Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
Thanks to anon's suggestions we are now enforcing a past-part fills post
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Perhaps something of the thought showed on Lithuania’s face, for an instant later Poland’s hand was on his shoulder, hot even through the fabric of his shirt, and the little blonde was grinning a grin that would not have looked out of place on the face of one of the fae creatures his people had believed in, once upon a time.
“Y’know,” Poland began again, words deliberate, showy; he took a step nearer the brunette, bringing them nearly close enough to brush chest to chest, and employed his free hand in tugging the curtains closed behind him. “I’m like, way bored of trying on clothes.”
“Are you?” It was a faint response, automatic; Lithuania was terribly preoccupied, suddenly, with the hint of a promise in his ex-partner’s eyes. “Why don’t we pay and go home, then?”
“Cause I’ve got an idea that’s, like, even better.” And it was not such a large space to close; really, Poland only had to lean forward a little to press his body against Lithuania’s. The effect was electric, every touching point magnified to hyper awareness as his ex-partner closed slender fingers around the end of Lithuania’s tie, used it to casually reel him in. And when they were close enough to feel each others’ breath, he wriggled, body still flush against the brunette’s, face wearing the sort of smirk that a cheater might wear, knowing in advance that he will win a rigged game.
Then Poland was tugging on the tie, insistent, and there was no real resistance to the force. Their lips came together all at once, and the little blonde did not pause before involving tongues, sweeping his teasingly along Lithuania’s lower lip before letting it slide in to take the lead. The kiss was demanding, was intense, was scorchingly hot. And when Poland pulled away again, that smug I’ve-won smile on kiss-reddened lips, Lithuania was already a bit out of breath.
“Trust me,” Poland told him breathily. “This idea’s, like, way awesome.” The hand on Lithuania’s shoulder pressed downward, an unsubtle urging, and when no result was forthcoming, the hold on the tie gave way so that another set of fingers could find the other shoulder and apply pressure there, as well.
“Is it?” Lithuania managed, throat suddenly dry. He suspected, in that instant, that he knew very well what the idea was likely to be.
“Totally.” Poland dropped his voice, lowered his eyelashes to regard his ex-partner from beneath them. There was nothing veiled about the heat in that gaze, nothing complicated or hard to interpret. “But if you don’t, like, take a hint, it’s so not gonna work.”
“Poland,” the reply began, tone tactful with centuries of practice, voice dropping to a whisper to keep the words from the ears of people in the little curtained stalls surrounding their own. “We’re in public.”
“We’ve got, like, curtains.” Poland’s hands gave one more little push, a confident, careless gesture.
“You can see under them!” Almost, the careful whisper was broken; it rose, now, to something a touch more impassioned, a strangled protest, and Lithuania’s cheeks began to redden once more.
“So? No one’s gonna see anything but feet.” But perhaps the little blonde realized that there was a protest forthcoming to this, as well- for Poland leaned in again, this time kissing the place where Lithuania’s throat met his jaw. When he received a shiver for his efforts, he repeated the gesture, twice, letting his mouth slip open to allow his tongue to skirt along the pale flesh.
“Someone will hear,” came the final objection, voice low- but the words were half-hearted now, not terribly convinced. The indecision likely stemmed from the fact that the little blonde had fastened his mouth to the skin of his ex-partner’s throat, was busily alternating tiny flicks of his tongue with gentle suction.
At the words, Poland drew away, sparing the sensitive spot directly below the right jaw bone one final lick. “I’ll be, like, way quiet.”
This time, when the pressure returned to Lithuania’s shoulders, he heeded it, dropping to one knee before the little blonde.
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Poland, he discovered, had taken the boxers off.
That was the very first thought that greeted him when the hem of the dress was tugged unceremoniously upward, and he ascertained in the same instant that his ex-partner was very ready for this indeed. The erection framed by spills of red fabric was blatant, was full, and there was only the briefest of pauses before steady hands were reaching out for the hips before them, guiding Poland within easier reach.
He was aware, as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the tip of the length, of where they were. Despite the muffling effects of the dress as his ex-partner let go the hem, allowing the fabric to settle about him like a soft red fog, he could hear the rustling of clothes from other stalls, a voice asking for an opinion on a suit. Even in marginal privacy, his face burned with the knowledge that he had agreed to this so easily, agreed to this here. And if that agreement had anything to do with the way his pulse was pounding in his throat, a counterpoint to the conviction that all the blood in his body had gathered below the waistline, he refused to acknowledge it.
Instead, he took the head of Poland’s erection between his lips, sucklling softly, and the little blonde moved into it, asking without words for more, for faster. Lithuania ignored the unspoken plea, releasing the hold on the tip to pay the whole of the length attention with his tongue, skimming over hot flesh as though tasting it. True to his word, Poland did not make a sound- but there was a rush of air as his breath came in a gasp, and through the fabric of the dress, his ex-partner’s hands settled upon his head to urge him on.
This time, Lithuania obliged him- slid his lips over slick skin and began to swallow it down, centimeters at a time, until he had taken the whole length of it. When he’d finished, there was a pause before he drew back again, equally as slow, loving the way the form against him shuddered with the motion.
Above him, one of the hands closed loosely, gripping his hair through the cloth. “Liet,” Poland whispered. He sounded out of breath, and Lithuania smiled softly, pressing a little kiss to the tip of his ex-partner’s erection. “Liet, like- hurry it up.”
This time, when he let his mouth find its way back to the task at hand, he felt the little blonde lean against him for support, and as he began to move again, faster now, slender hips began to rock in time. It did not take much for the first soft sound, stifled and cut off halfway, to drift to his ears- and he used one of his hands to tap Poland on the thigh, twice, pointedly, a reminder of the need for silence. The other hand, he discovered, seemed to have a destination already in mind, for it was creeping down of its own accord, rubbing furtively at the seam of his pants, the fabric there stretched into a rather distinctive bulge. The sound of Poland’s voice, the knowledge that his ex-partner had been unable to keep quiet despite the location, had reminded him rather pointedly of its presence.
As he continued at his task, tongue undulating moistly along Poland’s erection, the hand on his own began to speed its pace, applying pressure enough to encourage him to rub against it. Despite his warning to the contrary, he began a half-aborted sound of his own- and it was the vibrations, perhaps, that drew an answering noise from the little blonde above him, a delicious little gasp that spoke of unsatisfied want. Even as his fingers broke off from their current preoccupation, moving instead to slip below the waistband of his pants, he redoubled his efforts, giving in to Poland’s wordless demands. The hands gripping both hair and fabric tightened their hold, drove him on at the pace of his lover’s choosing, and Lithuania, caught in the moment, did not mind at all. Instead, he allowed his eyes to slip closed, hand working with short, truncated movements constricted by the fabric, feeling the tension build in the body above him, in the abdomen and thighs.
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And when Poland’s knees gave out, Lithuania did not hesitate to steady him with both hands, hastily withdrawing his grip on his own erection in order to hold his lover aloft. With most of the weight on his shoulders, his arms, Poland remained upright, and it was possible, for the moment, to ignore the part of himself still hungry for attention.
When the moment had passed, he knew it from the way the grip loosened, from the gentle caresses spared to soothe the hair below the fabric, and Lithuania waited to be sure that the little blonde had gotten his legs under him once more and then ducked his head again, freeing himself of the confines of the dress.
Poland, he decided for what was nowhere near the first time in their several hundred years of history, never looked better than he did after he’d come. There was a satiated look about his ex-partner’s face, a smug, self-satisfied expression that made half-lidded green eyes vaguely catlike. It was not, he reflected, an expression that did anything to ease the erection still trapped in his pants, hard enough now to ache.
Of course it was the first detail that Poland took it upon himself to notice- and bare seconds later, the grip on his tie had reasserted itself, was being used to draw him first to his feet and then nearer for another kiss. The contact was slow this time, sensuous- teasing, almost, now that the little blonde was suffering from no pressing want of his own.
The kiss was gone nearly as soon as it had started, replaced with pale fingers that flickered briefly over the straining bulge just below his belt buckle.
“So, like, I guess you like the dress?” That smile was back, pleased and knowing, and Lithuania shivered- was just beginning to shift into the touch, seeking friction, when the hand skirted away again. It gripped him instead by the shoulder- urged him to move, and the brunette, bewildered, complied. The curtain was parting before he could sculpt his indignation into words, and in the space of heartbeats he was in the hallway once more- was turning to stare, dumbfounded, at the stall in which his lover still stood.
“We’re totes almost done. So like, go get those stockings I wanted. We can leave after I try them with the dress.” In the space between the curtains, half-lidded eyes were wicked- deliberate- the promise in their depths enough to send a whole new spike of desire curling through him, catching its hooks low in his stomach.
“Poland,” he began, throat dry.
But his ex-partner was evidently not ready to be interrupted, for the little blonde pushed on, giving him no chance to say more. “Oh my god, and after that,” he continued blithely, “it’d be way awesome to go out for lunch. We’ve gotta go check out that new zapiekanka place- for sure.” The smile widened, showing more teeth; they drew Lithuania’s eyes to his mouth, to his lips, and the brunette swallowed, hard.
“So like, hurry it up.” Pale fingers closed on the curtain, twitched it closed and stole the blonde from view. “The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we’ll be home.” There was laughter in the words that next greeted his ears, and something else as well- something of arousal. “And I know you totally can’t wait.”
(Not so) Historical Notes: Zapiekanka is a Polish food commonly sold in street stalls; it's a halved baguette topped with cheese, some sort of meat or mushrooms, and ketchup. o/
Author's Notes: OP, I know it's been a long time. If you were still hoping for a fill, I hope this one suffices.
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It was delicious, sexy and so, so in character.
Well done on an amazing job.
♥
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