Who's Riding Whom? 11/?
anonymous
July 8 2009, 21:31:24 UTC
"Arthur," America was mumbling, kissing England, fighting back halfheartedly. "Arthur."
"What?" England asked, tired of listening, not wanting to listen anymore.
"I wanna touch you."
"Mmf." America groaned when England slid between his legs, fingers teasing the skin of his chest, mouth on his stomach and working down.
"Arthur," America insisted, pulling his legs up to trap England between his thighs.
England raised his eyes to glare at America, who leaned forward to kiss him. He growled a bit, pushing America back, and leaned around his midsection to undo the ropes. As soon as his hands were free, he wrapped his arms around England, who would have facepalmed if he could reach.
"Let go, git, or I'll leave."
America knew what he meant, and grudgingly turned loose.
The sound of a zipper drew him from his momentary pout, and he looked down to see England--
oh, dear Lord in Heaven.
England, pulling his tie off of his already unbuttoned shirt with one hand, had America's hardened length in the other, and was...was...
It was too gorgeous--or too raunchy--for America to keep looking, so he tilted his head back and whined at the ceiling. He felt England smirk around him, and blushed more heavily.
"Ar-Arthur...Ah!"
Durned tongue. Durned lips. Durned mouth.
England sat back, wiping his dripping mouth with a handkerchief. America couldn't stop staring. England grinned at him. --- Not over yet, readers!Anon! Authornon is just busy. x'D *ahem* lol I'm not the only one who completely forgot the rope America had in his mouth earlier, right? We'll say they took it out for smooching purposes. > >;
Re: Who's Riding Whom? 11/?
anonymous
July 8 2009, 21:38:47 UTC
Your dear reader!anon here, yes, had completely forgot about that. Heh.
You see, I was too distracted by the UTTER HOTTNESS that was occurring. America whining at the ceiling --- oh, ♥ ♥ ♥ And just what is England going to do with that tie, hm?
Who's Riding Whom? 12/12
anonymous
July 9 2009, 06:58:49 UTC
America sat back, wondering how long this had been going on. England was such a tease. And he loved him for it, despite wanting to punch him in the face. Okay. Myabe he didn't love him for being a tease. Myabe he loved him DESPITE his teasing ways.
So England was a sadist, and America was puddy in his hands. Whatever.
At that moment, he was enjoying the feeling of England's hands on his neck, securing the tie there and donning America's hat himself. America had no idea why the other nation wanted to do such things, nor why he found it so attractive.
England looked odd in a Stetson, but that was fine, because America looked odd with his jeans around his knees and a tie without a shirt.
They kissed more, gradually shedding the last of their clothing, and England perched atop America's stomach.
"You won't ever stop being pretty, will you?" England asked suddenly, causing America to look up at him curiously. "No matter what any of us do to you...you'll still be my gorgeous America."
"Not yers," America corrected quietly, with a sympathetic tone in his voice. "I'm my own."
England looked away briefly, before giving a halfhearted smirk. "As long as I can have you part of the time, that's fine."
He crushed their lips together and rocked into America--whom he would continue to call his, if only in his own mind. Their voices rose and fell in unison like the lonely baying of a lost hound, in time with the thrusts and sways. America's hands were everywhere all at once, but England didn't care because he loved it, really, and he loved America, and every goodbye was like the very first, but at least they were together then. More together, more one than they had ever imagined back in the colonial days, when America was too young or England too hesitant.
They each called the other's name as a fireworks display went off behind their eyes, and their bodies were soaked in blood and sweat and seed. England's shaking arms held him up from either side of America's head, and for a moment they looked at eachother. Just looked. And then all at once England's arms gave out, and they were laying together on the concrete-and-hay stable floor, sharing the euphoria, and Canada was walking in the door, trying to say something, but blushing redder than both of them and running back out.
After a little while, England took back his tie, returned America's hat, and gathered his clothes. When he was dressed, he kissed America again, and left. America didn't move until his mindfog cleared, and a pit opened in his stomach at the sight of the stable. He sighed. It was his stable, after all, so it only made sense that he clean it up. So, he got dressed, fetched a bucket, mop, and broom, and remembered the horses all watching him from their stalls.
He couldn't meet their eyes for several days. --- Okay, so, Anon can't write stuff that doesn't at least touch on dark angstful things. Dunno why. Anywho, that's over, and the ending could have been better, and I would've liked the style to be more consistent, but whatever. Thanks to everyone who reads and comments!
"What?" England asked, tired of listening, not wanting to listen anymore.
"I wanna touch you."
"Mmf." America groaned when England slid between his legs, fingers teasing the skin of his chest, mouth on his stomach and working down.
"Arthur," America insisted, pulling his legs up to trap England between his thighs.
England raised his eyes to glare at America, who leaned forward to kiss him. He growled a bit, pushing America back, and leaned around his midsection to undo the ropes. As soon as his hands were free, he wrapped his arms around England, who would have facepalmed if he could reach.
"Let go, git, or I'll leave."
America knew what he meant, and grudgingly turned loose.
The sound of a zipper drew him from his momentary pout, and he looked down to see England--
oh, dear Lord in Heaven.
England, pulling his tie off of his already unbuttoned shirt with one hand, had America's hardened length in the other, and was...was...
It was too gorgeous--or too raunchy--for America to keep looking, so he tilted his head back and whined at the ceiling. He felt England smirk around him, and blushed more heavily.
"Ar-Arthur...Ah!"
Durned tongue. Durned lips. Durned mouth.
England sat back, wiping his dripping mouth with a handkerchief. America couldn't stop staring. England grinned at him.
---
Not over yet, readers!Anon! Authornon is just busy. x'D
*ahem* lol I'm not the only one who completely forgot the rope America had in his mouth earlier, right?
We'll say they took it out for smooching purposes. > >;
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You see, I was too distracted by the UTTER HOTTNESS that was occurring. America whining at the ceiling --- oh, ♥ ♥ ♥ And just what is England going to do with that tie, hm?
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ONLY ENGLAND KNOWS.
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So England was a sadist, and America was puddy in his hands. Whatever.
At that moment, he was enjoying the feeling of England's hands on his neck, securing the tie there and donning America's hat himself. America had no idea why the other nation wanted to do such things, nor why he found it so attractive.
England looked odd in a Stetson, but that was fine, because America looked odd with his jeans around his knees and a tie without a shirt.
They kissed more, gradually shedding the last of their clothing, and England perched atop America's stomach.
"You won't ever stop being pretty, will you?" England asked suddenly, causing America to look up at him curiously. "No matter what any of us do to you...you'll still be my gorgeous America."
"Not yers," America corrected quietly, with a sympathetic tone in his voice. "I'm my own."
England looked away briefly, before giving a halfhearted smirk. "As long as I can have you part of the time, that's fine."
He crushed their lips together and rocked into America--whom he would continue to call his, if only in his own mind. Their voices rose and fell in unison like the lonely baying of a lost hound, in time with the thrusts and sways. America's hands were everywhere all at once, but England didn't care because he loved it, really, and he loved America, and every goodbye was like the very first, but at least they were together then. More together, more one than they had ever imagined back in the colonial days, when America was too young or England too hesitant.
They each called the other's name as a fireworks display went off behind their eyes, and their bodies were soaked in blood and sweat and seed. England's shaking arms held him up from either side of America's head, and for a moment they looked at eachother. Just looked. And then all at once England's arms gave out, and they were laying together on the concrete-and-hay stable floor, sharing the euphoria, and Canada was walking in the door, trying to say something, but blushing redder than both of them and running back out.
After a little while, England took back his tie, returned America's hat, and gathered his clothes. When he was dressed, he kissed America again, and left. America didn't move until his mindfog cleared, and a pit opened in his stomach at the sight of the stable. He sighed. It was his stable, after all, so it only made sense that he clean it up. So, he got dressed, fetched a bucket, mop, and broom, and remembered the horses all watching him from their stalls.
He couldn't meet their eyes for several days.
---
Okay, so, Anon can't write stuff that doesn't at least touch on dark angstful things. Dunno why.
Anywho, that's over, and the ending could have been better, and I would've liked the style to be more consistent, but whatever.
Thanks to everyone who reads and comments!
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Yes.
The rider really ought to be wearing the hat, nee?
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ANON YOU ARE AWESOME. but i think i might not look at horses the same way now for a very long time.. asdfghjkl >_>;;
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x'3 Thank you very much, Anon-san.
(Yes. I apologize for that. Authornon, who may get to ride again soon, only now realizes what she has done...)
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