Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

High Treason	By : Rhov Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1931 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Hetalia: Axis Powers is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. I make no profit from this

Chapter List
- 1-High Treason
- 1
"If this be treason, make the most of it." - Patrick Henry

High Treason

a Hetalia fanfic

by Rhov
This was high treason. Not only was he going against his fellow Patriots by consorting with the enemy, but King George III had declared that all of these upstart rebel Colonists were guilty of high treason. "If a man do levy war against our lord the king in his realm" so went the law, and America had declared war, not against Parliament, but against the King of England...not just treason, but high treason, accompanied by the utmost worst punishment the British Empire could dole out: hanged, drawn, and quartered.
The torturous execution was gruesome: the man was dragged roughly behind a horse to the gallows, hanged until not quite dead, then cut down while choking. He was strapped down, gutted, the entrails pulled out and burned while the person was still alive. Finally, mercy came by beheading the treasonous criminal, but that was followed by total desecration, the body being chopped into four pieces, and then instead of handing the body back to the grieving family, the remains were at the disposal of the king. It could turn the stomach of the strongest man, yet high treason did not end there. The guilty person lost all land, and all of his immediate family also lost their land, any honorable titles, their fortune was stripped, and they were no longer allowed to run a business, utterly ruining the family for the next generation.
Alfred F. Jones did not have to worry about the next generation yet. He did not have to worry about land, either. If this war failed, there would be no America anymore, and all the patriots would be rounded up, either to be fined heavily, rot in jail, or for ranked officers like him...executed. It was a battle for survival.
So why was he here with the enemy? Why was he risking his life, his people, the next generation of Americans, all for some insane rendezvous? Madness! Utter lunacy!
Yet standing in the dark, hidden behind the drapes of a posh bedroom, inhaling the familiar smells of the one he trusted most, Alfred could not back down. Retreating was for cowards, and he was the Hero! Fears of capture and punishment were put aside when he heard footsteps clopping up the hall and recognized the pace.
His heart pounded, not out of fear of being hanged, drawn and quartered, but in eagerness.
The door creaked open. "Good eve to you, Margaret."
"Good eve, Lord Kirkland. May God grant ye good dreams."
"Pray the Lord ends this war soon so we can all go home. That would help me to sleep at night."
"As you wish, m'lord."
A candle entered, the door shut, and Alfred heard a weary sigh. Arthur Kirkland sounded utterly exhausted. Even the way his boots fell were slow and heavy, burdened in a way he had not suffered in a long time. Wars with France and Spain, he could deal with, but a war with America...
It almost made Alfred feel guilty. He firmly believed that it was time for Americans to stop holding onto England's hand. America needed space, independence, freedom to pick a fresh destiny. Parliament was doing its damnedest to keep the Colonists docile while still making a profit for the motherland. Taxes, tariffs, unreasonable demands that did not apply to citizens of England, only those who lived "across the Pond." The leash was preventing America's adventurous spirit, that innate wildness that had sustained the young country since the Europeans first met the Native Americans. Breaking free from England was a sad requirement and one hell of a growing pain for the fledgling nation.
"Dear Lord, what a bloody horrific day!" groaned the older man.
Arthur was still in his red uniform. Alfred thought he looked dashing in the lobster tails. Of course, Alfred was not in his uniform. No need to scream to the whole fortress that the Colonists had invaded. American fighters were sneaky, hiding in trees and dressing in clothes that blended with their surroundings. Except for officers and a few lucky battalions, most Colonist militiamen wore what they brought with them when they left their farms, and they fought with whatever musket they used for hunting game for their family's dinner. A revolutionary soldier looked like any other farmer or townsman. That was their advantage.
For tonight's little invasion, Alfred had dressed in the long, black coat of an undertaker. It was a profession people avoided, a grim job that was common in times of war, so Alfred was able to move around the garrison with ease. The black clothes also meant he could hide in the shadows like this. So far, Arthur had not noticed his presence. He had just sat at a dressing table and leaned over to unlace his boots. Only that single candle lit the expansive bedroom, leaving most of it in deep shadows. Alfred crept forward slowly. His leather boots stepped on the thick rugs with the stealth of an assassin. His blue eyes remained focused on his target, never wavering.
"I can smell you, you know," Arthur said vapidly. He glanced up into his mirror and looked at the reflection of the approaching shadow. Someone taller than him, but by the gangling build he guessed the man was quite young and inexperienced in combat. "Who are you, skulking about my bedchamber at this hour? If you've come to kill me, you'll find that not an easy task. Return to your mum, rebel. Hold on to her apron strings until you learn what true responsibility is like. When you do, you'll realize this revolution of yours is naught but a fairy's dream paid in ogre's blood."
"You always did have odd ways of phrasing things, Arthur."
Now the Brit spun around in his seat, his face shocked, his green eyes massive, gripping the chair to keep from falling over in shock. A smile flickered onto his face, yet he struggled not to express it so readily. It was not British to be so open with one's feelings.
"Alfred? What the bloody hell do you think you're doing here? If they find you..."
"They won't," he said with complete assurance. "Even if they did, I trust you to handle the problem."
"Easier said than done," the Brit grumbled, sinking out of his stiffened posture. "You'll be tried for high treason, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it."
"What, can't you put in a few good words with your boss?" Alfred chuckled, stepping closer into the candlelight.
"Like that mad sod would listen to me. You sure didn't!"
Alfred's steps stopped. "Ouch," he whispered with a sad smirk and tweaked eyebrows. "Guess I deserved that one."
Arthur dropped his head wearily. "You are an idealistic and stubborn git."
"Well, that's the way you raised me, right?"
Arthur glared at him. "I raised you to be a proper English gentleman, not a feral fool. You colonists are completely unprepared for war against the British Empire. Where countries like France and Spain have failed, do you really think you will succeed, with your musket-wielding merchants and farmboys-turned-generals?"
"I think we've done a damn good job for eight years."
"Yes, eight years of bloodshed, brother fighting brother, and for what?"
"For independence," the Yank said automatically and loyally.
"A fool's dream! You're naught but a child."
"Obviously, I'm old enough to shoot a gun, and that makes someone a man in this country."
Arthur punched his desk, making the candle flicker. "Dammit, you are not a country yet! You are colonies of the British Empire. You should be proud of that honor."
"I used to be," Alfred admitted in reflection. "I toasted to King George every supper...until he began treating Americans as second-class to other British citizens. Until he taxed us to the point of starvation. Until he passed laws that families who could barely feed their own children had to house British soldiers and give them all the food and wine they wanted, for as long as they wanted, with no recompense in return. There's something else that feeds itself in that manner. It's called a locust!"
Those emerald eyes narrowed. "Are you saying we're a plague?"
"I'm saying your soldiers act like pests. Those English gentleman ways you taught me: your own officers sure don't act that way. They rape the farms of their crops and livestock, and if a family who can't afford to house them dares to stand up for their rights, those bastards rape the daughters and burn the farm."
"A minority of bad apples," Arthur protested stiffly.
"One bad apple spoils the bunch."
Arthur inhaled deeply to push aside his anger. "I raised you as a good Englishman..."
"You were always away playing in Parliament or having tea with the king," Alfred shouted. "You were never here, Arthur!"
"After all I did..."
"I'm thankful for it all, believe me," Alfred cut in. "You took me in when I was a child, taught me to stand on my own feet, trained me in the ways of etiquette, educated me..."
"You still can't spell colour properly," the Brit grumbled.
"...but you taught me to be independent. All through my childhood, you'd come to visit and then leave me alone to take care of your house by myself. You were never around for long. I learned to handle some really challenging issues, and without much support from you."
"So since I couldn't hold your hand all the time, now you slap it away?" Arthur screamed in fury.
There was a knock on the door. "Lord Kirkland, are you all right? I hear voices."
"Blimey...hide!" he hissed, but Alfred had already dived behind the curtains that hid away the four-post bed.
The door opened, and a young maid peeked in. "Beggin' your pardon, m'lord, but I was concerned."
Arthur had on a nervous rendition of what he considered to be his British charm smile. "Ah, my dear Margaret. Just speaking to the fairies, you know."
"I...I see, m'lord. So, are there really fairies in America, too?"
"My dear, wherever the British flag flies, there you will find the fair folk."
"I must admit," the maid tittered, "the other voice I heard sounded quite fair indeed."
From behind the curtain, Alfred laughed, "Ah, thanks sweetie!"
Arthur glared at the bed.
The maid gasped. "Fairy folk?"
"There is an exceptionally vocal one with me tonight," Arthur grumbled. "Go to sleep, Margaret."
"Yeah," Alfred called out, "and ignore any noises you hear tonight. We're gonna do a really important-like ritual thingy, all arcane and crap, so don't bother us."
"I...I see," she stuttered. "Forgive my intrusion, m'lord, sir Fairy." Then the poor dim maid hurried out.
Arthur rose and stomped to the bed. He threw the curtain back and glared at the blond lying on the covers.
"Awesome bed, dude!" Alfred exclaimed, rolling back and forth over the plush pillows.
"I don't know what a dude is—one of your inane colloquialisms, I assume—but you are trying my patience," he bellowed. "Is this fun for you? Is it a game? Do you think you can't die? Well, you can...America!" He practically spat Alfred's national name, which froze Alfred in the midst of his playfulness. "I've seen countries die. I've ended nations! I didn't want to see that happen to you. I wanted America to remain a part of the British Empire forever, like my brothers Scotland, Wales, and Ireland."
Alfred stopped rolling and sat up stiffly in the bed. There was something about putting aside his human name and taking up the mantle of a country that could make America go from childishly foolish to dangerously serious in the blink of an eye.
"Maybe that's why we're at war...England." He said Arthur's national name just as bitterly. "You see us as brothers and not as children. You want to think we're all equal, yet you sure as hell don't treat us the same. You lord over us like a father while claiming we're equal like brothers. Those lies get a little annoying after a while, and you're only deceiving yourself." The moment of solemn scolding was over, and Alfred flopped back down, rolling on his back again. "Ya know, you'd make a horrible father, so demanding, preferring one over the other. That's why I treat my thirteen states as children. You're allowed to treat children differently depending on how big they are, yet a father loves each child equally the same. A child respects his father, but sibling rivalry is a bitch."
"Watch your language! And try to be serious for once. You are still Alfred F. Jones, a rebel soldier wanted for high treason against the king. We need to figure out how to sneak you out of here."
"Nu-uh!" he pouted stubbornly. "It took a lot of planning just to sneak in. I'm not leaving yet."
"Dammit, Alfred!"
"Yell like that and your nosy maid will be back."
Arthur wanted to shout more, but he forced his voice into a spitting whisper. "Do you think I like knowing the price on your head? Do you think I get a kick knowing what they'll do to you and every colonist who rises against the king?" His green eyes glowered through thick, lowered brows. "Have you ever seen someone be hanged, drawn, and quartered? I have. Most barbaric thing I ever witnessed. It turns my stomach every time. This war," he warned darkly, "will be the end of you."
The blue-eyed man gave a cocky smile. "Not if my side wins! Then I get to be a hero."
Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head at such bravura. "As I said: idealistic and stubborn." He laughed softly as he walked back over to his dressing table, picked up a wine bottle, and poured himself a glass of burgundy. "I wonder if I was ever so young and foolish."
"Francis has stories about your youth."
Arthur set the wine bottle down a little too hard, and his knuckles gripped the container until they turned white. "That damn flirtatious wanker!"
Alfred chuckled lightly. "Now look at who needs to watch his language."
He suddenly glared over at the Yank. "Why did you Americans have to get France involved in all this?"
Alfred put his hand on his hip in an arrogant gesture. "Oh really? Tell me, how is Prussian cuisine? As bad as English cooking?"
Arthur looked away petulantly, then tipped his wine glass back and drank far too much in one go.
"I went to Paris and gathered some French allies, you went to Prussia and bought some Hessian mercenaries. We're equal," Alfred said.
"Hardly! Spain followed France's coattails and are now taking Caribbean Islands left and right. They've taken all of Florida, too. Now even the Dutch are on your side, and I'm stuck fighting not only your little rebellion, but the Fourth Anglo-Dutch War."
"Wait, why would you fight the Netherlands?"
"Fool! Because they allied with you. Action calls for reaction. That's the nature of war. The Netherlands and France recognized you as a country, therefore they are in opposition to the British Empire."
"So because they disagree with you, you fight them? Sheesh! Like I said, sibling rivalry..."
Arthur cut in caustically. "All you think about is your own soil, what happens here, and not how your actions affect the whole world. Are you really so naïve? Well understand this, Alfred: the fighting isn't just on these shores. There are battles occurring all over the world, from Gibraltar to the West Indies and even all the way in India, all in the name of your little revolt, either as strategic locations or in retaliation against actions. France takes some of our warships in Chesapeake Bay, we lay siege to Pondicherry, and then war breaks out in Mysore."
"Huh? Whose cherry? And really, dude, I don't want to know about any sore you have?"
"You've always done so poorly in geography." Arthur let out a tired sigh, folded his arms, and looked away petulantly. "It's gotten out of hand, Alfred. The war should have been between you and me, no one else."
Alfred laid on his stomach with his head on his folded forearms. "Really, you're far too cute when you're upset."
"Am not!" he snapped. "Dammit, Alfred, try to be a little serious."
"I don't wanna." The cocky Yank hopped off the bed in a flash and took a few steps forward. "Shout all you want. Complain about the war all you want. You know that's not why I came here."
Arthur glared at him defiantly, then looked away in anger. "Obviously, you came here because you have a death wish and you want to try my bloody patience one last time before they hang you."
"I'm not going to die that easily," he smiled, and his fingers reached forward to gently caress Arthur's cheek. The way those tensed, bushy brows softened at the touch made the Yank smile. "At the very least, I plan to outlive you, old man."
"Outlive me?" Arthur exclaimed in amusement. "Dream on, boy."
Alfred continued to ease the anger out of the troubled face. "Can we leave the war behind for one night? It took a lot of scheming to sneak in here. One of my better plans, if I may say so. I don't want it to go to waste, and I don't want us to keep fighting without letting you know here, in the privacy of this room, that although I want my independence more than anything in my entire life...I can't imagine completely losing you."
For a moment, Arthur swore those sky-blue eyes were ready to weep, but a couple blinks pulled Alfred away from that emotional cliff. It made the Englishman proud. Perhaps he had taught the boy a little about British protocol and gentlemanly behavior after all.
In awe, Arthur breathed, "When did you grow up?"
"I've been grown for a while," Alfred smiled. "You just never noticed."
"No, I noticed."
Yes...he had seen the child he took in grow, get big far too quickly, and now the man before him was tall, strong, still a bit rugged, but he saw that he would continue to grow stronger...
If he survived this godforsaken war!
Arthur shoved that nagging fear aside. He was a British soldier. The price on Alfred F. Jones' head was high. The king specifically wanted him brought in alive for judgment. Not seizing the opportunity to arrest him was treason. Yet Arthur had known the whims of royalty before and defied them. Once again, he was spitting in the face of his king.
Silently, Alfred saw the battle that waged on Arthur's face. He did not use words to persuade. He was bad at words, anyway. He had grown up letting his actions speak for him, and that was what he did now. He let his fingers drift over the war-weary face, then back to the ears that stuck out just a little, just enough to make them cute. He heard Arthur's breath release in a shiver.
"Damn you," the Brit whispered in defeat.
That was the proud defiance Alfred had come to admire in this man, the "never surrender, only tactically retreat" attitude which Alfred strove to cultivate into his own heart. He had almost forgotten how large this man seemed at times when Arthur proudly held on to his dignity, despite being rather small in stature. Perhaps it was the British way, being nothing more than a few tiny isles yet ruling half the globe. They were constantly up against overwhelming odds, yet they never cowered. They surrendered only when there was an advantage to themselves.
Alfred would make sure Arthur got his advantage tonight.
Arthur raised his face with new determination. He had made his decision. Treasonous as it may be, there was no way he could turn in this boy...no, this man before him. He gazed up and met eyes like the clearest skies, not so innocent anymore, yet still woefully naïve of this world. For one night, they could be more than brothers, more than enemies, more than countries at war...
He wasn't sure what. Just...more.
With this new sense of determination, Arthur grabbed Alfred's cheeks and kissed him so firmly, those blue eyes widened, shocked at the sneak attack. Then, slowly, Alfred closed his eyes to the kiss and rubbed his hands over Arthur's body. The red uniform was far too bulky. He began to unbutton it, wanting to feel that porcelain-smooth skin once more.
Between frantic kisses, Arthur warned, "We'll need to be quiet. Even if a fool like my maid can be tricked, others in this house would not be so gullible."
"I can be quiet," Alfred assured, struggling with the complicated uniform.
Arthur hurriedly helped with the snaps before those long, clumsy fingers ripped off a button. "We have to hurry as well."
"Nope, I don't like hurrying."
"You can't stay long. Sentries change at the fourth bell. If you want to escape before dawn, that will be the best time."
"Fourth bell, got it."
Finally, Arthur pulled the uniform off and tossed it to the side, leaving only a loose, white shirt underneath. Alfred was ready to blindly reach out for that skin, but Arthur shoved him back.
"I know I may have...have...kissed you in the past," he muttered, ashamed of having taken advantage of a mere boy, "but it seems like you want more than kisses tonight."
Alfred looked amused by his timidity. "You could say that."
"And...have you?" he asked apprehensively. "Done this before, I mean."
The cocky expression increased as he repeated even more boldly, "You could say that."
Jealousy gleamed in the green eyes. Of course, Alfred was an adult. It was foolish to think he was still so sweetly innocent. Eight years of warfare drove men to do worse than sleep around with a few ladies.
"With men, too?"
"Ah." Now Alfred's cheeks colored. "That...well...once. Francis..."
"Oh God, please don't tell me," he grumbled.
"It was just...a thing," Alfred mumbled with a weak voice. "Just...he was visiting my camp, we saw a couple soldiers doing...stuff. I was curious, he was willing..."
"I said don't tell me."
"He said you and him..."
Arthur pressed a finger against those talkative lips. "No! Just...don't. Not tonight. 1066 is a year I wish to never recall again." To think that frog got his webbed claws on this poor lad was enough to make Arthur want to attack Paris directly. Forget their skirmishes in French India; he wanted to aim for the jugular! "So he...he showed you what to do. It's different than with a woman."
"He showed me some..." Alfred slowly dropped to his knees. "...and I have some tricks of my own."
He threaded the thick belt through the metal buckle and pulled the trousers down. He looked at the freed treasure with a bit of surprise.
"It's...cute!"
Arthur blushed crimson. "Shut up!"
"But it's..." Alfred wanted to assure him, he really did think the small cock was cute. It fit England so perfectly. Yet he realized this man with so much pride must feel ashamed. "It's perfect," he declared. He stroked the arousal, bringing a little more life to it. "Something this size will fit into my mouth. Absolutely...perfect."
He licked around and around the head, teasing as much as he could before taking the whole thing past his lips. It barely reached the back of his throat, which really was ideal. It meant he could suck as much as he wanted and not be scared about a gag reflex.
"Mmmmh, Arthur," he moaned. "How are you this sweet?"
The Brit lost his breath to those sensual moans and the moist sound of sucking. Alfred's mouth was huge, like the rest of him. He began to wonder just how big he was elsewhere, too. He ran his fingers through Alfred's hair, ruffling those golden waves. Big blues eyes looked up at him briefly, sending a thrilling spike through his blood, then they closed again, savoring the taste with a voracious appetite.
Arthur could hardly help but feel that this was how he wanted to see Alfred, on his knees before him, subservient once more. This was what he wanted, to have this large man kneel before him and have those blue eyes gaze up at him with adoration and awe. It always made him feel so...big.
Yet for some reason, this position was one he only wanted to see for himself. Somehow, right at that moment, he did not want Alfred to kneel before anyone but him. Not to France. Not to Spain. Not even to King George III. Only him!
"My dear boy," he sighed.
Those blue eyes opened again. Alfred pulled back, looking up at him, and for a moment this was the Alfred he remembered, a child with such huge eyes and the silly curl to his hair. This was his America!
However, then the man stood up, long legs stretched out, and he rose...so tall...so huge. Arthur was forced back a little by the sheer towering size of this man. The eyes were the same, yet they were not boyish anymore. They were dark, sensual, with glints of dire undertones. This was the new America!
Could he love this man the same? No.
Could he love him differently? He sure hoped so.
"Let's get you out of these morbid clothes." Arthur eyed the black undertaker coat. "Where the bloody hell did you find this outfit?"
"Borrowed it," he shrugged. "You'd be surprised at the places you can go by just telling guards 'Someone died.' They don't question who, and I'm technically not lying. Yorktown is under siege. Lots of people are dying."
"That's the truth," Arthur mumbled. And here I am, ignoring their sacrifices for a night of carnal passion!
"Don't think about the war outside," Alfred warned as he pulled the black clothes off. "Just think about me. Think about us, here, now."
Then, much to Arthur's shock, Alfred shoved him down onto the bed and climbed on top.
"What the...? Idiot!" he screamed, flailing about.
Alfred aimed his voiced for the door and spoke in a ridiculously high-pitched, imperial tone. "I, the President of the Fairies, deem you, Lord Kirkland, worthy of this sacred rite."
"President? What are you talking about?"
Alfred whispered, "Your maid is at the door."
Arthur blanched and looked to the crack in the door. Now he saw the yellow glow of a candle and two feet casting shadows.
"Do you see her now?" Alfred leaned down, pressing Arthur into the mattress. "She's standing right there, so you need to be quiet."
He kissed Arthur firmly on the mouth, silencing him. Then his hands rubbed over that smaller body. Alfred knew he was young, inexperienced, and this man under him had been with far too many people over the years, so the Yank was determined to show him what freedom and liberty could also mean.
He sucked his own fingers, then his hand slipped down between their bodies.
"Alfred! Wait! I know what I'm doing, whereas you..."
"I'm not living under you anymore, Arthur," the Yank said in a determined voice. "I've broken free, and so help me God, I will prove to you and the whole world that I can stand on my own."
He pressed his finger in, and Arthur cried out.
No! This was 1066 all over again, being dominated, being forced...
Except...
It wasn't forced. When he pressed on Alfred's chest, the young man backed away, but his finger did not stop moving inside. This was not like that hideous moment with France, being defeated and conquered. This was Alfred...no, America...showing his independence in an all-encompassing way.
"You may be the strongest nation in the world, England," the Yank said, adding another finger and slowly spreading him. That only proved to the smaller man that this was, indeed, an act of patriotic domination. "That only means my goal is to surpass you. I have to be greater than you are right now. I have to become a true nation in my own right, grow strong and firm, spread my wings, and when I can fly, like the noble bald eagle, I will soar above all others. I will surpass you." His fingers withdrew, he wiped them on the sheets, and then he pressed Arthur's legs up, folding him over. "From now on, it will be you looking up at me."
He thrust in, and Arthur gasped in shock. Such a huge man could have overpowered him, yet Alfred waited, caressing Arthur's cheeks. He gazed down with gentle blue eyes and burning red lips amongst such a tender white face. Such loving smiles helped Arthur to relax, to accept this...at least for tonight. He gave a nod, and Alfred sighed in relief. Only then did Arthur realize the Yank had been holding his breath in trepidation.
"I never wanted to hurt you, Arthur, and I don't now." He leaned over and kissed him with fiery passion. "Tell me when it's too much."
Arthur gulped at such a sensual threat and nodded silently in agreement. Then Alfred moved, and burning racked Arthur's body. He saw Alfred spit onto his hand (So crude! Really!) and slather it over his cock. When he moved again, it was easier. Thank goodness, but he was still just a young man, so he was not all that massive as Arthur had feared. Not yet, at least. The boy was still lanky and had plenty of growth still in him. Arthur just hoped this war did not utterly separate them. He wanted to watch the boy grow every step of the way.
Alfred thrust his hips in slowly, enraptured by the emerald eyes gazing up at him and how the flickering candle made them shine with flecks of gold, like those fairy tales of leprechauns Arthur used to tell him about as a child. He once said you could make a wish if you found the pot of gold.
"I wish we could do this again some day," he whispered, clenching his teeth as he felt such tight friction from his lover.
"Me too," Arthur moaned.
Alfred laughed softly, realizing the Brit had no clue that he made the wish on the pot of gold in his eyes.
The bed creaked slowly. The candle dripped and shrank. Every time Arthur began to cry out and thrust back with urgency, Alfred backed away, held still, said "Not yet," and only kissed him. It was...so...damn...infuriating! And so, so good!
"We Americans have a saying: 'A small body may harbor a great soul.' You don't have to be huge to be great, Arthur." He reached down and stroked the smaller man's cock. "You're already great inside."
Arthur groaned, wondering if Alfred really understood that his words could be taken in different ways. "Alfred...can't...anymore."
"Please, Arthur, not yet..."
"No! Too...too good," he strained out.
"Damn," the other muttered, and suddenly he began to pound in fast and rough. "Just...just wait...little more. Wait for me, Arthur."
The Brit reached down and grasped the base of his cock as he felt it ready to surge. He screamed as Alfred rammed into his prostrate. Those powerful hips hit in so hard, the bed pounded against the wall. Bam! Bam! Creak, bam! Surely, the whole household would wake up at this.
"Al..."
"Yes, now... NOW!"
Arthur released himself, and pleasure surged through him so intensely, he felt his poor, aged, tiny body shatter. Hot fluid spattered up his chest and hit Alfred on the chin. His eyes opened amidst such ecstasy so he could see the gaping mouth of his lover. Alfred was utterly lost in the moment, grunting deeply and shivering as Arthur felt the pressure fill his arse. Perhaps he said he had some experience, but the young man looked stunned that his body was capable of feeling this good. A sly part of Arthur's mind wondered if the feisty Frenchman was not as good in bed as he claimed.
Then the full weight collapsed like a landslide down the Appalachians. Alfred panted heavily, worn out, utterly overwhelmed.
"You were good, Alfred," the Brit praised, stroking his hair like a mentor to a student who had done well. "It was good, truly wonderful."
A weak chuckle shivered out. "That's awesome praise coming from you."
"Why? Because I'm old and experienced?"
The Yank pulled out and rolled over onto his side. "Mmmh...something like that."
They laid in silence, lazily stroking one another's skin. Outside, Arthur heard marching boots stomp by, and his face tightened in worry. Just above him, on a higher floor of the estate, he heard the creaks of someone getting up to walk around. He glanced at the door, but there were no maid shoes.
"You can't sleep here, Alfred."
"Just five minutes," he mumbled sleepily.
"No. You need to leave now."
Alfred opened his eyes, and they looked hurt. "I haven't gotten to enjoy the afterglow."
"You can do that later. You really have to go."
"But I don't wanna..."
"Oh for the love of Christ!" Arthur's voice went harsh. "Get the hell out of my room, you traitorous rebel."
Alfred jolted back at the caustic tone and blinked in surprise. Those green eyes were hard now.
"Do you really think you can just top me like that?" Arthur growled angrily. "I am Lord Arthur Kirkland. I answer only to God and the King. Get out of this house. Never come back."
Tears welled into those sky blue eyes, like clouds coming in for a storm. "But Arthur..."
"Get out, or I swear to God I will raise the alarm."
Alfred pulled back. Arthur watched him coldly as the young man moved away, pulled on his clothes, and continued to look at Arthur, waiting and hoping for him to call him back. The Brit did not back down from his stubborn decision, and Alfred knew that strong will would not surrender easily. With a disappointed sigh, he walked over to the window he had sneaked in through. He opened it, swung his legs out, but before leaving he looked back.
"Was it honestly good?"
Arthur gulped and blinked back tears. "The best in all my life." His voice quavered as he spoke those words.
Alfred smiled, a little cockiness back in his demeanor, before he dropped out and vanished into the dark night.
Arthur collapsed back into bed. He cursed under his breath and stubbornly wiped away a stray tear. Then he rushed to get his trousers and undershirt back on. He yanked out a rug with a pentagram weaved into it. With a slight ache to his hind side, he lowered himself to sit in the center of the rug. The second he settled down, there was a knock on the door.
"Lord Kirkland?"
"Yes, Margaret?"
The door opened with a loud creak. Not only was the maid there, but one of his generals had come, along with two local politicians with hands on their flintlocks. Arthur smiled in greeting.
"A pleasant evening to you gentlemen. Do forgive my shambled appearance. I have been deep in meditation with the spirit world."
The maid dared a quiet, "I told you so, m'lords. Fairies, I said, I did."
"Our apologizes, Lord Kirkland," the general said gruffly. "I thought I heard something go bump in the night. You can never be too careful in a place like Yorktown."
"Agreed, general. Could we possibly pull one soldier from the front gate to guard this house? If the colonists are going to attack, they won't knock on the front door."
"If you say so, m'lord." The whole group left. The maid peeked around quickly with huge, wondering eyes, hoping to see a fairy, before tipping her head and closing the door.
Arthur sighed. If he had not shoved away Alfred when he did, he would have been caught for certain. He likely could have done a better job of it, but he knew that come morning, they would be enemies again. Slowly, aching now, he rose and walked to the window. Arthur gazed out at the October moon.
Yorktown. Somewhere out there were American and French forces. Death and disease stank in this city under siege, and here they held onto the last threads of British pride. Arthur glanced back at the bed and wondered...how long until America really did rise above them? Even if the British Empire won this war, there would just be another, and another, and another, until finally that eagle broke free from its cage.
"Don't fly too far away from me, Alfred," he whispered into the night.

The End

A/N: I'm a history nerd and an American, so I'm going to bore you with historical details. Why? Because I can, and because I know one or two of you love to read my annotations.
Treason versus High Treason – The Declaration of Independence listed the grievances of "the present King of Great Britain" (not Parliament) against the Colonies and declared "they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown." That right there made the document an act of treason against the British Crown: HIGH TREASON. The 56 men who signed that document, as well as their supporters, were guilty of high treason. The document ends: "And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor." That line shows that these men clearly understood the consequences. Punishment for high treason was to be hanged, drawn, and quartered (women would be burned at the stake to preserve modesty) as well as all land, fortune, and honor stripped from the next of kin. General William Tryon was the only British commander during the Revolutionary War who actively carried out that barbaric sentence. Most captured rebels were merely hanged.
"That mad sod" – The insanity of King George III, the British monarch at the time of the American Revolutionary War, was highlighted in the 1994 movie "The Madness of King George III."
"musket-wielding merchants and farmboys-turned-generals" – The American Colonies had militias, not an army. These were townsfolk and country boys who volunteered to pick up their muskets if their area came under attack. Their training consisted of shooting deer for supper, and they knew nothing of military strategy. America did not have an official army until 1789, six years after the war ended. It had only a coalition of militias led by George Washington, the General and Commander-in-Chief. He later became America's first President (because we love war heroes). When Washington was not fighting Red Coats or setting the precedent as President, he was a humble farmer who grew tobacco and hemp.
"eight years of bloodshed, brother fighting brother" – From the first shots at Lexington and Concord in 1775 to the Treaty of Paris in 1783, the War for Independence lasted 8 years. Not all Americans wanted to break away from England. Actually, Separatists were a minority, especially at the start of the war. Many Colonists still had family back in Europe and felt proud to be British. The fighting broke apart some families.
Colour versus Color – Americans don't realise that colour is spelled differently and may be paralysed in offence at ageing Brits trying to fulfil their sizeable sense of spelling pride by labouring to make "colour" the favourite centre of arguments as they recognise that Americans organise their letters different in our encyclopaedias, thus labelling Americans as being ignorant...or so rumour goes. So when travelling to England and monologuing with a wilful Brit, don't make a marvellous arse of yourself by spelling out words to emphasise them or you may appal an otherwise likeable chap. If you do, rather than quarrelling, simply apologise like a civilised person and manoeuvre the conversation away from such sceptic, grey areas of dialogue into some light humour. Cheerio!
France, Spain, Prussia, and the Dutch – The American Revolution was not just about US and UK. Acknowledging its total lack of a real army, the United States asked England's long-time rival France for help. Always looking for an excuse to fight the Brits, France sent many fine commanding officers and seasoned soldiers...ironically, some of them would be involved in France's own revolution soon afterward. Seeing opportunity, Spain took advantage of England's focus on the mainland to overwhelm the Caribbean Islands. The Netherlands didn't provide much military assistance, but mostly just moral support, acknowledging America as an independent country, which England took as an act of aggression and started the Fourth Anglo-Dutch War. As England saw that the superpowers of 18th century Europe were combining against them over a silly group of Colonies, they hired Prussian mercenaries to deal with the dirty work that fine British soldiers would balk at doing.
Pondicherry and Mysore – The fighting was not just in the New World. In 1778, with England now just as much at war with France as with America, the British laid siege on Pondicherry, the capitol of French India, as an act of retaliation. Britain followed up the victory by seizing France's other Indian colonies, contributing to the outbreak of the Second Mysore War. The global ramifications of the American Revolutionary War is something not usually taught in American schools...which is a real shame. I think it shows how vital this act of "high treason" was for not just the USA, but the whole world.
1066 – The Norman (French) invasion of England, Battle of Hastings... Basically, France fucked England.
Yorktown – I planned to write about the Siege of Yorktown, the final major battle of the war, but I ran out of time for the 4th of July. American and French forces laid siege on the city, which ended with England's surrender on October 19th. Basically, America fucked England.
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

High Treason