Blinded (1a/?)
anonymous
November 25 2009, 18:10:33 UTC
I strayed a bit from your prompt, OP. I hope it's still okay!
His breath rattles in his chest. He can feel it there, can smell the chemicals and feel the burning in his lungs as they shudder. But he can’t hear the coughs, can’t see the asphalt under his hands as loose pebble dig into his back.
America had been walking back from a meeting with Iraq and a few other nations, who were still furious with him. He’d stormed out. No one was listening to him, no one saw that he was trying his damndest and no one gave a flying fuck about anything other than his failures. He’d gone down a sidestreet, heading for a hotel, when he had seen something out of the corner of his eye. He’d turned toward it, but then-
He was laying on his side, blind and deaf. He clutched at the gun at his waist, pulled it out. Whoever had attacked him, they could still be there. There could be more than one of them. He remembered that there had been a wall to his left, he felt for it and he climbed to his feet.
A hand grabbed his wrist. He yelled, pulling his arm away easily. His gun pointed in the direction he thought it had come from.
He stood there for several minutes, but there was nothing. No response. For all he knew that had been someone trying to help him. Maybe he’d scared them off. But they could very easily be waiting for him to lower his guard.
America was helpless. He felt himself begin to shake with rage. His hand tightened on the (useless) gun.
Suddenly, it went flying out of his hand, and his legs were kicked out from under him. He fell back heavily, smacking his head on the asphalt. His right arm was pinned to his chest by a leg, and his left was held over his head by a grip that felt like a vice.
He could feel breath, warm and quick on his face, coming in puffs. Someone was yelling at him.
Distantly, he felt the familiar humming just underneath his skin. Whoever this was, it was a nation. Ally or enemy, he couldn’t tell. He had trouble enough with that when he could see.
Whoever it was was still yelling, and America was sick of being pinned.
Re: Blinded (1a/?)
anonymous
November 25 2009, 18:12:51 UTC
“I can’t see or hear,” he said at what he thought was a reasonable volume. “So either finish me off or let me up.”
Nations couldn’t be killed unless something catastrophic happened to their people. So as much as America believed (hoped) that he’d feel the cool metal of his gun pressed against his skull, he knew that it wouldn’t last long.
The body on top of his stiffened. America felt them shift off, but didn’t move, instead lying out on the sidewalk.
He was honestly surprised when he felt a tugging on his arm. He sat up, and there were now two hands on him, one bracing his upper arm, the other on his back, supporting him. He stood, mildly surprised.
The hands vanished, and America froze. When a few moments had passed, he laughed bitterly. The United States of America, blind, deaf, and helpless in an alleyway. Whoever it was was probably standing back and taking pictures. Maybe they’d gone back to get the others to gawk.
Suddenly, the hands were back, moving his right arm out of the way. He felt his gun slide back into his holster. He tried reaching for it, to be sure it was there, but one of the hands grabbed at his wrist and pulled it away.
Whoever it was was standing close. He or she was talking again, the breath hitting America on his neck. Probably shorter than him, but that only eliminated Russia. And Russia could be crouching, so there went that logic.
His right arm was lifted and draped over someone’s shoulders. Russia was out, whoever it was was truly shorter than America. And a bit boney for being able to tackle him so easily.
America felt the person’s right shoulder shift, and there was a hand resting on his. Then the person stepped forward.
America had never felt so disempowered, following an unknown nation down the street where he’d been attacked. He was positive that it was only the two of them there, though if you pressed him he couldn’t say how.
After thinking a moment, he shifted closer to the other and let his hand wander down the person’s chest.
The nation under his arm stiffened, and America let his arm shift back to its former position. Whoever was helping him was male.
They walked for what felt like a long time, and then the other stopped. He nudged America’s foot, and America let him push it forward until he felt his toes hit what felt like a step.
“Stairs?” He asked, to be sure.
A pause, and a single finger traced down his chest.
America raised his eyebrows. “Is that ‘yes?’”
The action was repeated.
“So what’s ‘no?’”
The finger drew a line horizontally across his chest.
America nodded. “How many steps are there?”
The finger tapped five times on his chest.
“Okay.”
The journey up the stairs was slow and awkward, with the other trying to help and America trying not to topple them. They ended up moving in as close to tandem as they could manage. America felt like they were trying to do a three-legged race in a gunnysack.
America felt a rush of cool air on his face, and concluded that an automatic door had opened. The smells seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place them.
They walked another distance, then paused.
“Hotel?” America asked, recognizing the perfumed, clean odor at last.
‘Yes.’ Said the finger on his chest.
America furrowed his brow. “Mine or yours?” he asked suspiciously. He’d begun to think that this was a friend, but maybe he was on the wrong track, and with all the touching that was going on…
But the finger pressed insistently into his chest.
“Mine?”
The finger confirmed.
The shoulder under his arm slipped away, and a hand was on his left forearm. The hand moved his hand to the pocket where he kept his wallet, and his arm was poked insistently.
America slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He handed it off to the other, who took it readily. A moment later, it was pressed into his hand, and he put it back.
The hard side of a keycard rasped against his arm, and a question mark was traced on his chest.
“303.” A hand rested briefly on America’s shoulder, and then his arm was draped across the other again, and they were moving.
Re: Blinded (2/?)
anonymous
November 25 2009, 18:49:10 UTC
America felt his stomach drop slightly. And elevator, then. It stopped, and America moved to get off, but an arm stopped him. The elevator moved up again, and jerked to a stop, and America waited for the other to move before stepping forward.
As soon as they paused and America felt the slight breeze of a door opening, he knew that he had indeed been taken back to his room. He’d been there a few days, and he recognized the smell of the burger’s he’d picked up from the restaurant down the block.
It was only after he’d been led to the bed that he started to panic. As the arm tried to pull away, he grabbed it. “Are you going to leave me here alone?”
He was surprised to feel the panic in him. He had no idea who this was, and surely it would better to be left alone now that he was somewhere safe. But at the idea of stumbling around his room, helpless and with no help to be had, he felt his heart race.
The finger traced a resolute ‘no.’
America relaxed, leaning back against the headboard as he released the arm. The other nation drew back, vanishing from America’s limited perceptions.
America closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
Someone settled to his right, and America shifted, stretching out his hand and feeling a chest under it. A hand was placed on top of his.
“Who are you?” asked America. He could feel the sudden hitch of the nation’s chest, the tightening of the hand grasped onto his. The man leaned forward, and America could feel his breath on his cheek as he spoke words that weren’t heard.
A head settled on his shoulder, and there were a few more words whispered against his neck. But then the other nation slipped away, and America became conscious of the smell of cheap hotel coffee. A hot mug was placed it his hands, and America could feel the nation’s leg brush against his as he sat in the armchair next to the bed.
When America had drained the mug, the stranger was suddenly close. Hands were placed over his ears, then his eyes, and a question was drawn again on his chest.
“I’m not sure. I was walking out, and there was something…and then I was like this.” America finished lamely.
America’s arm was drug over to feel the watch on his own arm, and then another question.
America frowned. “What time is it now?”
Eleven taps on his chest.
“I think I left about ten. Took me what, five, ten minutes to get there? I don’t know, I was kinda mad.”
There was no response. America continued.
“So it took, what, twenty minutes or so to get here? Twenty-five? Guess I was out about ten minutes or so. Surprised I woke up with my wallet.” He tried to make a joke of it, but it fell flat, even to his deaf ears. The other’s legs shifted, he stood.
Arms wrapped around him, and America jumped in shock. But they just drew him closer, into the chest of the stranger.
America closed his eyes and sighed, though it hitched in the middle and almost came out a sob. It had been a long time since anyone had held him, not since his brother had come over after 9/11 and they spent the next week pressed together like they were colonies again, seeking the most warmth and comfort they could.
This embrace felt solid. Safe. Familiar, with a scent that America knew. America wanted to bury his face in the other’s chest, so he did.
It was a curious thing. America knew that the person helping him could communicate clearly, that it was he who was hampered. But it felt like he was playing hide-and-seek again. I can’t see you, so you can’t see me. It was an odd sort of freedom. For the first time in weeks, he felt his strain lift.
He started talking. He spoke about the wars, the pressure that was put on his by the others and by his bosses. He talked about his media, and how much he loved/hated them and how he couldn’t even tell the difference anymore, how his citizens were stressed and worried, and how he was scared that after all that had happened that everyone would abandon him.
Then he spoke about what had happened, and how much he had almost wanted the other nation to shoot him as he lay on the asphalt, if only to get a moment’s rest.
Re: Blinded (3/4)
anonymous
November 25 2009, 18:52:34 UTC
That was when the other drew back and slapped America across the mouth. One of the hands buried itself in America’s hair, yanking as if to tear off America’s scalp.
He could tell that the other was talking, (yelling) again, he could feel the breath on his face, hot and heavy and so very close.
America caught the back of the other’s head with his hand and pulled it forward roughly. His lips crashed into the other man’s nose, but then he found his mouth, and kissed him as hard as he could. Their teeth clacked together, and suddenly America’s mouth was being invaded.
America was pushed back onto the bed, and he saw no reason to resist. Thighs straddled his hips, and he laughed as he felt a tug on the bottom of his shirt.
There was a pause, and America just knew that he was considering America, watching for consent even as he ran his thumb over a fastened button.
“Keep going,” America said, still chuckling. “I just think it’s funny-it’s funny. This whole situation, isn’t it? I was worried about everything, then I nearly get killed and now I’m going to be fucked by a stranger in my own hotel room and I don’t give a shit. Don’t you think that’s funny?”
America was pressed further down into the mattress, and the other nation was tangling a hand in his hair and kissing him like he was trying to devour him. America hummed, and the man trembled, his hips rocking over America’s stomach.
Then the nation pulled back, and the rest of America’s chest was opened to the world. A cool finger trailed along his ribs, tracing his nipples and swirling around his bellybutton. America sat up a bit to take off his probably-no-longer white dress shirt, but the other stopped him, biting the spot where his neck met his shoulder.
America groaned, he felt himself arch against the other’s hips. His belt slide away, and he gasped in relief as his pants were undone.
America kicked off his shoes, and his pants and boxers were slowly stripped off. Once there were gone, America didn’t give a shit where they went to because there was suddenly a mouth on his cock.
“Jesus!” He laughed. “Your name here!” He laughed again.
The other’s teeth scraped against his length angrily, and America bucked upward.
“L-let me. Let me touch you. Please.”
America’s hands found an arm, still covered in a suit jacket. He yanked on it and felt the fabric tear. The wet warmth of the other’s mouth was gone, and the arm was jerked away. Somehow he knew he was being yelled at again, and he laughed.
When he reached out a moment later, he felt both bare chest and cloth under his hand. The cloth was shifting as buttons were unfastened, and the shirt finally slid away entirely.
“So you’re allowed to take off your shirt and I’m not?”
A firm finger drew down his breastbone.
America paused. “So I am allowed to take off my shirt?”
An angry ‘no’. America could almost feel the hands wrapping around his throat, kinda wished they would.
But with that revelation out of the way, there were more important matters to attend to.
“’S a condom in the end table. An’ lotion.”
America’s glasses were slipped off his nose, and he could feel the heat coming off the other nation’s chest as he leaned over to place them on the table, leaning even closer to go through the drawer. America reached up, placed his hand on his partner’s side and slid it down to encircle the other’s hard length.
America felt the man’s breath hitch, and then he moaned, pressing his length hard into America’s hand.
The nation shifted, and one hand rested on top of America’s. He could feel as the other man unrolled the condom onto his own length.
Kisses trailed down America’s chest, then back and up his neck and jaw. Finally, the other placed a soft, almost chaste kiss on his mouth, whispering something against his lips.
Then a hand was pressing a slick, cold finger into America’s entrance. America moaned and pressed back eagerly.
Another heavy moment, and another finger was added. America could feel hot, heavy breath against his neck.
A third, and then they were gone and America could feel the other hovering before his entrance a moment before he pressed.
Re: Blinded (4/4)
anonymous
November 25 2009, 18:53:16 UTC
America took a breath and laughed happily before rocking with the other. Hands traced patterns on his skin, moving up and down the inside of his arms before trailing down his ribs and grasping his length.
America didn’t speak, and if the other nation did, America wouldn’t know, didn’t care. His orgasm caught him by surprise, his hips jerking as he laughed and shot his seed over the other’s belly.
A few thrusts later and America felt the nation shudder. America’s hand was resting on the man’s back, and he felt him cry out through his spread palm.
Then, still sheathed inside him, the other man leaned forward and kissed America softly, one hand cupping the side of America’s face.
America smiled sleepily in return.
The nation crawled off America, but returned a moment later with a warm washcloth. America felt it move over his skin and sighed.
A weight settled by America’s side, and a sheet was pulled up over the two. America turned and pulled his lover to him, breathing in the smell of his sweat and musk and the faint scent of tea.
Re: Blinded Epilogue
anonymous
November 25 2009, 18:56:50 UTC
It was 5:49 when America awoke, and it took him a moment to realize why it was significant that he was reading a clock. He grabbed his glasses off the endtable and slid them on, snapping his fingers by his ears. His hearing was back as well.
The figure next to him stirred, and America slid back under the sheet.
“England. Hey, England!” he whispered.
“Mmmm? What is it?” was the sleepy answer.
“Thanks.”
England sat up. “Your hearing’s back?”
“Yep. Sight, too.”
England sighed and relaxed against the headboard.
There was a pause, then England spoke. “Did you really not know who it was?”
America nuzzled his neck. “I did. You got pissy about my grammar.”
England scoffed. “I should strangle you for what you’ve done to my language.”
America bit his ear gently. “Maybe you should.”
Just to tie things up, America hadn't been targeted. There was just a stupid kid who got ahold of some high-grade explosives who panicked and ran off after America was knocked out. Two people were fired and one was written up for that.
Re: Blinded Epilogue
anonymous
November 26 2009, 03:52:40 UTC
Anon, thank you for writing this. NotOP think that was very sensual and was kinda hoping tat England would draw a heart on America during the love-making. Either way, I'm very satisfy. <3
His breath rattles in his chest. He can feel it there, can smell the chemicals and feel the burning in his lungs as they shudder. But he can’t hear the coughs, can’t see the asphalt under his hands as loose pebble dig into his back.
America had been walking back from a meeting with Iraq and a few other nations, who were still furious with him. He’d stormed out. No one was listening to him, no one saw that he was trying his damndest and no one gave a flying fuck about anything other than his failures. He’d gone down a sidestreet, heading for a hotel, when he had seen something out of the corner of his eye. He’d turned toward it, but then-
He was laying on his side, blind and deaf. He clutched at the gun at his waist, pulled it out. Whoever had attacked him, they could still be there. There could be more than one of them. He remembered that there had been a wall to his left, he felt for it and he climbed to his feet.
A hand grabbed his wrist. He yelled, pulling his arm away easily. His gun pointed in the direction he thought it had come from.
He stood there for several minutes, but there was nothing. No response. For all he knew that had been someone trying to help him. Maybe he’d scared them off. But they could very easily be waiting for him to lower his guard.
America was helpless. He felt himself begin to shake with rage. His hand tightened on the (useless) gun.
Suddenly, it went flying out of his hand, and his legs were kicked out from under him. He fell back heavily, smacking his head on the asphalt. His right arm was pinned to his chest by a leg, and his left was held over his head by a grip that felt like a vice.
He could feel breath, warm and quick on his face, coming in puffs. Someone was yelling at him.
Distantly, he felt the familiar humming just underneath his skin. Whoever this was, it was a nation. Ally or enemy, he couldn’t tell. He had trouble enough with that when he could see.
Whoever it was was still yelling, and America was sick of being pinned.
Reply
Nations couldn’t be killed unless something catastrophic happened to their people. So as much as America believed (hoped) that he’d feel the cool metal of his gun pressed against his skull, he knew that it wouldn’t last long.
The body on top of his stiffened. America felt them shift off, but didn’t move, instead lying out on the sidewalk.
He was honestly surprised when he felt a tugging on his arm. He sat up, and there were now two hands on him, one bracing his upper arm, the other on his back, supporting him. He stood, mildly surprised.
The hands vanished, and America froze. When a few moments had passed, he laughed bitterly. The United States of America, blind, deaf, and helpless in an alleyway. Whoever it was was probably standing back and taking pictures. Maybe they’d gone back to get the others to gawk.
Suddenly, the hands were back, moving his right arm out of the way. He felt his gun slide back into his holster. He tried reaching for it, to be sure it was there, but one of the hands grabbed at his wrist and pulled it away.
Whoever it was was standing close. He or she was talking again, the breath hitting America on his neck. Probably shorter than him, but that only eliminated Russia. And Russia could be crouching, so there went that logic.
His right arm was lifted and draped over someone’s shoulders. Russia was out, whoever it was was truly shorter than America. And a bit boney for being able to tackle him so easily.
America felt the person’s right shoulder shift, and there was a hand resting on his. Then the person stepped forward.
America had never felt so disempowered, following an unknown nation down the street where he’d been attacked. He was positive that it was only the two of them there, though if you pressed him he couldn’t say how.
After thinking a moment, he shifted closer to the other and let his hand wander down the person’s chest.
The nation under his arm stiffened, and America let his arm shift back to its former position. Whoever was helping him was male.
They walked for what felt like a long time, and then the other stopped. He nudged America’s foot, and America let him push it forward until he felt his toes hit what felt like a step.
“Stairs?” He asked, to be sure.
A pause, and a single finger traced down his chest.
America raised his eyebrows. “Is that ‘yes?’”
The action was repeated.
“So what’s ‘no?’”
The finger drew a line horizontally across his chest.
America nodded. “How many steps are there?”
The finger tapped five times on his chest.
“Okay.”
The journey up the stairs was slow and awkward, with the other trying to help and America trying not to topple them. They ended up moving in as close to tandem as they could manage. America felt like they were trying to do a three-legged race in a gunnysack.
America felt a rush of cool air on his face, and concluded that an automatic door had opened. The smells seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place them.
They walked another distance, then paused.
“Hotel?” America asked, recognizing the perfumed, clean odor at last.
‘Yes.’ Said the finger on his chest.
America furrowed his brow. “Mine or yours?” he asked suspiciously. He’d begun to think that this was a friend, but maybe he was on the wrong track, and with all the touching that was going on…
But the finger pressed insistently into his chest.
“Mine?”
The finger confirmed.
The shoulder under his arm slipped away, and a hand was on his left forearm. The hand moved his hand to the pocket where he kept his wallet, and his arm was poked insistently.
America slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He handed it off to the other, who took it readily. A moment later, it was pressed into his hand, and he put it back.
The hard side of a keycard rasped against his arm, and a question mark was traced on his chest.
“303.” A hand rested briefly on America’s shoulder, and then his arm was draped across the other again, and they were moving.
Reply
Reply
As soon as they paused and America felt the slight breeze of a door opening, he knew that he had indeed been taken back to his room. He’d been there a few days, and he recognized the smell of the burger’s he’d picked up from the restaurant down the block.
It was only after he’d been led to the bed that he started to panic. As the arm tried to pull away, he grabbed it. “Are you going to leave me here alone?”
He was surprised to feel the panic in him. He had no idea who this was, and surely it would better to be left alone now that he was somewhere safe. But at the idea of stumbling around his room, helpless and with no help to be had, he felt his heart race.
The finger traced a resolute ‘no.’
America relaxed, leaning back against the headboard as he released the arm. The other nation drew back, vanishing from America’s limited perceptions.
America closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
Someone settled to his right, and America shifted, stretching out his hand and feeling a chest under it. A hand was placed on top of his.
“Who are you?” asked America. He could feel the sudden hitch of the nation’s chest, the tightening of the hand grasped onto his. The man leaned forward, and America could feel his breath on his cheek as he spoke words that weren’t heard.
A head settled on his shoulder, and there were a few more words whispered against his neck. But then the other nation slipped away, and America became conscious of the smell of cheap hotel coffee. A hot mug was placed it his hands, and America could feel the nation’s leg brush against his as he sat in the armchair next to the bed.
When America had drained the mug, the stranger was suddenly close. Hands were placed over his ears, then his eyes, and a question was drawn again on his chest.
“I’m not sure. I was walking out, and there was something…and then I was like this.” America finished lamely.
America’s arm was drug over to feel the watch on his own arm, and then another question.
America frowned. “What time is it now?”
Eleven taps on his chest.
“I think I left about ten. Took me what, five, ten minutes to get there? I don’t know, I was kinda mad.”
There was no response. America continued.
“So it took, what, twenty minutes or so to get here? Twenty-five? Guess I was out about ten minutes or so. Surprised I woke up with my wallet.” He tried to make a joke of it, but it fell flat, even to his deaf ears. The other’s legs shifted, he stood.
Arms wrapped around him, and America jumped in shock. But they just drew him closer, into the chest of the stranger.
America closed his eyes and sighed, though it hitched in the middle and almost came out a sob. It had been a long time since anyone had held him, not since his brother had come over after 9/11 and they spent the next week pressed together like they were colonies again, seeking the most warmth and comfort they could.
This embrace felt solid. Safe. Familiar, with a scent that America knew. America wanted to bury his face in the other’s chest, so he did.
It was a curious thing. America knew that the person helping him could communicate clearly, that it was he who was hampered. But it felt like he was playing hide-and-seek again. I can’t see you, so you can’t see me. It was an odd sort of freedom. For the first time in weeks, he felt his strain lift.
He started talking. He spoke about the wars, the pressure that was put on his by the others and by his bosses. He talked about his media, and how much he loved/hated them and how he couldn’t even tell the difference anymore, how his citizens were stressed and worried, and how he was scared that after all that had happened that everyone would abandon him.
Then he spoke about what had happened, and how much he had almost wanted the other nation to shoot him as he lay on the asphalt, if only to get a moment’s rest.
Reply
He could tell that the other was talking, (yelling) again, he could feel the breath on his face, hot and heavy and so very close.
America caught the back of the other’s head with his hand and pulled it forward roughly. His lips crashed into the other man’s nose, but then he found his mouth, and kissed him as hard as he could. Their teeth clacked together, and suddenly America’s mouth was being invaded.
America was pushed back onto the bed, and he saw no reason to resist. Thighs straddled his hips, and he laughed as he felt a tug on the bottom of his shirt.
There was a pause, and America just knew that he was considering America, watching for consent even as he ran his thumb over a fastened button.
“Keep going,” America said, still chuckling. “I just think it’s funny-it’s funny. This whole situation, isn’t it? I was worried about everything, then I nearly get killed and now I’m going to be fucked by a stranger in my own hotel room and I don’t give a shit. Don’t you think that’s funny?”
America was pressed further down into the mattress, and the other nation was tangling a hand in his hair and kissing him like he was trying to devour him. America hummed, and the man trembled, his hips rocking over America’s stomach.
Then the nation pulled back, and the rest of America’s chest was opened to the world. A cool finger trailed along his ribs, tracing his nipples and swirling around his bellybutton. America sat up a bit to take off his probably-no-longer white dress shirt, but the other stopped him, biting the spot where his neck met his shoulder.
America groaned, he felt himself arch against the other’s hips. His belt slide away, and he gasped in relief as his pants were undone.
America kicked off his shoes, and his pants and boxers were slowly stripped off. Once there were gone, America didn’t give a shit where they went to because there was suddenly a mouth on his cock.
“Jesus!” He laughed. “Your name here!” He laughed again.
The other’s teeth scraped against his length angrily, and America bucked upward.
“L-let me. Let me touch you. Please.”
America’s hands found an arm, still covered in a suit jacket. He yanked on it and felt the fabric tear. The wet warmth of the other’s mouth was gone, and the arm was jerked away. Somehow he knew he was being yelled at again, and he laughed.
When he reached out a moment later, he felt both bare chest and cloth under his hand. The cloth was shifting as buttons were unfastened, and the shirt finally slid away entirely.
“So you’re allowed to take off your shirt and I’m not?”
A firm finger drew down his breastbone.
America paused. “So I am allowed to take off my shirt?”
An angry ‘no’. America could almost feel the hands wrapping around his throat, kinda wished they would.
But with that revelation out of the way, there were more important matters to attend to.
“’S a condom in the end table. An’ lotion.”
America’s glasses were slipped off his nose, and he could feel the heat coming off the other nation’s chest as he leaned over to place them on the table, leaning even closer to go through the drawer. America reached up, placed his hand on his partner’s side and slid it down to encircle the other’s hard length.
America felt the man’s breath hitch, and then he moaned, pressing his length hard into America’s hand.
The nation shifted, and one hand rested on top of America’s. He could feel as the other man unrolled the condom onto his own length.
Kisses trailed down America’s chest, then back and up his neck and jaw. Finally, the other placed a soft, almost chaste kiss on his mouth, whispering something against his lips.
Then a hand was pressing a slick, cold finger into America’s entrance. America moaned and pressed back eagerly.
Another heavy moment, and another finger was added. America could feel hot, heavy breath against his neck.
A third, and then they were gone and America could feel the other hovering before his entrance a moment before he pressed.
Reply
America didn’t speak, and if the other nation did, America wouldn’t know, didn’t care. His orgasm caught him by surprise, his hips jerking as he laughed and shot his seed over the other’s belly.
A few thrusts later and America felt the nation shudder. America’s hand was resting on the man’s back, and he felt him cry out through his spread palm.
Then, still sheathed inside him, the other man leaned forward and kissed America softly, one hand cupping the side of America’s face.
America smiled sleepily in return.
The nation crawled off America, but returned a moment later with a warm washcloth. America felt it move over his skin and sighed.
A weight settled by America’s side, and a sheet was pulled up over the two. America turned and pulled his lover to him, breathing in the smell of his sweat and musk and the faint scent of tea.
Reply
The figure next to him stirred, and America slid back under the sheet.
“England. Hey, England!” he whispered.
“Mmmm? What is it?” was the sleepy answer.
“Thanks.”
England sat up. “Your hearing’s back?”
“Yep. Sight, too.”
England sighed and relaxed against the headboard.
There was a pause, then England spoke. “Did you really not know who it was?”
America nuzzled his neck. “I did. You got pissy about my grammar.”
England scoffed. “I should strangle you for what you’ve done to my language.”
America bit his ear gently. “Maybe you should.”
Just to tie things up, America hadn't been targeted. There was just a stupid kid who got ahold of some high-grade explosives who panicked and ran off after America was knocked out. Two people were fired and one was written up for that.
I'm sorry it's so boring.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Thank you for reading!
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment