Something There [part 13/??]
anonymous
January 30 2011, 06:08:12 UTC
Finally realizing his situation, Russia froze like a rabbit hearing the screech of a hawk. He turned slowly, forcing his lips into a rictus of a smile, which would have frightened the wits out of anyone less focused on sex than France. But France being France returned his smile with a playful wink, slipping his stockinged feet out of his shoes. Russia edged towards him uncertainly, feeling light-headed from the rush of adrenaline, and was nearly yanked off balance when France sought to pull him into bed. Kneeling on top of the covers, he watched, dry mouthed, as the other nation take off his coat and unbutton his vest.
“Oh? Would you like to undress me yourself?” France offered.
Blushing furiously, Russia held his hands up and shook his head, but France moved closer, taking his hands in his own and placing them on his chest. He gulped and attempted to slip the waistcoast off France’s shoulders as gracefully as he can, and after that, France began to disrobe him every so calmly.
“W-wait!” Russia squeaked, grabbing France’s wrists to hold them still.
“What’s wrong, darling?”
“I am just… not ready.” He never had been, all those other times before, and now he felt his inexperience sharply and it distressed him deeply.
“Ah…” France regarded him, his expression searching, concerned. “Do you want to stop?”
Torn between his fears and his duties, Russia debated over his choices and finally muttered, “No…”
“Then you will just have to trust me, Russia.” He kissed him on his nose, a brotherly gesture this time, and Russia gave him a tiny smile.
“I will.”
When they had stripped down to their shirts and breeches, the two of them snuggled under the covers, France curling up next to Russia as he opened the book of fairy tales they had collected from the library, and he began to read, translating as he went.
...This is the tale of Snowmaiden, born of Fairy Spring and Father Frost. Her skin was white as snow, her eyes blue like the sky, her hair as bright as gold. Because Sun God’s rays would destroy her, she had to hide in the dark woods. One day, she heard a beautiful sound and followed it to the edge of the forest. There in an open field was a farm boy playing his flute. Snowmaiden listened and watched and became enchanted with the boy. But he never noticed the beautiful girl in the woods, and only played for the farm girls dancing in the fields. Heartbroken, Snowmaiden asked her mother, “Please let me feel real love.” And Fairy Spring understood and said, “If you want real love, then you must go to the farm boy in the open field.” So she did, stepping out of the shadows, and the boy saw her and thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Just then, Snowmaiden stepped into a ray of sunshine, which illuminated her beauty to the fullest. But the sun was too strong for her, and she melted before the boy’s eyes...
France sighed wistfully after the tale ended, his eyes closed in appreciation. “Are you Snowmaiden, Russia? And am I your farmboy?”
Closing the book and setting it aside, Russia considered this question. “I had thought it was the other way around.”
In the privacy of the night, they lay in each other’s arms, Russia nearly delirious with simultaneous dread and delight. France’s nuzzling and petting had felt divine, his whispers soothing and sweeter than sugar, but rather than making him sleepy, they were doing quite the opposite. It was like his entire body was practically vibrating from excitement, whereas France seemed to be lulling himself to sleep.
“France? Are you still awake?” Russia whispered quietly.
“Yes. Can you not sleep?”
“Not yet…”
“I have a cure for sleeplessness. Are you willing to try it?” France asked in a low, warm voice, and there was no mistaking what he intended.
Here it was, the moment he had been anticipating, and yet Russia did not feel any panic or apprehension.
He licked his lips and said yes.
[I am so sorry for the long wait! Is anyone still reading this? Haha... I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I will do my best to not abandon this fic. Thanks again for your patience with me, I am so grateful for everyone's comments and support.]
[The fairytale is paraphrased from a Russian fairytale.]
Re: Something There [part 13/??]
anonymous
January 30 2011, 06:14:32 UTC
I-- I don't even know if you're planning on posting anymore tonight, but you've already made my night with France's wandering foot and the Imminent Danger of Belarus. LOL
Seriously, this brightened my day so much. <3 I feel like a Belarus-style stalker for finding this so fast, though.
Scratch that bit about still posting; I checked before making a fail comment in the wrong place for once!
And d'aw, that fairytale. *_* And even more d'aw for France actually making Russia feel comfortable for once. So awesome, author!anon.
Something There [part 14/??]
anonymous
March 11 2011, 06:50:35 UTC
[Sorry for the delay, I write terribly mushy love scenes, so I’ve been putting it off for as long as I can out of embarrassment. Again, many thanks for the comments, everyone is too kind, I feel as if I don’t deserve it. orz]
Chuckling, France kissed him again, sliding his tongue in between his lips effortlessly, and Russia made a hum of helpless pleasure as France pressed their bodies even closer, their legs tangling together. His hands glided down the silk of his shirt, fingers working at the buttons once more. Russia whimpered shyly in protest, not wanting to reveal how bulky and clumsy he would look next to France’s waif-like form, and France glanced at him questioningly.
“Please, can’t I leave my shirt on for this?” he asked.
“Darling, what are you afraid of? That you will get cold?”
“That you will laugh…”
“Nonsense,” France murmured, trying to reassure him.
“You’ve laughed at me before, do you not remember?” Russia insisted. “Just a few hours ago, you laughed.”
In the face of such implacable logic, France had to hesitate before admitting, “I was only lightening the mood, Russia, I was certainly not laughing at you. Believe me, mon étoile, I would never do anything to hurt your feelings, and if I had, I am sorry…”
France smothered him with little kisses until he was forced to surrender to the onslaught of affection, and under the cover of the sheets, he slid out of his shirt, too embarrassed to go naked all at once, unable to look directly at France’s face. Next to him, France had already taken off his own shirt, and soon they were pressed together again, Russia lying stiffly on his side, trying to summon the courage to return the other’s previous caresses. Thankfully, France did not try to rush him, he simply smiled at him with a bright, encouraging smile that, in Russia’s eyes, seemed to cast a warm glow in the dark room.
Because of that, that small yet significant sign of trust, Russia could bring himself to touch France to his heart’s content, running his fingers curiously over the planes of his body, the bumpy outline of his ribs, the silky roughness of the sparse hair on his chest. France did giggle then, tickled by Russia’s feather-light touches, and Russia smiled, suddenly feeling less awkward and a little more comfortable.
“You feel very nice,” he said, and blushed at how simple he must have sounded, not able to think of a better word that could capture even a fraction of what he was feeling. Because it was so new to him, being allowed to explore his partner’s body freely, and that the one next to him was France only made it more special. To feel not just the beating of his heart, but the secret thrum underneath his skin of the millions of memories and lives that made up a nation.
“Russia, please…” France whispered tenderly, his voice low and throbbing. “Please let me…”
Then he found himself lying back on the sheets, head resting on plush pillows as France kissed his lips, his chin, his collar bone, mouth following the trail his fingers left, as if he were drawing a path over Russia’s skin to stoke the fire in his blood. France paused to rest his cheek against Russia’s chest, just listening to his heartbeat, long golden hair spread everywhere. The sudden intimacy of that gesture, far beyond anything Russia had ever experienced, took him off guard, making his heart pound and his cheeks flush. Then he brought his hand up to carefully brush France’s hair from his face, and France glanced up and smiled at him.
“Tell me what you like, my dear,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath made Russia shiver in helpless delight. “I will do what you want, and what you never knew you wanted.”
“I like this,” Russia confessed. “Just this, is good enough…”
“But this is only the beginning.”
“If this is the beginning, I am not sure I can survive the rest.”
“It is only a little death,” France teased, and Russia hissed softly as France’s fingers played deftly over a nipple, “you will wake up from it, I promise.”
“Ah…” Russia sighed, closing his eyes and trying to hide his grin. “Then you must show me what you mean, for the sake of my enlightenment.”
Something There [part 15/??]
anonymous
March 11 2011, 06:51:27 UTC
It was pleasure for both, for France did not waste a moment trying to find all of the places that would make Russia moan and gasp and sigh, each discovery inflaming his own desire as it did his partner’s. Between kisses and nips, he kept up a quiet stream of compliments, outrageously florid and exceedingly dramatic even for his tastes, but Russia easily blushed at them all, having never been the object of such praise before.
“You are silly, France, I am not that beautiful.”
“But I am not blind, Russia,” he countered gently. “Being with you makes my heart sing, and that is beauty as well.”
During this time, France had managed to shuck the sheets off so sneakily, Russia did not notice that he was now bared to the faint light of the moon. Pale and soft and innocent, ready to be loved. It almost broke his heart to see those dark violet eyes brimming with guarded hope, as if Russia still could not believe this was happening to him. He would have to fix this, show the boy he was worthy of love and pleasure and happiness, like everyone else.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Ah, please forgive me.” France smiled and reached down to squeeze a very sensitive region mischievously, causing Russia to moan again.
“I was just wondering… how this would feel,” he whispered, fingers stroking lightly over the thin fabric of Russia’s breeches already stretched tightly over his growing arousal. “How it would feel to have you inside of me, moving, thrusting, filling me to my limits and then more…”
The high-pitched whimper from Russia was like music to his ears. But they were not quite there, not yet, not when they had so much more to look forward to this night.
France’s incessant teasing had brought Russia almost to the brink, and each time he thought he might tip over, France somehow managed to keep him holding back, until he was panting for air, body trembling from the effort. Those clever long fingers working his breeches down, then curling around his freed erection, working, exploring as France murmured something in his own language - probably filthy, Russia could not spare the concentration to mentally translate. Instead he clenched at the sheets tightly, willing France to go faster and harder now, now, now…
He came in a rush, a keening cry, back arching off the sweat-damp bed as his orgasm roared through his body, leaving an incredible sensation of floating weightless in its wake. Groggily, Russia opened his eyes to see France licking his fingers with every evidence of enjoyment, before swooping down to clean off the mess on his abdomen.
“Magnificent,” France purred between each lazy swipe of his tongue, “so beautiful, so perfect.”
Russia smiled and said, very earnestly, “I would not mind dying again with you…”
Re: Something There [part 15/??]
anonymous
March 11 2011, 12:18:18 UTC
I loved this scene. It was every bit sweet and still dirty enough to be hot (just like sex with France should be ;)). It also makes sense that France would start with less "complicated" sex with a virgin. And your Russia is such a cutie, I'd eat him right up too<3
Re: Something There [part 15/??]
anonymous
March 11 2011, 20:26:01 UTC
This is enchanting. I agree with aboveanon, you've done an excellent job of striking a balance between sweet and sexy... it's like fairytale sex. Utterly charming.
Something There [part 16a/??]
anonymous
March 12 2011, 04:28:10 UTC
That was exactly what France wanted to hear, and he almost preened in triumph.
“With you,” Russia repeated drowsily, and France shushed him.
“I am fine, darling, you do not have to do anything for me.”
“But I want to, please.” And France could not refuse such a request so sweet. He leaned gracefully on one hand, the other slowly working the buttons of his breeches free before sliding the velvet material down off his hips. Unable to restrain himself, Russia surged up from the sheets, reaching for him impatiently, and France grabbed his wrist to hold him still.
“Gently, not so roughly,” he warned.
“Oh-oh, I am sorry.” Though Russia’s cheeks flushed red at his clumsiness, his eager gaze followed France’s fingers clasping over his, masterfully guiding his movements, nails skating lightly over his hips, fingertips sliding over the soft warm skin at the juncture of his legs, then up his stiffening length, to stroke at the already wet head. France’s eyelids gradually lowered, almost closing, though his lips parted to gasp and sigh and mumble in pleasure. After a while, he let his hand drop away from Russia’s, no longer seducing or acting or even teaching, too intent on feeling, simply being.
Russia hesitated then, so entranced by the look on France’s face, suspended in a moment of otherworldly bliss, that he did not realize he had stopped moving his hand and was instead pulling France closer to him until they were skin to skin once more. How he had wanted this, to be so close to someone that the space between their bodies disappeared and they united, becoming one being. France began writhing in his embrace, nearly sobbing aloud now, and Russia was more than happy to let France rub and thrust and grind for release however he wished.
Only the briefest warning, the deep tremor through France’s body, the deliciously sharp pain of teeth biting into the base of his neck, and then Russia found himself holding an exceptionally satisfied nation in his arms, a spreading hot wetness in between his thighs to match that seeping down his left shoulder.
France mumbled a breathless apology, licking and sucking at the blood sleepily with soft little smacking sounds, and Russia remained still, very much aware of his own recovering arousal. By the time France finished cleaning the wound he had made, kissing him with metallic tasting lips to say sorry, Russia was using every last bit of will to keep himself in check. The longer France rested on top of him, the more distressed he felt, and unfortunately it seemed that his partner was perfectly content to go to sleep like that. Russia shifted uncomfortably, trying to see if he could stroke himself off one-handed without disturbing France. But his surreptitious movements alerted the other nation, and France awoke from his daze, blinking at him slowly.
“Still not sleepy?” he asked with a quiet chuckle. “Non, I know what you are going to say, but love, there is no need to apologize.”
It was true, Russia had been about to apologize, embarrassed about his body’s urgent need for release again, but France assured him it was only natural to feel this way, especially with such desirable company. That made Russia smile, and he exhaled in relief as France bent forward and nuzzled and kissed his way down his belly, for once content in his own skin, if it meant that he could be worshipped like this just once.
Russia felt dry lips pressing against his pelvic bone and shuddered in delight to sense those lips touching his cock next, dropping kisses like snowflakes over the heated shaft. Then he groaned, feeling a smooth warm tongue sliding up the underside of his erection, the movement ending with a flourish at the head, neatly licking off drops of precome welling from the slit. As expected, France took him easily into his mouth, accommodating his entire length with hardly a blink, practically humming with satisfaction as he sucked. Tongue and lips and teeth all complied to bring him to completion, and Russia surrendered gladly, fingers curled tightly in France’s hair as he thrust into that wet heat with awkward, needy jerks.
Something There [part 16b/??]
anonymous
March 12 2011, 04:29:03 UTC
. Even in the midst of all of this, France apparently had the presence of mind to knead at his testicles with one thumb, knuckles reaching into the cleft of his ass before pushing through the tight muscle and causing Russia to nearly choke in surprised pleasure. The simultaneous sensation of penetrating and being penetrated was incredibly intense, and he could not stop the babble of words from spilling from his lips as he lost himself to the feeling, uninhibited by shame or fear or inexperience. That finger inside him then brushed the right spot at the right time, and he felt his body clench in response, tightening in one splendid second before releasing. With a wordless cry, he spilled into France’s waiting throat, riding out his climax until he was naught but a trembling, sweating mass of meat and bone and skin.
His hair tousled and tangled, lips swollen and spit-slick, France still managed to look supremely composed, only a tiny spot of semen on his cheek to indicate what he had just done. Below him, Russia looked ready to pass out.
“Thank you, France… I… I think I can get to sleep now,” he whispered, sounding far more satisfied than embarrassed, but a little embarrassed, too.
“Then sleep. I will be here tomorrow, my darling, I promise.”
France curled up next to Russia, who enfolded him in his arms, and together, they eventually fell asleep in the comfortable silence.
“Oh? Would you like to undress me yourself?” France offered.
Blushing furiously, Russia held his hands up and shook his head, but France moved closer, taking his hands in his own and placing them on his chest. He gulped and attempted to slip the waistcoast off France’s shoulders as gracefully as he can, and after that, France began to disrobe him every so calmly.
“W-wait!” Russia squeaked, grabbing France’s wrists to hold them still.
“What’s wrong, darling?”
“I am just… not ready.” He never had been, all those other times before, and now he felt his inexperience sharply and it distressed him deeply.
“Ah…” France regarded him, his expression searching, concerned. “Do you want to stop?”
Torn between his fears and his duties, Russia debated over his choices and finally muttered, “No…”
“Then you will just have to trust me, Russia.” He kissed him on his nose, a brotherly gesture this time, and Russia gave him a tiny smile.
“I will.”
When they had stripped down to their shirts and breeches, the two of them snuggled under the covers, France curling up next to Russia as he opened the book of fairy tales they had collected from the library, and he began to read, translating as he went.
...This is the tale of Snowmaiden, born of Fairy Spring and Father Frost. Her skin was white as snow, her eyes blue like the sky, her hair as bright as gold. Because Sun God’s rays would destroy her, she had to hide in the dark woods. One day, she heard a beautiful sound and followed it to the edge of the forest. There in an open field was a farm boy playing his flute. Snowmaiden listened and watched and became enchanted with the boy. But he never noticed the beautiful girl in the woods, and only played for the farm girls dancing in the fields. Heartbroken, Snowmaiden asked her mother, “Please let me feel real love.” And Fairy Spring understood and said, “If you want real love, then you must go to the farm boy in the open field.” So she did, stepping out of the shadows, and the boy saw her and thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Just then, Snowmaiden stepped into a ray of sunshine, which illuminated her beauty to the fullest. But the sun was too strong for her, and she melted before the boy’s eyes...
France sighed wistfully after the tale ended, his eyes closed in appreciation. “Are you Snowmaiden, Russia? And am I your farmboy?”
Closing the book and setting it aside, Russia considered this question. “I had thought it was the other way around.”
In the privacy of the night, they lay in each other’s arms, Russia nearly delirious with simultaneous dread and delight. France’s nuzzling and petting had felt divine, his whispers soothing and sweeter than sugar, but rather than making him sleepy, they were doing quite the opposite. It was like his entire body was practically vibrating from excitement, whereas France seemed to be lulling himself to sleep.
“France? Are you still awake?” Russia whispered quietly.
“Yes. Can you not sleep?”
“Not yet…”
“I have a cure for sleeplessness. Are you willing to try it?” France asked in a low, warm voice, and there was no mistaking what he intended.
Here it was, the moment he had been anticipating, and yet Russia did not feel any panic or apprehension.
He licked his lips and said yes.
[I am so sorry for the long wait! Is anyone still reading this? Haha... I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I will do my best to not abandon this fic. Thanks again for your patience with me, I am so grateful for everyone's comments and support.]
[The fairytale is paraphrased from a Russian fairytale.]
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Seriously, this brightened my day so much. <3 I feel like a Belarus-style stalker for finding this so fast, though.
Scratch that bit about still posting; I checked before making a fail comment in the wrong place for once!
And d'aw, that fairytale. *_* And even more d'aw for France actually making Russia feel comfortable for once. So awesome, author!anon.
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Pfft, hiding from Belarus xD And the second half of this chapter is really sweet~ The part about the fairytale was adorable, as well.
Every bit of this story makes me smile, hope to see more soon!
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Because I love this fill, even more so for it being a rare pair, and am excited to see it update, even if it was rather short.
So Ukraine and Belarus are dancers in ballet?
The two of them together under the covers is alarmingly cute.
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Alo,lol at Belarus. Poor Russia :D
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but really, this is adorable and sexy and shy teen Russia is my favorite Russia
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IT IS FANTASTIC
I WISH I COULD EXPRESS MY LOVE IN GIF FORMAT BUT ALAS I AM A LOWLY ANON
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I REMEMBER I FOUND THIS STORY LONG AGO AND LOVED IT, BUT DIDN'T FOUND THE REST...
I'm so glad I can read more! It's a wonderful story...
Please update it! <3 Thank you so much!
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Chuckling, France kissed him again, sliding his tongue in between his lips effortlessly, and Russia made a hum of helpless pleasure as France pressed their bodies even closer, their legs tangling together. His hands glided down the silk of his shirt, fingers working at the buttons once more. Russia whimpered shyly in protest, not wanting to reveal how bulky and clumsy he would look next to France’s waif-like form, and France glanced at him questioningly.
“Please, can’t I leave my shirt on for this?” he asked.
“Darling, what are you afraid of? That you will get cold?”
“That you will laugh…”
“Nonsense,” France murmured, trying to reassure him.
“You’ve laughed at me before, do you not remember?” Russia insisted. “Just a few hours ago, you laughed.”
In the face of such implacable logic, France had to hesitate before admitting, “I was only lightening the mood, Russia, I was certainly not laughing at you. Believe me, mon étoile, I would never do anything to hurt your feelings, and if I had, I am sorry…”
France smothered him with little kisses until he was forced to surrender to the onslaught of affection, and under the cover of the sheets, he slid out of his shirt, too embarrassed to go naked all at once, unable to look directly at France’s face. Next to him, France had already taken off his own shirt, and soon they were pressed together again, Russia lying stiffly on his side, trying to summon the courage to return the other’s previous caresses. Thankfully, France did not try to rush him, he simply smiled at him with a bright, encouraging smile that, in Russia’s eyes, seemed to cast a warm glow in the dark room.
Because of that, that small yet significant sign of trust, Russia could bring himself to touch France to his heart’s content, running his fingers curiously over the planes of his body, the bumpy outline of his ribs, the silky roughness of the sparse hair on his chest. France did giggle then, tickled by Russia’s feather-light touches, and Russia smiled, suddenly feeling less awkward and a little more comfortable.
“You feel very nice,” he said, and blushed at how simple he must have sounded, not able to think of a better word that could capture even a fraction of what he was feeling. Because it was so new to him, being allowed to explore his partner’s body freely, and that the one next to him was France only made it more special. To feel not just the beating of his heart, but the secret thrum underneath his skin of the millions of memories and lives that made up a nation.
“Russia, please…” France whispered tenderly, his voice low and throbbing. “Please let me…”
Then he found himself lying back on the sheets, head resting on plush pillows as France kissed his lips, his chin, his collar bone, mouth following the trail his fingers left, as if he were drawing a path over Russia’s skin to stoke the fire in his blood. France paused to rest his cheek against Russia’s chest, just listening to his heartbeat, long golden hair spread everywhere. The sudden intimacy of that gesture, far beyond anything Russia had ever experienced, took him off guard, making his heart pound and his cheeks flush. Then he brought his hand up to carefully brush France’s hair from his face, and France glanced up and smiled at him.
“Tell me what you like, my dear,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath made Russia shiver in helpless delight. “I will do what you want, and what you never knew you wanted.”
“I like this,” Russia confessed. “Just this, is good enough…”
“But this is only the beginning.”
“If this is the beginning, I am not sure I can survive the rest.”
“It is only a little death,” France teased, and Russia hissed softly as France’s fingers played deftly over a nipple, “you will wake up from it, I promise.”
“Ah…” Russia sighed, closing his eyes and trying to hide his grin. “Then you must show me what you mean, for the sake of my enlightenment.”
“My pleasure. And I do mean that.”
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“You are silly, France, I am not that beautiful.”
“But I am not blind, Russia,” he countered gently. “Being with you makes my heart sing, and that is beauty as well.”
During this time, France had managed to shuck the sheets off so sneakily, Russia did not notice that he was now bared to the faint light of the moon. Pale and soft and innocent, ready to be loved. It almost broke his heart to see those dark violet eyes brimming with guarded hope, as if Russia still could not believe this was happening to him. He would have to fix this, show the boy he was worthy of love and pleasure and happiness, like everyone else.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Ah, please forgive me.” France smiled and reached down to squeeze a very sensitive region mischievously, causing Russia to moan again.
“I was just wondering… how this would feel,” he whispered, fingers stroking lightly over the thin fabric of Russia’s breeches already stretched tightly over his growing arousal. “How it would feel to have you inside of me, moving, thrusting, filling me to my limits and then more…”
The high-pitched whimper from Russia was like music to his ears. But they were not quite there, not yet, not when they had so much more to look forward to this night.
France’s incessant teasing had brought Russia almost to the brink, and each time he thought he might tip over, France somehow managed to keep him holding back, until he was panting for air, body trembling from the effort. Those clever long fingers working his breeches down, then curling around his freed erection, working, exploring as France murmured something in his own language - probably filthy, Russia could not spare the concentration to mentally translate. Instead he clenched at the sheets tightly, willing France to go faster and harder now, now, now…
He came in a rush, a keening cry, back arching off the sweat-damp bed as his orgasm roared through his body, leaving an incredible sensation of floating weightless in its wake. Groggily, Russia opened his eyes to see France licking his fingers with every evidence of enjoyment, before swooping down to clean off the mess on his abdomen.
“Magnificent,” France purred between each lazy swipe of his tongue, “so beautiful, so perfect.”
Russia smiled and said, very earnestly, “I would not mind dying again with you…”
[Thank you again for reading and commenting.]
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“With you,” Russia repeated drowsily, and France shushed him.
“I am fine, darling, you do not have to do anything for me.”
“But I want to, please.” And France could not refuse such a request so sweet. He leaned gracefully on one hand, the other slowly working the buttons of his breeches free before sliding the velvet material down off his hips. Unable to restrain himself, Russia surged up from the sheets, reaching for him impatiently, and France grabbed his wrist to hold him still.
“Gently, not so roughly,” he warned.
“Oh-oh, I am sorry.” Though Russia’s cheeks flushed red at his clumsiness, his eager gaze followed France’s fingers clasping over his, masterfully guiding his movements, nails skating lightly over his hips, fingertips sliding over the soft warm skin at the juncture of his legs, then up his stiffening length, to stroke at the already wet head. France’s eyelids gradually lowered, almost closing, though his lips parted to gasp and sigh and mumble in pleasure. After a while, he let his hand drop away from Russia’s, no longer seducing or acting or even teaching, too intent on feeling, simply being.
Russia hesitated then, so entranced by the look on France’s face, suspended in a moment of otherworldly bliss, that he did not realize he had stopped moving his hand and was instead pulling France closer to him until they were skin to skin once more. How he had wanted this, to be so close to someone that the space between their bodies disappeared and they united, becoming one being. France began writhing in his embrace, nearly sobbing aloud now, and Russia was more than happy to let France rub and thrust and grind for release however he wished.
Only the briefest warning, the deep tremor through France’s body, the deliciously sharp pain of teeth biting into the base of his neck, and then Russia found himself holding an exceptionally satisfied nation in his arms, a spreading hot wetness in between his thighs to match that seeping down his left shoulder.
France mumbled a breathless apology, licking and sucking at the blood sleepily with soft little smacking sounds, and Russia remained still, very much aware of his own recovering arousal. By the time France finished cleaning the wound he had made, kissing him with metallic tasting lips to say sorry, Russia was using every last bit of will to keep himself in check. The longer France rested on top of him, the more distressed he felt, and unfortunately it seemed that his partner was perfectly content to go to sleep like that. Russia shifted uncomfortably, trying to see if he could stroke himself off one-handed without disturbing France. But his surreptitious movements alerted the other nation, and France awoke from his daze, blinking at him slowly.
“Still not sleepy?” he asked with a quiet chuckle. “Non, I know what you are going to say, but love, there is no need to apologize.”
It was true, Russia had been about to apologize, embarrassed about his body’s urgent need for release again, but France assured him it was only natural to feel this way, especially with such desirable company. That made Russia smile, and he exhaled in relief as France bent forward and nuzzled and kissed his way down his belly, for once content in his own skin, if it meant that he could be worshipped like this just once.
Russia felt dry lips pressing against his pelvic bone and shuddered in delight to sense those lips touching his cock next, dropping kisses like snowflakes over the heated shaft. Then he groaned, feeling a smooth warm tongue sliding up the underside of his erection, the movement ending with a flourish at the head, neatly licking off drops of precome welling from the slit. As expected, France took him easily into his mouth, accommodating his entire length with hardly a blink, practically humming with satisfaction as he sucked. Tongue and lips and teeth all complied to bring him to completion, and Russia surrendered gladly, fingers curled tightly in France’s hair as he thrust into that wet heat with awkward, needy jerks.
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His hair tousled and tangled, lips swollen and spit-slick, France still managed to look supremely composed, only a tiny spot of semen on his cheek to indicate what he had just done. Below him, Russia looked ready to pass out.
“Thank you, France… I… I think I can get to sleep now,” he whispered, sounding far more satisfied than embarrassed, but a little embarrassed, too.
“Then sleep. I will be here tomorrow, my darling, I promise.”
France curled up next to Russia, who enfolded him in his arms, and together, they eventually fell asleep in the comfortable silence.
[Just another quick update for now]
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Your descriptions are excellent, and seconding the other commentors, it's a perfect mix of sweet and hot. Can't wait for more!
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