Resolve [1/2]
anonymous
April 6 2009, 22:52:03 UTC
America was vaguely aware that is was raining. It was a light drizzle, but he found it to be very calming. The war was starting to take its toll. America was grateful for France’s help. It was encouraging for his men to know that they had support from overseas. In turn, their cheers encouraged America that he was doing the right thing and inspired him to keep fighting.
But right now America sought peace and quiet. He left his men to their celebrations and walked away from the camp, taking care to avoid the main road, just in case he ran into British troops.
Eventually, he thought to himself, England would learn of this alliance. He’d never liked America being near France, so this was sure to piss him off. Hell, he’d be furious.
America shook his head. The whole point of this revolution was to free himself of England and his influence. Worrying about what England thought of his allies wouldn’t do.
He paused and took note of his surroundings. It was a battlefield that had been recently fought on. There were bodies of men on both sides laying scattered about. America shuddered. He had known this would happen when he declared his independence. Hell, he’d personally fought on this battlefield. But to actually see when all was said and done…
Suddenly, it occurred to America that he was completely alone, unarmed, standing out in the open in the middle of a battlefield with not a living soul around for miles. New to war he may have been, America knew it wasn’t wise to be in such a situation. He moved to turn around and head back to camp…
…only to walk straight into England.
America took a step back, startled. England did not react.
“E-England?” he stuttered, and a confused smile came across his face.
England was not alone. A number of British soldiers stood behind him, as though they were awaiting orders.
“America.” England acknowledged, his blank stare not changing. “I’ve heard that you’ve formed an alliance with that idiot, France.”
As America got over his shock, he straightened up and looked England in the eyes.
“That’s right.” He declared, bracing himself for the onslaught of England’s wrath.
“May I ask why?” England asked, just as calmly as before.
America frowned. Normally, any mention of America being involved with France resulted in a loud barrage of protests, but here England was, calmly asking why America formed an alliance against him. However, America did notice that, calm though England was, his voice was shaking. This made him rather uneasy. He took another step back.
England took another step forward.
“Why are you associating yourself with an idiot that I’ve told you to stay away from?” He asked again. “I’ve told you about my history with him.”
“I’ve told you before, Arthur.” Alfred began defiantly, using England’s human name. “I’m no longer part of the British Empire. Who I choose to ally myself with is none of your concern.”
“What?” Arthur demanded, taking yet another step forward. “Repeat that.”
“What I do has nothing to do with you!” Alfred shouted, tired of having to tell Arthur over and over again that he was independent.
That did it. Arthur grabbed Alfred’s upper arms.
“Nothing to do with me?” He exclaimed, shaking Alfred. “It has everything to do with me!”
“No - It - Doesn’t!” Alfred grunted, trying to wrench himself from Arthur’s grasp. “It’s between Francis and myself-“
Arthur had let go and slapped him, knocking him to the ground. Before Alfred could stand up and punch him, Arthur was straddling him to the ground.
Resolve [2/2]
anonymous
April 6 2009, 22:52:50 UTC
“It doesn’t matter what you say!” He shouted, putting his face too close to Alfred’s for the latter to be comfortable. “I’ve been patient. I’ve let you run around deluding yourself.
“It’s time you learned just who you belong to!”
He grabbed Alfred’s wrists, holding them over his head while Alfred struggled to buck Arthur off of him.
“What the hell are you doing!?” He demanded.
“Something I should I have done a long time ago.” Was Arthur’s response.
It took Alfred a few seconds register Arthur’s lips pressed rather roughly against his own. He froze, not knowing what to do. Arthur had kissed him before, but it was always on the cheek or on the forehead. It was never on the lips. That was what couples did, right? He’d seen some of his men (some of them, he thought with gut-wrenching sorrow, for the last time) kiss their wives as they left for battle. And Arthur was practically his brother, his father.
He was brought back to reality by the feel of Arthur’s hand going up his shirt, tearing it open.
Alfred gasped as he felt the cool rain fall upon his chest. Arthur ignored him as he began to undo Alfred’s pants. This got Alfred’s attention as he bucked his legs, trying to kick Arthur off of him. His efforts earned him a slap in the face. Stunned, Alfred was unable to stop Arthur from pulling his pants off. Arthur licked his fingers and stuck one of them into Alfred’s hole, resulting in a hiss of pain from the latter.
Arthur’s response was to ease a second finger in.
“S-stop!” Alfred yelled, looking over at the British soldiers, who were still watching. Most of them were wearing uncomfortable expressions. Some looked away when he made eye contact. In the back of his mind, Alfred hoped that one of them would do something, anything to help him.
None of them did.
“STOP!” he yelled again.
But Arthur didn’t listen, he didn’t stop. He wasn’t going to stop and no amount of crying from Alfred was going to change that.
“Why?” Arthur demanded as he undid his own trousers with his other hand. “Surely you’ve done this with Francis, haven’t you?”
“No, I-“ Alfred began, affronted. Before he could defend himself, however, Arthur removed his fingers from Alfred’s hole and replaced them with something thicker and larger.
Alfred screamed, tears now falling freely from his eyes.
“Stop crying!” Arthur yelled, giving a rather violent thrust, reducing Alfred’s screams to a painful whimper. He grabbed Alfred’s own growing arousal and began pumping. “You’re enjoying this, you little whore!”
That was when Alfred realized that Arthur was crying, too. His tears were of rage rather than pain, though, or perhaps he was in pain, too. Alfred couldn’t tell anymore. At that point, he could barely register words.
It felt like hours. Alfred could no longer find words to say. All he knew was still being raped. There were people watching and Arthur was thrusting into him with the ferocity of an animal, and that despite the pain, it still felt so good. He didn’t feel himself come all over his stomach. Nor did he feel the man he loved like a father and brother come inside of him. Alfred only realized that Arthur was finished when leftover semen dripped onto his chest and face as Arthur stood up.
“I’ll return tomorrow.” Arthur said, panting. “If you insist on continuing this pointless fight, I’ll…”
He paused, and Alfred could see Arthur wasn’t sure he wanted to finish that sentence.
“I’ll return tomorrow.” Arthur repeated.
And he and his soldiers were gone, leaving Alfred with his clothes torn, covered in mud, semen, and (probably) blood. At first, Alfred just lay there, not moving at all.
He thought of Arthur’s words. He’d said that he “should have done this a long time ago”. Did that mean that if America surrendered, this would be his life from now on? He shuddered at the thought. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to stand up, straightened his clothing, and walked back to camp.
OP IS OVER-FUCKING-JOYED
anonymous
April 7 2009, 04:41:52 UTC
I gave up hope that this would be filled so long ago, anon!! Thank you so much! *bows down* I love it so far, can't wait for the epilogue! Yesyesyes, the soldiers watching. This hits every fetish I've ever had.
But right now America sought peace and quiet. He left his men to their celebrations and walked away from the camp, taking care to avoid the main road, just in case he ran into British troops.
Eventually, he thought to himself, England would learn of this alliance. He’d never liked America being near France, so this was sure to piss him off. Hell, he’d be furious.
America shook his head. The whole point of this revolution was to free himself of England and his influence. Worrying about what England thought of his allies wouldn’t do.
He paused and took note of his surroundings. It was a battlefield that had been recently fought on. There were bodies of men on both sides laying scattered about. America shuddered. He had known this would happen when he declared his independence. Hell, he’d personally fought on this battlefield. But to actually see when all was said and done…
Suddenly, it occurred to America that he was completely alone, unarmed, standing out in the open in the middle of a battlefield with not a living soul around for miles. New to war he may have been, America knew it wasn’t wise to be in such a situation. He moved to turn around and head back to camp…
…only to walk straight into England.
America took a step back, startled. England did not react.
“E-England?” he stuttered, and a confused smile came across his face.
England was not alone. A number of British soldiers stood behind him, as though they were awaiting orders.
“America.” England acknowledged, his blank stare not changing. “I’ve heard that you’ve formed an alliance with that idiot, France.”
As America got over his shock, he straightened up and looked England in the eyes.
“That’s right.” He declared, bracing himself for the onslaught of England’s wrath.
“May I ask why?” England asked, just as calmly as before.
America frowned. Normally, any mention of America being involved with France resulted in a loud barrage of protests, but here England was, calmly asking why America formed an alliance against him. However, America did notice that, calm though England was, his voice was shaking. This made him rather uneasy. He took another step back.
England took another step forward.
“Why are you associating yourself with an idiot that I’ve told you to stay away from?” He asked again. “I’ve told you about my history with him.”
“I’ve told you before, Arthur.” Alfred began defiantly, using England’s human name. “I’m no longer part of the British Empire. Who I choose to ally myself with is none of your concern.”
“What?” Arthur demanded, taking yet another step forward. “Repeat that.”
“What I do has nothing to do with you!” Alfred shouted, tired of having to tell Arthur over and over again that he was independent.
That did it. Arthur grabbed Alfred’s upper arms.
“Nothing to do with me?” He exclaimed, shaking Alfred. “It has everything to do with me!”
“No - It - Doesn’t!” Alfred grunted, trying to wrench himself from Arthur’s grasp. “It’s between Francis and myself-“
Arthur had let go and slapped him, knocking him to the ground. Before Alfred could stand up and punch him, Arthur was straddling him to the ground.
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“It doesn’t matter what you say!” He shouted, putting his face too close to Alfred’s for the latter to be comfortable. “I’ve been patient. I’ve let you run around deluding yourself.
“It’s time you learned just who you belong to!”
He grabbed Alfred’s wrists, holding them over his head while Alfred struggled to buck Arthur off of him.
“What the hell are you doing!?” He demanded.
“Something I should I have done a long time ago.” Was Arthur’s response.
It took Alfred a few seconds register Arthur’s lips pressed rather roughly against his own. He froze, not knowing what to do. Arthur had kissed him before, but it was always on the cheek or on the forehead. It was never on the lips. That was what couples did, right? He’d seen some of his men (some of them, he thought with gut-wrenching sorrow, for the last time) kiss their wives as they left for battle. And Arthur was practically his brother, his father.
He was brought back to reality by the feel of Arthur’s hand going up his shirt, tearing it open.
Alfred gasped as he felt the cool rain fall upon his chest. Arthur ignored him as he began to undo Alfred’s pants. This got Alfred’s attention as he bucked his legs, trying to kick Arthur off of him. His efforts earned him a slap in the face. Stunned, Alfred was unable to stop Arthur from pulling his pants off. Arthur licked his fingers and stuck one of them into Alfred’s hole, resulting in a hiss of pain from the latter.
Arthur’s response was to ease a second finger in.
“S-stop!” Alfred yelled, looking over at the British soldiers, who were still watching. Most of them were wearing uncomfortable expressions. Some looked away when he made eye contact. In the back of his mind, Alfred hoped that one of them would do something, anything to help him.
None of them did.
“STOP!” he yelled again.
But Arthur didn’t listen, he didn’t stop. He wasn’t going to stop and no amount of crying from Alfred was going to change that.
“Why?” Arthur demanded as he undid his own trousers with his other hand. “Surely you’ve done this with Francis, haven’t you?”
“No, I-“ Alfred began, affronted. Before he could defend himself, however, Arthur removed his fingers from Alfred’s hole and replaced them with something thicker and larger.
Alfred screamed, tears now falling freely from his eyes.
“Stop crying!” Arthur yelled, giving a rather violent thrust, reducing Alfred’s screams to a painful whimper. He grabbed Alfred’s own growing arousal and began pumping. “You’re enjoying this, you little whore!”
That was when Alfred realized that Arthur was crying, too. His tears were of rage rather than pain, though, or perhaps he was in pain, too. Alfred couldn’t tell anymore. At that point, he could barely register words.
It felt like hours. Alfred could no longer find words to say. All he knew was still being raped. There were people watching and Arthur was thrusting into him with the ferocity of an animal, and that despite the pain, it still felt so good.
He didn’t feel himself come all over his stomach. Nor did he feel the man he loved like a father and brother come inside of him. Alfred only realized that Arthur was finished when leftover semen dripped onto his chest and face as Arthur stood up.
“I’ll return tomorrow.” Arthur said, panting. “If you insist on continuing this pointless fight, I’ll…”
He paused, and Alfred could see Arthur wasn’t sure he wanted to finish that sentence.
“I’ll return tomorrow.” Arthur repeated.
And he and his soldiers were gone, leaving Alfred with his clothes torn, covered in mud, semen, and (probably) blood. At first, Alfred just lay there, not moving at all.
He thought of Arthur’s words. He’d said that he “should have done this a long time ago”. Did that mean that if America surrendered, this would be his life from now on? He shuddered at the thought. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to stand up, straightened his clothing, and walked back to camp.
He had to talk to France.
(The epilogue is coming soon, anon!)
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Thank you! Writer Anon
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fapfapfapfap
dammit rape shouldn't be this hot!
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Yesyesyes, the soldiers watching. This hits every fetish I've ever had.
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i like how US is shocked and all "b-but he's my brother/father why is he doing this?"
it is so wrong that I like it, but I do. >_>
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