It only occurred to America in the first place because it was the first time in a . . . while that England had actually worn boots. Big tall boots, the kind that came up to your knees, not the combat ones he saw on him often enough even today. But for the investiture ceremony for the Order of the Garter England had gotten all dressed up in clothes that reminded America of a long time ago, and he had worn tall boots along with them. There was a long cloak and some kind of gold garland thingy and everything. And a hat with a freaking huge feather in it. America thought the feather was awesome. (America was at the ceremony because it was good for foreign relations, and all that, and because England was his boyfriend. Coincidentally, England looked pretty damn hot in boots, but seriously, America would have come even if they’d made England wear yellow denim overalls or something. Not that England didn’t look hot all the time, as far as America was concerned, and he would have in yellow denim overalls, too, he thought loyally
( ... )
He and England had been together for more than forty years, and kissing him still never got old to America. The way England would always suck in his breath a little just before America’s lips pressed to his, the way his breath tasted just slightly of tea even when he hadn’t even been drinking it-the way his lips would soften and part under America’s. America closed his eyes and pressed closer as England’s head tipped back, sliding his other arm around England’s waist. England’s hands came up, skimming over America’s back and shoulders before they tangled in his hair and England opened his mouth to the kiss, breathing out in a long, soft sigh. America dipped England back, grinning against his lips as England sputtered and then subsided in order to kiss him back more deeply. America flicked his tongue into England’s mouth, against his teeth, and England kissed him back eagerly, warm and wet, his hands tightening in America’s hair
( ... )
Oh damn, I can already tell this is going to be hot; I didn't even think this would get filled, either! :D
And it's pretty impressive to write them arguing like an old married couple, keep them in-character, and make it sexy. Especially when it's still foreplay. GJ, anon!
There were a few things in the world that America was, well, not so awesome at, and one of them was explaining to England in words how he felt about him. He always seemed to stumble over them, while England used words easily, finding the best phrases to make America sort of melt into a gigantic puddle
( ... )
Dear god, I'm so happy to see a continuation of this; I'm loving America's little moments of ineloquence in expressing his feelings, and the banter between these two is wonderful and witty. I especially liked this bit about the garter: “So you’re ceremonially wearing women’s underwear,” he said with a grin. Poor England was even too distracted to give a history lesson on the Order of the Garter! XD
And my god, your descriptions are lovely and hot; I kind of also like the little bits of uncertainty here on both characters' parts. They both want this desperately, but England especially seems to be fighting against himself and his own lust (and his perceptions of their history together and the power imbalance between them) to make sure America really wants this, that it's not just him. Although since they both want it, it's kind of a losing battle there for England. XD
... Yeah, I have nothing intelligent to say after your descriptions of America's treatment of those boots. <3
I am so very glad you liked it; I think you're getting exactly what I wanted out of it, and that makes me very happy. And yes, poor England--he really is distracted.
America smiled, wide and soft and slow. “Good,” he said huskily. He couldn’t help a sort of silly grin at England’s reaction to that smile, the way he gasped, his lashes fluttering over his eyes and his tongue swiping over his lips like they were suddenly dry. His whole body gave a little jerk and a flush crept down over his chest in rosy patches. America couldn’t resist leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to England’s chest, nuzzling the skin over his ribs before trailing a wet trail down over his navel to the waistband of his pants. He swept his tongue over the trail of hair that disappeared into England’s underwear under that waistband, and then sat back to lift England’s leg again and work the sock carefully downward. It was only fair, after all. He’d been hot and bothered and burning up under his skin for a lot of that long, stuffy ceremony, watching England, watching England all dressed up like that, and fuck, he’d been so bored, his whole body thrumming with a vague, buried sort of arousal at watching England going
( ... )
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And it's pretty impressive to write them arguing like an old married couple, keep them in-character, and make it sexy. Especially when it's still foreplay. GJ, anon!
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Really in love with Englands boots.
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And my god, your descriptions are lovely and hot; I kind of also like the little bits of uncertainty here on both characters' parts. They both want this desperately, but England especially seems to be fighting against himself and his own lust (and his perceptions of their history together and the power imbalance between them) to make sure America really wants this, that it's not just him. Although since they both want it, it's kind of a losing battle there for England. XD
... Yeah, I have nothing intelligent to say after your descriptions of America's treatment of those boots. <3
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<3
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