Russia loves Amercia's eyes. He loves them very much. A bit too much.
Okay, so I would love to see a Russia/America fic containing eye licking and eye removal (only one eye, though - the right one preferably /picky) ♥
I would like it to start out like a nice (and by nice I mean bitchy and rough and hot considering the pairing) make out session ... gone horribly wrong.
Russia should lick the eye in question before the removal, freaking America as he holds his eyelids open :D
And the eye would be removed with bare hands. Russia gets terribly turned on by America's struggling.
This is a humorous/erotic fic which involves consensual!eye removal and America's eye/eyesocket and Russia's heart/hole in chest as a erogenous zones. Yes, you read correctly. However, this fic will NOT contain skullfucking.
“Then I can’t see you enough to kiss you,” he said, even with their noses literally touching, his legs spread lewdly and accepting Russia between them, laid out on the table with his hands scratching at the back of Russia’s shirt until it tore.
“You don’t need to see me. I just need to see you.”
“But I want to see you.”
“You do not trust me?”
“Russia -”
“I’ve never seen you without your glasses since you got them,” said Russia, pressing his crotch against America’s, pinning him near painfully onto America’s kitchen table, “And when we have sex, they still stay on, and when you sleep, they still stay on… they are superglued to your face, da?”
“Right behind my ears, yeah,” moaned America, “They-they don’t come off.”
“And I told you if you took off my scarf my head would fall off, but it didn’t.”
“But I waited because could have. You don’t want to tempt fate.”
“But I'd rather live a little dangerously.” He licked at America’s cheek.
“I-”
“Please?”
There was a long pause, Russia’s tongue lingering at the glasses’ arm, hinting at what could have been if only the glasses were off.
“Just do it already…” America grumbled.
Russia bit the glasses’ arm, trying to pull them off as seductively as possible, but the glasses gave resistance, as if stuck there with some strong tape, but soon they were off.
“You are blind now?” asked Russia, setting the glasses aside, backing a way a bit to see his handiwork, only to find America’s eyes clenched tightly shut. “Of course you can’t see with them like that. Let me fix it,” he said, and using both hand pried each eyelid open. “There you are!” America looked straight at him, or maybe he didn’t. Russia blinked, trying to figure out why America looked so angry at whatever he was looking at.
“Oh!” Russia said, giggling, “You’re cross-eyed!” While the left looked straight at him, the right had drifted inwards to stare at his nose.
“Yes! Now give me back my glasses! I can’t see like this.”
“Oh, but it’s cute!” Russia gushed, “It’s so cute, how it struggles, it tries so hard to be like the other but it can’t, can it? It’s so weak and futile!”
“And you’re looking less and less cute in double vision,” America grumbled.
“Ah, do you want me to fix that?”
“You can’t fix it, I tried-”
“If I pulled it out, then you wouldn’t see double, right?”
“That’s a bad idea,” said America, feeling the heat between them fading. The former lust in Russia’s eyes had turned into that childish excitement, the same kind that he had when he gripped that metal pipe.
“I’ll give it back afterwards. Think about it, think, isn’t it obnoxious whenever I have to kiss around your glasses? They’re always in the way. It would be wonderful without them. It should pop right out!”
America thought for a moment. He’d always prided himself on being open to trying anything once.
“You’ll give it right back afterwards?”
“Right back. Of course.”
“And this is going to hurt.”
“We do such painful things to each other all the time. How is this any different?”
And that’s when America realized that that didn’t make this time different at all. In fact, it made it very much the same. Russia put his fingers on America’s eyelids, smoothing over the skin.
“It shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“It… it shouldn’t?”
“No,” he said.
“You act like you’ve done this before.”
“Maybe once or twice,” he said, kissing America’s eyebrow. With that closeness, America closed his eyes, his nose against Russia’s skin, and he breathed in his smell deeply. But Russia wasted no time and instead pulled down the lazy eye’s lower eyelid, the eye struggling to focus on what was right in front of it. “It’s cute.”
The breath wet his skin, but not as much as the tongue trailing down his eyelid past the ashes, onto the sclera, white and wide and exposed and -
“Oh God -”
“This would be easier if you stopped squirming.”
“You’re licking my eye!”
“You love it.” He dug his hips closer to America’s, into the obvious growing arousal there.
“It’s still my eye.”
“I can help,” said Russia, pushing America a bit further down the table, and pushing himself up onto the table with a knee. The table creaked threateningly. “Will this break?”
“I’ll get another one,” said America, yanking on Russia’s pants, trying to force him closer.
“Capitalists,” Russia sighed, but still climbed closer, the table creaking and shuddering as he pinned down America’s legs with his own.
“Just keep going.”
The way America shook against Russia’s body almost told him otherwise.
“Does this hurt so much?”
“I said keep going.”
Tentatively, Russia tried to keep America’s arms down with his elbows, spreading open the eyelids with his fingertips as far as they would go, knowing full well that America could still throw him across the room if he did anything America didn’t like. Then again, this had always been the case, but doing anything wrong to his eye would probably cause a more visceral reaction than anything Russia could do to his ass.
He tried to think what America must see in this case, with the other eye closed. Something approaching the edge of his vision, something never quite entering it, something dark, the insides of his mouth, something pink, his tongue, finally touching, drawing a line across it, a shape…
America shuddered, body arching at the sensation.
“Bad?” Russia asked, the word forcing his tongue back into his mouth.
“Good,” said America, his voice breathless, “V-very good, keep going…”
If Russia had known about this, he would have tried it decades ago.
Next, Russia tried to work the tip of his tongue underneath the eyelid. It was too big, but it it did manage to draw a throaty moan from America. The sort-of-thrashing never stopped - no matter how good the eyelicking felt, it was apparently impossible for America to get over the skincrawling feeling something so close to an eye caused.
The original plan had been to get the eye out as soon as quickly as possible so they could move onto the main event, but this, this was too much fun, and by the looks of it America might just come from this alone.
“Should I try to -”
“Get it out? Yeah. Now. Please…”
Russia was used to screaming by this time, so the silence and soft shuddering unnerved him quite a bit.
Russia pushed down on the eyelids with his two fingers, the pressure quickly becoming pain, and with the thrashing it became difficult for Russia to hold him down - America’s arms wrapped around, hands pulling at Russia’s shirt, the shirt strangling the breath out of him and tearing the old seams.
America choked on his breath, fingers digging and tightening their grip until -
Pop!
“AUUHugh!”
Russia held the delicate organ carefully between his thumb and finger, victorious. Sweat streamed down America’s face, mixing with the spurt of blood from the eye socket. That had been far too easy. Far, far too easy. This was not the first time the eye had left the socket. Perhaps not even the second time. Or third.
And then there was the fact that underneath the pained look America appeared very satisfied. And felt, well… soft.
“You didn’t!” said Russia, putting the eye on the table and unbuttoning America’s pants, yanking them down and finding him very wet. “You actually...”
But as soon as America had caught his breath again, he’d begun ripping off Russia’s shirt. “L-let me return the favor.”
Yay! My guro kink has been satisfied for today! I can't wait to see what Russia does with the eye, and they're so cute together! -happy and stalking this-
I'm super lame and I completely empathized with Al when he didn't want to take off his glasses because of his eye. I know how super uncomfortable it is to be around people without some sort of visual aid to help balance out the eyes. And because, well, you're more blind than all fuck.
Now that that sappy bull is out of the way, holy fuck do I love eyelicking. And strange erogenous zones. Especially Russia's heart. It's all so hot and hilarious and disturbing. Everything a fill should be. I wonder if his eye is lazy because it's been popped out so many times... why has it been popped out so many times? I'M TOO IMPATIENT FOR THIS!!! I love their characterizations so far! I'm quite fond of the Russia you have painted~ I can't wait for an update, A!A!
This just keeps getting stranger and stranger. Sorry for the wait.
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“Return the - ouuuuh…”
America ran his hand down where the row of buttons on Russia’s shirt had been. The sensitive spots on Russia’s body were never difficult to find once one knew where to look. America knew the spot, right at the base of the pectoral muscles, a place where the bone had split into cartilage instead. Sure, it was possible to tear at that spot, but teasing him open was just that much better.
“M-maybe we should… find a better place for your eye,” said Russia.
“It’s not going anywhere,” said America, pressing his thumb in, leaving Russia breathless to argue for a moment.
“Y-you should get a… a pickle jar… or…”
“No way I’m pickling my own eye.”
America lay more fingers on the spreading cartilage and flesh, finding the hollow Russia’s heart had made for itself.
“Like d-dentures or -”
“No way!”
Russia had only just begun to bleed.
“Fucking - let me get on top before you bleed everywhere.”
Switching positions caused the table to creak even more, swaying under both of their weights. It’d happened before, but this time it sounded so much worse.
“Haven’t been taking anyone else on this table, have you?”
“It’s an old table,” said America, thinking that Russia would not believe the lightsaber battles with Sealand that had recently made the table significantly more rickety. From the movement, they eye rolled to hit the salt shaker at the table’s center. With America on top, straddling Russia’s hips, his fingers returning to the spot on Russia’s chest that led to his heart. When America leaned down to kiss Russia’s jaw, his empty eyesocket began to drip onto Russia’s cheek.
“You - hn - what happened to your eye?” Russia finished quickly as America leaned closer, closer, a hand teasing a nipple and America’s mouth seemed busy with other things, running down his over-sensitive neck.
“Nothing happened to my eye,” said America, pausing before nipping at Russia’s collar bone.
“Why was it loose?”
“Hmm…” America’s fingers burrowed deeper into Russia’s chest.
“A-and you need to trim your fingernails.”
“Should I -”
“Just a reminder.”
America made a face - or as much of one as he could make with the eyelids on his right side collapsed without an eye to fill them. He was dripping everywhere, cum onto the table between Russia’s legs and blood now made a trail from his face to his neck. That was not nearly enough blood for a fresh eye, but Russia had stopped pressing for now once America had reached his heart.
It beat, but today it wasn’t straining at its bonds, looking for greener pastures. It beat faster, but contentedly, and when America ran his thumb along the inside of the smoothly divided skin, Russia’s legs sprung and toes curled, nearly kneeing America in the crotch. This always made such a mess but it always felt so good.
He flushed further, one hand guiding America’s hand further into his chest, past his parted bones, the other hand groping and cupping America’s ass. Pressure built and he wasn’t sure if he could hold out much longer. America’s other hand slid down Russia’s chest, down to his waist and hips, further down, blood trailing along with it as America freed him from his pants. This table would need to be cleaned anyway, what was one more pint of blood? He pushed America back to the table beside him, hand not leaving his chest, sitting back up and -
It happened so fast, a short shower of Russia’s blood and a huge crash and suddenly America was on the floor, cradling the back of his neck with his free hand, and the sharp pain in Russia’s chest told him that America’s other hand was still there - and far too deep.
“America, that is my lung,” Russia wheezed, sliding the remainder of his way off of the remains of the table. America withdrew his hand too fast, leaving the hole in Russia’s chest achingly sensitive and… too empty. “And I never said you could stop.”
“Fucking -” America’s other hand buried itself in his own hair, his back curling in pain.
Looking back at the table Russia saw how one of the legs had buckled, ceramic salt and pepper shakers broken with their pieces scattered around. Russia tried to shove down his lust for long enough to crawl over on the linoleum, trying to pry America’s hands away. “Let me see.”
“Jesus…”
“It’s just a bump,” said Russia. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”
“I-it’s fine,” said America, but Russia buried his nose in America’s hair anyway, his hair smelling of their blood smeared into it. To Russia, the smell was intoxicating and as his lips pressed against the bump, America flinched back beautifully. As America surveyed the damage, he said, “maybe we should move.”
“Here is fine,” said Russia, sweeping some bits of ceramic out of the way. “You sure?” America’s fingers had already hooked into Russia’s belt loops, and Russia trying to wriggle the rest of the way out of them.
“Sure.”
America pressed his thumb back into the slowly-closing hole in Russia’s chest and stroking a ventricle, Russia crying out from suddenness and sensitivity. America smirked. “Well, if you’re sure…”
Anon-from-before says: Somehow, some way, you make me love this fic more with each new update! I'm sort of picturing it in my head and it is wonnnnderful! I just love the descriptions you've got here, very realistic, and so adorable! Yay for blood everywhere! I bet it looks like a murder scene by now. Although now they have to find out what happened to poor America's eyeball! It had better not get squished.
Any which-a-way, sorry for being bizarre and psychotic-sounding, but I really do love this fill to the ends of the earth! I'll give you MY eyeball if you continue (it's very pretty, chocolate brown that turns black on occasion)
Russia loves Amercia's eyes. He loves them very much.
A bit too much.
Okay, so I would love to see a Russia/America fic containing eye licking and eye removal (only one eye, though - the right one preferably /picky) ♥
I would like it to start out like a nice (and by nice I mean bitchy and rough and hot considering the pairing) make out session ... gone horribly wrong.
Russia should lick the eye in question before the removal, freaking America as he holds his eyelids open :D
And the eye would be removed with bare hands. Russia gets terribly turned on by America's struggling.
Andrussiacomesinhispantsatthesightofoneeyedamerica /shot
Make it hot and creepy, anons ♥
So, I didn't follow this request to the letter.
This is a humorous/erotic fic which involves consensual!eye removal and America's eye/eyesocket and Russia's heart/hole in chest as a erogenous zones. Yes, you read correctly. However, this fic will NOT contain skullfucking.
Please enjoy.
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“No,” again, America refused, as he always does.
“Yes.”
“Then I can’t see you enough to kiss you,” he said, even with their noses literally touching, his legs spread lewdly and accepting Russia between them, laid out on the table with his hands scratching at the back of Russia’s shirt until it tore.
“You don’t need to see me. I just need to see you.”
“But I want to see you.”
“You do not trust me?”
“Russia -”
“I’ve never seen you without your glasses since you got them,” said Russia, pressing his crotch against America’s, pinning him near painfully onto America’s kitchen table, “And when we have sex, they still stay on, and when you sleep, they still stay on… they are superglued to your face, da?”
“Right behind my ears, yeah,” moaned America, “They-they don’t come off.”
“And I told you if you took off my scarf my head would fall off, but it didn’t.”
“But I waited because could have. You don’t want to tempt fate.”
“But I'd rather live a little dangerously.” He licked at America’s cheek.
“I-”
“Please?”
There was a long pause, Russia’s tongue lingering at the glasses’ arm, hinting at what could have been if only the glasses were off.
“Just do it already…” America grumbled.
Russia bit the glasses’ arm, trying to pull them off as seductively as possible, but the glasses gave resistance, as if stuck there with some strong tape, but soon they were off.
“You are blind now?” asked Russia, setting the glasses aside, backing a way a bit to see his handiwork, only to find America’s eyes clenched tightly shut. “Of course you can’t see with them like that. Let me fix it,” he said, and using both hand pried each eyelid open. “There you are!”
America looked straight at him, or maybe he didn’t. Russia blinked, trying to figure out why America looked so angry at whatever he was looking at.
“Oh!” Russia said, giggling, “You’re cross-eyed!” While the left looked straight at him, the right had drifted inwards to stare at his nose.
“Yes! Now give me back my glasses! I can’t see like this.”
“Oh, but it’s cute!” Russia gushed, “It’s so cute, how it struggles, it tries so hard to be like the other but it can’t, can it? It’s so weak and futile!”
“And you’re looking less and less cute in double vision,” America grumbled.
“Ah, do you want me to fix that?”
“You can’t fix it, I tried-”
“If I pulled it out, then you wouldn’t see double, right?”
“That’s a bad idea,” said America, feeling the heat between them fading. The former lust in Russia’s eyes had turned into that childish excitement, the same kind that he had when he gripped that metal pipe.
“I’ll give it back afterwards. Think about it, think, isn’t it obnoxious whenever I have to kiss around your glasses? They’re always in the way. It would be wonderful without them. It should pop right out!”
America thought for a moment. He’d always prided himself on being open to trying anything once.
“You’ll give it right back afterwards?”
“Right back. Of course.”
“And this is going to hurt.”
“We do such painful things to each other all the time. How is this any different?”
“Well, this time you’re doing it on purpose.”
“What?”
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“It shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“It… it shouldn’t?”
“No,” he said.
“You act like you’ve done this before.”
“Maybe once or twice,” he said, kissing America’s eyebrow. With that closeness, America closed his eyes, his nose against Russia’s skin, and he breathed in his smell deeply. But Russia wasted no time and instead pulled down the lazy eye’s lower eyelid, the eye struggling to focus on what was right in front of it. “It’s cute.”
The breath wet his skin, but not as much as the tongue trailing down his eyelid past the ashes, onto the sclera, white and wide and exposed and -
“Oh God -”
“This would be easier if you stopped squirming.”
“You’re licking my eye!”
“You love it.” He dug his hips closer to America’s, into the obvious growing arousal there.
“It’s still my eye.”
“I can help,” said Russia, pushing America a bit further down the table, and pushing himself up onto the table with a knee. The table creaked threateningly. “Will this break?”
“I’ll get another one,” said America, yanking on Russia’s pants, trying to force him closer.
“Capitalists,” Russia sighed, but still climbed closer, the table creaking and shuddering as he pinned down America’s legs with his own.
“Just keep going.”
The way America shook against Russia’s body almost told him otherwise.
“Does this hurt so much?”
“I said keep going.”
Tentatively, Russia tried to keep America’s arms down with his elbows, spreading open the eyelids with his fingertips as far as they would go, knowing full well that America could still throw him across the room if he did anything America didn’t like. Then again, this had always been the case, but doing anything wrong to his eye would probably cause a more visceral reaction than anything Russia could do to his ass.
He tried to think what America must see in this case, with the other eye closed. Something approaching the edge of his vision, something never quite entering it, something dark, the insides of his mouth, something pink, his tongue, finally touching, drawing a line across it, a shape…
America shuddered, body arching at the sensation.
“Bad?” Russia asked, the word forcing his tongue back into his mouth.
“Good,” said America, his voice breathless, “V-very good, keep going…”
If Russia had known about this, he would have tried it decades ago.
“No teeth,” America begged.
“Of course.”
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The original plan had been to get the eye out as soon as quickly as possible so they could move onto the main event, but this, this was too much fun, and by the looks of it America might just come from this alone.
“Should I try to -”
“Get it out? Yeah. Now. Please…”
Russia was used to screaming by this time, so the silence and soft shuddering unnerved him quite a bit.
Russia pushed down on the eyelids with his two fingers, the pressure quickly becoming pain, and with the thrashing it became difficult for Russia to hold him down - America’s arms wrapped around, hands pulling at Russia’s shirt, the shirt strangling the breath out of him and tearing the old seams.
America choked on his breath, fingers digging and tightening their grip until -
Pop!
“AUUHugh!”
Russia held the delicate organ carefully between his thumb and finger, victorious. Sweat streamed down America’s face, mixing with the spurt of blood from the eye socket. That had been far too easy. Far, far too easy. This was not the first time the eye had left the socket. Perhaps not even the second time. Or third.
And then there was the fact that underneath the pained look America appeared very satisfied. And felt, well… soft.
“You didn’t!” said Russia, putting the eye on the table and unbuttoning America’s pants, yanking them down and finding him very wet. “You actually...”
But as soon as America had caught his breath again, he’d begun ripping off Russia’s shirt. “L-let me return the favor.”
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Well hey, this was actually a good read! 8D Kinda funny in a macabre sense.
Any more? *slightly surprised anon*
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Now that that sappy bull is out of the way, holy fuck do I love eyelicking. And strange erogenous zones. Especially Russia's heart.
It's all so hot and hilarious and disturbing. Everything a fill should be.
I wonder if his eye is lazy because it's been popped out so many times... why has it been popped out so many times? I'M TOO IMPATIENT FOR THIS!!!
I love their characterizations so far! I'm quite fond of the Russia you have painted~
I can't wait for an update, A!A!
Reply
---
“Return the - ouuuuh…”
America ran his hand down where the row of buttons on Russia’s shirt had been. The sensitive spots on Russia’s body were never difficult to find once one knew where to look. America knew the spot, right at the base of the pectoral muscles, a place where the bone had split into cartilage instead. Sure, it was possible to tear at that spot, but teasing him open was just that much better.
“M-maybe we should… find a better place for your eye,” said Russia.
“It’s not going anywhere,” said America, pressing his thumb in, leaving Russia breathless to argue for a moment.
“Y-you should get a… a pickle jar… or…”
“No way I’m pickling my own eye.”
America lay more fingers on the spreading cartilage and flesh, finding the hollow Russia’s heart had made for itself.
“Like d-dentures or -”
“No way!”
Russia had only just begun to bleed.
“Fucking - let me get on top before you bleed everywhere.”
Switching positions caused the table to creak even more, swaying under both of their weights. It’d happened before, but this time it sounded so much worse.
“Haven’t been taking anyone else on this table, have you?”
“It’s an old table,” said America, thinking that Russia would not believe the lightsaber battles with Sealand that had recently made the table significantly more rickety. From the movement, they eye rolled to hit the salt shaker at the table’s center. With America on top, straddling Russia’s hips, his fingers returning to the spot on Russia’s chest that led to his heart. When America leaned down to kiss Russia’s jaw, his empty eyesocket began to drip onto Russia’s cheek.
“You - hn - what happened to your eye?” Russia finished quickly as America leaned closer, closer, a hand teasing a nipple and America’s mouth seemed busy with other things, running down his over-sensitive neck.
“Nothing happened to my eye,” said America, pausing before nipping at Russia’s collar bone.
“Why was it loose?”
“Hmm…” America’s fingers burrowed deeper into Russia’s chest.
“A-and you need to trim your fingernails.”
“Should I -”
“Just a reminder.”
America made a face - or as much of one as he could make with the eyelids on his right side collapsed without an eye to fill them. He was dripping everywhere, cum onto the table between Russia’s legs and blood now made a trail from his face to his neck. That was not nearly enough blood for a fresh eye, but Russia had stopped pressing for now once America had reached his heart.
It beat, but today it wasn’t straining at its bonds, looking for greener pastures. It beat faster, but contentedly, and when America ran his thumb along the inside of the smoothly divided skin, Russia’s legs sprung and toes curled, nearly kneeing America in the crotch. This always made such a mess but it always felt so good.
He flushed further, one hand guiding America’s hand further into his chest, past his parted bones, the other hand groping and cupping America’s ass. Pressure built and he wasn’t sure if he could hold out much longer. America’s other hand slid down Russia’s chest, down to his waist and hips, further down, blood trailing along with it as America freed him from his pants. This table would need to be cleaned anyway, what was one more pint of blood? He pushed America back to the table beside him, hand not leaving his chest, sitting back up and -
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It happened so fast, a short shower of Russia’s blood and a huge crash and suddenly America was on the floor, cradling the back of his neck with his free hand, and the sharp pain in Russia’s chest told him that America’s other hand was still there - and far too deep.
“America, that is my lung,” Russia wheezed, sliding the remainder of his way off of the remains of the table. America withdrew his hand too fast, leaving the hole in Russia’s chest achingly sensitive and… too empty. “And I never said you could stop.”
“Fucking -” America’s other hand buried itself in his own hair, his back curling in pain.
Looking back at the table Russia saw how one of the legs had buckled, ceramic salt and pepper shakers broken with their pieces scattered around. Russia tried to shove down his lust for long enough to crawl over on the linoleum, trying to pry America’s hands away. “Let me see.”
“Jesus…”
“It’s just a bump,” said Russia. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”
“I-it’s fine,” said America, but Russia buried his nose in America’s hair anyway, his hair smelling of their blood smeared into it. To Russia, the smell was intoxicating and as his lips pressed against the bump, America flinched back beautifully. As America surveyed the damage, he said, “maybe we should move.”
“Here is fine,” said Russia, sweeping some bits of ceramic out of the way.
“You sure?” America’s fingers had already hooked into Russia’s belt loops, and Russia trying to wriggle the rest of the way out of them.
“Sure.”
America pressed his thumb back into the slowly-closing hole in Russia’s chest and stroking a ventricle, Russia crying out from suddenness and sensitivity. America smirked. “Well, if you’re sure…”
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I did see this in a drawing once and it freaked me out/amused me at the same time.
Good job anon
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Any which-a-way, sorry for being bizarre and psychotic-sounding, but I really do love this fill to the ends of the earth! I'll give you MY eyeball if you continue (it's very pretty, chocolate brown that turns black on occasion)
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WHY has America removed his eyeball so many times?
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