Erotic Ambassador to the World
Pairings: Onesided World/UK, implied UKUS
Rating/Warnings: M for sexual fantasies
Word Count: 1148
Summary: England has a bit of a reputation for kinkiness. The rest of the world hopes to god it's true.
There was something about England.
He wasn't the most objectively beautiful with his slim body, wild hair, and massive eyebrows. It wasn't even as though he presented himself as overtly sexual. Most days he came into the meeting room dressed in a suit just like everyone else's, and not even an incredibly well tailored black one that made him look classy while still showing them what he had to offer. No, more often than not it was a shade of brown or grey that didn't quite fit his body or his skin tone.
But there was just something about him!
It was truly France's discovery. He was the one who actually went and googled British sex records. And, of course, he told a few people. And then, of course, the rumors started to fly.
"I heard that he has the entire Kama Sutra memorized from when he and India were… you know…"
"Please, if we're talking Victorian period, do you have any idea all the scandals and brothels? I heard that it was, like, normal to cheat! He totally had something to do with that!"
"That book he reads all the time? I heard that it's porn!"
England remained blissfully unaware for months and months. It remained that way until he had to get up and give a presentation about something no one particularly remembered. Their minds were otherwise occupied.
In France's mind, it was food. He drizzled chocolate all over England's chest and stomach. His tongue followed, licking up every single drop. Eventually he reached his cock. He chucked and proceeded to pour everything he had left onto it, giving himself an excuse to give that area plenty of attention. Oh, England would moan like a whore when he did it. He had always been so loud (America must have gotten it from somewhere after all), why would anyone presume it would be different in bed?
Ukraine and Liechtenstein saw it in a completely different way. They thought the same pornographic thoughts even though they hadn't so much as made eye contact. To them it was clear that England had class. Even on a normal day he would wear nice trousers and at least a dress shirt with a tie. No, he would behave like such a gentleman in public no matter which woman he was with, kissing her hands and holding doors open. He would know how to treat a woman like a lady. And, every bit as important, once they got back to his apartment he would know how to fuck one like a whore. He would be everywhere at once, mouthing, sucking, biting, teasing all the places even she herself didn't know about. He could drive them higher and higher, making her abandon her quiet, gentle image in favor of screaming his name and clawing his back. And then as soon as it was done he'd be kind again, carefully cleaning up the mess and kissing her slow and sweet. He'd offer to allow her to stay the night, and maybe she'd have to arrange to miss her flight so that she could stay one more day.
There was screaming in Germany's fantasy too, only it was at him. England held a riding crop in his hands and brought it down again and again on Germany's flesh, tearing into it, making bittersweet pain course through his body like electricity. In between lashes England shouted at him at him, calling him a whore, a bitch, reminding him how wrong it was that he enjoyed it. Eventually England grew tired of the game and threw the whip to the side. He forced Germany to his knees, Germany fighting just enough to make it a show. England bit at his neck and shoulders, teeth leaving marks that wouldn't disappear for days. He'd force Germany's legs apart and fuck him, not asking, not requesting, not even demanding, but simply taking.
Norway thought of sending his troll out to him. He was rather large, but England would take him. It was obvious he would.
Austria thought of him backstage at a concert. They'd snuck back there so that they could be closer to the music, but it was also dark and hot and the vibrations from the procession section had done things to them.
Japan thought of him in a short skirt, being molested by tentacles and loving every minute of it.
Australia thought of him laying there, covered in their come, slowly licking it off of his fingers and face.
Spain thought of him in his piracy days, wishing that they'd taken the time to sodomize each other when they had the chance.
Switzerland thought of him with a gun in each hand, one pointing at Switzerland's head while the other eased inside of him.
Sweden saw him dressed in a Santa suit.
Russia… let's not go into Russia's mind.
Hungary saw the look on everyone else's face and imagined all of the men setting on England at once.
It was a beautiful time, decadent and pornographic, the sort of escape to simple primal mindsets that normally weren't allowed in the modern world.
But like everything wonderful, America had to ruin it.
He found England at break and pulled him aside.
"Hey, England," He said, blushing but keeping his serious face on, "Is it true what everyone's saying."
"What is everyone saying?"
"Well- They're um-" He turned even more red, "There've been these rumors going around."
"What are they saying?" England asked, concerned.
"It's nothing bad!" America said, "Well, maybe it is. Hard to say."
"Idiot," England grabbed America by the lapels and shook him, "Tell me what they're saying!"
"They're calling you the erotic ambassador!"
England stopped shaking him and raised an eyebrow, "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you'll try anything. In bed."
Now it was England's turn to blush. "I- Well, historically- That is to say-"
"Look, I'm just curious," America said, stepping back and running a hand through his hair, "I mean, the few times that we've- You've never said anything or made me think that you'd be into stuff. And since we're allies and stuff it'll probably happen again and I wanna make it better if I can."
England sighed, "To be honest it depends. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I rarely feel the need to do anything in particular, so it all depends on what my partner wants. Furthermore-"
There was a loud crash behind America. They both turned to see Poland rounding the corner and out of sight.
"He's going to tell everyone isn't he?" England asked flatly.
"Probably," America said. Then he smiled, "But hey, there's some good news that goes with this!"
"And what, pray tell, is that?"
"Now you can have anyone you want in bed with you!"
England groaned and threw his head back to bang it against the wall.
Rating/Warnings: M for sexual fantasies
Word Count: 1148
Summary: England has a bit of a reputation for kinkiness. The rest of the world hopes to god it's true.
There was something about England.
He wasn't the most objectively beautiful with his slim body, wild hair, and massive eyebrows. It wasn't even as though he presented himself as overtly sexual. Most days he came into the meeting room dressed in a suit just like everyone else's, and not even an incredibly well tailored black one that made him look classy while still showing them what he had to offer. No, more often than not it was a shade of brown or grey that didn't quite fit his body or his skin tone.
But there was just something about him!
It was truly France's discovery. He was the one who actually went and googled British sex records. And, of course, he told a few people. And then, of course, the rumors started to fly.
"I heard that he has the entire Kama Sutra memorized from when he and India were… you know…"
"Please, if we're talking Victorian period, do you have any idea all the scandals and brothels? I heard that it was, like, normal to cheat! He totally had something to do with that!"
"That book he reads all the time? I heard that it's porn!"
England remained blissfully unaware for months and months. It remained that way until he had to get up and give a presentation about something no one particularly remembered. Their minds were otherwise occupied.
In France's mind, it was food. He drizzled chocolate all over England's chest and stomach. His tongue followed, licking up every single drop. Eventually he reached his cock. He chucked and proceeded to pour everything he had left onto it, giving himself an excuse to give that area plenty of attention. Oh, England would moan like a whore when he did it. He had always been so loud (America must have gotten it from somewhere after all), why would anyone presume it would be different in bed?
Ukraine and Liechtenstein saw it in a completely different way. They thought the same pornographic thoughts even though they hadn't so much as made eye contact. To them it was clear that England had class. Even on a normal day he would wear nice trousers and at least a dress shirt with a tie. No, he would behave like such a gentleman in public no matter which woman he was with, kissing her hands and holding doors open. He would know how to treat a woman like a lady. And, every bit as important, once they got back to his apartment he would know how to fuck one like a whore. He would be everywhere at once, mouthing, sucking, biting, teasing all the places even she herself didn't know about. He could drive them higher and higher, making her abandon her quiet, gentle image in favor of screaming his name and clawing his back. And then as soon as it was done he'd be kind again, carefully cleaning up the mess and kissing her slow and sweet. He'd offer to allow her to stay the night, and maybe she'd have to arrange to miss her flight so that she could stay one more day.
There was screaming in Germany's fantasy too, only it was at him. England held a riding crop in his hands and brought it down again and again on Germany's flesh, tearing into it, making bittersweet pain course through his body like electricity. In between lashes England shouted at him at him, calling him a whore, a bitch, reminding him how wrong it was that he enjoyed it. Eventually England grew tired of the game and threw the whip to the side. He forced Germany to his knees, Germany fighting just enough to make it a show. England bit at his neck and shoulders, teeth leaving marks that wouldn't disappear for days. He'd force Germany's legs apart and fuck him, not asking, not requesting, not even demanding, but simply taking.
Norway thought of sending his troll out to him. He was rather large, but England would take him. It was obvious he would.
Austria thought of him backstage at a concert. They'd snuck back there so that they could be closer to the music, but it was also dark and hot and the vibrations from the procession section had done things to them.
Japan thought of him in a short skirt, being molested by tentacles and loving every minute of it.
Australia thought of him laying there, covered in their come, slowly licking it off of his fingers and face.
Spain thought of him in his piracy days, wishing that they'd taken the time to sodomize each other when they had the chance.
Switzerland thought of him with a gun in each hand, one pointing at Switzerland's head while the other eased inside of him.
Sweden saw him dressed in a Santa suit.
Russia… let's not go into Russia's mind.
Hungary saw the look on everyone else's face and imagined all of the men setting on England at once.
It was a beautiful time, decadent and pornographic, the sort of escape to simple primal mindsets that normally weren't allowed in the modern world.
But like everything wonderful, America had to ruin it.
He found England at break and pulled him aside.
"Hey, England," He said, blushing but keeping his serious face on, "Is it true what everyone's saying."
"What is everyone saying?"
"Well- They're um-" He turned even more red, "There've been these rumors going around."
"What are they saying?" England asked, concerned.
"It's nothing bad!" America said, "Well, maybe it is. Hard to say."
"Idiot," England grabbed America by the lapels and shook him, "Tell me what they're saying!"
"They're calling you the erotic ambassador!"
England stopped shaking him and raised an eyebrow, "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you'll try anything. In bed."
Now it was England's turn to blush. "I- Well, historically- That is to say-"
"Look, I'm just curious," America said, stepping back and running a hand through his hair, "I mean, the few times that we've- You've never said anything or made me think that you'd be into stuff. And since we're allies and stuff it'll probably happen again and I wanna make it better if I can."
England sighed, "To be honest it depends. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I rarely feel the need to do anything in particular, so it all depends on what my partner wants. Furthermore-"
There was a loud crash behind America. They both turned to see Poland rounding the corner and out of sight.
"He's going to tell everyone isn't he?" England asked flatly.
"Probably," America said. Then he smiled, "But hey, there's some good news that goes with this!"
"And what, pray tell, is that?"
"Now you can have anyone you want in bed with you!"
England groaned and threw his head back to bang it against the wall.