I am an awful person and I hope this is what you wanted (part 1/2)
anonymous
May 20 2011, 23:55:42 UTC
"This growth spurt is becoming something of an inconvenience," England mutters, and the straining seams under the arms of America's coat seem to agree with him. He sits back and regards the boy appraisingly; yes, indeed, the clothes he had ordered tailored to America's size from London but three months before are now decidedly too small.
"I shall have to take these out, or get the maids to- I can't afford to buy you new clothes, especially not with the risk that you'll grow out of them before they arrive."
"I can't help growing!" America protests, and England thinks there's a little pride in that and in America's stifled smile. Well.
"Yes, yes, I am glad for you. I merely wish your body would remember it's costing me a pretty penny in tailoring. Come on, let's get you out of those."
And England can't help but notice the bob of America's head when he nods, the way he arches his back when England slips the coat off his shoulders ("I'm not a kid, England," he scowls, "I can do that myself," and England almost lets himself think
( ... )
America makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a whimper, and pushes into England's grip, and it's only when England draws his arm back a little and tilts his head as though to admonish that America blurts- "You, I want- you, and, and what you're doing."
"What I'm doing?" England murmurs, curls his fingers back in place and squeezes gently- and that's America hardening against his fingertips, America whose eyes flutter closed as he gasps, and England thinks he could probably still stop this now, if he wanted. If he wanted. "Like this, hmm?"
"Like- that," and America jerks his hips into England's hand with each word, and England wonders through rising self-loathing does America make that face when he fucks his own hand, and does he think of me while he does so? "Ah," America mutters, and grinds his hips down on England's hand with a little more purpose, a little less uncertainty, and more of that in the way he clenches unsteady fists in the shoulders of England’s coat and holds on. And, damned or not, England cannot help but
( ... )
Um, yeah, this would be exactly what I wanted, oh my god; I love the slow fact of it, how England is - aware he could stop, if he wanted to, but also aware that he. Doesn't. It's guilt but desire and indulgence and absolutely everything I hoped of a fill. (I'm not a very articulate commenter and I apologize for that but thank you.)
Heh, yes. I think it takes rather a long time for England to not feel horrifically guilty about the things he wants to do to America, but his repressed urges are so much fun to write. And thank you for the prompt- I haven't been on the kink meme in about a year, so turning up and finding something so relevant to my interests was a nice surprise. I'm really glad you liked the fill ♥
Re: (part 2/2)
anonymous
June 29 2011, 21:12:39 UTC
Oh my god. I keep telling myself I'm not into shota., absolutely not into shota, and then you just have to go and write things like this. Ugh. Hellfire for me. (recaptcha: "america and". HA. You almost got there, recaptcha.)
-America must be fully clothed.
-England must be slightly disgusted with himself.
Other than that, um, yeah. England's hand, prepubescent America's crotch. ...Go to town with that.
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"I shall have to take these out, or get the maids to- I can't afford to buy you new clothes, especially not with the risk that you'll grow out of them before they arrive."
"I can't help growing!" America protests, and England thinks there's a little pride in that and in America's stifled smile. Well.
"Yes, yes, I am glad for you. I merely wish your body would remember it's costing me a pretty penny in tailoring. Come on, let's get you out of those."
And England can't help but notice the bob of America's head when he nods, the way he arches his back when England slips the coat off his shoulders ("I'm not a kid, England," he scowls, "I can do that myself," and England almost lets himself think ( ... )
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"What I'm doing?" England murmurs, curls his fingers back in place and squeezes gently- and that's America hardening against his fingertips, America whose eyes flutter closed as he gasps, and England thinks he could probably still stop this now, if he wanted. If he wanted. "Like this, hmm?"
"Like- that," and America jerks his hips into England's hand with each word, and England wonders through rising self-loathing does America make that face when he fucks his own hand, and does he think of me while he does so? "Ah," America mutters, and grinds his hips down on England's hand with a little more purpose, a little less uncertainty, and more of that in the way he clenches unsteady fists in the shoulders of England’s coat and holds on. And, damned or not, England cannot help but ( ... )
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And that was hot.
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(recaptcha: "america and". HA. You almost got there, recaptcha.)
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