The New World (America/England, 1/5)
anonymous
April 29 2009, 23:41:29 UTC
England had barely been in the shower five minutes (nor out of the trench for more than one-hundred) before America came shamelessly barreling in, laughing like a loon, and any peace England had hoped for was unceremoniously broken.
“Wha-bu-get out!” England sputter-shrieked as he found himself wrapped in an unnaturally powerful embrace. “Get out of here, you git!”
He didn't. Of course he didn't. America wouldn't have been America if he took a bloody order once in a while. If anything, he pulled England closer, the cloth of his shirt-and England was not immediately sure if he was glad or exasperated that America had leapt into his shower still clothed-cruel against England's sore skin and that laugh reverberating against the older man's chest in a most unsettling way. “You haven't changed a bit, have you
( ... )
Re: The New World (America/England, 1/5)
anonymous
April 29 2009, 23:42:48 UTC
“But it is you,” the bastard chuckled when he pulled back, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling like he was thinking or something, and that was where the act fell apart. “You're probably just looking for something to be upset about!”
“W-why you-!”
America's clothes were completely drenched by now, clinging to him in a highly disquieting fashion. He, however, didn't seem privy to this and, thank God, was too absorbed in whatever ridiculous train of thought he was following to see the way England's traitorous eyes lingered upon them, the form beneath. “I'm kind of glad, though. That's just like you. It would've been too weird if I'd come back and you were all different.”
“Oh bloody hell, you come back?” England growled, shrugging away America's hands in a manner that was nearly too much for his poor shoulders to handle. “You didn't spend half the time fighting that I did, you wanker
( ... )
The New World (America/England, 3/4 [let's pretend I can both type AND count])
anonymous
April 29 2009, 23:46:14 UTC
England expended no extra effort on being nice when he kissed the man back. If anything, he made a point to be as rough as possible, curling unkind fingers in that movie-star blonde hair and yanking him forward, their lips smashing together mercilessly. Of course, Alfred couldn't seem to decipher how displeasing this whole affair was; how quickly his hands-still in their leather gloves, the idiot-fell to England's back, how he grinned in the face of the older man's irritated glowering.
“So,” America chuckled when he pulled away, guiding England back against the wall and-oh, fuck him-brushing a bit of wet hair from England's eyes. “Did you miss me?”
“NoAnother kiss, a shifting, an odd, wet sound as something landed on the other side of the shower curtain. Then there were hot, bare fingers against England's chest, teasing along the lines of old and painfully new muscle. A hiss found its way through England's gritted teeth as America smiled, sickeningly sweet. “I missed you, too,” he said, and England was only able to express his
( ... )
The New World (America/England, 4/4)
anonymous
April 29 2009, 23:50:31 UTC
“England . . .”
“What's say,” England hissed, snatching up one of those ill-placed hands with every ounce of force left in him (he was still England, still the bloody British Empire; he would let no one think any less), and yanking it down, “you don't do something useful with-ah.”
Four years. G-goddamnit. He curled forward slowly, hand shaking as he frantically pressed America's around him and, and h-how pathetic. Four years without anywhere to put his cock and-and this was what-? “Fuck,” he whispered, twitched, clamped his eyes shut against the burning water and put his free hand to work destroying the tiling.
Thankfully, the brilliant son of a bitch America, for once in his damn life, didn't need any more instruction. Dragging England to his shoulder (the older man swearing all the while), he got to work, hand wrapped around England's cock and pulling him off with twice the confidence that his expertise should have allowed. Bloody amateur, painfully clumsy and far too fast, inconsiderate and-and bloody hell, did he even know how
( ... )
Re: The New World (America/England, 4/4)
anonymous
June 30 2010, 05:57:03 UTC
The characterization in this is freaking amazing, seriously, it's awesome. I love Arthur's voice you have in it and the way America is through his eyes and rawr. I love thsi fill.
Re: The New World (America/England, 4/4)
anonymous
November 21 2011, 18:45:03 UTC
Gosh, it's like you captured England at that time perfectly. Nicely done, and I like how he's rather in control of the situation while also not being in control.
Pretty please?
Bonus for them still wearing their clothes(or at least the top part of their clothes).
Reply
“Wha-bu-get out!” England sputter-shrieked as he found himself wrapped in an unnaturally powerful embrace. “Get out of here, you git!”
He didn't. Of course he didn't. America wouldn't have been America if he took a bloody order once in a while. If anything, he pulled England closer, the cloth of his shirt-and England was not immediately sure if he was glad or exasperated that America had leapt into his shower still clothed-cruel against England's sore skin and that laugh reverberating against the older man's chest in a most unsettling way. “You haven't changed a bit, have you ( ... )
Reply
“W-why you-!”
America's clothes were completely drenched by now, clinging to him in a highly disquieting fashion. He, however, didn't seem privy to this and, thank God, was too absorbed in whatever ridiculous train of thought he was following to see the way England's traitorous eyes lingered upon them, the form beneath. “I'm kind of glad, though. That's just like you. It would've been too weird if I'd come back and you were all different.”
“Oh bloody hell, you come back?” England growled, shrugging away America's hands in a manner that was nearly too much for his poor shoulders to handle. “You didn't spend half the time fighting that I did, you wanker ( ... )
Reply
“So,” America chuckled when he pulled away, guiding England back against the wall and-oh, fuck him-brushing a bit of wet hair from England's eyes. “Did you miss me?”
“NoAnother kiss, a shifting, an odd, wet sound as something landed on the other side of the shower curtain. Then there were hot, bare fingers against England's chest, teasing along the lines of old and painfully new muscle. A hiss found its way through England's gritted teeth as America smiled, sickeningly sweet. “I missed you, too,” he said, and England was only able to express his ( ... )
Reply
“What's say,” England hissed, snatching up one of those ill-placed hands with every ounce of force left in him (he was still England, still the bloody British Empire; he would let no one think any less), and yanking it down, “you don't do something useful with-ah.”
Four years. G-goddamnit. He curled forward slowly, hand shaking as he frantically pressed America's around him and, and h-how pathetic. Four years without anywhere to put his cock and-and this was what-? “Fuck,” he whispered, twitched, clamped his eyes shut against the burning water and put his free hand to work destroying the tiling.
Thankfully, the brilliant son of a bitch America, for once in his damn life, didn't need any more instruction. Dragging England to his shoulder (the older man swearing all the while), he got to work, hand wrapped around England's cock and pulling him off with twice the confidence that his expertise should have allowed. Bloody amateur, painfully clumsy and far too fast, inconsiderate and-and bloody hell, did he even know how ( ... )
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