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Love That You Love Me

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It was a pretty average world meeting: Germany organizing everything, France flirting, England bitching, America telling stories of his heroics, and Italy totally oblivious to the rest of the world. All was as it usually was.

-Except for the fact that America was not seated beside England. This was odd, since as of late America would always sit beside England, on the other side from France. England would make sure France was kept under control, and not making any advances on America.

Today though, America was seated beside France, on the opposite side of England. A particularly daring move if the Englishman was to say so himself. France was always hitting on America in the most perverse ways, so why would the American put himself in that position?

England practically fumed the entire conference, being less helpful than usual. He couldn't take his eyes away from America and France. The way France would lean over and whisper into America's ear, or the light touches to his legs, or shoulders; merely the way France was looking at him made England furious. America liked him! Not that slimy perverted Frenchman!

For as long as England could remember, America had looked up to him, wanted to be around him. Eventually, as the nation got older, America had developed feelings for the older nation. America was open about his feelings, and though England told him that he could not return them, America continued to love England. No matter how much England ignored America's feelings, the younger had always stayed by his side, quietly loving him however he could.

Now he was on the other side of France, accepting and even returning some of the Frenchman's advances. What was America thinking? England watched as America blushed after France whispered into his ear. He had blushed. America had bloody blushed. England had never made the American blush!

England had practically run from the conference room as Germany dismissed them, unable to stand the flirtations between France and America. He leaned against the wall outside of the building, trying to clear his mind and calm his nerves with some fresh air. A cool breeze made him realize he had left his jacket inside.

England walked quickly down the hall to the conference room, wanting to be in and out of the building as quickly as possible. However, he was stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted America and France in the hall.

America was leaning coyly against the wall, looking right into France's eyes, smirking savagely. France was leaning over him, one hand on the wall beside America's head, the other caressing his cheek: No doubt speaking dirty words into his innocent ears.

Though America wasn't innocent in the same way Canada was -America had only endured a few hardships, and never been properly loved by another Nation- it still made England nervous just thinking of the things France might want to do with him. France was known to woo both men and women, treating them wonderfully until he got what he wanted. England could not, and would not, allow France to corrupt his former colony.

England took a deep breath, calming himself before closing the space between himself and the flirting couple, making sure to clear his throat loudly to get their attention.

"Excuse me Francis, may I have a word with Alfred?" A slight pause, trying to keep his voice level and calm. "Privately?" He added when France refused to move. America nodded at France, the older Nation finally moving away from his beloved America.

"I will see you soon, yes mon chere?" He turned away, blowing a kiss at America before winking and walking off down the hall.

America pushed off the wall and began walking away from England, the confused man giving chase. "Alfred!" The man would not slow. "Alfred! Wait!" What had he done to the man to receive such treatment? America made a sharp turn and ducked into a spare room not in use, waiting for England to bombard him.

"Alfred! What the bloody hell is wrong!" England yelled as he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

"What do you want Arthur?" The Englishman took a step back in shock; the venom in America's voice was startling. When had America become so angry?

"What's going on with you Alfred? You told me you hated when France hit on you!" The American was currently sitting on the edge of a table at the other end of the room, as far from England as he could get.

"Well I did. Though, after a pleasant conversation at the meeting I found he's actually a very nice person, and spending some… time with him would be nice. A lot nicer thanyou sometimes!"

"He's a pervert, you git. You know that!" He didn't address the second fact, all too aware he was mean to the younger nation at times.

England began moving, his steps echoing in the empty room. America moved in the opposite direction of England, always keeping a few tables and lots of floor space between the two. "Why do you even care Arthur?" America's anger had melted away; now it was replaced by sadness, his beautiful blue eyes brimming with un-spilled tears.

"Of course I care Alfred! You're important to me!" England tried another maneuver, moving around a table and closer, America moving counter to him, finding refuge behind another table.

"Well guess what! I'm even more important to France." America's words were in spite. Meaning to hurt the Englishman, and they did. However the hurt only spiked more anger in the Brit.

"More important? How could you possibly be more important to that pervert than to me?" He jumped across the table in front of him, quickly bringing him one more table closer to his target.

"France cares about me." The American looked down, giving England the time to jump yet another table closer.

"I care about you more than the entire bloody world Alfred! How could you possibly want to be around that stupid pervert?" They were only separated by one table now.

"Look, I know you don't like me the way I like you, Arthur. I know you're into Canada way more than me: I know you can never return my feelings. I will never be the most important thing to you. That's why I've been hanging around France. Because guess what? France actually likes me!" The American took a step to the left, as England tried to get closer.

"Yes But-" Another step left for both nations, each being slow, and deliberate, every step like an intricate part of a dance.

"Don't 'but' me, you asshole!" America snapped, his voice reverberating around the room. "You don't like me. So what right do you have to stop me from being with someone else?" England took his two steps to the right, America following, keeping the distance. Why did he care? Why did he feel the right to keep America to himself? He didn't like him. No, He just really liked the other as a Nation, not as a lover. So why was he so possessive of America?

"If I knew you were going to get this angry I never would have done it…" America's voice was quiet as he looked down. England took the opportunity, jumping the last table separating them and knocking America to the floor, legs pinning legs, arms pinning arms. England looked down at the trapped American, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. England smirked, noting that France wasn't the only one to bring a blush to the blond.

"Get off me."

No movement. America struggled a bit, trying to push England off, but with no success. "Please Arthur. Get off me and let me go… Haven't you put me through enough already?" Put him through enough? What had England ever put him through?

"I'm finally trying to get over you, and you pull this? Just… Let me go Arthur." The American turned his head, his beautiful eyes looking away. One of England's hands left America's, turning the almost sobbing man's chin towards him. He leaned down slowly, his hand leaving the chin and pinning America's hand once more. Just as he was close enough, the American jerked away.

"Don't." The American stated simply.

"But why not?" England spoke quietly, his eyebrows furrowing together, leaning down the last few inches until his lips met America's for the first time.

At first America resisted. His lips unmoving as the Englishman licked and nipped his bottom lip. But how could America resist for much longer? England was kissing him. The man who had been the star of his wet dreams for most of his teenage life, and more than a few of his mid-day dreams as well. Even into adulthood, America had been pining after the Brit for as long as he could remember. And now he was kissing him, his arms pinned to the floor as England practically begged him to open his mouth.

America finally gave in, his mouth opening and his arms giving up their struggle. He could feel England chuckle as his tongue slipped into his mouth, touching and licking everywhere. America almost couldn't hold back the groan as his tongue touched England's for the first time, the jolts of pleasure running up his spine as England coaxed his tongue into play.

That's when it occurred to England. He wasn't angry at the younger man because he loved him. No, he just loved the fact the America was in love with him. He loved how important he was to the man, how his words could make or break the nation beneath him. The fact that America had been flirting with France hurt him. Not because he loved America, but he was hurt that the American had found another.

Obviously, America still loved him. If the way he was kissing England had anything to say about it. America had even apologized, had even admitted that he would not have flirted if he knew it would upset the Brit. He had his America back. He could stop now. Right?

So why couldn't he pull away? The American had practically melted into him, his mouth willing and pliable as England ravished it. Why couldn't he stop? Why didn't he want to stop? He may not have been in love with the nation, but he loved the willing body beneath him, practically putty as he kissed him silly. It didn't matter that England didn't love America; America loved him. And a quiet groan from the blue eyed boy snatched away whatever logical thoughts England still had.

He broke the kiss, both parties breathing heavily, America's eyes filled with confusion and a hint of lust lying within. England shifted his weight momentarily, moving both of America's wrists to his right hand, his legs slipping to either side of the American's. With his left hand freed, he smiled down at his former colony, his hand trailing down his torso and snaking underneath his shirt.

America bit his lip, holding back the gasp threatening to escape as England's cool fingers trailed over his hot skin. What was England doing? He couldn't deny the man above him: He'd wanted this for to long. Yet it was so embarrassing, and so America tried to keep quiet as the hands moved about his torso, tracing patterns over his stomach and ribs without any rhyme or reason.

England's Mouth descended on America once more, not to his lips, but to his jaw, kissing lightly down the jawbone, licking at the muscles in his neck, biting gently at the collarbone, all the while listening to the little gasps and sighs coming from the American. England worked his way back up, a little rougher now, biting and nipping wherever he pleased, making his way up and nibbling on the American's ear lobe before licking the shell. "This doesn't change the way I feel, Alfred. Do you understand that?" He spoke roughly into the American's ear before another lick and nibble.

"You're just mmm… claiming what's yours. Nothing more." America had trouble keeping his voice even as England had began biting his neck once more, the bites becoming more certain and rough.

"Is that ok with you?" England spoke, kissing his way back to America's mouth.

"You should know by now Arthur, you can do whatever you want with me."

That was exactly the answer England wanted to hear as he crushed their lips together. England loved the way America molded into him, completely submitting to all of England's ministrations. Nobody could control the American like England, could stop him mid sentence, or before any rash actions. And here on the floor, only England could control America's body like this; pulling moans from his mouth like a hankie from a magicians sleeve, body jerking from his touch.

England's hand moved upwards, taking hold of a nipple and teasing it to perfect hardness, the American moaning quietly into his mouth. Pinching and rolling the little nub between his fingers, he could feel America's body arching towards the perverse touch.

England pulled away from their kiss once again, his hands freeing America as they moved to pull off the damned jacket, throwing it to the side unceremoniously as he began to unbutton the younger man's shirt. He felt hands in his hair as his mouth found skin, America's dress shirt pushed aside and forgotten as England's mouth worked its magic.

America was breathing heavily, his hands playing with the short, but soft locks of England's hair as the green eyed man tongued, bit, and kissed over America's body, his tongue dipping into his belly button, teeth scraping and biting his torso, his ribs.

"Ahh!" America couldn't stop the sound as it burst out of his mouth. England's mouth had found his nipple, his tongue flicking over the pink nub before sucking it into his mouth, teeth gently nibbling it as he looked up at the American.

Said American was currently panting, eyes screwed shut from the onslaught of pleasure from England. The Brit smirked; one hand moving from his torso to play with America's other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he continued his ministrations with the other. This other hand was slowly making its way down until it reached its goal.

America gasped, his grip on England's hair tightening as the older man cupped and rubbed his clothed erection, his body jerking up into the hand pleasuring him. England loved the noises America made. Of course the usually loud man would be equally loud in this situation, and it only made the Englishman more satisfied.

"Seems to me you have a little problem, Alfred," he spoke between kisses down his chest. He found a trail of blond hair under America's belly button, and couldn't help but be tempted to follow it, licking down to where the trail disappeared under his pants line.

"This just can't do."

England's hand's and mouth stopped completely, making the American almost whimper. Before he had time to protest, he found three fingers in front of his mouth. "I assume you know what to do." England demanded, his eyes a little clouded in lust as he stared at the American, his hand working on the buttons hiding his prize. America did indeed know what to do. His hands came out of England's hair, both eagerly grabbing England's wrist, taking the three offered fingers into his waiting mouth.

England's hands fumbled with the zipper momentarily as he felt the wet heat from America's mouth on his fingers. The way the American worked his tongue, slipping over and between them, making sure they were well lubricated as he sucked and licked the digits.

The pants didn't last long, England making quick work of the offending piece of cloth. To say America wasn't impressed would have been a lie. He was amazed at how England could get his pants off one handed with such efficiency. His boxers suffered the same fate, being ripped off America's body in very little time.

England pulled his fingers from America's mouth with a little pop, a small string of saliva dripping from his index finger as he smirked. "Spread yourself for me, Alfred." The American groaned, his body moving automatically, legs spreading apart as England moved between them.

The first finger felt odd. America had obviously never had his vital regions occupied. Japan had tried once, and America had retaliated with extreme measures. This was different, the feeling of England's fingers pushing beyond that tight ring of muscles, moving in and out of him in the most intimate of ways. England pushed another finger in, scissoring inside him, stretching his walls to make room for something much bigger than three fingers.

England could feel the other Nation clenching his fingers, only making it more painful as he added a third. This time America winced, the odd sensation mixed with the pain of being full in ways he wasn't used to.

"Relax, you stupid git. It will only make it worse." England tried to smile at the other before he leaned over and initiated another kiss, trying to get America to forget the burning sensation in his behind, and focused on the hot wet muscle penetrating his mouth.

England was quite the multitasker. The space in his trousers was no longer sufficient, and his spare hand went to work opening his own pants and releasing his hardened length. America was completely oblivious to this fact. He felt like England was fucking him with just his mouth. England's tongue doing things to him he had never thought were possible.

England broke the kiss, pulling back and looking over the beautiful blond writhing beneath him as his fingers disappeared into the American's core.

"That should about do it." England spoke as he pulled his fingers out of America, drying them off on the side of his pants.

"Wait." The American sprung up from his position on the floor. For a second England thought he was going to protest, stop them from going any further, and was about to push the other back down, not willing to stop at this point. But the American just sat up and leaned forwards, one slightly shaking hand pushing England back.

England almost stopped the boy as he watched him lean over, his pink tongue licking his lips as he smirked up at England. The Brit was frozen in shock as that pink tongue flicked out, running up the shaft of his erection, licking over the sensitive head before dipping the tip into the slit. England groaned; a hand coming up to America's head, as the man took his entire length into his mouth all at once.

He let his eyes close as the American sucked his cheeks in, creating a tight vacuum seal on the hardened length. America's tongue swirled over the head, licking and massaging tender protruding veins, teeth occasionally scraping lightly up the sides. Another groan rumbled in England's throat, his appreciative noises spurring the American on, a hand grasping what he couldn't reach in his mouth and pumping with vigor.

A gentle squeeze in America's hair had the blue eyed man humming around England's member, sending pleasurable vibrations through him.

"That's quite enough Alfred." England was having trouble speaking, the pleasure mounting quickly, if he wasn't inside America soon, it would all be too late. The pop sound England heard as America released his erection almost snapped England's control.

"On your hands and knees now. Quickly." His voice was gruff and full of lust as he watched the tanned Nation turn over, obeying his every command. "This is going to hurt Alfred. I'm sorry." England spoke quietly into his ear as he slowly pushed into the American, inch by antagonizing inch. He couldn't help but groan at the amazing warmth and tightness of the younger country. He found it impossibly hard not go slowly, wanting to just plunge into that heat and fuck the American for all he was worth. And he planned to do so. He just didn't want to hurt the man to much.

America tried hard not to cry, a few tears falling to the carpeted floor as England's engorged length pushed into him. His proud erection wilted from the pain as he felt England slide the last few inches, finally all the way in. Skin to skin, the older man waited, giving America time to adjust to the intrusion. "I'm Sorry, Alfred," England spoke quietly as he kissed the blond's back and neck sweetly. His hands were shaking from the pleasure, trying his hardest not to pull out and slam hard into the other.

America lifted a hand and wiped away some of the tears clinging to his cheeks. With his hands firmly planted back on the floor, he pushed back against England experimentally, feeling him push just that little bit further, a small jolt of pleasure shooting up his spine making him suck in a breath.

England was not one to ignore such a cue; he pulled out of America slowly, keeping the same speed as he pushed back in. A quiet groan fell from his lips as he was engulfed by America's tightness once more. The American pushed back against England again, wanting to pick up the pace, and England was all too willing to comply. His hips pulled back further, hands gripping America's hips, pulling the man closer to him as his own hips thrust forwards, harder and faster than before. England's hand reached around, coaxing the American's wilting length back to life.

Their ragged breaths seemed loud compared to the silence of the room, broken only by a loud cry from the American. "Oh god! Arthur, what was that? Do it again!" the American yelled; his entire body shuttering at the shock of pleasure shooting through his entire body. England smirked, angling his hips the same way, snapping them forwards, making the blond beneath him moan loudly once again. "That, my dear boy, is your prostate." The last word was punctuated by another hard thrust into America.

England smiled; now that he knew America was enjoying himself he could really get down to business. Slamming himself into America, the slapping sounds echoing around the room like the sound of America's cries of pleasure.

England put more effort into pumping the mans length, his strong pumps matching the grueling pace of his thrusts into the other man, his grip tightening and slackening as he sped up and slowed down. America moaning and cried out at each thrust as England made sure to hit his prostate each and every time.

America could feel it. The pricking in his lower half signaling that he was close. The pleasure of England slamming into him, the hand stroking him with equal intensity. "Arthur… more… please!" And the older man delivered. All rhythm lost in favour of power and speed America's hands slipping forwards from the force of the thrusts. His moans uncontrollable falling from his mouth as he felt the icy spiral of orgasm exploding inside him.

One last hit to America's prostate had the man coming, his seed spilling over the floor and Arthur's hand. England was not far behind, a few thrusts into the clenching tightness of America had him releasing inside him, moaning his name as he slumped onto the others back.

He pulled out of America, watching as some of his own seed spilled out of that delicious hole. America had fallen to the floor, his arms and legs giving in after his orgasm; now he was panting on the floor, exhausted.

Arthur inspected his hand, looking at the semen that had collected on his hand before licking the salty substance off. He pulled his hanky from his breast pocket wiping his hands clean before looking back to the disheveled man on the floor. He leaned over, kissing America's neck before turning him over. He looked into those shining blue eyes, his mind clearly still running on the post orgasm adrenaline. England smiled as he leaned over, using the handkerchief to wipe some of the seed from America's chest.

England lay down beside his younger counterpart, pulling America's head to rest on his chest: England always had been soft for snuggling after sex. America hummed in approval, one arm swinging over England's body in a half-assed hug.

"Don't you ever pull a stunt like that on me again. Do you understand, Alfred?" England spoke sternly at America, turning his head so that America had to look him in the eye. America merely nodded, smiling happily as he hugged the other man. England leaned forwards slowly, kissing the American gently, as he rubbed the other's back. "This doesn't change anything though. I still don't love you." England spoke up again matter-of-factly.

America thought distantly that England's comment should have hurt. But how could such words hurt when he was snuggled warmly against the man speaking them? America smiled, leaning forwards and initiated a kiss, this one longer and more sensual, England's tongue easily sliding into his mouth.

America couldn't help but smile into the kiss. Maybe it wasn't time to give up on England just yet. There could still be hope.