shibbyone (shibbyone) wrote,

[APH] Let Them Come [UKUS]

Title: Let Them Come
Rating: R
Warnings: UK/US, forbidden!sex, background GerIta
Characters/Pairings: UK, US; UKUS with background GerIta
Summary: The UN bans personal relationships among nations. They don't take this very well.
Notes: Not only is this a) another post but it's b) not a kink meme de-anon. I know, shocking. This was a plot thingy "what-if" I had floating around for AGES. Anyway, uh, enjoy.


The first recorded instance of it occurred in 1944. Ludwig had been sitting cross-legged along a cold stone floor, back to the wall, staring at the ceiling, his elder brother standing beside him, puffing on a cigarette that tasted like ash.

“I can’t do it,” Ludwig murmured once more. Somewhere nearby, a secretary was idly copying over minutes from a meeting, the clacking of the keys of the typewriter cutting down on the sound from the two nations sitting only feet from him. But he heard them all the same.

“I know, Ludwig.”

“I just... I can’t. I can’t be angry with him.” Smoke trailed from Gilbert’s nostrils.

“Try telling Goebbels that.”

“I don’t care, Gilbert. I love him.”

It was always the best when he was laid out in front of him, a smorgasbord of toned flesh and pink skin, lips parted, eyelids dimmed, irises shining beneath dark frames.

The secretary raised an eyebrow, stopped typing and jotted something down on a piece of paper beside him, inconspicuously resuming his monotonous typing. Ludwig sighed and placed his head in his hand, rubbing his temple.

“What am I... I love him, what am I going to do...”

Arthur pressed his lips against that inviting mouth, hands reaching every part he could touch, dragging his fingernails over Alfred’s shoulders and neck, growling and panting in between perfect rows of white teeth. He had the younger pinned beneath his knees, his thighs clamped on either side of his waist, hunched over and tasting every inch of his lips that Arthur had been denied for so long.

Somehow, the note that the secretary had made worked its way to Churchill in 1946. Although nations were discouraged from friendships with enemies, being forbidden to engage with others was never something that had been entertained for as long as nations existed. But once it was proposed, certain members of Parliament thought it would be a good idea.

The Allied Control Council quickly agreed once they received wind of the threats Alfred had given to Ivan at the last World Meeting. Friendships between nations that were at arms with each other only led to escalated violence, especially once those friendships went sour.

By 1989, all relationships between nations were effectively banned, most importantly romantic entanglements, for they “sullied the strength of allied pacts”.

“You’re so beautiful, my darling,” Arthur mumbled through Alfred’s skin. The cheap polyester of the bedspread rubbed at his knees but he didn’t care. He pushed Alfred’s glasses up into his golden hair and then tossed them aside, replacing the spectacles with his long weathered fingers. Alfred only hummed in response, arching his back to Arthur’s touch and pressing his hips against Arthur’s. His jeans felt too tight. Arthur opted to slide from his lips to his cheek, nipping at his ear, tugging tufts of blonde hair between his fingers. “So, so beautiful.”

At first, there had been discontent. Nations having interpersonal relationships was never a problem in the past; wasn’t their purpose to be able to empathize with their citizens? Having relationships is the basis of human interaction.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but what’s done is done,” Thatcher said without even looking up as Arthur stormed her office, hands clenched into fists. She simply frowned and continued reading whatever report had landed on her desk.

“You—do you even understand what our purpose is?” he asked, enraged with his prime minister. Thatcher raised her eyebrows and glanced at Arthur, her lip twitching. “I have people who support me, Prime Minster, there are groups forming all over the world—we are not simply tools—“

“This decision was for the safety of our people, Arthur,” Thatcher replied cooly. “If you look at the document carefully, I think you’d agree. Parliament, the UN, the EU, even Her Majesty all agree.”

“Mmph, Arthur,” Alfred murmured as said nation pulled his hair so hard his head jerked back against the duvet and Arthur sucked at his throat, causing Alfred’s knees to bang together and his chest to heave. “A-Arthur, ahh, I-I forgot to tell Kiku—”

“Shh,” Arthur said, moving to kiss the junction of Alfred’s ear and spine. “Kiku knows this old song and dance, Alfred, he won’t slip up.”

“Mmm,” was all Alfred could respond. He was already putty in Arthur’s experienced hands. Being separated for so long certainly made Alfred easier to seduce, for he could feel the younger trembling beneath him. Arthur unzipped his jeans and pulled them down over Alfred’s hips and thighs, brushing his fingertips against his inner thigh, causing Alfred to gasp.

“You’re so tense, darling,” Arthur murmured. Alfred snickered.

“Frustrated,” was all he could say. Arthur had to choke back a laugh.

“Sometimes I think introducing you to the world of sex was the worst thing for you, my love.”

World Meetings became more like a paparazzi parade. In 1991, when they held the first complete World Meeting in only God knows how long, men and women in dark suits wearing intimidating glares outnumbered the nations. It seemed as if nothing could get done with their presence. What they were doing, no one could figure out; it was as if world leaders had thought their new regulations would somehow equal into a world-wide knife fight if the nations were left alone together.

Or their even worse fear, an orgy.

Alfred’s harsh breaths caused Arthur’s bangs to flutter against his forehead, and Alfred leaned in and laid a sloppy kiss to his pink forehead as Arthur licked and nipped at a part of the younger’s neck, only moving down to his shoulder as Alfred pushed on his head in annoyance.

“No... no neck,” Alfred murmured as he nuzzled Arthur’s hair. “ ’Member, Art, no neck.”

In 1994, when the security detail had lessened considerably, one unfortunate suit (hired by Alfred’s boss) happened to stumble onto the wrong floor, opened an ajar door—and found Ludwig and Feliciano in a compromising situation.

Two days later the world seemed to implode with anger and confusion; half the politicians were up in arms, the other half placing blame, and a very small portion that didn’t even register were saying “So what?” But they were never listened to.

Feliciano locked himself in his house for four days. It wasn’t until someone was finally able to get past Romano, up the stairs and through the door, to see that Feliciano hadn’t been there in days anyway; he’d at some point escaped out the window.

“Tell me you want me,” Arthur murmured into Alfred’s ear as he bit his earlobe. “I want to hear you say it.” Alfred had all but buried his flushing face into the pillow, his limbs trembling beneath Arthur’s fingers. They were pressed flush against one another, Arthur’s fingers finding their way all over his body, hitting every single nerve that lived just beneath his skin.

“I-I have always—” Alfred began, his voice cutting out and being replaced with a sharp intake of breath, and then “...wanted you.” Arthur smiled into his neck and he kissed his ear, his stomach churning with anticipation and his skin electrified.

“Say... say it again.”

“I want you. You’re the only person I want. I love you.”

It wasn’t until 1999 that Alfred found out just what happened to Feliciano. He heard it from his brother, who, being as quiet as he was, had kept it hidden for years. Oddly enough (or not, really) Ludwig had vanished within the same week as Feliciano. And then suddenly, it was as if they had never even existed; Bavaria was shoved into Ludwig’s place, and Romano reluctantly picked up the slack. Even Gilbert gave a hand in, although he seemed far more reluctant to be a nation than he had been.

Matthew was drunk, from the huge, cheap bottle of Svedka that Alfred had been trying to get rid of for three months, when he laid his head back and spilled the beans.

“Y’know what’s great about my country? Two nations can live in it and never be detected.”

“H-hurry up, Art,” Alfred murmured. Arthur was too busy reacquainting himself with Alfred’s body, the one he hungered for and was never allowed. “We’re gonna r-run out of time and then my boss is gonna show up again—” Alfred bit his teeth together, threw his head back, and stifled the undignified sound that came from his throat. Arthur had just given him a few hard strokes to shut him up so he could concentrate on what he was doing.

“Because you’re an impatient bumpkin...” Arthur whispered against his chest as he trailed kisses down over his heaving breaths. Alfred squeezed his eyes closed and waited for the bizarre, stinging sensation of being prepared, when suddenly, his groin was enveloped in wet heat and he dug his toes into the mattress, arching his back and panting.

“...what?” Alfred had said slowly, leaning forwards on his knees and furrowing his brow. “What…. What do you mean?”

“Feli—” Matthew burped loudly, placing on hand to his chest and the other over his mouth, rolling his eyes with giggles and slumping farther down into the carpet, toes brushing through the fibers.

“Feli and Ludwig,” Matthew started again, and he preened at how shocked Alfred looked in response to such an admission. “They—they live here,” Matthew said, pointing down at the floor. “In Ontario.”

“You’re shitting me,” Alfred said, dropping his glass onto the coffee table at his side and moving up closer to his brother. “Shitting me. They live here? Without anyone knowing who they are?”

“Yup,” Matthew said, bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a hearty gulp. “They’ve lived here since they vanished. I knew all the time but—well, I wasn’t gonna tell anyone, and nobody ever asked me anything ‘bout them—hic—anyway.”

“Ah—ah! Arthur,” Alfred panted, and he gripped the back of Arthur’s head, digging his nails through sandy, tousled locks that were really too long now, so long that when Arthur glanced up at the younger nation Alfred was surprised at how brightly his eyes shone behind his shimmering blonde veil. The elder had Alfred’s erection firmly in place with his mouth in tongue, hunching his shoulders and smiling as best he could as Alfred wiggled and squirmed, shoving the blanket and then his own fist into his mouth to stop from crying out as Arthur sucked with his devilish mouth.

This was the best part, although Arthur wasn’t sure how much of Alfred’s writhing was caused simply by him or finally having an outlet for his sexual frustration. Either way, Alfred’s face was a delightful pink with red cheeks, his lips shining and swollen, hair disheveled and shining against his dark skin. The entire scene was just delicious and the blood was rushing behind Arthur’s ears just at the sight of Alfred melting to pieces before his eyes.

The most frustrating part was, they only had five more minutes, tops.

In 2002, word got out among the nations that Ludwig and Feliciano were still alive somewhere when Romano accidentally lost his folder filled with Feliciano’s letters. Feliciano wisely never revealed their hiding place in those letters but it was obvious they were coming from someplace in North America.

In anger, the UN, having thought the issue of “international relations” had been put to rest, sought out to find the two nations and put them on trial for treason.

Matthew threatened Alfred with a broken bottle that he’d knife his brother in the throat if he ever revealed what he knew about the two rogue nations. Alfred swore he’d never tell.

By 2005 same-sex marriage was legal in Canada and the UN began to realize that in a world still adjusting from the World War II, maybe focusing on the personified nations’ relationships was becoming less important.

Neither Feliciano nor Ludwig ever found out just who paid for their wedding, or their new house in Ontario.

Arthur took him in as far as he could, licking his tongue against the base of his cock, using his hands to hug his hips—everything that he could think of that Alfred enjoyed. Alfred still had his right hand shoved between his teeth, biting down hard and fast, and even though he could feel the splitting skin and the copper taste on his tongue he knew having cut fingers was a much better punishment than what would happen were they caught,

As Alfred’s body tensed and everything seemed to light up around him, he briefly wondered if the walls were too thin and the windows too clear; it seemed impossible that their love and passion could be concealed in a cheap hotel off the highway, where the door barely kept their actions concealed. The walls were water-logged cardboard and the windows were cracked, letting the air breathing from the nostrils of the UN and their moral high dance around them.

But as soon as the thoughts entered his head they left, and Alfred closed his eyes and dropped his fist from his mouth because he shoved a pillow over his face as he came, his body convulsing and jerking and rocking with sweat and delight. When Alfred’s body stopped trembling enough for him to pull the pillow down from his face, he caught Arthur licking the corner of his mouth and giving Alfred a sly grin.

“I worked a little harder so you’d come faster,” Arthur said as he crawled over the limp form lying on the bed. “So we’d have a little more time leeway.”

“I don’t care,” Alfred said, sliding down into the pillows, staring up at Arthur’s face as he perched above the American nation. “Let them catch us, I don’t care anymore. We should stage a love-in and freak them all out.” Arthur chuckled and pressed his lips against Alfred’s forehead, breathing in his sweat-soaked scent. “Let them. I dare them.”

Nations just became craftier. They came up with more elaborate lies and ruses, creating systems that involved four or five people in order to keep the UN and their respective bosses in the dark about their activities. Nations that didn’t normally enjoy working together bent foreheads while trying to come up with ways to just be together with the ones they loved, even if those people weren’t necessarily other nations; some nations had affairs with humans that ran deep and Francis discovered (the hard way) that this was also frowned upon by the UN.

“It’s as if they’re trying to strip us of the one thing that makes us level with humans!” Francis spat in anger as he relayed his story two, three more times at the following meeting. “Do they even get it?”

“I don’t t-think—” Arthur began but his voice died in his throat as he felt a pair of warm, calloused hands surrounding his length and giving him a gentle squeeze, much to his surprise. He closed his eyes and groaned at the sensation coursing through his veins.

“A-Alfred, we don’t have time,” he said as Alfred kissed his collarbone. “We have to leave in… three and a half minutes if we want to be late.”

“Don’t care,” Alfred murmured as he licked up Arthur’s throat, causing Arthur to shiver. He had released somewhat at the sight of Alfred’s orgasm, but he hadn’t fully reached his peak; he was fine with that if it meant they didn’t get penalized and they’d get to see each other more. But Alfred wasn’t a selfish lover.

“I want to hear you moan,” Alfred mumbled as Arthur pressed his forehead against Alfred’s, breath coming in quick gasps of pleasure. “I-I want—I love—”

“I love you,” Arthur said in a hushed voice. “I love you, I love you, I l-love you.”

At some point, someone somewhere in a political pundit’s office brought up the question of, “why aren’t the nations allowed to have relationships again, exactly?” And no one can answer because no one can really remember why. The year was 2009, it was February, and half the world was thrown into a recession without any warning whatsoever.

“They’d probably be less depressed if they were allowed, y’know,” the person said.

By that time, nations had made an intricate habit of going behind backs.

“I—ahhhhhooohhhh,” Arthur breathed, and Alfred kissed and bit his lips as he came, sweating and moving and panting, and then they were even. Arthur melted into Alfred’s arms and they lay practically pasted together, simply breathing.

“It’s easier to just…. Let it be,” the pundit replied. An air of unease settled over the room and the discussion was dropped.

Later on, Alfred would realize that turning his phone to silent was a terrible idea, since Kiku had texted and called him two dozen times to let him know what was about to happen.

But at that moment, Arthur’s eyelids fluttered closed, and he was enclosed in a cocoon of sweat and other bodily fluids and sheets and Alfred and there were voices and footsteps just outside their crude door.

“D’you think—” Arthur started but Alfred shushed him, placing a finger to his lips. He smiled at his partner and then glanced his baby blues towards the door.

“I don’t care anymore,” he said. “Let them come.”

The door came off two hinges.


I originally wanted to end it stating something about the situation after they're caught but I just left it ambiguous because nothing fit. This was a ficlet I had started aaaaaaages ago that I just re-discovered; one of those "what if" scenarios, y'know? Anyway.
Tags: america, england, pairing: usukus, rating: r

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