Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Hetalia, or any affiliated licensed ideas.

Thank you my lovely reviewers. They have not fixed the problem of stories being stolen by mirroring sites, so... I will not update frequently.

Not meant to cause offense in any way, shape, or form. :)

I own nothing. Buwhahaha.

OoOoOo

He would have been remiss in his duties, had he not noted that his precious little colony fought like a veritable hell-cat against him. Though, she had a very chaste and demure look about her when one ignored the obvious righteous dismay pouring off of her in waves. Though the press of their lips had allowed him a moment's passing carnal pleasure, it was quickly lost underneath her howls for him to release her.

The kitten had claws, England was made aware of, as she raked her nails down his back. Light droplets of blood peppered his skin and stained his shirt. Honestly, the maiden had no thought as to the expense she had caused him. Had he not provided her protection? Had he not been the one she could turn to? Granted, that was after she managed to turn him a tidy profit. This was not by charity's sake that he had chased this little colony and finally captured her. Though, her impertinence would need seeing to. And with the utmost haste.

England did not allow even a moment's discomfort to appear upon his strong features. Nay. That would be but weakness. And, as the world had taught him repeatedly. Weakness was not to be borne. Yet, in his arms, -though unwilling-, his future bride was proven still intact. Upon their wedding night, the bed sheets would be hung from the window, proving her innocence for the others to see. All would know that she was property of his Kingdom. Unequivocally.

The sense of dormant strength within her, and how rapidly she had matured, called to him like a beacon upon the high seas. It heralded the final leg of the journey homeward. Her golden hair. Sun-kissed though it was often concealed beneath the staunch white cap, filtered through his thoughts. Without a moment's pause, he pulled at the homespun garment.

"Nay, Sir!" America objected with a plaintive wail to her words.

He would not take her maidenhead from her this night. Hardened green eyes shrewdly watched her. She was far more fetching with her hair visible. He tugged at the mass of golden strands. Allowing them to spill upon the rumpled covering of the bed. The firelight caught the strands in a playful dance of light. It almost made the soft strands look akin to a glowing halo about her head.

Ah, the puritans did not truly understand what they denied themselves. The people had claimed the need for religious freedom, but England did not truly understand their burning desire to deny all things that pertained to the flesh and wickedness. Wickedness was purely part of the world, thought God had often blessed the Kingdom and sovereignty of his shores. England knew the struggles of the unwashed masses and his lands had for many centuries been the place for holy pilgrims to follow after the bones of saints to beg for blessings.

Yet, even blessings as vast and numerous as those he had been gifted, paled in comparison to this visage before him.

She was gorgeous, like this. With limpid pools of azure staring up at him with a pleading expression. The clear tears welled in her eyes, and England mindlessly brushed one away with the pad of his thumb. Her lush lower lip trembled, begging him silently for another searing kiss. He would contemplate that in a moment.

America, his little colony, struggled against him. Her hands futilely attempted to push at his chest and free her from him. The Kingdom nearly laughed outright at the absurdity. He was her Sovereign lord. Her... master, for want of a better term. Soon, he would be both her husband and her master. He was a powerful nation. Feared by many. Loved by even more.

This little colony was no match for his resources and strength.

However, he gave the woman credit for her vain attempt. He was not even perturbed at her denial of him. Any woman of good moral standing would object to this. Most fiercely. His tunic was now stained due to her valiant efforts. A wicked smirk painted his features as he gazed upon the slight frown marring her brow.

"Now, America," He stated crisply, watching as her blue eyes honed in on his gaze. The predatory gleam must have been fairly evident, for she attempted to recoil deeper into the mattress of her simple bed. There were far grander and fine things in his Homeland than this 'New World'.

"Perhaps you would be so kind, as to inform me as to why you insist upon defying me?"

The question was a trap in and of itself. Nothing she would say would bring him to any manner of mollification. He still could see that wet-behind-the-ears milksop Canada near his precious colony. The boy would be gelded if England so much as caught a glimpse of him within English soil. America, clever but disobedient, woman-child, turned her face away from him.

"I beg of thee," she said quietly, "release me first Good Sir, that we might converse proper-"

"I expect an answer," England said with a rough note of seduction in his tone. "When I ask a question."

He watched the pulse at her throat race at his words. She swallowed silently. Shame and indignation were staining her cheeks a shade of red that he had only ever glimpsed upon fruit. Moss-green eyes glittered dangerously. His hand curled in the locks of hair now freed from their confinement. America let out a small cry at the motion, and her gaze returned to his.

England's lips descended upon that pulse at her neck. White teeth nipped nearly playfully at the creamy skin. A sharp gasp came from the maiden captured underneath him. The nation, clearly in control of the situation, merely closed his eyes. He laved his tongue over the spot he had bitten, savoring the taste of her skin.

"I will answer!" America shouted, nearly deafening him. "Cease your debauchery!"

She had always been a rather noisy little bit of goods, hadn't she? He laughed silently, to himself, at the use of her term. She knew nothing of debauchery, though England was highly learnt in such a subject. He would almost be so bold as to say he was there the moment Rome invented it!

"Debauchery?" He murmured against her skin. His breath fanned over the sensitive spot, causing her to shiver delightfully.

It was as much as he could hope for. With a virgin. England did find them tedious from time to time, for the amount of wooing that went into coaxing them. The irony of which, was not lost upon him. For had another defiled his precious treasure, England would have gutted them. Without mercy.

"Tell me, sweet America," England continued slowly. "What does an innocent such as you, know of debauchery?"

Her lips parted, and her sky-blue eyes widened marginally. A look of unease filtered through her features, beside the anger and indignation.

"It is evident, Sir." She attempted to pull away from him. Yet there was no where for her to go. England would not release her. Though unnaturally strong for her size and age, her strength was his and worked against her in this endeavor.

"Evident, you say?" He broached like a lion playing with its food. Toying with it. "And, whom has provided you with the knowledge of other such evidence?"

Her features flushed a brilliant shade of red. Her blue eyes flashed at him. Still so willful nd defiant.

"You have ascertained, for yourself," she nearly spat at him. "That I am intact. No one has provided me the tutelage of which you speak."

Hard green eyes started at her balefully.

"Explain then, why I have been forced to chase of not only France, but Portugal, Spain, and Russia as well."

His little colony shifted slightly, causing him to become more keenly aware of how at his mercy America truly way. She turned her gaze away.

"I traded, Sir, only for my people-"

"MY people," England corrected with a slight tug at America's hair. She winced, glancing back at him.

"Yes, Sir. Your people."

"My colony." He corrected, after a moment. They would be unified under the sight of God almighty soon, but all that was hers would still be his. And, all that was his, was still England's.

She lowered her gaze, respectfully, as he had taught her not so many years ago. England found that the demure appearance did wonders for her beauty.

"As you say, Sir."

He narrowed his gaze sharply at her reply. His good mood suddenly fouled by her words. Did she seek to imply that she was his in name only? Or that by some strange fit of vapors, that she was not wholly England's? All she was, was because of him. Something dark furled inside his chest at her words. He needed to make her position well known to her. For, the forgetful colony, clearly needed his reminder.

"Indeed," he said sternly, firmly hoping to put this willful creature back to the sweet and obedient thing he had known. She had clamored for his attentions, not all that long ago. Her eyes used to shyly plead with him to stay. When that had changed, he was no longer aware. The thought alone greatly displeased him. It sent a bolt of possessive anger straight to his heart.

America was his. Had she not benefited from his finding her? Of course she had. The little minx.

"It is as I command," his voice dipped low, nearly to a note of primal power.

Blue eyes clashed with heated green. A sense of helplessness simmered in her gaze. It was not all that pleasing to him. He was her lord, and master. Soon to be her husband. Surely some form of matrimonial affection would come to grow between them? He had glimpsed it in others, with their nearly borderline vulgar displays. The way their hands entwined in obvious touch. In broad daylight. It was contemptible. Savage and uncivilized. Like that whore-son France.

The same bastard of ill-repute that England had witnessed lusting after his future bride with his own stoic gaze. The foppish male had no concept of what it took to be an empire, as England clearly did. His hand disentangled from America's golden locks and took a moment to brush the skin of her cheek softly. The only sort of gentleness he would allow with her resistant nature. Women were such delicate creatures. He had protected her, as he ought to have. Now, she would reward him for his patience with more than gold and goods.

Though, those were highly required for his position. It took coin to rule the world. England intended to have it in coffers filled to the brim. Thanks in part to this colony pinned beneath him.

"Are you, or are you not, property under my King, God bless and save him, and therefore mine?"

America swallowed quietly. Her gaze shifted away from his for a moment.

"I am under the protection of-"

"This is due to?" He interrupted mercilessly, knowing that she wished to skirt the issue at hand. Something he would not permit.

She licked her dry lips quickly, a high blush on her cheeks.

"Due to the fact that I am property of the Kingdom of Britain." The colony admitted softly.

Green eyes seemed to glow with sensual delight at her admission. Yes. She would make a fine bride, with some proper training. He gripped her chin lightly, tipping her face upward. His gaze honed in on her sweet visage.

"Indeed. You are." England agreed. His words held the promise of much more to come.

With the grace of a natural predator, the male withdrew, moving off the colony and the bed in a fluid movement. Disheveled and temptingly rumpled, America sat up quickly. The cascade of wheat-gold locks moved down her back, in their natural place. She watched him, her expression just shy of mistrustful. The tears in her eyes, she dashed away, as she moved to fix her white cap.

"Leave it," he commanded easily. In a tone that suggested boredom, but he was anything except bored with the likes of his bride.

Her pale hands stilled, and she did as he bid, allowing her arms to fall to her sides. Instead, she smoothed the hem of her skirt down to cover her exposed flesh. The scandal of it was too much for her comment upon. It was nothing but wickedness in puritan eyes. Hm. That would not bode well for all he intended to teach her. The Colonial people were so unrefined. However, they had their place and it was improving Great Britain's standing and influence. Which they were progressing in.

Therefore leaving this rose amongst the lilies would be an error in his judgement. With a shrewd and calculating look, England glanced about the simple wooden home. She possessed pitifully little.

Excellent.

"Pack your things," the Kingdom ordered as if it were nothing. America gaped at him, her lush lips parted with surprise.

"Sir?" She questioned with a vague look of horror about her eyes.

"We set sail on the morrow." England said with decisiveness.

America could not understand high society life here in the woods of a savage land. With the likes of colonists that caught and trapped wild animals for their suppers! She would leave him subject to ridicule if he permitted her to remain here. Therefore, there was only one logical course of action. She would have to be made into a lady, in the height of society, by the most lofty of the court.

He would bring his young bride home with him.