A/N: I know exactly what some people seeing this are going to think –this has been done too many times; need new material! I understand this, believe me, I do. My only excuse is that, when you start in a pairing, some of the easiest material to use is the well-known, possibly overused, facts that provide support for the pairing's existence. And even though it isn't a fact that this happened, when talking about it with a friend, I couldn't help but think of how tragic the situation was of Alfred betraying England to get France's help during the Revolution. So… here's our version. Please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters used in this story.

Title: The Price of Freedom

All America wanted was his own taste of freedom, a chance to spread his wings. Was that so much to ask for; freedom from the tyranny, from the oppressive nature that England had become over him? Every other nation around him was allowed to be their own being, and show their true colors… He felt like the only nation that was being held back.

Not anymore. He refused to remain in such a situation.

America had asked his guardian for his freedom - the polite way –the way England had taught him to go about trying to get the things he wanted, but when that didn't work, he knew of only one other way he could go. He completely rebelled. And soon the Revolution had started.

America could hardly say he had any qualms about it. He had tried being nice, but that just hadn't worked, and now Arthur would see exactly what he had brought upon himself. Alfred wanted a chance to be his own nation, and England had denied him that. There hadn't seemed to be any other option.

But now, three years after war was declared, Alfred was silently starting to think that this was a lost cause - he would never win against someone like England. What had made him think that he could, besides his hero-complex? England had the largest empire in the world, not to mention the strongest navy. What did America have but a loosely tied fleet of militiamen calling them-selves an army…?

Not to mention the fact that he had never calculated in just how much of a toll his first real war was going to take out of him. Like any good hero, Alfred was fighting alongside his soldiers, against Arthur's, right on the front lines… but none of the physical wounds pained him nearly as much as the ones that he received from being a the personification of his nation.

The thousands of losses of his innocent citizens always caused him so much pain that after three years he found to becoming so much more intense. It was as if he was falling victim not to the physical pain of being shot, but by the pain of his own people. It was becoming harder and harder for him to rest his head at night and not cringe every other moment from another striking pain through his body as another soldier died for his cause.

As the years grew longer, though, his people were beginning to lose their spirit. Alfred knew that something needed to be done… Prussia had come to help train his troops earlier on in the war, but that was hardly doing very much for him, now. Both sides of this war were on the brink of giving up, whether for lack of morals or lack of adequate supplies; or perhaps a bit of both…

Something needed to give…

Alfred could hardly believe that he was going to be the one to do it, though, not to mention what exactly he was doing to break this, and lead it to an ultimate conclusion. He knew that on any other occasion he would have too much pride for this sort of thing; but he was desperate right now. He was at the end of his line, and strategically there was no better option than this.

So… here he was. At the only place he could look to for help. The enemy, he might have called him at one time, a second guardian at another, because while they had not had much contact with each other in such a long time, he had still raised his brother, Matthew; and that was close enough for him.

France… the only tie to another outside nation that he had left.

America suddenly burst through the double doors of the dining room in France's home, where the scantily dressed maids had informed him the older nation currently was. At the door, the maids had told him that they would inform France of his presence when he was done with dinner, but that had not been good enough for him. This needed to be done now. Something needed to be done now!

"France!" He said, loudly, hardly caring what he could possibly be interrupting right now as his eyes locked onto the other, who was sitting across the table from him. In America's mind his cause was much more important than anything else could ever be. Not to mention that when he was desperate and in so much pain, feeling stressed at every new second… throwing caution to the wind was the easiest thing for him to do.

"I need you to help me."

France looked away from one of the maids he had been teasing and over to the youth that had just burst into his dining hall in the middle of his evening meal. With a wave of his hand, the maids in the room took a bow before leaving the room, and thus leaving the two of them alone.

He took a sip of his red wine and gave America a once over. The boy he had failed to win over what felt like such a long time ago had grown into a strapping lad over the years, and a part of him held no regrets now that this boy was not his brother. It left him no guilt to be had when his eyes trailed over his entirety.

He then wiped his mouth softly with a silk napkin before speaking, "What, mon Amérique, may I ask, do you mean?"

France knew full well of the war going on across the Atlantic between the young nation and Arthur, and he personally sat down just to laugh about how the gem that was America kept slipping from England's grand royal crown. But he wanted to hear it himself. He wanted to hear that he was going to be the one to finally remove it completely.

Francis watched as America placed his hands lightly on the table top in front of him, across from the Frenchman's own person. Alfred watched for a moment as his hands began to shake. Either he could not take this metal strain, or there was more pain going on back at home. He had a sinking feeling inside him that it was both. This was his first real war… he didn't know what to do about it.

And so… here he was.

Alfred finally looked up, his eyes meeting France's mirrored blue ones. "You know damn well what I mean, France!" He shot angrily, "I need you to help me with this war I'm in. Don't play dumb, I know all you European nations talk. Word gets around this place quicker than fire between you gossiping bastards!"

America bit his tongue, recoiling suddenly. He knew exactly what England would say if he had heard him now, 'Alfred, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. If you want something you need to ask nicely and put your pride aside.' His heart clenched a bit, but he held his firm stare on France as he answered the Arthur voice in his head. 'Speak for yourself, England…' The formality he forced himself to use hurt almost as much as the crack between them did. But it needed to be done… otherwise… how was he going to go through with his divide?

'How badly could this boy want this?' Francis suddenly wondered, noticing the changing of expressions on Alfred's face.

France leaned on the table, his eyes once again browsing over the boy, still dressed in his bloody uniform. "You look famished, mon cher. When was the last time you had a good meal?" France stood, and with a single clap, a maid rushed back into the room to take away his plate. A quick word was exchanged and the maid left the room quickly, only to come back out with food for Alfred a moment later.

"I will listen to your request, but not until I have seen that you are taken care of." He spoke sweetly as stood up, strolling over to where Alfred was, and politely leading him to a chair. "And a bath, you look so very tired, mon cher. I know you are in a rush, and I very well know what for. I will prepare some, terms, if you would."

"Terms?" Alfred asked as he allowed himself to be led –feeling more like a dead man walking, or on auto-pilot, if anything. He was simply going through all the motions, now without conscious thought. "What kind of terms? Does this mean you plan on helping my cause?"

He looked down at the food that was placed in front of him. It looked so much better than anything England had ever made for him… or anything he'd tried to make for himself; he was practically drooling at the very sight. 'No! Must stay focused! Shut up, stomach!'

"I don't need to be taken care of!" He tried to tell him, "I don't need anyone looking after me anymore! I just want to finally end this damn war and start doing things for myself now! That's it! So are you going to help me, or not?" He shot a wicked look to France, but the elder didn't react, if he even noticed it at all. After all, Francis had been putting up with Arthur's glares… and those could be far worse than anything Alfred could pull.

"I won't speak another word with you until you have your strength back, mon Amérique. Allow this to be the first kind of 'support' I lend to you. I have yet to agree to anything completely, and I won't unless you are well again."

As Francis watched, America look down at the food once more, weighing his options. He had to admit… he quite liked how cute Alfred had become, and how independent he was trying to be now. He ran a hand through Alfred's blonde hair. Feeling a pang of jealousy, he quickly moved his hand away, clenching it into a fist by his side.

"When you have had a bath, there will be some clothes laid out for you. I would like my dear guest to be comfortable before I even try to think about anything else."

Alfred sighed in response, still looking down at the plate finally relented and picked up the fork to begin eating. "Alright, fine… but… you know, just so you'll talk to me and give me that help." When he began to eat, he suddenly remembered what real food actually tasted like and began devouring it quickly. France had been right, it had been a long time since he'd had something halfway decent to eat.

Being on the battlefield with the rest of his citizens allowed him to see how bad the conditions were, especially when it came to food rations. Most of the time, since he knew he was immortal and thus wouldn't die of starvation, he would just give whatever rations he had to other soldiers who needed it much more than he did. It was the better thing to do, he knew, and it made him feel like the better side in this war, too.

When he finally finished eating, not a single bit was left on the plate. He exhaled, feeling just a bit better than he had upon barging into this place. "Thanks… now can we talk?" He tried again, persistent as ever as he looked over towards France.

"Non, you still smell like an Englishman. You may ask any maid in this room, I do not discuss anything kindly with them." Another hand motion and a waiting maid came to take Alfred to a spare room, where a bath had already been drawn as Francis had prescribed.

"See you soon." Francis smiled and waved as the door was closed to give him some privacy.

Alfred scowled, hating any possible time that he had to spend like this. 'But… I guess I have to go through the Frenchman's games to get to what I want…' The maid suddenly said something to him in French as she poked her head into the room, but he ignored it and began stripping from his uniform once the door was closed. 'And I guess I can't complain with a bath… when's the last time I had one? … Too long to know for sure…'

He finally settled down into the water of the tub, falling instantly in love with the feeling of the warmth of it washing all his worries away. No… that wasn't right… there was no way that anything could take his worries away. How could it? Until the war was finished and there was a sure conclusion, he didn't feel he could rest easily.

That being said… if it didn't go in his favor, he didn't think he'd be able to rest easily then, either. Lord knows he'd kick and scream as Arthur dragged him all the way back to England… more than likely so he would be much less influenced to take further rebellious actions.

He closed his eyes, taking in the sound of absolute silence for the first time in God only knew how long. It was a nice change to the scenery of what he had come to familiarize when he laid down –the sound of muskets firing and canons going off, and the feeling of the Earth moving beneath him ever so slightly, the smell of blood and gun powder, as well as the internal feeling of pain as more of his people were killed.

That one was harder for him to push away at night, or the few times like this…

He opened his eyes, to finally exhale all of that worry away, and sunk under the water before finally beginning the tedious, but much needed, ritual of washing himself clean of all the blood, dirt, and grime that had stuck to his body from the battles he had left in order to come here; looking for any and every ounce of help he now had to admit he so desperately needed.

When he finally finished with the bath, he found the new change of clothes sitting folded waiting for him as they had been promised, and redressed himself –his old uniform now gone somewhere. 'Wonder where it went…' He thought to himself, slipping on the loose slacks and the soft white cotton shirt over top. It felt nice to be clean again, after who knows how long.

'Now to find that damn Frenchman and get this settled…' He thought, stepping out of the room and beginning to wander around the home.

Meanwhile, Francis was reclining in his own room, thinking about just what he would do about Alfred, now that he himself was already at war with England over the succession of Austria's throne. But he had to admit, a second front upon which to fight the Briton didn't sound half bad, either. He rolled his head back into the pillows of his large bed, closing his eyes and sighing tiredly when suddenly a maid opened the door with an apology, leading Alfred in, who had apparently been wandering around lost.

"Ah, much better!" Francis got up and sat on the edge of his bed. His time alone had allowed him time to reflect. A war with England was costly. A war with England on another continent would be much more so. He wanted to test how committed this young nation actually was to his cause before he went making any promises. Sure, the boy had held his own against England for three years now, but that hardly answered the question.

"Are you feeling well now, mon cher?" He started.

Alfred nodded, standing awkwardly in the bedroom and wondering to himself why, exactly, they had to do this here? Wouldn't it have been more proper to talk in… say… an office? But he was in no position to say anything against it. Not to the nation that had now fed, bathed, and would more than likely be the one to help him finally take down England. As far as he was concerned, he was entitled to follow whatever France wanted. "Yeah, I am… thanks." He said quietly, but politely, just the way he had been taught. "Now can we talk?"

"Of course," France answered, "But I do have to wonder, mon Alfred, just how committed you are to removing England from your land. I have warred with him many times, and every time I saw it through to the ending. But it is hard, and the toll is great. You are young, and this is your first war, and being up against England makes it all the more difficult." He explained, all of which were things Alfred already knew. "So I ask: are you willing to do anything to be rid of him?"

Alfred clenched his fists by his side, his blue eyes looking away from Francis for a moment. "Yes, I'm willing to do anything!" He admitted, painfully. "I have to do this. England gives me no freedom whatsoever! I'm not a kid anymore, so why the hell can't I make some decisions on my own? Why can't I have some free reign over my own people, of whom he has no connection to?" He began to vent all the feelings he'd had ever since this whole thing started; no longer was he able to control what he was saying. The flood gates had been opened.

"He was gone for so long, there's no way he can keep control anymore; he has no right to even demand control and obedience when he lives all the way over here in Europe and knows nothing of what goes on. I can be just as strong as the rest of you guys, even an ocean away. But he won't give me the chance to prove that! And now God only knows how many of my people have died for this cause for the three years it's already been going on."

He gripped his chest from the residual throb of pain that always lay dormant there now, "I can feel all of it, and it really hurts all the time. I want it to end somehow because I can't stand to keep doing this, but I don't have that much left in me, and I didn't have any other choice but to come and ask you for help. I refuse to let myself fail at his hands! Come on… you've been around long enough to understand, right?"

After America had spoken, Francis paused. What was he really supposed to give in response to that? He finally resorted to the one term only he would be able to think of. "If you are truly willing to do anything, then give me your body. Do that and I will send my army to your shores to drive out the British." France smirked as he spoke, 'There's no way he'll do it.' The request was half a joke and half a dare.

But there was also a part of Francis that honestly wanted to know if he was really willing to let things get so far. Not to mention, a part of him wanted to sample for himself what made this boy so special to Arthur.

Alfred looked up at him. 'My body?' He wondered, 'What does he mean by that? Does he want me to work for him or something? Oh well… can't hurt to just agree and find out. I have nothing more to lose, anyway.' He finally nodded his answer. "Alright."

Francis smiled to himself. Such a simple response to such a heavy price? 'He must truly hate Arthur, to willingly go so far…'

Francis got up from the bed and walked over to Alfred, finding that the boy was nearly as tall as himself. 'He's taller than Arthur, now…' He ran a hand through Alfred's hair, grateful that his gloves sat over on his desk, and pressed his lips to the younger's, his other hand taking the boy by the waist.

America stiffened instantly in surprise and took a step back from Francis, "What are you doing?"

"You said you would give me your body, non? Perhaps… you are still a virgin?" Francis wrapped his arms around Alfred's waist once again and held tighter.

Alfred remained stiff in the hold, but did not back up this time. He had agreed, and even he believed that a promise was a promise. Not to mention… he was so desperate for help right now. "That's not the point!" He finally responded as he felt his face flush, and then paused, finally looking back up into France's blue eyes, practically seeing himself reflected back in them. He looked scared, that much was obvious…

He sighed, "Are you sure that this is will get you to help me get rid of England?"

"I promise that you will be free." Francis kissed Alfred again with the muttered assurance, then turning the both of them around so that Alfred had his back to the bed. He kissed from Alfred's lips to his ear, whispering convoluted words in soft French as he pressed the young man against his duvet. "Get comfortable, mon cher, I want this to be pleasant."

Alfred shifted a bit on the bed, trying hard to give up every care he had about what exactly he was going to do. However, no matter what he did, there were just certain thoughts that stayed in his mind. 'What would England going to think? What if he finds out… what will he say? Would he hate me more than he already does?' He swallowed hard, 'No, I don't care.' He tried to convince himself.

"Fine…" He finally told him as a final decision on this matter, "I don't care."

Francis smiled against Alfred's skin, his hands moving to push up and off the white shirt that Alfred had probably only just slipped into. "Alfred… Vous êtes assez belle."

Francis moved to sit between Alfred's legs and ran his hands over Alfred; up his sides, over his stomach, and up his chest until his fingers brushed over light, budded nipples. "No one else has done this, have they?" He let his fingers play over the flesh, softly pinching and tugging until the nipples perked, lowering his mouth to one as his thumb rubbed over the other. He rolled the bud with his tongue, sucking just shy of roughly.

Alfred, who had been desperately trying to keep his gaze planted firmly on the ceiling couldn't help by shudder at the feeling of France's skilled tongue on his sensitive skin. France was right, though… no one had ever touched him like this; he had never done this before. Not to mention, he had never thought his first time was going to be with man, let alone France.

He finally shook his head, to voice the answer, "No." He said simply. As much as he hated to admit it, he was new to this… and oblivious, and had no idea what he was supposed to do, or even what Francis wanted him to do.

France was more than just pleased to hear Alfred's response. He pulled away with a 'pop' and blew cold air onto the moist flesh before he moved to the other nipple, giving it too the same treatment, before kissing back up to Alfred's lips.

"Are you alright, mon cher?" As Francis looked into Alfred's eyes, he saw a fear, though one he couldn't readily identify. He smiled sweetly but with perhaps too many teeth, looking in all parts like a hungry predator. He wanted to devour this boy who was so precious to Arthur; to England.

Alfred saw the look in Francis's eyes, he knew France was the country of love, and he was figuring out why right now. He shouldn't have expected any different that this… but that's what desperation got him –a blind look at the world and every situation presented to him.

With a sigh, he finally decided, though, that if this was going to happen, and if all of this was going to end up getting Arthur out of his country, then by God… he might as well try and enjoy it. If anything, he had to try and think of it as somehow throwing it in Arthur's face. Sleeping with the enemy… what would Arthur come to think of that?

Without thinking, or really knowing what he was doing, he grabbed Francis's shirt, and pulled him down into a kiss, squeezing his eyes closed and trying not to let his nerves and conscience get to him.

All these actions made America feel like he was flirting with death. Any wrong move and Francis would know, and though they both knew he was inexperienced, something made him wan to do anything possible to keep from making any wrong moves at all. For all he knew right now, it very well could cost him his life, in the end.

Francis didn't even hesitate when Alfred's inexperienced lips met his own, though, pressing his tongue into Alfred's mouth. He traced Alfred's teeth, the roof of his mouth, finally caressing Alfred's tongue with his own. His hands ran down the American's sides and tugged at the trousers that the boy wore, the loose material sliding down easily; the cotton pants underneath following soon after.

He smiled a bit into the kiss, finding America already half hard and kissed him more forcefully as he took the young man's member in his hand, stroking him with soft, teasing touches.

America couldn't help but intake a sharp breath of air, breaking the kiss as he did so and unconsciously letting out a soft moan. There was a part of him that hated himself for the sounds, as they didn't sound like they should be from him at all… much too needy for a self-proclaimed hero like him. But… who could deny? He did feel like he needed it right now; that and much more.

France's continuing actions did nothing to help him stop, and neither did the fact that he felt himself pressing further up into the touch. He pulled France back into a kiss, in his own attempt to drown out his sounds.

Francis, though, pulled away from the kiss after a moment and kissed down Alfred's chest, nipping and licking at the soft skin, leaving red marks here and there, before his mouth came to Alfred's very erect cock.

Looking up at Alfred, he licked his lips and pressed them softy to the tip, catching Alfred's equally blue eyes before taking in the head, sucking hard and flicking his tongue along the slit before letting his eyes fall shut as he focused on his new task –all the while loving every sound Alfred made while under his power.

"Ah! More!" Alfred couldn't help but throw his head back in pure pleasure at the sudden feeling of such attention at his cock. He bit his lip, but it was hardly enough to hold back his every moan. It simply felt too good, there was no way it could be possible to contain it. "Oh… Fuck…"

Instinctively his hand moved down, fisting it into Francis's hair to try and get more, as much more of the feeling as he possibly could. How had he not known before that this felt so good?

Francis smirked triumphantly as he felt Alfred's fingers tangle into his hair; the slight pain only solidifying in his mind that he had won the boy over, at least for now. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Francis took in all of Alfred's length, swallowing around him as his nose brushed the soft blonde hair that grew at the base; sucking hard enough for his cheeks to hollow out. A hand held Alfred's hips down as he bobbed his head; his other undoing his own shirt buttons as he began to strip off his clothing.

It was all Alfred could do to keep himself at least semi-composed by this point. It all felt too good, that nothing else mattered to him at all except somehow getting Francis to touch more of him, and get so much more pleasure. "Oh God…" He bit his lip again as he moaned, louder then.

"Please…" He heard himself beg, and bit harder to keep it back. "C-close now… Francis…"

Francis would have laughed if his mouth wasn't full of cock at the moment. Here he had Arthur's golden boy moaning like a whore, and oh did he love it. After discarding his shirt, France took America deeply again, his hand gently massaging Alfred's balls. He felt the firmness of the flesh and could tell that the boy was close, and so he redoubled his efforts. 'That's right, let me have you, let me have everything, and leave nothing left.'

The rush of sensations running freely through Alfred was finally too much for his body, which had never experienced anything like this before and he finally couldn't hold on any longer. He felt himself come into France's mouth with a final loud moan he could never hope to stop; his toes curled into the sheets and his body went stiff as he rode out his first orgasm.

France couldn't help himself, he was a greedy man. He wanted and wanted and wanted more. He swallowed every drop of the seed that America released, licking the softening member clean. He was the first person to hear Alfred cry out like that, the first person to taste him, and he was proud of it.

He sat up on his knees, wiping his saliva from the corner of his mouth as he stared down at Alfred, watching his chest rise and fall. "Did you enjoy that, mon cher?"

Alfred's clouded eyes starred unfocused at the ceiling, and hardly even registered France had moved until he finally spoke. His blue eyes moved to him and he nodded, "Yeah… I did." He ran a hand through the hair that stuck to his forehead. "Wonder why nobody told me that felt so good…"

"You were asking the wrong people, mon cher." Francis said, and then kissed Alfred briefly.

"This next part is for me, mon amant." He proceeded to press two fingers to Alfred's lips. "Suck, and be sure to wet them nicely, or this could be a little uncomfortable."

Alfred swallowed hard, being able to put two and two together to figure out what was coming next in this little situation he had put himself in. Of course he wouldn't be lucky enough to get out of this without having gone the entire way with the Frenchman… he should have known better. But… he'd made a deal, and he did not go back on deals.

So with a sigh he opened his mouth and took in the awaiting fingers, closing his eyes to block out Francis's stare as he licked all across the digits with his tongue and sucked hard at them in quite the same way France had done to him just before.

Francis moaned as he felt America's tongue glide over his fingers, letting his head roll to the side as he undid the buttons and the draws to his trousers and silk pants, not pulling them down just yet, but relieving much of the pressure that had begun to build. "Très bien."

He pulled his fingers from Alfred's mouth and spread his legs wide on either side of him. He pressed the first finger to Alfred's hole, slowly nudging the digit in and wriggling it to loosen the muscle. His face hovered over Alfred as he watched the expressions on his face change.

The younger nation's face contorted into pain, but he quickly tried to compose himself again as he felt his face flush with embarrassment of the whole situation. Right now, that was the least of his worries, but he couldn't help what bothered him.

He bit his lip before looking back to France with a small smile, "Go on." He urged lightly with his trademark grin.

Francis took the challenge he saw in the other pair of blue eyes, thrusting the second finger in alongside the first, maybe a bit sooner than he really had to or should have. He saw the pain on the other's face and slowed down a bit, slowly stroking and searching.

The pain that filled Alfred was more so than the initial penetration had, but again he tried to push it away in favor of more composure. The pain began to subside, as he felt France's fingers running along his insides, finally hitting a sensitive spot inside him. He exhaled a small, unconscious sound of delight, "More."

"Ah? Is that where it is? Such a perfect spot, mon cher." Francis rubbed over that one spot for another moment, not surprised to see Alfred's member hardening again from the touch. He spread the two fingers wide, stretching and trying to get him to relax a bit more, a third finger pressing slowly inside.

After a moment of letting Alfred get used to them, Francis began thrusting the fingers slowly, spreading them more and more to loosen him.

Thankfully for the American, there was hardly any pain this time, even with more insertion, because of the pleasure that filled him and successfully distracted him from Francis's motions. He moaned, moving as much as he could to the touch, and feeling himself getting more aroused from all the attention; his body now ready for more. The high of orgasm had been an amazing feeling, and he wanted to experience it once again.

"Francis…" He finally moaned, biting his lip at the needy tone in his voice. He hated it… but at least it got him what he wanted –more of what felt so good.

Francis felt himself throb at the sound of his name being called out. "Ah… I think you are ready now, non?" He tugged down his trousers and pants completely and tossed them aside, pulling Alfred's hips up to his lap; then lining himself up and thrusting in slowly until he was buried to the hilt. "Ah, so tight. You are wonderful, mon amant."

He pulled back and thrust himself forward again, a bit faster, a strong grip on Alfred's hips as he leaned down to kiss the moaning youth beneath him.

For Alfred, the pleasure that consumed his body was so much more than it had been before; which at the time he hadn't thought possible. But now, he was glad France was kissing him, to block the many moans he couldn't help but feel growing in his throat. His legs wrapped around France's waist and angled himself as best he could to get more of him in, and as a result feel more pleasure if at all possible.

France thrust hard and fast into the younger nation, his kisses moving down to Alfred's throat where he licked and sucked; his only disappointment being that Arthur would never see the marks himself. He couldn't hold back his own groans, it all felt too good; Alfred was tight and at the same time it felt like he was dealing another painful blow to Arthur himself through this.

He kissed Alfred anywhere he could reach, almost thanking him for the opportunity to take him from Arthur; for the blow that would hurt Alfred's ex-brother most of all. He could feel himself getting closer and took up Alfred's member in his hand again, matching his stroking to the thrusts of his hips, his thumb swiping the tip.

There were so many things happening to America all at once, it was hard to differentiate but America didn't bother himself by trying. All he knew was that there were numerous areas of pleasure being delivered to him, and he loved it all. He leaned his head back, and moaned out something that only half sounded like France's name, but even he was unsure about that.

His fingers came up to tread into Francis's long blonde hair, that feeling of being on the edge coming back to him. "Francis…" He groaned out, trying to get his message across as best he could in the current state.

Francis thrust hard into Alfred, working to bring the other to completion as he felt his own end quickly approaching. He murmured into Alfred's ear, praising his efforts and promising him victory.

However, the words were only half heard by the American, and even less of that was understood. But he did hear one thing –'Victory'. And whether France meant it the way Alfred thought he did, he wouldn't know.

The way he interpreted the word, though, and the effects of the word, mixed with all these various forms of pleasures, finally made him moan loudly once more, grasp tightly onto France for support and finished for the second time. And just as it had been the first time, it was an amazing rush.

The American had been tight before, but the feel of him clenching around his member was incredible, and he finished in just a few more thrusts, his own seed filling the younger.

He gathered himself up in time and withdrew from Alfred, laying back on the bed and taking enough of a courtesy to not fall on the other as he relaxed and caught his breath, coming back down to Earth.

As Alfred came down from the high of pure blissful pleasure, he began to realize what exactly had just happened… what he had done and the reality of it all. It was another impulsive action made on his part, and another consequence to have to face because of it. England always warned him about those sorts of things… And now here he was, in this situation.

He bit his lip, closing his eyes as he tried not to think about it. 'I guess I'm not very much of a hero. I can't even fight England on my own, and now I've slept with his enemy just for an advantage over him.' He sighed, running his hands through his hair as reality struck him hard. 'Am I any better than just a common whore?' He wondered.

Francis turned to look at Alfred, who stared distractedly at the ceiling and reached out for him. He had planned to just leave it at that, to go on and write up the papers, but instead he took Alfred in an embrace, seeing as how the boy looked like he needed it. He wasn't heartless, but he wasn't going to delude himself; he was using America. But at the same time, so was Arthur.

"We will defeat him. You will defeat him." France assured him.

Alfred nodded, what was he really supposed to say? With France's troops, there was no doubt that at least the new amount of supplies and fresh bodies would relieve the stress and pressure on him and his people. It was hard to tell if England would see this coming at all or not…

He swallowed, taking a deep breath and trying to get his reality back together again –no matter how broken up it had been to begin with, when he came here. "I… know you and the rest of the European nations like to gossip, but… don't tell England." He found himself saying without thinking.

Francis was glad that Alfred wouldn't be able to see his face, or the bitter expression that passed over him considering how he was tucked as closely as he was to the elder's chest.

"He'll never know, mon cher." All the while he ran his fingers through Alfred's hair, hating the boy just a little bit, though nowhere near, in that moment, as much as he loathed Arthur. It was as if, even after all of these blows to Francis he had delivered; somehow Arthur had dealt another right back at him through Alfred's unwavering devotion and caring nature for his ex-guardian nation.

Alfred exhaled, closing his eyes and trying to believe France's words were going to be so. But how could he? England owned at least half the world if not more, and he'd made it a point to drill that fact into America's head. If anybody was going to find out about this, somehow… it would be England. There were just too many possibilities to put it past him.

"That's good… he wouldn't take it well, of course. Not well at all." He let his eyes close, as a thought came to mind. "I… uh… appreciate you going to help me with this. I know you guys are enemies and all… but you're still kind of friends, right? It was kind of a risky gamble for me to come here."

"Art-… England and I… have our moments. But if there is something I don't want him to know, then he will not know." He continued to pet Alfred's hair, smoothing it back and softly scratching. "I'm going to make sure you win, no matter what. He will only surrender to you."

The End

A/N: I guess that was an alright ending, it's concluding enough, I suppose though it is kind of cringe-worthy to me. This was already too long to give it the chance to go further into the Revolution and actually show France's involvement in it. But hey, maybe my editor and I will get together once again, combine our awesome, and make another part (but not a second chapter on this, because this was started with the intention of being a one-shot, and a one-shot is what it will be.) And we'll show France in the Revolution. Who knows… if you like the idea, let me know and I'll see what I can do! Either way, please review and let me know what you thought of this! Any bit of comments will mean a lot, and I'd love to hear them. Thanks again to my awesome editor, Inari Kasugawa! We need to… ahem… you know, create awesome more often!

Please review!
-Forbiddensoul562