[Part 16] - England likes to submit to Amerirca, US/UK, 3/5
anonymous
July 22 2011, 02:02:24 UTC
*
They’re making late-night tea - or rather, America is making England late-night tea and himself late-night hot chocolate - and the one lamp casts the stovetop into dips and swells of shadow when America moves in front of it, stirring his little paper packet into his mug and hunting around for the mini marshmallows. Outside, freezing rain batters the windows, blurring the streetlight and whipping through the trees.
He barely even means to say it, but something in his mind tips over and he catches America’s wrist when America sets the teacup down in front of him. “I want to submit to you,” he murmurs to the strong fingers cupped in his palm. “That’s what I want.”
America draws in his breath, and England suddenly feels dizzy - lightheaded with fear and release and the broken cluster of jagged-edged sounds that had choked in his throat is gone and he feels like he’s breathing too much air, and oh god what has he done -
“Oh my god!” America grabs both of England’s hands and squeezes them. “England - I - Awesome! That is so awesome.”
England dares to look up in his eyes and he’s beaming so hard his face looks about to crack.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, right?”
England half-chokes on a delirious giggle. Wasn’t so hard?
“Okay, okay.” America’s easy grin slides across his face. “It was tough.” He leans down to hug England across the shoulders and dust little kisses over his hair. “You’re just tougher.”
“Go get your chocolate,” England scoffs, pushing him away and blinking discreetly. His chest feels lighter, as though everything in it has more room to move around. “I still don’t understand why it was so important to you...”
“Because!” America finds the mini marshmallows and stands up victoriously, bonking the back of his head on the top of the cupboard with a crack. “Ow! Damn.” He rubs the spot wincing. “But, um - yeah, because England, I love you to bits and all but you’re really bad at talking. And I just had to make sure that, uh - I guess, that you could admit to yourself what you wanted? And I didn’t want to just be some other guy you tried to forget you ever fucked.” He fiddles with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Because seriously, England, I’m gonna need you to tell me if I go too hard, or I start triggering you into anything, or - ”
“Oh god,” England moans, his head falling into his hands. “You’re going to make me communicate with you, aren’t you? Constantly.”
“Yup!” America bounces back over to the table and curls his fingers around England’s hand.
England rolls his eyes, trying to let the warm comfort of America’s skin drive out the fear already knotting up in his stomach.
America pulls him up to his feet for a proper hug. “Hey,” he murmurs, “we’ll go slow, okay? I know it’s scary.”
“Sod off,” England mutters, “m’not scared.” He smoothes his hand over the back of America’s shirt. “Don’t know why I put up with you.”
America just laughs and rubs huge circles over his back until the trembling stops.
[Part 16] - England likes to submit to Amerirca, US/UK, 4/5
anonymous
July 22 2011, 02:03:04 UTC
*
[6 months later]
Hands slide along his shoulders, his waist, his ass - teasing, slipping across the curves of muscle and bone. America fingers a still-healing bite mark on his hip and England can feel the bastard grinning into his neck.
America presses open-mouthed kisses along his neck, biting just enough to tease him, and England stifles a whimper. “Never gonna get over how much you love this,” he whispers, just close enough that England can feel his lips moving against the sweaty skin of his shoulder. “Spread your legs for me. Hands against the wall.”
“Thank you,” England whispers before he can stop himself. This - this is everything he wants, to be allowed to give himself up, held in place only by damn badly he needs this. His movements are jerky, his breath shuddering in and out of his lungs as he braces himself.
“I don’t even have to cuff you, do I?” England jerks as America’s hand settles on his back, stroking along his spine. “You want it so bad you’ll just stand there and take it, look at you.” Lips brush his neck, briefly. “S’that why you’re thanking me? D’you like knowing what a beautiful little painslut you are?”
Heat flares low in England’s stomach at the insult, and he feels himself start to unravel. America’s fingertips toy over his back, his muscles tensing and flexing under the touch. “Yes,” he breathes, and his cheeks burn, “Yes, please - ”
America’s hands smooth over his chest, his fingers resting over England’s nipples. “Please what, little painslut?” - and England’s hips jerk forward at that; god, he’s too far gone already, but then America is pinching just at the base of his nipples and his chest is arching forward into the sting, and then America is trailing cool metal over his chest: clamps.
“Beg me for them,” he whispers into England’s ear.
Oh god, he can’t - can’t say these things; the tangled mess of words just gets stuck up in his throat again and he squirms and bites his lip, desperate just to be hurt.
“You can say it, sweetheart.” America’s teeth find his neck again and bite in earnest - god, god, sucking huge marks into England’s pale skin, worrying at them until his teeth break through and blood smears across his mouth, and over everything the sting of his teeth and the throb of the bruises, blurring out the corners of his mind. England cries out, softly, his head spinning and dizzy and his cock aching, and his nipples sore and hard and needy.
“Oh god I - ” he stops, but then the words are rushing out of his mouth anyway, “America, please put the clamps on me; god, stop teasing me - ” and his words spiral up into a cry when America does, cold metal over one nipple and then the other, tightened and - America flicks them both and England gasps in pleasure.
“England,” America murmurs into the blood-sticky skin of his shoulder.
“Y-yes.” England’s breath catches when America twists the nipple clamps up a little, letting them fall back with a spike of pain that flares up his spine.
America laughs and steps back, and England tries to breathe, tries to brace himself, but -
[Part 16] - England likes to submit to Amerirca, US/UK, 5/5
anonymous
July 22 2011, 02:04:35 UTC
The first bite of the crop into his bare ass burns everything out of his mind with the searing white pain - England screams and claws at the wall, but America is already swinging it again, and again: two, three, four, and he loses track, delirious with the pain spiking and flaring through his body.
America stops. England trembles against the wall, his eyes screwed shut. “That was ten.”
England swallows.
“You doing okay? You need to safeword?”
“No.” He licks his lips. “Don’t stop.”
A palm presses against his shoulder, brief comfort, and then the crop is back. The pain overwhelms him - he’s babbling, screaming and sobbing nonsense that he can only ever say like this, oh god more, please, please don’t stop oh god I love it love you - aaaafuck yes. He’s crying; he can feel the tears on his cheeks, but America moves lower, slapping the crop against his thighs, and he doesn’t care.
“Sweetheart.” There’s a hand at his chin, another at his shoulder pushing him down, and he sinks to his knees, the world hazy around him except for America’s hands, America’s voice, America’s pain. Something rustles, and America grunts - the hiss of breath through his teeth, and then his come is splattered over England’s face, and England bucks and trembles.
“Fuck, so beautiful.” One hand wraps around England’s cock, and he barely even feels it before he jerks forward and sobs his orgasm into America’s sweaty shoulder. “England. Christ.”
England collapses against America’s chest, hazy and dizzy, America’s heart thundering in his ears. A hand runs through his hair, fingertips rubbing across his scalp - clumsily, he reaches up to pet America’s cheek. His fingers stick and slide on damp skin; America’s hot breath puffs against his sweaty palm. He presses closer, and America’s hand rubs down his neck over his back, fingers fitting between the bumps of his spine.
“Hey, here.” America’s pushing him up onto his knees and England lets him, limp under his hands. “Deep breaths, okay? I gotta take these off you.”
What is he talking about? Pain flares in his chest, and England winces and jerks back, but strong arms hold him stable until the other clamp comes off. He shivers and reaches back for America, all the bruises and aches in his body working back into his awareness.
“Mmmm, yeah. Blanket time.” Then there’s soft fleece around his shoulders, and America is picking him up, laying him out on the bed and curling up beside him. England breathes slowly, in and out, while he spirals down back into himself.
With the world back in focus, England sighs and shifts himself against America, wincing at the ache in his ass, the throbbing of his sore nipples as they drag across America’s skin.
“You okay?”
“Lovely,” England mutters, and he winces a little as he unsticks himself from America’s chest, and reaches up to kiss his cheek, cursing the stupid sappy smile around the edges of his mouth. “Won’t be sitting down for days - and do I even still have nipples?”
America laughs and hauls himself off the bed, tugging England into the shower with him, and England allows himself to peer back at the stripes criss-crossing his backside and give in to the stupidest of stupid grins, but only because he can’t possibly look any more ridiculous with America’s come drying on his face and his hair all stuck at odd angles.
America laughs and takes his hand, and England squeezes back.
a/n: dear OP, I'm sorry this is so late - I hope you're still around! Thanks to my beta; any remaining errors are totally my fault :)
Re: [Part 16] - England likes to submit to Amerirca, US/UK, 5/5
anonymous
July 22 2011, 02:26:10 UTC
Awww~ I totally freak out at the mention of pain, but I love fills like this, that tread into zones I'm usually uncomfortable with and show how much love and trust must go into a scene like theirs.
Re: [Part 16] - England likes to submit to Amerirca, US/UK, 5/5
anonymous
July 22 2011, 05:16:12 UTC
This... this fic came like an angel from heaven as I was slowly loosing faith. Everything about usuk that I love, everything is here; the contrast of England's old ruthless world and America's new vision of trust and love. Them having issues and problems and making tea and hot chocolate in the late night. America calling aftercare "Blanket time" and England smiling despite himself at his very own lovely foolish boy.
Not overly sweet yet leaving a wonderful warm feeling somewhere in my belly.
I nearly cried as I read this, it was very very powerful and came in a moment when I doubted whether this pairing still has something new to offer to me. Yes it does, thank you so much for reminding me why I love usuk so so damn much.
Re: [Part 16] - England likes to submit to Amerirca, US/UK, 5/5
anonymous
July 22 2011, 12:10:33 UTC
Just perfect, and sexy and touching! I really enjoyed reading this fic and I so wished there was more :P Anyway, I'm saving it on my hd for future re-readings ;)
Re: [Part 16] - England likes to submit to Amerirca, US/UK, 5/5
anonymous
July 22 2011, 15:03:10 UTC
This fic pushes so many of my buttons - it's perfect. The fact that England wants to submit to America, that he trusts him enough to do it (and speak of it); how tender America is in all this - he doesn't want to hurt England but he wants to give him what he needs and give him on his own terms, not unlike those namless people England had done it before, he wants it to be theirs. Soooo perfect.
Re: [Part 16] - England likes to submit to Amerirca, US/UK, 5/5
anonymous
July 24 2011, 14:10:19 UTC
This is absolutely amazing. I was contemplating filling it for a while and I'm kind of glad I didn't because this is magnificent. What I love about this, as I am a sappy anon, is all of the care that America put in, how badly he wanted to make sure that everything was okay. You win my heart, A!A.
They’re making late-night tea - or rather, America is making England late-night tea and himself late-night hot chocolate - and the one lamp casts the stovetop into dips and swells of shadow when America moves in front of it, stirring his little paper packet into his mug and hunting around for the mini marshmallows. Outside, freezing rain batters the windows, blurring the streetlight and whipping through the trees.
He barely even means to say it, but something in his mind tips over and he catches America’s wrist when America sets the teacup down in front of him. “I want to submit to you,” he murmurs to the strong fingers cupped in his palm. “That’s what I want.”
America draws in his breath, and England suddenly feels dizzy - lightheaded with fear and release and the broken cluster of jagged-edged sounds that had choked in his throat is gone and he feels like he’s breathing too much air, and oh god what has he done -
“Oh my god!” America grabs both of England’s hands and squeezes them. “England - I - Awesome! That is so awesome.”
England dares to look up in his eyes and he’s beaming so hard his face looks about to crack.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, right?”
England half-chokes on a delirious giggle. Wasn’t so hard?
“Okay, okay.” America’s easy grin slides across his face. “It was tough.” He leans down to hug England across the shoulders and dust little kisses over his hair. “You’re just tougher.”
“Go get your chocolate,” England scoffs, pushing him away and blinking discreetly. His chest feels lighter, as though everything in it has more room to move around. “I still don’t understand why it was so important to you...”
“Because!” America finds the mini marshmallows and stands up victoriously, bonking the back of his head on the top of the cupboard with a crack. “Ow! Damn.” He rubs the spot wincing. “But, um - yeah, because England, I love you to bits and all but you’re really bad at talking. And I just had to make sure that, uh - I guess, that you could admit to yourself what you wanted? And I didn’t want to just be some other guy you tried to forget you ever fucked.” He fiddles with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Because seriously, England, I’m gonna need you to tell me if I go too hard, or I start triggering you into anything, or - ”
“Oh god,” England moans, his head falling into his hands. “You’re going to make me communicate with you, aren’t you? Constantly.”
“Yup!” America bounces back over to the table and curls his fingers around England’s hand.
England rolls his eyes, trying to let the warm comfort of America’s skin drive out the fear already knotting up in his stomach.
America pulls him up to his feet for a proper hug. “Hey,” he murmurs, “we’ll go slow, okay? I know it’s scary.”
“Sod off,” England mutters, “m’not scared.” He smoothes his hand over the back of America’s shirt. “Don’t know why I put up with you.”
America just laughs and rubs huge circles over his back until the trembling stops.
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[6 months later]
Hands slide along his shoulders, his waist, his ass - teasing, slipping across the curves of muscle and bone. America fingers a still-healing bite mark on his hip and England can feel the bastard grinning into his neck.
America presses open-mouthed kisses along his neck, biting just enough to tease him, and England stifles a whimper. “Never gonna get over how much you love this,” he whispers, just close enough that England can feel his lips moving against the sweaty skin of his shoulder. “Spread your legs for me. Hands against the wall.”
“Thank you,” England whispers before he can stop himself. This - this is everything he wants, to be allowed to give himself up, held in place only by damn badly he needs this. His movements are jerky, his breath shuddering in and out of his lungs as he braces himself.
“I don’t even have to cuff you, do I?” England jerks as America’s hand settles on his back, stroking along his spine. “You want it so bad you’ll just stand there and take it, look at you.” Lips brush his neck, briefly. “S’that why you’re thanking me? D’you like knowing what a beautiful little painslut you are?”
Heat flares low in England’s stomach at the insult, and he feels himself start to unravel. America’s fingertips toy over his back, his muscles tensing and flexing under the touch. “Yes,” he breathes, and his cheeks burn, “Yes, please - ”
America’s hands smooth over his chest, his fingers resting over England’s nipples. “Please what, little painslut?” - and England’s hips jerk forward at that; god, he’s too far gone already, but then America is pinching just at the base of his nipples and his chest is arching forward into the sting, and then America is trailing cool metal over his chest: clamps.
“Beg me for them,” he whispers into England’s ear.
Oh god, he can’t - can’t say these things; the tangled mess of words just gets stuck up in his throat again and he squirms and bites his lip, desperate just to be hurt.
“You can say it, sweetheart.” America’s teeth find his neck again and bite in earnest - god, god, sucking huge marks into England’s pale skin, worrying at them until his teeth break through and blood smears across his mouth, and over everything the sting of his teeth and the throb of the bruises, blurring out the corners of his mind. England cries out, softly, his head spinning and dizzy and his cock aching, and his nipples sore and hard and needy.
“Oh god I - ” he stops, but then the words are rushing out of his mouth anyway, “America, please put the clamps on me; god, stop teasing me - ” and his words spiral up into a cry when America does, cold metal over one nipple and then the other, tightened and - America flicks them both and England gasps in pleasure.
“England,” America murmurs into the blood-sticky skin of his shoulder.
“Y-yes.” England’s breath catches when America twists the nipple clamps up a little, letting them fall back with a spike of pain that flares up his spine.
America laughs and steps back, and England tries to breathe, tries to brace himself, but -
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America stops. England trembles against the wall, his eyes screwed shut. “That was ten.”
England swallows.
“You doing okay? You need to safeword?”
“No.” He licks his lips. “Don’t stop.”
A palm presses against his shoulder, brief comfort, and then the crop is back. The pain overwhelms him - he’s babbling, screaming and sobbing nonsense that he can only ever say like this, oh god more, please, please don’t stop oh god I love it love you - aaaafuck yes. He’s crying; he can feel the tears on his cheeks, but America moves lower, slapping the crop against his thighs, and he doesn’t care.
“Sweetheart.” There’s a hand at his chin, another at his shoulder pushing him down, and he sinks to his knees, the world hazy around him except for America’s hands, America’s voice, America’s pain. Something rustles, and America grunts - the hiss of breath through his teeth, and then his come is splattered over England’s face, and England bucks and trembles.
“Fuck, so beautiful.” One hand wraps around England’s cock, and he barely even feels it before he jerks forward and sobs his orgasm into America’s sweaty shoulder. “England. Christ.”
England collapses against America’s chest, hazy and dizzy, America’s heart thundering in his ears. A hand runs through his hair, fingertips rubbing across his scalp - clumsily, he reaches up to pet America’s cheek. His fingers stick and slide on damp skin; America’s hot breath puffs against his sweaty palm. He presses closer, and America’s hand rubs down his neck over his back, fingers fitting between the bumps of his spine.
“Hey, here.” America’s pushing him up onto his knees and England lets him, limp under his hands. “Deep breaths, okay? I gotta take these off you.”
What is he talking about? Pain flares in his chest, and England winces and jerks back, but strong arms hold him stable until the other clamp comes off. He shivers and reaches back for America, all the bruises and aches in his body working back into his awareness.
“Mmmm, yeah. Blanket time.” Then there’s soft fleece around his shoulders, and America is picking him up, laying him out on the bed and curling up beside him. England breathes slowly, in and out, while he spirals down back into himself.
With the world back in focus, England sighs and shifts himself against America, wincing at the ache in his ass, the throbbing of his sore nipples as they drag across America’s skin.
“You okay?”
“Lovely,” England mutters, and he winces a little as he unsticks himself from America’s chest, and reaches up to kiss his cheek, cursing the stupid sappy smile around the edges of his mouth. “Won’t be sitting down for days - and do I even still have nipples?”
America laughs and hauls himself off the bed, tugging England into the shower with him, and England allows himself to peer back at the stripes criss-crossing his backside and give in to the stupidest of stupid grins, but only because he can’t possibly look any more ridiculous with America’s come drying on his face and his hair all stuck at odd angles.
America laughs and takes his hand, and England squeezes back.
a/n: dear OP, I'm sorry this is so late - I hope you're still around! Thanks to my beta; any remaining errors are totally my fault :)
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I totally freak out at the mention of pain, but I love fills like this, that tread into zones I'm usually uncomfortable with and show how much love and trust must go into a scene like theirs.
great job~
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Not overly sweet yet leaving a wonderful warm feeling somewhere in my belly.
I nearly cried as I read this, it was very very powerful and came in a moment when I doubted whether this pairing still has something new to offer to me. Yes it does, thank you so much for reminding me why I love usuk so so damn much.
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You win my heart, A!A.
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