hold it in 2a/3
anonymous
December 3 2010, 11:40:39 UTC
idk, i thought this seemed a tad too rushed, but sigh...
You don't remember ever having a proper conversation - if verbal jousting even counts for conversation - with Poland and the thought of how the first one you've had with him played out makes you grin like an idiot. If he didn't tell you, you would've never thought that his fantasies were that wild. Not that it actually surprises you. Well, to begin with, hardly anything surprises you nowadays. He could've said he was into necrophilia and you wouldn't bat an eyelid. Okay maybe you would have, but you suppose it doesn't really matter as you wait for Poland in your car, tapping your fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.
The door opens and a blushing Poland, clad in a white and light blue lolita dress, climbs into the passenger seat. "Sorry I'm, like, late," he apologises as he fumbles with the seat belt. "Like, there was this-"
"I believe that your lateness should be punished," you cut him off.
His emerald eyes widen considerably and you catch his gaze, holding it for much longer than necessary and he looks down, acknowledging that the fantasy has begun. He chews on his lower lip as he shakes his head and you frown.
"Answer when you're spoken to," you say sharply as you start the engine.
"Y-yes," he stammers as you drive, turning into a deserted street.
You raise an eyebrow and with a smirk, you flip his skirt and reach for him, glad to find that indeed, he isn't wearing anything underneath. He's semi-erect already and he squeaks as you finger his tip, teasing the slit until your fingertips are coated with a familiar sort of sticky wetness. Doing your best to keep your eyes on the road, you bring your fingers up to Poland's lips. "Lick," you command and for a moment, he hesitates before touching his tongue to your fingers, lapping at them, cleaning your fingers of his essence. The feeling is so damn good, especially when he sucks at your middle finger that you feel yourself getting hard in your jeans.
Poland reaches for the clasp of your jeans and your eyes widen as he undoes the clasp, unzipping your jeans. He strokes you through your boxers, touch feathery light and you moan in pleasure.
"Poland," you hiss as he speeds up, stroking faster. "Stop it," you manage through gritted teeth as you try to concentrate on driving. His fingers are rubbing your leaking tip through the flimsy material of your boxers and he stops just as you're certain you're about to go over the edge.
You slam on the brakes, avoiding an accident in the nick of time and turn to look at him, eyes narrowed. "You will be punished for this," you growl through gritted teeth and for a moment, he smirks and you wonder if its some fucked up sort of personal triumph for him when it disappears as soon as you thought you saw it. Poland nods briefly and you start driving again, trying to ignore your erection as you reach the house you share with your brother, Germany, and Austria. A tiny smile plays across your lips as Poland gets off the car and you hand him a paper bag.
He raises an eyebrow, confused but you don't bother explaining what's it for. When the both of you enter the house, you find Austria sitting at the dining table, eating cake and sipping tea, listening to Chopin.
Poland stiffens immediately. "Austria," he says tersely and the brunette blinks, confused by your unexpected appearance with an equally unexpected visitor.
"He's my guest," you explain and Austria nods as he heads into the kitchen. He brings out two cups and plates for the both of you and Poland stares at him, shocked.
"Please, sit," Austria gestures to the empty seats at the dining table. You take a seat and Poland doesn't follow until you nod. "Chopin's music is lovely, isn't it?" he addresses Poland and you suppress the urge to strangle the freeloading aristocrat for ignoring the awesome you, although you suppose he's being nice by inviting you to the tea party of sorts that he's having with himself. He pours the both of you some tea and places a slice of cake on each plate and when he serves Poland a slice, the blonde’s jaw nearly drops because he’s not accustomed to such civility between him and Austria.
You don't remember ever having a proper conversation - if verbal jousting even counts for conversation - with Poland and the thought of how the first one you've had with him played out makes you grin like an idiot. If he didn't tell you, you would've never thought that his fantasies were that wild. Not that it actually surprises you. Well, to begin with, hardly anything surprises you nowadays. He could've said he was into necrophilia and you wouldn't bat an eyelid. Okay maybe you would have, but you suppose it doesn't really matter as you wait for Poland in your car, tapping your fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.
The door opens and a blushing Poland, clad in a white and light blue lolita dress, climbs into the passenger seat. "Sorry I'm, like, late," he apologises as he fumbles with the seat belt. "Like, there was this-"
"I believe that your lateness should be punished," you cut him off.
His emerald eyes widen considerably and you catch his gaze, holding it for much longer than necessary and he looks down, acknowledging that the fantasy has begun. He chews on his lower lip as he shakes his head and you frown.
"Answer when you're spoken to," you say sharply as you start the engine.
"Y-yes," he stammers as you drive, turning into a deserted street.
You raise an eyebrow and with a smirk, you flip his skirt and reach for him, glad to find that indeed, he isn't wearing anything underneath. He's semi-erect already and he squeaks as you finger his tip, teasing the slit until your fingertips are coated with a familiar sort of sticky wetness. Doing your best to keep your eyes on the road, you bring your fingers up to Poland's lips. "Lick," you command and for a moment, he hesitates before touching his tongue to your fingers, lapping at them, cleaning your fingers of his essence. The feeling is so damn good, especially when he sucks at your middle finger that you feel yourself getting hard in your jeans.
Poland reaches for the clasp of your jeans and your eyes widen as he undoes the clasp, unzipping your jeans. He strokes you through your boxers, touch feathery light and you moan in pleasure.
"Poland," you hiss as he speeds up, stroking faster. "Stop it," you manage through gritted teeth as you try to concentrate on driving. His fingers are rubbing your leaking tip through the flimsy material of your boxers and he stops just as you're certain you're about to go over the edge.
You slam on the brakes, avoiding an accident in the nick of time and turn to look at him, eyes narrowed. "You will be punished for this," you growl through gritted teeth and for a moment, he smirks and you wonder if its some fucked up sort of personal triumph for him when it disappears as soon as you thought you saw it. Poland nods briefly and you start driving again, trying to ignore your erection as you reach the house you share with your brother, Germany, and Austria. A tiny smile plays across your lips as Poland gets off the car and you hand him a paper bag.
He raises an eyebrow, confused but you don't bother explaining what's it for. When the both of you enter the house, you find Austria sitting at the dining table, eating cake and sipping tea, listening to Chopin.
Poland stiffens immediately. "Austria," he says tersely and the brunette blinks, confused by your unexpected appearance with an equally unexpected visitor.
"He's my guest," you explain and Austria nods as he heads into the kitchen. He brings out two cups and plates for the both of you and Poland stares at him, shocked.
"Please, sit," Austria gestures to the empty seats at the dining table. You take a seat and Poland doesn't follow until you nod. "Chopin's music is lovely, isn't it?" he addresses Poland and you suppress the urge to strangle the freeloading aristocrat for ignoring the awesome you, although you suppose he's being nice by inviting you to the tea party of sorts that he's having with himself. He pours the both of you some tea and places a slice of cake on each plate and when he serves Poland a slice, the blonde’s jaw nearly drops because he’s not accustomed to such civility between him and Austria.
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