America/Belarus "Burning Bright" - Shameless het smut
Deannoning from the Kink Meme, WARNING: This story contains graphic depictions of sex. The requester asked for good het smut, which IS admittedly lacking, so I was inspired to fill it with a pairing that I've always been VERY attracted to visually...and it worked out well enough that I wanted to share it with everybody. I've never written serious smut before...but I'm happy with this. Normally, I dislike deannoning with an unholy passion, but fandom IS lacking for good het and I figure it's my civic duty to share this with the world and take credit for the hot.
Also, I don't write THAT MUCH smut, and if anybody has any critique I would be happy to accept it.
~~~
Tears were streaming down Belarus' cheeks and it shamed her that America wiped them away. His fingers burned her chilled cheeks as they brushed from her jaw, then rose to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She half-turned away, lowering her eyes to the snow and away from America. "Leave me alone," it was a weak snarl.
"Hey," he said gently, patiently as he raised a hand to her shoulder. It was a testament to how tired she was that she didn't pull away. "We'll fix this. All of us. I mean, we're the motherfucking Allies."
"There's no fixing what's broken." And all the world was broken. Europe was engulfed in war once again, her sister had been forced to work for Germany, and her brother was feared lost at Leningrad (though Stalin denied it...she was terrified she would never see him again). None of the other Allies had heard from him in months...and Belarus thought of the time he'd been a child and fallen through the ice. They hadn't found him until spring. With the tedious state of affairs, it was not too hard to believe that Russia could be killed.
Belarus looked up, perhaps wanting to see something genuine that didn't involve duty and sacrifice. She'd seen too many martyred men and women buried with their service and nothing else. Sometimes, it felt like the only emotions she knew anymore were loss and suffering. A part of her wanted desperately to see something kind for the sake of kindness.
He smiled, and for the first time she noticed how snowflakes were collecting on his hair, stark against his golden tresses. America was confident; he was fresh and ready to aid them against Germany. More importantly, he was honest. The self-righteousness that she otherwise would have associated with naivety or manipulation now seemed...like a light, like the sun.
"You mean that...don't you?" They were the first words of acceptance she'd offered during the exchange.
America nodded. "Of course I do!" He laughed and spread his arms wide in some grandiose gesture. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it!"
"Beliefs can be wrong," Belarus said quietly, wanting to believe his words. "I believe I will lose everything that has ever mattered to me in this war. Tell me why your beliefs should mean anything to me?"
She expected his expression to darken. Instead, his eyes softened but carefully avoided pity. They were like pools of resolve. "Because I'd rather go in swinging and thinking I'll win than put all that work into a losing battle."
Something hard formed in her throat, and she needed to look away again. Belarus hated this, hated the fact that she could bury dozens of her children at a time but this kindness made her choke.
"Belarus..." the hand was on her shoulder again. She didn't flinch away. "I'm for real. I won't abandon you, or Russia, or anybody else who's fighting the Axis. And we'll win. Is there anything I can do to prove it to you?"
His hand moved to her cheek again, urging her to look at his face so she could see the assurance that he would, in fact, do anything.
Belarus stayed silent for a long time, let the wind toss their hair and catch their coats as they stood together, ankle deep in falling snow. "Yes." She stated simply. There was something he could do. "You can help me...feel." She wanted some of his optimism, an escape from her own sense that nothing would ever be right again.
Before he could stammer out a reply, Belarus was pressing her mouth against his. For a moment, she felt the shock in his shaking body then the relenting heat that settled in the steadiness of his hands. He ran his hands down her back, trying to find the shape under her heavy service coat before finding the distinct rounding of her hips and pulling them closer. Belarus’ pulled her hand from the grip she had on his hair and traced her fingers down the line of his neck. She felt his heartrate in the pulsing jugular under her fingers- throbbing, alive- but her hand didn’t stop until she found the zipper of his jacket; she wanted to feel his heart and was hungry for the confirmation.
America shifted directions and broke the kiss long enough to run his hands through her hair and look at her. “Are you sure-“
“Yes.” Perhaps she was a little forceful.
“All right then.” He flashed another bright grin, but his blue eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. His gloved hand coiled around her hips. With a quick glance left, then right, he ducked them into the artillery room.
Belarus was undoing the straps of her coat as suddenly the pooling heat in the pit of her stomach felt like too much (grasping for the last time she felt like this was useless; memory of a time before the war seemed impossible, and it didn't help that she was distracted). Sweat was gathering on her pale skin, making even the light military uniform under her coat feel too hot. “More,” she commanded gently as America disentangled himself from his bomber’s jacket. He’d already started work on his own uniform. Belarus let her eyes linger on the American flag stitched into the light-colored dress khakis. She caught his eyes lingering on the Hammer and Sickle over her heart.
His tie made a good handhold to pull him with her as she backed onto the cloth-covered inventory of artillery shells. America’s arms spread wide over her body when her back pressed flat against the dark green covering. Again, his tender lips- so boyish, not yet chapped and broken from the chill- glanced from her mouth to her cheeks, down her neck and the delicate dip of her clavicle while his hands worked to pull off her coveralls.
”I’ll do that,” she said breathlessly and arched upwards to shrug off the top portion of the flight suit and free her shoulders while America went immediately to her boots and unlaced them. With heavy thumps, they dropped to the floor and she couldn’t care less.
Broad, strong hands ran down the bare curves of her ribs and grasped the top part of the khaki suit before pulling it off entirely. Her legs slid free and curled over the rough fabric underneath. For a moment, she felt the uneven stacks of shells uncomfortably digging into her body.
America took a moment to realize she was only wearing red-silk underwear. Jaw dropping, he stopped and stared, mesmerized by the bright red against her pale skin. "I thought..." he stammered thickly. "I thought Communism didn't believe in materialism."
"They were a gift from China," she answered calmly then reached a hand up to his chest to let her fingers nimbly unbutton his already disheveled dress shirt. "Your turn." Belarus wanted to see him.
America wasted no time in stripping until she could see his sun-tanned back. A quick grin and a raised eyebrow implied the obvious question (do you like it?). Sinewy muscle was strapped all over his body, and Belarus would have been a liar had she claimed that she didn't enjoy the sight. Her ankles wrapped around America's hips and pulled him closer to the pumping blood in the vertex of her thighs.
Something thick and stiff bumped against her underwear. America let his torso drop onto hers, and for the first time, their naked flesh pressed flush together. There was hardly room to sweat, much less to breathe even as the temperature only seemed to rise. They ground, establishing a rhythm. No matter how close they became, Belarus found herself wanting more.
America was reading her mind. Long fingers began fumbling with the clasp of her bra. Within moments, her small, athletic breasts spilled free and he dropped the red silk to the side somewhere.
The hot lips began migrating downwards, and Belarus found a little whine slip out of her throat as she tried to follow...but he kept going lower...working his way downwards...taking her breast into his mouth and working the tip lightly with his tongue, lips and teeth...the sounds in her throat ceased when he reached his final destination. Before she knew it, her panties were sliding down her legs, only to be replaced by the sensation of America's tongue sliding into her fold and licking the throbbing nub there.
Belarus saw stars.
No one- not one of her other lovers had done this.
Something cold was slipping down her cheeks again in sharp contrast to the feeling of his tongue teasing and bringing her closer, closer...
He pulled away at the last moment...and she realized his pants were gone.
"Go," she whispered. "I'm..." Ready. She was ready. "Do it already!"
America grabbed her hips and slowly slid inside her. It had been a while since she'd last done something like this and he accounted for possible pain by being as gentle as possible. A few shuddering breaths as he hilted and waited for her to adjust. Belarus began tilting her hips to tell him movement would be appreciated. Thrusts began, slow and sweeping at first but increasing in speed in time to the twist of her body.
Flesh slammed together and he bent over her to watch the emotions crossing her face.
Her steely blue eyes locked with irises the color of the Atlantic, took in the fluster to his skin.
Then his hand dropped back to her clitoris and stroked with deft flicks of his wrist.
Belarus suddenly felt everything tilt and shift as pure, needful, liquid fire shot through her body. For a moment, everything suspended. All the pain, fear, injury, and shattered pieces of her world were melted away.
He gave a couple more solid thrusts and came inside her, a look of pure, unrestrained happiness spread across his face as his back straightened and jolted forward, arched and tossed his hair as Belarus' silver strands splayed across the artillery shells.
America collapsed against her. They stayed that way for a while, kissing and lazing through the afterglow.
When they were pulling on their clothes, Belarus noticed that he was looking at her again. "Yes?" she questioned, but it lacked the bitter edge that her words usually held.
"Oh, nothing," he said nonchalantly while his fingers re-formed his bangs (and she knew what those fingers were capable of). "I just...like seeing you smile. You're really beautiful when you smile."
When they kissed goodbye that night, Belarus' fingers lingered on her lips questioningly, doubting the attention she'd just been showed...but she remembered his cocky grins, so different from the sad smiles of her brother, and realized that she liked seeing America smile, too.
The next day, Russia returned from battle, and Belarus took the path of love that would never be returned...because it was simpler than getting burned alive.
Also, I don't write THAT MUCH smut, and if anybody has any critique I would be happy to accept it.
~~~
Tears were streaming down Belarus' cheeks and it shamed her that America wiped them away. His fingers burned her chilled cheeks as they brushed from her jaw, then rose to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She half-turned away, lowering her eyes to the snow and away from America. "Leave me alone," it was a weak snarl.
"Hey," he said gently, patiently as he raised a hand to her shoulder. It was a testament to how tired she was that she didn't pull away. "We'll fix this. All of us. I mean, we're the motherfucking Allies."
"There's no fixing what's broken." And all the world was broken. Europe was engulfed in war once again, her sister had been forced to work for Germany, and her brother was feared lost at Leningrad (though Stalin denied it...she was terrified she would never see him again). None of the other Allies had heard from him in months...and Belarus thought of the time he'd been a child and fallen through the ice. They hadn't found him until spring. With the tedious state of affairs, it was not too hard to believe that Russia could be killed.
Belarus looked up, perhaps wanting to see something genuine that didn't involve duty and sacrifice. She'd seen too many martyred men and women buried with their service and nothing else. Sometimes, it felt like the only emotions she knew anymore were loss and suffering. A part of her wanted desperately to see something kind for the sake of kindness.
He smiled, and for the first time she noticed how snowflakes were collecting on his hair, stark against his golden tresses. America was confident; he was fresh and ready to aid them against Germany. More importantly, he was honest. The self-righteousness that she otherwise would have associated with naivety or manipulation now seemed...like a light, like the sun.
"You mean that...don't you?" They were the first words of acceptance she'd offered during the exchange.
America nodded. "Of course I do!" He laughed and spread his arms wide in some grandiose gesture. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it!"
"Beliefs can be wrong," Belarus said quietly, wanting to believe his words. "I believe I will lose everything that has ever mattered to me in this war. Tell me why your beliefs should mean anything to me?"
She expected his expression to darken. Instead, his eyes softened but carefully avoided pity. They were like pools of resolve. "Because I'd rather go in swinging and thinking I'll win than put all that work into a losing battle."
Something hard formed in her throat, and she needed to look away again. Belarus hated this, hated the fact that she could bury dozens of her children at a time but this kindness made her choke.
"Belarus..." the hand was on her shoulder again. She didn't flinch away. "I'm for real. I won't abandon you, or Russia, or anybody else who's fighting the Axis. And we'll win. Is there anything I can do to prove it to you?"
His hand moved to her cheek again, urging her to look at his face so she could see the assurance that he would, in fact, do anything.
Belarus stayed silent for a long time, let the wind toss their hair and catch their coats as they stood together, ankle deep in falling snow. "Yes." She stated simply. There was something he could do. "You can help me...feel." She wanted some of his optimism, an escape from her own sense that nothing would ever be right again.
Before he could stammer out a reply, Belarus was pressing her mouth against his. For a moment, she felt the shock in his shaking body then the relenting heat that settled in the steadiness of his hands. He ran his hands down her back, trying to find the shape under her heavy service coat before finding the distinct rounding of her hips and pulling them closer. Belarus’ pulled her hand from the grip she had on his hair and traced her fingers down the line of his neck. She felt his heartrate in the pulsing jugular under her fingers- throbbing, alive- but her hand didn’t stop until she found the zipper of his jacket; she wanted to feel his heart and was hungry for the confirmation.
America shifted directions and broke the kiss long enough to run his hands through her hair and look at her. “Are you sure-“
“Yes.” Perhaps she was a little forceful.
“All right then.” He flashed another bright grin, but his blue eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. His gloved hand coiled around her hips. With a quick glance left, then right, he ducked them into the artillery room.
Belarus was undoing the straps of her coat as suddenly the pooling heat in the pit of her stomach felt like too much (grasping for the last time she felt like this was useless; memory of a time before the war seemed impossible, and it didn't help that she was distracted). Sweat was gathering on her pale skin, making even the light military uniform under her coat feel too hot. “More,” she commanded gently as America disentangled himself from his bomber’s jacket. He’d already started work on his own uniform. Belarus let her eyes linger on the American flag stitched into the light-colored dress khakis. She caught his eyes lingering on the Hammer and Sickle over her heart.
His tie made a good handhold to pull him with her as she backed onto the cloth-covered inventory of artillery shells. America’s arms spread wide over her body when her back pressed flat against the dark green covering. Again, his tender lips- so boyish, not yet chapped and broken from the chill- glanced from her mouth to her cheeks, down her neck and the delicate dip of her clavicle while his hands worked to pull off her coveralls.
”I’ll do that,” she said breathlessly and arched upwards to shrug off the top portion of the flight suit and free her shoulders while America went immediately to her boots and unlaced them. With heavy thumps, they dropped to the floor and she couldn’t care less.
Broad, strong hands ran down the bare curves of her ribs and grasped the top part of the khaki suit before pulling it off entirely. Her legs slid free and curled over the rough fabric underneath. For a moment, she felt the uneven stacks of shells uncomfortably digging into her body.
America took a moment to realize she was only wearing red-silk underwear. Jaw dropping, he stopped and stared, mesmerized by the bright red against her pale skin. "I thought..." he stammered thickly. "I thought Communism didn't believe in materialism."
"They were a gift from China," she answered calmly then reached a hand up to his chest to let her fingers nimbly unbutton his already disheveled dress shirt. "Your turn." Belarus wanted to see him.
America wasted no time in stripping until she could see his sun-tanned back. A quick grin and a raised eyebrow implied the obvious question (do you like it?). Sinewy muscle was strapped all over his body, and Belarus would have been a liar had she claimed that she didn't enjoy the sight. Her ankles wrapped around America's hips and pulled him closer to the pumping blood in the vertex of her thighs.
Something thick and stiff bumped against her underwear. America let his torso drop onto hers, and for the first time, their naked flesh pressed flush together. There was hardly room to sweat, much less to breathe even as the temperature only seemed to rise. They ground, establishing a rhythm. No matter how close they became, Belarus found herself wanting more.
America was reading her mind. Long fingers began fumbling with the clasp of her bra. Within moments, her small, athletic breasts spilled free and he dropped the red silk to the side somewhere.
The hot lips began migrating downwards, and Belarus found a little whine slip out of her throat as she tried to follow...but he kept going lower...working his way downwards...taking her breast into his mouth and working the tip lightly with his tongue, lips and teeth...the sounds in her throat ceased when he reached his final destination. Before she knew it, her panties were sliding down her legs, only to be replaced by the sensation of America's tongue sliding into her fold and licking the throbbing nub there.
Belarus saw stars.
No one- not one of her other lovers had done this.
Something cold was slipping down her cheeks again in sharp contrast to the feeling of his tongue teasing and bringing her closer, closer...
He pulled away at the last moment...and she realized his pants were gone.
"Go," she whispered. "I'm..." Ready. She was ready. "Do it already!"
America grabbed her hips and slowly slid inside her. It had been a while since she'd last done something like this and he accounted for possible pain by being as gentle as possible. A few shuddering breaths as he hilted and waited for her to adjust. Belarus began tilting her hips to tell him movement would be appreciated. Thrusts began, slow and sweeping at first but increasing in speed in time to the twist of her body.
Flesh slammed together and he bent over her to watch the emotions crossing her face.
Her steely blue eyes locked with irises the color of the Atlantic, took in the fluster to his skin.
Then his hand dropped back to her clitoris and stroked with deft flicks of his wrist.
Belarus suddenly felt everything tilt and shift as pure, needful, liquid fire shot through her body. For a moment, everything suspended. All the pain, fear, injury, and shattered pieces of her world were melted away.
He gave a couple more solid thrusts and came inside her, a look of pure, unrestrained happiness spread across his face as his back straightened and jolted forward, arched and tossed his hair as Belarus' silver strands splayed across the artillery shells.
America collapsed against her. They stayed that way for a while, kissing and lazing through the afterglow.
When they were pulling on their clothes, Belarus noticed that he was looking at her again. "Yes?" she questioned, but it lacked the bitter edge that her words usually held.
"Oh, nothing," he said nonchalantly while his fingers re-formed his bangs (and she knew what those fingers were capable of). "I just...like seeing you smile. You're really beautiful when you smile."
When they kissed goodbye that night, Belarus' fingers lingered on her lips questioningly, doubting the attention she'd just been showed...but she remembered his cocky grins, so different from the sad smiles of her brother, and realized that she liked seeing America smile, too.
The next day, Russia returned from battle, and Belarus took the path of love that would never be returned...because it was simpler than getting burned alive.