Past-Part Fills Part 7
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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... )
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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I could read this everyday, in fact I have since it was posted. But I'm just now commenting on it. Sorry about that. I've been reading it on my phone, not so easy to comment using its dinky keyboard. But I just had to comment sometime!
LOVE THIS! I wish there was more of it!
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