Iridescence of a Paperweight [8/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:24:30 UTC
“I don’t think I’ve seen you this horny in a long time. Or at least, not this desperate.” He cracked a grin, and England scowled, fidgeting with the tremors that consumed his bones as he forced himself to not continue his affectionate assault. Even while sporting a nice tent in one’s pants, a man had to uphold his pride (among other things).
“You want to bottom, right?”
That England was embarrassed was obvious to anyone but him, apparently because even while England stuttered, America just grinned and pushed him onto his back on the table.
He got on his hands and knees, suspending his body above England’s. The hook of his nose nestled against England’s throat, his lips laying soft kisses along the skin they found there. “And I bet you’ll want to ride me,” he decided shortly afterward, assuming that England had decided to not dignify him with an actual response and had chosen instead to just stiffen (in more ways than one, he noticed cheerfully) and try not to sigh in sated pleasure (which he was totally failing to do). So he went with it, his own hands picking up where England’s had left off earlier and making quick work of removing England’s pants. England, to his credit, shimmied when necessary to get the damned things off, and growled, demanding that America “get his arse back up here and kiss him-kiss him now”. And America did just that, coming back into England’s arms.
Spindly, cold fingers clawed and hooked at his skin while England’s tongue moved in devilish ways against his own, curses and gasps swallowed by what little space there was between them. America had managed to get England completely naked, save for his argyle socks, though he himself was still in his boxers-boxers that currently hosted not only his swollen cock, but England’s hand, as well.
“England,” America breathed against his mouth, gratefully nipping at his lower lip when England palmed his cockhead. “Oh, fuck. Yes, ah-shit,” he cursed again, though in realization this time around. “Lube?”
“Briefcase,” England answered quickly, quietly, as if he’d been waiting all along for America to ask and had known exactly when he would. “Condoms, as well.” The arm he had around America’s neck tightened, his erection pushing against America’s hip which kindly ground down against his hardened flesh. He took America’s lips against his again, lingering and kissing him slowly. “Should be by the-- mm, the door.”
America shifted, his biceps lifting him gratefully up from the table, no longer forced to support his upper body weight. He ducked his head, laying a quick smooch at the corner of England’s mouth and sighing, indulging himself a moment longer in rolling his hips against England’s hand before slipping away from him entirely to fetch their necessities.
Even as he got to his feet, panting, America’s lips stretched into a grin and he joked, “Want me to break something along the way?”
A ragged intake of breath on England’s part was really all the answer America needed, but he decided that putting off the lube and condom retrieval for just a moment longer couldn’t hurt when England licked his palm and reached down, grasping his own cock and swirling his thumb over the puce head, pumping. “Yes,” he said, acidic eyes becoming increasingly unfocused as he touched himself. “Yes, fuck yes.”
America blushed an angry shade of scarlet, nearly tripping over numerous chairs and almost slicing his foot open on glass fragments from the broken vase as he finally got moving. England’s hitched breathing and the slap of skin-on-skin was far too distracting, and his own erection throbbed in his underwear. He’d located the briefcase easily enough, but it took a few minutes of frustrated fumbling with the zippers thanks to some sudden choruses of America’s name being moaned, the sound of wood creaking beneath England’s body as he probably curled his toes and arched his hips upward, back bowing and portraying the jut of his ribs, the dips of his pelvic bones, the swollen red of his cock-- so vibrant beneath the pale contours of his cold, long fingers as he-
“You want to bottom, right?”
That England was embarrassed was obvious to anyone but him, apparently because even while England stuttered, America just grinned and pushed him onto his back on the table.
He got on his hands and knees, suspending his body above England’s. The hook of his nose nestled against England’s throat, his lips laying soft kisses along the skin they found there. “And I bet you’ll want to ride me,” he decided shortly afterward, assuming that England had decided to not dignify him with an actual response and had chosen instead to just stiffen (in more ways than one, he noticed cheerfully) and try not to sigh in sated pleasure (which he was totally failing to do). So he went with it, his own hands picking up where England’s had left off earlier and making quick work of removing England’s pants. England, to his credit, shimmied when necessary to get the damned things off, and growled, demanding that America “get his arse back up here and kiss him-kiss him now”. And America did just that, coming back into England’s arms.
Spindly, cold fingers clawed and hooked at his skin while England’s tongue moved in devilish ways against his own, curses and gasps swallowed by what little space there was between them. America had managed to get England completely naked, save for his argyle socks, though he himself was still in his boxers-boxers that currently hosted not only his swollen cock, but England’s hand, as well.
“England,” America breathed against his mouth, gratefully nipping at his lower lip when England palmed his cockhead. “Oh, fuck. Yes, ah-shit,” he cursed again, though in realization this time around. “Lube?”
“Briefcase,” England answered quickly, quietly, as if he’d been waiting all along for America to ask and had known exactly when he would. “Condoms, as well.” The arm he had around America’s neck tightened, his erection pushing against America’s hip which kindly ground down against his hardened flesh. He took America’s lips against his again, lingering and kissing him slowly. “Should be by the-- mm, the door.”
America shifted, his biceps lifting him gratefully up from the table, no longer forced to support his upper body weight. He ducked his head, laying a quick smooch at the corner of England’s mouth and sighing, indulging himself a moment longer in rolling his hips against England’s hand before slipping away from him entirely to fetch their necessities.
Even as he got to his feet, panting, America’s lips stretched into a grin and he joked, “Want me to break something along the way?”
A ragged intake of breath on England’s part was really all the answer America needed, but he decided that putting off the lube and condom retrieval for just a moment longer couldn’t hurt when England licked his palm and reached down, grasping his own cock and swirling his thumb over the puce head, pumping. “Yes,” he said, acidic eyes becoming increasingly unfocused as he touched himself. “Yes, fuck yes.”
America blushed an angry shade of scarlet, nearly tripping over numerous chairs and almost slicing his foot open on glass fragments from the broken vase as he finally got moving. England’s hitched breathing and the slap of skin-on-skin was far too distracting, and his own erection throbbed in his underwear. He’d located the briefcase easily enough, but it took a few minutes of frustrated fumbling with the zippers thanks to some sudden choruses of America’s name being moaned, the sound of wood creaking beneath England’s body as he probably curled his toes and arched his hips upward, back bowing and portraying the jut of his ribs, the dips of his pelvic bones, the swollen red of his cock-- so vibrant beneath the pale contours of his cold, long fingers as he-
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