USUK/UKUS One Shots

Savannah (Smut)

Warnings: Sexual Content

Word Count: 8323

Estimated Read Time: 40 Minutes

A/N: America is an adult at this time and has been during all the time he has known England. 

August 1720-— Savannah, Georgia. 

Southern humidity was something England wasn't sure he'd ever grow accustomed to. It was balmy and had a smell to it, one he couldn't describe fully but one America called "swamp breath" without any care for the nasty imagery such a term cooked up. It was gross, but it was not a wholly inaccurate name. Luckily, it was far more pleasant in the evenings, and once the colony had had time to cool after the sun set, it was kind of nice to be outdoors. It'd be nicer if America were here, of course, but the relief from the heat was something. 

England had been deployed on a mission by his leaders, who reinstated him as captain of a Navy ship to target pirates off the coast of Georgia and the Carolinas. They'd been bothering certain ships there and conducting illegal trade that the locals conveniently knew nothing about. He knew better than to tell his king no, so here he was on the deck of a third-rate ship (embarrassing, he felt), a slight frown on his face. He couldn't care less about these pirates, but the higher-ups had wanted them gone, so for some reason, he was sent to take care of them. 

All that would have been well and good a couple hundred years ago. England liked the sea, and he liked sailing. But now it was different. Now, his lover was waiting for him back in Boston, and England had to be here, where mosquitos were determined to eat him and his men alive.

How England missed him. Being with America was comfortable in a way nothing else was. He was the one who could make England laugh, smile, and let go of the tension he'd collected in his shoulders at the end of a hard day. He was soft and sweet, and he always kissed like he was thinking of nothing else. England wanted to be with him right now, peppering his face with kisses while America laughed and scrunched his face. He missed everything about him. How he smiled, how he smelled, the way his hands and body felt against his. He missed that bright laugh and his jokes. And most of all, he missed those moments of bliss where the world around him was lost, and nothing mattered but America. He'd give anything to be back at that brick house by Boston Harbor. And instead, here he was, on a hot ship that smelled awful, hunting minor pirates. At least he was in charge, he supposed, and at least he had the sea.

On their first night anchored in Savannah, he'd given most of the crew the night off. They needed to stretch their legs, and England needed a break to brood. However, as he should have expected, they decided to get drinks, and he was roped into it.

"Come with us!" One of England's junior officers had urged, kind of teasing. "It will be fun. You wouldn't want anyone thinking you weren't a proper sailor."

"Fine," he had grumbled, "but if anyone isn't working tomorrow morning, you'll take their whipping."

That was how he'd found himself in a tavern that was nearing being full. Dancing, drinking, and games were everywhere. If he was honest, once he was there, he didn't mind. He needed a break from the monotony, too. 

His crew was already getting rowdy, drinking and eating and playing darts. Some men were already heading upstairs with the working ladies in the tavern with dopey grins on their faces. The place was loud, the music and laughter ringing out. England could tell that it was going to be one hell of a night.

They started with food. Georgia treated them well, with plenty of hardy meals. The people milled about, having fun. England's officers had taken a side table so that they had a good view of the room, and while he usually liked the quiet, he didn't mind the noise tonight. The alcohol made the sounds of laughter and chattering pleasant to him. He downed a few glasses, watching his crew make fools of themselves with amused eyes.