You're Doing it Wrong (5/8)
anonymous
February 24 2010, 09:43:41 UTC
England looked down at the floor, his hands still pressed against the wall, and contemplated his next course of action. Should he run? He knew he couldn’t fight America one-on-one, but he might be able to hide if he could get out of the room before-
Warm arms slid around his waist, and he could feel a body pressed against him. He tried to force his mind back on track, but the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears overtook any rational thoughts. The touching was making his skin feel hot, and in a cruel twist of fate his senses seemed to be getting sharper. Every rustle of fabric, every jacket button being undone, and each measured, determined breath from America’s lips filled his mind, and pushed him towards babbling incoherency. With every passing moment, England felt closer to betraying his pride and moaning, and America had barely done anything.
“You should have fled when you had the chance,” announced the smug voice in his head. “That is, unless you’ve wanted this all along.” “N-no!” England replied aloud.
America paused briefly at the interruption and then proceeded to remove England’s jacket. He draped it gingerly over the back of his empty chair, just in case it was lined with bombs, and went to work on England’s undershirt.
England tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t want America to know that he was completely undone - didn’t want to give him the satisfaction - but it was getting increasingly difficult to suppress his desire. The fabric sliding against his skin made his entire body tingle with sensation, and left his shoulders bare. America placed the shirt over the chair alongside his jacket, and England felt naked already. There was a reason that he didn’t make it a habit to expose more flesh than was necessary. His skin was pale and pasty, and had always been a source of insecurity. Next to America he was practically a ghost.
So when he thought about all the attention being paid to his exposed back, he felt incredibly vulnerable. And when America approached him from behind, he was almost comforted by the barrier that was provided, as though he was being shielded. That is, until those hands found their way to his bare chest.
The action was now completely unnecessary. There was no reason for America to be feeling his chest. He could just look with his own eyes and see that England didn’t have any weapons strapped to his upper-body. Yet here he was - stroking his fingers across sensitive skin with increasing pressure, driving England absolutely mad. The older nation was so aroused that when a finger actually brushed against his nipple, it was the most erotic feeling in the world.
Re: You're Doing it Wrong (5/8)
anonymous
February 24 2010, 20:28:37 UTC
oh ghuuuuhhhhuhh o__o HAWT, very very hot. This is great stuff, authornon! Please continue! Though I do feel sorry for poor self-conscious Iggy and his paaaaale pale skin, lol. Don't worry if it's cold, England-America will be warming you up soon enough!
You're Doing it Wrong (6/9<-- hurr, I lied)
anonymous
February 28 2010, 07:17:46 UTC
One hand started to trail down toward his stomach, and it was nearly impossible to hold back a shudder. Further down, just above the waistband of his trousers, and he finally gave a small gasp. It was a very intimate area, and not a place where hands were likely to roam on accident. England was surprised, and almost disappointed, when America pulled his hands back.
“What’s this? No bombs in his chest, Amérique?” France said with a wry smile as America stood back in contemplation.
America ignored the comment, completely unreceptive to the blatant sarcasm. Prussia snickered and gave France a low-five under the table. Germany stared them both down until they had stopped giggling. The only reason Prussia was allowed to be there was because he had threatened to eat all of Germany’s food if he was left at home.
As soon as England felt pressure on his waist, everything in his mind momentarily turned to static. Then a single thought flashed across his mind, and he recalled a piece of information that was about to add an even deeper level of shame to his situation.
“N-no…please,” he whispered while those hands deftly worked on his belt buckle, but it was too late. With some shuffling, a zip and a tug, his trousers were on the floor.
The silence that had fallen over the room was broken once again by a cascade of laughter. England’s briefs were adorned with a certain logo from a certain popular science fiction program. Most of the nations who weren’t laughing uproariously gave England a look of pity, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Wow, that’s unfortunate,” Canada whispered in sympathy. Japan nodded beside him, cheeks tinged pink, being one who was also painfully familiar with the stigma of having nerdy interests.
The embarrassment coursing through England’s body was devastating. Of all days, he had chosen this day to wear his old Doctor Who pants. He’d recently been informed that the new series was underway, and was more than a little giddy at the prospect. And why shouldn’t he be proud? Having such a successful television program was a sign of influence in this modern age, wasn’t it?
But now he just felt foolish. He bit down on his lower lip, trying to turn his focus away from the sound of France’s unbridled glee, which was bordering on hyperventilation. After some time he began to taste blood, but he didn’t let up.
That is, until he heard America’s snarl frighten the room into silence.
America didn’t understand why they were laughing, and he didn’t care to. He was more concerned with this distraction from his mission. Once everyone had shut up, he leaned down again and grasped England’s legs, making sure that he didn’t miss a single spot on the man’s body. America was absolutely convinced that he would find something that would justify his fears. He was sick of feeling like he couldn’t do anything to avail the sense of helplessness in his heart. There had to be someone to blame.
Authoranon says
anonymous
March 2 2010, 07:17:13 UTC
He totally would. You know he uses his connections at the BBC to get all sorts of rare merchandise, which he keeps in a locked drawer so no one will ever find out about those interests. I've always imagined that when he has a particularly bad day, England curls up with his Four scarf and watches classic shows. Awwww, England.
You're Doing it Wrong (7/9)
anonymous
March 3 2010, 04:22:52 UTC
The silence of the room was initially a relief, but England soon found that he was on the edge of defeat. Something about the humiliation that he had just endured increased the effect of America’s sweeping touches tenfold. He glanced down at the floor, trying for one last time to distract himself, when he happened to notice the red marks on his chest - small marks in various directions that he immediately knew were caused by America’s large fingers pawing boldly at his fair skin. It was the last thing he needed, because the very thought of America marking him for the entire world to see… Oh god.
He whimpered, unable to prevent his arousal from finally taking shape, and shifted involuntarily. It was a level of bad that he never would have dreamt of in his darkest nightmares. In front of…everyone, including the stupid, selfish, undeservedly handsome nation that was tormenting him.
The growing bulge in his pants was now apparent, and with one wrong move his shame could be exposed to the world. He gritted his teeth. His only hope now was that America would give up and allow England to somehow discreetly exit the room without facing the conference table. Given the variables at hand, it was virtually impossible. No, he was doomed.
So he stopped holding back. He groaned when America brushed his thigh, and gave an audible gasp when the younger nation’s hand swept across his naked back.
America took vague notice of the sounds that England was making, and assumed it to mean that he was close to discovery. He continued to feel England from behind, touching everything within his reach. Finally, his heroic persistence was rewarded.
“AH HAAAaaaaaaauhhhhhh. Uh.” America’s loud and strangled exclamation mercifully covered the sound of England’s moan. Those wandering hands had discovered England’s stiff cock, and had grasped eagerly without knowing exactly what was being touched.
They stood like this for a moment, England panting and America’s eyes widening in full realization of the situation that he had caused, still holding England’s arousal through the fabric of his briefs.
His thoughts were coming to him in punctuated bursts. America let go of England and stepped back, finally seeing what he'd done. Guilt and concern flooded him and he quickly tried to think of a way to rescue England from the trouble that he’d caused.
The culmination of America’s mental efforts resulted in the worst acting performance that England had ever seen.
“Oh! You…bad…guy. I’m going to have to…interrogate you myself! HAH!” he said in the loudest, most imposing voice he could muster, which at the moment was entirely unconvincing.
However, he bent down and lifted the man into his arms, doing his very best to conceal England’s vital regions from the prying eyes around them. England’s chest felt warm at the increased contact and he almost appreciated the sudden care that America was taking, even if it was too late to erase most of the damage that was done.
England buried his face in America’s jacket as they moved towards the door, too overwhelmed to make even the slightest effort at playing along with America’s ruse. He just wanted the world to go away and leave him alone for a few days, or months, or years.
“Good luck with the cavity search, Angleterre!” France commented unnecessarily as they left the room, receiving a muffled growl from England in return.
Warm arms slid around his waist, and he could feel a body pressed against him. He tried to force his mind back on track, but the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears overtook any rational thoughts. The touching was making his skin feel hot, and in a cruel twist of fate his senses seemed to be getting sharper. Every rustle of fabric, every jacket button being undone, and each measured, determined breath from America’s lips filled his mind, and pushed him towards babbling incoherency. With every passing moment, England felt closer to betraying his pride and moaning, and America had barely done anything.
“You should have fled when you had the chance,” announced the smug voice in his head. “That is, unless you’ve wanted this all along.”
“N-no!” England replied aloud.
America paused briefly at the interruption and then proceeded to remove England’s jacket. He draped it gingerly over the back of his empty chair, just in case it was lined with bombs, and went to work on England’s undershirt.
England tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t want America to know that he was completely undone - didn’t want to give him the satisfaction - but it was getting increasingly difficult to suppress his desire. The fabric sliding against his skin made his entire body tingle with sensation, and left his shoulders bare. America placed the shirt over the chair alongside his jacket, and England felt naked already. There was a reason that he didn’t make it a habit to expose more flesh than was necessary. His skin was pale and pasty, and had always been a source of insecurity. Next to America he was practically a ghost.
So when he thought about all the attention being paid to his exposed back, he felt incredibly vulnerable. And when America approached him from behind, he was almost comforted by the barrier that was provided, as though he was being shielded. That is, until those hands found their way to his bare chest.
The action was now completely unnecessary. There was no reason for America to be feeling his chest. He could just look with his own eyes and see that England didn’t have any weapons strapped to his upper-body. Yet here he was - stroking his fingers across sensitive skin with increasing pressure, driving England absolutely mad. The older nation was so aroused that when a finger actually brushed against his nipple, it was the most erotic feeling in the world.
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(We love you, author!anon; take your time! ♥)
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-brain dead, will review proper later-
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This is great stuff, authornon! Please continue!
Though I do feel sorry for poor self-conscious Iggy and his paaaaale pale skin, lol. Don't worry if it's cold, England-America will be warming you up soon enough!
recaptcha says: however islands. ohh yes. he's doomed.
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This totally made my day
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“What’s this? No bombs in his chest, Amérique?” France said with a wry smile as America stood back in contemplation.
America ignored the comment, completely unreceptive to the blatant sarcasm. Prussia snickered and gave France a low-five under the table. Germany stared them both down until they had stopped giggling. The only reason Prussia was allowed to be there was because he had threatened to eat all of Germany’s food if he was left at home.
As soon as England felt pressure on his waist, everything in his mind momentarily turned to static. Then a single thought flashed across his mind, and he recalled a piece of information that was about to add an even deeper level of shame to his situation.
“N-no…please,” he whispered while those hands deftly worked on his belt buckle, but it was too late. With some shuffling, a zip and a tug, his trousers were on the floor.
The silence that had fallen over the room was broken once again by a cascade of laughter. England’s briefs were adorned with a certain logo from a certain popular science fiction program.
Most of the nations who weren’t laughing uproariously gave England a look of pity, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Wow, that’s unfortunate,” Canada whispered in sympathy. Japan nodded beside him, cheeks tinged pink, being one who was also painfully familiar with the stigma of having nerdy interests.
The embarrassment coursing through England’s body was devastating. Of all days, he had chosen this day to wear his old Doctor Who pants. He’d recently been informed that the new series was underway, and was more than a little giddy at the prospect. And why shouldn’t he be proud? Having such a successful television program was a sign of influence in this modern age, wasn’t it?
But now he just felt foolish. He bit down on his lower lip, trying to turn his focus away from the sound of France’s unbridled glee, which was bordering on hyperventilation. After some time he began to taste blood, but he didn’t let up.
That is, until he heard America’s snarl frighten the room into silence.
America didn’t understand why they were laughing, and he didn’t care to. He was more concerned with this distraction from his mission. Once everyone had shut up, he leaned down again and grasped England’s legs, making sure that he didn’t miss a single spot on the man’s body. America was absolutely convinced that he would find something that would justify his fears. He was sick of feeling like he couldn’t do anything to avail the sense of helplessness in his heart. There had to be someone to blame.
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I want a pair of those... =3
This fill is so addictive. I can't wait for more.
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I feel sorry for both of them =n= ...and all hot inside. And a little more sorry. But mostly I am just getting horny.
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Oh Iggy...
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He should own some Python themed ones as well. :D I love England.
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I've always imagined that when he has a particularly bad day, England curls up with his Four scarf and watches classic shows. Awwww, England.
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i'm really looking forward to the next part!♥
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Oh god.
He whimpered, unable to prevent his arousal from finally taking shape, and shifted involuntarily. It was a level of bad that he never would have dreamt of in his darkest nightmares. In front of…everyone, including the stupid, selfish, undeservedly handsome nation that was tormenting him.
The growing bulge in his pants was now apparent, and with one wrong move his shame could be exposed to the world. He gritted his teeth. His only hope now was that America would give up and allow England to somehow discreetly exit the room without facing the conference table. Given the variables at hand, it was virtually impossible. No, he was doomed.
So he stopped holding back. He groaned when America brushed his thigh, and gave an audible gasp when the younger nation’s hand swept across his naked back.
America took vague notice of the sounds that England was making, and assumed it to mean that he was close to discovery. He continued to feel England from behind, touching everything within his reach. Finally, his heroic persistence was rewarded.
“AH HAAAaaaaaaauhhhhhh. Uh.” America’s loud and strangled exclamation mercifully covered the sound of England’s moan. Those wandering hands had discovered England’s stiff cock, and had grasped eagerly without knowing exactly what was being touched.
They stood like this for a moment, England panting and America’s eyes widening in full realization of the situation that he had caused, still holding England’s arousal through the fabric of his briefs.
His thoughts were coming to him in punctuated bursts. America let go of England and stepped back, finally seeing what he'd done. Guilt and concern flooded him and he quickly tried to think of a way to rescue England from the trouble that he’d caused.
The culmination of America’s mental efforts resulted in the worst acting performance that England had ever seen.
“Oh! You…bad…guy. I’m going to have to…interrogate you myself! HAH!” he said in the loudest, most imposing voice he could muster, which at the moment was entirely unconvincing.
However, he bent down and lifted the man into his arms, doing his very best to conceal England’s vital regions from the prying eyes around them. England’s chest felt warm at the increased contact and he almost appreciated the sudden care that America was taking, even if it was too late to erase most of the damage that was done.
England buried his face in America’s jacket as they moved towards the door, too overwhelmed to make even the slightest effort at playing along with America’s ruse. He just wanted the world to go away and leave him alone for a few days, or months, or years.
“Good luck with the cavity search, Angleterre!” France commented unnecessarily as they left the room, receiving a muffled growl from England in return.
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