V-E Day [2/?]
anonymous
September 30 2009, 03:07:19 UTC
I am not quite sure I like this part-it was un-betaed.
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His lips and hands were all over, kissing and feeling and worshipping he thought, but perhaps he was too romantic. It was blurry and hot and heavy and he vaguely realized that their clothes weren’t even off and he was so close. There was a sinuous, slow snapping of hips that made his head turn to mush. It felt to him like a slow dance, one that would make most dancers in his country faint, and he had no intention of speeding it up. It was perfect the way it was, with the rubbing of the fabric and slow roaming hands over his body. And were there sweet nothings being whispered in his ear? Nobody had ever treated him like this when there was sex to be had, ever, and pinpricks of wet gathered at the corners of his eyes. A rough thumb was wiping them away.
“Don’t cry.”
“’m not.” Exhale-gasp as they hit a certain spot. “Crying, idiot.”
“Mmm.” Arms were encircling his waist and then suddenly hips were lightening quick snapping into his, and he was held to them, together, close as they could get without shedding clothing and being in each other. He gasped, the feeling like no other as a mouth leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “I love you.”
“Oh, god,” Arthur choked out and ca-.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
“Fuck!” England shouted, sitting straight up in bed, half startled from his alarm, half shuddering from the after-effects of his dream. He bit down on his lip as he trembled, riding out the waves of his orgasm. Every single part of his body from his ears straight down to his toes felt like it was twitching in time.
And he hadn’t had an orgasm like that in years. Not like he hadn’t slept with people before this or hat wet dreams, oh no. But that was a more of physical gratification “Oh, I just came’ sort of thing. This was feeling it in every single nerve of his body, in his bones, in his soul. And god, he had either gotten to be a sentimental old man, or he was truly, deeply soul-wrenchingly in love with America.
Probably both.
He almost felt like going back to bed again, since it was truly early in the morning (he set his alarm early just so he could sleep in), but there were two problems. One, he was sticky mess, and two; he didn’t think he could take another dream like that. So he climbed out of bed to clean himself up.
In the shower, he tried not to think about America at all. He tried not to think about the dream. Of course, it was quite hard when you smelled of sweat and cum and it was splattered all over your discarded sleep clothes and sheets. What made him wonder is why he was having these dreams now? It had been years since that kiss… Perhaps somebody was trying to tell him something. England was not a superstitious man for nothing.
He finally managed to get himself together and stagger down to the kitchen in a bathrobe. He went straight to the counter, where his teapot was.
“Morning, Iggy!”
“Good morning, America,” he said, filling the teapot with water. Then it dawned on him. “America!” He dropped the teapot in the sink with a loud clang.
“Hi,” he said, waving with one hand, the other holding some sort of horrible breakfast sandwich from McDonald’s. “Didn’t mean to frighten ya.”
“How did you get in here?” England demanded, arms crossing his chest in a slightly defensive manner, as he realized he was only wearing a bathrobe.
“I know where your spare key is. Anyway, I came over today so we can spend the day together!” America said brightly smiling. England was strongly reminded of the sun.
“Why would I want to spend the day with you?” he asked, pulling the teakettle out of the sink where he had dropped it. It sounded harsh to his ears because over it he could hear breathing; little sighs and gasps as hips rolled against his…
America flashed a face of hurt- England was getting better at seeing it and it hurt him- before he covered it up with another smile. “Don’t you know what day it is?” England turned to look at the calendar hanging on his wall. He had to double take to make sure what he was seeing was right.
----------
His lips and hands were all over, kissing and feeling and worshipping he thought, but perhaps he was too romantic. It was blurry and hot and heavy and he vaguely realized that their clothes weren’t even off and he was so close. There was a sinuous, slow snapping of hips that made his head turn to mush. It felt to him like a slow dance, one that would make most dancers in his country faint, and he had no intention of speeding it up. It was perfect the way it was, with the rubbing of the fabric and slow roaming hands over his body. And were there sweet nothings being whispered in his ear? Nobody had ever treated him like this when there was sex to be had, ever, and pinpricks of wet gathered at the corners of his eyes. A rough thumb was wiping them away.
“Don’t cry.”
“’m not.” Exhale-gasp as they hit a certain spot. “Crying, idiot.”
“Mmm.” Arms were encircling his waist and then suddenly hips were lightening quick snapping into his, and he was held to them, together, close as they could get without shedding clothing and being in each other. He gasped, the feeling like no other as a mouth leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “I love you.”
“Oh, god,” Arthur choked out and ca-.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
“Fuck!” England shouted, sitting straight up in bed, half startled from his alarm, half shuddering from the after-effects of his dream. He bit down on his lip as he trembled, riding out the waves of his orgasm. Every single part of his body from his ears straight down to his toes felt like it was twitching in time.
And he hadn’t had an orgasm like that in years. Not like he hadn’t slept with people before this or hat wet dreams, oh no. But that was a more of physical gratification “Oh, I just came’ sort of thing. This was feeling it in every single nerve of his body, in his bones, in his soul. And god, he had either gotten to be a sentimental old man, or he was truly, deeply soul-wrenchingly in love with America.
Probably both.
He almost felt like going back to bed again, since it was truly early in the morning (he set his alarm early just so he could sleep in), but there were two problems. One, he was sticky mess, and two; he didn’t think he could take another dream like that. So he climbed out of bed to clean himself up.
In the shower, he tried not to think about America at all. He tried not to think about the dream. Of course, it was quite hard when you smelled of sweat and cum and it was splattered all over your discarded sleep clothes and sheets. What made him wonder is why he was having these dreams now? It had been years since that kiss… Perhaps somebody was trying to tell him something. England was not a superstitious man for nothing.
He finally managed to get himself together and stagger down to the kitchen in a bathrobe. He went straight to the counter, where his teapot was.
“Morning, Iggy!”
“Good morning, America,” he said, filling the teapot with water. Then it dawned on him. “America!” He dropped the teapot in the sink with a loud clang.
“Hi,” he said, waving with one hand, the other holding some sort of horrible breakfast sandwich from McDonald’s. “Didn’t mean to frighten ya.”
“How did you get in here?” England demanded, arms crossing his chest in a slightly defensive manner, as he realized he was only wearing a bathrobe.
“I know where your spare key is. Anyway, I came over today so we can spend the day together!” America said brightly smiling. England was strongly reminded of the sun.
“Why would I want to spend the day with you?” he asked, pulling the teakettle out of the sink where he had dropped it. It sounded harsh to his ears because over it he could hear breathing; little sighs and gasps as hips rolled against his…
America flashed a face of hurt- England was getting better at seeing it and it hurt him- before he covered it up with another smile. “Don’t you know what day it is?” England turned to look at the calendar hanging on his wall. He had to double take to make sure what he was seeing was right.
May 8th, 2009
It was V-E Day. Fuck.
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Oh, Anon, this is completely marvelous. I can't wait for the next installment.
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*smashes F5*
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In need of MOAR, writer!anon, please supply? <33
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