Fill Part 7 (end)
anonymous
July 25 2011, 01:31:29 UTC
He’s not sure how to react, as England hooks an arm around his waist and flicks a tongue across his shoulders, holding him in place as he enters him roughly and fucks him into the mattress. He’s grunting, letting out pained shouts every now and again, and trying to disguise when he whimpers. “Oh God. Oh, fuck.”
It’s a side to the man that America’s never seen before, ever, not even in the times they’d spent fighting over everything and anything. His breathing pattern now is well and truly abandoned, and he’s only willing to take breaths when his lungs feel like they might explode from not getting enough attention, his face alternating between resting against the pillow and dragged up into the air when England wants to assault his ear and neck further with sharp bites and passionate kisses.
As England’s hands switch between gripping onto his hips and firmly stroking his cock, America is lost in the waves of sensation that are rushing through his body, nearing the edge of orgasm and walking back from it again when England decides that he’s not going to give America the release that he’s craving, not just yet.
England’s attentions are getting shakier by the second and his thrusts no longer result in much impact, and America wonders if his impromptu lover is having second thoughts before he realises what’s happening, and England comes with an almighty shout of, “Fuck!”
America whines, a sound of pure pleasure dying on his lips as his own release quickly follows, spurred on by England’s smaller form collapsing against him from exhaustion and the post-orgasm haze.
“Finally... Fucking hell, finally...”
It takes a while for America to recover enough to ask, “Finally what?”
“So long,” England pants, and his sentence is finished by a yawn. “So long, wanted to do that...”
He slides out from America’s body and collapses next to him on the bed. America watches him, as he rubs the back of his hand over his forehead like a child that’s been woken from sleep. Just a minute ago England had been so forceful, prevailing, a part of him he thought he’d managed to lock away decades- centuries, even- ago, but sex seems to have returned him to his natural state of silent contempt for his surroundings, or possibly even mellower than usual.
“It’s alright, isn’t it?” he asks, when he notices America has nothing at all to say. “This is alright... right?”
Immediately America understands everything implied in the question without having to ask for England to elaborate.
It’s a side to the man that America’s never seen before, ever, not even in the times they’d spent fighting over everything and anything. His breathing pattern now is well and truly abandoned, and he’s only willing to take breaths when his lungs feel like they might explode from not getting enough attention, his face alternating between resting against the pillow and dragged up into the air when England wants to assault his ear and neck further with sharp bites and passionate kisses.
As England’s hands switch between gripping onto his hips and firmly stroking his cock, America is lost in the waves of sensation that are rushing through his body, nearing the edge of orgasm and walking back from it again when England decides that he’s not going to give America the release that he’s craving, not just yet.
England’s attentions are getting shakier by the second and his thrusts no longer result in much impact, and America wonders if his impromptu lover is having second thoughts before he realises what’s happening, and England comes with an almighty shout of, “Fuck!”
America whines, a sound of pure pleasure dying on his lips as his own release quickly follows, spurred on by England’s smaller form collapsing against him from exhaustion and the post-orgasm haze.
“Finally... Fucking hell, finally...”
It takes a while for America to recover enough to ask, “Finally what?”
“So long,” England pants, and his sentence is finished by a yawn. “So long, wanted to do that...”
He slides out from America’s body and collapses next to him on the bed. America watches him, as he rubs the back of his hand over his forehead like a child that’s been woken from sleep. Just a minute ago England had been so forceful, prevailing, a part of him he thought he’d managed to lock away decades- centuries, even- ago, but sex seems to have returned him to his natural state of silent contempt for his surroundings, or possibly even mellower than usual.
“It’s alright, isn’t it?” he asks, when he notices America has nothing at all to say. “This is alright... right?”
Immediately America understands everything implied in the question without having to ask for England to elaborate.
“Of course it is.”
And England smiles.
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I love how dominate England was. Wow, this just made my whole evening ^.^ Thanks anon!
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