Fill 2/?
anonymous
September 18 2011, 00:11:51 UTC
“Hey England,” America whispers, safe in the knowledge that no-one apart from England will hear him over the sound of Germany’s droning voice. “I’m gonna sneak out.”
“That’s a silly idea,” England whispers back, but he doesn’t try to stop him.
“See you later,” America replies, and England merely smiles a farewell before looking back over at Italy and Germany.
Once he’s sure nobody’s looking, America slides down from his seat and slips onto the floor, crouching on his hands and knees as he sits inches away from the legs of whoever it is that had been sitting opposite him. America shifts 180° in an attempt to gain his bearings and accidentally brushes his nose against the fabric of England’s trousers as he moves to face them.
“What are you doing?” England whispers, bending down to look under the table.
“I told you, I’m crawling out of here,” America answers. “You gonna come with?”
“I can’t,” England says, shaking his head. “I’ll see you later, love.”
England’s head disappears from view again as he sits up straight again. So far, Germany hasn’t stopped talking about the Eurozone economy so that must mean nobody aside from England has seen America slip under the table. Thinking of what his next move should be, America crouches for a while in the relatively roomy space; he knows Germany talks far too much and it will take him at least another twenty minutes to finish his speech.
It would take far too much planning, effort and stealth for America to actually crawl out of the Conference room under the cover of the meeting table. It was a stupid idea to begin with. America knows he has to think of something else to do with his time or risk death from monotony.
And then England’s legs move and America gets an idea. England had previously been sitting with one leg over the other but now he’s placed both feet on the ground, stretching out his limbs in an effort to get comfortable because he knows he’s going to be sitting for a long time. The movement was purely innocent but America sees it as temptation.
Taking great care not to let out a sound, America inches forward and places his hands on England’s clothed ankles. England’s legs tense up but he doesn’t do anything, even as America gently moves England’s legs apart and shuffles to sit between them.
“America,” England murmurs, so that only America can hear him, “what are you doing?”
“You’ll see,” America whispers, and then he places one hand on England’s crotch.
As expected, England lets out a small gasp of surprise and tries to move away, but America’s holding his left leg in place and resting against his right one so he can’t. America smirks, palming England’s soft cock through the fabric of his trousers, kneading gently with his knuckles and teasing it with strokes from his fingertips.
“Blimey,” England whispers, and America fights back a laugh.
It doesn’t take long for England to gradually harden, impatiently bucking his hips forward into America’s fingers and letting out a wince as his erection is held back by his trousers. America lets go of his grip on England’s leg and uses both hands to unfasten England’s belt, slipping down his trousers just far enough to equally tug down his boxers.
Thankfully, the Conference attendees continue to not notice a thing; Germany keeps talking, Italy keeps writing and most of the nations keep scribbling in their notebooks, pretending to be actively taking an interest in the facts and figures filling the whiteboard.
“If we get caught,” England mutters, “I’m going to murder you.”
His words aren’t very arousing but his tone of voice is; America decides to reward him by gripping his stiff cock with both hands and firmly sliding back the skin to swipe over the tip.
England hisses; Germany stops talking.
“What’s wrong?” Germany barks.
“Nothing,” England says, his voice higher than usual.
“Alright,” Germany says, and he launches back into whatever he was saying before.
“That was close,” America whispers, languidly running his fingers up and down the shaft of England’s cock; his movements are slower and they’re torturous that way, but at least there’s less chance of England making any sudden noises.
“That’s a silly idea,” England whispers back, but he doesn’t try to stop him.
“See you later,” America replies, and England merely smiles a farewell before looking back over at Italy and Germany.
Once he’s sure nobody’s looking, America slides down from his seat and slips onto the floor, crouching on his hands and knees as he sits inches away from the legs of whoever it is that had been sitting opposite him. America shifts 180° in an attempt to gain his bearings and accidentally brushes his nose against the fabric of England’s trousers as he moves to face them.
“What are you doing?” England whispers, bending down to look under the table.
“I told you, I’m crawling out of here,” America answers. “You gonna come with?”
“I can’t,” England says, shaking his head. “I’ll see you later, love.”
England’s head disappears from view again as he sits up straight again. So far, Germany hasn’t stopped talking about the Eurozone economy so that must mean nobody aside from England has seen America slip under the table. Thinking of what his next move should be, America crouches for a while in the relatively roomy space; he knows Germany talks far too much and it will take him at least another twenty minutes to finish his speech.
It would take far too much planning, effort and stealth for America to actually crawl out of the Conference room under the cover of the meeting table. It was a stupid idea to begin with. America knows he has to think of something else to do with his time or risk death from monotony.
And then England’s legs move and America gets an idea. England had previously been sitting with one leg over the other but now he’s placed both feet on the ground, stretching out his limbs in an effort to get comfortable because he knows he’s going to be sitting for a long time. The movement was purely innocent but America sees it as temptation.
Taking great care not to let out a sound, America inches forward and places his hands on England’s clothed ankles. England’s legs tense up but he doesn’t do anything, even as America gently moves England’s legs apart and shuffles to sit between them.
“America,” England murmurs, so that only America can hear him, “what are you doing?”
“You’ll see,” America whispers, and then he places one hand on England’s crotch.
As expected, England lets out a small gasp of surprise and tries to move away, but America’s holding his left leg in place and resting against his right one so he can’t. America smirks, palming England’s soft cock through the fabric of his trousers, kneading gently with his knuckles and teasing it with strokes from his fingertips.
“Blimey,” England whispers, and America fights back a laugh.
It doesn’t take long for England to gradually harden, impatiently bucking his hips forward into America’s fingers and letting out a wince as his erection is held back by his trousers. America lets go of his grip on England’s leg and uses both hands to unfasten England’s belt, slipping down his trousers just far enough to equally tug down his boxers.
Thankfully, the Conference attendees continue to not notice a thing; Germany keeps talking, Italy keeps writing and most of the nations keep scribbling in their notebooks, pretending to be actively taking an interest in the facts and figures filling the whiteboard.
“If we get caught,” England mutters, “I’m going to murder you.”
His words aren’t very arousing but his tone of voice is; America decides to reward him by gripping his stiff cock with both hands and firmly sliding back the skin to swipe over the tip.
England hisses; Germany stops talking.
“What’s wrong?” Germany barks.
“Nothing,” England says, his voice higher than usual.
“Alright,” Germany says, and he launches back into whatever he was saying before.
“That was close,” America whispers, languidly running his fingers up and down the shaft of England’s cock; his movements are slower and they’re torturous that way, but at least there’s less chance of England making any sudden noises.
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