Re: Seven Times Australia Fell In Love (Doomed/Tragic Love) [my first out of order!]
anonymous
January 11 2010, 11:59:23 UTC
Australia should not be doing this. The word wrong is all he can think of as he's spread and fingers delve deep into him. But it feels so cool against his almost feverish skin, so beautifully cold, like the mountains of Tasmania in the dead of winter. The fingers are moving, thrusting in and out steadily, fucking him with freezing punches straight to the gut. It's not really comfortable, he's lucky that the lubricant that covers them is as warm as it is otherwise his muscles would be cramping around the invaders. Well, worse than they already are. He wonders if it's obvious that he's never done this before. He wonders if the other will do this again. He's vaguely aware that he's talking, that a steady stream of encouragements, curses and come on are falling from his lips, but when the other does some sort of sliding twist with his fingers and adds a third, he forgets to be self conscious. He forgets everything but the feeling of icy fingers inside of him, deep inside, breeching him like the cold never has before. It's a glorious feeling, even has his thighs burn with a false fire and his hips alternatively grind down in a wordlessly sluttish beg for moreharderfaster and thrust up into the punishing, frictionless air.
He wants to come, needs to, wants it more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. He can feel it beginning, feels the sharp feeling in his veins that he can't really call pleasure tighten and tighten and tighten -
And he's left gaping open, the warmth melting the delicious cool as he's left grinding desperately down into something that's no longer there. Sweat slicks his body like snowmelt, but he doesn't want to melt. He needs the chill back in his bones, he wants it to settle over him, into him, wants it to imprint itself on his very soul. He would kill for it, there's no question in that basic fact, and when it returns he almost sobs with joy.
He can feel that whatever is breeching him is bigger than the three fingers, and he would tense if he was not so busy impaling himself upon it as best he can. It hurts, but it's a delicious hurt, like warming frozen toes in a too hot shower. He's wordless now, he can only make a high pitched keening noise when he's got air to spare. The pressure is enormous, but he's been stretched well and the flood of endorphins in his body have robbed him of the ability to feel pain. They're connecting in a way that he's never done before, he can feel the other's heartbeat pound between his legs and between the two thin coats of skin that separate them. He's not quite so swept away as to believe that he fully loves the other, but as Russia beings to move he can't help but gasp it in every language that he knows. He has one hysterical thought before Russia beings to move in earnest, better the red being on the bed than under it.
This pops anon's smut writing cherry. Was it good for you? I feel uncomfortable with how much of a whore I've made my country into. "Red's under the beds" is what Australia's referring to. A common phrase of the time, along with 'All the way with LBJ" etc.
Re: Seven Times Australia Fell In Love (Doomed/Tragic Love) [my first out of order!]
anonymous
February 11 2010, 14:33:56 UTC
Om nom nom. Anon, you should put this up on the kink fill list! (And if you have already...HOW DID I MISS THIS?) This Aussie!anon loves this. Loves you. Loves her country, as easy as he is to win. (Yeah...man, you don't even need the wattle, the VB will do...) The smut with Russia was very, very nice m'dear. XD And the rest so far has been fantastic.
He wants to come, needs to, wants it more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. He can feel it beginning, feels the sharp feeling in his veins that he can't really call pleasure tighten and tighten and tighten -
And he's left gaping open, the warmth melting the delicious cool as he's left grinding desperately down into something that's no longer there. Sweat slicks his body like snowmelt, but he doesn't want to melt. He needs the chill back in his bones, he wants it to settle over him, into him, wants it to imprint itself on his very soul. He would kill for it, there's no question in that basic fact, and when it returns he almost sobs with joy.
He can feel that whatever is breeching him is bigger than the three fingers, and he would tense if he was not so busy impaling himself upon it as best he can. It hurts, but it's a delicious hurt, like warming frozen toes in a too hot shower. He's wordless now, he can only make a high pitched keening noise when he's got air to spare. The pressure is enormous, but he's been stretched well and the flood of endorphins in his body have robbed him of the ability to feel pain. They're connecting in a way that he's never done before, he can feel the other's heartbeat pound between his legs and between the two thin coats of skin that separate them. He's not quite so swept away as to believe that he fully loves the other, but as Russia beings to move he can't help but gasp it in every language that he knows. He has one hysterical thought before Russia beings to move in earnest, better the red being on the bed than under it.
This pops anon's smut writing cherry. Was it good for you? I feel uncomfortable with how much of a whore I've made my country into.
"Red's under the beds" is what Australia's referring to. A common phrase of the time, along with 'All the way with LBJ" etc.
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