England blew out his breath, warm and heavy against America’s skin, his forehead coming to rest on America’s breastbone. America could feel England’s lashes flutter against his skin, and the feeling sent a little tingling shiver through him. England took another breath, and blew it out. His head shifted, tilting, until his cheek was resting against America’s skin, moving until it was just over America’s heart, and America slid his arms up and curled them around England’s shoulders, cupping his hand around the back of his head, slipping his fingers into England’s hair. Desire still pounded, thrummed through him, aching, but it somehow didn’t matter, and there was just warmth, the warmth between them, warmth and England’s unsteady breathing for a moment, and the way he’d leaned forward to rest against America. America wanted to say something, he always did, almost found himself wanting to talk, to fill the silences up with words, words that told England how he felt, how awesome everything was going to be, but he didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t, and he thought that was okay, that was enough, because sometimes England didn’t like to talk, even if he was better with words, and the way he felt in America’s arms, his slim, sturdy form trembling slightly with his breaths, fitting the way he did in the circle of America’s arms around his shoulders, that was already perfect. America pressed his nose into England’s hair, and smelled soap and sweat and English hay, and breathed too. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, just breathing, but then England opened his mouth and sucked in more air, and his breath sounded wet. He swallowed, and made a gruff, rough sort of noise, and cleared his throat, turning his face more closely into America’s skin, pressing his nose and mouth there for a moment. America kissed his hair and loosened his hold a bit, skimming his hands down over England’s shoulders and back.
“Mm,” England said hoarsely. “Right. Trousers off, then.” And he sat back with a slight huff through his nose, and it was so freaking England that America just grinned, hugely like a total idiot, but he couldn’t stop.
“Yep,” he said, holding England more tightly as England’s quick fingers undid his belt buckle and tugged the belt open. “Off.” He grinned, crooked but he could feel how wide the smile was, spreading over his face.
Author anon, I could wax lyrical about the subtle glimpses of deeper meaning and emotion. How that even without his glasses, America can still focus on England's lips. How their emotional needs and physical needs are both being met, and how focused they are on each other's pleasure.
I could also go on to tell you how utterly delicious your writing is, and exquisitely slow to build up anticipation.
I am utterly slavish for your writing, and eagerly await more.
...oh wow. i can't even begin to describe how hot and yet sweet and loving this fill is. Seriously, the little gestures and breathy moans and they have not even gotten to the sex yet.
in other words, the foreplay so far is just complete win. ♥ ♥ ♥
The way you describe kisses is so graphic and hot! In fact, this whole fic is so sensual...and I totally swooned when England reached his emotional limit capacity and had to take a few minutes of breathing harshly against America; so hot and sweet and UNF. And America is so loving here, with those kisses and hugs and whispers to "make love to him". Does that mean Ukemerica? Wohoo!
Oh man, the emotions that they're talking about, the emotions that their actions show, everything going on between them...I'm simply breathless. The details, anon, are what make this even more beautiful. America describing exactly what England smells like, being so close to notice his pores and twitches of skin, knowing the meaning behind the little gestures (and knowing how he had used to get them wrong). Wow, just, mm.
“Mm,” England said hoarsely. “Right. Trousers off, then.” And he sat back with a slight huff through his nose, and it was so freaking England that America just grinned, hugely like a total idiot, but he couldn’t stop.
“Yep,” he said, holding England more tightly as England’s quick fingers undid his belt buckle and tugged the belt open. “Off.” He grinned, crooked but he could feel how wide the smile was, spreading over his face.
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Author anon, I could wax lyrical about the subtle glimpses of deeper meaning and emotion. How that even without his glasses, America can still focus on England's lips. How their emotional needs and physical needs are both being met, and how focused they are on each other's pleasure.
I could also go on to tell you how utterly delicious your writing is, and exquisitely slow to build up anticipation.
I am utterly slavish for your writing, and eagerly await more.
<3 <3 <3
Reply
in other words, the foreplay so far is just complete win. ♥ ♥ ♥
Reply
Reply
The details, anon, are what make this even more beautiful. America describing exactly what England smells like, being so close to notice his pores and twitches of skin, knowing the meaning behind the little gestures (and knowing how he had used to get them wrong).
Wow, just, mm.
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