No Need for Desperation! [2/4]
anonymous
April 16 2009, 06:20:26 UTC
It wouldn’t be overly theatrical to say his mouth waters at those words. Those words, as issued by… America. “I can be forceful,” he says at last, wetting his lips. He moves toward America so they touch, although he keeps his eyes lowered. “I can be quite a bastard, you know.”
“Show me.”
America watches him carefully, still unconvinced of the arrangement. The next few moments are critical, and Russia takes a deep breath. He molds his hands around America’s neck, tightening his hold just enough to feel the blood beat under his hands-he’s rewarded by America opening his mouth in a gasp, when he moves to remove the spectacles from behind. “You won’t be needing these. Release your shirt,” he says, with quiet authority, setting America’s glasses somewhere behind him.
America’s arms lower submissively to his sides and the shirt loosens. As though with a mind of their own, Russia’s hands reach for the back of the collar and pull it down the rest of the way, revealing the curve of a slender white back, delicate shoulders. America gasps again. “Russia-”
He pounces, holding America down by a wrist into the blankets. It thrills him to the core as, looking behind him, America’s eyes move from surprise to unadulterated happiness and desire. The scarf (just some old scarf) slides off his shoulder when he leans down, sucks a kiss from the back America’s neck. “Mine, you say,” he says.
The body beneath him shivers. “Yours.”
“Show me.”
Russia takes a moment to leisurely remove the coat (damned heavy thing), holding down the half-naked body with his knee and luxuriating in the needy mewling coming from it. With his hands free again, he continues mouthing the back of America’s spine, the exposed shoulders, and he works America’s pants loose. Every centimeter of skin he can reach quivers under his competent caresses. “Are you cold?” he says.
“N-no.” America breathes heavily, his mouth open, and arches back against the hand. His eyes pop when Russia’s kisses turn to nips, then bites. He really regrets not being able to move his hand between America’s legs-any other time it wouldn’t bother him, but now he’s afraid of being pulled out of this fragile head-space. But he compensates, moving over America so he can feel Russia’s body, the textures of the scarf and other clothing running over his skin.
“Oh, please.” America makes a sound and Russia almost doesn’t hear the plea, muffled into the blankets. “Touch me, please.”
The sound is like lightning in his blood, but he says, carefully holding back: “Are you ordering me?” Frighteningly enough, this Russia thing isn’t so hard to get into after all. If he’s doing it right, that is. His America seems convinced.
“I would never-I meant only-”
“No,” he growls in the sweetest way. He moves, sliding his erection against the cleft of America’s ass. Letting him feel the weight of it. “Just from this,” he says into America’s ear. “From me only.”
America moans. “God, yes, marry me-”
All his world is just the feeling of pressing against America. Eyes closed, he lowers his face against America’s back, tasting the sweat. “Yes,” he answers without thought.
Suddenly America stops. He looks around. “What?”
It makes Russia blink, the change in pace, like flipping on a light switch. And then he realizes what’s changed. America isn’t even trying to alter his voice now, and it’s gone all high. “Well, not really really, no,” he says, trying to understand the emotions he’s seeing in his partner’s face, trying to get a grip on the situation. His dick is still doing most of the thinking. “I thought it was just more pretending-bloody hell, what are you doing,” he says, throwing up the bed sheets to cover America’s upper torso as America unexpectedly sits up.
“Marry me,” America says, completely serious. “Now. We can do it now, we’ll find a priest and our bosses and we’ll do it right now.”
“I-no, I’m not going to marry you,” Russia says, looking between his fingers and delicately pulling up the sheet as it begins to slip. His cock adds, “And if at all possible could we get back to, ah, where we were just now?”
He has an uneasy feeling the not-really-America hasn’t heard him. “You said yes,” America says dazedly. “You said yes you would marry me!”
“Show me.”
America watches him carefully, still unconvinced of the arrangement. The next few moments are critical, and Russia takes a deep breath. He molds his hands around America’s neck, tightening his hold just enough to feel the blood beat under his hands-he’s rewarded by America opening his mouth in a gasp, when he moves to remove the spectacles from behind. “You won’t be needing these. Release your shirt,” he says, with quiet authority, setting America’s glasses somewhere behind him.
America’s arms lower submissively to his sides and the shirt loosens. As though with a mind of their own, Russia’s hands reach for the back of the collar and pull it down the rest of the way, revealing the curve of a slender white back, delicate shoulders. America gasps again. “Russia-”
He pounces, holding America down by a wrist into the blankets. It thrills him to the core as, looking behind him, America’s eyes move from surprise to unadulterated happiness and desire. The scarf (just some old scarf) slides off his shoulder when he leans down, sucks a kiss from the back America’s neck. “Mine, you say,” he says.
The body beneath him shivers. “Yours.”
“Show me.”
Russia takes a moment to leisurely remove the coat (damned heavy thing), holding down the half-naked body with his knee and luxuriating in the needy mewling coming from it. With his hands free again, he continues mouthing the back of America’s spine, the exposed shoulders, and he works America’s pants loose. Every centimeter of skin he can reach quivers under his competent caresses. “Are you cold?” he says.
“N-no.” America breathes heavily, his mouth open, and arches back against the hand. His eyes pop when Russia’s kisses turn to nips, then bites. He really regrets not being able to move his hand between America’s legs-any other time it wouldn’t bother him, but now he’s afraid of being pulled out of this fragile head-space. But he compensates, moving over America so he can feel Russia’s body, the textures of the scarf and other clothing running over his skin.
“Oh, please.” America makes a sound and Russia almost doesn’t hear the plea, muffled into the blankets. “Touch me, please.”
The sound is like lightning in his blood, but he says, carefully holding back: “Are you ordering me?” Frighteningly enough, this Russia thing isn’t so hard to get into after all. If he’s doing it right, that is. His America seems convinced.
“I would never-I meant only-”
“No,” he growls in the sweetest way. He moves, sliding his erection against the cleft of America’s ass. Letting him feel the weight of it. “Just from this,” he says into America’s ear. “From me only.”
America moans. “God, yes, marry me-”
All his world is just the feeling of pressing against America. Eyes closed, he lowers his face against America’s back, tasting the sweat. “Yes,” he answers without thought.
Suddenly America stops. He looks around. “What?”
It makes Russia blink, the change in pace, like flipping on a light switch. And then he realizes what’s changed. America isn’t even trying to alter his voice now, and it’s gone all high. “Well, not really really, no,” he says, trying to understand the emotions he’s seeing in his partner’s face, trying to get a grip on the situation. His dick is still doing most of the thinking. “I thought it was just more pretending-bloody hell, what are you doing,” he says, throwing up the bed sheets to cover America’s upper torso as America unexpectedly sits up.
“Marry me,” America says, completely serious. “Now. We can do it now, we’ll find a priest and our bosses and we’ll do it right now.”
“I-no, I’m not going to marry you,” Russia says, looking between his fingers and delicately pulling up the sheet as it begins to slip. His cock adds, “And if at all possible could we get back to, ah, where we were just now?”
He has an uneasy feeling the not-really-America hasn’t heard him. “You said yes,” America says dazedly. “You said yes you would marry me!”
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