Bad Dreams 2/?
anonymous
June 22 2009, 20:26:47 UTC
He was in an expensive clothing store, and he wondered why. As far as he knew, he had enough suits; he hadn't worn them on a daily basis for close to half a century now, in any case. What was more, the maids who scurried around him were dressed in clothes far too old for the current century.
A voice came from behind a large curtain. "England! This one looks really good on me! Come see!" England pinpointed the memory- it was America's first fitting for a suit. He was instantly wary.. The fitting shop wasn't -quite- right, and America had hated all the suits he'd tried on that day. After the night before, he was much more wary of his dreams in any case.
Nevertheless, he pushed open the curtain and stepped inside. America's suit did look good. England looked him over appreciatively. "Very good. You look excellent. Now change out of it and we can buy it." America turned around to unbutton his vest and England turned to leave.
"Of course I'm looking good for you," America said quietly, and England stopped. He felt like his limbs were drowning in molasses, and his head was stuffed with cotton- what was going on? America turned around. England couldn't say he was surprised when he saw the ruby red of America's eyes- eyes fixed on his neck... England stumbled backwards through the curtain, but toppled to the floor clumsily. America leaned over him languidly. England struggled to make his jaw work.
"Wh-why are- why are you doing this?" he mumbled, trying to make himself form the words. America didn't answer. England tensed as the younger nation cradled his upper body for a moment, staring down at him with an almost impassive gaze. England fought to move, tried to push him away, save himself from- whatever was going to happen, but couldn't move as America leaned in for the kill.
Suddenly, America shook his head and stood, dropping England abruptly on the floor. England breathed a sigh of relief as he drowsily watched America walk away.
Suddenly, America glanced back at him, eyes once again a luminous blue. He mouthed something too quiet to hear and walked out the door.
England HAD to stop eating curry right before bed.
He was lying on top of his covers, Twilight in hand. He slammed it shut. He must have fallen asleep reading- why he bothered with a book as horrendous as America's gift was, he didn't know. He wondered if he should even bother finishing; he was about a hundred pages from the end, and he wasn't sure he could make it. Sighing, he slid the book into its box. Even for America, he wouldn't sit through the rest of that series.
America was nowhere to be found when he made his way into the kitchen. He opened the fridge in a kind of desperate hopefulness that it would have refilled overnight, but was disappointed.
He was interrupted by the door opening and an excessively cheerful America walking in with a McDonald's bag. "Hey England! I got breakfast!"He rummaged in the bag and came out with a grease-spotted breakfast bagel wrapper. "Here."
America was halfway through his hamburger when he slowed down enough to start talking. "So. You read the books yesterday, right? Isn't it the best thing ever? Bella and Edward's love is so pure-"
"I didn't finish it," England said through a mouthful of egg. The burger stopped on its way to America's mouth.
"You... Didn't finish it?"
"No! It was horrible! That Bella girl's a whiny twat and Edward's overprotective. The prose is so purple you could use it as an emperor's toga and it went on for five hundred pages!"
America looked downcast. "But... My people really liked it... England, just wait until the fourth book, it gets better-"
"Look, America. I'm not going to read them- I don't have the time or the energy."
"Well, FINE. But don't expect me to read your Harry Potter books then." America crossed his arms and stared at England with a scowl. England winced. He hated to see America unhappy- hated to see any of his former colonies unhappy, of course, but especially America. His golden child. He sighed.
"Look, I'll see the movie with you, okay? There is a movie, I presume?" America brightened up.
"Yeah! One of your people is playing Edward... He's so dreamy..." America went starry-eyed. England rolled his eyes and pretended to listen to America babble on.
Bad Dreams 3/?
anonymous
June 25 2009, 04:38:01 UTC
It was later that afternoon; England was taking America on the London Eye. It wasn't like they hadn't gone before- America had been one of the first to ride it- but for some reason America had asked specifically to be taken on it. England waved his clearance pass at the security personnel, and the two of them quickly made their way into a private pod.
America leaned on the railing and looked around appreciatively. "Wow, London's beautiful. I mean, all of these old buildings make it look kind of dingy, but still, the view from up here is pretty nice." England was sitting on the bench in the middle, looking over his capitol with pride.
"Well, yes, of course it's beautiful. And the old buildings are part of the charm." He stood and came up beside America. "You see that? That's my parliament. I've had it since long before your congress." America glanced at him, and seemed to consider saying something for a moment. England glanced back. "What?"
"...Well, no matter what kind of parliament you had, my congress is ten times awesomer," said America cheerfully. "Because I don't have any of that stupid 'house of lords' and 'house of commons' stuff. That's way too confusing for anyone besides you to understand." England scowled.
"It's worked since before you were a country, boy, a fact I'd beg you not to forget."
America's glance was caughed by something on England's neck. "Hey. That's a weird scar. Where'd you get it?" His fingers brushed lightly over two puncture marks on the tender part of England's neck. England winced sharply.
"Be careful where you're putting your fingers, you git. I've had that scar for a couple hundred years now. I think it's from where one of your soldiers had a go at me during..." He trailed off. No matter how much time had passed, the Revolutionary War was always a sore spot for the both of them; he could see by America's sudden distant expression that he had gotten his meaning across anyways. He couldn't remember getting the odd scar, but then again, there were a lot of things he'd suppressed about the Revolutionary War.
"Oh. They did a good job then," America said shortly. He went back to looking at the London skyline. "Hey! what's that? The weird pickle-shaped one?"
"The Gherkin. It's an office building."
"THAT'S an office building!?"
"Our skyscrapers are more interesting here," England said with a touch of pride.
After they had once again alighted on solid ground, they began to walk to the tube station in awkward silence. England wondered if he was still upset by the Revolutionary War reference; still, he had been the one who had asked, and it wasn't like he didn't celebrate the bloody thing every Fourth of July. As they approached the tube station, America asked, "...So you're not going to finish Twilight?"
Ah. So that was what this was about. "How can I? It's horrendous. I couldn't even get past the first book."
"Then you won't get to my favorite part..."
England sighed and prepared himself for another wave of miscellaneous Twilight trivia. "What's that?"
"So, Edward leaves because he's scared he's gonna hurt Bella, right?"
"I thought you liked Edward."
"I do! He left her because he loved her so much! So Bella gets all friendly with Jacob Black, and he's secretly a werewolf, but he can't tell her because then his pack mates will get angry. So, he drops these hints to try to tell Bella what he is..." America looked at England expectantly.
"Um, alright?" England waited for America to start babbling about how Edward's sacrifice was pure and noble, but America seemed to be waiting for him to say something. "Well... What happens next?"
America shook his head. "Never mind."
"No, I'm interested," England lied. America brightened.
"So you'll read them?"
"Hearing it from you is more interesting," England said quickly. He had no intention of plowing through another one of those monsters, even for America.
"Well... I can't explain it as well as she can. She's got such a gift with writing," he said blithely. "She totally shows how desperate Jacob is for Bella to understand him, but Bella has to figure it all out herself..." America stopped, and didn't start again. They pushed their way through the turnstiles, and spent the rest of the journey home under an oppressive blanket of silence.
Bad Dreams 4a/?
anonymous
June 26 2009, 04:19:54 UTC
It was the Revolutionary War. It had to be the Revolutionary War, or right after. He was in his uniform, and he ached as only a country engaged in war could; he could feel the dried blood pasted into his hair, sticking to his skin, baked into his clothes.
He could also tell it was the Revolutionary war because America was wearing his uniform; given, this was hard to focus on, because the things America was doing were more distracting. England was backed up against a wall, America's body tightly pressed against his. America's breath was on his neck, and America's hands... Well, America's hands were on a voyage of exploration, trying to find the most expedient way under England's red jacket. England assumed he wouldn't be able to move, even before he tried and found out he was right. He didn't like the direction his dreams were taking, this one in particular.
He closed his eyes and tried to ignore it, to live through the terrifying, stunning immobility. America was inches away from his neck, his breathing hot and heavy, his hands fumbling on England's jacket. He was mumbling something. England could barely hear what he was saying through the fog that filled his head. He strained to hear the words- at least they would be a distraction from his powerlessness-
“I'm so sorry England, please forgive me, oh god I can't stop, oh god help me-”
England was dumbstruck. He was sorry? He was pinning an immobilized England against the wall, feeling him up, and apparently intending to do something vicious to his neck, and he was sorry?
England's reason and his heart fought for control. His heart won. After several seconds of intense struggle, he managed to form words. “Shh... Shh... It's alright... Don't worry about it...”
America looked up from his fixed position on England's neck, and the pressure on England's limbs was immediately lessened. He looked up at America. Tear tracks blazed trails down the encrusted dirt on his face, leading down from eyes that burned like flames. England could have ran. He probably should have ran. Instead, he wrapped America in the kind of hug he hadn't given him since America had been a little boy. “Alfred... My Alfred... Don't worry, I'll protect you, It's OK...” America gave a choked sob.
“You smell... So good...” He leaned back over England's neck and went in for the kill.
At first, it was a sharp pain, a slashing, a tearing, like a bayonet wound except a thousand times worse and concentrated in those two spots. The pain gradually subsided to a low, steady throb, and England was suddenly aware of America's mouth at his wound, lapping at the hot blood that was trickling down his neck. He continued whispering words of comfort, trying to calm America, whose body was still shaking with sobs. America still needed him. Even if everything else had changed, America still needed him.
After what seemed like hours, America left his place on England's neck. His eyes were once again as blue as the uniform he wore, marred only by the slightest tint of red. He was still close against Arthur, his hands wrapped around the older nation. “Arthur...”
“Don't worry about it, you git,” Arthur said quietly. “Just... Make me forget about it. Like you did before.”
“You remember that?”
“Only when you're... Feeding off of me.” England shivered at the memory. “I don't want to remember this in the morning, alright?”
America seemed to be struggling for words. “Arthur, I wish-” England started when America's mouth was suddenly pressed against his. He could taste the sharp iron of his own blood on America's tongue when it suddenly found itself wrapped up in his, feel the sharp, serrated edge of America's fangs on his lower lip as America seemed to be trying to devour his entire mouth. England was too startled to move.
He'd had dreams like this.
Of course, usually he wasn't the one preparing to take it up the ass.
Bad Dreams 4b/?
anonymous
June 26 2009, 04:21:42 UTC
It all seemed to go so quickly. America proved surprisingly skillful at pulling off soldier uniforms; England wondered, briefly, where his little colony had learned that. He gritted his teeth and dug his nails into the brick wall as America pushed slowly into him, a mercy England was inordinately grateful for. America was muttering to himself, quiet, unintelligible words that slid into moans as he began to rock back and forth more quickly. England bit his lip, trying to keep back the gasps of mixed pain and pleasure as a matter of pride. England was the first to climax; he let out a sharp, broken cry, letting go of any delusions of dignity he had held. America came soon afterwards, crying out England's name and clenching on to what was left of England's clothes. He pulled out, and England, weak-kneed, turned around, clutching onto America's arm. America looked down at him, panting heavily. He placed two fingertips on England's forehead.
“You asked for this,” he said quietly. England collapsed to the ground; his entire body suddenly seemed all too weak, his head all too light. He opened his mouth, tried to form words as America pulled up his trousers, began to walk away; he wanted to call out to him, tell him to stay, make him do anything but leave his former sovereign behind.He's not leaving. He can't be leaving. England tried to make his body get up, run after him, make him stay, but his limbs were heavy and unresponsive, and eventually he fell into unconsciousness.
England was beginning to hate going to sleep.
The scar on his neck was pulsing. He pressed at it gently with two fingers, and winced at the sudden, sharp pain. He wondered for a second if that was where- no. That couldn't be possible. These were just dreams. They had to be just dreams.
...Right?
**********
Was planning to make it longer, but it's 12:30 and I can barely think straight. Sorry for crap sex scene. It's not the only one, I promise.
Re: Bad Dreams 4b/?
anonymous
June 26 2009, 09:47:24 UTC
Mmmmmm... Smut. It's your fault why I'm feeling hot and bothered, baby. There aren't much details in that scene yet but man, that was sexy. And to boot, American Revolution sex. <3
Re: Bad Dreams 5/?
anonymous
June 30 2009, 04:27:27 UTC
England groaned as the meeting went on to its fifteenth topic of the day. He knew he ought to be paying attention as his and America's leader discussed trade tariffs and public relations. He really did. But his head was pulsing and America was being too loud and enthusiastic and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.
The problem was that sleep wasn't a good option either. After the dreams he'd been having, he wasn't sure he wanted to fall asleep, even for an instant. As the Prime Minister droned on about Iran, he let is mind drift to alternatives. Sleeping pills, perhaps, drugging him into too deep a sleep for dreams? But if that didn't work, he'd be asleep for longer than usual, dragging on his discomfort. Not sleeping wasn't an option, at least as long as America kept pestering him to go to tourist attractions.
“Hey! England! You awake?” England snapped out of his trance to see America staring anxiously at him, nudging him with a huge stack of papers. “We're supposed to read these by Tuesday. Dude, are you OK?” England grabbed the papers and brushed away his hand irritably.
“Don't worry, you git. I'm fine.” If only he could focus on anything but his pounding headache. He shook his head to clear it, and grabbed onto the table for support-
He felt a warm arm wrap around his shoulder. “Come on, England.” England looked up hazily to see America supporting him. America glanced at the two leaders, and said articulately, “I think he's coming down with something. I'd best take him home.” England gritted his teeth. How dare America be taking responsibility for him? He muttered malevolent incoherencies under his breath, but allowed America to support him all the way back to his apartment.
As soon as he was slumped in a kitchen chair he looked up at America and growled. “You lied to our bosses, you idiot! Countries only get colds during economic crises, and I'm not THAT bad off.”
America crossed his arms and looked down over the frames of Texas at England. “England, you look like shit. You're no use at a conference if you don't pay attention!”
England blushed. “I... I was paying attention...”
“For the love of God, England, just... Take a rest or something. We can postpone the conference a couple days until you're feeling better.” The taller nation made a move to help his older counterpart up, but England shook him off irritably and pushed himself up on the table.
“Don't condescend to me, you little twat. I can go down a hallway by myself.” Using walls, chairs, and tables as a support, he pulled himself along into his bedroom, and collapsed on his bed.
He was exhausted. He had to admit that. He hadn't slept well since before America had visited, at first from the dreams and later from lying awake, trying to avoid them. As he shakily pulled himself under the covers, he vowed to himself that he would rest, that he would be in good condition for the next meeting their bosses decided to hold.
He lay awake for hours before pure, unconditional exhaustion drove him into sleep. He did not dream that night, nor for many nights afterward.
*****
A week later, he started dreaming again. It must have been the 1800s; he was wearing a cravat, of all the silly things, and Alfred was wearing his glasses. England found himself being shoved violently against a wall, not having the briefest moment to protest. His half-formed words were cut off in a sharp gasp as America's fangs grazed his neck.
No. He can't let this happen. He pinched himself, told himself that this was a dream, that this wasn't real even as America's fangs plunge into his neck-
He woke up, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was all over. It was just a dream-
There was a shadowy figure on all fours on top of him, looking down at him with burning red eyes. England had a sinking feeling that he knew who it was. Nevertheless, he whispered,
“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing on my bed?”
Bad Dreams 6/?
anonymous
June 30 2009, 20:33:01 UTC
The figure above England looked surprised, then reached over and turned on the light. Just as England had feared, it was America.
God. This was turning out complicated.
“Get off of me!” England shoved America, who promptly teetered and fell off the bed. “What the hell are you doing in my bedroom, you pervert!?”
“Aha. Funny thing about that.” America laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head. “You see, I'm a vampire-”
“I know that, you idiot! But what are you doing here? In my bed? Straddling me?” England pulled the covers protectively around himself.
America focused on him for a second with those unnerving red eyes of his. “You... Know I'm a vampire?”
“I've been dreaming about it...” England muttered.
America thought for a second, and then grinned. England was very taken aback by how long and pointy his canines were. “Oh. Right. Because you remember all of the other times when I'm biting you, and so if I bite you when you're asleep I guess that happens.”
England glared at him incredulously. “You've been biting me? In my SLEEP!?”
“Uh, yeah. You don't fight back as much when you're sleeping.” England chucked a pillow at him. “Hey! What was that for?”
“For biting me! In my sleep!”
“You seem pretty annoyed about that. I'm sorry. But, listen, England, I held off this week because I knew you were getting kinda tired, and I'm kinda hungry-”
“No!” England barked angrily. America pulled himself up onto the bed anyways, and England had to bite back a gasp as America trailed a finger down his cheek. “C-Can't you drink blood from humans?” he growled, brushing away America's hand irritably.
“Well... I can... But it always makes me tired and weak. Nation blood's stronger. And your blood...” He supported himself on his hands and tilted his head for better access to England's neck. England ducked away.
“I don't want to hear how my blood is your crack! I got enough of that with that Meyer woman.” America pulled himself on top of England, sitting on his legs, hands pinning England's on either side of his head. England squirmed. “Get off of me!” The look in America's eyes was inhuman as he leaned in over England's neck. “At least answer me this!” England said, searching for any excuse to postpone the incoming bite.
America pulled back and looked at him with those luminous red eyes. “Alright. Shoot.”
“The Revolutionary War. Why?” England could feel a blush creeping across his face.
America looked relieved. “Well, I'd come really close to biting you before, but I'd always stopped myself. But after the revolutionary war, I couldn't stop myself. So I just went for it.”
England didn't remember it being quite so intentional on America's part, but he pressed on. “No. Not that. The other thing.”
“Listen, England, can I just dig in?” asked America uncomfortably. “Because I'm really hungry and you smell delicious-”
England wrested a hand free and pressed it against America's mouth. “No. Answer my question, you git.” He removed the offending hand. “Now. Talk.”
“Uh, well...” America trailed off. England scowled at him, and he started talking again. “Well... You see, the thing is, England, I rebelled because...” He stopped again, and England wondered for a second whether he should keep pushing. Already he was treading on delicate ground by mentioning the War, and America looked so nervous. No; if America was going to drink his blood, he could at least answer him this.
“Keep talking, America.”
“I didn't want to be your little brother any more.”
“That doesn't answer my question!”
America looked away, and England noticed the blush creeping across his cheeks. “...Because I wanted to be something else to you. But after the war... After I made you forget about that time, you never showed any interest.”
But that meant...
“America? Are you in love with me?”
The blush intensified. Oh god. It was true. “But I know you don't feel the same way. So I don't... I mean I only...” America stuttered.
England's mind was whirling. He'd never even considered the possibility that America could feel that way- America had always been friendly but never passionate, a comrade but not a lover-
England gasped and his back arched as America's fangs slid gently into his neck.
Re: Bad Dreams 6/?
anonymous
June 30 2009, 20:48:10 UTC
*insert incoherent squeals & rambles*
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight... Now this is turning exciting!!! 8D Glad to see another update from you before going for my exam today. ;A; Made me feel a little better.
Will there be explanation on how Alfred became a vampire in the first place?
Bad Dreams 7/?
anonymous
July 3 2009, 04:49:03 UTC
He could feel America's breath hot and heavy against his skin as the younger nation lapped up his blood. He was trembling gently, eyes closed as America's tongue ran its way over the old scar that had reopened when America had bitten into it. He felt America's breathing speed up as he drank in more blood, even as England could feel himself going lightheaded. He clutched with his free hand onto America's shirt, holding on tightly and twisting his hand around in the fabric as if it could keep him from falling deeper into America's touch.
Some time later, England felt America's mouth draw away from his neck. He was still clutching tightly onto America's shirt. America looked down at him with worry. “You OK?”
“Nngh- it's going to take more than that to knock down the British Empire, America.” America grinned at him, and England scowled back. “You could have asked.”
“You were talking for too long.” His eyes were cornflower blue again, and he was smirking.
“That reminds me. We didn't finish our conversation.” He tried to shove America off of his legs, but America remained firmly planted. “Do you really need to be on top of me for this?”
“Of course I'm on top.” America winked.
England spluttered. “What- who said anything about- you pervert!”
America look downcast. “Oh, right, you... You don't like me.” He swiveled and set his feet down on the floor. “I'll make you forget. This never happened. He reached over to place two fingers on England's head.
“No!” England grabbed his hand. “I don't want to forget.” America was perplexed. England elucidated. “I don't want to forget any more. I don't want to be clueless about you, America.”
“When you don't know... I have this hope that someday you'll fall in love with me.”
“America... Please. I don't want to forget you.” America reluctantly pulled his hand away. “Besides, who said I don't care about you?” stuttered England. “Of course I care!”
“As a brother. As a friend,” America said quietly. England had no answer for the look on America's face. He stroked down a ruffled bit of his former colony's hair.
“Let's think about this in the morning, OK? I'm exhausted. Shoo.”
“But-” America stopped and sighed. “Alright. Night, England.” And so fast that England barely had time to react, America leaned down and kissed him.
He could taste the blood again, still warm on America's lips, and for a second he was uncomfortably aroused at the thought of tasting his own blood, the salty-iron flavor mingling with the taste of America, strong and unmistakable and undescribable. America's hands were on his again, and America was pressing himself eagerly against England. England could feel America's hardness against his crotch, and the realization was arousing and mortifying at the same time. Almost unwittingly, England moaned into the kiss, pressing himself up towards America, his body begging for more, more.
He couldn't let himself be degraded like this.
It took all of his willpower to wrest one of his hands away from America's and use it to push the stronger nation off of him. He knew his face was flushed, and he knew that when he talked, it was heavy with lust, but the bit of him that was still the British Empire and not a heavily aroused Arthur Kirkland demanded that he stick to his principles. “I said we'd talk in the morning.” He knew as soon as he said it how unconvincing he said it, but America shifted off of him obligingly.
America was even more aroused than he was- a look at his pants told England that. His eyes were all blue again, but there was still something almost predatory in his gaze as he looked at England. His voice pitched into a whine. “But England...”
“In the morning!” England shoved him off the bed, wincing as America hit the floor with a loud thump. “You- you pervert! Taking advantage of me like that!”
America grinned impishly. “You looked like you were liking it.”
“Sh-shut up! Go to sleep, you git!” England pulled the covers protectively around himself, aware of how furiously he was blushing.
“Alright. Night England.” America looked strangely satisfied for someone who had just been shot down. He left without a comment, and England found himself alone.
It was a long, long time before he drifted off into sleep.
A voice came from behind a large curtain. "England! This one looks really good on me! Come see!" England pinpointed the memory- it was America's first fitting for a suit. He was instantly wary.. The fitting shop wasn't -quite- right, and America had hated all the suits he'd tried on that day. After the night before, he was much more wary of his dreams in any case.
Nevertheless, he pushed open the curtain and stepped inside. America's suit did look good. England looked him over appreciatively. "Very good. You look excellent. Now change out of it and we can buy it." America turned around to unbutton his vest and England turned to leave.
"Of course I'm looking good for you," America said quietly, and England stopped. He felt like his limbs were drowning in molasses, and his head was stuffed with cotton- what was going on? America turned around. England couldn't say he was surprised when he saw the ruby red of America's eyes- eyes fixed on his neck... England stumbled backwards through the curtain, but toppled to the floor clumsily. America leaned over him languidly. England struggled to make his jaw work.
"Wh-why are- why are you doing this?" he mumbled, trying to make himself form the words. America didn't answer. England tensed as the younger nation cradled his upper body for a moment, staring down at him with an almost impassive gaze. England fought to move, tried to push him away, save himself from- whatever was going to happen, but couldn't move as America leaned in for the kill.
Suddenly, America shook his head and stood, dropping England abruptly on the floor. England breathed a sigh of relief as he drowsily watched America walk away.
Suddenly, America glanced back at him, eyes once again a luminous blue. He mouthed something too quiet to hear and walked out the door.
England HAD to stop eating curry right before bed.
He was lying on top of his covers, Twilight in hand. He slammed it shut. He must have fallen asleep reading- why he bothered with a book as horrendous as America's gift was, he didn't know. He wondered if he should even bother finishing; he was about a hundred pages from the end, and he wasn't sure he could make it. Sighing, he slid the book into its box. Even for America, he wouldn't sit through the rest of that series.
America was nowhere to be found when he made his way into the kitchen. He opened the fridge in a kind of desperate hopefulness that it would have refilled overnight, but was disappointed.
He was interrupted by the door opening and an excessively cheerful America walking in with a McDonald's bag. "Hey England! I got breakfast!"He rummaged in the bag and came out with a grease-spotted breakfast bagel wrapper. "Here."
America was halfway through his hamburger when he slowed down enough to start talking. "So. You read the books yesterday, right? Isn't it the best thing ever? Bella and Edward's love is so pure-"
"I didn't finish it," England said through a mouthful of egg. The burger stopped on its way to America's mouth.
"You... Didn't finish it?"
"No! It was horrible! That Bella girl's a whiny twat and Edward's overprotective. The prose is so purple you could use it as an emperor's toga and it went on for five hundred pages!"
America looked downcast. "But... My people really liked it... England, just wait until the fourth book, it gets better-"
"Look, America. I'm not going to read them- I don't have the time or the energy."
"Well, FINE. But don't expect me to read your Harry Potter books then." America crossed his arms and stared at England with a scowl. England winced. He hated to see America unhappy- hated to see any of his former colonies unhappy, of course, but especially America. His golden child. He sighed.
"Look, I'll see the movie with you, okay? There is a movie, I presume?" America brightened up.
"Yeah! One of your people is playing Edward... He's so dreamy..." America went starry-eyed. England rolled his eyes and pretended to listen to America babble on.
Reply
keep going anon~! you're doin great
Reply
America leaned on the railing and looked around appreciatively. "Wow, London's beautiful. I mean, all of these old buildings make it look kind of dingy, but still, the view from up here is pretty nice." England was sitting on the bench in the middle, looking over his capitol with pride.
"Well, yes, of course it's beautiful. And the old buildings are part of the charm." He stood and came up beside America. "You see that? That's my parliament. I've had it since long before your congress." America glanced at him, and seemed to consider saying something for a moment. England glanced back. "What?"
"...Well, no matter what kind of parliament you had, my congress is ten times awesomer," said America cheerfully. "Because I don't have any of that stupid 'house of lords' and 'house of commons' stuff. That's way too confusing for anyone besides you to understand." England scowled.
"It's worked since before you were a country, boy, a fact I'd beg you not to forget."
America's glance was caughed by something on England's neck. "Hey. That's a weird scar. Where'd you get it?" His fingers brushed lightly over two puncture marks on the tender part of England's neck. England winced sharply.
"Be careful where you're putting your fingers, you git. I've had that scar for a couple hundred years now. I think it's from where one of your soldiers had a go at me during..." He trailed off. No matter how much time had passed, the Revolutionary War was always a sore spot for the both of them; he could see by America's sudden distant expression that he had gotten his meaning across anyways. He couldn't remember getting the odd scar, but then again, there were a lot of things he'd suppressed about the Revolutionary War.
"Oh. They did a good job then," America said shortly. He went back to looking at the London skyline. "Hey! what's that? The weird pickle-shaped one?"
"The Gherkin. It's an office building."
"THAT'S an office building!?"
"Our skyscrapers are more interesting here," England said with a touch of pride.
After they had once again alighted on solid ground, they began to walk to the tube station in awkward silence. England wondered if he was still upset by the Revolutionary War reference; still, he had been the one who had asked, and it wasn't like he didn't celebrate the bloody thing every Fourth of July. As they approached the tube station, America asked, "...So you're not going to finish Twilight?"
Ah. So that was what this was about. "How can I? It's horrendous. I couldn't even get past the first book."
"Then you won't get to my favorite part..."
England sighed and prepared himself for another wave of miscellaneous Twilight trivia. "What's that?"
"So, Edward leaves because he's scared he's gonna hurt Bella, right?"
"I thought you liked Edward."
"I do! He left her because he loved her so much! So Bella gets all friendly with Jacob Black, and he's secretly a werewolf, but he can't tell her because then his pack mates will get angry. So, he drops these hints to try to tell Bella what he is..." America looked at England expectantly.
"Um, alright?" England waited for America to start babbling about how Edward's sacrifice was pure and noble, but America seemed to be waiting for him to say something. "Well... What happens next?"
America shook his head. "Never mind."
"No, I'm interested," England lied. America brightened.
"So you'll read them?"
"Hearing it from you is more interesting," England said quickly. He had no intention of plowing through another one of those monsters, even for America.
"Well... I can't explain it as well as she can. She's got such a gift with writing," he said blithely. "She totally shows how desperate Jacob is for Bella to understand him, but Bella has to figure it all out herself..." America stopped, and didn't start again. They pushed their way through the turnstiles, and spent the rest of the journey home under an oppressive blanket of silence.
Reply
Moar plz. <3
Reply
He could also tell it was the Revolutionary war because America was wearing his uniform; given, this was hard to focus on, because the things America was doing were more distracting.
England was backed up against a wall, America's body tightly pressed against his. America's breath was on his neck, and America's hands... Well, America's hands were on a voyage of exploration, trying to find the most expedient way under England's red jacket. England assumed he wouldn't be able to move, even before he tried and found out he was right. He didn't like the direction his dreams were taking, this one in particular.
He closed his eyes and tried to ignore it, to live through the terrifying, stunning immobility. America was inches away from his neck, his breathing hot and heavy, his hands fumbling on England's jacket. He was mumbling something. England could barely hear what he was saying through the fog that filled his head. He strained to hear the words- at least they would be a distraction from his powerlessness-
“I'm so sorry England, please forgive me, oh god I can't stop, oh god help me-”
England was dumbstruck. He was sorry? He was pinning an immobilized England against the wall, feeling him up, and apparently intending to do something vicious to his neck, and he was sorry?
England's reason and his heart fought for control. His heart won. After several seconds of intense struggle, he managed to form words. “Shh... Shh... It's alright... Don't worry about it...”
America looked up from his fixed position on England's neck, and the pressure on England's limbs was immediately lessened. He looked up at America. Tear tracks blazed trails down the encrusted dirt on his face, leading down from eyes that burned like flames. England could have ran. He probably should have ran. Instead, he wrapped America in the kind of hug he hadn't given him since America had been a little boy. “Alfred... My Alfred... Don't worry, I'll protect you, It's OK...” America gave a choked sob.
“You smell... So good...” He leaned back over England's neck and went in for the kill.
At first, it was a sharp pain, a slashing, a tearing, like a bayonet wound except a thousand times worse and concentrated in those two spots. The pain gradually subsided to a low, steady throb, and England was suddenly aware of America's mouth at his wound, lapping at the hot blood that was trickling down his neck. He continued whispering words of comfort, trying to calm America, whose body was still shaking with sobs. America still needed him. Even if everything else had changed, America still needed him.
After what seemed like hours, America left his place on England's neck. His eyes were once again as blue as the uniform he wore, marred only by the slightest tint of red. He was still close against Arthur, his hands wrapped around the older nation. “Arthur...”
“Don't worry about it, you git,” Arthur said quietly. “Just... Make me forget about it. Like you did before.”
“You remember that?”
“Only when you're... Feeding off of me.” England shivered at the memory. “I don't want to remember this in the morning, alright?”
America seemed to be struggling for words. “Arthur, I wish-” England started when America's mouth was suddenly pressed against his. He could taste the sharp iron of his own blood on America's tongue when it suddenly found itself wrapped up in his, feel the sharp, serrated edge of America's fangs on his lower lip as America seemed to be trying to devour his entire mouth. England was too startled to move.
He'd had dreams like this.
Of course, usually he wasn't the one preparing to take it up the ass.
Reply
“You asked for this,” he said quietly. England collapsed to the ground; his entire body suddenly seemed all too weak, his head all too light. He opened his mouth, tried to form words as America pulled up his trousers, began to walk away; he wanted to call out to him, tell him to stay, make him do anything but leave his former sovereign behind.He's not leaving. He can't be leaving. England tried to make his body get up, run after him, make him stay, but his limbs were heavy and unresponsive, and eventually he fell into unconsciousness.
England was beginning to hate going to sleep.
The scar on his neck was pulsing. He pressed at it gently with two fingers, and winced at the sudden, sharp pain. He wondered for a second if that was where- no. That couldn't be possible. These were just dreams. They had to be just dreams.
...Right?
**********
Was planning to make it longer, but it's 12:30 and I can barely think straight. Sorry for crap sex scene. It's not the only one, I promise.
Reply
Oh England. I wish I had dreams like that. <3
Reply
The problem was that sleep wasn't a good option either. After the dreams he'd been having, he wasn't sure he wanted to fall asleep, even for an instant. As the Prime Minister droned on about Iran, he let is mind drift to alternatives. Sleeping pills, perhaps, drugging him into too deep a sleep for dreams? But if that didn't work, he'd be asleep for longer than usual, dragging on his discomfort. Not sleeping wasn't an option, at least as long as America kept pestering him to go to tourist attractions.
“Hey! England! You awake?” England snapped out of his trance to see America staring anxiously at him, nudging him with a huge stack of papers. “We're supposed to read these by Tuesday. Dude, are you OK?” England grabbed the papers and brushed away his hand irritably.
“Don't worry, you git. I'm fine.” If only he could focus on anything but his pounding headache. He shook his head to clear it, and grabbed onto the table for support-
He felt a warm arm wrap around his shoulder. “Come on, England.” England looked up hazily to see America supporting him. America glanced at the two leaders, and said articulately, “I think he's coming down with something. I'd best take him home.” England gritted his teeth. How dare America be taking responsibility for him? He muttered malevolent incoherencies under his breath, but allowed America to support him all the way back to his apartment.
As soon as he was slumped in a kitchen chair he looked up at America and growled. “You lied to our bosses, you idiot! Countries only get colds during economic crises, and I'm not THAT bad off.”
America crossed his arms and looked down over the frames of Texas at England. “England, you look like shit. You're no use at a conference if you don't pay attention!”
England blushed. “I... I was paying attention...”
“For the love of God, England, just... Take a rest or something. We can postpone the conference a couple days until you're feeling better.” The taller nation made a move to help his older counterpart up, but England shook him off irritably and pushed himself up on the table.
“Don't condescend to me, you little twat. I can go down a hallway by myself.” Using walls, chairs, and tables as a support, he pulled himself along into his bedroom, and collapsed on his bed.
He was exhausted. He had to admit that. He hadn't slept well since before America had visited, at first from the dreams and later from lying awake, trying to avoid them. As he shakily pulled himself under the covers, he vowed to himself that he would rest, that he would be in good condition for the next meeting their bosses decided to hold.
He lay awake for hours before pure, unconditional exhaustion drove him into sleep. He did not dream that night, nor for many nights afterward.
*****
A week later, he started dreaming again. It must have been the 1800s; he was wearing a cravat, of all the silly things, and Alfred was wearing his glasses. England found himself being shoved violently against a wall, not having the briefest moment to protest. His half-formed words were cut off in a sharp gasp as America's fangs grazed his neck.
No. He can't let this happen. He pinched himself, told himself that this was a dream, that this wasn't real even as America's fangs plunge into his neck-
He woke up, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was all over. It was just a dream-
There was a shadowy figure on all fours on top of him, looking down at him with burning red eyes. England had a sinking feeling that he knew who it was. Nevertheless, he whispered,
“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing on my bed?”
Reply
Ok yea that was me... This is going down a road that is making me bite my nails in anticipation for the next bits. AHHHHHHHHHHH~
Alfred channelling Gilbert. Lol whut? *bricked*
Reply
Ugh. This is made of so much win. It only gets more and more amazing. And I absolutely love your writing, author!anon! <3
...And I shall resume my nervous and eager waiting for more now. D: *waits*
Reply
God. This was turning out complicated.
“Get off of me!” England shoved America, who promptly teetered and fell off the bed. “What the hell are you doing in my bedroom, you pervert!?”
“Aha. Funny thing about that.” America laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head. “You see, I'm a vampire-”
“I know that, you idiot! But what are you doing here? In my bed? Straddling me?” England pulled the covers protectively around himself.
America focused on him for a second with those unnerving red eyes of his. “You... Know I'm a vampire?”
“I've been dreaming about it...” England muttered.
America thought for a second, and then grinned. England was very taken aback by how long and pointy his canines were. “Oh. Right. Because you remember all of the other times when I'm biting you, and so if I bite you when you're asleep I guess that happens.”
England glared at him incredulously. “You've been biting me? In my SLEEP!?”
“Uh, yeah. You don't fight back as much when you're sleeping.” England chucked a pillow at him. “Hey! What was that for?”
“For biting me! In my sleep!”
“You seem pretty annoyed about that. I'm sorry. But, listen, England, I held off this week because I knew you were getting kinda tired, and I'm kinda hungry-”
“No!” England barked angrily. America pulled himself up onto the bed anyways, and England had to bite back a gasp as America trailed a finger down his cheek. “C-Can't you drink blood from humans?” he growled, brushing away America's hand irritably.
“Well... I can... But it always makes me tired and weak. Nation blood's stronger. And your blood...” He supported himself on his hands and tilted his head for better access to England's neck. England ducked away.
“I don't want to hear how my blood is your crack! I got enough of that with that Meyer woman.” America pulled himself on top of England, sitting on his legs, hands pinning England's on either side of his head. England squirmed. “Get off of me!” The look in America's eyes was inhuman as he leaned in over England's neck. “At least answer me this!” England said, searching for any excuse to postpone the incoming bite.
America pulled back and looked at him with those luminous red eyes. “Alright. Shoot.”
“The Revolutionary War. Why?” England could feel a blush creeping across his face.
America looked relieved. “Well, I'd come really close to biting you before, but I'd always stopped myself. But after the revolutionary war, I couldn't stop myself. So I just went for it.”
England didn't remember it being quite so intentional on America's part, but he pressed on. “No. Not that. The other thing.”
“Listen, England, can I just dig in?” asked America uncomfortably. “Because I'm really hungry and you smell delicious-”
England wrested a hand free and pressed it against America's mouth. “No. Answer my question, you git.” He removed the offending hand. “Now. Talk.”
“Uh, well...” America trailed off. England scowled at him, and he started talking again. “Well... You see, the thing is, England, I rebelled because...” He stopped again, and England wondered for a second whether he should keep pushing. Already he was treading on delicate ground by mentioning the War, and America looked so nervous. No; if America was going to drink his blood, he could at least answer him this.
“Keep talking, America.”
“I didn't want to be your little brother any more.”
“That doesn't answer my question!”
America looked away, and England noticed the blush creeping across his cheeks. “...Because I wanted to be something else to you. But after the war... After I made you forget about that time, you never showed any interest.”
But that meant...
“America? Are you in love with me?”
The blush intensified. Oh god. It was true. “But I know you don't feel the same way. So I don't... I mean I only...” America stuttered.
England's mind was whirling. He'd never even considered the possibility that America could feel that way- America had always been friendly but never passionate, a comrade but not a lover-
England gasped and his back arched as America's fangs slid gently into his neck.
Reply
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight... Now this is turning exciting!!! 8D Glad to see another update from you before going for my exam today. ;A; Made me feel a little better.
Will there be explanation on how Alfred became a vampire in the first place?
That said, keep it up!
Reply
Reply
Some time later, England felt America's mouth draw away from his neck. He was still clutching tightly onto America's shirt. America looked down at him with worry. “You OK?”
“Nngh- it's going to take more than that to knock down the British Empire, America.” America grinned at him, and England scowled back. “You could have asked.”
“You were talking for too long.” His eyes were cornflower blue again, and he was smirking.
“That reminds me. We didn't finish our conversation.” He tried to shove America off of his legs, but America remained firmly planted. “Do you really need to be on top of me for this?”
“Of course I'm on top.” America winked.
England spluttered. “What- who said anything about- you pervert!”
America look downcast. “Oh, right, you... You don't like me.” He swiveled and set his feet down on the floor. “I'll make you forget. This never happened. He reached over to place two fingers on England's head.
“No!” England grabbed his hand. “I don't want to forget.” America was perplexed. England elucidated. “I don't want to forget any more. I don't want to be clueless about you, America.”
“When you don't know... I have this hope that someday you'll fall in love with me.”
“America... Please. I don't want to forget you.” America reluctantly pulled his hand away. “Besides, who said I don't care about you?” stuttered England. “Of course I care!”
“As a brother. As a friend,” America said quietly. England had no answer for the look on America's face. He stroked down a ruffled bit of his former colony's hair.
“Let's think about this in the morning, OK? I'm exhausted. Shoo.”
“But-” America stopped and sighed. “Alright. Night, England.” And so fast that England barely had time to react, America leaned down and kissed him.
He could taste the blood again, still warm on America's lips, and for a second he was uncomfortably aroused at the thought of tasting his own blood, the salty-iron flavor mingling with the taste of America, strong and unmistakable and undescribable. America's hands were on his again, and America was pressing himself eagerly against England. England could feel America's hardness against his crotch, and the realization was arousing and mortifying at the same time. Almost unwittingly, England moaned into the kiss, pressing himself up towards America, his body begging for more, more.
He couldn't let himself be degraded like this.
It took all of his willpower to wrest one of his hands away from America's and use it to push the stronger nation off of him. He knew his face was flushed, and he knew that when he talked, it was heavy with lust, but the bit of him that was still the British Empire and not a heavily aroused Arthur Kirkland demanded that he stick to his principles. “I said we'd talk in the morning.” He knew as soon as he said it how unconvincing he said it, but America shifted off of him obligingly.
America was even more aroused than he was- a look at his pants told England that. His eyes were all blue again, but there was still something almost predatory in his gaze as he looked at England. His voice pitched into a whine. “But England...”
“In the morning!” England shoved him off the bed, wincing as America hit the floor with a loud thump. “You- you pervert! Taking advantage of me like that!”
America grinned impishly. “You looked like you were liking it.”
“Sh-shut up! Go to sleep, you git!” England pulled the covers protectively around himself, aware of how furiously he was blushing.
“Alright. Night England.” America looked strangely satisfied for someone who had just been shot down. He left without a comment, and England found himself alone.
It was a long, long time before he drifted off into sleep.
Reply
“Do you really need to be on top of me for this?”
“Of course I'm on top.” America winked.
Lol~~~~~~~~~~~ Oh America...
Keep it coming! ^^ Curious to know about the whole thing~ \o/
Reply
Also, I love how IC vampire!America is :D
Reply
Leave a comment