When the Leader is Led [7/10]
anonymous
August 12 2011, 23:49:08 UTC
America took that as his cue to start shouting again. England just plunged deeply into him, completely sheathing himself in one go. The younger nation let out a groan. This, this was why he had opted for the blindfold. The feelings were so much more intense when he lost one of his other senses. England felt so big, so hard, and so hot. He began to thrust in and out in measured, practiced strokes. The friction was just right, just enough to have the lightest tinge of pain, but not to actually hurt or to impede his pace. America tried to resist for as long as he could, but his body was starting to betray his character. He was back in the game and too much blood had rushed south for America to pretend that he didn't like it beyond some occasional shouts of "Stop!" or "No!" But now even those were slipping into "England!" and "Yes!" The fire that was burning inside of him had gone from a little campfire to a blazing inferno. It was just getting bigger and bigger and hotter and hotter. England was digging his thumbs into America's shoulders, right where two of the largest cuts were and it made him cry out in pure ecstasy. It didn't send out enough of a wave of pain, though. Maybe he was healing already. Too bad.
But all that didn't matter then because England started going faster and faster and harder and harder, almost like a train piston. His sweat and America's own were starting to get into the open cuts, only making America's heart beat faster. The ropes felt tighter now, more constricting. His jaw was sore in the most excellent way.
And England, oh England. He was behind all of this. Every one of those little things was all because of England. Because it was finally his lover who he was with, and he finally had a partner who would top him in one of the best ways possible and oh, God England was good at this. He was always so good at this. He wanted to be with England forever and ever and ever. Even if both of them sunk into the sea or the sun expanded like crazy there had better be a nation-heaven or something because he never wanted to stop. And right now he really wanted to tell Congress to make gay marriage legal nationwide just so that the two of them could be up there on the altar together and so that everyone could see how much they loved each other. And oh God England had better not stop. And, fuck, he was coming.
His arms gave out and his head rested against his arm. England's top half followed him down but his arms held America's hips in place for one, two, three more thrusts before he buried himself in deep and came.
Both of them just sat there panting for a moment before England turned his head and kissed America's cheek. He popped the ball gag out and then America could return the somewhat sleepy kiss. England took the blindfold off next and America opened his eyes to see his lover. Not that he could really make much out since his head was too close and the rest was too far away without glasses, but he could tell that he was right about his appearance. England's tie was limp and the top three buttons were undone, but both his shirt and his pants were still on although the later had been pulled down to his knees. There were red blotches all over his shirt, probably America's blood.
"You were amazing," America said when they pulled away, "It was just perfect, England."
The older nation smiled his real smile, which always made America melt just a little bit and said, "You were lovely too."
"Mmm," Was America's only reply as they leaned in to kiss again.
"Come on," England said, sliding off of America and then the table all together, "Let's get you untied and then clean you up.
"Sounds good," America replied, sitting up and offering England his wrists. The skin on his back resisted his movements, most likely because it was probably caked with blood, but it was still all good.
When the Leader is Led [8/10]
anonymous
August 12 2011, 23:50:42 UTC
The older nation only pulled on like two loops and then the entire thing was loose. America got it off and stood next to his boyfriend. He jumped.
"Oh God! Cold floor!"
England rolled his eyes, "What do you expect? It's March and it's a stone floor in the basement."
America pouted, "But England-"
The smaller nation sighed, "Oh, just come with me, you great stupid thing. We need to get clean if we're going to see that film later."
"Oh, Alright," America said, allowing himself to be led from the room like a dog.
England brought him into the bathroom and America paused in front of the mirror to look at his reflection. He turned around and saw nothing but brownish red and crimson all down his back.
"Holy shit..." He said, "No wonder you stopped."
"Didn't it hurt?" England asked, walking over and looking at the America in the mirror.
"Not as bad as it should've."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He wrapped his arms around England, "I loved the entire thing."
"Yes, but why?" England asked.
America opened his mouth but choked on the air when he saw England's huge green eyes looking so intensely at him. He didn't know why he couldn't say it. England had always loved him, always accepted him, but he still just could never say what he felt. Hell, if England hadn't come up and kissed him straight on the lips in '45 they probably would never have gotten together.
"Come on," he said instead, "Let's get me cleaned up."
"America-"
"Please." America said, holding England's hands.
England said, "You're not going to leave until I get my answer."
"I know. But please."
"...Okay." He pulled back the shower curtain and ushered America instead, stepping in in front of him and turning it on. Warm water flowed out of the head, feeling relaxing on America's sore body. The larger nation let out a soft sigh.
"Turn around, will you?" England asked, holding onto a soft washcloth.
"'Kay," America said, doing as he was told.
He decided to sit too, making England kneel behind him. The older nation grumbled as he got down to America's level, but then started to make warm, soft circles on his back. It was very relaxing, the constant but gentle pressure of the water on his back and shoulders, England's measured ministrations, the feel of the hardened blood falling away.
"It's because you make me feel powerless." He said.
"What?" England asked.
"That's why."
"What are you- oh." England stopped rubbing, "And you like being powerless?"
"Sometimes." Then all of a sudden, it was like a dam broke and everything just came pouring out, "Don't get me wrong, I love my life. I love all my nice houses with the carpet and the hardwood floors. I love my iPhone. I love being able to come and see you pretty much wherever I want. I love the everyday stuff that I do. But it's scary. All these guys who are so much older than me have to do whatever I want and I know they hate it. There's lots of people out there who hate me for what I've become, or even just what I've always been. And even worse than that are the people like India and China, who don't even really hate me and are really nice most of the time but still look at me like they want me dead just because they want my position.
When the Leader is Led [9/10]
anonymous
August 12 2011, 23:51:18 UTC
"You're not like that, though." America really wanted to look back, but was afraid that he'd lose his nerve, and if he stopped he'd probably never start again, "You're not like that, though, because when you look at me you don't see the richest country in the world or the strongest country in the world. You just see the guy who winds up on your doorstep every month wanting to spend time with you. And the fact that you're willing to do all that, to dominate me with sex and ropes and whips and probably anything else I can think of just proves that. All you're worried about is making sure that the two of us have a good time, and it don't matter what's going on in the outside world. Even some day years from now when we're both just faded, old, ex-superpowers, nothing will have changed between us. And that's why, no matter what my bosses do, you've always been my favorite."
Finally finished, he looked back over his shoulder. England had the hand that wasn't holding the cloth clamped over his mouth. His eyes were all watery.
America debated between ruining the moment for them both and deepening it. He could almost see it, fragile and thin as a thread of spider's silk, just dangling in front of him. He decided that this was one of those times that he'd laugh at in a movie or book, but just couldn't help but adore in real life. He eased the hand away from England's mouth, threaded his fingers through his lover's hair and pulled him forward for a closed-mouthed kiss. England wrapped one hand around his waist and the other around the back of his neck and pulled back.
It was perfect and wonderful and amazing, even with a hell of a weird position, right up until the part where America's body started to react to the fact that they were kissing passionately and naked. Fuck, he was no virgin high school kid, getting hard over a little kiss! He started to get flustered and wriggle around a bit. Unluckily, it was that which made England notice that his cock was half mast.
The older nation laughed gently, "You're insatiable, aren't you? Three times in less than two hours is quite a feat."
"Shut up." America said, blushing and crossing his legs to try to hide himself.
"It's quite alright, love," England said, kissing his temple," Assuming that you're up for another round."
America bit his lower lip, still feeling a little bit humiliated, but he still turned around and pulled England down so that the older man was lying on top of him.
"I can, but only like this."
"Alright," England said, "Whatever you want."
He stood for a moment, grabbing a bottle from a high shelf.
Oh God, this was gonna turn into that perfect romantic movie-sex, wasn't it? Aw Hell to the no. America's dignity could only handle that last thing before bed so that they could bask in the afterglow and whisper words of love and passion that would make both of them blanche in any other situation and then fall asleep in each other's arm and not move the entire night so that the first thing they'd see the next day was the other's face, just like all of those stories of true love. Even thinking about it made him start to go soft, probably because his dick was trying to shrink into a clit or something.
So instead, he scoffed and said, "I still love that you have lube in the shower."
"Belt up. It's only because you do things like this."
"Yeah, yeah," America said, spurred on by the fact that England had helped him to break the tension. He arched his back, "You gonna just bitch at me, or you gonna do me?"
"Well, if you mean shove my cock up your arse for the second time today until I make you come all over me for the third time today, I believe I would prefer to do you."
"Less words, more dick."
"So demanding," England said, coating his cock in the lube.
"It's 'cause you spoiled me too much."
The smaller nation slid three fingers into America's already stretched out hole, "I still do."
When the Leader is Led [10/10]
anonymous
August 12 2011, 23:51:54 UTC
England's lips twitched up into a smile and he pulled his fingers away, since America was still pretty slick from before.
"I love you," He whispered, kneeling down over America.
"I love you too," America replied, wrapping his legs around his lover's waist.
They kissed again and England lined himself up and pushed in. America sighed into the kiss, gladly accepting him again. He felt so safe, being able to look up and see England hovering above him, eyes half-lidded, arms coming down on either side of him. Realistically, there was no way that England's slim body could protect him completely, but it didn't matter in the slightest. America couldn't help but have this wonderful, warm feeling. It seemed like all that bad stuff from his past like Pearl Harbor, 9/11, even the Civil War couldn't have happened in the same world. He was too safe here, too loved.
It was then that America had a revelation. It was never the physical sensation he got off to when he had sex with England. That was really, really good, but it was all sort of a side show. It was England. It was every little thing about him. Every thread of muscle, every strand of hair, every patch of skin, every smile, every breath, every heartbeat.
He was almost disgusted with himself, but couldn't be when England smiled down at him and wrapped a hand around his cock. All he could do was feel the pleasure that coursed through his veins at every pump. He was vaguely aware that he was saying something and was about ninety percent sure that it was England's name. He smiled to himself. That would just fit everything, wouldn't it?
And then he was one hundred percent sure that he screamed England's name as he came on both of their stomachs. England himself came maybe a second later with a cry of America's name.
"Damn I feel gay," America said.
England laughed, "Shouldn't you?" He pulled his cock out.
"You know what I mean."
"I do," England said with a frown, "And that you do mean that is something we have to work on later. For now, let's finish our bloody shower."
He got to his feet, shaking some of the water from his hair. He held a hand out for America. The younger nation took it, yet again allowing England to lead him.
After all, with how often standards changed, what else is there to really follow but your own heart?
Re: When the Leader is Led [10/10]
anonymous
August 13 2011, 07:39:27 UTC
I think you've just converted me to BDSM anon.
Doing it from America's POV was a good choice, I thought it was really good to see why he liked being dominated so much and how he saw it as England loving him so much that he would do all that for him.
I adored the mentions of the little buzzer America has and how they were setting up before. I thought it was brilliant how England had to stop a couple of times and just make sure that everything was going okay or that could they change it slightly. Communication for the win.
There are so many things I loved about this fill that I can't name them all. But I am going to bookmark and read it again and again.
Anon, I am speechless. This is so amazing, and some of the best BDSM I have read on the meme. It made me sad in places, but it also made me very, very happy. Thanks for this fill, even if it ended up deviating from the original prompt a bit, it was still brilliant for what it IS.
America took that as his cue to start shouting again. England just plunged deeply into him, completely sheathing himself in one go. The younger nation let out a groan. This, this was why he had opted for the blindfold. The feelings were so much more intense when he lost one of his other senses. England felt so big, so hard, and so hot. He began to thrust in and out in measured, practiced strokes. The friction was just right, just enough to have the lightest tinge of pain, but not to actually hurt or to impede his pace. America tried to resist for as long as he could, but his body was starting to betray his character. He was back in the game and too much blood had rushed south for America to pretend that he didn't like it beyond some occasional shouts of "Stop!" or "No!" But now even those were slipping into "England!" and "Yes!" The fire that was burning inside of him had gone from a little campfire to a blazing inferno. It was just getting bigger and bigger and hotter and hotter. England was digging his thumbs into America's shoulders, right where two of the largest cuts were and it made him cry out in pure ecstasy. It didn't send out enough of a wave of pain, though. Maybe he was healing already. Too bad.
But all that didn't matter then because England started going faster and faster and harder and harder, almost like a train piston. His sweat and America's own were starting to get into the open cuts, only making America's heart beat faster. The ropes felt tighter now, more constricting. His jaw was sore in the most excellent way.
And England, oh England. He was behind all of this. Every one of those little things was all because of England. Because it was finally his lover who he was with, and he finally had a partner who would top him in one of the best ways possible and oh, God England was good at this. He was always so good at this. He wanted to be with England forever and ever and ever. Even if both of them sunk into the sea or the sun expanded like crazy there had better be a nation-heaven or something because he never wanted to stop. And right now he really wanted to tell Congress to make gay marriage legal nationwide just so that the two of them could be up there on the altar together and so that everyone could see how much they loved each other. And oh God England had better not stop. And, fuck, he was coming.
His arms gave out and his head rested against his arm. England's top half followed him down but his arms held America's hips in place for one, two, three more thrusts before he buried himself in deep and came.
Both of them just sat there panting for a moment before England turned his head and kissed America's cheek. He popped the ball gag out and then America could return the somewhat sleepy kiss. England took the blindfold off next and America opened his eyes to see his lover. Not that he could really make much out since his head was too close and the rest was too far away without glasses, but he could tell that he was right about his appearance. England's tie was limp and the top three buttons were undone, but both his shirt and his pants were still on although the later had been pulled down to his knees. There were red blotches all over his shirt, probably America's blood.
"You were amazing," America said when they pulled away, "It was just perfect, England."
The older nation smiled his real smile, which always made America melt just a little bit and said, "You were lovely too."
"Mmm," Was America's only reply as they leaned in to kiss again.
"Come on," England said, sliding off of America and then the table all together, "Let's get you untied and then clean you up.
"Sounds good," America replied, sitting up and offering England his wrists. The skin on his back resisted his movements, most likely because it was probably caked with blood, but it was still all good.
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The older nation only pulled on like two loops and then the entire thing was loose. America got it off and stood next to his boyfriend. He jumped.
"Oh God! Cold floor!"
England rolled his eyes, "What do you expect? It's March and it's a stone floor in the basement."
America pouted, "But England-"
The smaller nation sighed, "Oh, just come with me, you great stupid thing. We need to get clean if we're going to see that film later."
"Oh, Alright," America said, allowing himself to be led from the room like a dog.
England brought him into the bathroom and America paused in front of the mirror to look at his reflection. He turned around and saw nothing but brownish red and crimson all down his back.
"Holy shit..." He said, "No wonder you stopped."
"Didn't it hurt?" England asked, walking over and looking at the America in the mirror.
"Not as bad as it should've."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He wrapped his arms around England, "I loved the entire thing."
"Yes, but why?" England asked.
America opened his mouth but choked on the air when he saw England's huge green eyes looking so intensely at him. He didn't know why he couldn't say it. England had always loved him, always accepted him, but he still just could never say what he felt. Hell, if England hadn't come up and kissed him straight on the lips in '45 they probably would never have gotten together.
"Come on," he said instead, "Let's get me cleaned up."
"America-"
"Please." America said, holding England's hands.
England said, "You're not going to leave until I get my answer."
"I know. But please."
"...Okay." He pulled back the shower curtain and ushered America instead, stepping in in front of him and turning it on. Warm water flowed out of the head, feeling relaxing on America's sore body. The larger nation let out a soft sigh.
"Turn around, will you?" England asked, holding onto a soft washcloth.
"'Kay," America said, doing as he was told.
He decided to sit too, making England kneel behind him. The older nation grumbled as he got down to America's level, but then started to make warm, soft circles on his back. It was very relaxing, the constant but gentle pressure of the water on his back and shoulders, England's measured ministrations, the feel of the hardened blood falling away.
"It's because you make me feel powerless." He said.
"What?" England asked.
"That's why."
"What are you- oh." England stopped rubbing, "And you like being powerless?"
"Sometimes." Then all of a sudden, it was like a dam broke and everything just came pouring out, "Don't get me wrong, I love my life. I love all my nice houses with the carpet and the hardwood floors. I love my iPhone. I love being able to come and see you pretty much wherever I want. I love the everyday stuff that I do. But it's scary. All these guys who are so much older than me have to do whatever I want and I know they hate it. There's lots of people out there who hate me for what I've become, or even just what I've always been. And even worse than that are the people like India and China, who don't even really hate me and are really nice most of the time but still look at me like they want me dead just because they want my position.
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"You're not like that, though." America really wanted to look back, but was afraid that he'd lose his nerve, and if he stopped he'd probably never start again, "You're not like that, though, because when you look at me you don't see the richest country in the world or the strongest country in the world. You just see the guy who winds up on your doorstep every month wanting to spend time with you. And the fact that you're willing to do all that, to dominate me with sex and ropes and whips and probably anything else I can think of just proves that. All you're worried about is making sure that the two of us have a good time, and it don't matter what's going on in the outside world. Even some day years from now when we're both just faded, old, ex-superpowers, nothing will have changed between us. And that's why, no matter what my bosses do, you've always been my favorite."
Finally finished, he looked back over his shoulder. England had the hand that wasn't holding the cloth clamped over his mouth. His eyes were all watery.
America debated between ruining the moment for them both and deepening it. He could almost see it, fragile and thin as a thread of spider's silk, just dangling in front of him. He decided that this was one of those times that he'd laugh at in a movie or book, but just couldn't help but adore in real life. He eased the hand away from England's mouth, threaded his fingers through his lover's hair and pulled him forward for a closed-mouthed kiss. England wrapped one hand around his waist and the other around the back of his neck and pulled back.
It was perfect and wonderful and amazing, even with a hell of a weird position, right up until the part where America's body started to react to the fact that they were kissing passionately and naked. Fuck, he was no virgin high school kid, getting hard over a little kiss! He started to get flustered and wriggle around a bit. Unluckily, it was that which made England notice that his cock was half mast.
The older nation laughed gently, "You're insatiable, aren't you? Three times in less than two hours is quite a feat."
"Shut up." America said, blushing and crossing his legs to try to hide himself.
"It's quite alright, love," England said, kissing his temple," Assuming that you're up for another round."
America bit his lower lip, still feeling a little bit humiliated, but he still turned around and pulled England down so that the older man was lying on top of him.
"I can, but only like this."
"Alright," England said, "Whatever you want."
He stood for a moment, grabbing a bottle from a high shelf.
Oh God, this was gonna turn into that perfect romantic movie-sex, wasn't it? Aw Hell to the no. America's dignity could only handle that last thing before bed so that they could bask in the afterglow and whisper words of love and passion that would make both of them blanche in any other situation and then fall asleep in each other's arm and not move the entire night so that the first thing they'd see the next day was the other's face, just like all of those stories of true love. Even thinking about it made him start to go soft, probably because his dick was trying to shrink into a clit or something.
So instead, he scoffed and said, "I still love that you have lube in the shower."
"Belt up. It's only because you do things like this."
"Yeah, yeah," America said, spurred on by the fact that England had helped him to break the tension. He arched his back, "You gonna just bitch at me, or you gonna do me?"
"Well, if you mean shove my cock up your arse for the second time today until I make you come all over me for the third time today, I believe I would prefer to do you."
"Less words, more dick."
"So demanding," England said, coating his cock in the lube.
"It's 'cause you spoiled me too much."
The smaller nation slid three fingers into America's already stretched out hole, "I still do."
America groaned, "Oh yeah, and it's awesome."
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England's lips twitched up into a smile and he pulled his fingers away, since America was still pretty slick from before.
"I love you," He whispered, kneeling down over America.
"I love you too," America replied, wrapping his legs around his lover's waist.
They kissed again and England lined himself up and pushed in. America sighed into the kiss, gladly accepting him again. He felt so safe, being able to look up and see England hovering above him, eyes half-lidded, arms coming down on either side of him. Realistically, there was no way that England's slim body could protect him completely, but it didn't matter in the slightest. America couldn't help but have this wonderful, warm feeling. It seemed like all that bad stuff from his past like Pearl Harbor, 9/11, even the Civil War couldn't have happened in the same world. He was too safe here, too loved.
It was then that America had a revelation. It was never the physical sensation he got off to when he had sex with England. That was really, really good, but it was all sort of a side show. It was England. It was every little thing about him. Every thread of muscle, every strand of hair, every patch of skin, every smile, every breath, every heartbeat.
He was almost disgusted with himself, but couldn't be when England smiled down at him and wrapped a hand around his cock. All he could do was feel the pleasure that coursed through his veins at every pump. He was vaguely aware that he was saying something and was about ninety percent sure that it was England's name. He smiled to himself. That would just fit everything, wouldn't it?
And then he was one hundred percent sure that he screamed England's name as he came on both of their stomachs. England himself came maybe a second later with a cry of America's name.
"Damn I feel gay," America said.
England laughed, "Shouldn't you?" He pulled his cock out.
"You know what I mean."
"I do," England said with a frown, "And that you do mean that is something we have to work on later. For now, let's finish our bloody shower."
He got to his feet, shaking some of the water from his hair. He held a hand out for America. The younger nation took it, yet again allowing England to lead him.
After all, with how often standards changed, what else is there to really follow but your own heart?
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Great fill, lots of realistic yet hot smut is always appreciated.
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Doing it from America's POV was a good choice, I thought it was really good to see why he liked being dominated so much and how he saw it as England loving him so much that he would do all that for him.
I adored the mentions of the little buzzer America has and how they were setting up before. I thought it was brilliant how England had to stop a couple of times and just make sure that everything was going okay or that could they change it slightly. Communication for the win.
There are so many things I loved about this fill that I can't name them all. But I am going to bookmark and read it again and again.
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