[Part 7] Be My Anchor, Be My Moor (US/UK) [4/8]
anonymous
April 21 2011, 05:31:43 UTC
America finger fucked him as hard as he knew how, grazing his prostate but never hitting it fully, he knew, and shoved his own pants and underwear down sloppily with his other hand. In the engrossing process of wrapping up his oddly-sprung boyfriend, he had forgotten to get himself naked as well.
He gave up when they were halfway down his thighs - his cock was free, that was all that mattered - and quickly fished a condom from the box, unable to wrench his attention from the writhing England in front of him. His own hand on his cock jolted him away for a moment, and he hissed as he spread lubrication sloppily, only taking his hand out of England when absolutely necessary.
When he was finally ready, England was mouthing ‘fuck me’ like a chant, and something wasn’t perfect about this picture anymore.
A flash of a wicked grin, and America gripped one of the trailing ends of the rope tied at his back and pulled hard, flipping England over with what would have been an indignant squawk if he had been less aroused, landing on his calves and the side of his face. America frowned for a moment, then flicked out the pocketknife and cut the ties on his ankles so he could shove England’s legs as far as the ties on his knees would let him. The newly freed rope spun madly around England’s calves as they moved, and he groaned and let his eyes slip closed as America tossed the closed pocketknife aside, aligned himself, and slipped in.
England lost control of his voice, throwing his head back and screaming as America set the pace almost instantly, heavy presence at his back as he pounded him forward into the mattress. A hand gripped in his hair and kept his head reared back, and America bit at his face, neck, shoulder, encouraging every little whine and pant that escaped. He sat back, pulling England with him by his hair and his rope, and held England’s top half to him by his teeth in the rope around his neck, hooking his arms under his tied-in knees. He let his neck go as he picked the pace back up, leaning slightly backwards to keep England upright and he effortlessly lifted him up and down on his cock, hips snapping up with each pull down. England’s head thrashed to the side, too far gone to think about kissing America or touching America or anything but America’s knots and America’s cock hitting just there-
He let out a very real scream this time as America finally let himself hit England’s prostate, coming hard over his stomach and the sheets in front of him. America kept up the rough pace throughout his orgasm, rubbing against his prostate until England flopped back, sated and a little loopy from the afterglow. He mouthed at America’s jaw as the movement ebbed, not yet noticing how it trembled beneath his lips and tongue and how the stomach muscles tensed beneath his slowly kneading fingers.
He gave up when they were halfway down his thighs - his cock was free, that was all that mattered - and quickly fished a condom from the box, unable to wrench his attention from the writhing England in front of him. His own hand on his cock jolted him away for a moment, and he hissed as he spread lubrication sloppily, only taking his hand out of England when absolutely necessary.
When he was finally ready, England was mouthing ‘fuck me’ like a chant, and something wasn’t perfect about this picture anymore.
A flash of a wicked grin, and America gripped one of the trailing ends of the rope tied at his back and pulled hard, flipping England over with what would have been an indignant squawk if he had been less aroused, landing on his calves and the side of his face. America frowned for a moment, then flicked out the pocketknife and cut the ties on his ankles so he could shove England’s legs as far as the ties on his knees would let him. The newly freed rope spun madly around England’s calves as they moved, and he groaned and let his eyes slip closed as America tossed the closed pocketknife aside, aligned himself, and slipped in.
England lost control of his voice, throwing his head back and screaming as America set the pace almost instantly, heavy presence at his back as he pounded him forward into the mattress. A hand gripped in his hair and kept his head reared back, and America bit at his face, neck, shoulder, encouraging every little whine and pant that escaped. He sat back, pulling England with him by his hair and his rope, and held England’s top half to him by his teeth in the rope around his neck, hooking his arms under his tied-in knees. He let his neck go as he picked the pace back up, leaning slightly backwards to keep England upright and he effortlessly lifted him up and down on his cock, hips snapping up with each pull down. England’s head thrashed to the side, too far gone to think about kissing America or touching America or anything but America’s knots and America’s cock hitting just there-
He let out a very real scream this time as America finally let himself hit England’s prostate, coming hard over his stomach and the sheets in front of him. America kept up the rough pace throughout his orgasm, rubbing against his prostate until England flopped back, sated and a little loopy from the afterglow. He mouthed at America’s jaw as the movement ebbed, not yet noticing how it trembled beneath his lips and tongue and how the stomach muscles tensed beneath his slowly kneading fingers.
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