My Pleasure
Title: My Pleasure
Rating: R
Genre: Angst
Characters/Pairings: little!US -> UK
Warning: Jailbait, dubcon (but non-graphic)
Summary: De-anon from the kink meme. "The purpose of a colony is to enrich the mother country."
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In the beginning, England doted on America endlessly, giving the boy attention, toys, colonists, his hopes and dreams for a future that smiled more brightly on England and its allies and colonies. America was to be the shining example of all England could hope for. He was England’s tiring labor, his hopeful determination, and finally, his joy in the world.
And America, the sweet boy England adored, loved him back. So much that at times, England wasn’t sure what to do with all of that love. Still, it gave England something to dwell on when the rest of Europe scorned and challenged and mocked him. It made everything worthwhile that, across an ocean, but somewhere in the world, someone unconditionally loved him.
For the longest time, America’s smile and adoration were all England needed. But then there were other empires threatening to take America, or parts of him, and America quickly noticed the smiles only reached halfway to England’s eyes when he visited. England rarely asked more of him, though America knew he had the right to, and that made the steadily growing boy want to give him everything all the more.
America did his best to come up with things for England to take home. He brought England tobacco for his cigarettes, timber for his ships, corn and wheat for his poor, the promise of land for his overflowing population. He gave England autumn leaves too, and spring flowers and seashells and any bright bit of his land America laid hands on. England would accept his gifts with a beaming smile and lift America into his arms to be held or spun in a laughing circle until the world narrowed to a dizzy bubble around him and England.
The young boy was happy to give things up to England, because England was always so pleased with his gifts and because it meant England could focus his efforts on keeping other empires away from America. He could bring home all sorts of American treasures, knowing his colony was safe and providing everything England needed of him. And America, more than anything wanted England to feel safe and happy with him, and he knew Spain and France creeping into his borders strained any contented feelings in the older nation.
England hardly took notice of America’s vicious need to please him. The boy simply had sense enough not to want France, Spain, or Netherlands in charge of him, and he loved England besides. That, above any material goods or fertile land, made America the greatest of treasures in England’s eyes. Because as much as he wanted to flourish as a nation (and he was, thanks to all of America’s trade), England at his heart wanted someone he could call on to always care for him.
All that fighting to keep him made England tired and even less sought-out in Europe, and America noticed. He noticed also how women in the colonies skirted away from the young, unmarried man named Arthur Kirkland, and how England’s confidence always dropped minutely when he ranted and raved about France finding yet another set of national beds to hop in and out of. He saw how England looked enviously at couples and when he was old enough, at least the age when boys started thinking about who they might marry, America recognized what it meant.
For all that he’d tried to make England happy, he’d only achieved that on certain levels. America had certainly helped England become one of the most powerful empires in the world. He had given England companionship and a family that didn’t hurt him. But America couldn’t help but wonder why he’d never thought to bring England the happiness of physical love.
Clearly, England was a man enough in his youth that he would be bound to have urges, as much as America’s religion denied and restrained those types of things. America had never seen England take any colonial woman (or man for that matter, as France had done) to his bedroom, and America felt a pang of guilt in that he couldn’t force his people to realize that England was lonely and needed someone.
As childhood faded into adolescence, America watched England closely, and though he was glad that England always gave him smiles and meant it, there was always a small bit of longing for intimacy behind his eyes that America’s playing and pandering and even teasing couldn’t solve. The best thing for it, America decided, was to do as he’d always done and provide England with everything he needed. America had always done so, because he was England’s colony. He loved England, adored him, and nothing was too much to give for the betterment of his mother country.
England didn’t even question America’s presence in his bed, and for that, America had to thank his irrational fears for building bad habits. The nation simply groaned in a slightly put-upon manner when he felt the bed shift, and turned to snuggle America against him, as had become custom on nights when America crawled into his bed to escape nightmares.
America said nothing, and neither did England as he simply drifted back into a half-asleep state, his simple presence normally enough to calm America’s mind. Tonight, though, America was far from frightened. If anything, he was excited. He was going to make England truly happy, as was proper and right.
He didn’t expect England to react as he did when America’s hands moved under the nation’s shirt, but he caught England when he tried to back away. The hissed What are you doing? was cut off by America pressing his mouth to England’s in a copy of how he’d seen girls and boys do it behind barns. England stilled against his colony, didn’t respond, and America pouted slightly before moving on anyway.
England started protesting the moment America pushed fingers under England’s sleeping trousers. He wriggled slightly too, but America followed him, the pair of them rolling as England scooted backward too fast. He tried to talk America out of it, smoothing supposed-to-be-calm-but-shaking hands over America’s arms where they subtly caged him on the bed.
America would have none of it, and said so against England’s lips in warm breath. America wanted this, wanted to please and satisfy every aspect of England, because he was England’s colony and it was his nature, his job, and his privilege to ensure England’s happiness and prosperity. He didn’t mind letting England have him, was only too happy to give himself over to his beloved mother country.
Even if England claimed he didn’t want it.
But America knew better, he knew because even as England protested, his body twitched and flushed pink when America touched it, and when America managed to tug England’s trousers to his knees, England accidentally let slip a noise that betrayed his pleasure. He was on the right track, America assured himself with a smile. England was missing the touch of another person, and America had finally provided it for him. Wealth, devotion, and pleasure. America would give England any and all of it, and was glad he’d found a way to do so.
America paid no attention to what his own body demanded, only focused on how to make England arch and bite back cries and twitch so badly he couldn’t pretend to fight off America’s advances. America brought him to release as many times as he could manage, letting England fill him in every way with proof of America’s success. His heart, his body, the planes of his skin even, bore marks of England’s happiness, his pleasure with America’s actions.
Finally, England seemed to slump into himself and weakly reached to bring America to peak as well. America let him, because England wanted to. He would have been happy to simply pleasure England in any way, but England evidently wanted America to be happy too. And why shouldn’t he? America was his colony after all, and England had always rewarded a job well done with affection, even if this was a new kind.
But the following morning, England told America he’d have to go back to the mother country early, and didn’t look in America’s eyes, and didn’t smile or try to hold him at all. Perhaps he’d been annoyed that America had taken him in so quickly, leaving thin strips of blood on England’s thighs and sheets. America resolved to do better next time, so that England would still be pleased with him when they awoke.
England was, strangely, just as protestant that night as well. But America knew it was for his own good. He had been raised by England, as a part of him, and had attuned himself to provide whatever England needed. America would obviously know better than anyone what England needed. Perhaps, he thought laughingly, he would know better than England himself.
America persisted, making England happy and fulfilled, even if he didn’t want to be. He wiped off England’s tears while keeping his body tight around the older nation, dragging pleasured sounds and motion from him, so that America couldn’t help smiling at the joy he was clearly bringing England. He’d been moved to tears, even, and America’s chest swelled with warm pride at having pleased the most important person in his world.
America kissed him softly while England caught his breath, indulging himself in the sweet, unimportant gesture as he waited for England’s breathing to calm. England caught his hand in America’s hair, the other pushing at America’s cheek, and the boy let himself be moved so that England could press closed mouth kisses on his temples. Unexpectedly, England’s voice choked out, Why?, sounding a bit broken.
Not knowing what had made his England sound that way, America pushed flurries of innocent kisses all over England’s face, humming happily against his skin when he stopped to bury his face in England’s neck. Hesitantly, as if for some reason he thought America might push him away, England’s arms came up to wrap around America’s middle, tightening when America made no move but to sink deeper into England’s body heat.
Because he loved England, as America told him. He did it for love and because it was what he was supposed to do. England had brought him up to be generous and good and loving, and America was happiest when he was giving to England. Helping as a colony should to enrich his mother country.
For some reason, that made England cry more and pet America’s hair and apologize. What for, America couldn’t fathom, but he let England do as he wanted and fell asleep before he could think of another way to make England happy again.
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A/N: This is what I do when I get writer's block! But I'm now working on the next chapter of Exit Strategy as we speak. Spoilers: Alfred's family is about as crazy as Arthur's.