As always, in the company of an energetic lad like America, England didn't have time to stroll down memory lane forever. Soon, they were pulling into the driveway of America's big, beautiful home. America had literally inhaled the kid's meal and was eyeing the rest of the bags already, but England remained firm.
"You can wait, Meri. Just because we get fast food doesn't mean we can't put it on a real plate and eat at the table together," England said. Still clutching his Pokemon toy, America reluctantly agreed. The car had barely pulled to a stop before he was undoing his seatbelt and racing inside with his Pokemon and a handful of army men.
With a sigh, England collected the food bags and their drinks and followed after him. America waited impatiently for him by the back door.
"Hurry!" America urged. America had never outgrown his youthful energy. He was truly child-like in the sense that even in his adult persona, everything had to happen immediately and patience was a foreign concept. England unlocked the door and America raced into the kitchen. He dumped his handful of toys onto the table and began carefully setting them up in a pattern only he could comprehend. England readied their food, and brought the plates to the table.
"Toys away, Meri," England said.
"Buuuut—" America protested. A stern look from England ended the argument. America reluctantly scooped his plastic army into the Tupperware and set it down on the ground. England placed the rest of the burgers in front of America, now that he had cut them into bite-sized pieces. America gulped them down easily, but made a face when England held out a forkful of his own salad.
"Try it," England insisted. He knew good and well that America ate poorly when he was not around. America crinkled his nose.
"No. Dun' wanna!" he said, his plump bottom lip puffing out. England had gained some immunity to that adorable little pout, but it still got to him sometimes. Even for a grown man, America was incredibly cute. He added puffed out cheeks to his pouting face and England nearly caved.
"Meri, try one bite. No dessert until you do," England said firmly. The air hissed out of America's chubby cheeks and he reluctantly opened his mouth. England zoomed the fork inside and America grimaced as he chewed. When he was done, he stuck his tongue out.
"You'll live. Vegetables make you strong," England said, with only a hint of sarcasm. America shot him a baleful look that was a little more adult than toddler. England just grinned innocently around his salad fork.
It was around three in the afternoon and America truly did need a small nap during the day if he was going to be in a bearable mood. His boss always eased up on him when England was visiting, knowing that they liked to spend every minute possible together. It was exceptionally rare for America to get to spend an entire evening in his fantasy world.
"Alright, Meri, it's time for your nap," England said neutrally. Sometimes America didn't put up a fight and went straight to his room with England on his heels. Most times, however, America liked to fuss a bit before acquiescing.
"Nu-uh. I dun' need a nap. I wanna go play in the backyard," America said. England stood and collected their dirty plates. He ignored America's protest. The whining began almost immediately.
"Dadddyyyy!" America pleaded. He slid out of his chair and sat on the floor, pouting up at England with his arms crossed. England spared him a glance but resumed rinsing off the dishes. "Daddddddyyyyyyy!" America tried again, louder this time. Tears were prickling at the corner of his big, blue eyes. America could cry at the drop of a hat.
England crossed the kitchen to his son and knelt down so he was on America's level. He gently placed his fingers under America's chin and tilted America's face up. He pressed a chaste kiss to America's pouty lips.
"You don't have to rest, but Daddy is worn out. I want a little kip. Won't Meri be a good boy and come lie down with Daddy?" England asked. America's shoulders sagged, as he knew he'd lost the battle. He could never be so mean to his Daddy, not when Daddy asked him so sweetly.
Reluctantly, America dragged himself up off the floor and laced his fingers with England's. His glum look expressed his defeat. Hiding a small smile, England walked with the lad to the library, where he tugged on the spine of an innocuous tome and revealed a hidden door. The room beyond had once been a guest room, but as they had begun their relationship and America felt comfortable slipping more and more into his alter-ego, he'd had a remodeling crew re-structure his house a bit. Now the forgettable guest room was America's secret haven.
The door had a crudely drawn crayon sign proclaiming it to be Meri's Secret Lair—Keep Out or Else!
England pushed the door open and led America into the nursery. Over the years, the room had acquired giant toys and a full set of custom made furniture. Originally, America had said he would make the furniture himself, but in a show of support, England had gifted him an entire set for Christmas.
There was an oversized changing table, lower to the ground so that England didn't have to lift America onto the top of it. The theme of the room was old fashioned air planes, and so the fabric on the changing pad and the sheets on the "crib" mattress all depicted planes that America had flown personally over the years. There was a large glider, a small fridge, America's crib/toddler bed (airplane mobile included), a huge toy chest that was completely full, a bookshelf brimming with child books, the changing pad, and a dresser where America stored all his toddler clothes—mostly garments England fashioned for him, since such things weren't commonly sold in stores.
"Get your jammies," England said. America dragged his feet to the dresser, where he pulled out a pair of clingy, cotton superman pants and a matching T-shirt. America pushed his own shorts off, and came to England in his shirt and his diaper. "Up you get," England said, helping America to crawl onto the changing surface. It was much easier to do the task in America's home than it was while out in public. Here, England had a huge supply of wipes, a proper bin, and toys to amuse America while he did the job.
America reached for the plastic toys hanging from an arc that went over his head space. While America pressed buttons to light it up and tugged on the little shapes and baubles, England undid the tape and pulled the diaper back. It wasn't too terribly wet, but America always peed in bed. England wiped him down, and unlike the first time he'd done so, there truly wasn't anything sexual in the act. Sometimes there was, but most times it was just a simple gesture of care and love.
England puffed on a bit of baby powder and gently rubbed it into America's lower belly and the creases between his thighs. He caught America's eye in time to see the look of pure adoration and love that shined there. With a soft smile of his own, he finished the diapering job and worked the cotton pants up America's legs one at a time. England tugged America into a sitting position.
"This shirt is clean, Meri," England said.
"Want Superman!" America replied. Not willing to fight that battle, England uncaringly helped America slide out of his current T-shirt and replace it with the other. Once his pajamas were matching, America slid off the table and went to the bookshelf, where he began the oftentimes long process of picking out a storybook. England went to the glider and settled down. It really had been an exhausting meeting, and America had been in a bratty mood all afternoon off and on. England let his eyes drift shut while he waited for America to make his choice. A few moments later, he felt America's too-big body clambering up into his lap. The chair was big enough to accommodate America sitting beside England, but he still draped his long legs over England's lap and leaned forward to curl against England's chest.
"This one," America said. England yawned and opened the book, relieved that it wasn't a long one. He read the story about the obese caterpillar with the air of one who had read it many times before. America's eyelids began to droop somewhere around page six. Of course, America couldn't give in that easily. The story was almost done when he began to tug tiredly on England's shirt.
"M'thirsty, Daddy," America said. England barely contained his eye roll and the sigh. America would do or say anything to put off a nap as long as possible, even when his own body was fighting him for a bit of rest.
Rather than let America re-energize himself by going to the kitchen for water, and knowing better than to leave him alone in a room of toys, England nodded America towards the bed and then fetched a cold bottle from the fridge. It was filled with regular milk, but some of the others contained juice. They didn't keep these in the kitchen for fear another nation would drop by unexpectedly and discover them. There were also some snacks inside meant for toddlers—cereals and gummy snacks that had no taste, but America liked to eat them when he was playing in his room.
America climbed onto the low bed that was partially blocked by crib bars. It was a full size mattress, so England could comfortably lie beside him. England followed America after taking off his tie and his dress shirt. He toed out of his shoes and then crawled in beside America. There was a large pillow meant to help someone sit up in bed, and England rested against this while America stretched over his lap. England offered the bottle and America clung to England's undershirt while he suckled down the milk. He drank only an ounce or two before he was soundly asleep.
With tired satisfaction, England set the bottle down on the ground and relaxed against the pillow with America still curled around his torso. The heavy weight was soothing and familiar, and England drifted off fairly quickly…it seemed like his eyes were only shut for a few minutes, but it must have been longer than that. He awoke to America tugging on him and whining for him to wake up.
"Huh? Wha? I'm up, I'm up!" England said groggily.
"I dreamed about Daddy. Touch Meri down there, pwease!" America said insistently. He guided England's hand to the front of his diaper, which was puffed out more than usual. America was biting his lip and already rutting against England's hand. England didn't really have wet dreams anymore, but America got them pretty regularly.
England blinked away the sleep in his eyes and rolled, popping his back and lying America down underneath him.
"Let Daddy see," he said, his voice still a little gruff. America drew up his knees and clutched his old rabbit, still his favorite, to his chest. England pulled down America's pajama pants and peeled back the diaper (a little wet with urine and pre-cum) and taped it up into a neat little ball, which he tossed off the bed. England began to palm himself, though just the sight of America in his crib, clutching his bunny, with his hole bared for his Daddy was enough to get England hard.
"Here, Meri, suck," England said, offering his fingers to America. The lad began to energetically lick and slurp—he was so talented with his mouth. America wasn't happy unless he had something to work his tongue around. Sure enough, when England pulled his fingers away, America plopped his own thumb in and furiously sucked. England brought his dripping fingers to America's hole and began to work one inside. He pumped America's cock to distract him, but little pained grunts began to escape America's mouth.
"Ngh!" America moaned, his face crinkling and his knees drawing together. His passage clenched around England's fingers, trying to push him out. England just became more determined. He forced a hand between America's knees and spread them, so that his view wasn't blocked. America's toes curled into the sheets and he began to lift his bottom, meeting England's fingers eagerly now that his orgasm was building and England was hitting that pleasurable spot deep inside him.
"More, D-daddy! More!" America whined, and England was happy to oblige him. He lined his thick cock up and pressed inside the spit soaked passage. America's velvety muscles fluttered around him and finally relaxed, allowing him to fully sink inside.
"Such a…such a good boy," England praised. America's eyes lit up with love and his boy clenched his muscles, sending a wave of constriction down England's shaft. England let out a deep moan and gave his hips a little roll. It made America scoot a bit upwards on the bed—must have been more forceful than England realized.
"Ungh!" America grunted as England snapped his hips forward again, after nearly pulling out to the tip. America always sounded half pained, and half pleased during their lovemaking, and England assumed it was because they didn't have the luxury of regular sex. As much as England hated it, he still had to leave America alone for long stretches of time.
England thrust deep again, and again and again, mercilessly fucking America without any gentleness. He knew America enjoyed a rough fuck, because he'd said as much while not in Meri-mode, but he could be pretty convincing in the moment that England was too big for him, and that his "small" body couldn't take it.
"Daddy! It huuurts!" America squealed, even as his eyes begged for more.
"Meri…be a…big boy. Stop your…whining," England said between hard thrusts that jostled America's heavy frame. America turned on the crocodile tears, sniffling and crying as England's thrusts became less controlled and more frenzied. America's chubby ass clenched around him on a particularly deep thrust, and England cummed hard, nearly collapsing onto Meri's limp body.
"D-daddy!" America sobbed, his face a mess of tears. America balled up his fist and hit England's shoulder, though it was an incredibly weak blow. "Daddy hurt Meri! M-meri said it h-hurt but Daddy didn't stop!"
England pulled out after catching his breath, and a long trail of semen followed the action. America's needy hole didn't want to let him go. As America's jellied legs fell apart laxly, he continued to weakly arch his bottom towards England despite his words. His own cum was streaked all over the Superman logo on his shirt. Ignoring his babyish lover's cries for the moment, England got off the bed and tucked himself back into his pants. He fetched a wipe and a clean diaper.
He brought the diaper back to the bed and continued to ignore America's whines and complaints as he wiped at the puddling cum between America's cheeks. Quite unexpectedly, the echo of the doorbell rang through the house. America stopped his whining instantly, though without the interruption he would have insisted England baby him and pet him and love on him to make up for the rough sex.
Their eyes met, and Meri vanished, replaced with America.
"Err, go see who it is. I can finish cleaning myself up," America said, his voice considerably lower but still a little shaky from orgasm.
"Are you sure? Whoever it is will go away if we ignore them long enough," England offered. America sighed, and rather roughly used the diaper to wipe between his legs, where England's claim to him was still seeping.
"Geez, England, think you cummed enough?" America replied sarcastically. Clearly, America wasn't going to let England excuse him from his responsibilities, though he certainly wasn't happy about it. With a droll look, England began to pull on his shirt and button it quickly, tucking it in as he did so.
"Don't forget to change the shirt, America. You've got a little…right there," England replied dryly with a general wave of his hand, before exiting the secret room. He just barely caught America spotting the semen on his favorite pajama shirt and cursing.
It was enough to make England smirk as he went to the front door. England was a little surprised to see that it was Japan waiting on the stoop, looking highly nervous. England opened the door.
"Oh! England-san! I am intruding after all. I called ahead, but I should not have come when no one answered. I am very sorry," Japan said with a low bow. England realized he must have left his phone in his brief case again and forgotten about it. There was no telling where America had abandoned his.
"You're not intruding. We were, err, just having a bit of a lie in. Long day, and all. Come in," England said. Japan was clutching an armful of what appeared to be new video games. Noticing England's stare, he offered an explanation.
"America asked to borrow them while I was in town," he said. Not surprised, England waved Japan towards the sitting room.
"Have a seat. I'll make some tea. America will be down in a moment," he said. A few minutes later, England heard America leave the library and poke his head into the living room.
"Yo! Japan! 'Sup, dude?" he asked cheerily. Japan was likely the closest thing America had to a friend. As their friendship deepened, England could tell America became more comfortable acting like a grown up…or as close to it as he could manage. It was convenient that America's childish behaviors even as an adult made for random slip-ups, like the toys still all over the kitchen table, to be accepted by others as signs of America's quirky personality.
"Hello, America. I called ahead, but you did not answer. I knew you wished to borrow the games, however, so I decided to come. I'm sorry if I am a bother!" Japan said politely. America laughed—high pitched and carefree—and England heard him plopping down on the sofa, likely dropping his feet onto the coffee table.
"No worries, man. It was getting boring around here with just England hanging around," America said.
"Hey!" England shouted, though the insulting banter was quite routine by now, and neither of them thought anything of it.
"Some of these games are quite scary…but then again, you seem to enjoy them. I still advise caution," Japan said. England heard the sounds of the game cases being examined and the two going deeper into conversation about boss battles and hit points.
England had to smile. If he ever saw America acting like a true adult, he'd likely not be able to recover from the shock.
There was a break in their conversation, and then Japan's voice could be heard starting a new topic…one he was clearly trying to be polite about, but failing.
"Err…America-kun…your drawings are very…err…"
"Totally awesome, right? That one's got you in it! I learned that art style in New York. They should be in a museum, huh?" America laughed boisterously at his own bragging, and England grimaced. America had left his coloring lying about in the living room, no doubt.
Sensing a distraction would be welcomed, England poured the tea and carried it out. He only made two cups, knowing that America wasn't fond of drinking tea.
"Ugh, gross. I'm gonna grab a coke," America said, hopping nimbly over the back of the couch and vanishing into the kitchen. England rolled his eyes.
"The furniture is not jungle gym equipment, America!" he scolded.
"Whatevs!" America shouted back, as the fridge door was opened.
"Here you go—from my own stock of leaves. America's tea selection is horrid," England said. America appeared in the doorway, popping the soda can and grinning.
"Just keepin' it fair—you've only got instant coffee in your pantry. It offends my cultured tastebuds!" America said, taking on a snooty tone of voice. England rolled his eyes and Japan flashed a small smile.
"Will you have time to start the games this afternoon?" Japan asked. England and America's eyes met in a flash—they'd planned a whole evening of escapist play—but America didn't see Japan all that often, either. England offered him a forgiving smile. He always tried to encourage America to enjoy himself in his adult persona. Being America didn't have to always mean stress and too much work, but sometimes that's how America saw it.
"Yeah! I'll pop one in now. Want me to order a pizza?" America asked. Japan's dark eyes lit with poorly concealed glee.
"I do love pizza," Japan said. "And I do not care if that makes me a glutton!"
England snorted in amusement into his teacup, as a glutton was likely the last word someone would use to describe Japan.
"Well, if you two are occupied for the evening, I might slip out for a bit," England said after the game's menu flashed on the screen. America's eyes darted towards him, as they both knew "slip out for a bit" meant England wanted to go have a few drinks in the hotel bar. America would drink socially, if he felt the pressure to do so, but he rather childishly was disgusted by the taste of alcohol. He usually got away with avoiding it by claiming himself to be the designated driver.
"England…" America said, clearly a little disappointed. Despite America's begging look, England saw no point in sitting around all evening listening to repetitive gaming noises. It simply wasn't an interest the two of them shared, and if America wished to play away a few hours, that was fine…but he wasn't going to sit by bored and restless.
"I'll be back before you know it, America. I won't stay out too late—never fear, lad. You won't have to come pick me up," England promised. America shot him a look that clearly said he didn't believe him, followed by an irritated huff.
"Whatevs. Go get your drink on with France. You better not get wasted!" America said petulantly. England rolled his eyes.
"I can hold my drink, America. I do not get wasted, like you Americans are so fond of doing," England replied a bit snippily. Japan remained quiet throughout this exchange, clearly feeling guilty for unknowingly starting a spat between them.
"I can go back to the hotel. We could save the games for another time?" he offered hesitantly. England said "nonsense!" at the same time America said "no way, dude!" Both of them were determined now to spend the evening apart, enjoying their separate interests.
England felt almost relieved to leave the house, thinking how nice it would be to have a drink in a mellow bar, maybe listen to some live music, and watch whatever sport was on the bar's telly. No diaper changes, no bottles, no whining or crying…it would be nice, he decided stubbornly…even though an image of Meri lying well-fucked in his crib flashed through his mind and made him reluctant to leave.
As for America, he was just as stubbornly insisting that he would have fun playing games with Japan, and he wasn't going to start worrying about the work he'd neglected in his office, or the missed calls probably piling up in his phone's memory. He was going to tune all that out and just be lazy, hanging out with Japan. He didn't have to be Meri to have a good time. He didn't need England around constantly when he was in town.
England left without saying goodbye, and America pretended it didn't hurt his feelings.
"Good riddance. He's such a stick in the mud," America griped petulantly. Japan wisely held his tongue. The opening scenes of the game began to play, and America navigated through the first few levels easily, almost forgetting his annoyance with England. When he reached a good stopping point, paused right before a massive zombie ripped off his character's head, he remembered he needed to order the pizza.
"I'll be right back—gonna go order the pizza. Hope I didn't forget my phone in the car…" America trailed off. He found it in his briefcase, however, and sure enough, he had about ten missed calls from his secretary. He ignored them for a moment and dialed for pizza. Once that was done, he returned to the living room, scanning his texts, also from his secretary.
"Damn, hold up a sec' Japan. My boss is freaking out—needs my signature on something. I gotta go scan it in and e-mail it to the office, but I'll totally be back before you can say zombie apocalypse!" America said brightly. Japan nodded, and decided to replay the level America had just beaten on flawless his first try through.
Five minutes became ten, which became fifteen, which became twenty. Japan put down the controller and wandered in the direction America had gone. He found his friend in his home office, on the phone with someone, typing up something, and receiving a fax all at the same time. America caught his eye and winced apologetically. He pulled his mouth away from the cell phone.
"Sorry! Is the pizza here yet? I'm almost done, I swear!"
"Err, no, not yet. Is there anything I can do to help?" Japan offered. They all knew that despite America's joking personality, the nation had a huge workload and pulled incredibly long hours. It was hard to believe when meeting America that he was critical to the smooth operation of things in one of the world's busiest governments, but he was, and America took that duty very seriously. As America, he always had to be the hero. He couldn't say no to any request, no matter how big or small. Meri was the selfish one.
Meanwhile, England had found himself in the hotel bar where most of the nations were staying. He was perfectly fine drinking alone, but if he just happened to run into Prussia or Portugal, it certainly could liven up his evening. He didn't have to wait long for company, but it was the last person he wanted to see.
"England!" France called, his blue eyes sparkling. He came over to the bar with Spain and Prussia in tow. That was a deadly combination, especially in a bar.
"Hullo," England replied, deciding to be polite since he really wouldn't mind the company. He hadn't planned it, but tonight was going to be an adult evening, after all. He would enjoy the company of other adults, who appreciated things like a stiff drink and a good vibe in a bar.
Without hesitation, the three joined him, all of them ordering a drink and settling onto their stools.
"Have a lover's spat with America?" France asked. Not wanting to be reminded, England rolled his eyes.
"You pervert everything. He's busy playing those silly games with Japan. I prefer to spend an evening with a good gin and tonic," England replied.
"I'll drink to that!" Prussia said jovially, and swigged down his drink.
"Hey, the game is on," Spain said happily. A football match between Spain and France was on the television.
"France is losing. No surprise," England jibed.
"What? Impossible!" France checked the score for himself and scowled. "Fine, so we are down at the moment—I will bet good money that my team wins in the end," France said.
"I'll take that bet!" England replied, his green eyes more eagerly watching the game now. Prussia wandered off to flirt with a girl sitting alone nearby, and all of them began to steadily knock back drinks.
England had quite a good buzz going much later in the night (and by that, he knew he was totally sloshed) when he was suddenly hit with a pang of worry and regret. He shouldn't have left so coldly. Sure, America was probably having a fun time with Japan, and that was good for him…but what if he wasn't? What if England had read the signals wrong, and America was stuck pretending to have fun when he really just wanted to be curled up with him in bed?
England pulled out his phone and was surprised to see that he'd missed a text from Japan.
It was not a good time for me to come over. America is very busy, so I'll be heading back to the hotel. If you are staying with him, please make sure he does not work too late!
"Damn it!" England cursed, imagining what had happened easily enough. The only time America could truly neglect his responsibilities was when he was in the mindset of Meri. The rest of the time, he was always drifting towards "just one quick e-mail" or "lemme call him back, real fast!"
England knew he needed to get home, but he realized slowly that he was not sober enough to drive. The game had ended some time ago, and England blinked sluggishly when he realized it was already pretty late—nearly one in the morning. Prussia had gone off with the girl, and Spain's angry little Italian had dragged him off by his ear an hour or so ago, leaving France and England to continue a very heated debate about his cooking until England had remembered America and begun to worry about him.
Too late, it seemed.
"Ah, I see you have remembered America. Best call him to come get you. It is getting late," France said. The bar tender looked a little relieved. They tended to get a little rowdy and obnoxious when intoxicated.
"Yeah, Yr'right," England said, trying very hard not to slur his words. He dialed America's phone and didn't have to wait long before America's exhausted voice answered.
"Which bar?" America asked tiredly.
"Hotel…erm…on 2nd. I'm sorr—"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm on my way. Don't go anywhere," America replied. Feeling horribly guilty, England ended the call but continued to stare sadly down at his phone.
"You know, I don't know why you keep going out to drink—by the end of the night, you are always miserable for some reason or another," France assessed rather accurately. England scowled in France's general direction.
"Fuck you. Meri's mad at me. Shouldn't…shouldn't have left him…babysitter," England rambled. France rolled his eyes.
"You are more drunk than I thought. You do realize America is all grown up now—coming to pick up your sorry ass, as it seems."
"Shut up, Frog! You don't…you don't know…anything."
"Okay, I know nothing. Finish your drink, England," France said, a little annoyed that England's mood had soured and everyone else had found something better to do.
They finished off their drinks in silence and then America arrived, looking tired and in a rather irritable mood himself. He spotted England at the bar and came over.
"Not passed out yet, old man? You're slacking," America teased, but there was no humor in it. France made a lewd face at America.
"He's far too drunk—won't be any fun tonight. Why don't you take me home instead?" France offered with a flirtatious wink. America rolled his eyes, his nose scrunching up.
"Gross. You smell like beer nuts and sweat. No thanks, Frenchie," America said.
"Meri…Meri…I'm sorry. Shouldn't have left you. I knew better, but I—"
"England, shut up. Seriously, dude. I'm over it. Let's just go," America said, looping England's arm over his shoulder and all but lifting England off his bar stool. At some point, England began to start babbling apologies for being a poor father figure, and moaning about how America was only going to leave him again, and begging America to love him even though he drank too much and ruined everything. America tolerated it with as much patience as he could muster.
He carefully tucked England into the passenger seat and buckled him in, just as England had done for him earlier in the day. He crossed to the driver's side and started the car, checking his mirrors, and then he carefully drove England home.
"You wanna stop for something to eat? All we got at home is pizza," America said flatly. England looked a little green at the suggestion of food. "Yeah, okay, maybe not," America said. He didn't care when England had a drink every once in awhile, but when he got like this, America didn't like it. He didn't like the way England talked, or how helpless and pathetic he seemed.
It didn't sit well with America's view of England as his protector and caretaker—the only one he trusted in such a role. At times like this, he felt foolish for thinking England genuinely wanted to care for him. It all seemed more like something he indulged America in because he was pathetically lonely.
America's hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel and he grimaced in displeasure when England let out a particularly loud belch and then began to fumble for the door handle.
"Aw, come on, England! Not in the car!" but it was too late. England had vomited all down his front and partially over the interior of the car.
"M'sorry!" he moaned pathetically, wiping ineffectually at his mouth. America wanted to gag at the smell of vomit, but he managed to refrain and finish the drive home. Was it just him, or did the car feel incredibly hot? His upset was probably just making him overheated.
Once home, he lifted England out of the car as if he were the small child. America hated using his strength in such a way. He hated everything about England getting so drunk, and England knew it, too.
America carried his lover into the bathroom and stood him up in the shower. Not caring about his clothes, which smelled like cloying perfume, body odor, and puke, America turned on the shower head. England spluttered, reeling back from the water pelting him, but stayed in the spray since he was not coordinated enough to figure his way out of the shower. He pawed weakly at the door, but America kept him trapped inside as he fetched a rag and began to wipe down England's mouth and neck. America left the soiled rag on the shower floor and turned off the water. He efficiently stripped England of his clothes, and didn't bother hiding his wince as England began to paw at him.
"Daddy's sorry, Meri. Daddy will…Daddy will…"
"Shut up, England. I'm serious," America growled. England swallowed thickly and then stumbled forward, puking violently again, this time all over America. "Ugh!" America yelled in irritation. England sunk rather pathetically into the pile of his sopping clothes, entirely naked now and covered in his own sick.
Highly irritated, America stripped off his shirt and then lifted England out of the shower. He hauled him to the toilet and guided his head to the bowl.
"There ya go. Puke your heart out," America said. England did just that, retching and retching until it was obvious he was completely miserable. America tried not to cave, but England slumped so pathetically over the toilet, his brow sweaty and his hair so disheveled…that America's heart finally softened.
England couldn't help himself. America didn't know why England got wasted so often, and it seriously worried him, but America knew England had stress of his own. He not only took care of his own country, but most of the time, he took care of America, too.
With a sigh, America shifted his position so that he was holding England in a gentle embrace.
"England…do you feel better now?" America asked softly. He pressed a gentle kiss against the back of England's neck. An unhappy moan was his only answer as he petted England's messy locks. "Are you ready to go to bed?" America asked. England sluggishly nodded. America was saddened to realize England had been crying into the toilet bowl. Not loudly sobbing, as America would have done, wanting as much attention as possible, but just gently crying in silence. America wiped the tears away with the pads of his thumbs and (not for the first time) wondered if he asked too much of England.
Surely, if England was truly happy with the strange lifestyle America begged of him, then he wouldn't do this to himself. If he was really happy with America, he wouldn't get so drunk that he couldn't remember his own name.
America never wished to escape from England, but at times like this, he couldn't help but feel that England sometimes wanted an escape from him.
"I'm sorry, England. I'm sorry I do this to you," America said sadly, before pressing his lips against England's cheek. The green-eyed nation shook his head, perhaps trying to protest, but clearly far beyond the ability to reason. America scooped him up in his arms again and took him not to their secret room, but to the real master bedroom of the house. He tucked England into bed and kissed his forehead, and was grateful when the crying stopped and England fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.
America watched him for a long time, feeling a little strange and woozy, thinking about their relationship, and about the choices he made. He ultimately reached a simple conclusion. He was being too selfish. What had begun as a simple bit of role play here and there had somehow morphed into a lifestyle. It wasn't something they occasionally did—if they were in private, America was Meri, and England was Daddy, and he never asked England if that was okay. He wanted the escape so desperately that he let it snowball, and he surely had made England feel like the only way America was happy with him was if he was taking on the roll of caregiver, and tending to America's every need and whim.
"No more," America said softly. If he was driving England to drinking at the first chance he got to escape the house, then America had to stop. With determination, America left the bedroom for what he decided would be his last night in the nursery. He was going to have a normal relationship with England, in the hope that it would make England able to forgive himself for the past, and move forward.
By the time America reached the nursery, he was an emotional wreck. He was still determined, but the sight of all the things that had comforted him when nothing else could nearly broke him.
"No," America said harshly. "It's not this stuff that made me feel better. It's England. It's always been England."
Feeling the lowest he ever had in his long existence, America finished stripping out of his clothing. With shaking hands and tears pooling in his eyes, he pulled on a diaper and taped it up rather sloppily. He felt a blissful release as soon as it was on—not a physical release, but an emotional one. America balled up his fists and wiped at his teary cheeks.
It would be so hard to give Meri up. But he had to, for England. He'd always suspected the baby play was too weird. England was just humoring him. One day, he'd grow tired of it and he'd leave, to find a partner that didn't get hard from being allowed to suck on a pacifier. England would find someone that made him feel like an equal—like a fellow adult. In America's mind, the more frequent bouts of England's heavy drinking lately were proof that the time was coming sooner rather than later.
America ran his hands over the diaper shakily, trying to self-sooth and calm down. He could still be with England. He could make him happier. He could.
America crawled into his bed and clutched almost desperately at his bunny. Even that wasn't doing the trick. At one time, all the things in the nursery would have calmed him, but now America needed them paired with England. Without England there, he just felt alone and frightened and freakish.
America tossed and turned, unable to sleep because he needed a lullaby, and a bottle held by England, and a story, and then another story, and then England's fingers carding through his hair and his Daddy telling him how loved he was…how precious and safe he was, from everything and anything.
Still crying, America fetched a bottle from the fridge and tried curling up in the rocker with his blanket. He sucked the bottle dry but he was still upset, and now his tummy felt bad and his forehead felt hot.
America was trying to tell himself that he must be getting sick, and that he needed to abandon his last night in the nursery and go fetch a thermometer and some fever medication. Meri was working himself up into a terrified mess. He held out as long as he could, trying to resist with everything he had, but then he began to cry. Not the sniffling he'd done before, but hysterical crying. He cried out for his Daddy and flopped on the floor and pounded his fists and cried.
It only took a few minutes before the door opened noisily and England stood there, pants hastily pulled up around his hips, still looking a little unsteady but clearly more sober. He hit the light and blinked at the burn.
"Meri, baby, what's wrong? Daddy's here now. It's okay. I'm sorry I left you all alone, but I'm here now. Shhh, love, shhhh," England soothed, making his way across the messy nursery and crouching down beside the big lump under the blanket that was shaking with sobs.
America flung the blanket back and latched onto England so desperately that he made the other nation tumble backwards.
"Oomph!" England grunted in surprise. Immediately, he felt the fever on America's skin and cursed. "Meri-love, are you sick?" England asked. America nodded pathetically against England's chest. He hated being sick. It almost never happened, but when it did, it frightened America and he felt even more vulnerable and helpless than he usually did. It also tended to bring out the worst in America's personality, which didn't bode well for his resolution to give up Meri and his way of coping with the stress of the world.
Oblivious to America's internal struggle, and still heavily regretting drinking so much, England used all his strength to drag America back into his bed. He wiped America's tears away and cradled his baby's head in his lap, petting his hair and his trembling shoulders.
"Shhh, there there. Daddy's here. It's going to be fine, Meri," England promised gruffly. Gradually, America's sobbing reduced to sniffles. Finally, England managed to transfer America's head to the pillow and stand on protesting legs that had lost blood flow a long time ago.
"Daddy?" America asked worriedly. He reached out and clutched England's pajama bottoms, nearly tugging them off. "Don't leave! There's zombies an' I feel bad an' I'm scared!" England was a little startled by that. Even as Meri, America rarely admitted fear. It was likely the only way he could admit he was frightened and overwhelmed was while in the mindset of Meri, and even then he had to reach his absolute limits before admitting to such a thing.
Gods, England really needed to stop drinking so much. The last thing he wanted while dealing with a sick child was a horrible hangover…but he supposed it was likely karma or something.
"Okay, Daddy's going to the kitchen to get Meri his medicine. Do you want to come with me?" England asked. America nodded instantly and was out of bed, stumbling into England's hold and clutching him tightly. England pressed a kiss to America's hot forehead and soothed him a bit more before he took America's hand and led him out of the nursery.
They moved through the dark house only hitting things occasionally, and England turned on the kitchen lights reluctantly. God, his head was throbbing. He was never going to drink again. Seriously, this time. He meant that.
"D-daddy," America whimpered, pressing his face between England's shoulder blades. America was burning up. Distracted from his own headache by America's obvious sickness, England turned in America's hold and felt his forehead again.
"Meri, you're so hot, love. I don't know…we might need to drive to the clinic. You don't usually get sick unless it's serious," England fretted.
"N-no, no, no, no! Only want Daddy!" England sighed at that, but he also knew with his body rebelling against him, America likely didn't have the control to switch to America long enough to endure a doctor's visit. For some reason, he seemed especially fragile and clingy. It was almost as if America had forgotten the distinction between fantasy and reality, and was completely immersed in the world of Meri.
It was probably the fever, England reasoned. The last time America had been sick, they'd only been dating a few months, and Meri hadn't made an appearance at all. Instead, America had just been demanding and whiny and downright intolerable for a week until the flu passed. He'd even rejected England's offer to diaper him, telling him to "fuck off and stop trying to go all pervert on him," followed by a pathetic round of coughing and hacking.
This…this was very different. Even England was having trouble remembering that America wasn't really a toddler that needed his care. Just seconds ago, he'd been ready to bundle up America in the car in just his diaper and a blanket and drive him to an overnight clinic.
That would have gone over so well.
"Okay, Meri, you have to help Daddy. Where did you put the thermometer? It's not where Daddy left it last time," England said, glancing away from the drawer he was rifling through. America turned his face downwards and then pressed himself against England's arm, clearly deciding he didn't want to answer.
"Meri? Come on now, love. I need to check your temperature," England said. America mumbled and England couldn't hear him. "What was that?"
"I b-broke it! I was p-playing d-doctor and I snapped it…but M-meri was good and went to get a new one," America said. Still, he was holding something back. England narrowed his eyes.
"And…?" he invited. America sniffled, and blushed against his arm.
"I asked the lady at the store what thermometer was best for babies…" America admitted guiltily. England should have known.
"Alright, so you've got a rectal one. It's not a big deal, Meri, but Daddy needs to know where it is," England soothed.
"Baf'room," America mumbled against his arm.
"Okay, come on then," England said, snagging the bottle of liquid Tylenol before they left the kitchen. In the bathroom, he easily found the old-fashioned mercury thermometer, still in the box that warned it was only for rectal use.
'Well,' England thought with a sigh, 'It is the most accurate method.'
America trailed after him meekly, back to the nursery.
"Meri, lay down on the changing table for Daddy," England said coaxingly. America clutched him tightly.
"No! I'm scared! It'll hurt Meri's hole," America said childishly. England could only assume that America was actually expressing some discomfort at the idea of England having to take his temperature rectally. Sometimes, before they introduced something new to their fantasy, America would become highly apprehensive and worried that England would suddenly decide it was all too strange and leave him.
Still fighting off his headache, England pressed a kiss to America's pouting lips.
"Love, it's all we have in the house. I know you have a fever, but if it's very, very high, you need to go to the doctor. Now get onto the changing table and lay on your side, Meri," England said with gentle insistence. Stubbornly, America shook his head against England's shoulder.
"No!" he whined. England felt his fraying patience start to leave him.
"Meri, Daddy said to lie down! Now!" England barked. America instantly began to cry, and reverted to crawling. He'd only pretended he couldn't walk at the very, very beginning of their relationship. Now, if he was feeling accommodating, America did quite a bit for himself, even as Meri. Clearly, though, everything about the night was upsetting and confusing America. He crawled to the table on wobbly knees and flopped onto his side, still bawling.
England massaged his temples for a moment, trying to ease the ache and regain his patience.
"Daddy's sorry he yelled, Meri," England said quietly. It did no good. America was trapped in a feverish world of pain and disorientation. England petted his boy's side a bit, trying to calm him. "Daddy won't hurt you, Meri. Please try to relax, love," England said soothingly. When England's hand finally drifted to the tape of the diaper, America began to keen and whimper, pushing England's hand away.
"No! I'm dirty! Daddy will leave! Daddy doesn't want Meri!"
England swallowed thickly and knew that America had defecated in his diaper, and likely peed as well. England had changed a poopy diaper before, though it had certainly marked a new level of intimacy between them. Even as Meri, America knew it was embarrassing to allow someone else to clean something so dirty off his body, especially without gloves as a barrier, since real parents never used gloves, after all.
Back then, extending that level of trust to England had made America ridiculously happy. Obviously, it wasn't England's favorite thing to do in the world, but there was no denying that it made America feel completely vulnerable and helpless, and that complete relinquishment of control to England took America to a very blissful, peaceful place in his mind.
Not now, though. Now he was wiggling weakly in protest, certain England would abandon him in his time of need.
Which was ridiculous, because just hours earlier, hadn't America cleaned him up as he vomited like a possessed demon? Guided him to the toilet? Kissed his sweaty neck and petted his hair as he retched endlessly?
In England's mind, it wasn't any different. Love, whether normal or "unnatural" got a little messy sometimes.
Ignoring America's struggling, England untapped the diaper and grimaced at the smeared mess all over America's backside.
"Nngh—no! Daddy, don't see! Don't see!" America was facing the wall, and England was glad he didn't have to see the tortured look of shame in those beautiful blue eyes he adored. America kept trying to block England's view with his hands, requiring England to semi-restrain him. Luckily, being sick had sapped away America's strength. He was a weak as a baby kitten. England managed to pin his wrists with one hand behind his back and begin the task of cleaning with the other. He must have gone through an entire box of wipes, but America finally had a clean, fresh-smelling bottom.
The terrified nation was still trembling, and weakly tugging at his wrists. He'd curled his knees up to his chest, shielding his privates in the front, and burying his face into the fabric of the changing table. His soft crying was breaking England's heart.
England finally released America's hands, now that he could no longer get them dirty. Immediately, America pressed one hand protectively against his cheeks and curled the other against his chest. England closed his eyes tightly, beginning to have reservations. It was obvious that having his temperature taken in the ass was not something America was ready for in his sickened state. England thought nothing of it, but clearly America was embarrassed, and was trapped in a strange state of speaking like Meri and thinking like America.
"Alright, fine. I'm going to put on a fresh diaper and then we'll get in the car—drive to the store and get a thermometer that will just press against your forehead. Is that okay, Meri?" England asked tiredly.
England was surprised when America shifted the hand that was pressed against his backside and shoved weakly at England.
"Jus GO. The f-freak doesn't want to p-play anymore! I'm not a b-baby, and we both know it!" America forced out. "This is weird and I'm sick for liking it and you're just a lonely pervert and I don't want it anymore! I don't want anyone to see me ever again!" America shouted hoarsely.
England's throat seemed to swell shut. The most powerful being in the world lay on a changing table in front of him, face smeared with tears, drooling and shaking, at the lowest point he could possibly reach. His words had been hurtful, because they rang with ugly truth, and wasn't that exactly what England wondered himself sometimes? Was he sick in the head for playing house with a fully grown nation? Pounding into America's chubby ass while he begged for his Daddy? It was wrong, and sick, and completely unnatural.
If the world knew…they would say that America had cracked, and that he was a dirty old pervert taking advantage.
But…there was another truth there, too. There was a man who had sexual needs, yes, but more than that—a need to feel needed. Not just by anyone. It had to be America. It had to be America who relied on him, and trusted him so completely with everything that he was, the good, the bad, and everything in between. It had to be his little America, who ran to him because he had never forgotten how to see the world through the wondrous lens of child-like whimsy, who delighted in England's stories of knights and fairies and dragons. It had to be America who adored him as everything—as a father, as a brother, as a nation, as a lover, and as a friend, because it would not be enough to be just one. From the very beginning, America had chosen him. He'd trusted him. It was not sick that England was everything America needed in ways the others could never understand. They were just incredibly lucky to have each other, when they were such perfect halves of one whole.
"America…I'm not playing a game. This is not a fantasy to me. This is our home, and you are my child, and my lover, and my best friend. I will change your diapers, and tuck you in, and go see boring movies I dislike with you, and take care of you when you're sick, and defend you to the death, for lifetime after lifetime, because you are mine. You have always been mine, because you chose me. Even when I let you go, you came back, because will always be my boy."
"E-England," America gasped, and the words seemed to break down what little control America had. His whole body began to tremble and shake, and he was as limp as a ragdoll when England hauled him up and surrounded him with his embrace.
"I thought you were getting tired of me. You go out drinking so much, and I t-thought I made you unhappy. I w-would give up Meri forever if it meant you stayed with me. I'll grow up for you. I'll work as much as I can, and be strong, and I'll never throw another temper tantrum again! I p-promise I won't! I just want you to be happy because I love you. So much. So so much! I pushed you away once before and I was wrong. I need you!"
"I know, love, I know. That makes Daddy happiest of all. If you only want my happiness, and I only want yours, and the same thing makes us both happy…then I say fuck the rest of the world. You and I are the only ones who matter. It's only ever been just the two of us. Nobody else matters at all. Not a single bit," England said huskily.
"Daddy, please. Please fuck me, Daddy. Take me to the bed and make me yours. Cum so hard in me that my body will always belong to you."
"Yes, Meri, anything my baby wants. Come here, my love," England said, backing away and guiding America by his shaking hands. At the bed, they reversed positions and England pushed America gently down beneath him. He pushed off his loose pants and crawled forward, so that his hard erection waited for America's mouth. America scratched desperately at England's thighs and swallowed him down, his broad tongue suckling and swirling and sliding till England was nearly undone. England pulled back, his dick popping wetly out of America's puffy mouth. England carded his hand through America's sweaty locks.
"You aren't a freak, Meri. Daddy made you perfect. You're the best thing Daddy ever did. Don't you ever doubt it," England said huskily. America smiled beautifully, and nuzzled his cheek against England's inner thigh.
"I love you, Daddy," America said sweetly. "Show me how much you love me?" America asked. England nodded, too choked up to say anything more. He moved down America's body and parted those long, beautiful legs. He ran his thumbs in tight little circles over America's inner thighs, feeling the baby fat that had never gone, thank the gods. Soft and willing and breathtakingly beautiful. That was his America. All for him, and only him.
With no preparation, because he knew America wanted nothing inside him right then except his Daddy's cock, England pushed against the unyielding little ring of muscle and watched the tears spring up in America's eyes. They glistened over his cheeks in the darkness, wet and sparkling. His feverish face was already flushed with heat, but now America's whole neck and chest blossomed rose petal pink. America's arms wound up above his head, a beautiful twister, where he tangled them up in his airplane sheets and cried and moaned and begged as England fucked him like he owned him.
America's breath began to hitch and catch with each harshly gasped syllable—"D-d-aa-dd-y!" he cried, as England gave a final thrust and came and came and came, as America's slender cock constricted with spasms and spurted America's essence over his rosy nipples and his lips still puffy from sucking his Daddy's dick.
This time, England did collapse onto his lover, unable to even roll to the side. America fell still beneath him, his hands relaxing in the folds of fabric and his eyes rolling backwards before he simply passed out.
England panted harshly as he hauled himself up a few moments later, slipping out of America's slick, well-loved bottom. England's eyes widened in alarm when he realized America was passed out.
"Shit! I knew he was sick. I shouldn't have—" but England couldn't even finish the sentence that was such an utter lie. America was immortal. He'd recover. What he had needed more than medicine or a trip to the doctor's was a good, hard pounding. He'd be just fine. England smiled in the darkness and then pressed a kiss to America's sweaty brow. "After all…Daddy knows best, hmm?"
It took some serious effort on England's part, but he managed to reposition America on the bed and tidy him up. It took ages for all the cum to dribble out of him, all while America was blissfully passed out. When England suspected it was all finally out and America had cooled back down, he fetched the thermometer just in time for America to groggily recover.
"Daddy?" he asked.
"I'm here, love," England reassured.
"Good…Meri missed you," America said sweetly, bringing his fists up to tuck under his chin and cheek.
"Meri, Daddy still needs to take your temperature. Be a good boy and hold still," England said. Now, there was no resistance. America trustingly closed his eyes and allowed England to part his cheeks and place the cool metal, slicked with lubricant, against his stretched hole. England slipped it in, just an inch or so, with incredible ease. He petted America's hip while they waited. England had to smile when America shifted a bit, and clenched down his muscles on the slender rod. He looked coyly up at England, and puffed his bottom lip out in that all-too-familiar pout.
"I dun like it. It doesn't feel good like Daddy," America said, as he shivered rather cutely. "S'cold!" America complained.
"Meri, stop wiggling, or I won't get a good reading. It's almost done," England said.
"Nuh-uh! I dun' want it!" America petulantly popped his thumb in his mouth and squirmed away, causing the thermometer to slip loose.
England felt a little reassured. If America felt up to being naughty, then maybe the fever wasn't too bad. England gave the squirming nation a stern look as he shook down the mercury again, knowing it hadn't been inserted long enough to get an accurate reading.
"Fine, we can do this the difficult way then," England said simply. He rolled America onto his back and pushed his knees apart, and then leaned forward to hold him pressed in the position. America squirmed ineffectually, and removed his thumb so England could see his full expression of unhappiness.
"No cold stick! Meri wants Daddy inside!" America protested, as he slammed his fists against the mattress. England's cock ached. He wanted that, too. He wanted it badly. But first things first.
"Meri, I have to know your temperature. Daddy doesn't want to have to give Meri a spanking when he's sick, but if you aren't a good boy for Daddy, then you won't give Daddy a choice," England said sternly. America filled his cheeks with air and blew a big raspberry in England's direction, but he just as quickly turned his head to the side bashfully and let his legs relax open for England. England eased up the pressure and sat back, satisfied with America's obedience, even if he had to be a brat about it first. Typical.
Carefully, England eased the little rod inside and palmed his own returning erection as America's hole clenched and released around the slender stick. The three minutes of waiting was agonizing for them both. America reached for England's hand, the one not holding the thermometer in place, and began to suckle and tongue his fingers.
"Meri, you're sick. Are you sure you want Daddy inside again?" England wasn't looking forward to jerking off in the shower alone, but he also didn't want America pushing himself too much just because they'd had a rough night and had exposed some deep insecurities.
"Need Daddy inside so I can sweep," America said with drowsy eyes, after he'd pulled England's fingers free from his hungry tongue.
Finally, finally, the reading was done. It was a mild fever after all, nothing to be too alarmed over. Satisfied, England fetched the liquid medicine and poured it into the little cup. America was already shaking his head when England returned to the bed.
"No! Daddy's going to fill me up an' stay inside an' you pwomised no yucky medicine!"
"I promised no such thing," England said indignantly. "How else will you get better? Daddy's cock won't break your fever, love," England said, trying to be reasonable. "Don't you want to feel better, so tomorrow you can play outside?"
"Okaaaaay. Wan' bottle after!" America demanded. England agreed, and fetched a juice bottle. He straddled America and helped him to sit up a bit, and then pressed the red syrup against the nation's lips. America dutifully drank it, but scrunched up his face afterwards. It was such a cute expression that England had to laugh at him, just a little.
"Oh, don't make such a terrible face. It's just a little medicine, poppet. You've had Daddy's cock in your mouth—can't taste worse than that," England reasoned. America instantly shook his head.
"I like Daddy's pee pee in my mouth, but Daddy never lets me drink. You always finish in my bottom," America complained. Of course, that was simply untrue. England loved to deep throat America almost as much as he loved to fuck his sweet ass.
"Now now, remember what happens to little boys who tell tales," England scolded gently. America pouted, and then reached for his bottle that England held just out of his reach. "Ah-ah, America. What do you say?"
"Pwease!" America blurted, wanting his juice to erase the bad taste. England allowed it and let America begin to mouth against the plastic nipple. He repositioned himself behind America and lifted one of the boy's long thighs. He slipped in easily, as the lubricant from the thermometer still clung to America's inner walls.
"Mmm…jus' like that…Daddy," America said around his bottle, relaxing back into sleep and England gently rocked against him. America was only half-hard, and too exhausted to work up to a full-blown orgasm, but sometimes America didn't have to cum. Sometimes he just liked to be rocked to sleep by England's gentle lovemaking, though usually they did this in the glider with America straddling England's lap as they rocked and fucked.
England came again, with much less spunk this time, and left his softening cock right where it belonged. England pressed a kiss to America's bare shoulder.
"Goodnight, Meri. Daddy loves you," he said. America let out a huge yawn, and the nipple of the bottle landed softly beside his puffy lips on the pillow.
"Night, Daddy. Sweet dweams," America wished. At peace with themselves once more, both father and son slipped off into the untroubled world of dreams.
A/N: And I think that does it for this one. At least, I'm satisfied with the odd little world I created. I was so pleasantly surprised by the positive feedback on chapter one, and I sincerely thank each and every one of you for leaving kind words. It's kind of a big deal to post something so controversial and different, for me at least, but you guys made me feel glad that I shared. I hope you equally enjoyed this last part, and have a great holiday!