Warning: Graphic sex and dubcon (or non-con in some people's opinion. Definitely not fully consensual.)
Also I'll go ahead and apologize to both American and British readers … because there's a good chance you'll be offended at some point.
This fic was supposed to be a oneshot, but then it became insanely long, so I have split it in half to avoid having to post one massively long story all at once. The second part will be posted soon. Edit: now posted.
"You fucking idiot!" I snapped as soon as America's front door opened. "Why the hell did you …! Oh. It's you, Lithuania."
Lithuania smiled nervously at me. "Y-yes. I take it you're looking for America?"
"It's all right. Come on in."
Lithuania stepped aside, letting me enter. I looked around at the foyer. Smug, showy yank had such a big house. What the hell did he need so much bloody space for? It was quite a waste, if I do say so myself.
"I need to speak with him," I said, still irritably glancing around at the vast amount of space his house consumed.
"O-okay," replied Lithuania, still a bit nervous. "Though he's … rather busy at the moment. He's, uh … cleaning out his storage."
My eyes shot back to him. "Eh? Is that some kind of metaphor?"
"Huh? Oh, goodness, no! He's … uh … literally cleaning out a storage room."
He started down the hallway, and I followed a few steps behind. I made sure to observe my surroundings as we made our way through the house. Greedy bastard did not need such a big, opulent place! It was rather frustrating.
"He does it every now and then," Lithuania continued. "He starts cleaning it but never finishes."
"Why's that? Is he that much of a lazy arse?"
"No, uh … he says it always reminds him of things past. It makes him act strangely but he doesn't talk too much about it."
"Heh," I scoffed. "He's so young. He hardly has a past."
Lithuania looked back at me, smiling sheepishly. "You make a good point." We neared a corner, and he suddenly stopped. "Um, actually, do you mind waiting here? I think I should tell him you're here before coming in." I didn't get time to answer, as Lithuania was already turning the corner, holding a finger up. "I'll be right back!" he called. "Just wait a moment, please!"
I heard his footsteps hurry down the hall. "Hmmph," I sighed, peering around the corner. Why wasn't I allowed to go farther? Just what was America hiding? Certainly it wasn't something I couldn't make myself privy to. I felt the MI16 in me swell, that natural desire to spy surfacing. Whatever America's business was, I was going to make it my own.
I made my way quietly down the hallway, keeping my footsteps light. I followed their voices to a back room. The door was halfway open. I peered in with just one eye, rounding the edge of the door just slightly enough to see though still remaining mostly out of sight.
"But why is he here?" I heard America say, mid-conversation.
"He said he needed to speak with you," Lithuania answered.
"I'm busy. Tell him to get the fuck out."
I bristled at his response. How dare he speak of me in such a manner! After I did so much for him! I raised that boy - fed him, clothed him, taught him language, sheltered him from brutal colonisation from other countries. Who did he think he was, telling me, of all people, to sod off?
"But - uh - he came all this way," said Lithuania. "Don't you think you should at least ask him what he wants?"
"No. He's just gonna bitch about something."
My brows furrowed angrily. That fucking twat. Assuming such negativity on my part. Even though it was true that day, that didn't make me any less annoyed.
"Why are you so harsh towards Mr. England?" asked Lithuania. "You're not normally so bitter."
Oh? Is that so …
America tossed whatever he was holding - looked like some old boot - into a heap of other rubbish. "I dunno. I guess the dust in here is getting to me."
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. I wanted to lean in more past the doorway, to get a better sense of the atmosphere, but I knew better. I didn't want to risk exposing my eavesdropping. I settled for listening carefully, hoping one of them would speak again so that I could hear any giving nuances in their voices.
Instead of being graced by a telling voice, my ears were assaulted by such a loud sound. I flinched, though forced myself to remain silent. When I looked back, I saw that bloody twat had tossed a large book to the floor, stirring up more dust.
"I'm totally throwing out this bitch," said America.
"Old English Dictionary?" Lithuania read off the title.
"Yeah. England gave it to me when I was a kid. But I don't need it anymore."
"You sure?" I could see Lithuania smiling nervously at him. "You still speak English, after all."
"American English," he said. "After my awesome Revolution, I was like 'screw this' and wrote my own version. Called the Webster's Dictionary. That's Amurican English."
I shuddered at the way he said 'American.' An offence to the Queen's English. He surely did not get that twang from me.
"You know how England spells words wrong?" America continued. "Like he throws in random u's in words like 'color' and 'favorite'? Or changes z's to s's and s's to c's and other dumb crap like that? I was like 'that's friggin' stupid, I'm rewriting this the right way.' And I did!"
The 'right' way? ! I nearly choked. My way is the right way! It's my language! That's why it's called English - after me, England. He can't just change it and say that's the new way of doing things. He probably just fucked up the spelling because he's an idiot, and then when corrected, played it off as the 'new' spelling to avoid looking stupid for misspelling. That sodding wanker!
"Wow, I never knew that about your language."
"I bet there's a lot of things you don't know about me and England." America had such a haughty, smug tone.
"You're right. You'll have to tell me about it some time," said Lithuania.
"Hmm, how about right now? Pop a squat, I'll tell you all about it."
"Umm - but Mr. England. He's been waiting down the hall for us."
"Eh, let him rot. He'll find the door eventually."
Heh. Oh, I found something much better than the door, America. I found an unsuspecting you, letting all your stupid ramblings not meant for my ears become privy to a very stealth me.
"It all started when I was young …" America began.
"I don't think we have time for a story," Lithuania interrupted. "Mr. England has already been waiting for several minutes. I told him I'd be right back - I don't want him to think I'm being rude …"
"Ha ha! Lithuania, I'm doing this because England is waiting. I love pissing him off. Don't you think that's funny?"
Heh. Joke's on you, America.
"Well, whatever, it's funny to me. Now be quiet and listen to my story." America sat down on a basketball and started rocking back and forth as he spoke. "It all started when I was young. Like I said. Anyway, I was so cute back then. I mean, I still am, but in a different way. Right now I'm cute like in a hunky way. Back then I was just adorable. You know, the kind of cute that just makes people goes 'aww!' and drives pedos nuts. That kind of cute."
"Right," Lithuania said tentatively, sitting down on an old, wooden chest.
"Everything was all well and good for a while. England was actually a pretty cool guy. He gave me food and stuff. I mean, it was pretty shitty food, but I was young and stupid and didn't know the difference."
"You do now?"
"Wha …? Of course I do! What a silly thing to say, Lithuania. Now back to the story! So there I was, being all cute and innocent and happy, right? Just chilling with my colonies, shooting the shit. Then, outta nowhere, England just started being a total dick to me. For no good reason! He just up and turns into a total douchenozzle, which totally pissed me off."
"For no reason …? That doesn't sound like Mr. England."
"Well, he was suddenly broke. Like dirt friggin' poor from some war. So he somehow got it in his head that he would tax the hell outta me and make me pay for it."
"Oh, actually, I am familiar with this part," said Lithuania. "Wasn't it a war for you?"
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
"Yes, I remember. The French and Indian War. I mean, it was much more complicated than that, but he went to war with France. They were fighting over you."
God. I remember that. Kicked that frog's arse, but that is a different story. Certainly different than America's bastardised retelling of it.
"Be quiet, Lithuania. This is my story!"
"Oh, sorry, Mr. America! I didn't mean to upset you!"
"I'm not upset! It's all cool. Now where was I?" America paused, then continued. "Ah, I remember. England was hella broke and decided to tax me. He taxed almost everything that he sold to me, that dick. He wrung me dry! Me! Cute little America that could do no wrong!"
"That's rather cold, but I don't see how that's worth going to war over."
"Just listen to the rest, okay, Lithuania? Now even though he was squeezing every little penny he could outta me, that douche still didn't let me go back home with him to visit. I didn't have a voice in his country. I would look at him with my puppy dog eyes, cute as hell, and say 'Pwease Engwand, lemme go to Parwiament wif you!'"
What he was saying was infuriating. He was twisting the story. Bending it to his own cocky, American slant. But somehow, despite my frustration, a nostalgic jolt rushed over me. A rather splendid one. I adored the way he spoke like that. I loved it when he said my name like that. It was refreshing to hear again, after so many years.
"And ya know what his response was?" asked America.
"He said, 'FUCK YOU, KID! NO PARLIAMENT FOR YOU!'"
I gasped silently. It was a flagrant lie! I never would have dreamed of speaking to him like that. Not only did I keep my sailor mouth clean around him, but I never even spoke to him harshly! I adored him too much back then. Today is a different story, of course, as I curse him all the time. But back then? I would never be vulgar or cruel to who I thought was an angel!
"Goodness!" was Lithuania's reply.
"Yeah, I know, right? So this goes on for, like, years. I tolerate it for a while but it gets worse and worse, just like his general dickishness. He started taxing my tea. So one day I got really pissed and was like 'You know what I think of your tea? Fuck your tea! I'll drink cat piss before sipping one more glass of that overtaxed shit!' And then I threw it into the ocean. While saying that."
"That's a lot to say at once while throwing things overboard."
"Totally. But I did, and England got seriously pissed off."
How could America tell Lithuania such lies? America had a defiant streak in him, no doubt, but he did not speak so vulgarly back then! It's only been in recent times that he's picked that nasty habit up. I suppose it makes him feel like an adult to use such naughty words.
"Then what happened?" asked Lithuania.
"England did the Intolerable Acts."
I saw the horror on Lithuania's face. "God! What was that?"
America was still rocking back and forth on the basketball. "It was like the meanest thing ever. Imagine all the assholeishness you can think of and roll it all together - that was the Intolerable Acts!"
I gritted my teeth. I did not call it the Intolerable Acts. I hate that term. I always called it its true name … the Coercive Acts.
"England just reamed me with stupid rules and even more taxes. I was paying out the ass and forced to jump through hoops for that jagoff. He even quartered me!"
The repulsion on Lithuania's face had diminished, but at the mention of quartering, it returned. "Dear God - I had no idea he was so cruel to you!"
America stopped rocking on the basketball. "I know. It hurt so much…" He actually looked solemn for a moment, but then he perked up and said, "Skittles?"
I hadn't noticed America take the candy out. He held out the bag toward Lithuania, who waved him off. "N-no thank you."
"Suit yourself," America replied, stuffing his face. "Hey, wow! They're chocolate flavoured!"
"Heh. Perhaps you should continue your story, Mr. America."
"Oh wait! These are M&M's. Now where was I …" His cheeks were puffy, stuffed with the candy. That disgusting glutton.
How sickening it was to listen to America's lies. He made it sound like some horrid, murderous scene where I literally quartered him - tying his limbs up, pulling them in opposite directions until he was ripped apart. God, no! I was rather upset with him at the time, but I could never do such a thing! Quartering was simply the term I used for letting my soldiers stay in his houses. A minor inconvenience, yes - but certainly no bloodbath! How dare that tosser lead Lithuania on so much.
"So he taxed and taxed and taxed," America continued, still stuffing his face with sweets. "All without ever letting me speak in his fancy schmancy Parliament. So one day was I like 'oh hell naw.' He'd taxed stamps too but that didn't stop me from writing him a letter. I whipped out a piece of paper and was like 'Dear England. FUCK OFF AND TAKE YOUR DAMN TEA WITH YOU. No love, America.' And that, Lithuania, was called the Declaration of Independence."
"Wow. Was it really so brief and profane?"
"Well, I guess I was paraphrasing. It was longer and maybe didn't have the f-bomb or the all caps. But the message was more or less the same!"
It was strange, but right then I felt a prick of pain in my chest as I listened. I detested that letter. His rejection of me, spelled out on parchment. My precious colony turning away from me, dumping me, wanting nothing to do me - it was a crushing blow I wasn't prepared to handle at the time.
"So when England got it," said America. "… he was all like 'FFFFFF' and then my awesome war of independence began!"
Lithuania seemed to be waiting for America to continue. But America was unusually quiet. "And then?" Lithuania urged.
"Oh, um …" America hesitated. "Well, the actual war itself is pretty hazy to me. I dunno why, since I kicked so much ass and all."
"Please try to remember. I'm very intrigued now."
"Oh, okay. Let's see… it went like this. There was this little boat. And it crossed the Delaware. Which is a state, but also like, a river, I guess. You could stand up on the tip of the bow with your leg up like 'hells yeah, I am crossing the Delaware' looking super badass and heroic. George Washington, who is totally cool, did that. Then there was a Christmas miracle!"
"Oh, this was on Christmas?" asked Lithuania.
"Yeah! Probably. After crossing the Delaware river - no, the entire state! Yeah, let's say that. So there we were in Delaware. No wait, New Jersey. So there we were in New Jersey, thinking about how awesome Christmas is. Though we were sad, because Santa wasn't gonna find us, because we were doing something totally cool. A surprise! We snuck up on England and his soldiers while they were sleeping. It was Christmas but that didn't stop us from creeping into their camp and ruining their happy holiday. And that's what inspired the American classic 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas.'"
"Umm. I'm confused, Mr. America. Is this the beginning of the war, middle, or end? I know it lasted several years, and I'd like to know more details …"
"Shut up, Lithuania. It's the whole thing because this is the only part I remember. Now listen to the rest!"
How could that bloody idiot forget his own history? He doesn't even have that much! He's but a fraction of the age of most counties. One would think he could keep straight the little time he's been alive! Oh, that boy … I didn't raise him in such a way …
"We snuck into the British camp," America continued. "With no Christmas presents, by the way, since they were very naughty that year. Then we opened fire, shooting everyone right in the head, because it's cool that way. They were screaming things like 'Noooo, England rules!' and 'Die, Yankee scum!' and 'Owww, my exploding head!' but we didn't care because it was for FREEDOM."
Oh, the inaccuracies! Dear God! If he was actually trying to describe the Battle of Trenton, his version was too bastardised to even try to explain. Is this what is written in his history books? If I was to ask an American child to recount the Battle of Trenton, is this the corruption of history they would regurgitate in response? Augh, no, they probably wouldn't. Because the more I thought on this, the more I realised that the average American kid doesn't even know what the Battle of Trenton is. Nor the other battles, for that matter. All they know is that there was a war between their country and mine, and that theirs won. The middle details are unimportant. No wonder America doesn't remember his own Revolution …
"After we shot like a million British guys, England did his Italy impression by waving a white flag," said America. He'd finished the M&M's and moved on to Twizzlers. Where does he get this rubbish? "He was all like 'America, I surrender! I surrender! You are clearly superior in every way! I recognise you as independent, as a country, and as super cool!'"
I was shaking. Literally trembling with rage as I listened to him. That was not what happened … no, not at all …
"I raised my Amurican flag, waved it, as fireworks shot all around. I dunno who shot them, but it was awesome. Oh, and I was on a horse - did I mention that part? - and my horse reared up and said 'neeeigh!' and I went up with it, looking super heroic and badass, against the backdrop of the fireworks, and thousands of proud American soldiers, and millions of dead British ones!"
"It sounds like a … interesting sight."
"Yeah, and England cried like a bitch."
My breath hitched, but no one heard. My presence was still hidden as I peered from the doorway. But I worried how much longer that would last. Soon I found myself breathing heavy. I didn't know why, it came so suddenly. It was like my lungs were constricting, making my breathing forced and erratic. Then I realised how much effort I was putting into holding back tears, and it made more sense.
I suppose what upset me wasn't so much what he had said - though that was infuriating in its own right - but what he hadn't said. The truth. I could have crushed him if I wanted. I was so much stronger than him. He was just a collection of loose colonies - and me? The mighty British Empire. One of the strongest nations in the entire world.
But I was distracted by so much at the time. I was so strong that I had multiple wars going on simultaneously. Such is the reality of so much colonisation. I thought it'd be easy to put him in his place. He just needed a little discipline, I thought. He was just going through a rebellious phase. He was at that age, after all. I thought I could just come over with a few troops, crush his little rebellion, and be on with it. Smack that disobedience right out of him. We'd make up, he'd grow out of it, and move on. Things would be the same again …
But no, I couldn't do it. I couldn't crush him. That day in the rain, I could have shot him. I could have destroyed him. I could have reclaimed him as mine, my property as the British Empire. But I didn't. When I looked into that face of his, there was no way. That's why I fell to my knees. And broke down.
How could America leave that out? That I could have defeated him if I wanted. I had the strength. It was only luck and my sympathy that led to his victory. Not his 'awesomeness.' It was painful that he omitted this. Or did he forget it? I hoped to God not. Please, no … because I remember it every day.
"That was quite a tale, Mr. America."
"I know. You liked it?"
"It was certainly interesting."
I was still trembling. Partly with rage, partly with something else I couldn't put my finger on. I reached up with my hand to feel under my eyes. It was the only way I could tell for sure if any tears had escaped. But my fingers didn't feel anything except dry skin.
"There's more to this story," said America.
"Oh? It sounded like you won."
"I totally did! I kicked England's ass. Shoved my boot right on up there so hard that he had to limp all the way home. And I rode off into the sunset with my cavalry, fireworks still going off somehow, waving the American flag, and living happily ever after while England cried and rubbed his sore ass."
"Then what is the rest of the story?"
I, too, wondered just what the hell America was going on about. There was certainly no American Revolutionary War 2. Unless he meant what I was afraid he meant. I trembled more. No, that was not something I wanted to recount, neither accurately nor inaccurately …
"The sequel, of course!" America pulled out of a box something from his pile of junk as he spoke. I peered harder to see that it was saltwater taffy. "The sequel is called 'The War of 1812: America Kicks England's Ass Again.' And then in the tagline, in smaller print it says, 'And Canada is There Too.'"
Speaking of such a brutal war as if it were a blockbuster movie. Bloody fool! I had to brace myself. The recounting of this war would be almost as painful as his Revolutionary one.
"So once upon a time," America began, "I was hanging out with France. England, being a dickhead, saw us together and was like 'Hey! Get away from France! I'm at war with him and I don't want you talking with him!' which seriously pissed me off. Because, hello! I was independent. England couldn't tell me who I could and couldn't hang out with! I do what I want!"
"He still tried bossing you around after you became independent from him?" asked Lithuania.
"Yeah. Pretty messed up, huh? So anyway, later on I was just sitting around and thought to myself, 'You know who's a pretty nice country? Canada. Yeah, I think I'll get myself a piece of that.'"
I heard Lithuania clear his throat uncomfortably. "I-I never heard about this …"
"Then listen up! I invaded Canada. Multiple times. I wanted his land, ya see, and since I was so awesomely powerful and he was such a weak little bitch I thought I could take all that I wanted. I wanted to move his border way up, so I invaded it, and tried to claim it for myself."
"Mr. America … maybe you shouldn't have done that …"
"Just listen to the story, okay! Anyway, England found out about my invading Canada's border and got all pissy. He came over and was like 'Hey, quit picking on your brother! Leave him alone!' To which I said, 'Friggin' make me you jerk, because you ain't my boss anymore! I DECLARE WAR! AGAIN!' And so … war was declared."
I pulled back from the door. I leaned up against the wall right outside of it. I needed something for leverage, and let my weight rest against it. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. I did not want to relive these memories. They were too painful.
I did something during that war that I'm not too proud of. At the time, I thought it was a splendid idea, as I was still so bitter from his Revolution. But now, looking back, it seemed so cruel.
I burned his capitol to the ground. Yes, I set Washington D.C. ablaze. I remember watching the flames devour his precious city, relishing it as revenge for what he'd done to me. He was so hurt by this, as having his capitol even captured, let alone razed, was not something a country like himself was used to. And the fact that it was me only made things so much more worse. We were both still so sore and bitter from the past war. Neither of us was over it.
And of course, of all the cities, it just had to be D.C. Our capitols are our hearts. The epicentre of our entirety that pumps life to every other state, province, territory, or whatever parts we may have.
And I burnt America's to the ground.
He rebuilt, of course. America recovers fast. But I left scars, I'm sure of it. And the pride I took at the time is long since vanished.
"Then what happened?" asked Lithuania.
"Well, I didn't get to seize Canada like I wanted. I would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for that meddling England."
"So … did you lose?"
America didn't reply for a moment. I peeked back around to see why. But he was just staring blankly, like he couldn't think of a reply. Then he shook himself, and reached for some of the saltwater taffy.
"Gahhh! This taffy is as hard as a rock!" he whined. "I guess because it's been sitting in here for like years and years."
"Did you lose-"
"No, of course I didn't lose! It was one of the best wars in my history. I even wrote a bitchin' song about it! You know, the one we always sing before football games."
"I'm … I'm still confused what happened with this one."
"It's real simple. England was being a total d-bag by bossing me around. I said HELLS NO and declared war. There was some battles, yada yada yada, I won again. In a glorious triumph that proved once again my awesome power! There were more fireworks, bombs bursting into air, that gave proof to the night, that my flag was still there."
"Oh. So that's it?"
"Yep. I lived happily ever after. Cool story, huh?"
My eyes were locked, narrowed, in America's direction. I glared down at him with a passionate fury. He was omitting something else again. How could he leave out such a vital part of the story? There's no way he forgot that. He must have been purposely excluding it. How dare him … how dare that bastard …
"England cried again, like 'wah wah wah, I'm such a pussy!' and I laughed in his face," America told Lithuania. "He always loses in wars to me because I'm just so awesome."
"Mr. England is very strong though," said Lithuania. "He used to be the British Empire and ruled much of the world."
"That's funny." There was actually a chuckle in America's words. "Because he doesn't rule much of anything now. He's just a tiny island that got his ass handed to him twice and now everyone knows how weak he - oh … crap."
"What?" asked Lithuania. "What's wrong with … oh."
I'd stepped through the doorway, letting my presence loom over them until they finally looked my way. I glared harshly at America. I let that awkward silence overcome us as I just bore into him with my eyes. I wanted him to see the fury in them. The rage of his hateful words reflected back onto him. I was glaring so intensely that even an idiot who couldn't read the atmosphere could feel it.
"Lithuania," I said, keeping my eyes locked on America's. "Go and make us some tea, would you? A whole kettle."
There was no reply at first. Then America's dumb, bewildered face regained its usual smug grace. "I don't have any tea, England. You of all people should know that."
"No, there's some in the cabinet above the sink," said Lithuania, apparently clueless to America's lies.
"What! Lithuania, shut up …"
"Heh," I said, walking closer to them. "Splendid."
"I-I'll be back shortly," said Lithuania as he hurried out the door.
I heard him leave the room. It was then just America and I.
"How could you forget the part …" I started, still keeping my gaze locked ahead, "… where I scorched your heart?"
"Pffft. You rhymed."
Damn it. I hadn't meant to do that. I meant to sound ominous. I wanted to seem threatening, and loom that power I used to have over his head. It worked with other countries, so why did it always fail with America?
"Answer my question!" I barked. "Why did you leave out what happened in 1814? !"
He returned my glare. "Because you're a fuckin' douche bag!"
I reached up and grabbed his chin in my hand. I squeezed hard, making his cheeks puff up. "I don't like how vulgar you've become lately," I snapped. "Your mouth used to be so innocent."
"Lemme go," he said, muffled.
He started to pull away, but I caught him off guard by digging my nails in. "I used to own this mouth, you know. And I don't appreciate how you've been using it."
He wrenched away with a grunt, then looked back at me as he rubbed his chin. "What are you talking about? !"
"It was once mine. All of you was. Did you forget that?"
He glanced away. I saw that he was looking at that old set of toy soldiers I made for him years ago. It made me pause. He kept it. He actually kept it. I wanted to relish that, but I was too angry with him at the time.
"I owned you," I continued. "Your entire body was my property. I could do whatever I wanted with you."
"No, you couldn't," said America.
"No. You tried but I wouldn't stand for it." I hated that tone in his voice. Cocky and brash. "Why do you think I renamed your so-called Coercive Acts to the Intolerable Acts? Because you tried to force it on me, but I didn't allow it."
"You're a selfish little brat. I had every right to do those things." I placed my hand on his chest, palm spread. "Because you belonged to me."
I felt his muscles tense when I touched him. Even through his shirt I could feel them twitch uncomfortably.
"Every centimetre of this …" I dragged my fingers down as I spoke. "… was mine." My hand traced down his chest, over his stomach, past his navel …
"Tea's ready," said Lithuania as he entered.
I pulled my hand away nonchalantly. "Ah, splendid. Thank you."
Lithuania set the kettle down and looked at us nervously. "I-Is everything okay in here?"
"I was just telling America about all the inaccuracies of his so-called heroic tales," I said, forcing my tone to soften. "We were just discussing the Battle of Saratoga before you came. Weren't we, America?"
America wasn't sure how to answer. He just looked back at me, confused, then shrugged to Lithuania.
"Thank you for the tea, Lithuania." The tone of my voice hinted for him to leave. I wondered if he'd understand. It took a moment of awkward silence, but then he realised.
"Oh, uh, I guess I'll leave you two be then."
Smart bloke. "You can just leave the kettle here on your way out."
He obeyed and exited, but not before cutting me a nervous glance.
Once Lithuania had left, I kicked the basketball America had been sitting on earlier. It bounced off the wall with a pang and into one of the piles. "Look at all this junk! How flattering that you keep all your memories of me tossed into a heap of rubbish in a dusty backroom!"
"It's not all stuff from you! There's all kinds of things in here."
"I see that. Though I suppose I should just be happy you kept any at all …" I fished through one of boxes, looking over the contents. I tossed each thing I came across aside.
"Don't go through my stuff," said America.
"What's this?" I pulled out a metal shard with a ribbon wrapped around it. It looked like rubbish, but America's face lit up when he saw it. So that's why I tossed it across the room.
He dove after it. He fell to the floor, barely catching before it hit. After breathing a sigh of relief, he hugged it to his face. "Oh, thank God! It almost broke even more."
"You need to toss that rubbish in the bin."
"It's not trash! It's a piece from one of my favourite things in the world, the Liberty Bell!" He straightened the bow around it. "I tied a ribbon to it so I wouldn't accidentally throw it out."
"Heh. That's right. You broke one of your national symbols, didn't you? You're such a fuck-up."
"Shut up! It doesn't make it any less special!"
As I sorted through the box, I found something very interesting. I didn't let him see it as I came up behind him.
He was lying still on the floor. I approached from behind and wrapped the fabric around the top of his head. It was like a blindfold. "Guess what I found," I said.
He tried to pull my makeshift blindfold off. "Hey, I can't see!"
"Ah, ah. No peeking."
"A guessing game, huh? I'm way too pissed off at you to play right now."
I grabbed his wrists. "It'll be fun."
"What are you doing with my hands?"
"It's part of the game, of course."
My hands worked fast. I gathered up the fabric, twisting and knotting it expertly. As they continued their speedy, deft movements, the cloth fell from America's eyes. I needed the rest of the fabric.
"Close your eyes," I commanded.
But he didn't. He tried to look back at what I was doing behind him. I had started on one hand, then before I started on the other, I grabbed his head to twist it back forward. Then I wrenched his body into place.
"I said no looking!"
"I'm not in the mood for stupid games!"
I pulled back and admired my handiwork. Each of his wrists were tied with the fabric. Then I pulled up the heavy wooden chest and scooted the other end underneath. After the thud, America pulled against his cloth restraints.
"What the hell is this supposed to be?"
"I just like seeing you tied up like that." I smirked down at him. "I like seeing you as vulnerable as you used to be."
"Ha!" he scoffed, that smug bastard. "I'm still the strongest country there is! You know how easy it'd be to break this? I can snap metal chains in half - you think I can't rip some cloth?"
I couldn't answer him at first. I was too caught up in the glorious sight. America on the floor, arms pulled above his head, looking so … vulnerable. Mmm.
"I'm gonna break this off and then I'm kicking your ass outta my house," he said. He started to pull against the cloth restraints. The material strained and stretched taut.
"Go ahead," I said. "Rip that rubbish cloth."
"Huh?" America was such a stupid twat. It'd taken him that long to notice what was around him. "What the hell! This is my flag!"
I chuckled. Not just any American flag, but his original. The one with the thirteen stars in a circle. He'd been so proud when he made it. It was his banner of freedom. Which is why I had despised it, as it meant freedom from me.
"I can't rip this!" he cried.
"Of course you can. You're America - the strongest country in the world, right?" I said facetiously.
"I mean I can, but it's just wrong! I love this flag!"
America tried to slip his wrists out from where they were tied. Of course he had no such luck, as a former pirate like myself knows my way around a knot. I had to make them daily for years - I was an expert.
It was a perfect setup. A flag corner to each wrist. Then the banner, which I had tucked under the wooden chest. America could overturn the chest, of course, but the flag would rip first. Unless he wanted to shred his former national symbol, he was stuck.
"Damn it, England! Why did you do this to me? !"
I put my boot on his chest, watching his disgusted face judging me. I pushed him down completely flat on his back. I let my foot continue pressing there, holding him in an exhale. "I want to remind you about how you used to be." America couldn't answer; I'd taken the wind out of him. "… to be mine, that is."
I went to war to have that boy. Shed my own blood, sustained painful scars, plunged myself in debt. All for him to decide to turn around and leave me. Ungrateful brat.
"Do you know what quartering is?" I asked, though I was fully aware that the pressure of my boot on his chest prevented him from speaking. "It doesn't always mean what you implied to Lithuania. Sometimes it just means accommodating my soldiers in your home. Sweet little America can show his warm hospitality to my people, can't he?"
"No," he choked.
"That's right, no, you bastard. Because you refused even such a small sacrifice for me!"
I had to lift my boot. I could see his face tinting purple. When I did, his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.
"But look at you now. Tied up in a way that reminds me a little of the quartering that used to happen back in my home … in the Medieval Ages."
I dug through his heaps of rubbish, looking for something sharp. Damn did he have a lot of shit in that room. Perhaps I should call one of those Hoarder reality shows and have him featured. He'd need a professional to wade through all that rubbish.
Somehow I found what I was looking for. I pulled the bayonet from one of the boxes, running my hand over the length of the metal. I couldn't remember if it was the kind he used during that damnable Revolution of his or not, but it was close enough.
America's face actually lit up with excitement when he saw me wield the weapon. Fucking idiot. He was very fond of that thing. But he was not fond of nor expecting me to point it toward him.
His eyes become large, then he smirked smugly at me. "Look at you, trying to be all badass! Pffft. I don't think that thing works anymore, and even if it did you're way too big of a pussy to use it on me."
I stood over him, looking down. I had the bayonet drawn toward his face. "It doesn't need to work for the tip to be sharp."
"Quit screwing around. We both know you'd never hurt me!"
I let the sharp tip of the bayonet drop to his neck. I let it dig into his skin, tracing over his Adam's apple. That stupid git was actually smiling. He thought this was funny. He wasn't taking me seriously. Well, that stupid look on his face changed when I slashed the bayonet's tip from his neck to his torso.
I did it to rip his shirt, and the mission was deliciously accomplished. The fabric was split in two, exposing his bare chest. I moved the tip of bayonet to push each half of the shirt to the side so that I could see as much skin as possible. Once peeled back, I could admire it. Pale smooth skin, taut muscles clenched, pink nipples …
"ENGLAND!" America cried, interrupting my dirty thoughts. "You cut me, you douche!"
There was a streak of pink along where I had slashed. It looked like a long scratch at first glance, as it appeared to not have broken through all the layers of his skin, but once I peered closer I saw flecks of blood.
I tossed aside the bayonet. I didn't need it anymore. Instead I reached for the tea kettle, still steaming hot like Lithuania had left it. "Meh. It's just a flesh wound."
"It stings like a bitch though!"
I fanned the steam from the kettle to my face, smelling the fresh tea leaves and feeling how piping hot it still was. "I told you I didn't like you using your mouth for such language."
"Why not? You cuss all the time, hypocrite!"
I leaned down a wee bit, still gripping the tea kettle. "But I like to think of you as you used to be … innocent."
When I had found America, he was the picture of innocence. Pure, untouched land that had never been exposed to colonisation. He knew little beyond frolicking with animals, picking flowers, and doing so in that symbolic white frock.
Then somehow, unbeknownst to me, he lost that.
I tipped the tea kettle. The hot liquid poured out, dribbling over his chest. He squirmed, then tried to pull himself free by struggling against his restraints. Though as soon as he heard the tug of the flag's fabric, he slacked.
"Damn, that burns!" he exclaimed. "Why the hell did you pour that on me? !"
With my other hand, I cupped his chin like I had earlier. I loved the way his cheeks puffed out when held like that. "You did it again. I don't want to hear your pretty little mouth talk like that." He tried to respond, but I tightened my grip. "You know what I like to hear you say? My name like you used to. Say it for me, would you?"
I released his mouth. He had to catch his breath before saying, "No! Fuck off!"
There it was again. That dirty mouth. As punishment, I poured more of the tea from the kettle onto his chest. It trickled down, sliding over his muscles easily, as they were smooth from being tightly clenched. Steam rose from his body, and I let myself take in that hot water vapour.
I had to appreciate the sight. I had worried that America had let himself go. He'd been such a splendid country so naturally he'd had such a gorgeous body. Though with all those hamburgers he shoves down his gullet I'd grown concerned I'd find him mushy with fat once I had that shirt open. I was planning on shaming him for ruining what I'd known from his pre-Revolutionary days to be a magnificent physique. But to my pleasant surprise, he was well sculpted, with nice sized muscles held stiff and hard as he squirmed from the tea. What a splendid sight.
"Say 'Engwand," I commanded. "Or I'll do that again."
"No! You got that sh - stuff in my cut!"
Another douse of the hot tea was my reply. To be honest, I probably would have poured more even if he had said what I wanted. I just liked the look of that liquid trickling down his pectorals, curving with the grooves of his muscles, over - oh was that a six pack? Lovely …
"Quit doing that!" he griped.
"I find it amusing that you had tea in your house," I said with a smirk. "Years ago you tossed it overboard in protest. But I suppose you like it after all …"
"It-it's not mine! It's Lithuania's! I hate that stuff!"
"You know the Coercive Acts were because of that, right? I had to punish you for your little temper tantrum."
"I did it for the freedom!"
"Shhh … shut up." I gripped his jaw again, but this time I didn't hold it shut. I held it open as I forced the spout of the tea kettle inside his mouth. "Drink it."
"Mmmph!" America exclaimed. I didn't know what the hell he was trying to say, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn't too happy with me.
I inserted the entire spout in his mouth. He tried to pull away, but I held tightly, digging my nails in. I heard him make a gagging noise as he squirmed. I suppose he wasn't used to such length in his mouth, reaching down his throat … heh.
"I said drink it," I commanded again. I tipped the kettle up, forcing the tea down into his mouth. He sputtered as he choked. Again he tightened against the restraints, but stopped when he remembered his precious flag. He gagged harder, wheezing again, as he resisted so much. Most of the tea dribbled out the sides of his mouth. "Swallow it," I demanded, tipping the kettle directly upward. Another harsh choke. I feared he would vomit, but then he relaxed. He didn't have much choice if he wanted to breathe. His throat muscles slacked, allowing him to swallow. He sucked down the tea, letting me hear these delicious little gulping noises that reminded me of … well …
Bollocks. Right then, to my disappointment, we ran out of tea.
I pulled the spout out. He gasped for breath. He was still panting when he shot me a glare and exclaimed, "You're psycho! What is wrong with you? !"
"Heh. I just wanted to get revenge for the Boston Tea Party is all."
"I could have choked to death! Not cool, man!"
"It always hurt my feelings how much you rejected my tea," I told him. "Ever since that day I've fantasised about forcing it down your throat."
There was an awkward pause. " … you're getting off on this, aren't you?"
I shall be honest. I was. Call me a sick fuck if you wish, but seeing America choke on my tea, his throat quivering, liquid trickling out the sides of his mouth, straining out gulping noises, so helpless and vulnerable … how could I, his former coloniser, not be excited by such a smashing sight?
"You flatter yourself, America."
"I see you chubbing up, liar!"
My pants had tightened a wee bit. "Staring at me there, are you? Now who's the pervert?"
"YOU ARE, DUH! You're the one who's half way to a full - what the h-e-double hockey sticks are you doing? !"
I had squatted over him. I hadn't done anything else - yet - but the position was a shock to him. "You didn't swear … maybe you are indulging me after all …"
"Indulging what, you sicko?"
"I told you I liked you so much better innocent …"
"No, no. Not like that … just … innocence."
America could never understand how much I missed him being my colony. I wanted to own him forever. I had invested so much in him, that blank little slate. But he smashed the dream years ago. Though that doesn't mean I so easily forget it all.
I placed my fingers over the button on his trousers. He looked horrified. Absolutely stunned that I was considering this. His mouth simply agape as I unbuttoned, then started on the zipper, sliding it down.
It was when I gripped the top of his trousers and started to pull them down that he finally found his words. "Don't!" he finally said. "Knock it off!" His bum bucked up in protest as he squirmed, but that only made it easier to slide off the trousers. They caught at his ankles and I left them there. As long as they were out of the way, that's all I needed.
"Nice knickers," I said with a chuckle.
They were boxers, but awfully short. And tight. It didn't leave much to the imagination as it tightly cupped each curve of its contents. Not that I needed much imagination - I was pulling them down too.
"No, no, no!" America said in a panic. He pulled hard, trying to wrench himself away, but he remembered his flag and stopped. He had to settle for trying to cross his legs to prevent me from seeing.
But of course, I pried them apart. I had to see that delicious sight. I'd never actually had the privilege of seeing America completely naked before, which only made it even more thrilling.
Though I was disappointed to see he was still flaccid. Very flaccid. It's not as glorious of a sight in that limp state. That simply was not acceptable.
"Still soft, eh?" I said, not tearing my eyes away from between his legs.
"Of course I am! Only a pervert would get off to this sick setup!"
Oi. Call me a pervert then. Because just sliding that underwear off was enough to make my own cock twitch in anticipation.
"I can fix this."
To be continued.