Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I'm making no money from this!

A/N: Written for a prompt on the 'Hetalia Kink Meme' (on Livejournal). Credit for the idea goes to the anonymous poster! Trying to archive all my fics! Warning for some sexual situations at the end.


It was centuries ago when it began.

England remembered holding tiny hands as his America took his first steps, teetering and hesitant into the new world. The British man smiled in happiness, laughing and offering encouragement to the small body whose protection depended only on him. Shining blue eyes had sparkled up from that cherubic face, a giggle of delight escaping into the crisp spring air as small feet got the hang of it… and England knew this child had walked straight into his heart.

He watched as his boy grew little by little, and soon America had become such a rambunctious little kid, always running around somewhere or getting into trouble, England could hardly keep up sometimes. He could hardly be there for him every moment either…

God it had often been so unbearable with dealing with his European neighbours, everyone shouting and arguing inside and out of his house, he felt like it would cave in. And that was when he would step aboard his ship and go to visit his boy.


America had never failed to be there anticipating his arrival, and would throw his skinny arms around England in an ecstatic hug. The thick eyebrowed man would always be so proud (…and maybe a little dismayed…) to see how much the child had grown. But no one in the world had ever welcomed England this way, and when he cooked his most delicious meals and showered the boy with gifts of toy soldiers, he felt so calm… he forgot his troubles in his home away from home.

And when the time for toys had passed, he remembered teaching America how to be a true soldier. That head of fluffy golden hair that had once tottered below his knees now stood all the way up to his chest, a mischievous gleam in clear blue eyes. A young man now, England had handed the small nation his first musket.

'I can fire it?' America had asked, eyes wide and hopeful, a grin waiting to break free.

'You can.' England lectured. 'But always remember to be safe, use it primarily for defence, and never fire at the ones who love and protect you..'

America didn't seem to be listening to him though – too excited by his new challenge –his tongue stuck out in concentration as he aimed the gun haphazardly across the field. England sighed loudly in exasperation but could not stop the fond smile that touched his lips as he went behind American and reached around to adjust his hold on the firearm.

He had never expected he would one day be the one standing at the end of it.

The rain pelted down as the musket pointed at him – held by a man instead of the youngster he had once known.

'Hey, England,' America said forcefully. 'I will choose liberty after all.'

Anger and hurt swelled in the British nation's chest as he beheld the man who stood before him. Full grown, now it seemed like it was England who only came up to America's chest. Clothed in blue and white, his garments soaked and plastered to his skin, America was tall and broad in a way the green-eyed man had never been. What had changed? What had he done wrong? Those strong arms were meant to help him, not rise up against everything he had ever known…

The shorter nation surged with a strike to knock sense into his America, but the patriot blocked his stab, a long scratch marring the wood, before the weapon was knocked away falling to the wet ground.

'You were always so naïve, you fool…'

England's hands shook, barrel levelled at the one he never thought he would have to… His breath came in puffs in the frigid air, and his fingers clenched around the firearm. Wide blue eyes looked back right at him…and… and England…

'T-there's no point in firing, is there…' The great nation uttered, shoulders sagging with a self-depreciative smile, letting his own gun drop away into the water.

The older man wasn't far behind as he sank to his knees, treacherous tears spilling over his cheeks. 'Damn it… Why… Damn…'

The rain had been so unforgiving that day.

'England…' America said in the softest voice he had ever heard the other man use. The droplets of water washed him, a baptism, dripping down his nose as he stared down at England in their final hour.

'You used to be… so big…'

No longer welcome in that house, unentitled to step foot there, England returned to Europe, his mouth a thin line. The first dignified strides back into his home brought him to his favourite armchair where he immediately sat and poured a cup of tea. It tasted… so bitter...

Cup clacking recklessly back onto the saucer, the thick eyebrowed man gripped both armrests tightly as the sun set through the window. Unbending nation that he was, he refused to acknowledge America. The separation was for the best, the separation wasn't painful… The separation didn't mean much, because America would belong to Britain, no matter what new names he decided to call himself.

But it was just a lie. And he avoided the man he so obviously didn't really know at all. Likewise, like a rebellious young adult, The United States did the same.

Let him try to be on his own. England thought spitefully. He'd come to realize just how much he actually needed Britain.


Years passed… and as UK walked slowly through the quiet halls of his own house, it frightened and pained him to admit that… maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he had been the one who had really needed America…

World War One.

The Great War, the war to end all wars, the first of an even more horrible time ahead…

UK fought desperately towards the end of it, the strength in his limbs draining away faster and faster these days. Battered and broken, he was so close to falling in battle. Sinking to his knees, England could stand no longer.

And then, he showed up.

And for the first time in a long time, UK was glad to see those shining stars and stripes.

'…It's about time you got here.' UK coughed hoarsely, lifting a shaking hand to wipe away blood from the corner of his mouth, as he lay in the cold mud.

'What are you talking about? I got here just in time to save the day.' His hero chuckled, still a little boyishly, and smiled in that dazzling, perfect manner that he remembered.

Even though it had been a century since they had really looked at one another – different people almost as they were – the younger nation still managed to make something inside England flutter with an almost forgotten happiness.

The young man he had once raised leant down and slung one of UK's weakened arms around his neck, hoisting the tired adult to his feet. UK swayed unsteadily and America was surprisingly patient as the thick eyebrowed man took one pitifully small step after the other towards safe haven.

One bad knee buckled and UK pitched sideways, eyes squeezed shut for the jarring impact of cold, muddy ground.

It never came, and with a start UK cracked open his pain-hazed green eyes to realize America had whisked him up with no trouble, carrying the beaten man the rest of the way.

And… with America's strong, able arms wrapped around his beaten body, his scratched and bloody face pressed with sweet relief against a warm shoulder – it was then… that UK realized the man now ceased to be his fledgling settlement, his proud colony… his upstart America.

He had become his own nation.

And UK no longer had the right in calling that powerful man his.

Heartbreak was a funny thing. He had managed to go decades without thinking on the painful wound that was USA, and now, back together as allies – seeing each other everyday – he felt the long familiar ache with a clarity that could only be muddled away with a big bottle of liquor.

UK sighed and shooed a fairy from the world conference room.

'Idiot. He'll never learn!' The tousle-haired man thought as USA spouted some new harebrained proposal during the meeting.

'Honestly, where the bloody hell do you get these ideas?' The British nation raged with exasperation as America sat back down beside him.

'You don't have to sound so mean.'

'I'm not being mean, I'm merely trying to progress you! You wait to say something competent until it's too late!'

'I'm already the best. But anyway,' America pursed his lips, eyes squinted behind his glasses. 'I thought you used to hate me?' He grinned and poked at the shorter nation's shoulder.

And, it was then that UK felt a strange blush form on his cheeks for the first time. Because he realized, it was anything but hate he felt for the other man… Inexplicably embarrassed, he paused, and couldn't help but wonder if his feelings had somehow been repaired after all, put back together in a different way…

An ocean stood between them, but never had the waters run so deep.

He felt it all the time now.

Comments, touches, glances that went on far longer than they should. Wasn't it wrong to feel those things for the one who had turned him away so long ago? It was a shameful thing to still be so controlled by the past.

'USA,' UK began, pausing uncertainly in his scribbling of a new trade agreement. 'How do you see me, these days?'

'Hah-..haha. What are you asking that for? You're still the same old fogey to me, UK.' America rolled his eyes upward, a blush of exasperation on his cheeks.

UK clenched his suddenly shaking fists, face turned downward in contriteness. 'Ah, I see…'

What difference did it make what had changed? It only mattered that things had.

His tea tasted bittersweet this time, UK thought, setting the fine teacup down on the table with a meticulous care. He jumped and almost dropped it all over himself when a loud banging came from the front door of his house.

Thick eyebrows pressed together in irritation, the tousle-haired nation walked swiftly to the source of the noise, expecting it to be another argument of sorts with his European neighbours.

Flinging the door open, the curses on his tongue died when he saw who it was.

'Hey, England.' His America greeted, turning around to face the older nation on his doorstep, the afternoon downpour doing it's best to drench his body.

No umbrella. No jacket either.

The rain made his white shirt cling to his torso invitingly, tie hanging uselessly with water.

'…You'll catch your death of cold like that.' UK managed to say, forehead creased in reproach.

America snorted softly at the rebuke and looked down for a moment. When he looked up again his eyes were suddenly striking with a strange seriousness.

'It was a lie, you know.' He said.

Nervousness crept into UK's form. A lie? A lie…

Never had there been anyone in the world who greeted England like this. The green-eyed man stiltedly let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Ever the gentleman, he remembered his manners.

'There's no point in you standing out there, I suppose…'

England watched as America came up the steps and walked in without wiping his feet.

The nation strode slowly into what he knew was the shorter man's favourite study and began eyeing the half-full cup of tea. UK followed right behind him, blushing and now against the intrusion.

'Well? Say your piece!' The green-eyed man stood in front of America and folded his arms. 'You came here about a lie? Well then bloody well say something.'

An errant drop of water trailed down America's neck as he looked at the shorter nation, blinking absently with a slight smile. 'Now who's being naïve?'

UK blushed at that. 'What? America-'

USA came towards him and UK bit his lip as he was coaxed backwards. His heart pumped in fear and… excitement… when he felt the hard wall hit against his shoulder blades.

America gazed at him as he reached up and slowly pulled his soaked tie off, dropping it almost soundlessly to the rug. Blue eyes never left his own green ones as the taller nation continued, unhurriedly undoing the buttons of his shirt, translucent wet fabric opening bit by bit to reveal a path of smooth, humid skin.

UK's breath sped up, heart racing and heat spreading like wild fire over his body.

Finally, America slid the wet article down his broad shoulders, peeling it away and letting it join his tie on the floor.

UK's face burned, and he broke the gaze, swallowing thickly. 'W-what is this…? Experimentation? Annexation?' He tried to feel the spitefulness of long ago, but the words refused to have the full effect.

'No,' America denied, eyes clear behind his glasses. 'It's neither of those things. I don't know what to call it…' The taller blond said lowly and moved in, body hovering so dangerously close to the British man's that every breath touched their fronts fleetingly together.

His warm breath tickled UK's ear. 'But isn't it better than separation?'

The shorter man's body jerked and he turned his face to stare at the other nation.

'Or am I too late…?' America asked, a slight smile on his mouth, before he pressed their lips together in an intoxicating way that made UK tremble…

Wordlessly making their way to the bedroom of the empty house, UK felt the back of his knees touch the mattress as they kissed, America's hands unbuttoning his vest and shirt. His own hands skimmed up and down the taller man's flushed, bare chest, fingers barely touching his nipples.

USA breathed in deeply and the audacious nation caught one of his hands, gently tugging it down between their bodies. America's kisses became more sloppy as he brought and held the other man's palm flush against the front of his pants, letting the British nation feel the hard length there. UK slowed their kiss as he carefully rubbed, feeling the size of it, drawing a shuddering moan from the other man.

Unbuckling the restricting belt, UK slipped his hand down the damp pants and boxers, America pressing his face into the other nation's hair, panting softly.

UK wet his lips as his palm curled around the stiff organ, stroking from the base to the head.

America gasped and moved his hand away, so they could shrug off the rest of their clothing into a small pile on the floor.

Completely naked, UK laid back against the cool sheets, blushing fiercely as America gazed appreciatively down at every inch of him. His breath came faster as he spread his legs shamelessly, panting when the other nation lay down with him, firm body flush against firm body.

Oh god… how long had he wanted this? He couldn't remember.

'Tell me you're mine.' Came the harsh whisper as they kissed.

'America…' His voice strained.

A talented mouth nipped at his ear. 'Say it…'

UK gasped and green eyes closed briefly in lust. 'I'm yours.'

'You're mine...' America pleasantly agreed, making a smug sound, kissing him more completely this time.

And it was then – after they came down from heaven, USA stretching out next to him, a heavy arm curling around UK's sweat beaded body – that it occurred to the thick eyebrowed man that he had been wrong again.

America had never belonged to him…

Maybe it had been the other way around the entire time.

It was UK that had always been his.


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