Past-Part Fills Part 7
!!! Discussion about moving the kink meme to Dreamwidth!!!
Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
England turned his normal shade of outraged pink. "That's a bit rude, isn't it?" he said. He was sitting on the couch in the front room, fiddling with his smartphone. Right, like he knew how to use it or anything.
America grinned until his teeth ground together and held the pizzas in front of his crotch. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. Just didn't expect to see you here, is all. Did you need anything? Because I ... uh--"
England zapped something on his phone with his pinky. "Well, you'd mentioned sunshine, and I thought I might -- Oh, Good Fucking Christ. You're one of them, aren't you?"
England was staring at him. His eyebrows had disappeared up under his bushy hair. His face had lost its pink and gone as pale as his starched white shirt.
"Uh, one of what?" America said in as bland and non-urgent a tone as possible, He had to hold the pizzas sideways to hide his boner, dammit, and all the toppings were gonna slide off.
"Ha!" England said. He was staring. He moved his mouth silently, like he was processing something in his brain. His eyes were very big and green, America noticed. Finally England spoke aloud again. "All this time we've been dancing around this issue, and I never realized..."
"Dancing? Issue? Realized what?" America squeaked. As if he didn't know. But now was not the time for a heart-to-heart. It was time for a hand-to-dick, for real.
"Well, this presents a solution of sorts, I suppose," England said. He'd turned pink again. He nodded, downwards in the direction of America's ... pizzas. "I can help you with that."
"No thanks, dude! I'll just put these in the kitchen," America said. He tried to shuffle off sideways. "Listen, I'm not feeling very well. Recession and all, ya know."
"Wha-- You dolt!" England sputtered. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Hmm. I'd wondered why I felt so uncomfortable at the meeting. I'd wondered who..."
America was backing out of the room, now. And a shudder worked its way from his toes to his nose when he noticed that England was following him. His eyes were very, extremely green. Kinda pretty.
It wasn't that America hadn't ever thought of England during his special time. When you'd spent entire weekends growing calluses from choking the chicken, you wondered what was so scary about Latvia, anyway. It made sense that you might think about your friends. Things. "You caught the recession too," America pointed out. "Maybe you should go home and relax. Now."
"No. I am definitely going to help you with that. Now," England said. America realized that England wasn't just following him; he was stalking him, like prey.
"Oh, shit, for real," America said aloud. "You're one of them!"
"Well, well. You do know after all," England said. He didn't look like himself. His eyes had gone all narrow and he looked taller or something, if that didn't beat all. Part of America wanted to straighten and regain his height advantage, but the survivalist part of him hunched over and booked it into the kitchen.
"You gotta get out of here," America called back. He tossed the pizzas -- probably all ruined by now -- onto his William Tell table, and tried to wrench open the back door. It was locked, dammit, both the storm door and the outside door, and his fingers weren't working right 'cause the worst of it was coming on, all waves of pink and heat that pulsed through his body like someone was pumping a bellows at his ass.
And there, he'd thought it, pumping. "Nnnnngggod," he moaned aloud. He clutched at the storm door handle and bent double, trying to take deep breaths, trying to hold it off, but he'd left it too long. Stupid, stupid ...
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"You can't help it? I thought you were all Mister Proper. Mister Self-control," America said, knowing his voice sounded breathy and desperate. And it seemed America could smell him: something sharp and autumn-y.
"What? Of course I am!" England's forehead wrinkled in a way that was reassuringly normal. Reassuringly him. Then his expression started to slide back into nasty-mode. "But this is biological imperative."
"Nope. Haha." America grabbed the brief moment and broke from his cowering position, trying to nip past England and make it to the front door. But England caught his shirt and snapped him back, and within seconds, with a speed that had America's brain reeling, had him trapped face-first against the table. The rest of him was soon reeling from having England pressed all along his back, having England's breath in his ear, his cool hand on America's hot stomach.
"How convenient, then, that we can help each other," England whispered. America shuddered at how harsh, panting, England's words sounded. His cock pulsed against England's hand through the thin fabric of his Brooks Brothers pants.
"Nnnnnnnn," America groaned, then he managed, "you can help me by leaving, dude. Oh, god."
"Too late for that," England said. Then he was sniffing at the nape of America's neck. Nibbling it. It was chill-inducing, and on top of the hot feelings he already had ... exquisite. America squirmed but there was the table in front and England in back, both hard; England looked so soft and flimsy, how was it he was so wiry all of a sudden?
"Ah ah ah ah," America cried out as England unzipped America's pants and grabbed his cock and bit down hard on his neck at the same time. England's fingers weren't soft at all, weren't like anything America had ever fantasized. It hurt, all of it. Yet, despite the pain, America found himself wrenching his hips forward into England's rough hand.
"Yess... I know you want it," England hissed through his teeth. "I'll give you what you need; never worry."
Not England, of all people, America thought. It was too embarrassing. He, the great United States of America, was too powerless and not-cool like this.
"Omegas are very canny. It's why I never suspected you." England was insulting him and licking him like an ice-cream cone and yanking down his pants and all America could do about it was grab the table and squirm. God, even his asshole was aching, because his body was weak and it was desperate. Begging to be filled, begging for release. Stupid, outdated biological imperative.
Still, he'd managed this many years of the karšto without getting his ass plowed by an Alpha. Especially by England, whom he'd never suspected, either, and there was an avenging insult in there somewhere but America's tongue couldn't form it, not with England's wiry body rubbing all along his back and himself undulating along with it like it was the natural thing to do. He couldn't hardly breathe, with his pants falling to his knees and England's cock at his ass-crack like a heat-seeking missile and oh, God, he wanted it, and wasn't that a humiliating thing?
"Stop it..." America said anyway.
"No," England said.
"Yes."
"I thought so."
"No!" But at least England was reaching for the butter, which America had left out on the table to soften, for reasons. Well, butter was slick and it smelled good. Didn't mean he wanted it inside him, though it looked like he was gonna get it there one way or another.
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"Good, good," England murmured. He held America by the back of his head and pushed his face down onto the stack of the pizza boxes, smooshing the first one, and without further ado thank God he rammed his cock up America's ass.
"Oh, yes," America said, like a moron. His ass clenched around England's cock like it would never let go. It was pathetic and amazing.
"Yes, yes," England moaned also. He didn't even bother starting all slow and gentle, but thrust his hips forward, sending his cock deeper, then did it again, and again.
America didn't even have to move his hips to participate because England had them in a tight grip, and he yanked them back and forth and from side to side as he pumped his cock inside America, faster and faster. America just scrabbled at the table and cried out into the top pizza box, soaking the cardboard with his drool. It was just ... it was England, being all himself and yet also something else, something America had never realized he needed so desperately.
More, more, his body cried. England, he's okay, he would take care of it, would fuck America all the way through the nearly unbearable ache to blessed release.
England was huffing and growing sweaty, and his hands slipped and his hips slapped against America's ass as he worked it.
"Oh, America. My America," he said. "All along you were meant for me like this."
"Uh," America said as England drove the aching pressure higher and higher inside him till he was certain he was gonna burst, explode, and when England reached around for his cock America did explode; he experienced a moment of perfect pain before a release like free-fall, blinding waves as England stroked his cock through spasms of release.
The release was short-lived: still England fucked him, if more slowly, and inside him it felt like England's cock had grown thicker and harder. Every thrust hit deep against America's most sensitive places, a mercilessly acute barrage of sensation. He started to pull away but found he couldn't, even though England wasn't holding him to trap him; he was stuck to England's cock.
"Dude -- how -- what the hell--?" he sputtered.
"Idiot," England said with some of his usual asperity, if sounding a little out of breath. "We're not done until I'm done. And you feel fantastic. It's been too long..."
"Some weird mating thing?" America said. He wiped at the drool on the pizza box, and winced as England's cock hit some particularly pleasurable spot. God, it was huge, filling him like a fist, touching every hidden barrier inside him.
"You really don't, hah, know, do you?"
"Unh. Lithuania said this all was an old vestiginous relict from the days when the continents separated and human life began and spawned us. He thought."
"Vestigial," England corrected. Then, "Lithuania knows?" His voice was gruff, and his fingers dug into America's hips like possession.
"I think he might be like, uh, me."
"Ah. Well, right now it's not Lithuania in heat, it's you. And I'm here this time to make you mine," England said. It should have been a weird thing to hear from England's mouth, and insulting as all hell, at least given the events of the past couple of hundred years. But for some reason, in this situation where suddenly England fit and filled him and held him, it sounded almost normal.
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So this was what it was like to get nailed by an Alpha? Interesting.
And it wasn't as powerless being an Omega as he'd thought, at first. At least, if the speed at which England had gone from zero to fuckmeister was any indication. Let him live that one down. A couple of days from now.
Shit, they'd never survive, he thought. He pushed the pizzas aside and spread his fingers along the slick tabletop, made slicker with butter (like him), and bent and spread his thighs to better accommodate the width of England's cock.
England sighed and fucked him in a quickening rhythm. Neither of them talked again until it was over, though England began to stroke America's spine, caressing it with gestures like words.
And after a while their matched, harsh breaths worked like communication, for jeeze, how many minutes: England was like to never quit, was like a fucking robot with his pistoning hips, up until the very end when his breathing lost its rhythm.
America's second desperate, clenching climax pulled England into coming at last. He pumped thrust after disjointed thrust into America for what felt like forever. But at last he sagged against America's poor, abused body, sweaty and drained. Had to be after that orgasm, anyway.
Another minute or so passed and America pushed himself up a bit. All that laying in or near pizza boxes had made him hungry, 'cause the pizza smelled good. Like a polite fellow England backed off, and America pulled open a box and plucked out a piece of pizza.
"They cut 'em party style. This'll last a while," America said around a mouthful of square-shaped pepperoni bliss.
"Give me one of those, please," England said.
America turned to hand over a slice of mmm-good-cold pizza and snorted a little at England's appearance: he was still in his clothing but it was all skewed and sticky and dirty. Probably like his. America stopped snorting and ate his pizza.
But the heat thingy was on, and damn if England's disarray didn't go from looking silly to looking really hot in the space of just a minute or two. America shoved a small corner piece into his mouth at the narrowing of England's eyes.
England saw him looking and choked down the last of his pizza. He turned and started opening and shutting cabinets, looking for something. "Ah," he said at last, and pulled a glass out of the one next to the sink. He filled it with filtered water -- nasty well stuff out here, dontcha know-- and drank it all down. Then he refilled the glass and handed it to America.
America gulped it down. Experience had taught him to keep hydrated.
"Shall we adjourn to the other room?" England said when America was finished drinking. America nearly snorted his last swallow through his nose.
"Like we're having afternoon tea or something!"
England turned pink again. "Well, there's no need to be uncivilized, idiot," he said.
America cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you gonna jump me again without permission?"
England sniffed and crossed his arms. "That depends on whether or not you give permission."
"Ha! Pervert," America said. Well, he'd never make the permission explicit, and let England swallow that. He set down the glass and walked into the front room, which was pointedly not the bedroom. England had to follow like a dog.
Once there America sat on the couch. England just loomed over him like a ... like a bad dog.
Still, America was enjoying his little display of power, brief as it might be. He nodded in the direction of England's open fly. "So that's how you conquered the world, huh? With your cock."
England sniffed again. "You--! Certainly not. That was done with proper planning and an exceptionally competent navy."
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England seemed to sense it; his normal tense, feathers-ruffeld-y look began to fade. Still, he was kinda gentle and composed as he knelt on the couch next to America and curled his fingers into America's hair, behind his ear. He nudged off America's glasses and set them on the carpet. Then England did something unexpected: he kissed him. And somehow, even after everything they'd already done, it was surprisingly intimate. America realized that it was because he'd never been this close to England, face to face. It was toe-curling.
England's tongue in his mouth was gentle at first, then grew more wild and probing as they started to cling to each other, chest to chest, breathing a growing scent of mutual desperation. Now America recognized it, England's new sharp, earthy scent. Like cloves but not really.
"So that's how you knew. You smelled it, right?" he said when England pulled away for a moment.
"Yes," England said, peeling off his own white shirt. To prove how far gone he was, he tossed the likely expensively tailored shirt onto the floor. "Scent is a very powerful thing, sometimes. Yet many nations go their entire existences without noticing. You stank of desperate Omega."
"Don't be an asshole," America said, though he lifted his ass and let England pull off his pants. So what if he was a desperate Omega? He had some pride. "You're the one who lost control. I've taken care of myself just fine for years." To punctuate that revenge America began to stroke his own cock with a skill borne of years of practice.
"Wha--? You little... I'll show you control." The Alpha-gleam in England's eye looked positively evil. It looked exceptionally interested in the movement of America's hand.
He was still gentle, though, as he gave America a quick kiss on the lips. Then he began to lick a slow, torturous line down over America's chin to his chest, unbuttoning the whole way, sniffing him all the while. He licked America's quivering stomach, a wide spiral that centered at his navel. America thought he might have made a noise like a sick kitten, but he couldn't be sure because then England pulled America's hand off his own cock and slurped at that, too. Both. His cock and his hand, each dip between each finger, then around the head and--
"Jeesus!" America cried out and came, spurting onto England's lips. It was the sort of thing It was only one of those short, unexpected orgasms that eased right back into growing ache territory, the frustrating kind of orgasm he had to put up with every few years when it was that time.
England just licked off the jizz, watching America with dilated eyes, and then hoisted America's knees into the air and good God Jesus fuck, rimmed America's asshole with his come-coated tongue. America definitely whimpered and said "please" and "yes" and stuff like that, pathetic stuff, anything to get England to just stop the torture and fuck him already. He was like a goddamned begging, gaping hole.
England visibly shuddered either with holding up America's thighs, or with the effort of not fucking him raw. He eventually gave in to one of the strains and dropped America's legs back onto the couch, and then rolled back to shuck off his own pants.
"It's not supposed to be all about you, anyway. But it's amusing to see you so needy," England said with a leer.
And that bullshit gave America enough gumption to grow his own balls back, even if they were teeny-tiny Omega balls in the middle of a karšto. Anyway, when England rolled forward to crawl on top of America again, presumably to explicitly nail his ass, America had enough presence of mind to grab England's cock. And enough wanking skill to keep even an Alpha's attention. England gasped and rocked into America's strong fingers, looking a mite surprised.
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America kissed England to distract him -- the kissing part was nice, and he wondered if they might ever do it under different and less urgent circumstances -- and thrust up his hips so he could rub their cocks together. Yes, he wanted to be fucked, but mostly, he just wanted to come again, dammit. All that hot, firm skin, all those smells of sweat and England's breath, were more acute for not satisfying the deeper urges of his body, and they edged the ache in his belly to explosive proportions. If he thought he'd hurt before, it was nothing on this.
"Fine," England rasped into America's mouth, and he jerked his hips almost violently, fucking America's hand, the soft, slick skin of America's stomach, fucking his mouth with his tongue. So much sensation, everywhere at once; they took long, heavy breaths of each other and dammit America came again, a hard, deep orgasm this time, with lots of moaning and lots of spasming, until he was sure he was drained dry.
England swung his hips wide, smearing all that come on America's stomach, and with a final gasp he added to it, tensing all over in a sudden halt and spilling hot onto America's hand.
A long sigh into the hair at America's ear seemed to signal that he was done. America took advantage of the temporary respite and pushed England away a bit, because his own neck was cricked all weird against the couch arm.
England didn't let him. He bit America's ear and pushed his flattened palm on America's stomach, coating it in the mess of semen, and then spread it up, over America's chest, his face, his hair. He poked his sticky fingers at America's cheeks like he was drawing on him. Marking him. This whole business was fucked up, no doubt.
America wrenched his neck free of the couch arm. "You know, I'm gonna have to wash that off sooner rather than later."
England roused himself at America's movement, then propped himself up on his hands. "Then I'll fuck you in the shower," he said. And damn if he wasn't--
"How in the hell are you still hard?" America wailed, oomphing as England lifted his hips and plunged his cock deep inside him. "Your dick looks so normal!"
"It is -- ah-- normally normal," England breathed. He then proceeded to ream America's ass but good for his little trick. And America's biological imperative times three proved that it wouldn't take his normal three or four minutes for himself to get all hot and horny again, managing it in one as England fucked America's temporarily limp cock back to life.
How it was that everything could feel so good, that the constant, unrelenting friction could grip his body hard until he was clinging to whatever he could reach of England and gasping for more of it? This wasn't relicts, this was supernatural.
After a few minutes he shuddered into one orgasm; England was kind and kissed him through it. And he'd thought he couldn't take any more after that but he did, as England's cock did that swelling thing. America would have sworn he could feel it everywhere -- in his ass, his chest, in the tight cry stuck in his throat.
England did the talking, the more, mine, mine, yes thing he did in ancient chalk-hill voices when he was all Alpha'd out, and America thought it almost sounded like love.
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It was Sunday afternoon, nearly two days later, when they were finally able to call a halt to the fucking. Their last time was slow and rather sweet, almost like it might have been if the whole Alpha and Omega thing hadn't existed at all. But maybe, America thought, it was only that way because they were dead tired. They'd caught a few minutes of sleep here or there, and they'd demolished the pizza, but constant sex could sap one's energy like nothing else.
So there was one last orgasm, one last deep kiss to catch the sighs of release, and that was it. America knew that was it because the urgency in his body had faded to a dull echo, almost like normal libido.
America had worried that his ass would never regain any normal shape or feeling, but it had proven surprisingly resilient to its everlasting barrage of sex. He was sore as hell, of course, but he'd expected that.
England lay next to him on the bed, where America had eventually implicitly led them. His panting breaths slowed to a more placid rhythm.
"I'm wiped," America said.
"Mmm," England agreed. His eyes were closed. He had long-ass lashes, America noticed. His face seemed softer, younger-looking, more like its usual self. With the loss of the heat thingy, England's biological imperative to possess seemed to have eased away as well.
"So are you gonna tell me now what the whole abnormally huge cock thing is all about?" America asked.
England blushed pink, confirming the end of his Thing. "It's supposed that it exists to ensure that the female cannot escape a mating before becoming impregnated." He spouted this perverted shit using his old schoolmaster voice, the one he'd used to read math books with, centuries ago.
"Yeesh," America said. And then, "But I'm a guy?"
"Then you've nothing to worry about."
"Still brutal," America said.
England opened his eyes. "Any more questions?"
Yeah. Can we kiss some time when you don't feel the need to pork me silly? Maybe we can just get dinner like old times, except we'll try to be nice to each other and maybe then there can be kissing? If you ask, I'll say yes.
America didn't ask those things because it would be majorly embarrassing. He wanted to, though. You didn't spend a weekend like that with someone and not see them with new eyes, no matter how long you'd known them.
He wimped out. "Yeah. So what's up with Belarus, anyway? If she doesn't have a dick, how can she--"
England sat up and narrowed his eyes in his time-honored, ruffled-feathers expression. "Use your imagination. Idiot. Imagine sharp things and, I imagine, a great deal of screaming."
"Totally brutal," America said with a shudder.
"Avoid her anyway," England said, with lowered bushy eyebrows. There seemed to be semen stuck in them, but America had other things to comment upon.
"Is that the Alpha talking?"
England's cheeks flushed from pink to downright red. "I don't know what you're talking about."
So, about that kissing? "So when do you have to be back?"
England sighed and looked at the clock. "I'd planned on a seven p.m. flight. Back when I thought this might be a relaxing couple of days in the Virginia sunshine."
"Oh," America said.
England looked down at his hands, and he actually, totally, twiddled this thumbs. "I think we'd have time for-- that is, would you like to ..."
"My ass hurts," America said.
"No, idiot!" England said with a swipe at America's arm. "I mean, before I go, why don't we shower -- to be clean -- and have a-- a nice dinner somewhere?"
America felt a different part of his anatomy flutter at that: his heart, for once, instead of his loins. "No pizza?"
"Definitely no pizza."
America smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Yes."
...
end
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(I'm delighted that America is not too stupid to find his own backside with both hands, and that England keeps his bite without being over-the-top mean. Great characterization, and just when I was craving something that reads like it was based on the strips, too! Thank you!)
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Latvia, though.
Ha ha
Latvia the Alpha
America hiding to avoid Latvia the Alpha
ROFLMAO
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until you tell me if it sucked or not, anon. Hee! ;p
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I'm 99% sure who wrote this too ^^
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Hmmmm, I might very well have almost surely said that on my tumblr.
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Hohoho
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Also this definitely woke me up and put a very good start on what is likely to be otherwise a long and tedious day. Porn: breakfast of champions. Thank you so much, auhor!anon!
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