A Book of Tales CH. 1
Title: A Book of Tales
-or- How America Saved Canada With Porn
Author(s): yours truly XD
Genre: Humor, Romance
Characters/Pairing(s): England, America, Canada; US/UK
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex. Lots and lots of sex.
Summary: Various US/UK/US scenarios. Some in canon, some AU.
Alternate Summary: In order to save his brother from yet another fangirl mob, America does the heroic thing and writes all sorts of PWP for the masses. Side-Story for “Author!Anon”.
~
Time Stamp: November 20, 2009. 12:05-1:30AM EST
America blinked. Then he took off Texas, cleaned the lenses, slipped the frames back on, and blinked again. He had just posted the edited fourth chapter of “Author!Anon” on his livejournal, and was just about to go to sleep, when suddenly he made a stupid mistake. Instead of shutting down his computer, he decided to look back at his journal and see if he had gotten any reviews. Sure, it had only been a few minutes, but midnight had already past, and it was already a new day. Besides, he could hope, right? With a small grin, he clicked on the bookmarked link.
Which brought us back to the beginning of this story, with America staring dumbly at the screen. He had gotten reviews already. And it was all because of his big mouth. Of all the dumb things to do, he had done this.
He had offered to write porn, and lots of it, to a horde of perverts fangirls.
“Oh shit, I didn't think they'd take me seriously,” America whispered to himself as he skimmed over the various comments. In the back of his mind, a voice screamed “America, you idiot! They're fangirls! Of course they would!” Stupid voice of reason. The bespectacled Nation ignored the voice in favor of skimming through the comments.
Oh God, there were so many hot suggestions! Mmm, uniform kink! And handcuffs! Ooooo, bunny!Iggy in an apron~ Why hadn't America thought of these sooner?! He could already imagine the sweet handful of ass in his palms and the moans in his ear...
Damn it. Florida was wide awake now.
Fuck. It was 12:30AM, and America should be asleep. Haha, sleep...That plan was out. As if he could sleep with a boner. Growling in frustration, America picked up the phone and punched in a familiar number.
“'Ello?” a groggy voice greeted from the other side.
“Iggy!” America smiled widely, even though the other couldn't see it, “Are you awake?”
“...I am now,” came the defeated groan, “It's 5:30 in the bloody morning. What do you want?”
“You,” America replied bluntly, as Florida throbbed in agreement, “In my bed, naked.”
“You...You idiot git!” England's voice hissed angrily, “You did not just wake me up for phone sex! Shouldn't you be getting to bed right now? It's past midnight for you.”
America whimpered, “But Iggy...”
“No buts,” England huffed, “Go to bed. Now. Don't even think about drinking coffee to keep yourself up.”
“You sound like my mom,” America complained, even as he stripped out of his clothes, “Come on, Iggy, I'm horny~”
“NO. I'll see you in a few days.”
And then the sounds of a dial-tone rang in America's ears.
“Fuck...” the young Nation sighed, setting down the receiver and looking at his hand, “Well, I guess it really IS just you and me, Mr. Hand.”
America turned back to the computer, pulled up a sex-filled fic from the kink_meme, and began to move his hand down south, making sure his fingertips trailed sensually across flesh. He could respond to the mob of fangirls in the morning. Right now he had some needs to address.
~
America woke up early. He had three whole hours until he had to wake up, and he had woken up fucking early, even after going to bed late. After a few futile attempts at going back to sleep, America grabbed Texas, rubbed sleepy eyes, and booted up his computer. Time to respond to his adoring fans, and re-read their porn filled desires.
The first one sounded promising. Police officer roleplay, huh? He could do that...
~
Story One: You're Under Arrest!
When America had opened his bedroom door, he had expected to see the usual white walls with posters, a few pieces of furniture, and his large bed decked out in red, white, and blue bed sheets. He did not expect to see England standing there next to a metal chair, dressed in the uniform of a British police officer. A starched white shirt and black tie peeked out from under a dark jacket, and a baton and a pair of handcuffs were hooked to his belt. The trademark checkered cap was pulled down low, shading mischievous eyes. England's expression was smug as he pulled on black gloves with his teeth, green eyes full of promise.
As soon as he recognized that glint in England's eyes, America couldn't help it. He cursed.
“Fuck.”
England smirked and crossed his arms, long fingers tapping against the crook of his elbow, “Now, is that any way to address an officer of the law?”
America licked his lips, a touch hesitant, “No...”
“'No, sir',” England corrected, before pulling the baton from his belt and giving it a few experimental twirls, creating lazy patterns in the air, “We don't want to use unnecessary force, now do we? Sit in the chair.”
America nodded mutely, sliding down into the metal contraption. In the span of one blink and the next, England became almost uncomfortably close, the black baton touching lightly on the bottom of America's chin, lifting his face up. America gulped as England leaned in closer, allowing their breaths to intermingle.
“Well now, Mr. Jones,” England purred, tapping America's chin lightly with the baton, “Where were you on the night of the fifth?”
“W-what?” America sputtered out, feeling his brain short out at England's honeyed tone, “What's going on?”
“You're being charged with a crime, Mr. Jones,” England replied haughtily, idly caressing the younger man's throat with his weapon, “Do pay attention.”
America grinned. Oh, if England was in the mood for playing, America would play...In an instant, America let his expression fall, only to replace it with a sweet round-eyed look, half remembered from his days as a colony. America looked up at England innocently, “What crime? I've done nothing wrong.”
England's face sneered, but his eyes spoke of approval...and hunger. The Briton's next words puffed against America's lips like an intimate caress, “A likely story. We have proof that you're a dangerous criminal.”
“If I'm dangerous, then shouldn't you have back up?” America asked, his tone guiltless, but his eyes were anything but, “I could have a weapon right now.”
England laughed, “I don't need back up for you.” And then America found himself yanked up and around by his shirt before being shoved cheek first into the wall. His right arm was twisted to his back, and pinned in place as England pressed firmly against the American.
“HEY!” America yelped, struggling, but only slightly, “I have rights, you know!”
England chuckled, his lips brushing lightly against America's ear, “Very true, Mr. Jones. I suppose you want your warning, hmmm?”
America stayed silent, but he pressed his rear back into England's crotch causing the older male to hiss lightly. England pushed back against the American and ground down harshly, his voice murmuring gently in contrast to his actions.
“You do not have to say anything,” England whispered, nipping America's ear just to hear the younger man yelp, “but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court.”
America groaned as England finished up the warning, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips, “Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
America panted as his mind whirled. So, that was England's game today, huh? He wanted to see how long America could keep quiet...
“You can't make me talk, you crazy cop,” America grinned, letting the other know he understood the rules of the game and accepted them before shutting his mouth. England smirked right back.
Game start.
“Very well then, Mr. Jones,” England purred in that honeyed tone, as he maneuvered America's limbs into place, “Put your hands on the wall and spread them. Let's see if you have any of these 'dangerous weapons' you were boasting about.”
America braced himself for teasing touches, as was typical of England. And there it was: gentle hands trailed down his sides, swirling fingers in curling patterns that sent flashes of warmth shooting through America's body. He stubbornly bit his lip when he felt gloved hands skim the edge of his clothed erection. And then suddenly, the game changed. To America's shock, the Briton went straight for the kill, snapping open buttons, and sliding his gloved hands down the younger man's pants to roughly grasp the hardened flesh within.
America barely held back the yelp that jumped into his throat as England set up a harsh rhythm right off the bat. The texture of those dark gloves were completely different from the warm skin on skin contact America was used to, but he couldn't help but find it utterly erotic as the garment rasped at his sensitized skin. England's other hand slid up America's shirt to tweak at his nipples as his mouth latched onto the blue-eyed Nation's neck.
It was the warm wetness of England's mouth that broke America's control. Oh God, America could just imagine it around his cock, licking and sucking...
“Fuck!” America helplessly hissed out as that sweet wetness trailed sloppy kisses down America's nape. England bit the younger man's shoulder in triumph, earning himself another yelp.
“I win,” England smirked against America's ear as his hand left America's shaft to fondle the balls, “So quickly too.”
“Not my fault,” America gasped, his hips thrusting as much as they could in the tight position between England and the wall, “You surprised me...Oh fuck, there~”
England chuckled darkly, “So this is your evidence, Mr. Jones? You only sound guiltier by the second.”
America managed to gasp out, “W-What crime did I commit?”
England let out a predatory growl, and ground his hips into America's backside allowing the younger man to feel the heavy bulge.
“Tempting an officer.”
America heard the clink of the metal handcuffs as they circled around his wrists, but ignored that fact when gloved hands skimmed his skin, then took a firm hold of his hips and squeezed. All of a sudden, being arrested was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
END
~
Time Stamp: December 6, 2009 1:05-1:15PM EST
“So, what did you think?” America asked nervously in between bites of his burger. It was their lunch break, and England was critically reading America's newest story.
“I see you at least you used the warning of my police rather than your Miranda rights,” England observed, “I'm surprised. You've finally noticed that there are places and cultures outside of yourself.”
“Hey, I'm getting better at that sorta crap,” America defended himself, “My boss has been helping.”
England nodded absent-mindedly as he continued to scroll through the pages splayed out before him on the computer screen.
England continued with his critique, a soft chuckle escaping him, “How quaint. You're still using alliteration in your prose, I see. And you're being honest. You never could remain silent in bed.”
“Hey! Don't say it like it's a bad thing!”
“How long did you say this took you to write?” England asked abruptly, turning away from the computer screen to address his former charge. America was satisfied to see that a faint tinge of red was brushed across England's cheekbones.
“Uh, a few weeks?” America admitted, shuffling about nervously.
England arched an eyebrow, “And why was that? I know you. You usually finish something this short in less than a day. What happened?”
“Blame my boss!” America complained, as he dug through his take-out bag for another burger, “He'd always come over to my desk to check up on me! Do you know how hard it is to write porn secretly under my boss' nose?!”
“Please, tell me you at least have a the intelligence to not go about indulging on your perverted hobbies while you're at work,” England groaned, rubbing his brow in annoyance, “If you tell me this, I might feel as if I did not completely fail at raising you.”
“I plead the Fifth,” America replied solemnly, before giving a teasing grin, “Relax, officer, I only wrote during my lunch breaks. My boss is just nosy. Luckily, he hasn't found my crap on LJ, yet.”
England sighed, “You're hopeless. And as for your porn...I've read better.”
America yelped in indignation, “What?! Why you...”
“Stop being a bloody coward, and write the full sex scenes in the next one,” England scolded the younger Nation as America mollified himself with another burger, “I want to be able to visualise my cock entering your arse, and then you being pounded into the wall as I read. Be descriptive. Use more dirty words.”
“Oooo, kinky,” America smirked, licking the crumbs from his lunch off his fingers, “Finally showing your true colors, huh, old man? And who said you got top in the next story? Greedy bastard.” England rolled his eyes, and chose to ignore the younger male to continue with his evaluation.
“Also write faster next time,” England suggested, even as he pointedly stared at America's tongue sweeping at the remains of the meal, “You mustn't keep the fangirls waiting. Oh, and before I forget, check your grammar. I saw some errors.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah...slave driver,” America muttered, switching seats with England to get to work. He only got to start on one line, before he was abruptly pulled into a savage kiss with England.
“Idiot,” England growled as he nipped America's bottom lip, “Who said you got to do that now?”
And as America suddenly found himself sans shirt, he realized that this whole writing porn business was the most fucking awesome idea he ever had.
Literally.
-or- How America Saved Canada With Porn
Author(s): yours truly XD
Genre: Humor, Romance
Characters/Pairing(s): England, America, Canada; US/UK
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex. Lots and lots of sex.
Summary: Various US/UK/US scenarios. Some in canon, some AU.
Alternate Summary: In order to save his brother from yet another fangirl mob, America does the heroic thing and writes all sorts of PWP for the masses. Side-Story for “Author!Anon”.
~
Time Stamp: November 20, 2009. 12:05-1:30AM EST
America blinked. Then he took off Texas, cleaned the lenses, slipped the frames back on, and blinked again. He had just posted the edited fourth chapter of “Author!Anon” on his livejournal, and was just about to go to sleep, when suddenly he made a stupid mistake. Instead of shutting down his computer, he decided to look back at his journal and see if he had gotten any reviews. Sure, it had only been a few minutes, but midnight had already past, and it was already a new day. Besides, he could hope, right? With a small grin, he clicked on the bookmarked link.
Which brought us back to the beginning of this story, with America staring dumbly at the screen. He had gotten reviews already. And it was all because of his big mouth. Of all the dumb things to do, he had done this.
He had offered to write porn, and lots of it, to a horde of perverts fangirls.
“Oh shit, I didn't think they'd take me seriously,” America whispered to himself as he skimmed over the various comments. In the back of his mind, a voice screamed “America, you idiot! They're fangirls! Of course they would!” Stupid voice of reason. The bespectacled Nation ignored the voice in favor of skimming through the comments.
Oh God, there were so many hot suggestions! Mmm, uniform kink! And handcuffs! Ooooo, bunny!Iggy in an apron~ Why hadn't America thought of these sooner?! He could already imagine the sweet handful of ass in his palms and the moans in his ear...
Damn it. Florida was wide awake now.
Fuck. It was 12:30AM, and America should be asleep. Haha, sleep...That plan was out. As if he could sleep with a boner. Growling in frustration, America picked up the phone and punched in a familiar number.
“'Ello?” a groggy voice greeted from the other side.
“Iggy!” America smiled widely, even though the other couldn't see it, “Are you awake?”
“...I am now,” came the defeated groan, “It's 5:30 in the bloody morning. What do you want?”
“You,” America replied bluntly, as Florida throbbed in agreement, “In my bed, naked.”
“You...You idiot git!” England's voice hissed angrily, “You did not just wake me up for phone sex! Shouldn't you be getting to bed right now? It's past midnight for you.”
America whimpered, “But Iggy...”
“No buts,” England huffed, “Go to bed. Now. Don't even think about drinking coffee to keep yourself up.”
“You sound like my mom,” America complained, even as he stripped out of his clothes, “Come on, Iggy, I'm horny~”
“NO. I'll see you in a few days.”
And then the sounds of a dial-tone rang in America's ears.
“Fuck...” the young Nation sighed, setting down the receiver and looking at his hand, “Well, I guess it really IS just you and me, Mr. Hand.”
America turned back to the computer, pulled up a sex-filled fic from the kink_meme, and began to move his hand down south, making sure his fingertips trailed sensually across flesh. He could respond to the mob of fangirls in the morning. Right now he had some needs to address.
~
America woke up early. He had three whole hours until he had to wake up, and he had woken up fucking early, even after going to bed late. After a few futile attempts at going back to sleep, America grabbed Texas, rubbed sleepy eyes, and booted up his computer. Time to respond to his adoring fans, and re-read their porn filled desires.
The first one sounded promising. Police officer roleplay, huh? He could do that...
~
Story One: You're Under Arrest!
When America had opened his bedroom door, he had expected to see the usual white walls with posters, a few pieces of furniture, and his large bed decked out in red, white, and blue bed sheets. He did not expect to see England standing there next to a metal chair, dressed in the uniform of a British police officer. A starched white shirt and black tie peeked out from under a dark jacket, and a baton and a pair of handcuffs were hooked to his belt. The trademark checkered cap was pulled down low, shading mischievous eyes. England's expression was smug as he pulled on black gloves with his teeth, green eyes full of promise.
As soon as he recognized that glint in England's eyes, America couldn't help it. He cursed.
“Fuck.”
England smirked and crossed his arms, long fingers tapping against the crook of his elbow, “Now, is that any way to address an officer of the law?”
America licked his lips, a touch hesitant, “No...”
“'No, sir',” England corrected, before pulling the baton from his belt and giving it a few experimental twirls, creating lazy patterns in the air, “We don't want to use unnecessary force, now do we? Sit in the chair.”
America nodded mutely, sliding down into the metal contraption. In the span of one blink and the next, England became almost uncomfortably close, the black baton touching lightly on the bottom of America's chin, lifting his face up. America gulped as England leaned in closer, allowing their breaths to intermingle.
“Well now, Mr. Jones,” England purred, tapping America's chin lightly with the baton, “Where were you on the night of the fifth?”
“W-what?” America sputtered out, feeling his brain short out at England's honeyed tone, “What's going on?”
“You're being charged with a crime, Mr. Jones,” England replied haughtily, idly caressing the younger man's throat with his weapon, “Do pay attention.”
America grinned. Oh, if England was in the mood for playing, America would play...In an instant, America let his expression fall, only to replace it with a sweet round-eyed look, half remembered from his days as a colony. America looked up at England innocently, “What crime? I've done nothing wrong.”
England's face sneered, but his eyes spoke of approval...and hunger. The Briton's next words puffed against America's lips like an intimate caress, “A likely story. We have proof that you're a dangerous criminal.”
“If I'm dangerous, then shouldn't you have back up?” America asked, his tone guiltless, but his eyes were anything but, “I could have a weapon right now.”
England laughed, “I don't need back up for you.” And then America found himself yanked up and around by his shirt before being shoved cheek first into the wall. His right arm was twisted to his back, and pinned in place as England pressed firmly against the American.
“HEY!” America yelped, struggling, but only slightly, “I have rights, you know!”
England chuckled, his lips brushing lightly against America's ear, “Very true, Mr. Jones. I suppose you want your warning, hmmm?”
America stayed silent, but he pressed his rear back into England's crotch causing the older male to hiss lightly. England pushed back against the American and ground down harshly, his voice murmuring gently in contrast to his actions.
“You do not have to say anything,” England whispered, nipping America's ear just to hear the younger man yelp, “but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court.”
America groaned as England finished up the warning, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips, “Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
America panted as his mind whirled. So, that was England's game today, huh? He wanted to see how long America could keep quiet...
“You can't make me talk, you crazy cop,” America grinned, letting the other know he understood the rules of the game and accepted them before shutting his mouth. England smirked right back.
Game start.
“Very well then, Mr. Jones,” England purred in that honeyed tone, as he maneuvered America's limbs into place, “Put your hands on the wall and spread them. Let's see if you have any of these 'dangerous weapons' you were boasting about.”
America braced himself for teasing touches, as was typical of England. And there it was: gentle hands trailed down his sides, swirling fingers in curling patterns that sent flashes of warmth shooting through America's body. He stubbornly bit his lip when he felt gloved hands skim the edge of his clothed erection. And then suddenly, the game changed. To America's shock, the Briton went straight for the kill, snapping open buttons, and sliding his gloved hands down the younger man's pants to roughly grasp the hardened flesh within.
America barely held back the yelp that jumped into his throat as England set up a harsh rhythm right off the bat. The texture of those dark gloves were completely different from the warm skin on skin contact America was used to, but he couldn't help but find it utterly erotic as the garment rasped at his sensitized skin. England's other hand slid up America's shirt to tweak at his nipples as his mouth latched onto the blue-eyed Nation's neck.
It was the warm wetness of England's mouth that broke America's control. Oh God, America could just imagine it around his cock, licking and sucking...
“Fuck!” America helplessly hissed out as that sweet wetness trailed sloppy kisses down America's nape. England bit the younger man's shoulder in triumph, earning himself another yelp.
“I win,” England smirked against America's ear as his hand left America's shaft to fondle the balls, “So quickly too.”
“Not my fault,” America gasped, his hips thrusting as much as they could in the tight position between England and the wall, “You surprised me...Oh fuck, there~”
England chuckled darkly, “So this is your evidence, Mr. Jones? You only sound guiltier by the second.”
America managed to gasp out, “W-What crime did I commit?”
England let out a predatory growl, and ground his hips into America's backside allowing the younger man to feel the heavy bulge.
“Tempting an officer.”
America heard the clink of the metal handcuffs as they circled around his wrists, but ignored that fact when gloved hands skimmed his skin, then took a firm hold of his hips and squeezed. All of a sudden, being arrested was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
END
~
Time Stamp: December 6, 2009 1:05-1:15PM EST
“So, what did you think?” America asked nervously in between bites of his burger. It was their lunch break, and England was critically reading America's newest story.
“I see you at least you used the warning of my police rather than your Miranda rights,” England observed, “I'm surprised. You've finally noticed that there are places and cultures outside of yourself.”
“Hey, I'm getting better at that sorta crap,” America defended himself, “My boss has been helping.”
England nodded absent-mindedly as he continued to scroll through the pages splayed out before him on the computer screen.
England continued with his critique, a soft chuckle escaping him, “How quaint. You're still using alliteration in your prose, I see. And you're being honest. You never could remain silent in bed.”
“Hey! Don't say it like it's a bad thing!”
“How long did you say this took you to write?” England asked abruptly, turning away from the computer screen to address his former charge. America was satisfied to see that a faint tinge of red was brushed across England's cheekbones.
“Uh, a few weeks?” America admitted, shuffling about nervously.
England arched an eyebrow, “And why was that? I know you. You usually finish something this short in less than a day. What happened?”
“Blame my boss!” America complained, as he dug through his take-out bag for another burger, “He'd always come over to my desk to check up on me! Do you know how hard it is to write porn secretly under my boss' nose?!”
“Please, tell me you at least have a the intelligence to not go about indulging on your perverted hobbies while you're at work,” England groaned, rubbing his brow in annoyance, “If you tell me this, I might feel as if I did not completely fail at raising you.”
“I plead the Fifth,” America replied solemnly, before giving a teasing grin, “Relax, officer, I only wrote during my lunch breaks. My boss is just nosy. Luckily, he hasn't found my crap on LJ, yet.”
England sighed, “You're hopeless. And as for your porn...I've read better.”
America yelped in indignation, “What?! Why you...”
“Stop being a bloody coward, and write the full sex scenes in the next one,” England scolded the younger Nation as America mollified himself with another burger, “I want to be able to visualise my cock entering your arse, and then you being pounded into the wall as I read. Be descriptive. Use more dirty words.”
“Oooo, kinky,” America smirked, licking the crumbs from his lunch off his fingers, “Finally showing your true colors, huh, old man? And who said you got top in the next story? Greedy bastard.” England rolled his eyes, and chose to ignore the younger male to continue with his evaluation.
“Also write faster next time,” England suggested, even as he pointedly stared at America's tongue sweeping at the remains of the meal, “You mustn't keep the fangirls waiting. Oh, and before I forget, check your grammar. I saw some errors.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah...slave driver,” America muttered, switching seats with England to get to work. He only got to start on one line, before he was abruptly pulled into a savage kiss with England.
“Idiot,” England growled as he nipped America's bottom lip, “Who said you got to do that now?”
And as America suddenly found himself sans shirt, he realized that this whole writing porn business was the most fucking awesome idea he ever had.
Literally.