Re: Little Suggestions [4/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:10:20 UTC
Just lost the last three pages and all my edits. "OTL Save frequently, kids!
-- America kicked him away, hissing “That’s enough.” England whimpered. “What a whore. Getting so excited over such a small thing.” He rubbed his eye and tried to smooth his hair. God, he probably looked like a wreck. But it was hardly his fault-- it was so damn hot in that room. The Englishman glanced up at his face, which was flushed, but not as much as his own. America placed his hat on a nearby shelf and smoothed his hair. Their eyes met, and America glared down at him. He barked something, but the man on the floor wasn’t listening. A pause. “I said, on your knees,” repeated the taller man, his voice fiercer this time, metal clinking against metal as he undid his belt.
England struggled to sit, shaking his head, trying to clear his arousal from his thoughts. “I won’t,” he murmured, “not for you.”
“You don’t have a choice.” America grabbed his shoulders and pulled him upright, then thumbed across his swollen, flushed lips. “It would be a shame to waste that pretty mouth. Now.” He guided England’s hand to his fly. Unbutton. Then suck.”
After a few seconds of the smaller man’s fumbling, America slapped his hands away and did the job himself. Instead of falling to the ground, his tall boots and the stiffness of the wool kept his jodhpurs mostly in place. His red cock peeked out from the surrounding grey-green wool, lifting his jacket the slightest bit. He was already half-hard, flushed just a bit. England stroked the side and looked back up at his partner, who narrowed his eyes. He glared back, and took his member into his mouth.
“Ah--” gasped America. If England could have smirked around the quickly-hardening rod in his mouth, he would have. Instead, he settled for licking up the shaft, then back down, then swirling his tongue around the tip, tasting its salty precum, then sucking and nipping and lapping all along the length in that passionate, intense way which always drived the stronger man wild.
The target of all this affection ran his hand through his hair, and quickly fixed and smoothed it down again. He regained his composure (or appeared to do so) and stared down at him sternly, clutching England’s hair, forcing his cock deeper into his hot, wet mouth. Instead of gagging, the British man groaned along the length.
America was saying something in a husky tone, but it didn’t matter-- no, it was all background noise, easily overwhelmed by the obscene noises he made with his tongue and the pounding of his heart. The whip was lifting his shirt, tickling his back. His foe was so hard, so thick in his mouth, so hot. It was too much. Without thinking, he grabbed his crotch, groping for his zipper-- god, he needed to do something to relieve the throbbing, the desire--
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” America clenched England’s jaw and forced him away, the kneeling man’s cum-frosted lips still parted. “Who told you,” said the standing man, slowly and evenly, “that you could touch yourself?
“I--” gasped England, “I--”
America slapped him hard across the face.
The sound seemed to echo around the room.
England stared at the carpet in shock and gingerly touched his cheek.
America panicked. He dropped his accent, whispering, “England? England are you okay-- oh crap-- I just got carried away-- do you want to stop? I can get-- Oh! Uh, light? Red light?”
The British man shook his head. “Green.”
America sighed in relief.
“Punish me,” England breathed.
“Huh?”
“Punish me for my insolence.” England met his partners eyes and smirked. “You fucking kraut.”
Re: Little Suggestions [6/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:19:54 UTC
numbering FAIL! XD Previous part should be 5.
-- He sraightened up and slicked his hair, quickly beginning to fall, back into place.
Then, he sneered and stood over his victim. “Don’t pretend your desires matter here,” he said, his voice soft and even, German accented once more.
England whimpered and shrunk away. That didn’t stop America. He yanked England upright by his collar so that their faces almost touched, his arms coiled around his back. The British man savored the feel of the seething, hot breath on his face. A bit of hair still brushed America’s forehead. “I should have known. You’re no better than a prostitute. A selfish, filthy whore. It’s time I treat you like one.”
“Fuck you,” said England, and spat in his face.
The previously calm face contorted in disgust.
America threw England against the ground and pinned him there, riding crop pressed against his throat and knee driving into his stomach.
He started with his captive’s tie. Then he attacked his shirt buttons, barely fumbling despite his fervor, yanking and contorting his target’s body, almost ripping the garment off before throwing it into the darkness. His shoes got a similar treatment, as did his trousers, which came off along with his underwear. England gasped as his throbbing cock hit the air. America didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he care when his gloved hands, pinching his nipples and forcing his thighs apart, made him moan and pant louder than ever. The dominating man looked at the spread before him and nodded curtly. He released his grip.
“Hands and knees!”
America punctuated it with a crack of his riding crop. England complied. America followed with a strike to his rear, making the nude man shudder and cry out. “Do you like this?” sneered his attacker, hitting again. “Do you like this, you worthless slut?”
England shook as the crop came down a third time, but stayed silent.
“Answer me!”
“No-- Ah!” Smack.
A gloved hand closed around his member. “I-- ah-- I hate it!” Smack.
His shaft twitched. “Liar,” breathed America. “Tell the truth or I’ll leave you like this.” Smack.
“I--” cried England, “I like it!” Smack. America let go of him. “I--” Smack. “I-- I hate you!” Smack. “I--I love it!”
America chuckled. “You love it... who?” Smack.
The moaning man yelled, “I love it-- you disgusting bastard! I wish you were dead!”
America set the riding crop down and held the other man’s jaw. “Amazing. You still have a fighting spirit.” He grinned. “You won’t once my cum is leaking out of you.”
England trembled, and his arms gave out.
The taller man stood to his full height and rested one foot on England’s back. Out of the corner of his eye, the prone man saw him smooth his hair once more, a neutral look on his face-- barely glancing, that bastard-- and take a small bottle out of his left breast pocket. America walked behind him, out of sight. England didn’t have the energy to move his head. It took everything he had just to keep his ass in the air, and even there his legs were shaking. A gloved hand grasped a cheek and stabilized him, but nothing else was happening. What the hell was he doing back there? God, he’d better hurry up, this was in humane--
“A-aah! Fuck!”
In an instant, two bare, lubricated fingers were deep inside him. It hurt-- it hurt so much, but-- Not deep enough. England pushed his ass against them with all the strength he had left, but America pulled his fingers out. “So eager,” said America. “Hold still. And shut up.”
England did his best and bit his lip. America chuckled. “Good boy.”
Re: Little Suggestions [6/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:23:26 UTC
I was planning to post it all tonight, but my computer eating it kinda put a wrench in that and I'm waaay to tired to keep writing tonight. Oh well! I'll do my best to have the rest up by the end of the week.
Re: Little Suggestions [6/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 01:43:36 UTC
God, that sucks so hard, anon. ;_; Fucking technology, eh?
Poor America is trying so hard to keep his hair tamed; I can't believe he even got Nantucket slicked down, honestly. That's dedication to your scene. <3
Oh, and it's kind of nice to see a top doing a quick check like that, although his panic is ever-so-slightly funny to me for some reason. He's such a sweetheart and a good top/dom, and that combination amuses me in fiction, even though it's true more often than not in real life.
Unf, what an awesome use of America's strength there: England whimpered and shrunk away. That didn’t stop America. He yanked England upright by his collar so that their faces almost touched, his arms coiled around his back. *A*
Okay, yeah, this is the fun kind of non-con scene. Jesus, and those gloves staying on is just awesome. Especially when he's manhandling him, like holding him by the jaw, spreading his thighs, and so on. So hot, seriously. :D
And I'm unbelievably sorry your computer ate the rest, but I have to admit, that is such an awesome line to end on. (But go to sleeeeeeep! ♥)
Re: Little Suggestions [6/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 02:45:08 UTC
Shiiiiit. Unf. SO HOT.
Whew. Ok, words. (That just hit all of my kinks so hardcore, I can barely talk.) So:
“Git. I don’t want him. I want you.”
Nice to see them communicating, for once!
“That’s not the best German accent I’ve heard, but I suppose it will have to do,” England sighed.
Because of course, he wouldn't just go with it xD
The riding crop snapped across his face.
Guh. Just, guh.
“Go to hell. I’d never betray my country.” Cliche, but effective.
I love how we his mental voice stays the same, even in a situation like this one. So England!
America panicked. He dropped his accent, whispering, “England? England are you okay-- oh crap-- I just got carried away-- do you want to stop? I can get-- Oh! Uh, light? Red light?”
I'm so glad you included this! Because oh man, that's totally happened to me (I mean, uh, not like, while pretending to be Germany, but you know what I mean). If America's never done anything like this, it would be really hard to maintain! ...on the other hand, hot that he got too carried away to notice xD.
England trembled, and his arms gave out.
I'm right there with ya, man.
So yeah, great fill! The only bad thing about the kink meme is that when you find something this awesome, you can't go and immediately read everything else the author has ever written.
Father, criound. Captcha wants there to be daddy kink?
Re: Little Suggestions [6/???]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 09:20:54 UTC
Oh I really like that America was all worried that he'd gone too far. Very in character, and sometimes stories make me a little uncomfortable with how far they go into dubcon/noncon roleplay (Actually if they get too intense I can't read them at all). America's worry made it seem more realistic, and less...scary. (lol I'm so vanilla) Anyways, this is turning out really good so far. P.S America gelled Nantucket back? Woah.
Re: Little Suggestions [7/???]
anonymous
September 8 2010, 20:41:25 UTC
Y'all are so sweet and I love you all. ;a; --
He drove his fingers in hard. A gasp burst from England’s lips. “Your hole is almost as whorish as you are,” spat America. “So hot--”
The fingers left. The kneeling man sighed. “And so tight--” They returned, twisting around. England ground his teeth.
“And pink, and desperate--” They pulled back a little, just a little, and curled. He hissed.
“And it’s sucking on my fingers--” They pumped in, deep, England choked on air--
“Just like your slutty mouth--” Again, even deeper, he bit back a whimper--
“Sucks on me--” He was going to die, this wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough--
The fingers were gone.
A gloved hand was stroking his thighs, running up and down, his thumb tracing patterns on his ass. Blood pounded in the smaller man’s ears. England huddled his head in his arms, unevenly breathing, whimpering, bracing himself for the assault that was taking too long to come.
Re: Little Suggestions [8/???]
anonymous
September 8 2010, 20:46:06 UTC
Everything at once. England flinched-- it was too much, too hot, too wonderful-- The stronger man pulled out slowly, painfully slowly, and pushed back in at the same speed. At first, shock left him reeling, but-- America’s movements were too deliberate, too goddamned slow-- almost taunting him. The British man pushed his hips up to meet his cock, but his hands forced him back into place. “Faster. Faster,” breathed England.
“No,” said America, sneering, “I don’t feel like it.”
“Then touch me!” snarled England.
“Hm, no.”
“Bastard! Harder!”
“I like it this way,” purred America. He slowed down further. “But I might consider,” he whispered, “if you beg for me.”
“Beg?” gasped England. “What the hell do you mean?”
The taller man chuckled. “Can’t you understand your own language? Beg. Beg like the dog you are.” He was barely moving now, almost still.
The room was quiet except for their heavy breathing.
The smaller man took a shuddering breath.
“Please-- I-- I want you to-- I-- Fuck me. Fuck me! You bastard! Goddamned kraut! I hah-- I-- I hate you!”
America was pulling out. He was almost gone.
England gulped air.
“F-fucking hun! I need you! J-just-- I need your cock! Fuck me hard! Put that damn thing in me and fuck me raw! I’m yours-- Please-- Please--!”
Re: Little Suggestions [9/???]
anonymous
September 8 2010, 20:48:23 UTC
America filled him again, hard and fast. England lost his breath-- he was spun around-- embraced-- He was in America’s lap, his hard nipples scratching against the wool jacket, his hands running through stiff, gelled hair, his neck devoured by greedy lips and sharp teeth, rough hands assaulting his back, his hair, his ass, heart throbbing in his throat choking him and moans and the obscene music of flesh grinding against flesh deafening him. Nothing existed, nothing mattered except field green and silver and black and that amazing pressure and the animal desire boiling in his gut.
England came first, jerking and crying out. America followed soon after.
The larger man pulled out. They held each other, silent, listening to their own breathing for a long time. Then America spoke.
“Woo! I don’t think I’ve come that hard in a while!” He tilted England’s body back (earning weak complaints) and surveyed it. “I don’t think you have, either. Lie down, I have wet wipes.”
England did so. America brandished a translucent white cloth at his chest and started rubbing. “That was amazing,” murmured the English man.
“Fucking awesome,” replied America. “I had my doubts, but it was worth it. Now you gotta dress up as Russia and do it for me.”
“I look nothing like Russia!” the nude man said.
“I look nothing like Germany.”
“Touche.” England rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, I’m always right.” America grinned.
“What?”
“Kidding, kidding!” America pulled back, looking at his handiwork. “There, you’re all clean now.” He tossed the cloth in a random direction. England’s gripes were silenced by two kisses-- one on the lips, one on his cheek. “Mwa. Hey, guess were we are. Bet you can’t guess.”
England squinted through the darkness. “Third floor library?” America’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, there are banners everywhere.”
“Wait. Did you only notice now?” America pouted. “Seriously? I spent all day putting those up, and you didn’t even see them?”
“Shouldn’t they have swastikas on them?”
“I ain’t buying no swastika banners!” exclaimed America, nuzzling his neck. “It’s gonna be weird enough dry cleaning this uniform, and now you want me to have swastika banners around? What would my bosses think?”
“Hm, you have a point.” The smaller man moved his lover’s head off his jaw and kissed him. They looked into each others eyes.
Re: Little Suggestions [Bonus]
anonymous
September 8 2010, 20:53:17 UTC
“Thank you for letting me borrow a shirt, America.”
“It’s okay! Sorry-- red wine-- it’s a problem.”
Germany shook his head. “France is the problem.”
America rubbed his temples. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him about that. Not cool. See you downstairs, okay?”
Germany nodded. The spectacled man waved brightly and sprinted back to his New Year’s party.
He put his jacket, tie, and stained shirt neatly on the bed, and opened his fellow nation’s cavernous closet. Really, America had to learn some restraint-- who needed this much clothing? He peered through the darkness, and saw a polyester white suit and an out-of-date Air Force uniform. Perhaps the problem was that he just never threw anything away.
Germany sighed and rifled through the closest hangers, finding a plain, white shirt which matched his stained one quite well. He put it on, and, unwilling to go downstairs and face France again, kept looking through the closet. A black dress shirt with a hot pink hibiscus print-- Germany prayed it would never show up at a world meeting-- his bomber jacket-- well, of course-- something big, something green and black, in a transparent plastic bag.
He took a closer look.
Sometimes your history comes back to haunt you. Sometimes it brushes by you in an instant, leaving you uneasy the rest of the day. Sometimes it’s there all day, poking at your ribs, gnawing on the edges of your mind.
And sometimes, not often, it’s swinging in a colleague’s closet, poised on a hanger reading “We (heart) Our Customers,” refusing to explain itself or make any sense whatsoever.
Two Anglophones spent the rest of the night dodging awkward questions.
-- And that's that! I hope you enjoyed! >w<
....That was more fun than I thought it would be. 8D I actually got it done, too! *pats self on back*
Re: Oh my god...
anonymous
September 8 2010, 23:46:55 UTC
*LOL* Poor Germany nothing. He shouldn't have been nosing around in people's closets. He found the shirt, there was no need to look any further. I'm glad he did, though. XD
I think USSR!England would be quite a sight. It wouldn't work quite as well on the physical level as Germany!America, since at least America is taller and muscular, but I think it would still be entertaining.
Re: Oh my god...
anonymous
September 9 2010, 16:51:08 UTC
I'm fretting about the physical differences between the two as well.... I think there might be a solution, though. Worst case scenario is platform shoes. XD
--
America kicked him away, hissing “That’s enough.” England whimpered. “What a whore. Getting so excited over such a small thing.” He rubbed his eye and tried to smooth his hair. God, he probably looked like a wreck. But it was hardly his fault-- it was so damn hot in that room. The Englishman glanced up at his face, which was flushed, but not as much as his own. America placed his hat on a nearby shelf and smoothed his hair. Their eyes met, and America glared down at him. He barked something, but the man on the floor wasn’t listening. A pause. “I said, on your knees,” repeated the taller man, his voice fiercer this time, metal clinking against metal as he undid his belt.
England struggled to sit, shaking his head, trying to clear his arousal from his thoughts. “I won’t,” he murmured, “not for you.”
“You don’t have a choice.” America grabbed his shoulders and pulled him upright, then thumbed across his swollen, flushed lips. “It would be a shame to waste that pretty mouth. Now.” He guided England’s hand to his fly. Unbutton. Then suck.”
After a few seconds of the smaller man’s fumbling, America slapped his hands away and did the job himself. Instead of falling to the ground, his tall boots and the stiffness of the wool kept his jodhpurs mostly in place. His red cock peeked out from the surrounding grey-green wool, lifting his jacket the slightest bit. He was already half-hard, flushed just a bit. England stroked the side and looked back up at his partner, who narrowed his eyes. He glared back, and took his member into his mouth.
“Ah--” gasped America. If England could have smirked around the quickly-hardening rod in his mouth, he would have. Instead, he settled for licking up the shaft, then back down, then swirling his tongue around the tip, tasting its salty precum, then sucking and nipping and lapping all along the length in that passionate, intense way which always drived the stronger man wild.
The target of all this affection ran his hand through his hair, and quickly fixed and smoothed it down again. He regained his composure (or appeared to do so) and stared down at him sternly, clutching England’s hair, forcing his cock deeper into his hot, wet mouth. Instead of gagging, the British man groaned along the length.
America was saying something in a husky tone, but it didn’t matter-- no, it was all background noise, easily overwhelmed by the obscene noises he made with his tongue and the pounding of his heart. The whip was lifting his shirt, tickling his back. His foe was so hard, so thick in his mouth, so hot. It was too much. Without thinking, he grabbed his crotch, groping for his zipper-- god, he needed to do something to relieve the throbbing, the desire--
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” America clenched England’s jaw and forced him away, the kneeling man’s cum-frosted lips still parted. “Who told you,” said the standing man, slowly and evenly, “that you could touch yourself?
“I--” gasped England, “I--”
America slapped him hard across the face.
The sound seemed to echo around the room.
England stared at the carpet in shock and gingerly touched his cheek.
America panicked. He dropped his accent, whispering, “England? England are you okay-- oh crap-- I just got carried away-- do you want to stop? I can get-- Oh! Uh, light? Red light?”
The British man shook his head. “Green.”
America sighed in relief.
“Punish me,” England breathed.
“Huh?”
“Punish me for my insolence.” England met his partners eyes and smirked. “You fucking kraut.”
The previously panicked man blinked. “Uh-- Oh!”
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--
He sraightened up and slicked his hair, quickly beginning to fall, back into place.
Then, he sneered and stood over his victim. “Don’t pretend your desires matter here,” he said, his voice soft and even, German accented once more.
England whimpered and shrunk away. That didn’t stop America. He yanked England upright by his collar so that their faces almost touched, his arms coiled around his back. The British man savored the feel of the seething, hot breath on his face. A bit of hair still brushed America’s forehead. “I should have known. You’re no better than a prostitute. A selfish, filthy whore. It’s time I treat you like one.”
“Fuck you,” said England, and spat in his face.
The previously calm face contorted in disgust.
America threw England against the ground and pinned him there, riding crop pressed against his throat and knee driving into his stomach.
He started with his captive’s tie. Then he attacked his shirt buttons, barely fumbling despite his fervor, yanking and contorting his target’s body, almost ripping the garment off before throwing it into the darkness. His shoes got a similar treatment, as did his trousers, which came off along with his underwear. England gasped as his throbbing cock hit the air. America didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he care when his gloved hands, pinching his nipples and forcing his thighs apart, made him moan and pant louder than ever. The dominating man looked at the spread before him and nodded curtly. He released his grip.
“Hands and knees!”
America punctuated it with a crack of his riding crop. England complied. America followed with a strike to his rear, making the nude man shudder and cry out. “Do you like this?” sneered his attacker, hitting again. “Do you like this, you worthless slut?”
England shook as the crop came down a third time, but stayed silent.
“Answer me!”
“No-- Ah!” Smack.
A gloved hand closed around his member. “I-- ah-- I hate it!” Smack.
His shaft twitched. “Liar,” breathed America. “Tell the truth or I’ll leave you like this.” Smack.
“I--” cried England, “I like it!” Smack. America let go of him. “I--” Smack. “I-- I hate you!” Smack. “I--I love it!”
America chuckled. “You love it... who?” Smack.
The moaning man yelled, “I love it-- you disgusting bastard! I wish you were dead!”
America set the riding crop down and held the other man’s jaw. “Amazing. You still have a fighting spirit.” He grinned. “You won’t once my cum is leaking out of you.”
England trembled, and his arms gave out.
The taller man stood to his full height and rested one foot on England’s back. Out of the corner of his eye, the prone man saw him smooth his hair once more, a neutral look on his face-- barely glancing, that bastard-- and take a small bottle out of his left breast pocket. America walked behind him, out of sight. England didn’t have the energy to move his head. It took everything he had just to keep his ass in the air, and even there his legs were shaking. A gloved hand grasped a cheek and stabilized him, but nothing else was happening. What the hell was he doing back there? God, he’d better hurry up, this was in humane--
“A-aah! Fuck!”
In an instant, two bare, lubricated fingers were deep inside him. It hurt-- it hurt so much, but-- Not deep enough. England pushed his ass against them with all the strength he had left, but America pulled his fingers out. “So eager,” said America. “Hold still. And shut up.”
England did his best and bit his lip. America chuckled. “Good boy.”
--
Captcha: sterin superexpensive
what?
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Poor America is trying so hard to keep his hair tamed; I can't believe he even got Nantucket slicked down, honestly. That's dedication to your scene. <3
Oh, and it's kind of nice to see a top doing a quick check like that, although his panic is ever-so-slightly funny to me for some reason. He's such a sweetheart and a good top/dom, and that combination amuses me in fiction, even though it's true more often than not in real life.
Unf, what an awesome use of America's strength there: England whimpered and shrunk away. That didn’t stop America. He yanked England upright by his collar so that their faces almost touched, his arms coiled around his back. *A*
Okay, yeah, this is the fun kind of non-con scene. Jesus, and those gloves staying on is just awesome. Especially when he's manhandling him, like holding him by the jaw, spreading his thighs, and so on. So hot, seriously. :D
And I'm unbelievably sorry your computer ate the rest, but I have to admit, that is such an awesome line to end on. (But go to sleeeeeeep! ♥)
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Whew. Ok, words. (That just hit all of my kinks so hardcore, I can barely talk.) So:
“Git. I don’t want him. I want you.”
Nice to see them communicating, for once!
“That’s not the best German accent I’ve heard, but I suppose it will have to do,” England sighed.
Because of course, he wouldn't just go with it xD
The riding crop snapped across his face.
Guh. Just, guh.
“Go to hell. I’d never betray my country.” Cliche, but effective.
I love how we his mental voice stays the same, even in a situation like this one. So England!
America panicked. He dropped his accent, whispering, “England? England are you okay-- oh crap-- I just got carried away-- do you want to stop? I can get-- Oh! Uh, light? Red light?”
I'm so glad you included this! Because oh man, that's totally happened to me (I mean, uh, not like, while pretending to be Germany, but you know what I mean). If America's never done anything like this, it would be really hard to maintain! ...on the other hand, hot that he got too carried away to notice xD.
England trembled, and his arms gave out.
I'm right there with ya, man.
So yeah, great fill! The only bad thing about the kink meme is that when you find something this awesome, you can't go and immediately read everything else the author has ever written.
Father, criound. Captcha wants there to be daddy kink?
Reply
THIS IS SOOO HOOT!!!! I can barely write right now.... and I'm blushing like mad!
I'm so sorry about your computer, but will wait impatiently here for you ^^ *hugs*
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P.S America gelled Nantucket back? Woah.
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--
He drove his fingers in hard. A gasp burst from England’s lips. “Your hole is almost as whorish as you are,” spat America. “So hot--”
The fingers left. The kneeling man sighed. “And so tight--” They returned, twisting around. England ground his teeth.
“And pink, and desperate--” They pulled back a little, just a little, and curled. He hissed.
“And it’s sucking on my fingers--” They pumped in, deep, England choked on air--
“Just like your slutty mouth--” Again, even deeper, he bit back a whimper--
“Sucks on me--” He was going to die, this wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough--
The fingers were gone.
A gloved hand was stroking his thighs, running up and down, his thumb tracing patterns on his ass. Blood pounded in the smaller man’s ears. England huddled his head in his arms, unevenly breathing, whimpering, bracing himself for the assault that was taking too long to come.
“Light?” breathed America.
“Green. Green, fuck, green,” growled England.
Nothing.
Then--
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“No,” said America, sneering, “I don’t feel like it.”
“Then touch me!” snarled England.
“Hm, no.”
“Bastard! Harder!”
“I like it this way,” purred America. He slowed down further. “But I might consider,” he whispered, “if you beg for me.”
“Beg?” gasped England. “What the hell do you mean?”
The taller man chuckled. “Can’t you understand your own language? Beg. Beg like the dog you are.” He was barely moving now, almost still.
The room was quiet except for their heavy breathing.
The smaller man took a shuddering breath.
“Please-- I-- I want you to-- I-- Fuck me. Fuck me! You bastard! Goddamned kraut! I hah-- I-- I hate you!”
America was pulling out. He was almost gone.
England gulped air.
“F-fucking hun! I need you! J-just-- I need your cock! Fuck me hard! Put that damn thing in me and fuck me raw! I’m yours-- Please-- Please--!”
He sobbed into the carpet. “I-- God, please....”
There was an awful silence.
A gloved hand stroked his side. “That will do.”
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England came first, jerking and crying out. America followed soon after.
The larger man pulled out. They held each other, silent, listening to their own breathing for a long time. Then America spoke.
“Woo! I don’t think I’ve come that hard in a while!” He tilted England’s body back (earning weak complaints) and surveyed it. “I don’t think you have, either. Lie down, I have wet wipes.”
England did so. America brandished a translucent white cloth at his chest and started rubbing. “That was amazing,” murmured the English man.
“Fucking awesome,” replied America. “I had my doubts, but it was worth it. Now you gotta dress up as Russia and do it for me.”
“I look nothing like Russia!” the nude man said.
“I look nothing like Germany.”
“Touche.” England rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, I’m always right.” America grinned.
“What?”
“Kidding, kidding!” America pulled back, looking at his handiwork. “There, you’re all clean now.” He tossed the cloth in a random direction. England’s gripes were silenced by two kisses-- one on the lips, one on his cheek. “Mwa. Hey, guess were we are. Bet you can’t guess.”
England squinted through the darkness. “Third floor library?” America’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, there are banners everywhere.”
“Wait. Did you only notice now?” America pouted. “Seriously? I spent all day putting those up, and you didn’t even see them?”
“Shouldn’t they have swastikas on them?”
“I ain’t buying no swastika banners!” exclaimed America, nuzzling his neck. “It’s gonna be weird enough dry cleaning this uniform, and now you want me to have swastika banners around? What would my bosses think?”
“Hm, you have a point.” The smaller man moved his lover’s head off his jaw and kissed him. They looked into each others eyes.
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“I can never look Germany in the eyes again,” snickered England.
“Oh god, me neither!” America giggled. “He’ll be making some boring speech about sustainability or something and all I’ll think is--”
“‘Your ass is sucking my fingers!’”
They embraced again, laughing even harder. Soon enough, they calmed down and smiled down each other’s backs.
“Pervy old man.”
“Stupid kid.” England snuggled into his boyfriend and yawned.
“Tired?”
“Very.”
“Yeah, me too. Let’s get pizza or something.”
“Mm.”
"C'mere."
America scooped his lover up and carried him off.
--
10 parts-- nice how that worked out. XD
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“It’s okay! Sorry-- red wine-- it’s a problem.”
Germany shook his head. “France is the problem.”
America rubbed his temples. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him about that. Not cool. See you downstairs, okay?”
Germany nodded. The spectacled man waved brightly and sprinted back to his New Year’s party.
He put his jacket, tie, and stained shirt neatly on the bed, and opened his fellow nation’s cavernous closet. Really, America had to learn some restraint-- who needed this much clothing? He peered through the darkness, and saw a polyester white suit and an out-of-date Air Force uniform. Perhaps the problem was that he just never threw anything away.
Germany sighed and rifled through the closest hangers, finding a plain, white shirt which matched his stained one quite well. He put it on, and, unwilling to go downstairs and face France again, kept looking through the closet. A black dress shirt with a hot pink hibiscus print-- Germany prayed it would never show up at a world meeting-- his bomber jacket-- well, of course-- something big, something green and black, in a transparent plastic bag.
He took a closer look.
Sometimes your history comes back to haunt you. Sometimes it brushes by you in an instant, leaving you uneasy the rest of the day. Sometimes it’s there all day, poking at your ribs, gnawing on the edges of your mind.
And sometimes, not often, it’s swinging in a colleague’s closet, poised on a hanger reading “We (heart) Our Customers,” refusing to explain itself or make any sense whatsoever.
Two Anglophones spent the rest of the night dodging awkward questions.
--
And that's that! I hope you enjoyed! >w<
....That was more fun than I thought it would be. 8D I actually got it done, too! *pats self on back*
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That is too awesome...
And the END omake thingy!
*rolls around laughing and falls off of bed*
Poor confused Germany!
XDXDXD
Captcha says: shillugh good...
huh...
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I think USSR!England would be quite a sight. It wouldn't work quite as well on the physical level as Germany!America, since at least America is taller and muscular, but I think it would still be entertaining.
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--authornon
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