Re: New Year's Resolutions (2/4)
anonymous
June 27 2009, 21:33:06 UTC
It was harder to believe that Japan’s face was coming closer to his own, flushed with drink and laughter. “Um, Kiku,” his face stopped so close, their noses almost touching, breath mingling like the silks wrapped around their bodies. America pushed them up, pushed Japan back, “let’s get you to the bathroom.”
America was surprised at the suddenly sober look Japan gave him, surprised as the smaller nation leaned in, whispering, “America-san, I must confess,” the island nation idly stroked America’s arms and neck, “I haven’t been honest.” Despite Alfred’s best attempts to resist Kiku’s soft nuzzling, he couldn’t help but feel heat pooling in his belly, friction from skin and silk, Japan’s hands and hips stroking and touching.
“Honest? Kiku, what’s . . .” Japan’s thin finger silenced him. “I’ve lured you out here, America-san.” He was still whispering, as much as he could under the influence. “Lured?” Japan seemed to try to crawl into America’s yukata, tried to bring their bodies closer, and used his hands to bring their foreheads together. “I’ve lured you out here to ask if you’d be my first of this year,”
Honestly, Alfred was dumbfounded, “First of this year?” Kiku answered with a deliberate thrust of his hips, “The first of the year.”
Oh. Oh.
“Kiku, I - ” Japan silenced him with his lips this time, soft, persistent lips that caught Alfred’s attention. The kiss was a little sloppy; it coaxed America into reacting, “You’re drunk.”
“No more than you.” “But you can hardly walk.” Japan gave a coy smile, “The ability to walk is not necessary for this, America-san.” “I still don’t want to take advantage of you, Kiku,”
Japan answered by threading his delicate fingers through America’s fine golden hair and pulled their lips together again. This time, the kiss was strong, thorough, intense, not the sloppy fumbling of a drunk man. Flicks of his tongue coaxed America to deepen the kiss, his tongue punctuating the kiss while his hips worked against Alfred’s. He pulled back, near breathless, “Do you still believe you’d be taking advantage of me, America-san.”
His answer was to turn the tables, so to speak, to tilt his body forward, landing on top of Japan, landing kisses along the slender column of Kiku’s throat.
Japan let out a throaty sigh, “A-ah, America-san.” As his hands began to work the ties of their yukata, “Call me Alfred,” he winked.
Re: New Year's Resolutions (3/4)
anonymous
June 27 2009, 21:33:44 UTC
Kiku used his hands and hips to guide Alfred as he explored his body with his mouth. The yukata pooled on each side of their bodies, framing, protecting. Japan could feel it under his fingertips when he stroked America’s back. America brushed the silk aside to caress Japan’s thighs. He mapped the body beneath him, paid attention to Japan’s small nipples, counted each rib, and worshiped the matching scars on his waist. “Do they still hurt, Kiku?”
“No, Alfred-san, not as much as they used to,” Japan pet America’s hair, fluffed the golden strands and adjusted the thin frames on the other’s face.
America continued down Japan’s legs; lavished his thighs, tickled his knees, and nipped at his ankles. On his way back up, America had to laugh at the pleading and keening noises coming from the usually demure nation. His hand moved underneath the island nation, arranging his legs, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kiku smiled at him, looked at him from lowered lashes, and reaching into the sleeve of his yukata, and pulled out a small bottle, “I hope the scent is to your liking.”
America popped the lid to the bottle. Sakura.
Alfred rearranged the yukata around Japan’s waist to keep it free from sakura scented oil and other fluids. He wrapped his lips around Japan’s arousal when he slipped his oil slicked finger into the island nation.
Kiku placed his arms over his head, his sleeves pooled at his elbows, baring his white forearms. His skin shone like moonlight, white and beautiful to America’s golden glow. Alfred was the sun to Japan’s moon in the dim light, lighting him from the inside and out with clever, thick fingers and a talented mouth. “P-please, Alfred-san.”
Sakura floated around them as more oil was poured on America’s waiting fingers and erection. Japan was tight and hot, even on this cold Tokyo evening; it made America’s head swim. He worked a slow, shallow rhythm, tried not to burn his knees on the tatami, not wanting to fumble or slide on silk.
Japan urged him on by wrapping his legs as best he could around America’s silk clad back, his moans pushing him deeper, faster. Alfred knew he was close to Kiku’s prostate by the rise in strangled whimpers the Rising Sun made, attempts to keep quiet.
Kiku was falling fast, falling to America’s deft fingers on his length, measured strokes matching in pace with the one stroking his insides. America caught Japan’s cry of release with his mouth, kissed him with his remaining energy, and emptied himself within the Eastern nation. America continued to kiss him; light kisses as they came down from their peak. Japan handed him a handkerchief to clean their mess with, and after straightening and retying their yukata, walked him back to the party room.
Japan entered and went to his seat as host, went to refill some glasses he saw empty as if nothing happened. America caught Russia’s and China’s gazes as they motioned for him to fix his mussed hair.
Re: New Year's Resolutions (4/4)
anonymous
June 27 2009, 21:34:47 UTC
“I know I taught you better than that.” “Hey Germany, can we ‘go to the bathroom’ too?” “No, mon cher, I believe I taught him that.” “No, stop asking.” “You absolutely did not!” “But Germany!” “ Its true, I didn’t teach him to put on such a show. That must have been you, Angelterre.
America settled back into his spot around the table, ignoring his arguing father figures and Italy’s drunken pleas, “So. Anybody have any Resolutions?”
America was surprised at the suddenly sober look Japan gave him, surprised as the smaller nation leaned in, whispering, “America-san, I must confess,” the island nation idly stroked America’s arms and neck, “I haven’t been honest.” Despite Alfred’s best attempts to resist Kiku’s soft nuzzling, he couldn’t help but feel heat pooling in his belly, friction from skin and silk, Japan’s hands and hips stroking and touching.
“Honest? Kiku, what’s . . .” Japan’s thin finger silenced him.
“I’ve lured you out here, America-san.” He was still whispering, as much as he could under the influence.
“Lured?” Japan seemed to try to crawl into America’s yukata, tried to bring their bodies closer, and used his hands to bring their foreheads together.
“I’ve lured you out here to ask if you’d be my first of this year,”
Honestly, Alfred was dumbfounded, “First of this year?”
Kiku answered with a deliberate thrust of his hips, “The first of the year.”
Oh. Oh.
“Kiku, I - ” Japan silenced him with his lips this time, soft, persistent lips that caught Alfred’s attention. The kiss was a little sloppy; it coaxed America into reacting, “You’re drunk.”
“No more than you.”
“But you can hardly walk.”
Japan gave a coy smile, “The ability to walk is not necessary for this, America-san.”
“I still don’t want to take advantage of you, Kiku,”
Japan answered by threading his delicate fingers through America’s fine golden hair and pulled their lips together again. This time, the kiss was strong, thorough, intense, not the sloppy fumbling of a drunk man. Flicks of his tongue coaxed America to deepen the kiss, his tongue punctuating the kiss while his hips worked against Alfred’s. He pulled back, near breathless, “Do you still believe you’d be taking advantage of me, America-san.”
His answer was to turn the tables, so to speak, to tilt his body forward, landing on top of Japan, landing kisses along the slender column of Kiku’s throat.
Japan let out a throaty sigh, “A-ah, America-san.”
As his hands began to work the ties of their yukata, “Call me Alfred,” he winked.
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“No, Alfred-san, not as much as they used to,” Japan pet America’s hair, fluffed the golden strands and adjusted the thin frames on the other’s face.
America continued down Japan’s legs; lavished his thighs, tickled his knees, and nipped at his ankles. On his way back up, America had to laugh at the pleading and keening noises coming from the usually demure nation. His hand moved underneath the island nation, arranging his legs, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kiku smiled at him, looked at him from lowered lashes, and reaching into the sleeve of his yukata, and pulled out a small bottle, “I hope the scent is to your liking.”
America popped the lid to the bottle. Sakura.
Alfred rearranged the yukata around Japan’s waist to keep it free from sakura scented oil and other fluids. He wrapped his lips around Japan’s arousal when he slipped his oil slicked finger into the island nation.
Kiku placed his arms over his head, his sleeves pooled at his elbows, baring his white forearms. His skin shone like moonlight, white and beautiful to America’s golden glow. Alfred was the sun to Japan’s moon in the dim light, lighting him from the inside and out with clever, thick fingers and a talented mouth. “P-please, Alfred-san.”
Sakura floated around them as more oil was poured on America’s waiting fingers and erection. Japan was tight and hot, even on this cold Tokyo evening; it made America’s head swim. He worked a slow, shallow rhythm, tried not to burn his knees on the tatami, not wanting to fumble or slide on silk.
Japan urged him on by wrapping his legs as best he could around America’s silk clad back, his moans pushing him deeper, faster. Alfred knew he was close to Kiku’s prostate by the rise in strangled whimpers the Rising Sun made, attempts to keep quiet.
Kiku was falling fast, falling to America’s deft fingers on his length, measured strokes matching in pace with the one stroking his insides. America caught Japan’s cry of release with his mouth, kissed him with his remaining energy, and emptied himself within the Eastern nation. America continued to kiss him; light kisses as they came down from their peak. Japan handed him a handkerchief to clean their mess with, and after straightening and retying their yukata, walked him back to the party room.
Japan entered and went to his seat as host, went to refill some glasses he saw empty as if nothing happened. America caught Russia’s and China’s gazes as they motioned for him to fix his mussed hair.
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“Hey Germany, can we ‘go to the bathroom’ too?”
“No, mon cher, I believe I taught him that.”
“No, stop asking.”
“You absolutely did not!”
“But Germany!”
“ Its true, I didn’t teach him to put on such a show. That must have been you, Angelterre.
America settled back into his spot around the table, ignoring his arguing father figures and Italy’s drunken pleas, “So. Anybody have any Resolutions?”
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