Fill Part 6 HTML FIXED VERSION
anonymous
July 25 2011, 01:09:08 UTC
(aa) Fucked up with the html in this part, so in case that's annoying to read here's the proper version:
America is still trying to work out what it is that feels so wrong to him about proceedings as England leads him up the staircase, pausing now and then when the urge to lock lips becomes too much, lazily tugging at clothing and unfastening buttons here and there.
Just as England is about to fling open the door to his immaculate bedroom and finalize over a hundred years of burning want, America pauses and finally manages to say exactly what’s wrong.
“You’re my brother, and you raised me. As much as I’d like to- oh God, I want to- we can’t do this.”
England had been annoyed before at America’s reasoning, but he suddenly realises it’s just causing a sensational heat to rush to his groin, the urge to fuck his so-called sibling intensifying until it’s truly unbearable.
“You don’t get to change the rules now,” England replies. “You left. You told me you weren’t my little brother anymore and you grew into a man by your own right. It’s time you learned you can’t have it both ways.”
Before America can say anything else, England has seized him by the collar, thrown open the bedroom door and led him inside, slamming the door behind them again and collapsing in a heap on the bed. He can’t quite work out what’s going on before he’s above America’s body, staring down at him with a glare of intensity, contemplating what to do next as America is reduced to a whimpering wreck, desperate for some sort of relief. “C’mon, you can’t... Can’t convince me and then just... Just leave me...”
England flashes him a smile before reaching out for his belt buckle, leaning forward to continue the endlessly addictive kiss that seems like it had been started a long time ago. The proximity of their bodies generates insufferable heat that serves only in making them more passionate about the encounter, erections pressed against each other’s thighs, England spurred on by the desperate mewls escaping America’s throat.
Their jackets are on the stairs, their shirts are littered across the landing and their trousers (and underwear, for all intents and purposes) are now on the floor at the foot of England’s bed. He’s not entirely sure how they’d lost their restrictive clothing so quickly and ended up with skin against skin, melting into one another’s touch, but he knows that it’s an undeniably good thing.
“Turn over,” England demands, and America doesn’t disobey, his hands gripping the sheets so hard that his knuckles turn white.
As England nips his ear and pulls back his head by tugging his hair, America lets out a groan of arousal. His skin must taste like salt and iron from the sweat that coats his body, but even if he does, England doesn’t seem put off. “Are- are you going to-?”
“Hush up,” is all England says, his lips ghosting across America’s spine and instantly cooling patches of his flesh. He smirks into America’s skin and shifts so that their bodies are close together, his stomach to America’s back, and America’s thought process is overrun with oh shit, oh shit as clever fingers spread across his thigh.
“I’ll ask you once, and only once,” England says, breaking the moment of anticipation. “Do you want this?”
There is silence, as America weighs up his options and finally settles on a firm, “Yes.”
And then there’s a hand on his cock and a slick finger inside him and it’s all he can do just to let out a gasp.
America is still trying to work out what it is that feels so wrong to him about proceedings as England leads him up the staircase, pausing now and then when the urge to lock lips becomes too much, lazily tugging at clothing and unfastening buttons here and there.
Just as England is about to fling open the door to his immaculate bedroom and finalize over a hundred years of burning want, America pauses and finally manages to say exactly what’s wrong.
“You’re my brother, and you raised me. As much as I’d like to- oh God, I want to- we can’t do this.”
England had been annoyed before at America’s reasoning, but he suddenly realises it’s just causing a sensational heat to rush to his groin, the urge to fuck his so-called sibling intensifying until it’s truly unbearable.
“You don’t get to change the rules now,” England replies. “You left. You told me you weren’t my little brother anymore and you grew into a man by your own right. It’s time you learned you can’t have it both ways.”
Before America can say anything else, England has seized him by the collar, thrown open the bedroom door and led him inside, slamming the door behind them again and collapsing in a heap on the bed. He can’t quite work out what’s going on before he’s above America’s body, staring down at him with a glare of intensity, contemplating what to do next as America is reduced to a whimpering wreck, desperate for some sort of relief. “C’mon, you can’t... Can’t convince me and then just... Just leave me...”
England flashes him a smile before reaching out for his belt buckle, leaning forward to continue the endlessly addictive kiss that seems like it had been started a long time ago. The proximity of their bodies generates insufferable heat that serves only in making them more passionate about the encounter, erections pressed against each other’s thighs, England spurred on by the desperate mewls escaping America’s throat.
Their jackets are on the stairs, their shirts are littered across the landing and their trousers (and underwear, for all intents and purposes) are now on the floor at the foot of England’s bed. He’s not entirely sure how they’d lost their restrictive clothing so quickly and ended up with skin against skin, melting into one another’s touch, but he knows that it’s an undeniably good thing.
“Turn over,” England demands, and America doesn’t disobey, his hands gripping the sheets so hard that his knuckles turn white.
As England nips his ear and pulls back his head by tugging his hair, America lets out a groan of arousal. His skin must taste like salt and iron from the sweat that coats his body, but even if he does, England doesn’t seem put off. “Are- are you going to-?”
“Hush up,” is all England says, his lips ghosting across America’s spine and instantly cooling patches of his flesh. He smirks into America’s skin and shifts so that their bodies are close together, his stomach to America’s back, and America’s thought process is overrun with oh shit, oh shit as clever fingers spread across his thigh.
“I’ll ask you once, and only once,” England says, breaking the moment of anticipation. “Do you want this?”
There is silence, as America weighs up his options and finally settles on a firm, “Yes.”
And then there’s a hand on his cock and a slick finger inside him and it’s all he can do just to let out a gasp.
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