A/N: ...okay, guys. Okay. M rating. Don't forget. Beware and enjoy. And sorry, no smut.


Does he know?

That was the only thought that Alfred F. Jones could comprehend as he caught the Briton glaring – no- maybe that was his natural face, staring at him for the past hour. After the American had entered the room, the man had offered him a drink of tea, which he had naturally declined. Then, England had told him that he could make himself comfortable in the room; an order he easily obeyed, judging from the way he was lounging on a black leather sofa, worn from years of use. The space in which both males resided in was large, beige walls giving the area a homey feeling, while dark red carpet that was spread out between them and throughout the entire room clearly accented the pure mahogany furniture – a desk and shelf – that resided in the office as well. But, despite the ample allowance of personal space between the two, the American failed to create a content atmosphere for himself with two dark emerald orbs boring into him"Ya need somethin'?"

Francis had told him that England trusted ones with confidence the most, thus, instead of acting as the obedient dog that the office had told him to be, Alfred- no, America- deigned to act as himself. It didn't seem England minded though as he propped his elbow on his table, his head in his palm and continued to stare. He answered the blue eyed male's question only moments later; with a question of his own.

"You were recommended by that Frog, correct?"

A look of confusion spread through America's features as the boy failed to recognize the one known as 'Frog'. Was it Francis' nick name? The American chuckled inwardly despite himself at the realization as he answered, a straight face betraying his hidden emotions.

"That's right."

England went silent for another moment before he continued to speak. "Does that mean you're his bitch?"

At that second, Alfred was grateful he didn't accept the tea he was offered only minutes prior. because from his reaction - an episode of spluttering - it would have found it's way over the floor. A waste of perfectly good tea. "What?"

Eyebrows beginning to furrow, the green eyed male answered by rewording his words into more simpler terms with a frown. "Does he fuck you?"

Alfred's face burned red with indignation at the question. He shot up from his seat, his eyes blazed with mild animosity. " Hell no!"

"Oh, so you're the one who fucks him? That's amusing," The sandy haired blonde continued the conversation nonchalantly, choosing not to see the others anger.

" We do not fuck each other! I just met the guy!" Disgusted by the idea of sleeping with someone, a man no less, that he had just met not even hours prior, Alfred momentarily forgot that they had known each other for years. At least according to his cover they did. He froze when the other raised a suspicious eyebrow. " You just met?"

Shit.

Quickly making attempt to cover up, Alfred blurted the first excuse that came to his mind. " He dates my brother! I've known about him from my awesome bro for years but I never met him 'till now! My bro likes keeping a low profile! I don't even see him half the time even when he's standing right beside me!"

Lies. He wasn't even sure if his brother was gay.

His breath kept on hold, Alfred tried to keep himself from a panic as he was under the scrutinizing watch of the Criminal Lord. He swallowed. He knows. He knows. He knows.

"I see. Hm. Well then, how old are you?"

Safe.

A sigh left the American's lips at the change of subject as Alfred gladly responded. " I'm twenty-five"

"Only a year younger then."

A contemplative expression fell on the Brit's face then, causing the other's heart rate to rise in anxiousness. England reached for one of his desk drawers, retrieving a clipped together stack of paper and giving them a one over.

"According to the documents I received from France, you went through police training for two years at the age of nineteen, but, after a bout with your superior, you left, taking odd jobs as a bodyguard, which included guarding several well known politicians, and dealers here and there and around America, correct?"

Alfred swore inwardly at the scenario. It was a job interview. At least, something similar to it. Damn. He was never good at these type of things.

"That's right."

The other went silent again, still staring at the blue eyed male. "So, why did you decide to be a bodyguard?"

"I wanted to be Hero! To help and protect people!," Answering truthfully, Alfred's wish to be a Hero was something he could never lie about. Faced with a world in which he would have to lie about who he was, it would be the only truth that he would refuse to give up. But, even with the American's earnest words, Arthur couldn't help but chuckle with amusement.

"Hero?" His head at a tilt in his palm, the green eyed male continued to smile, his eyes never leaving the other's own blue orbs. "That's odd."

Alfred swallowed at the small two word statement; it was nothing more that a miniscule sentence, yet it almost seemed as if it was about to bring out an ultimatum. "Odd?," he asked, his words catching momentarily in his throat. England was still smiling, though there was nothing happy contained with the small upturned of lips. It was dark amusement that leered down at him from emerald orbs, examining the American as if he was nothing more than a doll to play with. Something to pass the time.

"Yes. It's strange."

Silence followed the observation as Arthur stood up from his high back office chair, revealing the man's attire fully. Dressed completely black in the form of a tuxedo, the only exception to the darkness was the white dress shirt within, accompanied by a forest green tie. It contrasted Alfred's own wear, an overused suit worn casually, buttons undone, under a heavy WWII style bomber jacket. In comparison, England brought the other to shame. The man seemed to mirror the image of an FBI agent from an old spy film – though the reality was far from it.

England took slow strides across the room, stopping only when when he was situated directly in front of the other. He leaned forward until their faces were just inches apart, kissable distance one could say, despite the fact that there was no intimacy in the action. The smile dropped. "It's strange that someone carrying such a naive mentality is still alive."

Taken aback by both the close proximity and the animosity behind the eyes of the Briton, Alfred took a step back, forgetting that the couch was still behind him. He fell backwards onto the cushions, his position all the more vulnerable to the other.

He wasn't scared. No. Alfred F. Jones didn't feel fear. He couldn't. After all, he was a Hero. But, with the Briton looming over him, seeming to threaten his very being, it couldn't be helped if his 'fight or flight' reaction was beginning to kick in. Always, his mind would choose 'fight' over 'flight'.

"If that's true, then it really says something 'bout me, doesn't it?," he smirked, gazing up at the criminal. "Seeing how I'm still alive, awesome, and as heroic as I've always been."

The egotistic statement held a confidence behind it, mirrored in Alfred's own sapphire orbs. All in all, it only served to amuse England even further. The Briton leaned forward, his smile returning as he refused to break eye contact with the American's bright eyes. It was truly a strange sight to encounter in a world where one could die if caught staring at another for any period of time longer than needed. He wondered if those sky like eyes would dim one day, it was a depressing thought, but reality nonetheless.

"Is that so?," England questioned, his lips upturning once more as he mirrored the other's own smirk. "I suppose that could be true."

Alfred's grin widened at the other's agreement. "Of course! I'm the Hero! I -"

Arthur cut him off, breaking into the invisible wall known as personal space even further. He tapped a finger under the American's chin, allowing his hand to continue downwards onto the other's chest. " But...I wonder how much longer that will remain true..."

"Hunh?," Alfred stared blankly at the sandy haired blond, thoughts unable to keep pace with his current situation. England's hand seemed to fall further down, sliding across and past his chest, until it reached the American's pants. At that moment, the American's breath didn't hitch, it stopped.

"You see...," The Briton purred in other man's ear, circling his hand constantly atop America's lower regions, enjoying the wide eyed expression he elicited. "...in this world...under my rules...you have no other choice but to obey me."

England smiled, pausing in his ministrations for only the slightest moment. " Meaning if I decided to degrade you...," he let out a hot breath against the other's cheek, smirk growing as his fingers curled, cupping Alfred's balls through thick, rough fabric. " humiliate you, hurt you, pleasure you, you have no right to say no. Do you understand me?"

The man accentuated his point with pressure, pushing down his palm into the American's most sensitive region. America yelped in response to the touches. He couldn't believe it. This couldn't be happening. Was this man so sick, so twisted that he'd molest a man whom he'd barely even known? More importantly...Was he really going to sit back and allow this to happen to him?

Hell no.

Alfred felt the long held air in his lungs release as he let out a harsh sigh, his hands moving in familiar motions of self defence, even if his mind still had yet to catch up. His left hand shot diagonally, finding a firm grasp onto the Briton`s own left wrist, while his right palm swung to the man`s right shoulder, forcefully shoving the smaller male to the other end of the black leather sofa. Within moments, the two swift movements decided their positions switching who was in control.

Alfred F. Jones wasn't going to take this. He was a Hero. He was going to be this man's body guard. And he wasn't going to take shit from the one he was going to protect. Even if England was a powerful criminal – one who had the power to end his life at any given moment – as his bodyguard, he was the same. America had the ability to choose whether or not the small blond died.

"Sure 'nuff, boss," Alfred smiled through clenched teeth, his sky blue orbs glowering down at the Briton. " I got 'cha!"

The American held the green eyed male pinned to the soft leather of the sofa, the man's wrists crossed above his own head. He was going to reciprocate his humiliation- despite the consequences it would garner. Heroes had to take risks after all .

Quickly, England's tie went undone, loosened by the skillful precision the larger male's hand. Buttons unfastened with the same skill as Alfred glanced up to see the other's expression. He frowned. England was smiling. Why?

"Well. It's a real pleasure to see that the little puppy has bite after all," the Brit responded to the silent question, gazing up with half lidded eyes. "It's truly a change after seeing all the obedient little dogs that come and go."

Alfred's lips formed a down turned scowl. He didn't appreciate being called a puppy, nor did he he appreciate hearing others being called dogs. Memories of the man who had believed that England would avenge him, who was so confidence that his death would have meaning that he would shoot himself were brought back to Alfred's mind. Did England even care about that man?

Alfred glared at the other with utmost determination. "'I'm a Hero. Not a dog. I -"

"Hey, Eyebrows. The Awesome me is coming in! I brought that package you wanted," a voice resounded from behind the wooden barrier following a click, then a creak as the door opened. Prussia smirked widely at the sight of the two males, walking in to reveal red eyes and white hair along with an outfit of pure black leather- the design of a typical biker.

"Really? Only the first day and you're already tapping that?," Gilbert nodded in the American's direction, his words meant for the Briton. He received a scowl in return.

"Where's the delivery, Prussia?," Arthur kept his question straight and to the point, not bothering to begin a conversation. A small square package was tossed onto the couch as Arthur shifted his gaze back to the blue eyed male. "Kindly get off me, America."

The tone of the green eye male's voice changed with the order, forcing the American to obey with a shudder- one of fear, not pleasure. With a sigh, England repositioned himself on the sofa, straightening himself as he reached for the package, not bothering with his ruffled clothing.

"Give me your gun, America," the Briton gave an order once more, tearing away the package's wrapping. Alfred only stared, on guard at the mention of giving up his gun. His 0.38 mm police issued Glock firearm. His black Bessie.

"Hand over your bleeding gun," England repeated, his voice holding more dark firmness the second rime. Alfred reached into his jacket, whipping out the pistol, and placing it onto the smaller males palm.

As his black Bessie left his hand, another beauty, one maybe even more beautiful replaced it, the sheer sheen of the slick coating burning his sky blue orbs.

A Beretta 92FS Elite

"This here is an Italian model firearm though the name is more well known since this brand type is used as the standard sidearm for the US military. This model is slightly heavier than the basic model but the slide is shorter. Nine mm bullets and fifteen bullets per round,," England looked on in amusement as the American flipped the gun over in his hand, examining every contour and detail of his new firearm. "You've best get used to it. From now on, it's yours."

The Briton turned to the Albino, handing over the only physical evidence of Alfred's law enforcement life with the orders to 'dispose of it' leaving his tongue. America could only watch as his precious former gun disappeared out the door in the hands of a criminal, knowing that the gun soon find it's way as scrap metal. But, despite the pang of guilt of allowing his police issued firearm to be destroyed, the new toy in his hands provided more than enough distraction for the male.

"Well, now that everything is bloody good and done, I trust that you won't shoot me behind the head now, will you, America?, " the green eyed male interrupted the other's current examination of his new toy, a smile gracing his lips. "Seeing how you'll be finding yourself in situations where you'll need that gun often, I hope you use it well."

Azure eyes glanced upward to meet emeralds, lips conveying a single question. "And if I don't?"

The sandy blond smirked. "Oh, but you see, my dear boy, you'll have to."

"From this moment on, the one that will be most by my side will be you," England paused, tossing the brown wrapping paper of the gun parcel into the trash bin.

"Meaning if bullets are flying in my direction, they'll also be flying in yours," he tapped the piece of metal in the other's hand with a single finger. "Thus, unless you wish to die a terrible bleeding death, you'll use it. It is, one would say, kill or be killed.

Alfred remained silent at the ultimatum as he alternated glances between his new firearm and employer. To be undercover meant to assume an entirely different identity. The complete opposite of who he was.

Alfred F. Jones was a Hero.

He didn't kill people. He saved them.

America was a criminal.

People would die by his hand.


Whoo. This update was fast. But it's four am and I wanted to get this done. So, here ya go. Okay. The gun things. Found it on the internet. Before then I was completely ignorant on guns and anything to do with them so forgive me and correct me if you spot anything wrong. Same goes for grammar mistakes and alike. Well, 'til next time. Review~