Re: Fill: The Little Things (Part 8/?)
anonymous
March 14 2010, 22:17:17 UTC
Russia sensed England’s impatience; he pulled back an inch, a touch of a smirk crossing his lips. “You do not need to rush,” he murmured. “There is plenty of time.”
The words did nothing but irritate England. He tried ineffectually to pull at Russia’s shirt, find the buttons, but Russia’s hands caught his wrists. Russia shook his head and whispered “wait” under his breath (or something like it).
Then Russia moved back in, kissed him again, and this time England could feel a bit of heat behind the initial cold, like the flicker of a flame behind a wall of ice. England embraced that heat, let Russia’s tongue twine with his, explore the roof of his mouth. Still much too slow for England’s liking - Russia’s movements were languid, relaxed, - but the promise of power behind them kept him from scratching the other man’s shoulders or using his teeth.
Russia’s hands fitted themselves to England’s sides, stroking up, down, up again - not fast enough to tickle, but not slow enough to annoy. England dug his fingers into Russia’s hair, pulled him closer - and thank God, Russia seemed to understand this time, as his hands tightened on England’s waist and eased him in, nearer to that heat.
Without breaking the kiss, England arranged himself so that he was straddling Russia’s leg. Thankfully, Russia didn’t protest; just sat there, leaned farther back into the couch, pulling England with him. His hands loosened and settled on England’s hips just as his lips found England’s neck. No biting, which surprised England - just light, open-mouthed kisses that trailed down from his jawline to his collarbone. England rocked his hips forward an inch - that was all it took to press them together - felt his cock swell from the heat and the light murmur from Russia that resonated against his neck. Twitched his hips forward again, established a slow, rocking rhythm that made Russia press one hand to the small of England’s back, urge him closer, just a little bit closer.
Re: Fill: The Little Things (Part 9/?)
anonymous
March 16 2010, 01:50:51 UTC
Russia’s other hand slid between them and drifted up the front of England’s shirt, toyed with the buttons at the collar. Flicked one open (which rather surprised England - he didn’t expect Russia’s huge fingers to be able to undo his buttons, much less while his head was buried in the curve of England’s neck). But England didn’t complain - Russia’s lips moved to the now-uncovered hollow of England’s collarbone and suckled there while his hand fiddled with the rest of the buttons. England let his head drop forward and bit back a moan when Russia dragged his teeth against the very center of his clavicle and just barely, barely bit down. He shrugged his now-unbuttoned shirt from his arms, felt Russia’s hands smoothing over his bare chest.
England wasn’t muscled like America or graceful like France - his build was ropy, somewhat scrawny, with centuries-old scars tracing over his chest (artifacts from his pirate days, although he would never admit that). He felt slightly embarrassed when Russia seemed to scrutinize his upper half, all prominent joints and sinew, knowing that he was by no means a work of art. But then Russia half-smiled, traced the pads of his thumbs over England’s nipples. Thankfully, he ignored the scars - well, Russia probably had his share of those as well.
Russia’s tongue darted out, swiped against a nipple, and England cursed under his breath. Violet eyes glanced up at him, amused. England shot him a look that said “don’t you dare play with me, you bastard” - at least, he thought it did. Since Russia promptly repeated the action, England supposed it didn’t translate well. As Russia’s still-too-cold lips latched on to his nipple, started to suckle, England let out a noise that sounded uncomfortably like a whimper and started to rock his groin against Russia’s harder, desperate for some sort of friction.
And then Russia’s fingers - God, those fingers - trailed down England’s stomach, down the coarse trail of dark blond hair that started at his navel, down to fiddle with the zip of his trousers. Finally, England thought, and heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down, felt Russia pop the button on his pants, nearly sighed in relief as a massive hand freed his aching erection from his shorts.
England realized that Russia, somehow, was still fully dressed. Bastard.
-- Authornon is going to try and get as much of this written as she can before the weekend, and will try and have this finished before the request freeze ends. (kajsdhg this is getting kinda long)
Re: Fill: The Little Things (Part 9/?)
anonymous
March 16 2010, 02:10:31 UTC
Nng, anon! I love how you're writing out things between Russia and England (hell, that you're even writing Russ/Eng gives you mucho brownie points in my book) - how the heat's not immediately there, yet simmering under the surface and slowly coming to a boil.
It's so very lovely and hot and I look very much forward to the future updates~ ♥
Re: Fill: The Little Things (Part 9/?)
anonymous
March 16 2010, 21:16:46 UTC
Fffff. I can't sit still anon, this is amazing. Everything's just so incredibly hot. I think that's an understatement actually. *throws in extra adjectives to decribe how delicious this fill is*
Re: Fill: The Little Things (Part 9/?)
anonymous
March 16 2010, 23:26:49 UTC
As Russia began to untie England’s shoes, England made several vague protests that, while he appreciated the effort, he was a gentleman and gentlemen were more than capable of removing their own shoes, thank you. Russia didn’t seem to hear him, as he just continued his task, pulling England’s shoes and socks off and setting them off to the side. Then he reached up to ease down England’s trousers, and England decided that Russia was being unfair at this point.
His hands scrabbled for Russia’s buttons, trying to even the playing field at least a bit. Russia laughed. “Just wait,” he said. “Wait.”
England wanted to point out that Russia wasn’t the one who was naked and painfully hard, but Russia’s hand enveloped his cock again and that made talking rather difficult.
He attempted to control the involuntary shaking of his hands as he reached for Russia’s shirt yet again. However, this time England refused to be swayed from his task, and succeeded in popping open one, two, three buttons before Russia decided to take pity on him and help.
Now, with Russia’s shirt open, it was easy to see that the other nation was indeed as massive as his clothes made him look - all broad, solid chest and wide shoulders. He’d heard America call Russia a “fatass” on multiple occasions, but that was a touch extreme. England glanced up and saw that Russia had shut his eyes, and his normally pale face had flushed a light pink. He pressed an off-center kiss to Russia’s lips in an attempt to mollify the large man, murmured something reassuring in his ear, and that seemed to work.
England settled himself back on Russia’s thighs, leaned in close so that skin finally met skin. His hand reached between them and settled over the prominent bulge at Russia’s crotch; England rubbed, just a bit, and was instantly rewarded as Russia’s mouth fell open in a silent “ohh”. Delicious. He felt Russia’s cock pulse when he rubbed again, a little harder this time, and that minute jump, accompanied by a lovely hitch in Russia’s breath, only made his own erection throb in response.
Re: Fill: The Little Things (Part 9/?)
anonymous
March 17 2010, 03:38:45 UTC
HNNNNNNGGGG WHY DID I NOT REALIZE THAT MY TWO FAVORITE CHARACTERS WOULD BE SO DELICIOUS TOGETHER UNTIL NOW? FFFFF I LOVE THIS SOOOO MUUUCCCHHHH.
I love me some crazy!Russia but I need a breath of fresh air now and then, too, and this Russia is exactly what I love seeing. Quiet and restrained, but starts to show some emotion/tenderness once the other lets him know that they do want him. And I totally see him being the type to take things really slow and be extra considerate about his partner - especially if they're drunk like England. XD And I just LOVE how detached and "meh" England is until he starts getting all affectionate with Russia. (I swear, I can SO see them sitting around bitching about how much shit they have to put up with every day, with England getting all ranty and worked up and Russia just sitting there, nodding serenely as he polishes his pipe. Then they decide they need to let off steam and get themselves in a better mood, so they go make out/have sex/get drunk and strip for each other/snuggle on the couch/whatever. And this is one of few couples where I will be happy no matter who tops.)
TL;DR... I AM A VERY HAPPY CONVERT, AUTHORNON. PLZ DO CONTINUE. *GIVES FLOWERS AND CHOCOLATES AND TEACUPS AND VODKA*
"...AND AMERICA'S BEING A LITTLE SHITE-FOR-BRAINS WITH HIS SILLY RAP MUSIC AND FRANCE WON'T STOP TOUCHING ME AND CANADA'S NOT RETURNING MY CALLS AND CHINA KEEPS FORGETTING TO PUT LEMON IN MY TEA (and he KNOWS I will NOT drink tea without LEMON) AND YOU CAN'T EVEN GET GOOD BEER IN AMERICA THIS BUDWEISER STUFF IS TERRIBLE GAH FML alkjsdlhsk *ranting and wailing and grinding of teeth*..."
"Mm, yes dear. Would you like to have sex?"
"...Yes."
And now I NEED to draw this. XP
YAY, another tally up on the "Rus/UK converts chart" by my laptop! Thank you for the internet teacups, anon, and I am so glad you enjoy this fill!
Re: Fill: The Little Things (Part 11/?)
anonymous
March 27 2010, 02:05:28 UTC
Russia moved one shaky hand down to unbuckle his own belt - it seemed that he was feeling a bit of the impatience England had suffered through. He retained enough control, though, to gently push England’s hand out of the way as he fiddled with the zipper. England could see the heavy shape of Russia’s cock straining against his briefs - and he felt a sharp jolt of heat in his own cock when he noticed the damp, translucent spot where the head of Russia’s erection was leaking precome into the cotton.
England swallowed hard and got down from Russia’s lap, settled so he was kneeling on the ground. Russia protested, but England shot him a look that silenced any arguments. He nudged Russia’s knees open with his hands, leaned in, and mouthed the head of Russia’s cock through his briefs.
The choked noise that Russia made when he did this decidedly made up for the god-awful hangover England would surely endure come morning. England reached up with both hands to ease down Russia’s trousers and briefs - and there. Ah, yes. He glanced up and saw Russia looking down at him with half-lidded, lust-clouded eyes. England consciously licked his lips - slowly, slowly - and saw Russia’s jaw clench.
He parted his lips and took the head of Russia’s straining cock into his mouth, suckling gently. Hands wound their way into England’s hair but did not press down. While England bobbed his head down bit by bit, his fingers also curled around the other man’s prick, stimulating what his mouth couldn’t reach. A tiny part of him, though, was slightly irritated that Russia continued to exercise such restraint; that part made England’s other hand drift over to cup Russia’s balls.
England would’ve smirked at the noise Russia made then had his mouth not been otherwise occupied.
Re: Fill: The Little Things (Part 12/?)
anonymous
March 29 2010, 02:01:03 UTC
He soon found a rhythm of long, slow suction juxtaposed with brief licks of the head - slow being the key word. After all, Russia had been irritatingly patient, hadn’t he? He could certainly afford to wait a little longer.
Besides, whenever England’s tongue ran along the pulsing vein along the underside of Russia’s cock, Russia’s breath would catch in a pained, lovely way - and England did wish to hear more. England lightly rolled Russia’s balls in his hand and felt the corresponding shudder of Russia’s dark-red prick. He resisted the urge to reach for his own neglected erection, though, despite the fact that he was hard almost to the point of pain. No, a gentleman always attended to his partner’s needs before his own.
Russia’s hands clenched and unclenched in England’s hair, restless, as he peered down with fever-bright violet eyes. “What do you want, then?” England asked. He dragged his tongue across the head of Russia’s cock, dipped his tongue into the slit. Russia’s eyelids fluttered and he let out a high-pitched, breathy whine.
That made England’s hips jerk, and he involuntarily ground his pelvis against Russia’s pants leg. Fucking hell, forget teasing - he needed to come. He took as much of Russia’s cock into his mouth as he could, hollowed out his cheeks, and sucked hard. His teeth grazed the shaft (not biting, just a tease) - and England couldn’t stop himself anymore from thrusting against Russia’s leg like some kind of animal. It had been entirely too damned long.
He felt Russia’s huge fingers tighten in his hair as Russia curled up like a tight spring and came hard. England grimaced, but tried to swallow as best he could. After a few seconds, he felt those hands leave his hair, pull him back up to the sofa, and, yes, finally, God, reach for his poor, aching cock. England registered that he was practically fucking Russia’s hands, but he was past caring, he just needed to come, and then Russia’s thumb rubbed the spot below the head and he was gone, gone, gone, emptying himself onto Russia’s hand with a rough, sobbing cry.
The words did nothing but irritate England. He tried ineffectually to pull at Russia’s shirt, find the buttons, but Russia’s hands caught his wrists. Russia shook his head and whispered “wait” under his breath (or something like it).
Then Russia moved back in, kissed him again, and this time England could feel a bit of heat behind the initial cold, like the flicker of a flame behind a wall of ice. England embraced that heat, let Russia’s tongue twine with his, explore the roof of his mouth. Still much too slow for England’s liking - Russia’s movements were languid, relaxed, - but the promise of power behind them kept him from scratching the other man’s shoulders or using his teeth.
Russia’s hands fitted themselves to England’s sides, stroking up, down, up again - not fast enough to tickle, but not slow enough to annoy. England dug his fingers into Russia’s hair, pulled him closer - and thank God, Russia seemed to understand this time, as his hands tightened on England’s waist and eased him in, nearer to that heat.
Without breaking the kiss, England arranged himself so that he was straddling Russia’s leg. Thankfully, Russia didn’t protest; just sat there, leaned farther back into the couch, pulling England with him. His hands loosened and settled on England’s hips just as his lips found England’s neck. No biting, which surprised England - just light, open-mouthed kisses that trailed down from his jawline to his collarbone. England rocked his hips forward an inch - that was all it took to press them together - felt his cock swell from the heat and the light murmur from Russia that resonated against his neck. Twitched his hips forward again, established a slow, rocking rhythm that made Russia press one hand to the small of England’s back, urge him closer, just a little bit closer.
Reply
mujtynhbgvfdcbnhgb rusuk makes me speechless <333333333
t-this fill is brillant!
Reply
England wasn’t muscled like America or graceful like France - his build was ropy, somewhat scrawny, with centuries-old scars tracing over his chest (artifacts from his pirate days, although he would never admit that). He felt slightly embarrassed when Russia seemed to scrutinize his upper half, all prominent joints and sinew, knowing that he was by no means a work of art. But then Russia half-smiled, traced the pads of his thumbs over England’s nipples. Thankfully, he ignored the scars - well, Russia probably had his share of those as well.
Russia’s tongue darted out, swiped against a nipple, and England cursed under his breath. Violet eyes glanced up at him, amused. England shot him a look that said “don’t you dare play with me, you bastard” - at least, he thought it did. Since Russia promptly repeated the action, England supposed it didn’t translate well. As Russia’s still-too-cold lips latched on to his nipple, started to suckle, England let out a noise that sounded uncomfortably like a whimper and started to rock his groin against Russia’s harder, desperate for some sort of friction.
And then Russia’s fingers - God, those fingers - trailed down England’s stomach, down the coarse trail of dark blond hair that started at his navel, down to fiddle with the zip of his trousers. Finally, England thought, and heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down, felt Russia pop the button on his pants, nearly sighed in relief as a massive hand freed his aching erection from his shorts.
England realized that Russia, somehow, was still fully dressed. Bastard.
--
Authornon is going to try and get as much of this written as she can before the weekend, and will try and have this finished before the request freeze ends. (kajsdhg this is getting kinda long)
Reply
It's so very lovely and hot and I look very much forward to the future updates~ ♥
Reply
I think that's an understatement actually. *throws in extra adjectives to decribe how delicious this fill is*
Reply
His hands scrabbled for Russia’s buttons, trying to even the playing field at least a bit. Russia laughed. “Just wait,” he said. “Wait.”
England wanted to point out that Russia wasn’t the one who was naked and painfully hard, but Russia’s hand enveloped his cock again and that made talking rather difficult.
He attempted to control the involuntary shaking of his hands as he reached for Russia’s shirt yet again. However, this time England refused to be swayed from his task, and succeeded in popping open one, two, three buttons before Russia decided to take pity on him and help.
Now, with Russia’s shirt open, it was easy to see that the other nation was indeed as massive as his clothes made him look - all broad, solid chest and wide shoulders. He’d heard America call Russia a “fatass” on multiple occasions, but that was a touch extreme. England glanced up and saw that Russia had shut his eyes, and his normally pale face had flushed a light pink. He pressed an off-center kiss to Russia’s lips in an attempt to mollify the large man, murmured something reassuring in his ear, and that seemed to work.
England settled himself back on Russia’s thighs, leaned in close so that skin finally met skin. His hand reached between them and settled over the prominent bulge at Russia’s crotch; England rubbed, just a bit, and was instantly rewarded as Russia’s mouth fell open in a silent “ohh”. Delicious. He felt Russia’s cock pulse when he rubbed again, a little harder this time, and that minute jump, accompanied by a lovely hitch in Russia’s breath, only made his own erection throb in response.
Reply
Reply
I love me some crazy!Russia but I need a breath of fresh air now and then, too, and this Russia is exactly what I love seeing. Quiet and restrained, but starts to show some emotion/tenderness once the other lets him know that they do want him. And I totally see him being the type to take things really slow and be extra considerate about his partner - especially if they're drunk like England. XD And I just LOVE how detached and "meh" England is until he starts getting all affectionate with Russia. (I swear, I can SO see them sitting around bitching about how much shit they have to put up with every day, with England getting all ranty and worked up and Russia just sitting there, nodding serenely as he polishes his pipe. Then they decide they need to let off steam and get themselves in a better mood, so they go make out/have sex/get drunk and strip for each other/snuggle on the couch/whatever. And this is one of few couples where I will be happy no matter who tops.)
TL;DR... I AM A VERY HAPPY CONVERT, AUTHORNON. PLZ DO CONTINUE. *GIVES FLOWERS AND CHOCOLATES AND TEACUPS AND VODKA*
Reply
Anon, are you me?
Because I can totally see that too.
"...AND AMERICA'S BEING A LITTLE SHITE-FOR-BRAINS WITH HIS SILLY RAP MUSIC AND FRANCE WON'T STOP TOUCHING ME AND CANADA'S NOT RETURNING MY CALLS AND CHINA KEEPS FORGETTING TO PUT LEMON IN MY TEA (and he KNOWS I will NOT drink tea without LEMON) AND YOU CAN'T EVEN GET GOOD BEER IN AMERICA THIS BUDWEISER STUFF IS TERRIBLE GAH FML alkjsdlhsk *ranting and wailing and grinding of teeth*..."
"Mm, yes dear. Would you like to have sex?"
"...Yes."
And now I NEED to draw this. XP
YAY, another tally up on the "Rus/UK converts chart" by my laptop! Thank you for the internet teacups, anon, and I am so glad you enjoy this fill!
Reply
Reply
I hope you get things in order soon! ♥ And don't forget to rest and cover yourself with a snuggieee ♥ being too busy isn't good :) ♥
Reply
England swallowed hard and got down from Russia’s lap, settled so he was kneeling on the ground. Russia protested, but England shot him a look that silenced any arguments. He nudged Russia’s knees open with his hands, leaned in, and mouthed the head of Russia’s cock through his briefs.
The choked noise that Russia made when he did this decidedly made up for the god-awful hangover England would surely endure come morning. England reached up with both hands to ease down Russia’s trousers and briefs - and there. Ah, yes. He glanced up and saw Russia looking down at him with half-lidded, lust-clouded eyes. England consciously licked his lips - slowly, slowly - and saw Russia’s jaw clench.
He parted his lips and took the head of Russia’s straining cock into his mouth, suckling gently. Hands wound their way into England’s hair but did not press down. While England bobbed his head down bit by bit, his fingers also curled around the other man’s prick, stimulating what his mouth couldn’t reach. A tiny part of him, though, was slightly irritated that Russia continued to exercise such restraint; that part made England’s other hand drift over to cup Russia’s balls.
England would’ve smirked at the noise Russia made then had his mouth not been otherwise occupied.
Reply
♥♥♥
ILU, writer!Anon
Reply
Besides, whenever England’s tongue ran along the pulsing vein along the underside of Russia’s cock, Russia’s breath would catch in a pained, lovely way - and England did wish to hear more. England lightly rolled Russia’s balls in his hand and felt the corresponding shudder of Russia’s dark-red prick. He resisted the urge to reach for his own neglected erection, though, despite the fact that he was hard almost to the point of pain. No, a gentleman always attended to his partner’s needs before his own.
Russia’s hands clenched and unclenched in England’s hair, restless, as he peered down with fever-bright violet eyes. “What do you want, then?” England asked. He dragged his tongue across the head of Russia’s cock, dipped his tongue into the slit. Russia’s eyelids fluttered and he let out a high-pitched, breathy whine.
That made England’s hips jerk, and he involuntarily ground his pelvis against Russia’s pants leg. Fucking hell, forget teasing - he needed to come. He took as much of Russia’s cock into his mouth as he could, hollowed out his cheeks, and sucked hard. His teeth grazed the shaft (not biting, just a tease) - and England couldn’t stop himself anymore from thrusting against Russia’s leg like some kind of animal. It had been entirely too damned long.
He felt Russia’s huge fingers tighten in his hair as Russia curled up like a tight spring and came hard. England grimaced, but tried to swallow as best he could. After a few seconds, he felt those hands leave his hair, pull him back up to the sofa, and, yes, finally, God, reach for his poor, aching cock. England registered that he was practically fucking Russia’s hands, but he was past caring, he just needed to come, and then Russia’s thumb rubbed the spot below the head and he was gone, gone, gone, emptying himself onto Russia’s hand with a rough, sobbing cry.
Reply
that's hot.
Reply
thank you forever author anon
Reply
Leave a comment