When they’d finished washing up, England returned to Wales’ side, butting his head gently against his legs. Wales dropped his hand and absently ran his fingers through England’s hair, gazing out the kitchen window. It was shaping up to be a nice day.
“Come on you, let’s get your paws on,” he remarked. England knuckled after him as he went into the hall and picked up a pair of grey trainers from beside the front door. They spoiled the look of England’s costume a bit, but they protected his feet and kept him from dragging muck and grass around the house. Wales sat on the floor, undid the velcro straps on the trainers and pulled the tongues forward. England turned so that his back was to him, going on his hands and knees.
“Foot.” England stretched out a leg, lifting it off the floor. Wales slid the first trainer on and fastened it. “Other foot.” England lowered the first leg and stretched out the other so that Wales could put his second trainer on. “Good boy.” Wales got up with a groan and headed for the back door. England knuckled after him, trainers squeaking on the hard floors.
It was a little bit breezy out for just a T-shirt, Wales realised when he stepped outside, but he’d warm up soon enough when he got to work. England followed him to the garden shed and waited patiently outside while he got the ladder and shears.
“Paws.” England obediently held up his hands, and Wales slid a thick gardening glove on each one. “Going to trim those hedges today,” Wales remarked. “You know what to do.”
England butted his head into Wales’ legs and rubbed against him, making little purring noises. He scampered into the house and returned a few minutes later with a bin bag. Wales carted the ladder over to the hedge and got to work. It was a bloody tiresome job but it had to be done, and he might as well do it while he had a second pair of hands to lighten the load. Below him, England moved back and forth, collecting the cuttings for composting as they fell on the grass.
Wales hummed to himself as he went about his work, considering what to do with the rest of the day. They really ought to go somewhere and make the most of the sunshine. There was a glamour on England’s collar; once they stepped outside Wales’ house, anyone who looked their way saw nothing more than a fat Welshman and his dog. Of course, they could always make the most of the sunshine in Wales’ back yard. As he grew hotter and sweatier, the prospect of lying out on the lawn with a good book and England’s head in his lap seemed more and more appealing.
Wales paused to wipe the sweat off his brow and glanced down at England. He looked a bit flushed – the wind had died away and it really was getting warm now. Wales descended the ladder and put down the shears.
“Here, boy.”
England bounded up to him eagerly. Wales crouched and England burrowed his head in under Wales’ armpit, making little moaning noises as he did so.
“Atta boy,” Wales murmured. Gently he pushed England over so that he was lying on his back, and deftly undid the three buttons on the front of his costume. “There. Let some air at you.”
England leaned up to lick and nuzzle at Wales’ face. Wales indulged him by leaning down a little further, shifting into a sitting position to save his legs. England was free to open his own buttons, roll up his sleeves, or even shrug out of the top half of his costume if he was too hot, but Wales preferred to do it for him. England had taken a huge risk, trusting Wales with this particular need of his. Showing that he cared about England’s well-being and comfort helped strengthen that trust.
And Wales wanted England to trust him. He always seemed to get lumped in with Scotland and Ireland, when one or both of them were driving England bananas, and it wasn’t fair. He hadn’t given him any trouble since the Wars of the Roses, broadly speaking. It was obvious by then that England was out to rule them all, and he was younger, stronger and more organised than the rest of them. So Wales had chosen not to fight with him anymore, and went along with the things England thought were important – accepted England’s boss as his boss, went along to the new church, spoke English around him. In return, England hadn’t felt the need to crush him, like Ireland, and so Wales got to keep his language and culture. They weren’t on-again off-again allies, shaking hands with bared teeth and daggers behind their backs, like England and Scotland. He’d been treated pretty fairly, given the times, he’d behaved himself, and that was worth some measure of trust.
England rolled onto his belly and knelt up, resting his arms on Wales’ shoulders. He shuffled closer, his legs interlocking with Wales’ legs, and licked and nuzzled at Wales’ neck. Wales bit his lip to keep from moaning. He could feel England’s erection hard and insistent against his thigh, and between that and the occasional nip of teeth at his sensitive neck, he was very tempted to fuck England right there on the lawn.
“Get down, you randy bastard.” Gently he pushed England away, and regretted it immediately when England hung his head and hunched his shoulders, giving him huge sad eyes. Wales reached out and stroked his hair. “Later on, eh?” He nodded at the hedges. “Got to finish the job first.”
England brightened up at that. He scampered back over to the bin bag and stray branches and began to pick them up again. Wales picked up the shears and stood up. He climbed back up the ladder and resumed trimming the hedge, doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable throb in his pants.
Thanks, OP. Any responsible, loving pet owner takes care of his/her furry pal :) I'm glad you're enjoying it - I know there's no sex yet, but there will be.
Your description of how Wales came to accept being part of England. A lot of people make all the British Isles alike in how they view England as an oppressor and their countries as victims. Your headcanon accepts that there were bad feelings but doesn't make it all Wales thinks of when he thinks of England. It seems more realistic to actual history, with occasional Welsh rulers over England and Wales beating back an invasion by the French Black Legion when the French expected the Welsh to welcome them as liberators, for instance.
A lot of people make all the British Isles alike in how they view England as an oppressor and their countries as victims.
I think if people know anything about the history of the British Isles they know about Ireland/England "LET ME GO I'LL BURN THIS HOUSE DOWN AND KILL US BOTH"/"DO AS I SAY OR I'LL BEAT YOU HARDER", and since England is technically in charge of the rest of the UK now they assume something similar went on with Scotland and Wales. I'm from Ireland and I only found out six months ago that Scotland was a separate kingdom from England until 1707, which is a lot later than I'd assumed. I did suspect Wales went a bit more quietly than Ireland but I checked to make sure. It helps that Henry Tudor bigged up his Welsh ancestry so much - the Welsh nobles really liked that and I imagine Wales himself found it rather flattering.
I'm really glad you like it so far. The history of the British Isles is really interesting and would make for a much more complicated family dynamic than "Us against England" and I'd love it if more people took that into account.
Yes, to everything, ha! I recently decided to try and write Scotland's history of colonisation and how it led to the Acts of Union, and was surprised at how funny King James was by Hetalia standards. Because he wanted so badly for England and Scotland to become ONE, he asked to be titled 'king of Great Britain' but the English Parliament said it wasn't "legal".
..I'm also a pervert so I like to imagine him making the two have sex.
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Good Boy (3a/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-06-08 02:59 pm (UTC)(link)“Come on you, let’s get your paws on,” he remarked. England knuckled after him as he went into the hall and picked up a pair of grey trainers from beside the front door. They spoiled the look of England’s costume a bit, but they protected his feet and kept him from dragging muck and grass around the house. Wales sat on the floor, undid the velcro straps on the trainers and pulled the tongues forward. England turned so that his back was to him, going on his hands and knees.
“Foot.” England stretched out a leg, lifting it off the floor. Wales slid the first trainer on and fastened it. “Other foot.” England lowered the first leg and stretched out the other so that Wales could put his second trainer on. “Good boy.” Wales got up with a groan and headed for the back door. England knuckled after him, trainers squeaking on the hard floors.
It was a little bit breezy out for just a T-shirt, Wales realised when he stepped outside, but he’d warm up soon enough when he got to work. England followed him to the garden shed and waited patiently outside while he got the ladder and shears.
“Paws.” England obediently held up his hands, and Wales slid a thick gardening glove on each one. “Going to trim those hedges today,” Wales remarked. “You know what to do.”
England butted his head into Wales’ legs and rubbed against him, making little purring noises. He scampered into the house and returned a few minutes later with a bin bag. Wales carted the ladder over to the hedge and got to work. It was a bloody tiresome job but it had to be done, and he might as well do it while he had a second pair of hands to lighten the load. Below him, England moved back and forth, collecting the cuttings for composting as they fell on the grass.
Wales hummed to himself as he went about his work, considering what to do with the rest of the day. They really ought to go somewhere and make the most of the sunshine. There was a glamour on England’s collar; once they stepped outside Wales’ house, anyone who looked their way saw nothing more than a fat Welshman and his dog. Of course, they could always make the most of the sunshine in Wales’ back yard. As he grew hotter and sweatier, the prospect of lying out on the lawn with a good book and England’s head in his lap seemed more and more appealing.
Wales paused to wipe the sweat off his brow and glanced down at England. He looked a bit flushed – the wind had died away and it really was getting warm now. Wales descended the ladder and put down the shears.
“Here, boy.”
England bounded up to him eagerly. Wales crouched and England burrowed his head in under Wales’ armpit, making little moaning noises as he did so.
“Atta boy,” Wales murmured. Gently he pushed England over so that he was lying on his back, and deftly undid the three buttons on the front of his costume. “There. Let some air at you.”
Good Boy (3b/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-06-08 03:00 pm (UTC)(link)And Wales wanted England to trust him. He always seemed to get lumped in with Scotland and Ireland, when one or both of them were driving England bananas, and it wasn’t fair. He hadn’t given him any trouble since the Wars of the Roses, broadly speaking. It was obvious by then that England was out to rule them all, and he was younger, stronger and more organised than the rest of them. So Wales had chosen not to fight with him anymore, and went along with the things England thought were important – accepted England’s boss as his boss, went along to the new church, spoke English around him. In return, England hadn’t felt the need to crush him, like Ireland, and so Wales got to keep his language and culture. They weren’t on-again off-again allies, shaking hands with bared teeth and daggers behind their backs, like England and Scotland. He’d been treated pretty fairly, given the times, he’d behaved himself, and that was worth some measure of trust.
England rolled onto his belly and knelt up, resting his arms on Wales’ shoulders. He shuffled closer, his legs interlocking with Wales’ legs, and licked and nuzzled at Wales’ neck. Wales bit his lip to keep from moaning. He could feel England’s erection hard and insistent against his thigh, and between that and the occasional nip of teeth at his sensitive neck, he was very tempted to fuck England right there on the lawn.
“Get down, you randy bastard.” Gently he pushed England away, and regretted it immediately when England hung his head and hunched his shoulders, giving him huge sad eyes. Wales reached out and stroked his hair. “Later on, eh?” He nodded at the hedges. “Got to finish the job first.”
England brightened up at that. He scampered back over to the bin bag and stray branches and began to pick them up again. Wales picked up the shears and stood up. He climbed back up the ladder and resumed trimming the hedge, doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable throb in his pants.
OP
(Anonymous) 2013-06-08 04:37 pm (UTC)(link)Authornon
(Anonymous) 2013-06-08 10:55 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Good Boy (3b/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-06-08 07:02 pm (UTC)(link)Authornon
(Anonymous) 2013-06-08 10:56 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Authornon
(Anonymous) 2013-06-09 04:08 am (UTC)(link)Authornon
(Anonymous) 2013-06-09 12:44 pm (UTC)(link)I think if people know anything about the history of the British Isles they know about Ireland/England "LET ME GO I'LL BURN THIS HOUSE DOWN AND KILL US BOTH"/"DO AS I SAY OR I'LL BEAT YOU HARDER", and since England is technically in charge of the rest of the UK now they assume something similar went on with Scotland and Wales. I'm from Ireland and I only found out six months ago that Scotland was a separate kingdom from England until 1707, which is a lot later than I'd assumed. I did suspect Wales went a bit more quietly than Ireland but I checked to make sure. It helps that Henry Tudor bigged up his Welsh ancestry so much - the Welsh nobles really liked that and I imagine Wales himself found it rather flattering.
I'm really glad you like it so far. The history of the British Isles is really interesting and would make for a much more complicated family dynamic than "Us against England" and I'd love it if more people took that into account.
Re: Authornon
(Anonymous) 2013-06-10 05:39 am (UTC)(link)..I'm also a pervert so I like to imagine him making the two have sex.