part 10 ; Sing Sung Songs [18/?]
anonymous
September 13 2010, 06:33:26 UTC
“Y-You only-”
He can feel America’s moist face buried against his throat now, lips accidentally catching at his collarbone as England rocks back onto his bottom and pushes America up and down his cock, tight and hot all around-
“-only need me don’t you America?”
England isn’t really expecting an answer though he’d like one, satisfied as he usually is with America mewling and grinding against him, his little face screwed up in pain and pleasure or one or the other is enough-
“Yes,” America tells him, voice high pitched as England nudges against his prostate and he comes jerking and shamefully against England’s stomach, England coming soon after- he is jittery and overjoyed- kissing America all over in the most gentle he’s ever been since they’d first met (and England had been timid “Do you not like it?” he’d asked then too, but America had loved it, loved whatever attention England would give him until…) touches at America’s dripping cock with his hand right on to smear with it all the come he can and when he does bends to lap at it, alternately licking and dabbing kisses on America’s red cheek.
“My dear boy-” England tells him but America doesn’t remember what England says after that.
--
When he wakes, sun is glaring over his face. He’s usually careful in remembering to draw back the curtains but last night he’d-
He’d-
-not. And blinded he gropes about for his clothes, and deciding they’re too wrinkled to be bothered with but he’s too hung over to have enough coordination to give the drawers of his wardrobe a shot. He hobbles downstairs, fully intent on setting a kettle for tea on the stove- when the heavy scent of fat greasy what can only be bacon assaults his nose.
It’s now with a dream sense he stumbles into the kitchen, and onto a dining room chair. In front of him is a plate of eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee. The newspaper is folded left, silverware on the right. He;s suddenly so hungry he doesn’t care.
“Couldn't you have waited for the bacon?” an almost irritated voice asks him.
As from a frying pan four gracious slices and slid onto his now half empty plate. England wolfishly eats into those and starts on the coffee-
Makes a face.
“Besides, who said that was for you?”
England is about to reply something to likings of ‘my house, my food’.
When America making a scrunched face at him, sets down a plate (of food many shades darker than the food he’d just been eating) and a cup of-
“OH!” England exclaims.
America sighs, “I even went to all the trouble cooking it as you like it!”
England makes a motion to take America’s cup (well that’s his too anyway right?) but America snatches it up before England can, “Uh ah England. You drank my coffee so I’m going to drink your-”
“Tea? Really America?”
America looks like he’s having the exact same second thoughts as England predicted he would. That and England knows America couldn’t brew a decent cup of tea anymore to save his life (still that would have been better than-) “But you drank all of it all of it.”
America is gesturing to ‘England’s’ empty cup. England only has the instant one serving stuff America had sent him ages ago and so.
“There should be more,” like there should be more tea, it’s not like he can’t make his own.
England rises, intent on making himself something nice to drink when America sitting adjacent from him reaches out to grab at his wrist. Stops him. Not the motion. Not America’s hand.
But rather the pensive thoughtful expression that’s taken over America's features.
He can feel America’s moist face buried against his throat now, lips accidentally catching at his collarbone as England rocks back onto his bottom and pushes America up and down his cock, tight and hot all around-
“-only need me don’t you America?”
England isn’t really expecting an answer though he’d like one, satisfied as he usually is with America mewling and grinding against him, his little face screwed up in pain and pleasure or one or the other is enough-
“Yes,” America tells him, voice high pitched as England nudges against his prostate and he comes jerking and shamefully against England’s stomach, England coming soon after- he is jittery and overjoyed- kissing America all over in the most gentle he’s ever been since they’d first met (and England had been timid “Do you not like it?” he’d asked then too, but America had loved it, loved whatever attention England would give him until…) touches at America’s dripping cock with his hand right on to smear with it all the come he can and when he does bends to lap at it, alternately licking and dabbing kisses on America’s red cheek.
“My dear boy-” England tells him but America doesn’t remember what England says after that.
--
When he wakes, sun is glaring over his face. He’s usually careful in remembering to draw back the curtains but last night he’d-
He’d-
-not. And blinded he gropes about for his clothes, and deciding they’re too wrinkled to be bothered with but he’s too hung over to have enough coordination to give the drawers of his wardrobe a shot. He hobbles downstairs, fully intent on setting a kettle for tea on the stove- when the heavy scent of fat greasy what can only be bacon assaults his nose.
It’s now with a dream sense he stumbles into the kitchen, and onto a dining room chair. In front of him is a plate of eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee. The newspaper is folded left, silverware on the right. He;s suddenly so hungry he doesn’t care.
“Couldn't you have waited for the bacon?” an almost irritated voice asks him.
As from a frying pan four gracious slices and slid onto his now half empty plate. England wolfishly eats into those and starts on the coffee-
Makes a face.
“Besides, who said that was for you?”
England is about to reply something to likings of ‘my house, my food’.
When America making a scrunched face at him, sets down a plate (of food many shades darker than the food he’d just been eating) and a cup of-
“OH!” England exclaims.
America sighs, “I even went to all the trouble cooking it as you like it!”
England makes a motion to take America’s cup (well that’s his too anyway right?) but America snatches it up before England can, “Uh ah England. You drank my coffee so I’m going to drink your-”
“Tea? Really America?”
America looks like he’s having the exact same second thoughts as England predicted he would. That and England knows America couldn’t brew a decent cup of tea anymore to save his life (still that would have been better than-) “But you drank all of it all of it.”
America is gesturing to ‘England’s’ empty cup. England only has the instant one serving stuff America had sent him ages ago and so.
“There should be more,” like there should be more tea, it’s not like he can’t make his own.
England rises, intent on making himself something nice to drink when America sitting adjacent from him reaches out to grab at his wrist. Stops him. Not the motion. Not America’s hand.
But rather the pensive thoughtful expression that’s taken over America's features.
Reply
Leave a comment