America has a very bad day and goes into a destructive rage in private. England happens to be present and finds his strength both frightening and VERY AROUSING. Let's say he likes the danger and power between his legs, so to speak, haha.
Iridescence of a Paperweight [2/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:07:09 UTC
The outcry of glass shattering against the wall adjacent to England’s nook caused him to jump (or rather, his body attempted to jump, but the cabinets were having none of it, so he did no more than squirm), and he had to resist the urge to chastise America from where he stood. Such a childish thing, that nation was-no sense of, of anything! England wiggled his shoulders, mouth set into a firm frown, and waited. And waited some more, until all he could hear was America’s heavy breathing. Was the lad finished? Well, good-all very well and good. Now he could probably clear his throat and, as dignifiedly as one could manage like this, request assistance
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [3/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:09:56 UTC
“…America, put me down, you nutter,” England ordered, flushed, smacking at the hand around his tie. This was certainly not how he’d anticipated his retrieval to be. Why couldn’t Canada have found him? Hell, even France would’ve been better than this. Or maybe, oh, an America who was apologetic or horny rather than drunken into a stupor of rage. Yes, that sounded simply marvelousBut America was miles away; if he wouldn’t recognize England by sight, surely sound wouldn’t be of much assistance, either. He scowled and dropped England once more, earning a startled yelp. “Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I’m nice enough to letcha sort yourself out before I beat the shit out of you. You have forty-five seconds.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest, muscles tensed and-wait, bare chest? England paused in fixing his tie to squint at the other nation. His dress shirt was flowing over his belt, and most of the top and middle buttons seemed to have been popped off; his collar was a mess, and his tie was hanging undone around his neck. What exposed
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [4/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:12:32 UTC
Still encompassed in apathetic humiliation, England just stared. “I’ll try to ignore just how ridiculous that explanation is. Was there even a trigger for why you apparently just had to up and destroy everything in sight just now?”
Slowly, America shrugged.
“...I’m going to strangle you, boy.”
“Ha, even though you totally just saw me tear apart the room and-holy shit,” America cut himself off as abrupt realization swarmed him, scooting forward and grasping England by the shoulders, suddenly frantic. “Did I hurt you? Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m so sorry, I thought this room would’a been empty by now!” Since it was so delightfully brought up, England had assumed a dazed sort of expression, eyes wandering once more over the aforementioned room, drinking in the damage that that ridiculous nation had caused-with his ridiculously tight muscles and ridiculously sweaty tan skin, and-
“Fuck,” England cursed-and those ridiculously molten eyes. America grimaced, thinking he was in pain
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [5/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:18:03 UTC
“Break it,” England ordered, moving to stare America down, akimbo. He smiled, though neither friendly nor malicious in his manner. America had to tilt his head upward to see him properly, and see him properly he did. “Smash it into a million little pieces like it was Russia’s own heart. Bash on, then. Let me see.”
“…England, do you have a hard-on goin’ right now?” America asked. When England floundered, America relaxed. “Because you were totally just using your bedroom voice, and your pants are lookin’ really kinda tight.” Slowly, he grinned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say seeing me break shit turns you on.”
England, red-faced, huffed. Damn that boy-he often forgot America wasn’t necessarily oblivious, just a bit slow at first. “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t know any better, then, isn’t it?” He dragged a palm down his cheek, as if to ward off the blood beneath his skin, and turned around to hop onto the wooden table he’d been so brutally slammed against earlier. With crossed legs and lazily clasped fingers, he waited
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [6/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:20:09 UTC
England rolled his eyes, ignoring that pedophile nonsense (really, he never would hear the end of it). “Oh, you’re fine. I’m the one who might’ve been killed tonight.” He sighed when America angled his head to lather England’s neck in kisses, mouth soft and warm. “And it seems I also would have been spending the evening alone had you not--ah, there, yes…had you not, ha…oh, fuck it.” His fingers curled around America’s shoulders, shoving him back enough to get a good look at him. With his face pink and sweaty, eyes glassy, lips red-America truly was lovely. No, he wouldn’t have been happy if he’d missed out on this tonight because of some stupid alien technological mishap- or one of America’s tantrums, whichever the true fault was. Thankfully, though, he thought sardonically, the world had ways of working itself out
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [7/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:21:50 UTC
“Ain’t I?” America agreed, shimmying further away from England and looking around for a suitable area to “destroy” the paperweight. Finally, he settled on the wall adjacent to the door he’d so gracefully, err, unhinged earlier, and stood perhaps ten feet from it, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. He looked over his shoulder at England, who appeared to be trying to subdue his lack of patience. “You ready?” He teased.
“Hurry the fuck up.”
America laughed, the delightful sound fluttering from wall to wall and all too terribly happy in its contrast against the earlier menacing, throaty vocalization America had assumed in his anger. England had to force his lips to remain downward. “You’ll ruin the mood, laughing like that.”
“And breaking stuff will bolster it?”
“Immensely,” England replied dryly.
“Whaaatever.” America turned his attention back to the wall, as if trying to determine the smartest way to approach a situation like this, before he decided, fuck it, he definitely was starting to get horny (i.e. had been
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [8/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:24:30 UTC
“I don’t think I’ve seen you this horny in a long time. Or at least, not this desperate.” He cracked a grin, and England scowled, fidgeting with the tremors that consumed his bones as he forced himself to not continue his affectionate assault. Even while sporting a nice tent in one’s pants, a man had to uphold his pride (among other things
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [9/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:27:31 UTC
“America,” England gasped, trying to sound warning and urge him to return quickly, though only succeeding in sounding lusty and, well…desperate, as America had said. But he was desperate for America, so it was okay (in America’s mind it was, at least; England would beg to differ).
“Oh, fucking hell…’Merica…”
…It was a lot more than okay, actually.
“Wait for me, damn it!” He cried, clearly having underestimated just how lascivious England was at the moment.
A guttural bark of anger burst forth from America’s throat as he at last damned the briefcase and its zippers to all hell and fisted both hands tightly in the leather, emitting a string of caveman-like grunts as he tore the (ahem, expensive) fabric apart. A chunky cell phone flew overhead, landing somewhere behind him with a lifeless thud; some papers, startled, fluttered into the air in a fright before coming back down in a bundle of tremors. A packet of cigarettes burst open before reaching the floor, and a few cassette tapes tumbled out, accompanied by a couple of pocket-
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [10/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:29:18 UTC
“Fuck,” he said, throat choking over the single syllable. He spilled the lube clumsily all over his palm and chucked the half-emptied bottle to the floor with another curse.
England looked like a damn shark. How the man could be so aroused, beg to be fucked, and still look like a fucking predator was beyond America.
“Yes,” England drawled in agreement, sliding further up the table and spreading his legs. His fingers, prying beneath the fabric, dragged over America’s testicles, fondling and cradling the skin. America bit his lip, trying to concentrate. “Fuck, indeed.”
Far too distracted to multitask properly, America decided to shirk opening the pack of condoms and dumped them on England’s chest, leaving him to deal with it. His fingers were slick and wet with the cheap lubricant, trembling as his unsoiled hand gently set England’s head down and instead grabbed one of England’s legs and lifted it over America’s shoulder. He shut his eyes when England’s hand-- lovely and affectionate and oh God--fell away from his cock, presumably
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [11/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:31:31 UTC
England, bemused, found that America must have been thinking the same thing when one of America’s hands slipped around to cup his side, fingers hooking over each protruding rib as they dragged along his skin. England lifted his upper body, gripping the edge of the table. He tilted his head back at America, brow raised, and pushed his hips back, finding purchase when he brushed against America’s erection-clad in the nuisance necessity of a condom, but America’s all the same.
“Come along, then,” he invited softly, dipping his back and rolling his shoulders, threaded muscles lissome as they contracted beneath his skin.
And so America moved into him, pushing so slowly and dropping kisses against his shoulder so lovingly that England was almost --almost-- brought to foregoing the desire for rough sex-because America, so sweet and so lovely, made something wreathe into serpentines in his stomach till his heart gasped deeply in his chest, willing him to cry out for that bumbling boy in a way that was far too pleasantly embarrassing to be
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [12/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:32:58 UTC
America stared down at the busted table incredulously, as it gave one final angry creak and gave out, its legs snapping, falling to the floor. “Seriously?” The skin beneath his fingers trembled, though America couldn’t be sure if it was from fright, exhaustion, amusement, or sheer arousal-so he just gripped England’s hips more tightly and smoothed his thumbs over the angular bones that jutted out. He pressed his mouth to England’s shoulder, relieving it of its perspiration. England shivered and drew a breath.
“You broke it. You actually fucking broke it.”
The derision between amusement and disdain in England’s tone led America to smartly wind one hand around England’s front and grip him, slowly, from the tip down to the bed of nestled blond hairs, earning a startled, albeit pleased, “oh“Shouldn’t that have just turned you on even more?” America teased, rubbing England’s cock and rolling his hips, his mouth still idle on England’s tensed skin
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [13a/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:34:57 UTC
Counting fail.“Oookay. Anyway…” America leaned back against one of the file cabinets, eying England with his arms folded across his chest. Randy and insatiable one moment, flustered and proper the next: perhaps it was saddest that America actually didn’t have a preference to the former or latter. Both were enjoyable in their own ways
( ... )
Iridescence of a Paperweight [13b/13]
anonymous
February 24 2011, 22:36:49 UTC
“Hey, England?”
“Yes?”
Oh. He was content-to be answering with a “yes”, rather than a snapped “what, America?” Of course he’d be content now that he had actual reason not to be.
“How long were you stuck there for?”
America stood when he heard England’s Oxfords tapping at the carpet. “Long enough. Why?”
He shimmied out of the little hiding place to see England by the door-his belongings and shredded briefcase (a sure sign that England was emotionally and physically sated: he didn’t yell at America when he probably deserved it) in hand, with America’s ruined shirt hung over his shoulder. England raised a brow. “Out with it.”
America inhaled sharply through his nose, crumpling the parchment in his hand. “Uh. Y’know what, never mind. Let’s just forget all about this and head back to my room. I got a suite this time just in case you decided to spend the night. It’s got a real nice bathroom with this huge bathtub and jets and-“
“America,” England murmured testily, voice suddenly filled with suspicious ire. “Give it here. Now
( ... )
America has a very bad day and goes into a destructive rage in private. England happens to be present and finds his strength both frightening and VERY AROUSING. Let's say he likes the danger and power between his legs, so to speak, haha.
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Slowly, America shrugged.
“...I’m going to strangle you, boy.”
“Ha, even though you totally just saw me tear apart the room and-holy shit,” America cut himself off as abrupt realization swarmed him, scooting forward and grasping England by the shoulders, suddenly frantic. “Did I hurt you? Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m so sorry, I thought this room would’a been empty by now!” Since it was so delightfully brought up, England had assumed a dazed sort of expression, eyes wandering once more over the aforementioned room, drinking in the damage that that ridiculous nation had caused-with his ridiculously tight muscles and ridiculously sweaty tan skin, and-
“Fuck,” England cursed-and those ridiculously molten eyes. America grimaced, thinking he was in pain ( ... )
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“…England, do you have a hard-on goin’ right now?” America asked. When England floundered, America relaxed. “Because you were totally just using your bedroom voice, and your pants are lookin’ really kinda tight.” Slowly, he grinned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say seeing me break shit turns you on.”
England, red-faced, huffed. Damn that boy-he often forgot America wasn’t necessarily oblivious, just a bit slow at first. “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t know any better, then, isn’t it?” He dragged a palm down his cheek, as if to ward off the blood beneath his skin, and turned around to hop onto the wooden table he’d been so brutally slammed against earlier. With crossed legs and lazily clasped fingers, he waited ( ... )
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“Hurry the fuck up.”
America laughed, the delightful sound fluttering from wall to wall and all too terribly happy in its contrast against the earlier menacing, throaty vocalization America had assumed in his anger. England had to force his lips to remain downward. “You’ll ruin the mood, laughing like that.”
“And breaking stuff will bolster it?”
“Immensely,” England replied dryly.
“Whaaatever.” America turned his attention back to the wall, as if trying to determine the smartest way to approach a situation like this, before he decided, fuck it, he definitely was starting to get horny (i.e. had been ( ... )
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“Oh, fucking hell…’Merica…”
…It was a lot more than okay, actually.
“Wait for me, damn it!” He cried, clearly having underestimated just how lascivious England was at the moment.
A guttural bark of anger burst forth from America’s throat as he at last damned the briefcase and its zippers to all hell and fisted both hands tightly in the leather, emitting a string of caveman-like grunts as he tore the (ahem, expensive) fabric apart. A chunky cell phone flew overhead, landing somewhere behind him with a lifeless thud; some papers, startled, fluttered into the air in a fright before coming back down in a bundle of tremors. A packet of cigarettes burst open before reaching the floor, and a few cassette tapes tumbled out, accompanied by a couple of pocket- ( ... )
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England looked like a damn shark. How the man could be so aroused, beg to be fucked, and still look like a fucking predator was beyond America.
“Yes,” England drawled in agreement, sliding further up the table and spreading his legs. His fingers, prying beneath the fabric, dragged over America’s testicles, fondling and cradling the skin. America bit his lip, trying to concentrate. “Fuck, indeed.”
Far too distracted to multitask properly, America decided to shirk opening the pack of condoms and dumped them on England’s chest, leaving him to deal with it. His fingers were slick and wet with the cheap lubricant, trembling as his unsoiled hand gently set England’s head down and instead grabbed one of England’s legs and lifted it over America’s shoulder. He shut his eyes when England’s hand-- lovely and affectionate and oh God--fell away from his cock, presumably ( ... )
Reply
“Come along, then,” he invited softly, dipping his back and rolling his shoulders, threaded muscles lissome as they contracted beneath his skin.
And so America moved into him, pushing so slowly and dropping kisses against his shoulder so lovingly that England was almost --almost-- brought to foregoing the desire for rough sex-because America, so sweet and so lovely, made something wreathe into serpentines in his stomach till his heart gasped deeply in his chest, willing him to cry out for that bumbling boy in a way that was far too pleasantly embarrassing to be ( ... )
Reply
“You broke it. You actually fucking broke it.”
The derision between amusement and disdain in England’s tone led America to smartly wind one hand around England’s front and grip him, slowly, from the tip down to the bed of nestled blond hairs, earning a startled, albeit pleased, “oh“Shouldn’t that have just turned you on even more?” America teased, rubbing England’s cock and rolling his hips, his mouth still idle on England’s tensed skin ( ... )
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“Yes?”
Oh. He was content-to be answering with a “yes”, rather than a snapped “what, America?” Of course he’d be content now that he had actual reason not to be.
“How long were you stuck there for?”
America stood when he heard England’s Oxfords tapping at the carpet. “Long enough. Why?”
He shimmied out of the little hiding place to see England by the door-his belongings and shredded briefcase (a sure sign that England was emotionally and physically sated: he didn’t yell at America when he probably deserved it) in hand, with America’s ruined shirt hung over his shoulder. England raised a brow. “Out with it.”
America inhaled sharply through his nose, crumpling the parchment in his hand. “Uh. Y’know what, never mind. Let’s just forget all about this and head back to my room. I got a suite this time just in case you decided to spend the night. It’s got a real nice bathroom with this huge bathtub and jets and-“
“America,” England murmured testily, voice suddenly filled with suspicious ire. “Give it here. Now ( ... )
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