APH: What'll You Give Me?
Title: What'll You Give Me?
Author: grosse_averse
Characters: America, Netherlands/Holland (OC)
Rating: PG
Summary: For prompt #15, "duty". Taxes are too high. America asks for tea from an unconventional source.
When Lars lands in Boston, he is dressed in the guise of a sailor because he's pretty sure England would rip his balls off if he knew he was here. He gets off the boat and starts up the dock, pushing past the bustle of people. Alfred is waiting for him at the end, perched on a post, swinging his feet back and forth, face tilted up at the sky, face youthful and open. Lars thinks of Matthew up north and feels a twinge of nostalgia, in his gut. He wonders how the little colony is doing.
As if on cue Alfred looks back down and their eyes lock, slate on sky. Lars raises a hand and spreads his palm. Alfred mirrors the gesture and waits expectantly for Lars to approach him. Perched on the post, he and Lars are almost the same height - although, Lars reasons, the colony has been growing a lot lately. His gangly legs dangle below him, shoes scraping the dock.
"D'you want to go somewhere else to do this?" Lars asks him, and Alfred shakes his head.
"Nah." he says. "I only want a little now. But my people will be coming to you later for some."
The way they speak, in hushed tones, Lars keeping his hat dipped low over his eyes, it is like they are trading things more un-Christian than smuggled tea. Lars hands Alfred the pack he's slung over his shoulder; Alfred accepts it, face shining with happiness.
"Jeez, thanks a lot, Holland!" he chirps. "Your tea is way cheaper than what England makes me pay!"
"No problem." Lars replies, then holds out his hand. "Now. Your end of the deal?"
"Right!" Alfred pulls from his pocket a coin purse and picks through it. He deposits a couple of coins into Lars's palm and then frowns into the recesses of the purse.
"Dang." he mutters, and looks up with a flush of embarrassment. "Uhm...sorry Holland, I didn't take enough with me - you mind coming back home with me so I can get the rest of the money?"
Lars considers the colony in front of him - youthful, open face, rosy cheeks, bright eyes. It is, he thinks, Alfred's eyes that draw one in the most, the sheer, open blue. He chuckles.
"Tell you what," he says. "I'll trade you. I'll take this money, what you have of it, and I'll let you keep the rest if you give me a kiss."
Alfred blinks. Twice. "What, like England gives me when he thinks I'm asleep?" he asks. Lars smirks.
"Sure, why not?"
Alfred considers this; then he shrugs and leans forward. Lars's lips purse on impulse but Alfred quickly kisses his forehead. His lips make an exaggerated smacking sound.
"There!" he proclaims, straightening up again. Lars's forehead feels moist, and he cannot stop laughing.
"What's the matter?" Alfred demands, a bit angrily, as Lars continues to laugh, breathlessly. "Was I not a good kisser?"
"Oh, my Lord..." Lars exhales, then ruffles the boy's hair. "I hope you never change, Alfred."
"Huh?" Alfred sticks his lower lip out as if in thought. "Okay. I won't."
"Good." Lars pats his head. "I'll see you around, Alfred. Say hello to your brother for me."
"Oh, okay." Alfred turns as Lars walks past him. "Thanks again!"
Lars lifts a hand in reply. He has another few hours before his ship sets sail again...he wants to see why everyone calls Boston "the Hub".
For the rest of his trip, the sky over the New World is as blue as Alfred's eyes.
Author's Note: The British (as I'm sure you all know!) imposed a lot of taxes on the American colony to make up for the fact that shit, the Seven Years War cleaned us out!. One of these taxes was on tea. Instead, Americans smuggled in Dutch tea because it was way cheaper than the tea they had to buy from Britain. This eventually led to the BOSTON TEA PARTY. D:
Author: grosse_averse
Characters: America, Netherlands/Holland (OC)
Rating: PG
Summary: For prompt #15, "duty". Taxes are too high. America asks for tea from an unconventional source.
When Lars lands in Boston, he is dressed in the guise of a sailor because he's pretty sure England would rip his balls off if he knew he was here. He gets off the boat and starts up the dock, pushing past the bustle of people. Alfred is waiting for him at the end, perched on a post, swinging his feet back and forth, face tilted up at the sky, face youthful and open. Lars thinks of Matthew up north and feels a twinge of nostalgia, in his gut. He wonders how the little colony is doing.
As if on cue Alfred looks back down and their eyes lock, slate on sky. Lars raises a hand and spreads his palm. Alfred mirrors the gesture and waits expectantly for Lars to approach him. Perched on the post, he and Lars are almost the same height - although, Lars reasons, the colony has been growing a lot lately. His gangly legs dangle below him, shoes scraping the dock.
"D'you want to go somewhere else to do this?" Lars asks him, and Alfred shakes his head.
"Nah." he says. "I only want a little now. But my people will be coming to you later for some."
The way they speak, in hushed tones, Lars keeping his hat dipped low over his eyes, it is like they are trading things more un-Christian than smuggled tea. Lars hands Alfred the pack he's slung over his shoulder; Alfred accepts it, face shining with happiness.
"Jeez, thanks a lot, Holland!" he chirps. "Your tea is way cheaper than what England makes me pay!"
"No problem." Lars replies, then holds out his hand. "Now. Your end of the deal?"
"Right!" Alfred pulls from his pocket a coin purse and picks through it. He deposits a couple of coins into Lars's palm and then frowns into the recesses of the purse.
"Dang." he mutters, and looks up with a flush of embarrassment. "Uhm...sorry Holland, I didn't take enough with me - you mind coming back home with me so I can get the rest of the money?"
Lars considers the colony in front of him - youthful, open face, rosy cheeks, bright eyes. It is, he thinks, Alfred's eyes that draw one in the most, the sheer, open blue. He chuckles.
"Tell you what," he says. "I'll trade you. I'll take this money, what you have of it, and I'll let you keep the rest if you give me a kiss."
Alfred blinks. Twice. "What, like England gives me when he thinks I'm asleep?" he asks. Lars smirks.
"Sure, why not?"
Alfred considers this; then he shrugs and leans forward. Lars's lips purse on impulse but Alfred quickly kisses his forehead. His lips make an exaggerated smacking sound.
"There!" he proclaims, straightening up again. Lars's forehead feels moist, and he cannot stop laughing.
"What's the matter?" Alfred demands, a bit angrily, as Lars continues to laugh, breathlessly. "Was I not a good kisser?"
"Oh, my Lord..." Lars exhales, then ruffles the boy's hair. "I hope you never change, Alfred."
"Huh?" Alfred sticks his lower lip out as if in thought. "Okay. I won't."
"Good." Lars pats his head. "I'll see you around, Alfred. Say hello to your brother for me."
"Oh, okay." Alfred turns as Lars walks past him. "Thanks again!"
Lars lifts a hand in reply. He has another few hours before his ship sets sail again...he wants to see why everyone calls Boston "the Hub".
For the rest of his trip, the sky over the New World is as blue as Alfred's eyes.
Author's Note: The British (as I'm sure you all know!) imposed a lot of taxes on the American colony to make up for the fact that shit, the Seven Years War cleaned us out!. One of these taxes was on tea. Instead, Americans smuggled in Dutch tea because it was way cheaper than the tea they had to buy from Britain. This eventually led to the BOSTON TEA PARTY. D: