the collideoscopic pulse (1/4)
anonymous
June 4 2009, 04:50:14 UTC
the collideoscopic pulse - part one
England feels the pulse through the outer brick wall of the club: music and dance and alcohol and youth. Wildness. Boys-his boys are stood against the wall, as if propped up by the pulse; propped up by each other as much as anything. They turn to him and multihued gazes collide on green: impact: and England feels the kaleidoscopic pulse.
They grin at him and he grins back, yeah, all right, he's here now. America comes away from the wall, Australia coming with him like they're attached, draped and mingled, curved lines of their bodies blurring together even in England's unblurred sight; and it's Canada, still against the wall, who wavers without support.
England catches him before he can fall. Folds him into the car, lets Australia and America help each other. He glances in as he goes 'round to his side, sees the boys sitting nicely in the back, still beaming at him; up front, Canada is unfolding into a loose, floppy slump.
America and Australia slide as the car starts off, slide out of niceness and into each other. All over each other, hands and tongues and limbs, as if movement is permission, motion is invitation. Canada twists to glance at them. Rests his chin on the seat back as he watches, until gravity gets hold of him again, tugs at him. He slips down and sideways, rests his head in England's lap. Rests, restless, drunken little movements, and England reaches down to tuck himself out of the way, to make Canada more comfortable.
At the traffic light, England glances into the rearview mirror. And his eyes meet America's.
America leans forward. "Can I suck your cock after Canada does?"
England doesn't say yes; and he doesn't say no. He's saved from having to speak by Canada kissing him through his trousers.
He's not saved at all.
America reaches over the seat and undoes England's trousers for Canada, takes England out, handling him carefully. Australia comes forward, too, drapes himself 'round America to watch the proceedings, sucking America's earlobe, licking his neck; America's neck arches for Australia's tongue, his hand urges Canada forward.
"He likes it when you touch his hair," America says, relinquishing his hold. "Light's green."
Green for go.
England goes, one hand on the wheel, one on Canada's head. Fingers wound into Canada's hair, holding him still. Canada's soft, protesting mewls vibrate on England's cock; Canada's tongue, unheld, laps and suckles.
Through the light, down a darker street off the main, England goes. And stops.
"Don't stop," America says. And again, before England can speak, a moan this time: "Oh~ don't stop..."
England closes his eyes and listens to Australia sucking off America. Soft, wet, delirious.
Velvet friction, Canada's mouth on England's cock, licking and sucking and humming, soft wet vibrations on England's cock; in the air, breathed in, blood oxidized and pulsing with soft wet vibration.
Pulse of light on the other side of England's closed eyelids. He opens his eyes.
The interior light has come on. It's a risk, so England reaches to turn it off, and the light catches on the mirror: flash of movement: America's thumb, America's hand in Australia's hair, Australia's mouth on America's cock. Australia's lips slide the length of America's cock, Australia's lips not as dark as America's cock; England watches the pink of Australia's lips, not tucked over his teeth. England watches Australia's white teeth on America's cock and shivers.
England feels Canada going down on him; watches Australia going down on America, catches the perfect rhythm: America moving Australia to the same rhythm that Canada is moving on England.
England shivers again. He looks away from Australia's mouth, away from America's hand, away from the mirror-but the mirror catches his eyes again. America's eyes catch him.
England feels the pulse through the outer brick wall of the club: music and dance and alcohol and youth. Wildness. Boys-his boys are stood against the wall, as if propped up by the pulse; propped up by each other as much as anything. They turn to him and multihued gazes collide on green: impact: and England feels the kaleidoscopic pulse.
They grin at him and he grins back, yeah, all right, he's here now. America comes away from the wall, Australia coming with him like they're attached, draped and mingled, curved lines of their bodies blurring together even in England's unblurred sight; and it's Canada, still against the wall, who wavers without support.
England catches him before he can fall. Folds him into the car, lets Australia and America help each other. He glances in as he goes 'round to his side, sees the boys sitting nicely in the back, still beaming at him; up front, Canada is unfolding into a loose, floppy slump.
America and Australia slide as the car starts off, slide out of niceness and into each other. All over each other, hands and tongues and limbs, as if movement is permission, motion is invitation. Canada twists to glance at them. Rests his chin on the seat back as he watches, until gravity gets hold of him again, tugs at him. He slips down and sideways, rests his head in England's lap. Rests, restless, drunken little movements, and England reaches down to tuck himself out of the way, to make Canada more comfortable.
At the traffic light, England glances into the rearview mirror. And his eyes meet America's.
America leans forward. "Can I suck your cock after Canada does?"
England doesn't say yes; and he doesn't say no. He's saved from having to speak by Canada kissing him through his trousers.
He's not saved at all.
America reaches over the seat and undoes England's trousers for Canada, takes England out, handling him carefully. Australia comes forward, too, drapes himself 'round America to watch the proceedings, sucking America's earlobe, licking his neck; America's neck arches for Australia's tongue, his hand urges Canada forward.
"He likes it when you touch his hair," America says, relinquishing his hold. "Light's green."
Green for go.
England goes, one hand on the wheel, one on Canada's head. Fingers wound into Canada's hair, holding him still. Canada's soft, protesting mewls vibrate on England's cock; Canada's tongue, unheld, laps and suckles.
Through the light, down a darker street off the main, England goes. And stops.
"Don't stop," America says. And again, before England can speak, a moan this time: "Oh~ don't stop..."
England closes his eyes and listens to Australia sucking off America. Soft, wet, delirious.
Velvet friction, Canada's mouth on England's cock, licking and sucking and humming, soft wet vibrations on England's cock; in the air, breathed in, blood oxidized and pulsing with soft wet vibration.
Pulse of light on the other side of England's closed eyelids. He opens his eyes.
The interior light has come on. It's a risk, so England reaches to turn it off, and the light catches on the mirror: flash of movement: America's thumb, America's hand in Australia's hair, Australia's mouth on America's cock. Australia's lips slide the length of America's cock, Australia's lips not as dark as America's cock; England watches the pink of Australia's lips, not tucked over his teeth. England watches Australia's white teeth on America's cock and shivers.
England feels Canada going down on him; watches Australia going down on America, catches the perfect rhythm: America moving Australia to the same rhythm that Canada is moving on England.
England shivers again. He looks away from Australia's mouth, away from America's hand, away from the mirror-but the mirror catches his eyes again. America's eyes catch him.
tbc…
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