The Spice of Life 7
Pairing: USUKUS
Rating/Warnings: None for this chapter!
Word Count: 1757
Summary: America and England enjoy sex as a general rule. Then one night America requests that England uses his magic to allow them to act out kinks they couldn't normally accomplish.
Chapter One
A/n: Completely irrelevant, but I now have an AO3! It has been added to my side bars.
America tried to get out of bed the next day, really he did. He just somehow couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt dirty, unworthy. England was a good boyfriend. He called America's boss, said he really didn't feel well. England was a good boyfriend, really he was.
So why did America feel so-
"I brought you breakfast." England said, peeking into America's room, "I know when I feel unwell I always like a good fry up." He opened the door further and brought a whole tray in.
It had everything: coffee, milk, eggs, bacon, several different sausages, toast, he'd even made hash browns. However, America's throat felt tight. He didn't want to swallow water, much less the thick, greasy breakfast England had made him.
Still, he'd put all that work in. He was good, he cared about America. He was-
America felt obliged to eat. His throat and stomach fought him every bite, but he made his way through eventually. He owed England that much for trying to take care of him even though he was too wimpy to follow simple instructions.
After his plate was clean, England came over and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Now just rest, dear. Feel better."
America nodded and flopped back over. He could at least try to meet that first command, even though the second seemed far off.
He wrapped his arms around his stomach as England left the room. God, he felt sick. Well, sicker. He shuddered and wished England hadn't made him eat the whole thing. Normally he loved the stuff, but now it felt unwelcome. He was a bit overstuffed, and even though he normally liked the little bit of stretch after a good meal, now it just felt like his skin was too tight. But England would be expecting that sort of disappointment. As it was, the night before he couldn't even-
He grabbed his hair and curled more tightly into himself. Why was he beating himself up in the first place? England was fine with it, and even if he hadn't been America could just laugh it off like he always did. It was just… he wanted this to be different. That was why he was putting up with the jar crap. He knew England was rigging it. Why else was he always so excited? He picked the ones that turned him on the most. It wasn't complicated and America was not as stupid as most people took him for. To make it worse, England had never even given him a good one to top with. He was used to more switching than he was getting. Even when they weren't using the jar, England would end up on top most nights now.
He hated it. He had always been a normal, red-blooded American man. He loved sex. Now he was starting to get tired of it. He had liked bottoming, but doing it so often… it was getting boring, almost like it was an obligation now.
Of course, now everything felt like an obligation to England. He was being a good boyfriend. And America, America just didn't want to lose him.
America let himself wallow in his misery for most of the day, gave him time to sulk, time to think, time to worry that England would never come back in. However, when the sky started to tinge orange and gold there was a soft knock on the door.
"America?" England asked softly, "Can I come in? I brought you McDonalds."
America immediately turned to look. England not only came back, but he brought him his favorite food. Thank god he was getting another chance.
"Yeah," America said, "of course you can."
England opened the door with a sheepish smile on his face. He padded into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Hello, love," He said softly, petting America's hair with one hand as the other held out the greasy paper bag.
Gingerly, America reached out and took the food. He reached in and pulled out the first thing his fingers touched, which turned out to be a Big Mac. America was incredibly hungry, but he forced himself to eat slowly, checking and double checking his every movement with England. England, however, had pulled out a sandwich of his own and was eating while determinedly not looking at America.
Eventually, when they were both about half done with their burgers, England finally spoke up. "D'you want to talk about it?" He asked softly.
America resisted the urge to defensively deny it, but there was no way that England would buy that everything was fine when he'd barely moved an inch all day.
"I'm sorry." America finally said.
England's brows shot up into his messy bangs, "What for?"
"I'm sorry I couldn't do it last night."
"No," England said sternly, turning to face him, "Don't apologize for that. Don't ever apologize for something like that. I should have known, I should have seen the signs or at least asked if you were alright with this. I pushed it too far, and now look at you." He gently cupped America's cheek. "I hurt you. Fairly badly by the looks of things."
"I hurt me." America said, batting England's hand away, "I was on top. I should have said no, should have told you to go to bed. I pushed myself, you didn't push me."
"You weren't responding but I pushed forth anyway. I basically coerced you."
"I should have said-"
"Yes," England said, putting his hands on his lap, "But even if we were both at fault, it was my responsibility. It felt the same as always for me. Yes, you were a little bigger and stronger and I liked that. But I- When you said it had been your fetish, I thought it was an act, that you were enjoying it. No, America, please don't cry!"
It was only when he said that that America felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. England made a move as if to wrap his arms around America but he stopped. Instead he put everything in the bag and put it to the side.
"May I?" He asked, spreading his arms.
America nodded and England wrapped himself around him. His hands stroked America's back and he pressed the sides of their heads together.
"I love you," America said, "I really do, and I just didn't wanna fuck this up."
"Hush, love, it's alright. I love you too and you didn't." He gave him a kiss on the cheek before pulling away slightly so that his hands rested easily on America's shoulders, "Now, tell me where to go from here. Tell me what you want. I'd understand if you want to take some time off, if you'd like me to leave so that you can-"
"No!" America said. He reached up and took England's hands in his, "England, thank you so much for saying all this. I- It's good to know you're not mad at me for last night." England was about to open his mouth to object, but America kept talking, "but no matter what you think, I'll be fine. You hit a trigger without knowing it and then I psyched myself out. We talked about it when we started doing things other than vanilla, remember?" England gave a brief nod, although he still didn't look convinced, "Look, I know what's going through your head right now and listen: you didn't rape me. Let me say it again: you didn't rape me. I know you're worried about it, but I'll be okay."
Fuck, how did this turn to him comforting England? But there was something nice about it: England was just as torn up as America was, he was just as scared of this ending. And now, now they were just a couple of idiots who both overreacted because they forgot how to deal with a pulled trigger. They were together. They were fine.
"So," England said after a while, "Where do you want to go from here?"
"I think I wanna do some sex therapy. Not right now, right now would not be good, but soon. I need to top you, normal adult you, and you need to top me and then we need to go back to normal switchy sex for a while."
England nodded, smiling, "Of course. I suppose you've had enough of the jar, eh?"
"Actually," America said, smirking, "there are a couple of things that I wanted to try that we never got to. Just, maybe instead of doing it totally random, we can draw one and then talk about it. We'll figure out who to change, how we both want to act, and if it's a good idea."
"I'd like that." England said, squeezing America's hand, "I'd like that a lot."
Epilogue
It had been three months and everything was more or less back to normal. America groaned softly as he unlocked the door to his apartment. Why was work always such a bitch? His boss had come up with a massive pile of paperwork and it all had to be done by the end of the week, which sucked because he wanted to lock himself in the bathroom and play temple run and text England like he usually did. Speaking of England, he should give him a call. It wasn't too late over there, and he was kind of a night owl anyway.
Smiling at the thought of hearing his lover's voice, he called out happily to Tony, "Honey! I'm home!"
"That's good, We've been waiting."
America blinked at the scene in front of him and blushed. He hadn't been expecting one England, so to see two covered in whipped cream, honey, and chocolate syrup… No wonder they'd been talking about using body doubles the next time they met up.
"Don't just stand there," One of them said, "It's starting to melt and I'm getting cold."
"Come on, enjoy us," The other added, grinning, "Next time it'll be your turn, after all."
"As if one of you wasn't demanding enough," America grinned and shut and locked the door behind him. "Now, who wants to be sucked and who wants to be fucked?"
Both Englands moaned and their entire bodies flushed. One of them spread his legs and the other opened his mouth wide, even though they wouldn't be getting to the main event until America got to lick every inch of skin on both of them. Yeah, it was gonna be a good night.