Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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The first brush of dry lips wasn’t a fleshy heat, but all the same was an alarming and hazardous red button. Shining and foreboding, reserved for that fateful day their bosses decided to end the world.
They were then on each other like starving dogs. Kissing, nipping, lapping, clenching hair and groping necks. Neither was going to admit they’d been (pathetically!) abstinent and (unwillingly!) faithful since the night they’d met months ago in Cuba. Neither was going to ask. Neither was going to tell.
The wandering caresses of Russia’s mouth found a bare and lonesome space where America’s chin and neck met, soon made slick by his moistened trailing lips. The pulse below his mouth thundered to life, buzzing with throaty hum flowing from it’s owner.
Vying for command, Alfred then pressed forward, closing any fractional space left between he and Ivan, shoving the other against the wall by the bedroom’s entrance (Not so hard he left a great crater, but enough to evoke a pleasurable growl in some newly invented Russian tongue.). The blonde took this window of opportunity to knead deeply the soft muscles practically poured into that tight black t-shirt, with all the strength his fingertips possessed. Alfred had been fighting himself from groping every inch of Ivan’s torso the second he’d removed his long draping overcoat.
Absence was certainly making something grow in fondness.
Twenty fingers from the east and west jolted and worked in chaotic unison, wriggling their way over and under folds of clothes and fumbling buttons, blindly searching for hot and cooling skin as the two mouths above explored and tongues fought over territory.
Alfred pushed further to explore the uncharted regions of Ivan’s neck. Once an earlobe found itself squeezed between his front teeth, he felt the other man quake with giggles against him, his touch yet again gravitating to Alfred’s middle.
“What’s so damn funny?” America murmured, grinding his hip further into the Soviet’s crotch, satisfied when Russia reared his head up, baring his teeth at the heavens.
Ivan then descended back to earth and leant in close, playfully touching the end of his nose to Alfred’s, “Mmhmm-hmm...you’re fat.” he chuckled, wiggling an illicit Eskimo kiss and stealing another rub at that bump wedged between them. The American however, was less than amused.
He reached up and took a handful of Russia’s hair, giving it a cross little tug as his assailable neck was ravished. “Ugh...jus...said two seconds ago...-mmphh- there...t-that I wasn’t eating enough. Besides it’s called being pregnant, jackass! You try doing it someti-”
America’s voice was smothered by Russia’s kiss and tongue, that jumped up to silence the sometimes endless chatterbox. With a speedy revenge, as the depths and roof of his mouth were explored, Alfred’s hand -- sloooowly-- dragged down between them, languidly but skillfully, unbuttoned his pants and Ivan’s. Lax knuckles and fingers “accidently” brushed and bumped roughly against both growing erections. And just because he was America, he gave his enemy’s hardened length two good squeezes through his trousers, before retreating teasingly.
“Honk-honk.” he sniggered.
Ivan’s first instinct was to hoist the other up on his hips and fuck him bloody and hollering into the wall with impunity.
-But he had a change of heart (or it had slipped out and fallen to the floor, yet again), remembering the unusual yet delicate condition the capitalist was in. The catalyst of the here and now. He couldn’t say aloud, or reason with himself how badly he wanted to keep safe that little life binding the enemies. So instead, pretending to act on animal instinct and a what he distinguished as a humored pity for a weakened enemy, Russia chuckled, gently melding his arms around America’s shoulders, certain the tender embrace would annoy him.
-Indeed it did, but Alfred only moaned in protest as the man squeezing him to his chest so tightly, grazed his sharp pearly teeth along his stripped and sensitive collarbone.
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Enveloped in navy blue shadow, America realized he’d never felt nor received this sort of needy- greedy all-consuming gentleness in the midst of their foreplay. At least not on purpose. The dark, like alcohol, was a beautiful lotus-eater, so soft, forgiving and forgetful. And there was a distinct possibility they’d go home without needing iodine or stitches.
The only existing recollections of soft touching and kissing such as this (And maybe that sweet trick Russia was doing with their tongues!), were forced out through blurry, cheese-hole memories of nights past, consisting of one too many drinks.
-Nonetheless, America wasn’t about to bother with raising his hopes that there was anything more than a thrill for danger, as well as what happened to be a state-child between them. This was-...this was just...it was something is what it was.
Shaking out of and kicking away his pants, underwear and shoes, all the patience of a horny teen, America’s arms wrangled around the taller man, trying to nudge his suspenders down those too broad shoulders. But the kisses fluttering on Alfred’s pounding chest showed no signs of stopping or deterring, eating up every shiver reared from him. He demanded flesh, a fair and level-scale repentance for what he’d been through. After weeks suspended in anxiety, his every nerve was finally begging for it.
Growing impatient with Russia’s lack of cooperation, not pausing from feeling America up for even a second to simply edge the suspenders off, the frustrated nation huffed and in one snapping yank, the leather straps were torn off and dropped with a clatter. Unsurprisingly, Russia’s undone pants slowly began to follow, gravity working its magic.
Whether out of sheer excitement or payback for snapping his suspenders, Ivan bowed his head, mouthing at, twisting and tugging Alfred’s nipples; one rolled gently between his wolfish canines and the other pinched and made perk with still tremulous fingertips.
“A-aah-aahshhhhi-iit-I-Ivaa...” the younger country struggled, not taking note of how vulnerable he’d become. Only covered by a mere slip of a shirt, half open and sliding down to his elbows. America tried swallowing up his every gasp and moan, digging red crescent moons into the bone-white porcelain shoulders before him with each squeeze. The bubbling heat of such a simple but toiling task begin to rise, Russia’s hot bursts of breath and lapping tongue invading his chest.
‘Dammit, make ‘im say Uncle first!’ he internally coached himself with a foxy sneer.
Alfred yanked away and quickly pressed Ivan into the closed door, gracefully this time around. Their lips busy clashing, bodies still dancing in friction, his hands dipped down deeper to hasten the departure of his opposite’s drooping pants. Without looking, eyes only half adjusted to the dark of their sleepless bedroom world, Alfred felt around and discovered the other man wasn’t wearing underwear.
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With another fanged snarl, surging from deep within his white columned throat, the Soviet country mimicked his rival, cupping Alfred’s perked and clenching buttocks for himself. Before the Democrat could accuse him of lacking creativity (‘Who’s copying who now?!’), his breath hitched as his hips were yanked against Ivan’s.
Moans harmonized from both countries; a chaotic Hellish-Heavenly choir. Heated erections compressed with an aching throb, then rutted and ground together in rhythm, again and again, each a few searing seconds longer than the first. Alfred didn’t think he could get any painfully harder, til Ivan’s hand, oh so gently intervened, coiled around both cocks. With a single squeeze and a swipe of his thick rolling thumb-pad, their heads glistened pre cum, soon made slick and sliding between both groaning countries.
Forcing down white-hot release before they’d even made it to the bed was becoming just too torturous.
-But what was even more agonizing, for Alfred at least, was the forced acknowledgment of that little, but well grown paunch of his, cushioning and preventing any full-blown lasting contact, without bending at abstract angles. He didn’t need light or a mirror to know his face was sizzling redder than his enemy’s flag.
Ivan sensed the heat of this surreal maternal embarrassment in the face buried and huffing against his neck. He chuckled wickedly into their kiss, nipping and sucking a trail of pink stained marks down his enemy’s chin and neck. Remembering a similar crimson warmth, hours earlier at the cinema, made him hate himself for not taking his enemy then and there. Absently, his hand left their members, sliding up the line of Alfred’s thickened waist. Large hands clamped at his sides, two thumbs shyly rubbed affectionate wet little circles. There now, feel better?
“Sh-shaddup...” was all America could manage to think of in response, past the desperate mewls emptying from his still heaving chest. For a flash of a moment, he wondered what was going through Russia’s head and more importantly what was going through his.
Was this all for the sake of killing time till they were back to ‘normal’? Straining to keep distant any curiosities that could be mistaken as naive weakness, he continued his crusade to liberate Russia from his clothing.
Grazing those quick fingers up beneath the untucked starchy black shirt, America wordlessly encouraging its removal, avoiding the scarf as much as possible, knowing how Russia felt about saving it for last. His hands running over the fleshy expanse of Ivan’s back, Alfred not-so-subtly arched into the other, his churning hips doing all the convincing.
*Rip Rip Rip*
Suddenly America felt the front of his own shirt yank and burst open. He could hear the plucks of three strings, and the pings of those three once closed buttons patter down to the wooden planks below. Scattering like seeds amongst growing pool of discarded clothing.
Ivan had the thin shirt fisted so tightly in his big bearish paws, that he could have torn it in half like tissue paper if he really wanted. He stared back at Alfred, violet eyes dark and unapologetic, but very mirthful and very pleased at once. The nations took this pause to untangle and remove themselves from any remaining clothes, scant though they were, panting their exchange of insults in between breaths:
“I...liked....that shirt, you damn commie.”
“Buy a new one then...you...ridiculously...spoilt...capitalist.”
There was a cool-blue and strategic pause between the war countries, observing the enemy before launching an assault. The wry confidence in their grinning eyes was illuminated by the winking Spanish city lights come to life outside the single window.
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Embarrassed and bothered--but far from humiliated--Alfred chortled a small subdued “Hmpph”, a trick he’d picked up from fussy England to magically will a change in subject. Nonetheless he affixed his grip around Ivan’s wrist, keeping warm against a small thatch of goldish pubic hair. He could only hope this gentle scene didn’t look too loving and beautiful from the outside. Allowing the moment to fly off on its own, like a tiny sparrow on a breeze, America finally yanked the whole of the country to himself for another feverish kiss.
Warm went hot.
Within three steps of their backward drunken waltz, America’s knees buckled meeting the edge of the bed. He fell with an enthusiastic bounce on the mattress below, realizing how sticky with sweat (and other fluids that will remain nameless) he’d become, flush against crisp blankets.
Saving face and dignity, and not wanting to let himself be placed or lead anywhere, not alone at least, America quickly pulled Russia by his scarf down with him. As if this spot on the bed had been his idea all along.
Playing the fearless leader as always, Alfred crawled back on his elbows and palms, dragging himself with a luring brassiness till the scent of thick plaster walls looped playfully in and out of his senses, the honest cherry-wood headboard at his back. Ivan barely left an inch to cool between himself and the lithe and muscled form he crawled over, along that long stretch of bedcover. Only his lips ghosting across the writhing young nation’s collar-bone, left impressions of breath tingling skin.
His tongue rolled across a lost bead of sweat, prickling along the American’s shoulder, relieving the young nation of a suppressed shudder he couldn’t swallow. Russia pulled back to stare him boldly in the eye, licking his lips like he’d tasted something dewy and sweet.
A certain look of realization in the face of truth suddenly shadowed Ivan’s features, staring his enemy down, forcing himself not to succumb to his base and hungry needs with an abandon just yet. He’d raised himself up and above the other man like a table, elbows locks tight. Hovering with the stillness of a predator, not a scant trace of flesh touched between the two.
They both were waiting for something to pull them away.
. . .
Bursts of red came and went then, bounding along the walls, twirling with the wails of an ambulance’s siren call, as it sped unseen through the night and around the corner. A dull glow of crimson had also slipped into the room from the dive bar across the road, having woven its web into a far corner of the ceiling. These dim red lights were only background to Russia’s stare.
Lifting his eyelids, heavy from screwing them shut as many times as he had, America felt as though something were absent, despite enacting this scenario many times before: The patriotic and prideful incentive to fight, to destroy, to completely annihilate and overtake any and all foes had slunk back into it’s dark hole, for now at least. All that remained was between them, as nude and exposed as creation.
“Hey...why’re...”
There was no panic or fearful pitch in Alfred’s tone, even though Ivan’s hands, supporting the whole of his terrible weight, were so close to his neck, balled and gripping at either side (As if he were afraid of some Commie. Once McCarthy was booted from his perch, America had promised himself that he’d never fear Russia, no matter how many times he’d been warned otherwise.). The interpretation of his ‘why’ was vast in meaning, but narrowed down as no more than a neutral curiosity, that just so happened to slip from his thoughts. But as small as it was, his mere murmur soaked through the room’s atmosphere. A toppled and spilt liquid, scalding to the touch.
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They’d never done this before.
They rarely kissed on the lips, if at all during ‘battle’. Duels of endurance and strength, biting, clawing, kicks and punches, and pillow talk vicious enough to make Stalin blush. All to prove some pointed display of supremacy. Alfred could count on one hand the number of times they had shown any slight intimacy, and those times they were so drunk they could barely distinguish up from down.
They had their reasons that no one ever questioned.
Lovemaking was a dangerous and all too human weakness. It was a wound, gaping and open, promising to be warmed by pleasurable affection quickly rising on the horizon. So he and Ivan did their best to avoid it, always keeping in shadow, seduced by their own violent rivalry.
Less than fifteen seconds had brushed off this standstill. The obvious answer, now lain before them, would too become a realization that might never be brought to light or reckoned with aloud, at the heavy cost of pride:
‘We might never have another chance to be like this.’
. . .
Alfred hoisted himself onto his elbows, slowly lifting himself close to the other’s face. Unlike times past, most often in public, there were no sparking jolts of repellence. There was however a pulling hesitation from Ivan, who’d fallen into some deep trench of a stalemate, locked from pursuing forward. The destructive Thanatos-drive, rubbed raw and aching after many years, lay dormant, yet loudly yearning from across the room. Threatening to vanish altogether, if not fulfilled with a single strike or some malice grab for victory.
“Ivan~, Ivan~, Iv~an...”
Russia closed his eyes, lost, inhaling the sound of his human name clucking on America’s biting tongue. He willed himself to turn back to his rival and that curve of flesh, worthy of another worshiping stroke. The looming force of solid law between fellow antagonists, urging him to fold to their true volatile nature, crawled away dejectedly.
*WHUMP*
Within a fraction of a second Russia was thrown from his pensive state, one of his arms knocked off balance and quickly rolled onto his back. The American he’d swapped places with was straddling his lap, pinning him with all his weight, and smiling without any trace aggression or arrogance.
“I’m gettin’ cold you useless jerk.” he said, but really meant, ‘You won’t hurt us, I promise’. Eyes half-lidded and savagely darker with lust, Alfred nuzzled his nose beneath Ivan’s scarf, making room for his lips and darting tongue. Each kiss found a rose pink scar ringing around his neck to warm.
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Ivan sighed, those greedy touches soaking in. It couldn’t be helped. Gently, he removed the offending frames from those baby blues, quickly raveled them in the cushioned cylinder of his scarf, and let both precious trademarks then fall to the floor. Russia searched through the dark blindly, finding the curve of America’s spine to hold him in place. His other hand slid further up the youth’s eternally stag-toned thigh, clenching the flesh there tight.
The Cowboy hearted country bucked his hips, the rough throws of his pelvis enough to knock large tufts of gulping air from both superpowers. That inextinguishable groan pouring from his nostrils was a decree of the momentary entitlement Russia had over the body, just upon the cusp of swelling with child, currently winding into his. Wanting but not needing more ‘reassurance’, he swept curled knuckles up America’s backbone, knocking nearly every rung before reaching the nape of his neck.
Alfred turned into the cupped palm, guiding Ivan’s index finger deep into the cavern of his wet mouth. Without gagging (snickering actually), he skillfully managed the middle finger between his swollen lips as well, slurping noisily. Again the Russian’s hand was held in place, though without resistance, as the American’s salivating tongue lapped at the tender skin between the forked digits.
Not wasting a precious second, the thoroughly soaked fingers already beginning to chill upon their release, Russia whipped his hand behind America, and pushed a nimble digit into his entrance. Those once plush and loosely parted lips, scrunched into a firm, tightly pursed line, expressing the slightest quiver of pain.
“Sssssuuuunova-bitch...” Alfred groaned, long past the point of wasting energy on issues of superbia and dominance. Only willing that finger in deeper, slumping forward against’s Ivan’s broad chest for support. Underneath the curling smile, that any other time would make him want to punch a hole in the wall, he wove his shaky fingers through the plain of white-blonde chest hairs.
Upon the third or fourth come-hither curl of that knuckle-deep prodding finger, bright stars saturated America’s vision once ‘Hollywood’ was finally discovered.
-Russia would have normally rumbled his usual purring laugh, at seeing the other country panting, gasping and desperately arching to have his sweet spot pressed at again, but instead nearly let out a tight gasp himself, when the fuzz on his chest was gripped harshly. It didn’t hurt as much as it surprised him, sending a rushing thrill to his balls and making his blood-red shaft twitch painfully.
Of course the American took notice of this too, stealing the roguish snerking grin that seemed to pass back and forth between the two countries.
“Your red is showing ruski.” Then, pouting with all the insincerity in his soul, he stroked the fluffy patch of hairs like a tamed animal, grazing circles around the sensitive follicles with chewed down fingernails, tweaking a nipple as he roamed.
“Hmm...I wonder...” Ivan hummed snidely as if totally unaffected, feigning genuine interest, as he inserted a second finger without hint or warning, “You...cannot get your ankles over your head by now can you?” he asked with a far too cordial and polite tone for his own good. It was the last sliver of bickering sarcasm he could possibly manage for now, the wriggling American in his hold grunting and moaning so sweetly with every dilating inch.
“Hnnn...ah! A-ahh,” Alfred cracked open a teary lid to glare piercingly through a single narrowed eye, “Ughhh...fer fuck’s sake- would you...knock it off already with all the fat- Ngghh...cohh...mntsss...” he hissed and shuddered through his front teeth, gnawing his lip between words. “-‘least I have an excuse...”
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“Mhhmm-Ple..aaah...”
“Say again?” Ivan planted a quick wet kiss on the corner of Alfred’s mouth, busy fingers now straightened, rigid and patiently waiting for the American to repeat himself.
“Please...I-I’m gonna...ahh- FUCK, PLEASE!” Tonight might be the only time he would ever hear such polite manners from his rival.
Jutting in deep once more, Ivan pulled his fingers out completely, nudging the other country upright, and inviting him down further onto his lap. Still twitching in mid-gyration with the slightest hump, Alfred, in his haze, slowly eased himself down onto the other country’s impressive size, leading him in full mast. Torturously inching all the way down to the hilt of his dripping cock, a tiny spark blossomed into flames, engulfing inside and all around, coiling in ripples through both locked countries with a familiar assurance. Pleasure spread and lapped like vaporous tongues of steam.
Russia bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, completely tucked inside America. ’So warm...’
Legs folded beneath him, clawing and bunching at the blanket like a man fighting gravity for all he’s worth, America rose and fell, impaling himself again, practically dead weight, around the thick and fleshy tract of land punched up into him. An anonymous duo of heaving sighs and the sucking slaps of flesh on flesh gradually sped up. The knotted bundle of nerves had grown tighter within him, with every pound, especially when Russia’s wanderlust touch found the enticing warmth of his inner-thighs.
Suddenly Alfred halted mid bounce, wide eyed and grasping at the space a little to the left of his navel.
-His still tiny passenger had apparently given him a short budge, unable to tolerant the wild jerks of it’s parents. All movement (besides Alaska’s short lived shifts) ceased, and complete and undeterred focus centered solely between the countries. ...As the few seconds of unspoken anxiety over the child’s well being lifted, Alfred gave his middle a relieved pat.
“What?” Ivan looked concerned, despite the lusty mist saturating his every pore.
“‘s fine,” Alfred slurred with a breathy sigh to assure the somewhat off-putting look from below. “C’mon, m’not ly~in’.” Readying himself for the next powerful lunge of their hips, America was slowed by Russia, handling the low incline of his abdomen.
“Ah~ah~ah...do you not think you should be more gentle dorogoy?” he cooed, sliding his taunting thumb up and down the base of Alfred’s hard length, tracing a prominent vein. His touch was purposely short, brief and instigating, voice smooth and composed despite his being in the dead center of a good hot fucking.
Before Alfred could give him very frustrated swipe and inform (or as best he could) Ivan he didn’t need his two-cents on the how-to’s of parenting (pre-parenting, whatever!), he was captured in a tight heavy armed embrace that literally flew up and encircled him.
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-Their rules had already been thrown out the window the very second they’d begun, so there was little the democratic nation could do in protest to the overwhelming anatomy consuming him, his chin and Adam’s-apple fit so snugly over the heavily padded curve of the older nation’s shoulder. So he gave in to the hands at play like a harpist on his backbone, winding his legs more comfortably around the body pressing into him, ushering Russia deeper and tighter inside.
Wound around one another, they were so perfectly matched in the dark.
The countries began to move, rocking and grinding together in slow and small intervals, basking in a distant glow that increased into a terrible hot-ice burn. Throbbing and pulsing either knew they wouldn’t last much longer.
America so badly wanted to jerk himself off into completion, but his every inch of him was practically plastered between the two bodies burying into one another. His stubby and coarse nails raked and tore into that beautifully rippled ivory back, furiously digging to find bliss.
Hot-God-So hot-Yes-Yes-PleasePLEASEPLEASE
-Past the deep dark blue and burning reds here and there, Ivan crooned a single breathy word past Alfred’s ear, yearning for those white and gold flashes. As if it were their last.
This was enough to send him hurtling over the edge. Russia’s human name was lost in a hoarse sob, that wracked through America’s burning throat, as he finally let loose his release, coating their stomachs in his essence.
Russia followed soon after, devoured by the stroking heat surrounding him. The ring of muscle clenched tightly around his length, and at this juncture he pulled back and gently thrust up inside the American, coming in heaving spurts and filling him with warmth. Though exhausted and limp the young country still held onto him for dear life, amidst the crashing waves of their climax.
They rode out each rolling wave of their orgasm, even after collapsing on the bed. Barely able to untangled, as the calmed tempest pulled them into sleep, America clumsily crushed his lips to Russia’s, without point or purpose. Just because he wanted to.
“So...I guess...” Alfred mumbled inches from Ivan’s lips, laughing lightly, “r’you...okay w’this?” His soft laugh was low and messy, but tinkled like falling snow
Though exhaustion was numbing him like hemlock, vision steadily fading to black, Russia managed to nod once. Softly knocking their foreheads together, the countries slipped into unconsciousness.
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