Of Nations and Love - One shot
He was wandering, nothing in particular calling out his interest, as happened so often these days, almost hoping for a foolish human to cross his path. It seemed it had been ages since he was last challenged or since he had last tricked some hapless human, taking him or her for the single-most exhilarating and terrifying ride of his or her life. Ages since he had been given due respect from the general populace. True, there were some who still held the old ways and knew him enough to give him the deference he had earned, but that number dwindled each day. The Others, they may not care as deeply as he, they may not care that they were unseen by so many, so content with their games and parties, but he was Púca, or Pooka as he had taken to being called in recent times when tongues were not as talented as they once were; he was not content in the least bit.
He snorted, his nostrils flaring, and stomped along, currently in his most common form*, that of a huge, magnificent black horse with a flowing mane and eyes that glowed gold, his sleek fur untarnished by the brambles and moss he trotted through. Fairies and sprites, brownies and trolls…all so content with their former glories and so ignorant of how they faded from the world a little bit more each day. Fools, the lot of them. What joy was there in terrifying and amazing humans if they could not witness the one doing the terrifying and awing? Pooka whinnied and picked up his pace, making his way towards the one place and person he knew could snap him out of his despondent mood and back into his trickster-loving self.
Pooka knew that he was not alone in his thoughts, knew that there were others like him (that is being of Fey folk because he was certainly the only Púca he knew of in existence, thank you) who held similar worries…but no matter how loud these worries could become, there was always one who would reassure him and the rest who cared that they would be thought of.
England had been a small child when Pooka had first met him, small, scowling, and full of cleverness; Pooka had known he was different, but he had not known how much until he had tempted him. Pooka liked to entice unwary and wary alike humans, offer them a ride on a magnificent beast, wisdom to solve all their worries and problems and once they were atop his broad back, his wonderful promise turned into a ride of terrifying magnitude. Scaring and confusing his rider as he leapt into the sky at impossible heights and ran so fast everything surrounding was but a blur, but ultimately, he let them live. Let them live with the memory of Pooka and his power, and he certainly found no joy in drowning his riders like his uncouth cousins* did. Not to mention he often warned travelers from harm and offered his advice to those who kept their wits about them during their ride. Downright benevolent, he was.
Pooka had bowed to the odd boy and whispered enticing words of adventure and excitement all being but a horseback ride away, flicking back his long mane with a regal toss of his head all the while. But the boy had simply looked at him steadily; he was not frightened or awed or even impressed with Pooka’s words or the prospect of a talking horse, his abnormally green eyes sizing him up critically from underneath a pair of rather bushy eyebrows. After his examination, the boy had nodded and wrapped his little fingers through Pooka’s dark mane, hoisting himself up with strength no normal child should have had. Pooka try as he might, could not bring himself to pull any of his usual tricks and any of his games…the boy rode him through the air and fields with a calm and confident aura, in control and smiling in satisfaction all the while.
He had known then, known exactly who it was he had riding him, guiding him instead of the other way around, and when they landed Pooka had given his England a proper bow, extending his friendship. And to this day, all those centuries later, England remained his friend, though he was quite a bit older and now weighed with hurts and memories from all he had seen and done. He even joined Pooka occasionally in his tricks and mischief, luring humans to Pooka with tales of a magnificent black horse that had golden eyes, laughing for hours at the wobbly-kneed riders that dismounted after. And to this day England remained who Pooka went to whenever he felt somewhat blue by how the times had changed. Hence, his mission today.
England, he knew for a fact (because the fairy Periwinkle was a loudmouth, attention-grabber and had blabbed to anyone who would listen at the recent Equinox), was vacationing in the country for the next week, enjoying some well-deserved time off after a series of World meetings. Pooka had seen England after those meetings…it was never a pretty sight; he didn’t know how the Unicorns put up with that temper. The cottage was just outside Kent, modest but most definitely not a shack, and had a lovely set of gardens surrounding it, resting not too far from the White Cliffs*.
Pooka paused before he let himself in through the back door of the cottage, which was usually left open during the day, his eyes spotting not one but two cars outside. One with a rather obnoxious red, white, and blue flag splayed across the back window. He canted his head to the side and let out a low neigh, stamping his hooves in the dirt in his confusion. He was right about to trot over and examine the unknown vehicle when he heard something, something that sounded quite like a pair of voices coming from above him.
He glanced upwards and noticed an open window, a window he knew to be England’s bedroom window and smiled; if any human passed by they would have been unnerved at the sight of the huge black horse grinning in mischief. Pooka willed his form to shift and change, fitting into the shape of a black fox, gold eyes glinting in his mischievous fashion. He padded over to the porch and hopped his way up the side of the cottage. The window was open a little, likely to let in the warm spring air into the likely musty cottage and the closer Pooka got to the windowsill, the more distinguishable the voices became. His grin morphed into a leer as he poked his head around the stone wall; he would recognize a gasp like that anywhere, anytime.
There were two bodies to match the two voices he heard, as was to be expected, one the very familiar England and another, larger one, male, who looked thoroughly pleased with himself. Pooka took a seat on the windowsill and blinked all gold eyes at the pair, moving in a manner that suggested nothing aside from mating, inwardly quite proud that his rather stiff England looked so uninhibited and wild. The poor lad needed to act his age, his physical age mind you not the actual age, sometimes, loosen up.
England was astride the other’s hips with only a pair of boxers and a half undone shirt on, his honey colored hair wild and messy as a result of sweat and the hand currently tugging it, a rare look of playfulness on his face. Pooka might have felt a twinge of jealousy if he was any other creature, at seeing the expression that usually only he inspired with their own games, but he was old and much too wise to give in to that. If anything, he only felt relief that another could inspire a similar expression on his dear England. His nation leaned down and kissed the other man deeply, his hands encircling the other’s wrists and pinning them to the bed, making the taller buck underneath. They both let out a delicious moan that even gave Pooka some shivers.
The other was undoubtedly a Nation as well, though Pooka was unfamiliar as to which one. The only other nations Pooka had met personally were Denmark and France, both during their most unwise and foolish attempts to control his clever England (and one dangerous ride had shown both just how untamed and wild this nation was right quick), but this nation was neither of them. He was tall, broad in the shoulders and slimmer at the waist with warm colored skin that spoke of sunshine, larger and obviously physically stronger than England, but there was a gentle motion to his hands. His hair was as golden as the rest of him, with one odd piece of hair that stuck up against gravity and he had a pair of glasses over his closed eyes, his smile wide and welcoming as he pressed one into England’s lips.
England opened bright green eyes, nearly glowing to Pooka in the light of the room, and gently removed the glasses, setting them on a bedside table, stretching in a manner that made the other nation groan in want. He opened his eyes and Pooka was amazed at just how blue the other nation’s eyes were, like cornflower or a deep river, blinking up with affection and lust at the slimmer England perched atop him. He reached up and stroked a hand to the side of England’s face, evoking an answering blush across England’s already flushed face. Pooka felt a thrum of approval at the sight of the two of them; nations bonded and cemented alliances in similar manners, but this was different, this was love and it was quite refreshing to see his England have.
“You’re so sexy, Iggy.”
“Don’t say such daft things, idiot…” Pooka snickered at how right the other nation was. His dear England did look quite fetching half dressed and panting astride the other’s hips, his need to move just barely under control.
“But it’s true…” The other trailed off, his voice husky and his body leaning up to press open-mouthed kisses up and down England’s neck and chest. England’s eyes fluttered shut and his hands stroked down the other’s body, his hips shifting unconsciously, drawing a gasp from him and another groan from the taller one. “Mm, you taste good too…”
“America…”
Ah, so there was the nation’s name. Pooka knew that name, knew how much this nation had hurt his England some centuries ago, knew that whatever he had done had probably been necessary but had caused so much pain. America, England’s dearest of colonies who had demanded freedom and won it in a manner…Pooka felt a grudging respect for the nation at the time of his revolution and it was nice to feel it validated watching the pair of them now. Pooka knew how England used to love, knew how suffocating it could be when your fear of abandonment clouds over your love and how England had been during those centuries. The problem was that love, true and real love, can never exist without equality, Pooka knew this as did all other Fey, and perhaps England knew it as well now…Pooka doubted this could have existed between a nation and his colony. Love of course had been present for that had been the cause of the hurt, but not this kind of love, the kind that his England needed and now had.
America brought his arms around England’s back and tugged them even closer, his hands drifting under the remaining fabric separating them while England’s hands tugged it back out and re-pinned America’s wrists to the bed. America closed his eyes and made a noise of frustration as England smirked down at him, pressing his lips to America’s ear.
“I don’t believe you’re playing by the rules, America. And here I thought you’d promise to behave yourself.” Pooka felt another swell of pride for his dear England and his ability to hold his own in this pairing.
America opened his eyes, blue eyes dilated but still not too far gone, stilling his attempt to roll England over and relaxed under his gentle pressure and grinning back up at the smirk. “I never break the rules, old man; a hero always follows them, no matter what!”
“Good to hear, then I can expect you to obey each and every one, can’t I?” England punctuated his words with small nips along America’s jaw.
“Nng-yes, yes already!”
“Brilliant. Hands above your head then.” America gave England a good-natured roll of his eyes before he complied, smile settling into something less playful and more loving, full of trust and anticipation. He settled his hands above his head, stretching his arms back as well, giving England a quick wiggle of his eyebrows to show he wasn’t going to move. England pushed himself back up so that he was sitting upright on America’s hips again, and returned America’s look, the unspoken agreement passing between them that America’s hands would not move from until England said so.
Pooka shifted slightly so he could lie down and watch what was surely going to be a good show, resting his muzzle on his folded paws, gold eyes wide and alert as England started to move. England moved slowly and with patience, slipping off the remaining layers between them, shifting slightly when he removed his own boxers and America’s, careful to not let their erections brush against each other, which made America’s head fall back in exasperation. England unbuttoned the rest of his shirt but didn’t take it off after America shook his head, England humoring him with a small smirk.
England shifted up America’s body, deliberately letting their skin meet and brush enough to make America twitch and groan, but not much else, pressing a small, chaste kiss to the taller nation’s lips before moving steadily downwards. England kept his eyes locked on America’s as he pressed hot kisses down his neck and chest, tongue flicking out as he passed each nipple briefly, no doubt knowing he was driving America crazy, Pooka thought. Each touch, kiss, brush of his fingers he gave America was fleeting and teasing, giving pleasure but taking it away before it could really develop and it was beginning to show. England, Pooka realized with a smile, was playing. It was a game, see how much America would take from him, how much he would put up with the exquisite torture before he snapped. It was a truly wonderful thing to watch and Pooka counted his lucky stars he had happened upon it.
England continued on in a similar manner, pressing small kisses into America’s skin, his fingers dragging across a strip of skin, working down America’s abdomen, down his legs, down every part of his body except what was sticking up at full attention and demanding some kind of relief. England’s smile turned mischievous just like Pooka’s as he noticed America, despite his obvious frustration, had relaxed his body so that he enjoyed the small attentions. Without warning, he dragged his body back up from America’s calves and gave his erection a warm, wet and deliciously sinful swipe of his tongue. This, understandably, jolted America right back to attention and his hands twitched from where they were frozen at above his head, fingers twisting into the sheets.
England pressed his hands against America’s hips, keeping them still as he took a little bit more of America in each time his head bobbed down. Pooka had not watched human mate for some time and he decided he must rectify that…or perhaps he could just spy on his dear England more often because it was quite possibly the most exciting thing he had seen in some time, watching England’s throat take in a little bit more of America’s swelling arousal and back off, creating a warm and wet friction for the tall nation that had him past coherency. England was entirely focused on America, his eyes and body responding to the pleasure he was giving, not drawing anything for him…it was wonderful to see, selfless love giving and not expecting anything in return. Pooka forgot what a sap he could be when faced with romance.
England let America’s erection go with a wet pop, pressing a small kiss to the tip before he shifted back up, this time not bothering to avoid pressing their bodies together, letting out a hoarse cry as America bucked under him, sending a jolt through his body. Pooka smiled as England nodded softly and America’s hands reached up and pressed their lips together furiously, his tongue slipping against England’s in time with the thrusts of his hips against England’s. The game was done and now, now the love began, America’s slicked up fingers pressing into England in gentle time and England arching back into them, his head tilted back and eyes closing as those fingers stretched and sought the spot that made him shiver. Pooka knew enough about human mating to know the mechanics and parts involved. And when the fingers were removed and England slid back, taking nearly all of America into his body in one fluid motion, Pooka found that he was no longer saddened by his own worries or troubles. Watching his dear England move in time with his America, bringing each other to heights and feelings they could not achieve alone, holding onto to each other and pressing lips together in time with their joining, he found his soul content once more. Watching love, real love, always seemed to make any other problem seem inconsequential in the end because if there was love like this, then surely magic could exist as well.
Pooka hopped off the windowsill after they each reached their climax, not wanting to intrude on their private moments after, which in his experience were always more important than the moments before, and waited for a little while outside the cottage, reverting back to his usual form of a horse. Eventually, his England would feel him here. And sure enough, some time later, England poked his head outside his bedroom window, looking slightly wet as if he had just stepped out of a shower, and glared down at Pooka.
“It’s not very polite to peek on someone’s private conversations, you bloody horse!”
Pooka smirked and nickered softly in a manner that could only be a laugh. You were not ‘conversing’ all that much, England now were you? And my, I had no idea you were so limber…I do hope you didn’t strain anything-
“If you speak one more word, I swear I’ll make shave off your sodding mane!” England hissed back.
Pooka nickered some more and tossed his glorious black mane back, fixing his gold eyes back on England’s bright green eyes. Do not worry, dear England, I will not mention to any of the Others of how happy you are in love. I will respect your wishes to inform them in your own time, but I hope you know that they will be nothing but glad for you…as am I. It is nice to see you smile so freely once more.
England blushed slightly but nodded, a small, satisfied smile stretching across his lips. “Thank you.”
Of course…though, I am tempted to meet this America for myself. You should send him outside; he looks strong enough to endure a ride.
England shook his head and gave him another smirk. “He wouldn’t see you, Pooka, he’s particularly thick-headed.”
My favorite kind. At that moment, America choose that moment to grab something from his vehicle outside, exiting through the back door in only a pair of loose jeans and a t-shirt, barefoot and with slightly damp hair as well. He paused when he saw Pooka, really saw him, and looked back up at England, whose eyes had widened in surprise because America could apparently see the mythical creature.
“I didn’t know you had a horse, Arthur!”
England looked torn for a moment, before he glanced at Pooka, eyes silently commanding he take it easy on the other nation, before he smiled back at America. “You can take him for a ride, if you like. Though, I warn you, he’s pretty unpredictable…”
“Come on, Iggy, I’m a hero remember? I can totally handle a horse!”
England smiled and exchanged a smirk with Pooka. His eyes conveyed everything Pooka needed to know; that it would do for America to have some proof of England’s Fey friends, but that it wouldn’t do for the poor boy to have any lingering nightmares. Pooka could accept those terms…he’d go easy on the lad for England. “Then, by all means, Alfred.”
Pooka could not have asked for a better end to the day.
Finis
Note: According to legend, the púca is a deft shape shifter, capable of assuming a variety of terrifying or pleasing forms, and may appear as a horse, rabbit, goat, goblin, or dog. No matter what shape the púca takes, its fur is almost always dark. If a human is enticed onto a púca's back, it has been known to give them a wild ride, but the púca will do its rider no real harm. The púca has the power of human speech, and has been known to give advice and lead people away from harm. Though the púca enjoys confusing and often terrifying humans, it is considered to be benevolent.
1.) It most commonly takes the form of a sleek black horse with a flowing mane and luminescent golden eyes
2.) Kelpies, which take their riders and dive into the nearest stream or lake to drown and devour him/her
3.) The white cliffs of Dover in Kent.