Re: In Service of the Crown [2/?]
anonymous
January 30 2009, 03:13:24 UTC
Another brief, expressionless glance over his shoulder, and then Arthur turned his attention to fixing his drink. He despised that defiant pout. Glass clinked gently against glass. He turned back to the younger man when he was sure he could keep an even voice. "Don't be idiotic."
"I don't see how it's idiotic." America's pose was all prideful resistance now: back straight, arms folded, one ankle propped on the opposite knee. He glared at England from just below a too-long fringe of golden hair. "France is gone. Maybe I don't need you to protect me all the time anymore."
England waited. Took a drink.
"Maybe--" Alfred hesitated, and for a moment Arthur believed the little simpleton might have scrounged together the good sense to not finish that sentence. He kept speaking--too quickly, but clear and loud: "Maybe I'd be better off on my own."
Arthur sighed to himself, then finished his drink and set the glass back on the cabinet with a quiet clink. He crossed the room to where Alfred perched in his chair, all vibrating nervous energy. His hands were hooked in his pockets. "Say that again?" he asked, mild.
Alfred set his sights on the far wall, refusing to look up at the older nation. "Maybe I'd be--"
A crack rang through the room as the back of England's hand connected with America's face. The younger man was knocked half into the table. His hand came up at once to cup his cheek, and he stared at England in shock. "E-England," he stammered.
England slapped him again, then planted his boot at the edge of Alfred's chair, between his legs, and shoved him back into the table. He placed one hand on either side of his young ward, on the table edge, and leaned in close. He could smell the other man at this distance: a tang of sweat and wheat and iron. "You belong to me," he informed him.
Alfred shrank back an inch, then rallied himself and tried to sit up again. Arthur's sheer proximity made it impossible, but he tried. "Th-that's not how it is. You--you look after me--"
"I've done everything for you. I've protected you, paid your debts, smoothed your way with the rest of Europe--did you think it was for charity?"
America tried to elbow England's arm aside so he could stand; England struck his boot onto the edge of the chair again. A spark of anger flashed across the young nation's face. "That's just your job! I'm a part of the British Empire!"
"That's right. You are." He gripped the stubborn child's jaw and forced him to meet his eyes. "And I am the British Empire. You exist for my benefit. So far you've scarcely been worth the effort." A flash of something passed through Alfred's face--a long blink, a shamed stiffening of the neck. "I am finished with your impudence, your…unreasonable defiance! Do you have any idea of the trouble you've caused me?" America feebly tried to push him away again; Arthur shoved him hard back into his chair, hard enough that the young man's teeth slammed together. Alfred raised his hand to his mouth, and his fingers came away touched with watery blood. A seam of red gleamed between his lips. "If you had any notion of the generosity I've shown you--the sacrifices I've made for you, you ungrateful little bastard--"
"I--"
England tightened his hold on the other man's jaw. He knew there would be bruises, pale blue fingerprints in a few hours. "Did you think you were really that special? You would be nothing without me. A despised backwater. I have made you everything that you are! And you answer me with this…pathetic disrespect?"
The defiance had drained out of America. His eyes fell and he swallowed.
England leaned in and spoke against his ear. His hand dropped to the other nation's collar, drew him in close. America flushed wherever his breath touched. "You should be willing to do anything for me. I do own you, after all."
Alfred closed his eyes for a moment, and something shivering and liquid seemed to pass through him. "I…would. Of course I would."
Arthur threaded his fingers into the younger man's hair and twisted tight. A shudder passed through his ward, and he slumped an inch forward. "I think now would be a good time to demonstrate it."
Re: In Service of the Crown [3/4]
anonymous
January 30 2009, 03:16:46 UTC
Alfred tugged back. Arthur allowed it, his hand still knotted in the other's hair. America gave him an odd smile; a little bitter, a little shy, and it lingered once his gaze dropped away over England's shoulder. "You know I'm loyal to the crown," he mumbled.
Arthur's fingers tightened in his hair. A reluctant flush blossomed on America's cheeks. "Do I?"
Alfred still wouldn't look straight at him, and a flinch flickered across his eyes, but that strange smile softened. For some reason, it made England angrier. "You should. Sir. I've always…" The colony trailed off, and shrugged.
England finally pushed off the table. "Then prove it. Kneel."
America's gaze flew to his, and then he flushed deeper. He nodded a little and slid onto the floor. He hesitated a long moment, unsure of himself, or of what to do next, his eyes fixed on the floor between England's feet. Arthur smiled to himself, unseen. That hideous pout was gone. For the moment there was nothing left here but subservience.
"Go on," he ordered, when it seemed like America lacked the spine to take the next step.
Alfred mumbled something; it might have been "yes, sir." He kept his eyes fixed downwards, and fumbled with the catch of Arthur's breeches. England felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight of the younger nation's awkwardness; it meant he was still innocent. Good; that means I've kept France from charting any more 'unexplored territories.' His eyelids fluttered closed as Alfred's warm, soft mouth closed around him.
Alfred took his cue from the soft, harsh sounds which escaped his suzerain state. His exploration was slow--cautious--harrowing. England stopped him briefly to drag his vacated chair over and leaned against it shakily. This was…unfamiliar: the hesitant caresses of a virgin. The others--everyone in Europe--they had all been made to play this part before, again and again, throughout history (and he blocked any thought of his own turns at humiliated subjugation, which rose in his distant memory like docking pylons at low tide). He could not remember if he had ever felt anything so gentle, so halting: so sweetly unsure.
He directed America with terse instructions:
"Establish a rhythm, damn it; this is no good." "Not with your lips--use your tongue." "Idiot, mind your teeth--" "Ahh--there…there." One hand curled tighter around the back of the chair; the other snarled in Alfred's hair. The colony made no sound of protest, but a shudder fell between his shoulder blades. "Take it deeper." "Deeper. …Yes--" His knuckles went white. "Not so fast--I've nearly--I…fuck…ahh…"
The world went silent and red as he came, and he held Alfred's face tight to his groin. The colony spluttered quietly, and made a wet coughing sound, but recovered. England held his eyes closed and wilted back against the chair, and relished the pounding of his heart, the little twitches, the dissipating heat.
Re: In Service of the Crown [4/4]
anonymous
January 30 2009, 03:19:42 UTC
Then he pulled away and refastened his britches. America stayed on his knees, hands on his thighs, head bowed. He moved a bit woodenly when he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. England raked a hand through his hair to fix it once his clothing was straightened. He glanced towards the door.
Then Alfred muttered an extraordinary thing: "I'm sorry."
England's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"
The young nation kept his gaze nailed to the floor, but the empire could see his cheeks heat. "I…I'm sorry, that I…haven't been…worth the effort." The words seemed to choke him.
Arthur wasn't sure what to say.
Alfred squeezed his eyes tighter shut. "I'm…I'm sorry I've disappointed you." More silence from the nation that ruled him. Alfred seemed to fold in on himself a little. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I just want…wanted…"
That silence stretched on for years; for eternity.
So soft, a whisper then: "I just want you to be…to…"
When he couldn't even finish then, Arthur realized he knew what the American was trying to say anyway.
I just want you to be proud of me. I just want you to love me.
The epiphany was cold and hot and dim and bright at once, and he felt himself flush and back away a step, towards the door. He knew he couldn't acknowledge it, but--he knew something had to be said. He wracked his mind for words, but everything was smothered beneath a surging, scarlet tide of embarrassment. He didn't even know why he was so embarassed, he just...
"You're…not a disappointment," he managed at last, his voice gruff, his arms folded. Little as it was, for the moment it seemed to be enough; Alfred risked a quick glance at him, and some of the tension fell away from his shoulders. England rallied. "Just…do as you're bloody told from now on, all right?"
A shuddering breath escaped the colony, and he gave a quick nod. "Yes, sir."
"Fine." And with that, he left, without looking back at America, who still knelt on the floor.
Re: In Service of the Crown [4/4]
anonymous
January 30 2009, 04:19:22 UTC
BUUUUUUUHHH OH GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT WAS EXCELLENT! SUPERBE!!! omg... virginal America. shit, anon couldn't stop reading that last part. *offers sacrifices to the godly writer!anon* Thank you for writing that oh my god
Shy!anon here!
anonymous
January 30 2009, 05:28:43 UTC
*squeal* I am so happy you liked it! This was my first entry on the comm and I was so nervous--I might have had to get a little liquored up to post it.
Re: In Service of the Crown [4/4]
anonymous
January 30 2009, 05:57:18 UTC
The others--everyone in Europe--they had all been made to play this part before, again and again, throughout history (and he blocked any thought of his own turns at humiliated subjugation, which rose in his distant memory like docking pylons at low tide).
Oh damn, this piece does so much for my yen for uberdysfunctional spins on Hetalia. I absolutely love it.
*looks up* Welcome to the meme! Hope you enjoy your stay!
Re: In Service of the Crown [4/4]
anonymous
January 30 2009, 06:24:00 UTC
WAAAAAAAAAAAH Anon.
Very very good--we don't get enough of colonial!Alfred, still not solid in his defiance, still trying to be the good son to the British Empire.
AND DOMINEERING ARTHUR. This is him at his best (worst?), that bossy, colonizing, subjugating streak that so characterizes the Empire in that era. (And the secret shame/guilt at breaking America's spirit? Exquisite.)
Shy!Anon agrees...
anonymous
January 30 2009, 10:31:43 UTC
I love the dynamic between these two countries in this time period...although Arthur got physically painful to write there towards the end. They've got such a...love/hate/envy/resentment/admiration/feigned indifference (all of the above, on both sides) relationship, and I love them as a pair, but they kind of make me want to drink.
Re: In Service of the Crown [4/4]
anonymous
January 30 2009, 15:06:48 UTC
This is exactly the fic I've been waiting for someone to write! Great use of history at the beginning, and bang on characterization. Thank you anon for writing it ♥
This was wonderful, anon! Personally, it's the best fill I've read on this meme. I just love the relationship (as dysfunctional as it is) between them in this, because it seems that America is always written as being completely submissive or rebellious, and here he's struggling between the two.
"I don't see how it's idiotic." America's pose was all prideful resistance now: back straight, arms folded, one ankle propped on the opposite knee. He glared at England from just below a too-long fringe of golden hair. "France is gone. Maybe I don't need you to protect me all the time anymore."
England waited. Took a drink.
"Maybe--" Alfred hesitated, and for a moment Arthur believed the little simpleton might have scrounged together the good sense to not finish that sentence. He kept speaking--too quickly, but clear and loud: "Maybe I'd be better off on my own."
Arthur sighed to himself, then finished his drink and set the glass back on the cabinet with a quiet clink. He crossed the room to where Alfred perched in his chair, all vibrating nervous energy. His hands were hooked in his pockets. "Say that again?" he asked, mild.
Alfred set his sights on the far wall, refusing to look up at the older nation. "Maybe I'd be--"
A crack rang through the room as the back of England's hand connected with America's face. The younger man was knocked half into the table. His hand came up at once to cup his cheek, and he stared at England in shock. "E-England," he stammered.
England slapped him again, then planted his boot at the edge of Alfred's chair, between his legs, and shoved him back into the table. He placed one hand on either side of his young ward, on the table edge, and leaned in close. He could smell the other man at this distance: a tang of sweat and wheat and iron. "You belong to me," he informed him.
Alfred shrank back an inch, then rallied himself and tried to sit up again. Arthur's sheer proximity made it impossible, but he tried. "Th-that's not how it is. You--you look after me--"
"I've done everything for you. I've protected you, paid your debts, smoothed your way with the rest of Europe--did you think it was for charity?"
America tried to elbow England's arm aside so he could stand; England struck his boot onto the edge of the chair again. A spark of anger flashed across the young nation's face. "That's just your job! I'm a part of the British Empire!"
"That's right. You are." He gripped the stubborn child's jaw and forced him to meet his eyes. "And I am the British Empire. You exist for my benefit. So far you've scarcely been worth the effort." A flash of something passed through Alfred's face--a long blink, a shamed stiffening of the neck. "I am finished with your impudence, your…unreasonable defiance! Do you have any idea of the trouble you've caused me?" America feebly tried to push him away again; Arthur shoved him hard back into his chair, hard enough that the young man's teeth slammed together. Alfred raised his hand to his mouth, and his fingers came away touched with watery blood. A seam of red gleamed between his lips. "If you had any notion of the generosity I've shown you--the sacrifices I've made for you, you ungrateful little bastard--"
"I--"
England tightened his hold on the other man's jaw. He knew there would be bruises, pale blue fingerprints in a few hours. "Did you think you were really that special? You would be nothing without me. A despised backwater. I have made you everything that you are! And you answer me with this…pathetic disrespect?"
The defiance had drained out of America. His eyes fell and he swallowed.
England leaned in and spoke against his ear. His hand dropped to the other nation's collar, drew him in close. America flushed wherever his breath touched. "You should be willing to do anything for me. I do own you, after all."
Alfred closed his eyes for a moment, and something shivering and liquid seemed to pass through him. "I…would. Of course I would."
Arthur threaded his fingers into the younger man's hair and twisted tight. A shudder passed through his ward, and he slumped an inch forward. "I think now would be a good time to demonstrate it."
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Arthur's fingers tightened in his hair. A reluctant flush blossomed on America's cheeks. "Do I?"
Alfred still wouldn't look straight at him, and a flinch flickered across his eyes, but that strange smile softened. For some reason, it made England angrier. "You should. Sir. I've always…" The colony trailed off, and shrugged.
England finally pushed off the table. "Then prove it. Kneel."
America's gaze flew to his, and then he flushed deeper. He nodded a little and slid onto the floor. He hesitated a long moment, unsure of himself, or of what to do next, his eyes fixed on the floor between England's feet. Arthur smiled to himself, unseen. That hideous pout was gone. For the moment there was nothing left here but subservience.
"Go on," he ordered, when it seemed like America lacked the spine to take the next step.
Alfred mumbled something; it might have been "yes, sir." He kept his eyes fixed downwards, and fumbled with the catch of Arthur's breeches. England felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight of the younger nation's awkwardness; it meant he was still innocent. Good; that means I've kept France from charting any more 'unexplored territories.' His eyelids fluttered closed as Alfred's warm, soft mouth closed around him.
Alfred took his cue from the soft, harsh sounds which escaped his suzerain state. His exploration was slow--cautious--harrowing. England stopped him briefly to drag his vacated chair over and leaned against it shakily. This was…unfamiliar: the hesitant caresses of a virgin. The others--everyone in Europe--they had all been made to play this part before, again and again, throughout history (and he blocked any thought of his own turns at humiliated subjugation, which rose in his distant memory like docking pylons at low tide). He could not remember if he had ever felt anything so gentle, so halting: so sweetly unsure.
He directed America with terse instructions:
"Establish a rhythm, damn it; this is no good."
"Not with your lips--use your tongue."
"Idiot, mind your teeth--"
"Ahh--there…there." One hand curled tighter around the back of the chair; the other snarled in Alfred's hair. The colony made no sound of protest, but a shudder fell between his shoulder blades.
"Take it deeper."
"Deeper. …Yes--" His knuckles went white.
"Not so fast--I've nearly--I…fuck…ahh…"
The world went silent and red as he came, and he held Alfred's face tight to his groin. The colony spluttered quietly, and made a wet coughing sound, but recovered. England held his eyes closed and wilted back against the chair, and relished the pounding of his heart, the little twitches, the dissipating heat.
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Then Alfred muttered an extraordinary thing: "I'm sorry."
England's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"
The young nation kept his gaze nailed to the floor, but the empire could see his cheeks heat. "I…I'm sorry, that I…haven't been…worth the effort." The words seemed to choke him.
Arthur wasn't sure what to say.
Alfred squeezed his eyes tighter shut. "I'm…I'm sorry I've disappointed you." More silence from the nation that ruled him. Alfred seemed to fold in on himself a little. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I just want…wanted…"
That silence stretched on for years; for eternity.
So soft, a whisper then: "I just want you to be…to…"
When he couldn't even finish then, Arthur realized he knew what the American was trying to say anyway.
I just want you to be proud of me.
I just want you to love me.
The epiphany was cold and hot and dim and bright at once, and he felt himself flush and back away a step, towards the door. He knew he couldn't acknowledge it, but--he knew something had to be said. He wracked his mind for words, but everything was smothered beneath a surging, scarlet tide of embarrassment. He didn't even know why he was so embarassed, he just...
"You're…not a disappointment," he managed at last, his voice gruff, his arms folded. Little as it was, for the moment it seemed to be enough; Alfred risked a quick glance at him, and some of the tension fell away from his shoulders. England rallied. "Just…do as you're bloody told from now on, all right?"
A shuddering breath escaped the colony, and he gave a quick nod. "Yes, sir."
"Fine." And with that, he left, without looking back at America, who still knelt on the floor.
This, too, was something perhaps best ignored.
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I will have your internet babies. I love it all, especially Arthur's guilt at the end.
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Oh damn, this piece does so much for my yen for uberdysfunctional spins on Hetalia. I absolutely love it.
*looks up* Welcome to the meme! Hope you enjoy your stay!
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Very very good--we don't get enough of colonial!Alfred, still not solid in his defiance, still trying to be the good son to the British Empire.
AND DOMINEERING ARTHUR. This is him at his best (worst?), that bossy, colonizing, subjugating streak that so characterizes the Empire in that era. (And the secret shame/guilt at breaking America's spirit? Exquisite.)
Winner!
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My heart is in pieces. ;___; This is possibly one of my favourite England/America fics, I think. Just...just...gyaaaa... *bursts into tears*
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I can't say any other fic on here has actually made my eyes sting. Goodness, that's sad...
Well done, Anon. Very well done.
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Thank you very much, anon!
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