"The Principle of Contagion,” Part 8/10
anonymous
August 7 2011, 21:06:58 UTC
Still England stared and America felt something well up in him, but not the purple-Carrie-oozy thing: something else that stole his body’s air and squeezed just short of physical pain at his lungs and heart and told him that things could have been bad, things had gotten dark but instead England was here again. When pieces needed to be picked up they always did that for each other, like it was the only thing to do.
America couldn’t bear that sense of inevitability, not on top of everything else. He wanted to stop it, say something meaningless, make things normal again.
“So,” he said. England yelped when America grabbed his erection through his jeans and traced it with his fingers. “Historically, is sexing me always the bonus cure?”
England didn’t scowl as America had expected, but closed his eyes. The edges of his lips softened. “No. This is a new, more experimental method.”
“Well, if I don’t remember later - thanks,” America said.
England smiled for real then, a bright thing, an alive thing in the candlelight, and America couldn’t breathe to say no, I meant thanks for making me your guinea pig, dude, or something. Since he couldn’t breathe he smiled back.
England did scowl then. “I thought we were done with the fucking butterflies?”
***
It was only a minute or so later that they’d cleared the butterflies away. That America had managed to create them even here spoke to what he held inside him. Coupled with his stupid strength, it was frightening. Add the way America was stroking his cock through his jeans-zipper, England thought it was frightening in an incredibly exciting way.
America probably had no idea what he’d given him. Thank you; how many times had England not heard that? Having America rely on him, to need him so - it was almost better than the sex. Almost. The sex had become a near necessity by that point. England cleared his throat.
“Now those thingums are gone. Perhaps I should remove these-- these things, then? And you should- over,” he said with an incomprehensible arm-wave. He hated that he was babbling, but it was difficult to speak with America using his long fingers to such advantage, and grinning at him so.
“Well, professor, it’s your call. Whatever you want,” America said. He correctly interpreted the arm-waving to mean on your knees and shifted till he was on his stomach, then arse-up.
That he was being so accommodating was another shock. They had indeed entered an alternate universe where nothing made sense. England flopped to his back and removed his jeans in record time.
He’d slicked America up fairly well a few minutes ago but spread some lubricant on himself; the lube was a welcome coolness on his skin and the action gave him time to watch America on his knees, the slight rise and fall of his back as his breathing eased. He looked so familiar from certain angles that it hurt.
There was no doubt England would do all he could to make this as pleasurable as possible for America, his America; he always did, and America knew it. But what America didn’t know was that he was a gift like this: irresistibly flushed - practically glowing - and thrumming with something he couldn't understand.
England slid his fingers over America’s hips. He ached terribly for him, all of him. The tight slide of his body as England slid his cock inside was everything it had promised; England felt the thrumming, felt a catch in America’s breath. The collected, inherited power he possessed was only barely contained by the ritual and consecration.
He swirled his hips in a lazy circle, working his way inside, trying to remember to breathe. It was also a good way to investigate again where it was that made America-
“Ahthere,” America huffed, and England knew he’d found it. By twisting America’s hips just so what a gift he could angle that way again, again, and again, answering his body’s demands to move.
“God. Jesus - I mean, England-” America’s knees were shaking. “You are evil, man. I don’t know how you do it-”
That made two of them. England took a few minutes to thrust at that precise pace, drawing out his own pleasure and listening to America whinge about being made to feel good.
"The Principle of Contagion,” Part 9/10
anonymous
August 7 2011, 21:07:41 UTC
A few minutes of that pace was all England could sustain, however, and almost before he knew it he was working his hips faster and faster. He shhh, shhhed over and over in a release of breath or perhaps even a warning to America, because words had power and he should have made love to America so that he could see his face, could kiss him quiet.
America started to flop forward but England caught him around the middle with his forearm. He’d stopped talking, at least, and breathed in short, sharp moans along with England, along with the rhythm of the magic created by their bodies.
England fell forward and pulled America close with that arm. He lost his rhythm for a moment in the slide of sweat between his belly and America’s back, then picked it up again, even faster than before.
America was glowing, even here, and he was hard again. For him, for England, he was all his, he was hyper-aroused and … er, yes, even fulmous, from the magic that had broken through in him. A few minutes more at that pace and England could barely breathe but America cried out when he came again, oh God oh England ah!-
The spasm of his climax broke England’s rhythm again and he never recovered it, just thrust in jerks until he came as well, a release so harsh that it left him gasping.
His strength was drained and he let America fall at last, following a scant few moments later. For a while he made a bed of America, in the sweat that covered him from head to toe. He inhaled America’s damp hair and noted that the thrumming in America’s body had ceased; his breathing was relaxed and even.
America emitted a half-snore and then seemed to catch himself. He swallowed.
“Dude. I think you just sexed me into oblivion.”
England snorted and then took a lazy lick at the sweat on America’s nape. “A successful experiment, then?”
America chuckled. After another couple of breaths, he cleared his throat. “But, well, seriously. Can you maybe get off me?” He jammed England’s ribs with his elbow.
England sighed and crawled off so America could roll over. It seemed he’d shagged America’s accommodating nature into oblivion, as well. He lay next to America anyway, looking at him, and pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes.
“You’re staring at me again,” America said.
Perhaps he was. “How do you feel?”
“Hmm. Normal. Just dead tired. Thirsty. Are you gonna stay down here with me?”
England smiled at being asked. “I’ll get some blankets. And tea,” he promised, and peeled himself from the sticky futon - he’d have to get a new one for Japan - and creaked to a standing position.
“Get my glasses … I can’t see,” America demanded in a sleepy-sounding voice.
“Nonsense,” England told him as he pulled on his jeans. He would get them anyway, just to be kind, and bring them back with the tea.
When England returned a few minutes later, however, America was dead asleep, still naked, his face pressed into the concrete floor. England carried two cups of tea into the circle anyway, along with the promised blankets. He dug America’s spectacles from his jeans-pocket and lay them on the floor next to his head.
He drank his tea, and wondered if, when this was all over, America would remember anything. He had a feeling that America would somehow manage to not remember a thing, no matter how much evidence was presented to him. It was just how he was, and England knew he’d have to live with it, if he and America were to have … what they had.
"The Principle of Contagion,” Part 10/10 (epilogue)
anonymous
August 7 2011, 21:09:30 UTC
The Principle of Contagion, part 10 of 10 (Epilogue)
***
America woke with a killer headache and his face stuck to concrete. He didn’t have to peel his face from the floor to see that England was sleeping next to him, facing away.
He also saw his glasses, laying on the floor next to him. He sat up and put them on and took a look around. look around. First he noticed that in addition to a headache, he had a sore ass. Next he realized that he was in England’s basement, and they’d been sleeping on a mattress on the floor. The smell of sex, tea and burned wax hovered around them. He tapped the back of England’s head.
“England! Why were we screwing in your basement?” he asked. The candles suggested something kinky, but he wasn’t ready to face that possibility so early in the morning.
England didn’t move, but he did emit something that sounded a little like a sob. “Sometimes I hate you so much,” he said, so low as to be barely audible.
America huffed. “Geeze! What did I do now?” Jerk, he said under his breath, and took another look around, a short look. He didn’t like England’s basement much and didn’t want to examine it too closely, in case he saw something he didn’t want to see. He’d heard once that England had a banshee around somewhere, and seeing one of those always meant that someone was dead.
END
Thanks for the awesome prompt, OP, and I’m sorry I didn’t do more with the magic. But I’m just a smut-writer at heart. I also apologize for any errors, as this is un-beta-read.
And oh, I stole the title from Wikipedia’s article on magic: “Another primary type of magical thinking includes the principle of contagion. This principle suggests that once two objects come into contact with each other, they will continue to affect each other even after the contact between them has been broken.”
Re: "The Principle of Contagion,” Part 10/10 (epilogue)
anonymous
August 8 2011, 03:40:57 UTC
This is amazingly written. I love the title and you refreshed the USUK pairing for me. Usually I just skim over fills for that pairing but you just made it amazing again. Here were my favorite parts
“Oh God, I want to be dreaming. I’m gonna explode. I’m all … Ha ha! I dunno. I have to make up words to describe it. Fulmous. Nngh,” America moaned into the seat, long and low.
America shivered again and closed his eyes. “I feel like I’ve entered an evil, crazy mirror universe, where things don’t make any sense. Like it’s Halloween all the time. It’s cold here.”
because it was England, who blew hot and cold at him and then did mind-blowing shit like this. England was too important to him sometimes; America wanted to swallow him, to ooze all over him.
just absolutely amazing. I am bookmarking this and re-reading over and over again. you are an incredibly witty person and I think I would like to marry you.
also have you written other things I can creep on?
Thank you so much - aI'm thrilled if you enjoyed it. :) (And I appreciate all the lovely comments but don't want to eat comment space-- so big, huge thanks to all of you!).
As for other fills, er, yeah, I've sort of gotten addicted to writing UKUS porn over the last couple of years, heh. I will deanon this one after I tweak a few things and have my beta give it a good thrashing, but I was so squeeful that you asked, here are links to just a few of the other UKUS things I've written for the kink meme:
Re: "The Principle of Contagion,” Part 10/10 (epilogue)
anonymous
August 8 2011, 14:38:59 UTC
wow. that is .... seriously epic. I feel sad for England though, that America never remembers. :D so much potential too. this would be an awesome AU!verse. <3 definitely loved this fill!
Re: "The Principle of Contagion,” Part 10/10 (epilogue)
anonymous
August 8 2011, 23:48:08 UTC
Oh man, I love this. It's been a while since I've read Hetalia fic that I really, really enjoyed. Cute, funny, and sexy. Ah, what else can you ask for? Thank you for writing. ♥
Re: "The Principle of Contagion,” Part 10/10 (epilogue)
anonymous
August 9 2011, 01:52:08 UTC
I’m just a smut-writer at heart
Dearest, there's nothing wrong with that! A fellow smut writer salutes you ♥
This was gorgeous. The smut was sexy, America's problem was hilarious and yet you made clear that it was a real problem and your dialogue skills are awesome. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.
Re: "The Principle of Contagion,” Part 10/10 (epilogue)
anonymous
August 9 2011, 08:01:34 UTC
I can't even explain how much I love this, it was all brilliant and I can't even name all the parts I liked. I thought that the ending was quite sad with how America doesn't remember and even though England was expecting that, he still hoped it wouldn't happen.
Re: "The Principle of Contagion,” Part 10/10 (epilogue)
anonymous
August 11 2011, 04:15:59 UTC
Your writing style is so awesome, I'm a little bit in love with it. And the descriptions of magic! How you're approaching it sort of to the side and explaining it in these offhand terms, it just fits it to a T. Some particular turns of phrase got to me, like England blowing hot and cold and doing mind-blowing things as well and America on the verge of literally shitting rainbows (I probably laughed too hard at that). And the butterflies! 8D
I also love love love the characterizations, I really must congratulate you on how well you got them. Also, Iran being so eager to punch America was just icing on the cake. It's all wonderful, thanks for posting such a wonderful fill!
America couldn’t bear that sense of inevitability, not on top of everything else. He wanted to stop it, say something meaningless, make things normal again.
“So,” he said. England yelped when America grabbed his erection through his jeans and traced it with his fingers. “Historically, is sexing me always the bonus cure?”
England didn’t scowl as America had expected, but closed his eyes. The edges of his lips softened. “No. This is a new, more experimental method.”
“Well, if I don’t remember later - thanks,” America said.
England smiled for real then, a bright thing, an alive thing in the candlelight, and America couldn’t breathe to say no, I meant thanks for making me your guinea pig, dude, or something. Since he couldn’t breathe he smiled back.
England did scowl then. “I thought we were done with the fucking butterflies?”
***
It was only a minute or so later that they’d cleared the butterflies away. That America had managed to create them even here spoke to what he held inside him. Coupled with his stupid strength, it was frightening. Add the way America was stroking his cock through his jeans-zipper, England thought it was frightening in an incredibly exciting way.
America probably had no idea what he’d given him. Thank you; how many times had England not heard that? Having America rely on him, to need him so - it was almost better than the sex. Almost. The sex had become a near necessity by that point. England cleared his throat.
“Now those thingums are gone. Perhaps I should remove these-- these things, then? And you should- over,” he said with an incomprehensible arm-wave. He hated that he was babbling, but it was difficult to speak with America using his long fingers to such advantage, and grinning at him so.
“Well, professor, it’s your call. Whatever you want,” America said. He correctly interpreted the arm-waving to mean on your knees and shifted till he was on his stomach, then arse-up.
That he was being so accommodating was another shock. They had indeed entered an alternate universe where nothing made sense. England flopped to his back and removed his jeans in record time.
He’d slicked America up fairly well a few minutes ago but spread some lubricant on himself; the lube was a welcome coolness on his skin and the action gave him time to watch America on his knees, the slight rise and fall of his back as his breathing eased. He looked so familiar from certain angles that it hurt.
There was no doubt England would do all he could to make this as pleasurable as possible for America, his America; he always did, and America knew it. But what America didn’t know was that he was a gift like this: irresistibly flushed - practically glowing - and thrumming with something he couldn't understand.
England slid his fingers over America’s hips. He ached terribly for him, all of him. The tight slide of his body as England slid his cock inside was everything it had promised; England felt the thrumming, felt a catch in America’s breath. The collected, inherited power he possessed was only barely contained by the ritual and consecration.
He swirled his hips in a lazy circle, working his way inside, trying to remember to breathe. It was also a good way to investigate again where it was that made America-
“Ahthere,” America huffed, and England knew he’d found it. By twisting America’s hips just so what a gift he could angle that way again, again, and again, answering his body’s demands to move.
“God. Jesus - I mean, England-” America’s knees were shaking. “You are evil, man. I don’t know how you do it-”
That made two of them. England took a few minutes to thrust at that precise pace, drawing out his own pleasure and listening to America whinge about being made to feel good.
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America started to flop forward but England caught him around the middle with his forearm. He’d stopped talking, at least, and breathed in short, sharp moans along with England, along with the rhythm of the magic created by their bodies.
England fell forward and pulled America close with that arm. He lost his rhythm for a moment in the slide of sweat between his belly and America’s back, then picked it up again, even faster than before.
America was glowing, even here, and he was hard again. For him, for England, he was all his, he was hyper-aroused and … er, yes, even fulmous, from the magic that had broken through in him. A few minutes more at that pace and England could barely breathe but America cried out when he came again, oh God oh England ah!-
The spasm of his climax broke England’s rhythm again and he never recovered it, just thrust in jerks until he came as well, a release so harsh that it left him gasping.
His strength was drained and he let America fall at last, following a scant few moments later. For a while he made a bed of America, in the sweat that covered him from head to toe. He inhaled America’s damp hair and noted that the thrumming in America’s body had ceased; his breathing was relaxed and even.
America emitted a half-snore and then seemed to catch himself. He swallowed.
“Dude. I think you just sexed me into oblivion.”
England snorted and then took a lazy lick at the sweat on America’s nape. “A successful experiment, then?”
America chuckled. After another couple of breaths, he cleared his throat. “But, well, seriously. Can you maybe get off me?” He jammed England’s ribs with his elbow.
England sighed and crawled off so America could roll over. It seemed he’d shagged America’s accommodating nature into oblivion, as well. He lay next to America anyway, looking at him, and pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes.
“You’re staring at me again,” America said.
Perhaps he was. “How do you feel?”
“Hmm. Normal. Just dead tired. Thirsty. Are you gonna stay down here with me?”
England smiled at being asked. “I’ll get some blankets. And tea,” he promised, and peeled himself from the sticky futon - he’d have to get a new one for Japan - and creaked to a standing position.
“Get my glasses … I can’t see,” America demanded in a sleepy-sounding voice.
“Nonsense,” England told him as he pulled on his jeans. He would get them anyway, just to be kind, and bring them back with the tea.
When England returned a few minutes later, however, America was dead asleep, still naked, his face pressed into the concrete floor. England carried two cups of tea into the circle anyway, along with the promised blankets. He dug America’s spectacles from his jeans-pocket and lay them on the floor next to his head.
He drank his tea, and wondered if, when this was all over, America would remember anything. He had a feeling that America would somehow manage to not remember a thing, no matter how much evidence was presented to him. It was just how he was, and England knew he’d have to live with it, if he and America were to have … what they had.
***
tbc with epilogue
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***
America woke with a killer headache and his face stuck to concrete. He didn’t have to peel his face from the floor to see that England was sleeping next to him, facing away.
He also saw his glasses, laying on the floor next to him. He sat up and put them on and took a look around. look around. First he noticed that in addition to a headache, he had a sore ass. Next he realized that he was in England’s basement, and they’d been sleeping on a mattress on the floor. The smell of sex, tea and burned wax hovered around them. He tapped the back of England’s head.
“England! Why were we screwing in your basement?” he asked. The candles suggested something kinky, but he wasn’t ready to face that possibility so early in the morning.
England didn’t move, but he did emit something that sounded a little like a sob. “Sometimes I hate you so much,” he said, so low as to be barely audible.
America huffed. “Geeze! What did I do now?” Jerk, he said under his breath, and took another look around, a short look. He didn’t like England’s basement much and didn’t want to examine it too closely, in case he saw something he didn’t want to see. He’d heard once that England had a banshee around somewhere, and seeing one of those always meant that someone was dead.
END
Thanks for the awesome prompt, OP, and I’m sorry I didn’t do more with the magic. But I’m just a smut-writer at heart. I also apologize for any errors, as this is un-beta-read.
And oh, I stole the title from Wikipedia’s article on magic: “Another primary type of magical thinking includes the principle of contagion. This principle suggests that once two objects come into contact with each other, they will continue to affect each other even after the contact between them has been broken.”
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“Oh God, I want to be dreaming. I’m gonna explode. I’m all … Ha ha! I dunno. I have to make up words to describe it. Fulmous. Nngh,” America moaned into the seat, long and low.
America shivered again and closed his eyes. “I feel like I’ve entered an evil, crazy mirror universe, where things don’t make any sense. Like it’s Halloween all the time. It’s cold here.”
because it was England, who blew hot and cold at him and then did mind-blowing shit like this. England was too important to him sometimes; America wanted to swallow him, to ooze all over him.
just absolutely amazing. I am bookmarking this and re-reading over and over again. you are an incredibly witty person and I think I would like to marry you.
also have you written other things I can creep on?
Reply
As for other fills, er, yeah, I've sort of gotten addicted to writing UKUS porn over the last couple of years, heh. I will deanon this one after I tweak a few things and have my beta give it a good thrashing, but I was so squeeful that you asked, here are links to just a few of the other UKUS things I've written for the kink meme:
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20706.html?thread=78724066#t78724066
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18772.html?thread=72065620#t72065620
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17465.html?thread=55977785#t55977785
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17465.html?thread=57845305#t57845305
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i laughed my way through most of it and then enjoyed it immensely there toward the end
*3*
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And their banter throughout was great :D
America's descriptions of things are hilarious--he should seriously narrate like, everything. XD
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Dearest, there's nothing wrong with that! A fellow smut writer salutes you ♥
This was gorgeous. The smut was sexy, America's problem was hilarious and yet you made clear that it was a real problem and your dialogue skills are awesome. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.
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And thank you so much!
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I really enjoyed reading this, thank you!
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I also love love love the characterizations, I really must congratulate you on how well you got them. Also, Iran being so eager to punch America was just icing on the cake. It's all wonderful, thanks for posting such a wonderful fill!
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