Treaty of 1763 (Spain, Portugal, England, France) - Pt 1
Title: Treaty of 1763
Warnings: Sex, but not yet
Summary: After the Seven Years' War, Spain, Portugal, England, and France decide to fall back on an old method to solidify the treaty.
Characters: Portugal, England, Spain, France
Year: 1763
Note: Full version of this part now here.
Spain had never slept with Portugal. Portugal had never indicated that she wanted it, and Spain had never asked. There was too much between them; like human siblings, each possessed a unique ability to hurt the other. Above all, he wasn't sure what he would do if she turned him down.
She wasn't a virgin. There was England-- to his knowledge, although they'd never talked about it, she'd been sleeping with him since the 14th century. Galicia... well, he'd be shocked if the women hadn't been in bed since the very beginning (he tried not to think about it too often, since he invariably ended up with an uncomfortable hard-on). He knew for a fact that she'd slept with Ceuta, after she'd wrested her from the Marinids back in the 15th century; the girl had told him when she'd first come to his house during the Restoration War. He blushed when he thought about it, remembering the filthy things she'd whispered to him about her former mistress-- how she felt inside, the way she screamed when you hit that one spot. He didn't think he'd ever come as hard in his whole life. Then there was France; they'd gone to bed, if not before the Peninsular Wars, then definitely during. The thought made him boil with anger and guilt.
The Netherlands. Brazil. She wasn't an innocent. She wasn't his little sister-- she'd been sovereign before he was. But he couldn't... he couldn't quite let go of the way she'd looked, the beautiful brown-haired little girl, when they'd been children together under the Moors. All the memories he'd made of her since, and those that were left to him by Hispania-- that strange, older version of himself that he dreamed about sometimes-- of a beautiful brown-haired woman named Lusitania... they were haunted by the shadow of that girl. It was the last time they'd really been close.
So when France and England suggested that, after the bloody war they'd just fought, they ratify their new treaty in the old way, his heart nearly stopped. He glanced over at her, but her face was serene. But the men were looking at him expectantly, so he swallowed, and agreed.
Warnings: Sex, but not yet
Summary: After the Seven Years' War, Spain, Portugal, England, and France decide to fall back on an old method to solidify the treaty.
Characters: Portugal, England, Spain, France
Year: 1763
Note: Full version of this part now here.
Spain had never slept with Portugal. Portugal had never indicated that she wanted it, and Spain had never asked. There was too much between them; like human siblings, each possessed a unique ability to hurt the other. Above all, he wasn't sure what he would do if she turned him down.
She wasn't a virgin. There was England-- to his knowledge, although they'd never talked about it, she'd been sleeping with him since the 14th century. Galicia... well, he'd be shocked if the women hadn't been in bed since the very beginning (he tried not to think about it too often, since he invariably ended up with an uncomfortable hard-on). He knew for a fact that she'd slept with Ceuta, after she'd wrested her from the Marinids back in the 15th century; the girl had told him when she'd first come to his house during the Restoration War. He blushed when he thought about it, remembering the filthy things she'd whispered to him about her former mistress-- how she felt inside, the way she screamed when you hit that one spot. He didn't think he'd ever come as hard in his whole life. Then there was France; they'd gone to bed, if not before the Peninsular Wars, then definitely during. The thought made him boil with anger and guilt.
The Netherlands. Brazil. She wasn't an innocent. She wasn't his little sister-- she'd been sovereign before he was. But he couldn't... he couldn't quite let go of the way she'd looked, the beautiful brown-haired little girl, when they'd been children together under the Moors. All the memories he'd made of her since, and those that were left to him by Hispania-- that strange, older version of himself that he dreamed about sometimes-- of a beautiful brown-haired woman named Lusitania... they were haunted by the shadow of that girl. It was the last time they'd really been close.
So when France and England suggested that, after the bloody war they'd just fought, they ratify their new treaty in the old way, his heart nearly stopped. He glanced over at her, but her face was serene. But the men were looking at him expectantly, so he swallowed, and agreed.