Where it counts
Sep. 26th, 2010 12:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deegeeakTitle: Where it Counts
Characters/Pairing: America, England
Rating: R
Warning: Dub-Con, dark
Summary: The world only thinks it knows who's in charge.
He was aware that as far as the world knew, America was in charge. A snort escaped him as he accepted the offered tea cup.
America led the way in war for him. He protected his back and guarded in times of peace. It wasn't uncommon for the nation to assume he'd go (and rightly so) along with whatever nonesense that had been dreamed up. Many of his own allies had referred to him as the 51st state, though never to his face.
When at those boring, dull, United Nation meetings, America would dictate when they left, when they arrived. He decided when to eat, where'd they all go and of lately, had taken to ordering for him. America's people would contact his, and tell them what hotel was considered to be the safest, and inevitably suggest a room, which would be connected to America's own.
The world assumed a lot he decided with another drink of his tea.
He'd smirked to himself when France spotted the wrap around his hand. It had been late, he hadn't been paying attention, instead trying to catch up on the newest Dr.Who (and really, this new one was a bit of a wanker even for the Doctor!), when his knife had slipped and nearly taken off his hand. He'd turned the air blue around and had been forced to go for his first aid kit. France spotted the bandage - he hadn't bothered to change it the following morning - and gone silently seething. Later he'd spotted America trapped in a corner with a furious France hissing trade implications, deteriorating foreign relations at the tan nation before stalking off.
One day he'd pulled a muscle playing footie in London's parks. Unable to walk right, he'd limped into the meeting and felt Canada's eyes linger on him. That night the two North American brothers had to be forcibly separated when their fight took a turn for the worst. Canada had been left snarling words in a strange language at a confused America as Denmark and Sweden held him back. As far as he knew, he smiled, Canada was still giving America the cold shoulder.
And at the very latest meeting, the night before, he and his brothers had all gone drinking. Hungover, exhausted and bruised from the bar fights ( it all got blurry around the time Scotland broke the barstool over his head), he'd dragged himself into his seat at one past two. Russia had spent the next two hours watching him. The surprise announcement of Russia's choice to maintain their nuclear stockpile came soon after the break.
He raised his cup of hot, black, English tea to his lips and sipped. America was really getting better at making tea the correct way again. He looked down at where the blond knelt , lips bitten between two rows of straight white teeth as he fought to not drop the tray. He reached down and retrieved the tray, setting it, and it's contents down next to him on the table. Such obedience deserved a reward after all.
He leaned back and twisted the dial in his right hand. No noise, just a sudden tensing of muscles and clenching of fists. Just as he liked America to be. Silent and obedient.
He knew the truth and it never failed to amuse him as America wore high collared shirts and long sleeves even in the heat of summer to hide the bruises and bites. He laughed at everyone's ignorance at why America spaced out on meetings - all the little toys ensured that America's attention was never far from him. Let everyone think America didn't care.
He knew different.
He spread his legs in a silent order and America shook as he swallowed him down as far as he could take him, gagging. He smiled at the world's ignorance.
America might lead the way, but England ruled where it counted.
Characters/Pairing: America, England
Rating: R
Warning: Dub-Con, dark
Summary: The world only thinks it knows who's in charge.
He was aware that as far as the world knew, America was in charge. A snort escaped him as he accepted the offered tea cup.
America led the way in war for him. He protected his back and guarded in times of peace. It wasn't uncommon for the nation to assume he'd go (and rightly so) along with whatever nonesense that had been dreamed up. Many of his own allies had referred to him as the 51st state, though never to his face.
When at those boring, dull, United Nation meetings, America would dictate when they left, when they arrived. He decided when to eat, where'd they all go and of lately, had taken to ordering for him. America's people would contact his, and tell them what hotel was considered to be the safest, and inevitably suggest a room, which would be connected to America's own.
The world assumed a lot he decided with another drink of his tea.
He'd smirked to himself when France spotted the wrap around his hand. It had been late, he hadn't been paying attention, instead trying to catch up on the newest Dr.Who (and really, this new one was a bit of a wanker even for the Doctor!), when his knife had slipped and nearly taken off his hand. He'd turned the air blue around and had been forced to go for his first aid kit. France spotted the bandage - he hadn't bothered to change it the following morning - and gone silently seething. Later he'd spotted America trapped in a corner with a furious France hissing trade implications, deteriorating foreign relations at the tan nation before stalking off.
One day he'd pulled a muscle playing footie in London's parks. Unable to walk right, he'd limped into the meeting and felt Canada's eyes linger on him. That night the two North American brothers had to be forcibly separated when their fight took a turn for the worst. Canada had been left snarling words in a strange language at a confused America as Denmark and Sweden held him back. As far as he knew, he smiled, Canada was still giving America the cold shoulder.
And at the very latest meeting, the night before, he and his brothers had all gone drinking. Hungover, exhausted and bruised from the bar fights ( it all got blurry around the time Scotland broke the barstool over his head), he'd dragged himself into his seat at one past two. Russia had spent the next two hours watching him. The surprise announcement of Russia's choice to maintain their nuclear stockpile came soon after the break.
He raised his cup of hot, black, English tea to his lips and sipped. America was really getting better at making tea the correct way again. He looked down at where the blond knelt , lips bitten between two rows of straight white teeth as he fought to not drop the tray. He reached down and retrieved the tray, setting it, and it's contents down next to him on the table. Such obedience deserved a reward after all.
He leaned back and twisted the dial in his right hand. No noise, just a sudden tensing of muscles and clenching of fists. Just as he liked America to be. Silent and obedient.
He knew the truth and it never failed to amuse him as America wore high collared shirts and long sleeves even in the heat of summer to hide the bruises and bites. He laughed at everyone's ignorance at why America spaced out on meetings - all the little toys ensured that America's attention was never far from him. Let everyone think America didn't care.
He knew different.
He spread his legs in a silent order and America shook as he swallowed him down as far as he could take him, gagging. He smiled at the world's ignorance.
America might lead the way, but England ruled where it counted.
