[Fanfic] The One Time Someone Figured It Out
Title: The One Time Someone Figured It Out
Characters/Pairing: England/America, Russia, France, Canada, Australia.
Rating: Nc-17
Warning: Breath-play, BDSM, Flogging, Plugs, Spanking, Exhibitionism, and Other Arse Play. Oh and Dub-Con.
Summary: The three times he thought he was almost caught, and the one time he was and didn't notice. De-anon from Heta-kink. Good god, this is prolly THE MOST EXPLICIT THING I HAVE WRITTEN EVER.
He had gotten careless, he knew.
He watched America writhe in front of him, gasping and eyes pleading desperately. The nation glared, furious with himself over the last week. His need had over ridden his common sense and he'd pushed things perhaps a bit too far.
He'd been so close to being found out, his heart still skipped a beat when he thought about it too much.
There'd been the time in an empty meeting room, where he'd pulled America in and yanked down his trousers. The American's arse was still flaming red from the paddling he'd delivered not even a day before. Running his hand down the heated flesh, he'd stopped at the swollen hole to tug on the plug. He'd leaned down to press a mocking kiss to America's shoulder as he slowly moved the plug around, knowing full well America was still full of his cum. A sharp cry echoed through the room and they both froze. The locked door rattled briefly and they heard France's voice outside. For a long moment neither one moved, or even breathed, until they heard France move away.
Annoyed the frog had nearly found him out he rocked his foot against America's swollen hole, leaking hole.
Then had been the time when feeling rather pleased with himself for beating the crap out of his brothers at footie, he'd allowed America the privilege of riding him. Outside in the warm summer day of the Haskell house, the light gleamed on the sweaty, tan skin as he licked and bit at the available expanse. His hand smacked into the glorious arse and he snapped his hips up at the tightness around him. He swore his heart stopped when he heard Canada call out, asking if anyone was there. America's eyes had gone wide and he hauled the other down, forcing his hand over the swollen mouth. Eventually Canada left and he flipped them, his hand moving down to America's throat, holding and pounding away with the America's body jerking beneath his.
He jerked the other up off the floor and hauled him over to the innocent looking hook in the wall.
Russia had nearly caught them. Of all of the times one of his and America's allies had nearly found them out, that time he'd honestly thought the game was up. It had been after a joint Russian-American military mission that both of the two nations had been on. It had gone badly and America had gotten shrapnel in his shoulder. No one - not even America himself - was allowed to hurt America. That was his job, his right, his privilege. Blue eyes went as wide as dinner plates when he'd walked into the recovery room he was sharing with Russia and locked the door. He hadn't said a word, just taken the military grade cuffs, locked America's hands to the bed and forced his legs as high as they would go so the nation was bent in half. Russia rolled over and grunted just as the first blow from his belt hit. Time stood still till the arctic nation started snoring.
America arched beneath him as the he trailed the tails of the flog over his back. Was he trying to get closer or farther away? He didn't know and right now, still angry over the near misses they'd had, didn't care. He stepped back and swung. The soft leather whistled through the air and impacted, the sound jerking through him. From experience he knew America's eyes would be unseeing and mouth biting down on the O-ring gag, a thin line of drool making it's way out of his mouth. With every blow of the flog, the tan body jerked beneath him, till it melted into the wall. The only thing holding it up was the thick rope twined around reddened wrists.
Neither of them heard the door open. Nor the drawled out greeting yelled out by Australia. He didn't notice his former colony standing in the door, shocked silent as he grabbed a hunk of America's hair and pulled back, kicking shaking tanned legs wide. He was far to interested in opening his sensible trousers with his free hand and then, yanking the plug out to notice. They still didn't notice Australia back out and flee as he began to pound into America, hissing and biting into America's neck.
England knew he'd begun to get careless, but he didn't know just how careless he'd gotten.
Characters/Pairing: England/America, Russia, France, Canada, Australia.
Rating: Nc-17
Warning: Breath-play, BDSM, Flogging, Plugs, Spanking, Exhibitionism, and Other Arse Play. Oh and Dub-Con.
Summary: The three times he thought he was almost caught, and the one time he was and didn't notice. De-anon from Heta-kink. Good god, this is prolly THE MOST EXPLICIT THING I HAVE WRITTEN EVER.
He had gotten careless, he knew.
He watched America writhe in front of him, gasping and eyes pleading desperately. The nation glared, furious with himself over the last week. His need had over ridden his common sense and he'd pushed things perhaps a bit too far.
He'd been so close to being found out, his heart still skipped a beat when he thought about it too much.
There'd been the time in an empty meeting room, where he'd pulled America in and yanked down his trousers. The American's arse was still flaming red from the paddling he'd delivered not even a day before. Running his hand down the heated flesh, he'd stopped at the swollen hole to tug on the plug. He'd leaned down to press a mocking kiss to America's shoulder as he slowly moved the plug around, knowing full well America was still full of his cum. A sharp cry echoed through the room and they both froze. The locked door rattled briefly and they heard France's voice outside. For a long moment neither one moved, or even breathed, until they heard France move away.
Annoyed the frog had nearly found him out he rocked his foot against America's swollen hole, leaking hole.
Then had been the time when feeling rather pleased with himself for beating the crap out of his brothers at footie, he'd allowed America the privilege of riding him. Outside in the warm summer day of the Haskell house, the light gleamed on the sweaty, tan skin as he licked and bit at the available expanse. His hand smacked into the glorious arse and he snapped his hips up at the tightness around him. He swore his heart stopped when he heard Canada call out, asking if anyone was there. America's eyes had gone wide and he hauled the other down, forcing his hand over the swollen mouth. Eventually Canada left and he flipped them, his hand moving down to America's throat, holding and pounding away with the America's body jerking beneath his.
He jerked the other up off the floor and hauled him over to the innocent looking hook in the wall.
Russia had nearly caught them. Of all of the times one of his and America's allies had nearly found them out, that time he'd honestly thought the game was up. It had been after a joint Russian-American military mission that both of the two nations had been on. It had gone badly and America had gotten shrapnel in his shoulder. No one - not even America himself - was allowed to hurt America. That was his job, his right, his privilege. Blue eyes went as wide as dinner plates when he'd walked into the recovery room he was sharing with Russia and locked the door. He hadn't said a word, just taken the military grade cuffs, locked America's hands to the bed and forced his legs as high as they would go so the nation was bent in half. Russia rolled over and grunted just as the first blow from his belt hit. Time stood still till the arctic nation started snoring.
America arched beneath him as the he trailed the tails of the flog over his back. Was he trying to get closer or farther away? He didn't know and right now, still angry over the near misses they'd had, didn't care. He stepped back and swung. The soft leather whistled through the air and impacted, the sound jerking through him. From experience he knew America's eyes would be unseeing and mouth biting down on the O-ring gag, a thin line of drool making it's way out of his mouth. With every blow of the flog, the tan body jerked beneath him, till it melted into the wall. The only thing holding it up was the thick rope twined around reddened wrists.
Neither of them heard the door open. Nor the drawled out greeting yelled out by Australia. He didn't notice his former colony standing in the door, shocked silent as he grabbed a hunk of America's hair and pulled back, kicking shaking tanned legs wide. He was far to interested in opening his sensible trousers with his free hand and then, yanking the plug out to notice. They still didn't notice Australia back out and flee as he began to pound into America, hissing and biting into America's neck.
England knew he'd begun to get careless, but he didn't know just how careless he'd gotten.