A Caged Bird Doesn't Sing
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.
A/N: I wrote this a long time ago, but just now realized I never posted it here! This is from the Hetalia kink meme.
Once England had captured a beautiful, rare tropical bird that had taken great, painstaking lengths to transport across the sea to its intended recipient. It had sung beautifully when he found it, but locked in its cage, it remained silent. It was still lovely to look at, and it was with a great deal of pride that he gifted it upon his precious charge.
"This bird is for you to take care of, my boy. No doubt it will sing beautifully for you."
He later found America with his window open, the cage unlocked, releasing the bird into the sky.
"Listen, England! He's singing because he's so happy to be free and flying!"
England, too shocked to be angry, could only marvel at how the bird's song had never sounded so beautiful.
It was America's freedom that he was attracted to. His wings weren't clipped, and he soared weightlessly as a result.
Oh, what a pretty pet he'd make.
He cornered America in the hallway after a meeting, his desire to dominate that land of freedom too great to suppress any longer.
"I won't take no for an answer," he said thickly, sharply, his mouth quirked in a smirk that had easily struck fear into the hearts of his enemies once upon a time.
"I wasn't planning on saying no," America laughed in reply, a sheepish smile on his face, fondness in his eyes.
England had been expecting a fight. The need to make America want it, beg for it.
Even if it had gone without a hitch, he still wanted it. He still wanted America.
He wouldn't lose in their brief battle for dominance that took place up against the hotel room door as America tried to use his larger stature to assert himself. They kissed heatedly, pausing only briefly so England could give America a look that he knew spoke volumes of how he wouldn't be the one on top. Then there were no more words, excepting a gasp here or a breathless name there.
England was more than happy to take America, reveling in his hesitance, knowing that it meant he was probably the first to be with America in such a way. His, his, his. He was the one to take that desirable freedom away.
He thrust rather roughly into America, enjoying the mewls and uncomfortable expressions from the beautiful nation below him, not stopping until America was crying out his name and he saw white and knew only a haze of pleasure.
England smiled to himself when his senses calmed, satisfied, and looked down at America, expecting to see an unsure expression on his face that he could ease away with gentle caresses and soothing words. One must take good care of their possessions, after all.
Instead, he felt like a vice had squeezed his heart as he took in the look that America was giving him. America was still breathing heavily, but there was a warm smile on his face, his half lidded eyes full of so much adoration that England suddenly felt sick.
"I love you," America said gently, breathlessly, his hands reaching up to cup England's face.
England swallowed the bile that was rapidly making its way up his throat and fought the tremors wracking his body. He wrapped his arm around America's head, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. "I love you, too."
More than you know. Oh god, more than you know.
England pulled out, collapsing next to America, but leaving a good distance between them. America wouldn't have that, instead he reached for him, pulling him into warm arms.
I want to possess you.
America pulled him close, nuzzling his cheek and kissing his forehead, beautiful blue eyes shining with love. So much love!
I want to lock you in a beautiful, gilded cage where you'll never fly or sing. You'll just be mine forever.
England tried to hold it back, but he choked on a sob in the process. He crawled on top of America, kissing him desperately and crying bitterly. America reached up to thumb away the tears, which only made England sob harder.
But I can't. I can't break wings that come to rest so freely next to me.
England took great heaving breaths in a vain attempt to stop his tears, and America by then had wrapped his arms tightly around him to cradle him against his chest. He brushed soft kisses across England's face, forehead and lips, and murmured "don't cry, don't cry" over and over.
Why do you love me?
He had wanted to break America, make him his again, make him believe that it was a better thing to be, when, all along, America had been ready and willing to freely give his love.
I can't take away your freedom.
The bird really did sing only when it was free.