That decided, the rest of the drive back to her flat was decidedly awkward. On America's side, it was awkward because she felt guilty and traitorous. On England's side, because she wasn't looking forward to disillusioning her, and hoped she could just distract her with the sex and let that be the end of it. They were silent as they got out of the car, silent as they stood hand in hand in the lift, silent as Lizzie unlocked her door, pulled Abigail inside, and pulled her into her arms to press a soft kiss to her lips.
Abby was warm, she always had been, and it was almost on reflex that her arms came up to rest in the small of Elisabeth's back, tugging her up flush and quickly parting her lips. Lizzie kept it slow and languid as best she could, delving forward into the heat of her mouth, feeling her breasts press up against hers. Her hands wandered, from Abby's hair to her back to the sides of her soft, heavy breasts, cupping and gently kneading.
Usually she took issue with the shortness of the skirts on America's suits, but she rather appreciated them now; they facilitated slipping a knee between hers, tangling them together in her sitting room, standing and kissing and touching. They kissed there for some time, gentle, but with steadily rising fervor. Abigail's hands slipped down to tentatively caress her bum-- why was she still so nervous after all these years?-- and it was at that point that Lizzie decided they needed to be in bed, right then.
She led her backwards through the flat, almost tripping over her sewing basket and using the momentum instead to tug her into her bedroom, only dropping from the embrace to hastily drop her jacket to the floor and unbutton her blouse. Abigail circled her, coming up behind and working fascinatedly at her hair. Good of her to let it out of its bun for her, it wasn't comfortable to lie back on-- but now she was unbraiding it too, running her fingers through it, and even as England shuddered-- her head was sensitive and always had been; it was part of the reason she kept her hair so tightly back most of the time-- she wondered why America was always so entranced by her hair. She didn't see much special about it, besides that most people didn't keep hair this long nowadays, but to each her own. It certainly felt good, so she wasn't going to complain much.
She was, however, frustrated with how America was fully clothed while she was standing here with nothing above her waistband but a bra, and feeling quite exposed with her wild map of scars out for the world to see. But that was just it, wasn't it? They weren't out for the world to see, they were out for America to see, and America didn't mind-- more than didn't mind, really, if one was to judge by how she'd turned her around, dropped to her knees, and leant forward to kiss her belly, tracing her fingers reverentially along a few of the knotted white lines across already-pale skin.
Well, that was another pair of knickers for the wash. She tried to hold back the groan that was forcing its way up her throat, and tugged Abigail back up to her level to kiss her and work the buttons of her silly pink blouse. Why she wore these things to meetings, Lizzie would never know-- oh. Now that she'd shoved it off her shoulders to an appreciative moan, she was treated to a very clear view of her stiff nipples prodding out the polka-dotted fabric of her bra, and America, flushed to her ears, managed a sweet smile and asked "Well, do you blame me?"
The best response Elisabeth could muster was a low, inarticulate groan, so she just dipped forward to lap and suck at America's collarbone, letting her pull the two of them down to the bed.
She landed on top of her, straddling America as she fumbled with the clasps of England's bra, muttering "Like this one, Lizzie. Y' should wear it more...." Personally, Elisabeth didn't really believe her jugs were deserving of lace, even if they were bigger than France's, seeing how they were dwarfed by Abigail's voluptuous figure; she'd bought the silly navy-blue thing because it was on sale and felt good, but if America liked it that was another story. She wondered if she had anything else lacy hidden away in drawers.
That train of thought was quickly interrupted when America got the hooks undone, grabbed her by the waist, and flipped her backwards onto the bed. She tugged the bra away and just gazed at her for a moment. Even after all this time, Lizzie felt distinctly self-conscious; one of the worse scars of the Blitz trailed directly across her left nipple, marring it. She thought it was frightening, wrong-- but then Abby bent down and took it shyly into her mouth, laving her wet tongue across it, and she could not help but to moan softly and tangle her fingers into her hair. America loved her, America knew her. It was a glory.
She rolled her head back, reveling in the relief that came as Abigail's hands slipped up to massage her breasts, even as her lips, her soft, plush lips moved down, down, leaving a wet trail in their wake. She smirked against her belly as she tugged off her skirt, smiled up along her body when she rolled down her stockings. Gently bussing her cheek against England's thigh, America looked up, an honesty and hope so clear in her bright blue eyes.
She was still looking at her when she trailed her hot tongue along the crotch of her knickers. Elisabeth groaned softly, spread her legs, muttered an inarticulate 'thank you'. Quickly, quickly, the last of her clothing was gone, and Abigail was caressing her thigh with one hand, tangling the other in the patch of dark, wiry hair just above her already-moist sex. Slowly, slowly, she pressed forward to take a fold of skin into her mouth and suck, tasting her and rolling her sensitive flesh between her lips. Her hand twitched upward-- but then stopped, she pulled back, and Elisabeth opened her eyes in disappointment.
"Gotta do this right," Abby muttered, and then she was sitting up on her knees, pushing down her own skirt, hose, and knickers in one impatient movement. She crawled out of them, and while Elisabeth was already gazing at her smooth thighs and the hint of her wet flesh she could see between them, below what was left of her hair-- Elisabeth tried to understand why she shaved so much of it off, but just couldn't, though she had to admit she looked beautiful with it that way-- she pressed her own fingers between her own legs, two even from the beginning, slicking them with a rub between her wet folds and letting out a harsh breath as they slid all the way in. It was a sight to see.
She wasn't drawing them out and in like she usually did if she were trying just to pleasure herself, no, she was pressing carefully, searching for something with one eye squeezed shut and her nose crinkled. She was feeling around inside herself, only once letting her thumb drift to her clit and moaning so beautifully that Lizzie moaned too. She was looking for--
"More to your left, luv. You always twitch when I get there."
America smiled awkwardly at her and turned her fingers-- oh, God, she could see so clearly where they pushed into her body-- and then her belly twitched and she threw her head back and it was such an image that Elisabeth could almost have come right there. "M-mm, got it," Abby laughed breathlessly, "so if mine's about there...."
She rubbed against whatever-it-was a few more times, groaning, but forced herself to stop, drawing her slick fingers from her body and sliding them unceremoniously into Elisabeth's. Even in light of the situation, even knowing how many times they'd twined their legs and rubbed against eachother, it still seemed breathtakingly intimate, enough that a jolt ran through Elisabeth's body and she gasped, spreading her legs still wider. Abigail rubbed gently at the hot, rawly sensitive flesh within her, those two fingers searching again.
"Tell me when you feel something... big, 'kay? Bigger than we've done before..."
Elisabeth let out a breathless laugh. "You're not going to find something that doesn't exist."
She loved how America passed through the valley of uncertainty while they were undressing and got some of her famed confidence back by the time they got to sex. Both modes were unspeakably arousing, but those sweet, loving promises and occasional dirty ones America could whisper in her ear once she had a few fingers inside her were almost as wondrous as the touch itself. She settled back into the pillow as Abigail felt out the shape of her, pressed in deeper, stroking anywhere that made her gasp louder than anywhere else.
Eventually she was pressing her fingers a little to her left, looking intently up at her with some disappointment. "But, that's where mine is...."
"Where you think it is, luv." But Abby's fingers were exploring again; she pressed in a third, and Elisabeth could feel the stretching at the base of her. She was pushing in deeper, deeper, massaging her wet insides until she found something up and to the right and the world went away.
She was only aware she'd screamed when America was smirking up at her and her throat was hoarse, but she could not bring herself to care. Something had boiled over within her, grasping at the coil of heat in her belly and intensifying it, whiting out her vision and she hadn't even come yet. America had a self-satisfied look on her face for a moment, but then she was dipping back down again, stroking and rubbing that place that was like nothing she'd ever felt before. She pressed her finger into it, rolled in circles around it, shook her fingers back and forth, against, against, against, pushing, every touch sending a fresh clutch of pressure through Elisabeth's useless body. She'd given up smirking for tonguing at her even as her fingers kept up their work, suckling at her clit and speeding the thrumming of England's blood through her as she throbbed and clutched and--
And came, harder and longer than she had ever come in her life, the tremors jittering through her thighs and her belly and her chest even after some semblance of thought had returned. She gasped for breath as America slithered up her body, chin and lips utterly covered in slick. Elisabeth slowly realised she wasn't just wet, but dripping, her own fluid soaking into the duvet. America was smiling down at her, licking her lips. Dear God, she was beautiful.
"You gushed all over me," Abigail pointed out with a smile. "So, I win?"
"Oh, you win," Elisabeth freely admitted, pulling her down into a deep kiss, wherein she could still taste herself.
When they woke in the morning, she thought, she was going to try, and fail, to make America coffee. Then drag her back to bed.
Re: Proof [6/6]
anonymous
July 5 2010, 17:05:06 UTC
Okay, anon, that was just amazing. Really hot and also sweet and romantic. And just plain cute. I love the characterization of America in this especially. Just in general, you win, anon.
Re: Proof [6/6]
anonymous
July 5 2010, 20:13:48 UTC
ffff THIS. Anon. Holy shit. Thank you for reminding me why I like lesbian smut and genderbends. ♥
And I really really love that you mentioned pubic hair, that they weren't both shaved bare. I.. actively dislike that porn trope, for a variety of reasons, and it's so nice to see it averted.
Abby was warm, she always had been, and it was almost on reflex that her arms came up to rest in the small of Elisabeth's back, tugging her up flush and quickly parting her lips. Lizzie kept it slow and languid as best she could, delving forward into the heat of her mouth, feeling her breasts press up against hers. Her hands wandered, from Abby's hair to her back to the sides of her soft, heavy breasts, cupping and gently kneading.
Usually she took issue with the shortness of the skirts on America's suits, but she rather appreciated them now; they facilitated slipping a knee between hers, tangling them together in her sitting room, standing and kissing and touching. They kissed there for some time, gentle, but with steadily rising fervor. Abigail's hands slipped down to tentatively caress her bum-- why was she still so nervous after all these years?-- and it was at that point that Lizzie decided they needed to be in bed, right then.
She led her backwards through the flat, almost tripping over her sewing basket and using the momentum instead to tug her into her bedroom, only dropping from the embrace to hastily drop her jacket to the floor and unbutton her blouse. Abigail circled her, coming up behind and working fascinatedly at her hair. Good of her to let it out of its bun for her, it wasn't comfortable to lie back on-- but now she was unbraiding it too, running her fingers through it, and even as England shuddered-- her head was sensitive and always had been; it was part of the reason she kept her hair so tightly back most of the time-- she wondered why America was always so entranced by her hair. She didn't see much special about it, besides that most people didn't keep hair this long nowadays, but to each her own. It certainly felt good, so she wasn't going to complain much.
She was, however, frustrated with how America was fully clothed while she was standing here with nothing above her waistband but a bra, and feeling quite exposed with her wild map of scars out for the world to see. But that was just it, wasn't it? They weren't out for the world to see, they were out for America to see, and America didn't mind-- more than didn't mind, really, if one was to judge by how she'd turned her around, dropped to her knees, and leant forward to kiss her belly, tracing her fingers reverentially along a few of the knotted white lines across already-pale skin.
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The best response Elisabeth could muster was a low, inarticulate groan, so she just dipped forward to lap and suck at America's collarbone, letting her pull the two of them down to the bed.
She landed on top of her, straddling America as she fumbled with the clasps of England's bra, muttering "Like this one, Lizzie. Y' should wear it more...." Personally, Elisabeth didn't really believe her jugs were deserving of lace, even if they were bigger than France's, seeing how they were dwarfed by Abigail's voluptuous figure; she'd bought the silly navy-blue thing because it was on sale and felt good, but if America liked it that was another story. She wondered if she had anything else lacy hidden away in drawers.
That train of thought was quickly interrupted when America got the hooks undone, grabbed her by the waist, and flipped her backwards onto the bed. She tugged the bra away and just gazed at her for a moment. Even after all this time, Lizzie felt distinctly self-conscious; one of the worse scars of the Blitz trailed directly across her left nipple, marring it. She thought it was frightening, wrong-- but then Abby bent down and took it shyly into her mouth, laving her wet tongue across it, and she could not help but to moan softly and tangle her fingers into her hair. America loved her, America knew her. It was a glory.
She rolled her head back, reveling in the relief that came as Abigail's hands slipped up to massage her breasts, even as her lips, her soft, plush lips moved down, down, leaving a wet trail in their wake. She smirked against her belly as she tugged off her skirt, smiled up along her body when she rolled down her stockings. Gently bussing her cheek against England's thigh, America looked up, an honesty and hope so clear in her bright blue eyes.
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"Gotta do this right," Abby muttered, and then she was sitting up on her knees, pushing down her own skirt, hose, and knickers in one impatient movement. She crawled out of them, and while Elisabeth was already gazing at her smooth thighs and the hint of her wet flesh she could see between them, below what was left of her hair-- Elisabeth tried to understand why she shaved so much of it off, but just couldn't, though she had to admit she looked beautiful with it that way-- she pressed her own fingers between her own legs, two even from the beginning, slicking them with a rub between her wet folds and letting out a harsh breath as they slid all the way in. It was a sight to see.
She wasn't drawing them out and in like she usually did if she were trying just to pleasure herself, no, she was pressing carefully, searching for something with one eye squeezed shut and her nose crinkled. She was feeling around inside herself, only once letting her thumb drift to her clit and moaning so beautifully that Lizzie moaned too. She was looking for--
"More to your left, luv. You always twitch when I get there."
America smiled awkwardly at her and turned her fingers-- oh, God, she could see so clearly where they pushed into her body-- and then her belly twitched and she threw her head back and it was such an image that Elisabeth could almost have come right there. "M-mm, got it," Abby laughed breathlessly, "so if mine's about there...."
She rubbed against whatever-it-was a few more times, groaning, but forced herself to stop, drawing her slick fingers from her body and sliding them unceremoniously into Elisabeth's. Even in light of the situation, even knowing how many times they'd twined their legs and rubbed against eachother, it still seemed breathtakingly intimate, enough that a jolt ran through Elisabeth's body and she gasped, spreading her legs still wider. Abigail rubbed gently at the hot, rawly sensitive flesh within her, those two fingers searching again.
"Tell me when you feel something... big, 'kay? Bigger than we've done before..."
Elisabeth let out a breathless laugh. "You're not going to find something that doesn't exist."
"You just watch me, babe."
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Eventually she was pressing her fingers a little to her left, looking intently up at her with some disappointment. "But, that's where mine is...."
"Where you think it is, luv." But Abby's fingers were exploring again; she pressed in a third, and Elisabeth could feel the stretching at the base of her. She was pushing in deeper, deeper, massaging her wet insides until she found something up and to the right and the world went away.
She was only aware she'd screamed when America was smirking up at her and her throat was hoarse, but she could not bring herself to care. Something had boiled over within her, grasping at the coil of heat in her belly and intensifying it, whiting out her vision and she hadn't even come yet. America had a self-satisfied look on her face for a moment, but then she was dipping back down again, stroking and rubbing that place that was like nothing she'd ever felt before. She pressed her finger into it, rolled in circles around it, shook her fingers back and forth, against, against, against, pushing, every touch sending a fresh clutch of pressure through Elisabeth's useless body. She'd given up smirking for tonguing at her even as her fingers kept up their work, suckling at her clit and speeding the thrumming of England's blood through her as she throbbed and clutched and--
And came, harder and longer than she had ever come in her life, the tremors jittering through her thighs and her belly and her chest even after some semblance of thought had returned. She gasped for breath as America slithered up her body, chin and lips utterly covered in slick. Elisabeth slowly realised she wasn't just wet, but dripping, her own fluid soaking into the duvet. America was smiling down at her, licking her lips. Dear God, she was beautiful.
"You gushed all over me," Abigail pointed out with a smile. "So, I win?"
"Oh, you win," Elisabeth freely admitted, pulling her down into a deep kiss, wherein she could still taste herself.
When they woke in the morning, she thought, she was going to try, and fail, to make America coffee. Then drag her back to bed.
------
[...Goodnight, everybody.]
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*whimpers*
captcha says: now virtues. My virtue is long gone captcha. long gone
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Author!anon you made my day! Man that was hot and I love love love Abigail's middle name<33333333333333
You FTW! Writer!anon! Now I have new kink.
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Never thought I'd be about to get into yuri but that was pretty hot stuff.
And I just found it cute, England calling America 'luv' :D
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And I really really love that you mentioned pubic hair, that they weren't both shaved bare. I.. actively dislike that porn trope, for a variety of reasons, and it's so nice to see it averted.
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Well done, anon. Well done. This kink meme needs more yuri, and this was especially delicious.
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great job!
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