had business with me?”
England blinked and gave his young charge a look he hoped was neutral. “When did I say it was about you, pray tell?”
America blinked back. “Oh... I just assumed-”
“Really, America, haven't I told you to stop jumping to conclusions all the time?” England shook his head a sighed. “Still are, as you ever were.”
America laughed and rubbed hie head. “Some things never change, right?”
“No,” England agreed, eyes wandering away as his thoughts stirred from the dark corners of his mind.
And some things aren't meant to. “Can I get you anything?” America offered, heading through the hall and into the kitchen.
“Just tea, thank you,” called England, as he made his way to the parlor room and paused just at the doorway.
It was yet another sight unchanged by the passage of time, green eyes settling on the red chair situated in front of the fireplace. It brought back all sorts of memories. Memories of America sleeping in his lap while England read him stories, America laid out in front of the fire and reading stories of his own, long lanky legs kicking behind him as England sewed. He did have many a fond memory of very room, that was for certain. There were others, though. Others that left an ache in his heart that just grew whenever he dwelled too much on them...
England closed his eyes and willed the nastier ones away. That was especially not the time for brooding. He had new memories to make, after all. It was all in a matter of a few painfully long minutes-
“England?'
The sound of his name summoned England back to the present where America stood a few feet away, watching him with his head tilted and his eyes watching him carefully form the entry. It occurred to the British man that had somehow walked over to stand beside the fire without even realizing it. Odd.
“Everything alright?” asked America stepping closer to him with a cup steaming in his hands.
“Quite,” England assured him with a half smile. “Just thinking a bit.”
“I see,” America nodded. He laughed again and held out the cup for England. “Hope you like molt apple cider.”
The older man looked up at his colony with a slight arch of his brow. “Didn't I ask for tea?”
“Oh did you?” America laughed again, strained just like his earlier smile. “I guess I didn't hear you the first time.”
“Or is it because you ran out?”
America's face was frozen as England took the cup and shrugged. “No matter...” He took a slow sip of the warm liquid and eyed America over the rim of his mug before adding. “That's precisely what I came to discuss with you.”
England watched the boy swallow before his mouth parted without sound. Finally, America found his voice, slightly lower than usual. “I thought... you said it didn't have anything to do with me.”
“I said nothing of the sort,” corrected England. “I merely reminded you not to go making assumptions about other people's intentions. Though yours was initially right, this time.”
America's face remained frozen in that smile, small and agitated. “So what did you want to talk about?”
The cup was set down with a small clang against the wooden mantel as England folded his arms behind his back and straightened up authoritatively. “Word has reached me, troubling in nature.”
“What of?” asked America slowly.
“Oh, I think you know," replied the older man softly, dangerously soft.
You Take Me In (17/?)
anonymous
October 21 2010, 19:44:06 UTC
"No I-I haven't the faintest idea."
America's steps were still cautious as he stepped into the room behind England, still too uncertain, and told England everything he needed to know. But where was the fun in punishing someone unless they admitted to their guilt?
And punished, America would be. He would make certain of that.
"It would appeare to me,” England began, idly running his finger across the mantel and starring down in disgust at the dust collected on the pad. “That the colonists seem to think they are independent. That they do not have to answer to my king or parliment, and therefore see fit to destroy my property and terrorize my citizens.”
A sharp turn of his heel and America was only a few paces before him, and looking every bit as nervous, but defiantly so as the Empire stared him down. England's gaze melted into a glare at the wilted smile on Americas lips. “And you do have the faintest idea, don't you? You know exactly of what I speak.”
You Take Me In (18/?)
anonymous
November 24 2010, 05:44:22 UTC
America shook his head, the guilt clear as day written all over his face.
“England, it's not what you-”
“Silence,” England cut off, his voice never rising, but the tone had more of an edge to it. A threat veiled in a warning. America recognized it, mouth shutting immediately, hands fisted at his sides as England observed the fire again.
“It seems I have been far too lenient with you, boy.”
He didn't exactly grin when he felt America tense up at the comment, rather a sneer of sick satisfaction. It definitely gave England much pleasure to know that he could remind the other man just how insignificant he was in comparison to his fatherland.
“I gave you the benefit of running around on your own. And how do you repay me? By associating with idealistic simpletons, farmers, no less...”
“They are not simpletons, England,” murmured America, but was ignored.
“Naturally, as a result of my foolishness, you've gone and had these ridiculous ideas put into your skull. This notion that you are somehow my equal-” England snorted at that “-no doubt you have been encouraged to explore such nonsense by those who would wish me ill.”
“They don't...” America began, but trailed off.
“They don't what?” He shifted his back to the fire again and presented America with the frostiest look he could. It was hard. Hard to be so cold when the fire behind him was giving off such heat and the way America's shirt hung stirred a similar sensation in England...
“Nothing.”
America refused to look at him, eyes glued the floor, frown marring that usually bright face of his. It didn't suit him, really. Made him look too old. Too mature. England spoke, keeping his voice low and dark, asking -demanding- his colony to obey.
“Look at me... Look me in the eyes, America.”
The stubborn, foolish boy that he was, America bowed his head down further, bangs sweeping across his eyes and hiding his face. But there was no hiding that slight tremor in his legs, not the clenching of his hands, so tight England half expected to see blood trickling from the palms.
England snarled. “ Look at me and tell me you didn't know about what took place in that wretched harbor not three months ago.”
“So what if I did,” America inquired, the cheek in his voice failing to mask the small shiver of fear passing up his fame. (In that, England was no entirely disappointed.) “What if I was aware of what they planned to do? I can't stop my people-”
You Take Me In (19/?)
anonymous
November 24 2010, 05:47:36 UTC
America paused, but slowly repeated. “My people.”
An uncomfortable silence passed between them. America, at long last, lifted his head up to stare back at England, expression intransigent, but betrayed by that small flicker of... England pondered that look for a moment. It wasn't confusion, exactly. Certainly not doubt...
Certain... It hit England then, a small knowing smile stretching lazily across his face. Uncertainty.
“You don't sound so sure of yourself, America.”
From the way America bit his lip and narrowed his eyes, England knew he hit the nail on the head.
“How can I not be?” challenged the colony, tossing his hair with his head and standing tall, a poor attempt to tower over a nation that was on top of the world. “I know their hearts. I know their hopes, their fears, their desires...” He licked his lips, and England watching them go from dry to moist with a hungry longing to mick the motion. “I can understand them better than you ever could, England.”
“Do you really believe that?” England pressed, taking a step forward and delighting in the way America forced himself to stand firm. “Can you truly call them yours.... regard them as apart from me when we both know that you are merely an extension of myself?”
The tension was heightened to suffocating extremes in the wake of those words, and England could see clearly how it smothered America... made him stumble back, and grit his teeth, but his eyes, those beautiful, round blue eyes were swimming in turmoil.
“I am not you,” America whispered, but his voice rose sharply, as if to make the words clearer. (Clearer to who, was the interesting part.) “I am me! I am my own person! I struggle with my own issues, my own feelings, and those aren't things you could ever understand! Can't you acknowledge that? Can't you acknowledge me?”
The plea hung in the air like echo of a lost traveler in the mountains never crossed... England answered the call with a soft laugh.
“Acknowledge what exactly?”
Something behind those eyes cracked. The last bit of defiance, if England could hazard a guess. America visible shrunk away, this time his back hit the wall hard, knocking a frame over-
That happened the last time they were in this room together only that was England... England after America punched him him the jaw.
England stepped toward him with firm, deliberate strides, didn't stop until he was chest to chest with America, gripping his chin so that the boy would look down while England stared him down.
“When will you acknowledge the facts America?” England wondered, his free hand tracing a strand of golden hair and brushing it out of those distressed, stricken eyes. “What will it take to remind you who you are?”
“I know who I... am,” America trembled, as the hand slid down his face, toughed his neck, tracked it to his shoulder and slowly brushing underneath the fabric of his cotton shirt.
“Who are you?” England asked, prompted, as his fingers danced over warm skin, tanned from the sun and firm from manual labor. If England closed his eyes, the body before him became unmarred from chronic war or strife... the body of a colony untouched by the burdens of nationhood.
America's breath was shallow, harsh, loud against England's ears, but at the same time soft. It was exilerating, and sick, and God he couldn't wait any longer for-
“I...”
If he kept watching England with those eyes, they'd both drown-
You Take Me In (20/?)
anonymous
November 24 2010, 05:48:45 UTC
He kissed the answer away. Rough, controlling and dominating America with teeth and tongue and hands gripping his forearms while his hips rolled up and ground the taller man into the wall. Quiet, startled moans vibrated into his own mouth, hands that could easily throw him off scrambled helplessly against the surface of the wall.
“Mine,” England finished when America wretched his head away and gasped for air. The British Empire smiled up at his colony, admired the flush on his cheeks and the small trail of saliva at the corner of his mouth and licked it away, lips meeting America's again and saying, “You are mine.”
So... It's been a while. I'm sorry for that. Things are not 100% ok right now, but I still feel inspired to write. I hope the next update will be sooner rather than later. Thank you everyone for your understanding. Hope this update didn't suck too much...
Re: You Take Me In (20/?)
anonymous
November 24 2010, 17:43:15 UTC
Ah, author anon, if you knew how much I love this fill! It's absolutely perfect, far more than I ever hoped or even asked for. I'm overwhelmed every time I see an update and it reminds me of how good this is...and in this chapter especially, the subtle way in which you indicate that we are not in the past, whatever the events may indicate; how the situation is affecting both characters; the things that seem to turn them on about this scenario; and that last posessiveness by England, which made me hot like UNF, you can't imagine. I hope you solve everything in your life soon author anon. Thank you for this, as always! ^^
Re: You Take Me In (20/?)
anonymous
November 25 2010, 05:14:53 UTC
...oh dear authorAnon, this update does not suck. It is, dare I say, the antithesis of suck. All that delicious tension just ratcheting up, and America's increasing uncertainty, and then England pouncing on him like that...gah. So wonderful, and I for one look forward to more and hope that things become better for you soon.
“Aye, I'm coming!” came the cheerful shout muffled inside. He held his breath as a figure moved past the window, a better view of who was obscured by the curtains.
Before England could even begin to contemplate what awaited him within that old colonial structure, the door opened to reveal America.
The taller man was dressed in a loosely fitted ivory shirt, unbuttoned at the top and hanging slightly off his left shoulder. The breeches were dark brown and well fitted over the off-white stockings. His shoes were caked with mud; that was to be expected from a man who worked off the land, but never the less, England found it tasteless. The most striking thing about the man was his face. His youth was much more prominent with the absence of Texas. England could see the blues of his eyes more clearly now.
Oh God in heaven, England knew his heart was racing, could feel it beating so violently he was almost certain his ribs would break. Sweet jesus, that boy was simply gorgeous...
“England,” America spoke, looking startled. His accent, while distinctly American, sounded more like England's. It was an older dialect, but it rolled off the his tongue so fluently, it was almost hard to imagine the more clipped and easy-going adaptation of that very same language falling from America's lips in modern times. “You're... here.”
He seemed nervous somehow. America was usually happier to see him, the smile that seemed so bright on it's own grew in luminance whenever the older man surprised him. This smile, however, was forced. Like he had something to hide, perhaps...
“Can a nation not pay his colonies a visit?” England quirked a brow, face perfectly cordial as he looked America up and down appreciatively.
The younger man leaned against the door, eyes trailing away uncomfortably. “No... I mean, only- I thought you had business in Europe.”
“Yes...” England whispered eyes taking their time to meet Americas, lingering a tad longer on that bare shoulder instead. “Well, actually, there's been a change of priorities, for the present. My business is here.” England looked over America's frame to the inside of the house and nodded pointedly. “May I?”
“Mnn? Oh!” America frowned slightly in confusion before his eyes grew wide, remembering himself and moving aside sheepishly. “Yes, of course.”
England swept past him, his heels echoing off the polished wooden floors as he entered the house, eyes flickering up to the iron chandelier handing above him, then downward, following the staircase down to the hallway where the parlor was situated just to the left. Everything remained the same; the same open entryway, the wallpaper dark green and decorated with paintings framed in bronze and gold. The interior smelled of cedarwood and cinnamon and earth from the mud America dragged with him after working the fields outside.
It was all just as he remembered it.
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“So,” America cleared his throat and grinned pleasantly, ceasing his incessant fidgeting. “You said you had business with me?”
England blinked and gave his young charge a look he hoped was neutral. “When did I say it was about you, pray tell?”
America blinked back. “Oh... I just assumed-”
“Really, America, haven't I told you to stop jumping to conclusions all the time?” England shook his head a sighed. “Still are, as you ever were.”
America laughed and rubbed hie head. “Some things never change, right?”
“No,” England agreed, eyes wandering away as his thoughts stirred from the dark corners of his mind.
And some things aren't meant to.
“Can I get you anything?” America offered, heading through the hall and into the kitchen.
“Just tea, thank you,” called England, as he made his way to the parlor room and paused just at the doorway.
It was yet another sight unchanged by the passage of time, green eyes settling on the red chair situated in front of the fireplace. It brought back all sorts of memories. Memories of America sleeping in his lap while England read him stories, America laid out in front of the fire and reading stories of his own, long lanky legs kicking behind him as England sewed.
He did have many a fond memory of very room, that was for certain. There were others, though. Others that left an ache in his heart that just grew whenever he dwelled too much on them...
England closed his eyes and willed the nastier ones away. That was especially not the time for brooding. He had new memories to make, after all. It was all in a matter of a few painfully long minutes-
“England?'
The sound of his name summoned England back to the present where America stood a few feet away, watching him with his head tilted and his eyes watching him carefully form the entry. It occurred to the British man that had somehow walked over to stand beside the fire without even realizing it. Odd.
“Everything alright?” asked America stepping closer to him with a cup steaming in his hands.
“Quite,” England assured him with a half smile. “Just thinking a bit.”
“I see,” America nodded. He laughed again and held out the cup for England. “Hope you like molt apple cider.”
The older man looked up at his colony with a slight arch of his brow. “Didn't I ask for tea?”
“Oh did you?” America laughed again, strained just like his earlier smile. “I guess I didn't hear you the first time.”
“Or is it because you ran out?”
America's face was frozen as England took the cup and shrugged. “No matter...” He took a slow sip of the warm liquid and eyed America over the rim of his mug before adding. “That's precisely what I came to discuss with you.”
England watched the boy swallow before his mouth parted without sound. Finally, America found his voice, slightly lower than usual. “I thought... you said it didn't have anything to do with me.”
“I said nothing of the sort,” corrected England. “I merely reminded you not to go making assumptions about other people's intentions. Though yours was initially right, this time.”
America's face remained frozen in that smile, small and agitated. “So what did you want to talk about?”
The cup was set down with a small clang against the wooden mantel as England folded his arms behind his back and straightened up authoritatively. “Word has reached me, troubling in nature.”
“What of?” asked America slowly.
“Oh, I think you know," replied the older man softly, dangerously soft.
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America's steps were still cautious as he stepped into the room behind England, still too uncertain, and told England everything he needed to know. But where was the fun in punishing someone unless they admitted to their guilt?
And punished, America would be. He would make certain of that.
"It would appeare to me,” England began, idly running his finger across the mantel and starring down in disgust at the dust collected on the pad. “That the colonists seem to think they are independent. That they do not have to answer to my king or parliment, and therefore see fit to destroy my property and terrorize my citizens.”
A sharp turn of his heel and America was only a few paces before him, and looking every bit as nervous, but defiantly so as the Empire stared him down. England's gaze melted into a glare at the wilted smile on Americas lips. “And you do have the faintest idea, don't you? You know exactly of what I speak.”
More to come later...
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Love love love where you're going with this... cannot wait for the next installment!
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“England, it's not what you-”
“Silence,” England cut off, his voice never rising, but the tone had more of an edge to it. A threat veiled in a warning. America recognized it, mouth shutting immediately, hands fisted at his sides as England observed the fire again.
“It seems I have been far too lenient with you, boy.”
He didn't exactly grin when he felt America tense up at the comment, rather a sneer of sick satisfaction. It definitely gave England much pleasure to know that he could remind the other man just how insignificant he was in comparison to his fatherland.
“I gave you the benefit of running around on your own. And how do you repay me? By associating with idealistic simpletons, farmers, no less...”
“They are not simpletons, England,” murmured America, but was ignored.
“Naturally, as a result of my foolishness, you've gone and had these ridiculous ideas put into your skull. This notion that you are somehow my equal-” England snorted at that “-no doubt you have been encouraged to explore such nonsense by those who would wish me ill.”
“They don't...” America began, but trailed off.
“They don't what?” He shifted his back to the fire again and presented America with the frostiest look he could. It was hard. Hard to be so cold when the fire behind him was giving off such heat and the way America's shirt hung stirred a similar sensation in England...
“Nothing.”
America refused to look at him, eyes glued the floor, frown marring that usually bright face of his. It didn't suit him, really. Made him look too old. Too mature. England spoke, keeping his voice low and dark, asking -demanding- his colony to obey.
“Look at me... Look me in the eyes, America.”
The stubborn, foolish boy that he was, America bowed his head down further, bangs sweeping across his eyes and hiding his face. But there was no hiding that slight tremor in his legs, not the clenching of his hands, so tight England half expected to see blood trickling from the palms.
England snarled. “ Look at me and tell me you didn't know about what took place in that wretched harbor not three months ago.”
“So what if I did,” America inquired, the cheek in his voice failing to mask the small shiver of fear passing up his fame. (In that, England was no entirely disappointed.) “What if I was aware of what they planned to do? I can't stop my people-”
“Whose people?”
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An uncomfortable silence passed between them. America, at long last, lifted his head up to stare back at England, expression intransigent, but betrayed by that small flicker of... England pondered that look for a moment. It wasn't confusion, exactly. Certainly not doubt...
Certain... It hit England then, a small knowing smile stretching lazily across his face. Uncertainty.
“You don't sound so sure of yourself, America.”
From the way America bit his lip and narrowed his eyes, England knew he hit the nail on the head.
“How can I not be?” challenged the colony, tossing his hair with his head and standing tall, a poor attempt to tower over a nation that was on top of the world. “I know their hearts. I know their hopes, their fears, their desires...” He licked his lips, and England watching them go from dry to moist with a hungry longing to mick the motion. “I can understand them better than you ever could, England.”
“Do you really believe that?” England pressed, taking a step forward and delighting in the way America forced himself to stand firm. “Can you truly call them yours.... regard them as apart from me when we both know that you are merely an extension of myself?”
The tension was heightened to suffocating extremes in the wake of those words, and England could see clearly how it smothered America... made him stumble back, and grit his teeth, but his eyes, those beautiful, round blue eyes were swimming in turmoil.
“I am not you,” America whispered, but his voice rose sharply, as if to make the words clearer. (Clearer to who, was the interesting part.) “I am me! I am my own person! I struggle with my own issues, my own feelings, and those aren't things you could ever understand! Can't you acknowledge that? Can't you acknowledge me?”
The plea hung in the air like echo of a lost traveler in the mountains never crossed... England answered the call with a soft laugh.
“Acknowledge what exactly?”
Something behind those eyes cracked. The last bit of defiance, if England could hazard a guess. America visible shrunk away, this time his back hit the wall hard, knocking a frame over-
That happened the last time they were in this room together only that was England... England after America punched him him the jaw.
England stepped toward him with firm, deliberate strides, didn't stop until he was chest to chest with America, gripping his chin so that the boy would look down while England stared him down.
“When will you acknowledge the facts America?” England wondered, his free hand tracing a strand of golden hair and brushing it out of those distressed, stricken eyes. “What will it take to remind you who you are?”
“I know who I... am,” America trembled, as the hand slid down his face, toughed his neck, tracked it to his shoulder and slowly brushing underneath the fabric of his cotton shirt.
“Who are you?” England asked, prompted, as his fingers danced over warm skin, tanned from the sun and firm from manual labor. If England closed his eyes, the body before him became unmarred from chronic war or strife... the body of a colony untouched by the burdens of nationhood.
America's breath was shallow, harsh, loud against England's ears, but at the same time soft. It was exilerating, and sick, and God he couldn't wait any longer for-
“I...”
If he kept watching England with those eyes, they'd both drown-
“I am-”
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I love the atmosphere and mood you set throughout the whole chapter.
Can't wait to read more <3
And *hugs* hope everything goes better soon ^^
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“Mine,” England finished when America wretched his head away and gasped for air. The British Empire smiled up at his colony, admired the flush on his cheeks and the small trail of saliva at the corner of his mouth and licked it away, lips meeting America's again and saying, “You are mine.”
So... It's been a while. I'm sorry for that. Things are not 100% ok right now, but I still feel inspired to write. I hope the next update will be sooner rather than later. Thank you everyone for your understanding. Hope this update didn't suck too much...
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Characterization, pacing, flow... everything is just perfect.
This is amazing.
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I hope you solve everything in your life soon author anon. Thank you for this, as always! ^^
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