[Winter Challenge Day 12]
She had never felt so free when she was with Spain.
Sure, he was a sweetheart, always tender and considerate while handling her. But what she was feeling was much too different. The passion Spain gave her was not the same.
England’s…was much more delicate. Like he was shying away from the kiss, trying not to hurt her lips. But there was an equal hunger when he planted one on her.
To be a gentleman or not to be a gentleman? That was the question.
Whenever they spoke, he was always charming and suave, winning her over with his poetic way of speaking and his sophisticated accent. His politeness made her feel more comfortable with him, and she felt so liberated. She could be herself.
Spain’s actions were not that different from England’s, but because of the attraction she held for him, everything England did was better.
They even had the same colored eyes, but England’s were more devilish and scorching; a great, green hue with a warning. Yet they were still fragile and pleasant, with no disrespecting light.
Spain’s eyes were softer and a bit duller compared to England’s, something she had noted while the two nations had a stare-down once. However, there was something about England that just did it for her.
Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she was once the Spanish Netherlands, and her brothers and she wanted to become their own countries, instead of being under Spain’s rule. She did not allow her brother to plague her mind with negative thoughts about Spain, though. Even if he hated the Spaniard and disapproved of him strongly, she never really paid attention and went with her gut feeling. But that was over.
She decided on England now. She didn’t feel like she owed him anything, even if he did help her siblings and her gain independence. But there was a drive she could not ignore. She wanted to give him every ounce of herself so he could know she loved him.
She tried not to act promiscuous so he wouldn’t think she was easy, but there were a few times when neither of them could help it. They weren’t perfect, after all.
Like for example, this evening where they found themselves entangled in each other’s arms, kissing intensely in his living room, while they tried to avoid collapsing on the floor from so much heat.
She was so intoxicating that he couldn’t help but moan in pleasure. Kissing a tender spot along his neck-what a sneaky girl! He bet she left lip stick marks there!
He couldn’t breathe steadily anymore. Not with her kissing him and licking him and biting him, and unbuttoning and pulling on his shirt. She was making him feel tight, oh so tight, it hurt.
“Bel…gium,” he said shakily.
“Don’t speak, my love,” she said against his collarbone. It almost sounded like a purr.
She made him so nervous when they were like this!
He did feel terrible that they didn’t get a chance to make it to his bed, but he was rather weak in the knees at the moment and couldn’t will himself to get her off to take her to a mattress. So they settled for the floor.
There was a problem. Because they had a world meeting in his country, America was England’s guest and he didn’t want for him to see how kinky Belgium and he got. But the bed was so far away…
…and Belgium was kissing him as if she were lusting for him with tenderness. She was confusing his every thought with paradoxes, thinking that it was so naughty, it had to be nice. He wanted to be that way, too, though. And he wasn’t one to let others top.
He secured his hand on her hip and hastily flipped her over to where he could see her from above. Oh, he wouldn’t hold back now.
As he kissed her, Belgium stroked his messy hair and pulled on it slightly since he was starting to tease her with his tongue.
And he was also trying to rid her of her blouse, with the buttons getting in the way a few times, and it took all of his willpower not to rip it off her.
But then, the front door clicked, and suddenly England and Belgium wanted to find a hiding space. FAST.
However, America was faster and opened the door to let himself in. The lollipop he had in his mouth almost fell out when he took in the two nations on the floor, half-dressed and breathless. Their blushes engulfed their faces, and England didn’t know whether to help Belgium cover up or throw America something so he could get the fuck out. He ruined a perfect moment.
America let out a whistle after a second. “Yeah…uh, don’t get up. I…uh, forgot something in the…place, the curry shop…and uh, yeah. Just keep doing what you’re doing…this isn’t awkward at all…just, yeah…”
He closed the door as he fell at a loss for words.
Belgium covered her face with her hands as England tried to hide his face in her neck. He had to look up and face the music, though.
“Sorry about that…” he said in a halfhearted voice.
“No, it’s my fault,” she answered. “I should have let us get to the bed first.”
“He killed it didn’t he?”
“What do you think, dear?”
England sighed in defeat. “I think you need to straight up your blouse; you must be cold.”
Belgium giggled. “And I think you need to do the same. You being shirtless in this weather is not appropriate at all.”
She was always a tease-the good kind of tease, the one he liked. Unlike America and France, who would definitely taunt him in the next world meeting about this. That is, if America opened his big mouth.
“You’re right. May I suggest we lock the door next time? You know so that the terrible cold air doesn’t enter?” he asked as he put on his shirt.
Belgium began to think. “Lock the door with furniture. That way we assure ourselves nothing can get in.”
“Or out,” he added. “Now, the issue is America’s slippery tongue.”
“If he knows what’s good for him, he will stay quiet about it,” Belgium said. “Remember, I am a generally lenient person, but when it comes to private issues, I will make him see some reason as clearly as if he were to see a gun. Or a cat.”
England kissed her forehead as he finished with his shirt. “Your cunning thoughts make me proud.”
That evening, when America came back, the two were asleep in the couch, Belgium’s head nestled in England’s shoulder. He tried walking in quietly, but they both knew he was there.
“You speak of this and you will have to worry about a Belgian hunting you down,” Belgium said in her sweet, bubbly voice.
‘She sounds so awake!’ America thought. “Um, yes, ma’am!”
“Go to sleep, America,” England ordered in a calm tone.
“Yes, sir!”
If there was anything that scared America more than ghosts, it was a Belgian woman threatening him. And if she used cats, that was even worse.
A/N: Forgive me for my sucky lime, but I haven't done one of these in a long time, so I'm out of practice. It feels weird now, but I've been thinking about brother-relationships so much that I had forgotten about romance. XD And I'm a little nervous about writing for these two. I don't know why! I guess I'm forcing myself too much or something. I want it to feel natural! Another thing, the only things I know about Belgium as a character are that she's bubbly, she makes waffles, and she does not mind Spain's company at all. However, my head canon screams to me to pair up England and Belgium instead of Spain and Belgium. Their history makes them canon, unlike Spain and Belgium. Plus, England's totally awkward with her, which is adorable to my eyes! I hope you all enjoyed!
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