That's Just Sick [3/4]
anonymous
April 2 2009, 04:35:49 UTC
Her fingertips charted their way hesitantly from his shirt collar to the back of his neck, and curled against him, and he could feel the cool, flat stones of her fingernails against his bare skin. He swallowed against a surge of apprehension, and kissed his way from her cheek to the corner of her jaw. She turned her chin up, to admit him passage there, and that opened the way to the soft hollow below her ear, and the warm channel of her throat. He availed himself to both. Now she exhaled, and her back bowed a little, into him. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and so he slid his hand from her hip to the small of her back. She allowed her arm to fold light across his shoulders. Their bodies grazed together: the tips of her breasts against his chest. He tugged her in a bit closer, and he felt her breath against his cheek.
She released his hand, then, and ran her fingers through his hair. He smiled against her skin. She drew back, just a little, and tugged on the ends of his hair to turn his face up, and laid a soft kiss across his lips. He shut his eyes, as was proper. He could still taste her scotch and soda, which was fine, he was sure he tasted like gin and frayed nerves, so he rather suspected that he was getting the better end of the bargain. He opened his mouth against hers; she answered. His arm went around her waist, then, and since she had gone for his hair, he returned the favor, burying his fingers in the soft heavy weight of it. He felt her smile into their kiss and thought, well. Something we have in common, at least.
A few minutes later found them lying back against the bed, or her lying back, at least, and him half-propped over her. Her long hair was spread across the pillow, and he ran his fingers through it over and over again, while she nuzzled back against his hand and they traded exploratory kisses. She'd got open half the buttons on his shirt, and her fingernails scored faint red lines across his chest and side and back, searching for those little spots that made him shiver. She found them. He drew in a breath as her thumb dug into the scar just below his ribs on the left side, and briefly thanked God that it was Hungary who was chosen for this, good natured and experienced Hungary, who, now that the scotch was kicking in, seemed to be happily resigning herself to this whole endeavor and oh--
He froze for a moment as her progress down the front of his shirt, opening buttons, culminated in unsticking the button on the front of his trousers. He gaped down at her.
"We'll have to get them off eventually," she giggled at his expression.
"Y-yes, o-of course, you're right--" he was blushing again. Damn it.
She caught his hands. "Why don't we," she proposed, "Take a quick break for another drink, and get off the rest of our clothes?"
He nodded and clambered out of the bed with unseemly haste to fix their drinks. It was just, well, such a good suggestion, and removed the looming threat of fumbling with bra straps and whatever else she had on under there--he hadn't actually had a lot of exposure to that kind of thing--and he'd been trying to remember which way those little eye hooks went, and--
He turned around in time to see Hungary shake out her hair, and her dress slide off her shoulders and drop to the floor. She glanced back at him, caught him staring, and smiled.
"Oh," he thought he might have said. After a moment, he held out her drink. She took it, sipped, held his eyes the whole time. He drank with considerably less finesse. He turned his back to her while he undressed. Something told him that she had not extended him the same courtesy. He felt the color rise in his face again, but somehow (and four shots of gin might have had something to do with it) the thought that she was watching wasn't precisely…discomfiting.
That's Just Sick [4/4]
anonymous
April 2 2009, 04:38:01 UTC
"I have an idea," she suddenly declared. She grabbed his wrist and yanked him onto the bed. He fell over with an undignified yelp and found himself trapped beneath her, his hips clamped between her thighs, her breasts hanging an inch above his face while she swept his arms up and did something with--oh, that was his tie, wasn't it, and--she'd tied him to the bed? All of a sudden he thought this might, at least, be better than all those pairings with France.
Still, he protested, "Hungary, please, the script--"
"Just says we have to finish with that perversion," she replied, and jammed one of her stockings in his mouth. He coughed. "There's no reason we can't warm up with something a little more to both our tastes, don't you agree?"
He gaped at her. She wound back and slapped him across the face. "You answer me when I ask you a question," she ordered. "Don't you agree, I said."
He nodded energetically.
Hungary smiled sunnily, and shimmied down his body. She glanced up at him and said, "Sorry I didn't bring my saber with me today," and then her teeth sank into his inner thigh.
England screamed.
---
France met him at the door when he limped home several hours later.
"So? How did it go?" was the first thing he asked.
"Fine," England replied dazedly.
France's eyebrows rose. "You mean you went through with it?"
"Yes, of course. A fill is a fill, after all." He kicked his shoes off at the landing.
France stood back from him as he lurched into the house. His expression was a combination of amazement and dismay. "I--I hardly know what to--mon ami, you have beat out Japan once and for all, I am thinking."
"Mmm. I'd like an ice pack, please. A few, actually."
"Anything you say," France marveled, and made his retreat.
It really hadn't been that bad, England reasoned, as he made his way to his office and eased down at his desk. He flicked on his computer. Nothing he cared to ever repeat, but he felt they'd made the most of a bad situation. There at the end, there had even been moments when it was rather…pleasant.
He opened up his internet browser and ignored his new message notifications. He clicked open the tab for the Kink Meme.
And she truly was an astonishing young lady. It was a pity they'd only met under such distasteful circumstances. He rather thought she was someone he might like to know better. Austria was insane for letting her get away like he did, England was sure of that. But, well, Austria's loss was his gain.
He double checked that he was logged out, then clicked the 'post a new comment' link. He flexed his fingers and thought about what to write.
He felt sure it should have something to do with sabers.
Re: That's Just Sick [4/4]
anonymous
April 2 2009, 05:31:31 UTC
o.o That's it, I'm hunting down for Ivan's ubiquitous bottle of vodka. And drowning myself in it.
Mostly kidding. I loved the snarky loveliness of it all, the awkwardness mingling with an admirable practicality in both of them. And then you had to turn it around by 180! Good job in perpetuating the kink. ;D
Re: That's Just Sick [4/4]
anonymous
April 2 2009, 06:04:10 UTC
*claps* Great job anon! I loved the sensuality and the awkwardness here, and UK being a gentleman and... just... Hungary at the end! (I was grinning like a moron at the dominance part.) So awesome. x3
Re: That's Just Sick [4/4]
anonymous
April 2 2009, 07:04:17 UTC
Anything with a Hungary on top is auto-WIN. You have just made something that pierced through the heavens and transcended the concept of WIN itself. *SO FUCKING SAVED*
She released his hand, then, and ran her fingers through his hair. He smiled against her skin. She drew back, just a little, and tugged on the ends of his hair to turn his face up, and laid a soft kiss across his lips. He shut his eyes, as was proper. He could still taste her scotch and soda, which was fine, he was sure he tasted like gin and frayed nerves, so he rather suspected that he was getting the better end of the bargain. He opened his mouth against hers; she answered. His arm went around her waist, then, and since she had gone for his hair, he returned the favor, burying his fingers in the soft heavy weight of it. He felt her smile into their kiss and thought, well. Something we have in common, at least.
A few minutes later found them lying back against the bed, or her lying back, at least, and him half-propped over her. Her long hair was spread across the pillow, and he ran his fingers through it over and over again, while she nuzzled back against his hand and they traded exploratory kisses. She'd got open half the buttons on his shirt, and her fingernails scored faint red lines across his chest and side and back, searching for those little spots that made him shiver. She found them. He drew in a breath as her thumb dug into the scar just below his ribs on the left side, and briefly thanked God that it was Hungary who was chosen for this, good natured and experienced Hungary, who, now that the scotch was kicking in, seemed to be happily resigning herself to this whole endeavor and oh--
He froze for a moment as her progress down the front of his shirt, opening buttons, culminated in unsticking the button on the front of his trousers. He gaped down at her.
"We'll have to get them off eventually," she giggled at his expression.
"Y-yes, o-of course, you're right--" he was blushing again. Damn it.
She caught his hands. "Why don't we," she proposed, "Take a quick break for another drink, and get off the rest of our clothes?"
He nodded and clambered out of the bed with unseemly haste to fix their drinks. It was just, well, such a good suggestion, and removed the looming threat of fumbling with bra straps and whatever else she had on under there--he hadn't actually had a lot of exposure to that kind of thing--and he'd been trying to remember which way those little eye hooks went, and--
He turned around in time to see Hungary shake out her hair, and her dress slide off her shoulders and drop to the floor. She glanced back at him, caught him staring, and smiled.
"Oh," he thought he might have said. After a moment, he held out her drink. She took it, sipped, held his eyes the whole time. He drank with considerably less finesse. He turned his back to her while he undressed. Something told him that she had not extended him the same courtesy. He felt the color rise in his face again, but somehow (and four shots of gin might have had something to do with it) the thought that she was watching wasn't precisely…discomfiting.
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Still, he protested, "Hungary, please, the script--"
"Just says we have to finish with that perversion," she replied, and jammed one of her stockings in his mouth. He coughed. "There's no reason we can't warm up with something a little more to both our tastes, don't you agree?"
He gaped at her. She wound back and slapped him across the face. "You answer me when I ask you a question," she ordered. "Don't you agree, I said."
He nodded energetically.
Hungary smiled sunnily, and shimmied down his body. She glanced up at him and said, "Sorry I didn't bring my saber with me today," and then her teeth sank into his inner thigh.
England screamed.
---
France met him at the door when he limped home several hours later.
"So? How did it go?" was the first thing he asked.
"Fine," England replied dazedly.
France's eyebrows rose. "You mean you went through with it?"
"Yes, of course. A fill is a fill, after all." He kicked his shoes off at the landing.
France stood back from him as he lurched into the house. His expression was a combination of amazement and dismay. "I--I hardly know what to--mon ami, you have beat out Japan once and for all, I am thinking."
"Mmm. I'd like an ice pack, please. A few, actually."
"Anything you say," France marveled, and made his retreat.
It really hadn't been that bad, England reasoned, as he made his way to his office and eased down at his desk. He flicked on his computer. Nothing he cared to ever repeat, but he felt they'd made the most of a bad situation. There at the end, there had even been moments when it was rather…pleasant.
He opened up his internet browser and ignored his new message notifications. He clicked open the tab for the Kink Meme.
And she truly was an astonishing young lady. It was a pity they'd only met under such distasteful circumstances. He rather thought she was someone he might like to know better. Austria was insane for letting her get away like he did, England was sure of that. But, well, Austria's loss was his gain.
He double checked that he was logged out, then clicked the 'post a new comment' link. He flexed his fingers and thought about what to write.
He felt sure it should have something to do with sabers.
Reply
Mostly kidding. I loved the snarky loveliness of it all, the awkwardness mingling with an admirable practicality in both of them. And then you had to turn it around by 180! Good job in perpetuating the kink. ;D
ironic reCAPTCHA: "outrage worst"
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A++++ fill, anon. You aced this horrible, wrong request.
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