A Year of Surprises 3

[teaandcharcoal]

Pairing: UKUS
Rating/Warnings: M for language, sex, mpreg, and angst

Word count: 5121

Summary: Nations in times of prosperity are capable of reproducing. Of course there's a problem with this: when they do go into heat it doesn't stop until they conceive. This is the story of America's first pregnancy.

Chapter One



A/N: Now that sweethearts week is over and your inboxes are (hopefully) less flooded with valentine-y fics, I thought it was time to start posting some of the fics I've accumulated, starting with this chapter to get you all caught up to the kink meme.

I would just like to make it clear before going into this that in spite of England referring to him as a boy all the time, America is physically about 16 years old. While on that topic, warning for Ephebophilia in this chapter.

August

England didn't suspect that there was anything wrong with America for a long time. It had been obvious for almost a month that he was attracted to England, but that was normal enough. After all, England could remember his own adolescence perfectly clearly, all the confused nights when he lay back with his tunic lifted, thinking about a hundred different people and unsure of how he felt about any of them. It was part of growing up and America would get past it. Hopefully not past England, but past the confusion.

No, the real person England worried about was himself. It was one thing to look at America and notice how attractive he'd grow to be. It was another thing entirely to actually want him as he was. It was wrong, disgusting even. England didn't know why he felt that way. He'd never had a problem with this sort of thing before. He hadn't been attracted to boys since he was one himself, since over three hundred years ago when he and Portugal had…

Well, that wasn't the issue. The issue was that he was attracted to a child!

He wasn't exactly a child, though, his treacherous thoughts reminded him. True, he was only about one hundred, but England guessed from his appearance that people his physical age married on a regular basis. Hell, from one point of view he had been younger when he first-

"Um… Hey England…"

Bloody hell, where had he come from? He forced himself to smile up at America. He looked worried, hands behind his back and looking down at his shoes. England set aside his embroidery to show that America had his attention.

"Yes, dear boy?"

"I- can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course, lad," He patted the cushion next to him.

"Thanks," America said, taking a seat.

"Now, what seems to be bothering you?"

"England… I'm scared."

England sighed, "America, I've told you a million times, there are no such things as ghosts."

"It's not about that!" He said a little too harshly, "This is serious!"

"Sorry," England said, "I'll hear you out."

"I know I shouldn't have yelled," He shifted uncomfortably, "I just… I'm worried."

England furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but it certainly sounded serious.

"I've been feeling… weird lately and I don't know what to do about it. I know it's not just puberty or anything, because I haven't changed in the past seven years."

It was most likely something normal that he simply hadn't encountered yet, but it didn't hurt to make sure "So, what do you mean by 'weird' exactly?"

"Well, it's… Um…" He turned bright red, "This is really, really awkward, but, um…"

"It's alright, love," England reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, "Whatever it is you can tell me."

America turned even redder, "I want sex. Like really, really want it. And it's just been getting worse and worse. I can barely think of anything else anymore," His voice cracked and he began speaking more quickly, "I can't concentrate, can barely do chores. Even my dreams are all me getting fucked or something that I know means the same thing. And they're so vivid, England, I would have pretty intense dreams before, but nothing like this. And the worst is when I don't dream of sex because then..." He looked away, "Then I dream about being pregnant, or giving birth, or holding a baby. And the feelings just gets worse and worse when I'm around you, so doing this is awful. I want it to stop, England," He looked back at England, tears were rolling down his face, "I don't feel like me. I want to go back to the way I was before. Please England, you told me you'd always help me, so please fix this."

England looked at him. It sounded as though he was… No, that wasn't possible. It was too early. America was only one hundred. Oh, but he had aged so quickly, and it did explain why they were both feeling like that… There was only one way to be sure.

"America," England said, making his voice as serious as possible, "I need to go into your bedroom."

"What? Why?"

"Just trust me. I think I know what's happening," He pulled him into a hug, "And if I'm right, I'm so, so sorry."

"England? England, what's wrong with me?" He looked absolutely terrified.

"It'll be alright, I promise it'll be alright."

"England, I'm scared."

"I know, I know," He pulled him closer, "But I want to be sure before I say anything."

"England, am I going to die?"

"No, America. You'll be alright. I promise that everything will be alright, but you have to trust me."

"Okay," America said meekly.

He followed England upstairs to his room, standing aside and letting England investigate. Normally he'd have to go and smell the bed or yesterday's clothes or something like that. He was almost knocked out the moment he opened the door. It probably didn't help that it was one of those hot, sticky summer days, but the air was positively saturated with the smell of a nation in heat.

"My God, how long has this been going on?"

He had asked himself more than America, but the boy still looked ashamed, staring down at the floor.

England forced a smile and said, "Don't worry. This is completely natural and you're going to be perfectly fine."

"England," America said, much more sternly than he had before, "What's wrong with me?"

England stroked his hair, one last bit of comfort before he said, "Nothing's wrong with you, America. It's just-" He took a deep breath, "It's time for you to have your first child."

"What?" America looked down at himself as though he expected his stomach to have ballooned without his notice, "England, I've never even had sex."

"No, America, you're not pregnant now."

"But then what do you mean? I have the choice not to have a kid, don't I?"

England swallowed, "No, America," He said, "You really don't."

"All I have to do is not have sex for-"

"America, I know it's hard to understand but that's not an option." England took his hands.

"Of course it is!" America shouted, shaking him away, "Why wouldn't it be?"

England sighed and closed his eyes, "You've never been through this before, America, so you don't know what it's like after a few months. I've tried, America, I've tried so hard... Not even you can overcome biology like that."

"But I- England, I'm not ready for a kid!"

England wrapped his arms America, who proceeded to bury his face in England's chest and be unusually still.

Christ, this was so different from when he'd learned he was going to be pregnant. That was the difference between a 100-year-old and a 900-year-old, most likely. England had had so much more time to live, to grow a mental and emotional longing so that when the physical ones came everything fell into place.

"I'm sorry," He said, stroking America's hair again, "I'm so sorry it has to be this way. But I suppose there is one good thing that comes of this timing."

America looked up, "And that is?"

"You don't have to be alone. I know how hard it is to raise a child. The least I can do is stay here until it's fully grown."

"But England, you're going to be stuck here for twenty years!"

"You're forgetting how old I am. It's a moment of my time that I have to give up to fulfill my responsibilities."

"You're talking like you know you're going to be- be the dad."

"Even if I'm not I'll stay. You're my colony, so taking care of you is my responsibility."

"England I- I'm still scared."

"I know, love," He placed his chin on America's shoulder, "But I promise to make it as comfortable as it can be."

"So… um…" He took a step back, "I guess we have sex now?"

England was taken aback from the sudden turn. America had just been so terrified, had said he might not want England to father his child, and now… England looked him over. He was shaking and had tears in his eyes. He was desperate, overemotional. This was probably just another way of control, to pretend that he was choosing to do something that had to happen. England couldn't let him do that. It couldn't happen like that.

"No," England said.

"What do you mean 'no'?" America asked. "I thought I didn't have a choice."

"We have a little time. You definitely have a week; you might even have two before it starts getting too bad. I want you to be in a state where you can enjoy sex, even if you can't look forward to having a child."

America just stared at him, confused and hurt. England looked back, trying to convey a million things, trying to get him to understand what he had no words to say.

"Alright… I think I'm gonna go to bed then," America finally said. He stepped into his room but didn't close the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

England smiled back reassuringly, "Good night to you, then. I'll bring you supper when the time comes."

"Right, thanks."

England kept his eyes on him, still desperately wanting him to understand, but America just shut his door.

America awoke before dawn the next morning. He rolled onto his side and looked out the window, hoping to watch the trees and grass move in the wind to try to settle the racing of his mind and the tangling of his thoughts. It looked like he was out of luck, though. It was raining sheets, making most of the landscape too dark to make out. Pretty much the only thing he could see was a fallen tree on the edge of the woods. He knew it had toppled over during the night because its insides were still bright white against the dark sky and the darker forest. It was broken now, not quite dead and rotting yet but it might as well be. You couldn't fix something like that, not when that much of it was exposed.

He scowled and rolled over onto his side. He fucking hated symbolism.

He snuggled down into his blanket. God, what a day. Even if the storm would end the ground would be all muddy. He was going to be stuck inside all day with England in awkwardville.

He sat and ran a hand through his hair. The worst part was probably that he wanted it. He wanted to have sex with England. He wanted to have a family with him.

The two of them sitting together on the sofa. England with the baby in his arms. Both of them smiling.

But it was so scary. He couldn't imagine actually taking care of a kid. He was still practically a kid himself!

Walking through town with England and the child, the kid tugging him around. "Daddy, we should get sweets!" "Daddy, can I have a pet?" "Daddy, will you buy me a flower?" "By God, Alfred, you spoil that child."

And even if he would make a good dad, he'd have to have sex to do it. There was no one around that he really knew besides England. He'd just left Virginia to stay inconspicuous, and who else could he trust?

Tracing England's spine, feeling the rise and fall of each vertebrae

But that would change everything. He had liked being the spoiled little brother; he'd liked their relaxed relationship.

Kissing those soft-looking lips. Did they feel like they looked? How did it feel to kiss someone in the first place?

What would it be like to have a lover? It didn't seem like fun. Everything he'd read or heard made it seem like it was nothing but trouble.

Smiling. Kissing. Holding. Cuddling.

It would definitely hurt, both the sex and the pregnant part. All of it was stuffing things in places where things shouldn't be stuffed.

Freeing England's cock, making it get big and hard. Oh, how many times he had glanced down at England's lap, wondering what he was hiding!

He threw the blanket off and went down the hall to England's room. There wasn't time for this. Something was gonna give, and it might as well be the side that was going to break in the end. His resolve was iron all the way through opening the door to England's room, when it promptly shattered into a million tiny bits.

America walked slowly up to the bed. England was on his side, curled around a spare pillow. He was muttering something that sounded almost like German. The only things America could pick out that even might have been words were "byre," "éadlufu." Who knew what the hell that meant? Then he heard his own name and felt his heart stop for a moment.

Fuck, this was happening. It was really happening. He wasn't sure if he wanted to run away and live in the woods or jump him right then and there. He swallowed.

"Come on, America," He said to himself, "You can do this."

He reached out and lightly shook England's shoulder.

"Hey, England, wake up."

His eyes fluttered open once, twice, before he seemed to realize what was going on and sat up.

"What's wrong, America?"

"I- um…"

"Do you feel ill, love? It is usually easier to get sick when one is- Well, it won't cause any trouble if you just rested today."

"No!" America realized how loudly he said that and blushed, "It's not that."

"What, then?" England asked, stretching.

America took a deep breath, "I wanna have sex."

England froze, one arm still in the air, "Sorry?"

He blushed even redder, "I- I wanna have sex. I'm ready now."

"Are you sure?" England asked, examining his face, "This is rather fast."

"I know. But I- I-" What did he want to say? That he'd wanted England for months? That he knew he wouldn't have the balls to do this later?

England blushed "If you're sure I-I won't force you to explain yourself." He pulled back the sheet and looked away.

America awkwardly climbed into bed and crawled over England. Then he just sat there, unsure of what to do.

"Would you like some help, America?"

"Shut up!"

England sighed, "If you're going to be so pig-headed the entire time you're going to be in for some rather painful sex." He flipped them.

"Hey!"

"I-I want you to enjoy yourself." He kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose, and then, finally, his lips.

America was disappointed. Kissing had always been described as so magical, the thing that broke spells and caused happily-ever-afters. Instead, it was just England's lips against his. He supposed it was alright, but it wasn't magic.

England pulled away, legitimate concern on his face, "What's wrong? You're not kissing back."

"I think we did it wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when you hear about kissing-"

England laughed.

"What's so funny?" America demanded.

"Oh, America," He tucked a strand of hair behind America's ear, "Kissing is a metaphor."

America blushed. Again with the symbolism! At least England seemed a little less awkward. That was one of them. "For what?"

"Love. That's why it's always 'true love's kiss' and not simply a kiss. But even that's rather exaggerated. There is beauty in life and even more in love, but you must accept it for what it is, not for the ideal."

He kissed America again, slowly and sweetly. This time America pressed back. He tried to push thoughts of fairytales from his head and just focus on the moment, on England's lips on his, his hand reaching down to tangle their fingers. Lust began to boil in his stomach, making it tighten and his blood rush south. Oh this… this wasn't bad at all.

England opened his mouth and began to lick America's lips for some reason. After a few moments of confusion, he realized that England wanted to get into his mouth. He opened and allowed him in. He liked this. It was even better than normal kissing. He pressed his tongue against England's. Who knew his mouth was so sensitive? Every caress, every swipe made his cock harden a little more. He was glad they were going straight from kissing to sex. If England had kissed him and made him react like that at any other time he probably would have died of embarrassment.

"My, my, America," England teased, "Getting so aroused so quickly…"

Oh wait, maybe he'd die of embarrassment anyway.

"Don't worry, it's always like that the first time," He nuzzled America's ear.

"Hnn…" He couldn't really worry about embarrassment when England was doing that to him.

"Normally I like to draw things out, touch and play for eons, but I don't think you'll make it. I'll be back in a moment."

He slid from the bed and went to his wardrobe. America sat up to watch as he rummaged around and pulled out a small wooden box.

"What's that?" America asked.

"Slick," England replied, opening it and pulling out a vial.

America blushed. Oh hell, this was happening. Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell.

He placed the vial on the bedside table and crawled back over America. He placed his hand on America's thighs and began to drag them upwards, taking America's shift with him. It was bad enough that America hadn't been naked in front of England since he was a kid, but the way that he was staring at every new inch of skin made him feel self-conscious. Did he like it? Did he think America looked like a kid? He hadn't stopped, so he probably didn't think that America looked deformed or anything.

When his eyes finally reached America's face again he smiled, "Relax. You're perfectly lovely and it's not as though your job is difficult."

America let out a small laugh at that which turned into a moan as England rubbed his chest.

"Now, I just helped you out of your clothes. Would you like to return the favor?"

America was half way to pulling his shift up when an idea crossed his mind, "No."

"No? So does that mean you're asking me to do it?"

"Yeah," America said, making himself comfortable. When had he gotten so used to the idea of sex with England?

England smiled and straddled America's middle. He grabbed the hem of his shift and slowly began to pull it up. America understood how slowly England had gone while he was taking off his shift now. Each new inch sent lightning running down his spine heading straight towards his groin. He tried to memorize every detail: every hill and valley, every bone and scar. Seeing him like this was too much and not enough all at once.

As soon as his shift was off, England reached for his cock. America beat him to it.

"It's my job to get you hard," He said, planning on pumping him until he was standing at the ready.

"Don't stop," England said, starting to turn red, "Keep doing that while I prepare you."

"Okay," America said, focusing more on the way that England's cock was swelling than the way that he slicked three of his fingers and brought them to America's ass.

"Are you ready for one?" England asked, circling America's entrance.

America jumped. He'd tried fingering himself before, more out of curiosity than anything else. He enjoyed it, but it wasn't as intense as this. England's hand was like his, so why did it feel like so much more?

"America, I'm waiting on your answer."

"Yeah," America said breathlessly, moaning as England slid his finger inside.

He barely had the presence to keep pumping England's cock at that point. What would it feel like once he had that cock inside? It was so much bigger than the fingers, so much hotter.

There were two fingers inside of him now. He tightened around them. They were more, but still not enough. They were too short, too thin.

"More," He breathed, "I need more, England."

"A-alright," England said, sliding a third finger inside.

It still just wasn't enough. His body wasn't stretching quickly enough for him to catch up to that need. He just whined and ground down against England, hoping that that would at least help. It did something at least because while he was wiggling he managed to get England to brush against something that made him stiffen and arch off the bed.

"What was that?" He asked.

"What?" England asked innocently, "This?" With that he pressed his fingers against the spot again.

"Fuck! Yes, that!"

"It's what we're going to try to hit as often as possible." With one more brief swipe he pulled away. America whined at the loss and let go of England's cock, "You seem ready, America, is that right?"

"Mmm…"

He lightly stroked America's cheek, "Please answer, America."

"Yeah. Yeah, I want it."

England kissed him and pushed inside. America gasped and held him close. Oh yes, this was what he'd been missing. It was just as good as he'd hoped, surprisingly. Maybe it was his hormones talking, but it felt like they were made to fit each other perfectly.

"Move," He grunted.

England seemed happy to oblige, but he did so at an almost painfully slow pace. America didn't know if he was trying to draw things out or keep from hurting him or what, but he trusted him. All he was able to do on his end was clench around him and wiggle to try to get him back to the right spot. It wasn't enough. He needed more speed, more force. He was about to open his mouth to say so when England began to pick up the pace. America wasn't sure if he was a mind-reader or just good at this.

America grabbed England's shoulders and pulled him down, forcing their chests together. Both of their hearts were racing and for some reason it made him laugh. He'd never heard his own laugh so breathless, and that made him laugh more.

"Having fun there?" England asked.

His voice was so deep, so rough… America moaned for the beauty of it. "Yeah, England, Oh hell yeah." His voice was all deep too now…

England shifted his angle, rubbing against that spot with every thrust. America's grip tightened and he knew that there were going to be marks on England's shoulders. He turned his head to the side and his breaths grew more rapid. There was something coming - probably me - but he didn't want let go. Not yet. He didn't think England was anywhere near close. He had to hold on. He wanted to make England feel good too. But then England kissed him at the same time that he gave him a particularly hard thrust and America couldn't keep going. He threw his head back and came.

He just lay there panting, trying to recuperate from the most intense orgasm he'd ever had. England had stopped moving, but he was still hard. America couldn't do it. He hadn't been able to finish the job. He hadn't done it for England. He looked away.

"A-Are you alright for me to continue?" England asked.

"Yeah," America said, not looking back, "I'm fine."

England started again. He moved more slowly than when he had left off, but he built up speed quickly. It wasn't exactly bad, but it didn't have the same effect as before. It felt weird to have something inside of him when he wasn't getting any sexual gratification from it. It wasn't all bad, though. It felt almost comforting. Why, though, would it be comforting to be fucked?

Maybe that was one of the things that it was better just not to think about. Like why they were doing this in the first place. Like how in less than a year he would-

No, bad America.

He traced England's spine, finally getting to feel all those ridges he'd wanted to know for so long. It was better than he'd hoped to be able to touch England like that. He kissed and nuzzled England's cheek, nibbled his ear, traced his sides, nipped his shoulder, did anything that made him feel close.

"America, you're awfully good at this for a virgin."

America laughed, "Maybe 'cause I'm not a virgin anymore."

England's laugh just as breathless as America's had been before, and placed his head beneath America's chin, "I don't have much longer."

Unsure of what to say, America just wrapped his arms around him and held him until he came. America scrunched his nose. It felt weird, all warm and sticky, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. The only thing he knew he liked was the happy sated look on England's face when he pulled out and rolled to the side.

"Go on your stomach," England said.

"Why?" America asked, doing it anyway.

"It'll reduce the soreness among other things."

America didn't ask what other things were, since he was trying to ignore what they probably were, "So how did I do?"

"For your first time? Outstanding. You lasted longer than I expected."

"That's pretty sad."

"Everyone's like that, love. You'll get better."

America huffed and England stroked his hair, tracing down to the small of his back, "Honestly, America, you're already a better lover than some of the supposedly experienced people I've been with."

"Okay…"

They lay there for a moment, just staring at each other. England looked so happy, so confident. America was jealous. Why couldn't he be like that? Why did he feel so scared? Was England scared too and just better at hiding it?

He couldn't stand the quiet after a while, so he asked, "Hey England?"

"Yes, America?"

"What now?"

England looked thoughtful for a moment, "Well, not much is going to be different. You can sleep in here with me now, though, if you'd like."

"That- that'd be nice."

Then there was more of that damned quiet. America wasn't ready for the quiet. Not yet.

"What about today?"

"What about today?"

"Well, I mean, we did… this, so what comes after?"

England smiled, "America, it's not as though sex changes things that dramatically. You can do everything you did before."

"So this wasn't special?"

"I didn't say that." He touched America's face, "We can make it as special as you'd like. I just assumed you wouldn't want to make anything of it."

"I want to. Might as well make it something to remember." He looked away.

"America," England said, "Come here."

America did, scooting closer and placing his head on England's chest.

"If you'd like me to decide, we'll stay here until the sun rises. When the servants wake we can have them prepare a bath for us. In the mean time we'll sit together, maybe eat. How does that sound?"

"I like it."

"Oh good. I'm rather tired and I'm afraid that's the best I can do right now."

"So nap time?" America asked.

"Nap time." England said, finding the blanket and covering them both again.

He stroked America's hair until he fell back asleep; leaving him on his chest to be ravaged by the thoughts he'd been holding back since he awoke.

Chapter 4