[Fic Fill] More Accurate than Structuralism

[sakuratsukikage.livejournal.com]

TITLE: More Accurate than Structuralism
AUTHOR/ARTIST: sakuratsukikage 
RECIPIENT: zalia 
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: America, England, America/England
RATING: PG-13
NOTES: I've always thought America probably had a thing for Immanuel Kant . . .
SUMMARY: Prompt was "Sitting in a sunny field with a picnic.  Reading to each other.  Political theory as erotica, either serious or just to laugh at it.

 

More Accurate than Structuralism

 

America swallowed the last of his sandwich and turned the page of the book as he took a swig of Coke.  “These sandwiches are really good, England,” he said.  “Seriously, delicious.”  He looked at him over the bottle and grinned.  “You didn’t make them, did you?”
 

England turned red and scowled, looking away.  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, you prat,” he snapped.  “They aren’t meant to be eaten with that disgusting fizz, at any rate.  Get on with what you were saying.”
 

America took another sip of coke, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and screwed the top back on the bottle.  “The task of establishing a universal and permanent peaceful life is not only a part of theory of law within the framework of pure reason, but per se an absolute and ultimate goal,” he read.  “To achieve this goal, a state must become the community of a large number of people, living provided with legislative guarantees of their property rights secured by a common constitution. The supremacy of this constitution… must be derived a priori from the considerations for achievement of the absolute ideal in the most just and fair organization of people’s life under the aegis of public law.”  He grinned over at England.  “I’ve always liked it,” he said.  “Immanuel Kant, I mean.  ‘Per se an absolute and ultimate goal.’ ”

“Peaceful life?” England said, and gave him a stern look.  “Really.  And there are napkins for wiping your mouth, you realize, you uncivilized lout.”  He picked up one of them and held it out in America’s general direction.
 

America shrugged.  “I want a peaceful life as much as the next guy,” he said.  He picked up the napkin and started folding it into shapes.  “You know, this stuff got a lot less interesting after they gave up on the philosophy and started thinking we know what we’re doing.  Utilitarianism and all that shit.  I don’t know about you, but half the time I’m making it up as I go along.  I mean, not that I’d let anyone know that, but . . . .”
 

“You just let on to me, America,” England said.  “In that case, the secret’s out.”  He sighed as America knotted the napkin in his fingers, creasing and recreasing it.  “Come now, don’t just play with the bloody thing.”
 

America looked down at the book.  “Well,” he said, “you’re special.  Anyway.”  He cleared his throat, paging a few chapters ahead and skimming a few paragraphs in order to cover his warming cheeks.  “Um, right.  Do you think this is true?  “States require a ‘purpose,’ a perceived underlying stake in the matter at hand, in order to provoke conflict, propose cooperation, or take any other significant foreign policy action. The precise nature of these stakes drives policy. This is not to assert that each state simply pursues its ideal policy, oblivious of others; instead, each state seeks to realize its distinctive preferences under varying constraints imposed by the preferences of other states. Thus liberal theory rejects not just the realist assumption that state preferences must be treated as if naturally conflictual, but equally the institutionalist assumption that they should be treated as if they were partially convergent, compromising a collective action problem.”  He grinned up at England.  “Do we have a ‘collective action problem,’ England?”  He waggled his eyebrows in an over-the-top come-hither way.
 

England seemed to consider.  “I certainly don’t think that we’re naturally conflictual,” he said, with a slight reddening of his cheeks that made America smile to himself.  “Except perhaps that damned wine bastard.  Bloody Frog.  I’m not sure about the collective action problem, as such.”
 

“Aww,” America said, “really?  Man, I was sure you’d shoot that one down.”  He winked.  “Haven’t had any trouble with our ‘collective actions’ lately.”  He leaned forward and slid his arm around England’s waist, sliding closer.  “Don’t you think so?”
 

“Why don’t you propose a policy and see what I think of it?” England asked.
 

“Like what?” America asked blankly, until he saw the smirk tugging at England’s lips.
 

“Well,” England said.  “Let me see.  If you don’t want to propose policies, I suppose it’s up to me, isn’t it?”  He laid one hand on America’s chest and twirled his finger around his tie chain.  “But I wouldn’t want to infringe on your civil liberties, now would I?”
 

America felt himself blush slightly.  “I don’t know,” he said, and his voice surprised him by going husky over the last word.  “I think you learned that lesson.”  He learned forward slightly.  “I’m sure we could work out a mutually beneficial political agreement,” he said lowly, tilting his head until his breath feathered over England’s lips. 
 

“Economic or military?” England breathed back, nudging their lips together just long enough to swipe his tongue over America’s bottom one.  A tingling thrill shot down to the base of America’s spine.
 

“I was thinking all of the above,” America said, leaning eagerly forward to press his lips to England’s again, curling his fingers into the sides of England’s formal waistcoat—he’d laid his jacket over their picnic basket when the sun had gotten warm.
 

“Ah-ah-ah,” England said, leaning back just a bit.  His eyes sparked green, the color of jade, or the depths of the ocean, in the bright summer sunlight.  “I want to hear more before I agree to this . . . agreement.”  The way he said the word made America feel warm all over.  “Would it be based in complex interdependence theory?”
 

“My interdependence with you is hella complex,” America agreed.  “All sorts of stuff goes into it, yanno?”  He slid his hands up along England’s spine, pulling him closer.  “International hegemony, maintaining the balance of power . . .” he leaned forward and mouthed a kiss over the side of England’s mouth, up over the curve of his cheekbone and breathed “. . . cultural ties, political . . . capital, even the . . . rule of law.”  He tugged England’s formal shirt out of his pants and pressed his hand to the sliver of warm flesh revealed by the fall of loose starched cotton, warm and vivid under his hand.  “Basically, you’re special.”

“Always the idealist,” England smiled, tracing his fingers up America’s tie to tug on the knot until it loosened.  He blushed slightly.  “Interdependence?  Really?”  He pressed his mouth to the triangle of skin revealed by the loosening of America’s tie, swiping his tongue against the slightly sweaty skin.  America groaned, his insides going hot and liquidy and his thoughts following their example.  He let himself fall backward against one hand, pressing it flat against the blanket and tugging England closer to him with the other.
 

“Wha-at?” America managed, then took a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts.  “’Course, England, don’t be dumb.  ‘Fraternal association requires not only the growing friendship and mutual understanding between our two vast but kindred systems of society, but the continuance of the intimate relationship between our military advisers, leading to common study of potential dangers, the similarity of weapons and manuals of instructions, and to the interchange of officers and cadets at technical colleges. It should carry with it the continuance of the present facilities for mutual security by the joint use of all Naval and Air Force bases in the possession of either country all over the world,’ ” he quoted.  “I’ll never forget that.”  He pressed his nose into England’s cheek and pressed kisses along the line of his jaw.  “Interdependence is the right word.”

“Even though you’re a ‘hero’?” England asked, his voice rough as he dragged his tongue up and over America’s Adam’s apple, covering it with the warmth of his mouth and sucking as America swallowed thickly, then dragging his mouth up his throat to slide his tongue along the underside of his jaw.  “The world’s only hyperpower?”  He slid into America’s lap, his arms gripping hard about his shoulders, strong and firm despite their wiry thinness.
 

“Hyperpower, superpower, what’s the difference?” America asked, grinning, feeling his ears heat at hearing that term in England’s clipped, rough voice.  “Either way, our relationship is still special.”  He pulled away from the warmth and wet of England’s mouth with an effort and pressed his own lips to the pulse in England’s neck.  “The specialist,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat.  “Most special.  Whatever.  You know that.  Or I . . . really hope you do.”
 

“You really do mangle the English language, you idiot,” England said breathily.  “Mmm.”  He tilted his head back.  “I suppose I do agree, in that case.”
 

“Huh?” America asked blankly.  “Agree to what?”
 

“Greater . . . interdependence,” England said with another quick flash of a smile.  “Remember what we discussing?”
 

“Oh, right,” America said with a smile of his own.  He curled his arm behind England’s back and then pressed a kiss to his lips, bending him backward and slipping his tongue between them lightly.  England sighed and opened his mouth to the kiss.  “A new . . . policy,” America said, and kissed England again, deep and open-mouthed.  “I don’t know,” he breathed, pulling back after a moment, “I think we have somewhere to go with this.”   He trailed kisses down the line of England’s throat.  “Don’t you?”
 

“Certainly,” England said breathlessly, and leaned up to kiss America again.
 

“Mr. Jones?”  The call came echoing across the White House lawn.  “Mr. Kirkland?  What are you doing—”
 

America started back.  He could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks.  England pulled back with a guilty start and coughed, clearing his throat and tucking his shirt back into the back of his pants.  America straightened his own tie, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.
 

“Mr. Jones?” came the voice of the new presidential aide one more time as he neared their picnic spot on the White House lawn. 
 

America took a deep breath and blew it out, then grinned up at the man.  “Hey, Davis!” he said.  “What’s up?”

Davis blinked.  “Uh,” he said, and stared at them. 
 

There was a moment of silence before England huffed, “And what precisely are you looking at?”
 

“What were you . . . doing, exactly, sir?” Davis asked.
 

America and England exchanged a look, before England said, briskly, “Discussing economic policy.”  He cleared his throat and looked down at his wrist, only to see that it was missing his watch.  He glanced at America and blushed, then coughed.  “Could I possibly trouble you for the time?”

“Economic policy,” Davis repeated blankly.
 

“And political theory,” America said brightly, and scrambled to his feet before offering England a hand up.  “The time, dude?”
 

“Three o’clock,” Davis said.  “The next meeting’s in fifteen minutes.  Um.  See you there, sir.”  He headed off in the direction of the White House proper.
 

“Right, then,” England said, and reached out to twitch America’s tie into hanging straight once again.  He bent down and picked up his jacket.  “Were you planning on reading liberal theory again tonight?”  He licked his rather swollen bottom lip, looking downward.  “Because I . . .”
 

“Yeah,” America said quickly.  “Yes.  I was.”  He swallowed.  “Definitely.”
 

“Good,” England said, and flushed.  “Very good.  Yes.  Right.  Quite so.”
 

America blushed.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Right.”  He squeezed England’s hand.  “C’mon, partner.  Let’s get going.”
 

England smiled, flushing lightly.  “Yes,” he said.  “I suppose we had better get back to it, hadn’t we?”
 

America started off along the lawn, but before he could take so much as a step, England’s slim, hard hand had taken firm hold of the knot of America’s tie, pulling him down into a hot, decisive kiss.  After a long moment, he pulled back and America blinked dazedly down at him, trying to catch his breath.
 

“Wh-what was that about?” he asked.
 

“Complex interdependence theory,” England said.  “And our . . . international partnership.”  He straightened America’s tie one more time.  “I think the theory is rather accurate, don’t you?”
 

America grinned.  “Yeah,” he said.  “More accurate than structuralism, anyway.”
 

England just laughed, and America felt a little bubble of warmth form in his chest, the way he did whenever England laughed.  “Yes,” England said.  “More accurate than structuralism.”  He took America’s hand again, and they headed back toward the White House together.

Comments

[helisse.livejournal.com]

Philosophy and political theories have never sounded so sexy before.^^

“Were you planning on reading liberal theory again tonight?” <-- Best pickup line ever. <3

[sakuratsukikage.livejournal.com]

Ahahaha, I do what I can. XD

I imagine it would work rather differently on a nation than it would your normal study partner . . . lol.

Thanks so much! <3

[nutburger.livejournal.com]

Oh wow. Only these two can make political theories sound hot.

This was hella sexy man. Loved it! <333333333333

[sakuratsukikage.livejournal.com]

I know, right? (I'm so glad it actually worked.)

Thank you so much! <333333333

[cristata_alba]

I've always thought that nations would have a different perspective on philosophy, what with seeing so many systems come and go, I just never thought I'd see it used as dirty talk. XD (And on the White House's lawn, with another meeting later? pfft)

*hats off to you*

[sakuratsukikage.livejournal.com]

I did, too! And it seemed to fit, to me. I mean, political theory is all about national borders and concessions and so on and so forth. It's not that hard to reimagine it as their idea of dirty talk, actually, lol. (What can I say, really. XD pfft indeed.)

Thank you very much! <3

[berseker.livejournal.com]

eeeeeh you posted <3

So. You know. Big words kink I CAN HAZ 8D you made this sound so sexy and amusing! And I love when they're smart XDD

[sakuratsukikage.livejournal.com]

I did <3 I'm so glad you liked it! I love it when they're smart, myself. Can't get enough of it. And I'm so glad you thought it was sexy and amusing--that was the goal! So happy it worked for you.

[didgeridoodle.livejournal.com]

When I saw Immanuel Kant, I just had to read it. I didn't know such philosophical talk could be ... stimulating in more ways than one.

[sakuratsukikage.livejournal.com]

XDDD I'm so glad you did, and enjoyed it. It's SURPRISING ISN'T IT. You'll never look at the old dude the same way again . . . .

[zalia.livejournal.com]

Political theory has never been so sexy *___*

I really do love what you did with the prompt. It's really wonderful to see the Nations looking at philosophy and politics in a different way to people since it really does relate to them.

I still adore the poor aide who had to come and fetch them *grins* Now I can't help but imagine England and America giggling madly in a meeting discussing international relations.

Thanks again for a wonderful fill ^___^

[haro.livejournal.com]

I love that you did something that could normally come across sort of pretentious, but instead made it really sweet and funny and in character and not pretentious at all. I really adore that. ♥

America and England are so perfect here, and I just LOVE smart!America, because he so is, even if he can be really clueless about some things. There's such a level of comfort between the two, and the way they just kind of fall into the sort of romantically laced discussion, and it sort of turns them on, and they can't keep off each other. It's so freakin' cute and them. And of course the aide walking in, YES PLEASE. How awesomely awkward. I'm sure he's not the first aide this has happened to. This is so perfect. Thank you for writing it. ♥

And I'm sure they had lots of fun that night. ;)