the collideoscopic pulse (3/4)
anonymous
June 4 2009, 04:51:57 UTC
the collideoscopic pulse - part three
England gets Canada stood against the wall and Australia offers to help him hold himself up; Canada snickers at the hands on his hips and Australia moves to muffle them with his tongue, only eliciting more.
As England is sliding the key in the lock, America move closer and says his name. Soft moment of uncharacteristic hesitation. Then: "We're not really drunk," he confesses.
England smiles. "Yeah."
"We just." America is close, eyes soft, mouth wanting to smile but the hesitation lingers, uncertain. "We just wanted you..."
"Yeah."
They stand looking at each other, into each other's eyes. England's gaze drops to America's mouth. Quiet. "You have the most fuckable mouth," England whispers, doesn't touch. Their eyes flicker to each other: hold: America's hands go to England's hips and his knees want to buckle, England feels the tremble of America's knees wanting. "Not yet," England murmurs. America nods. Brief tightening of his hands on England's hips; he relaxes but doesn't let go. Smiles with his fuckable mouth.
As soon as they enter the room, America asks if he can blow England now.
"Want to blow you," England says, "while you blow Australia."
Soft inhale, audible suction. "What about Canada?"
"Want him riding," England says. America and Australia cast glances at Canada: but Canada is looking, unwavering, only at England.
"Been wanting to try that," Canada smiles.
Still behind Canada, Australia's hands slip from Canada's hips under the hem of his shirt. Canada lifts his arms, sways to the hands dancing over his skin, sways to the beat and pulse of touch. Canada's head falls forward, his neck arching as Australia licks his nape; catches a fold of skin in his teeth, tugging Canada back and then moving back himself so the shirt can come off entirely.
As Australia undresses Canada with caresses and kisses, America leans into England without taking his eyes off them and whispers, "I want to suck your cock." England feels America's breath, warm and heavy; he turns his face to America, touches his hand to America's thigh. America turns with England, and their gazes come together, and America says again, "I want to suck your cock, England." And England can feel the heat, the weight of want in the words. He looks at America looking at him, feels the weight and vibration, desire in the very air they are breathing; and: kiss.
Their mouths pulse against each other, into each other, breath vibrating into sighs, sighing into each other, tongues flicking, licking, entwining, wet slide of tongues too slick for friction, sighs sliding into sweet hot moans.
Coming apart, to breathe, to smile, they hear more moans: Australia, thick and sweet and hot, moaning around Canada's cock; Canada moaning with his fists in Australia's hair, his own head thrown back.
"Are you really going to fuck him?" America asks as they watch Canada, slight and taut and arching and trembling, legs splayed, hips moving by instinct, guided by Australia's hands, his cock pumping in and out Australia's mouth, guided by Australia's tongue, Australia's moans. England nods. "Australia's kind of been wanting to fuck Canada himself," America says casually.
"They can sort that out between themselves, after," England says, sliding his eyes from the gorgeous display to America, "when you're fucking me."
England gets Canada stood against the wall and Australia offers to help him hold himself up; Canada snickers at the hands on his hips and Australia moves to muffle them with his tongue, only eliciting more.
As England is sliding the key in the lock, America move closer and says his name. Soft moment of uncharacteristic hesitation. Then: "We're not really drunk," he confesses.
England smiles. "Yeah."
"We just." America is close, eyes soft, mouth wanting to smile but the hesitation lingers, uncertain. "We just wanted you..."
"Yeah."
They stand looking at each other, into each other's eyes. England's gaze drops to America's mouth. Quiet. "You have the most fuckable mouth," England whispers, doesn't touch. Their eyes flicker to each other: hold: America's hands go to England's hips and his knees want to buckle, England feels the tremble of America's knees wanting. "Not yet," England murmurs. America nods. Brief tightening of his hands on England's hips; he relaxes but doesn't let go. Smiles with his fuckable mouth.
As soon as they enter the room, America asks if he can blow England now.
"Want to blow you," England says, "while you blow Australia."
Soft inhale, audible suction. "What about Canada?"
"Want him riding," England says. America and Australia cast glances at Canada: but Canada is looking, unwavering, only at England.
"Been wanting to try that," Canada smiles.
Still behind Canada, Australia's hands slip from Canada's hips under the hem of his shirt. Canada lifts his arms, sways to the hands dancing over his skin, sways to the beat and pulse of touch. Canada's head falls forward, his neck arching as Australia licks his nape; catches a fold of skin in his teeth, tugging Canada back and then moving back himself so the shirt can come off entirely.
As Australia undresses Canada with caresses and kisses, America leans into England without taking his eyes off them and whispers, "I want to suck your cock." England feels America's breath, warm and heavy; he turns his face to America, touches his hand to America's thigh. America turns with England, and their gazes come together, and America says again, "I want to suck your cock, England." And England can feel the heat, the weight of want in the words. He looks at America looking at him, feels the weight and vibration, desire in the very air they are breathing; and: kiss.
Their mouths pulse against each other, into each other, breath vibrating into sighs, sighing into each other, tongues flicking, licking, entwining, wet slide of tongues too slick for friction, sighs sliding into sweet hot moans.
Coming apart, to breathe, to smile, they hear more moans: Australia, thick and sweet and hot, moaning around Canada's cock; Canada moaning with his fists in Australia's hair, his own head thrown back.
"Are you really going to fuck him?" America asks as they watch Canada, slight and taut and arching and trembling, legs splayed, hips moving by instinct, guided by Australia's hands, his cock pumping in and out Australia's mouth, guided by Australia's tongue, Australia's moans. England nods. "Australia's kind of been wanting to fuck Canada himself," America says casually.
"They can sort that out between themselves, after," England says, sliding his eyes from the gorgeous display to America, "when you're fucking me."
tbc…
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