[Fanfic] - Backseat
Title: Backseat
Rating: R
Pairing: Denmark/Netherlands
Summary: Sloppy drunk!sex in the backseat of a car.
Warnings: NSFW
I wasn’t gonna de-anon for this but then I basically did on the Meme anyway. So, here, have some fail porn I wrote in like 20 minutes in a really weird mood.
---
BACKSEAT
---
Netherlands hits the back seat of Denmark’s car, drunken half-sprawl half-stumble.
“You’re too drunk to drive, moron.”
Denmark’s snort. “You’re too drunk to talk.” He stumbles in, slides half on the floor, door half open, limbs sticking out still.
It’s dark.
A hand slides somewhere, by someone - Denmark’s face in Netherlands’ stomach, rubs there, not-quite-kiss through fabric.
“Gettin’ drool on my shirt,” too garbled to understand, and Denmark’s world is a blur of burgundyblack - deep gold shining, scowling -
Oh.
Hands in hair -
- maybe it’s hair -
- the car door?
Whatever. A thrust and grind down into the heat, the hard muscle and -
- skin, where’d that come from - who cares, there’s a mouth at his neck and hot exhales on his ear and a slurred rumble from somewhere.
“Y’smell like beer,” Netherlands mutters.
“And you smell like cigarettes.” Denmark moves, stuttered grind, mouth-on-mouth - it’s sloppy. The taste of cigarettes, too - beer, spit, arousal.
Netherlands shifts, from underneath Denmark’s heavy weight, he can feel it burn against him - kicks them both more firmly into the seat, there’s a door on his leg. Sticky backseat. A shirt riding up, might be his - oh, he’s sticking to the seat, yeah, that’s his. “Ya taste like beer too,” and a rough hand slipping up Denmark’s side.
Seatbelt’s digging into his back before forceful mouth, tongue, teeth.
Bitten lip and a groan - Denmark presses further, bears down, attacks the strange twist of Netherlands’ neck through gasps between his teeth. Quick, it’s fast, they’re moving fast. Somewhere a shirt’s lost, he can imagine the crescents in his back now; he curses. “Get yer pants off -” one long slur against that neck and a scramble ensues - slipping, sliding, odd jerks of limbs and growling when the tight space and sharp angles collide with knees, heads, elbows.
“Idiot, y’could help -” swipe of hands to Denmark’s own crotch, thunk of shoes hitting the pavement outside - visions of charcoal and burnt gold underneath him. “Wasn’t joking,” Netherlands growls with a yank - the pants and underwear come down, catch on Denmark’s erection - twists out of that - this car’s too hot. His hand slips on a steamy window and it’s back to sloppy trails of saliva through hair, over subtle ridges, soft bite to a nipple - hips thrown back down to the seat and they both groan and scramble.
Netherlands’ hand finds itself in sweaty hair. Tug, pull, twist, Denmark’s teeth meet his in a clack, legs tangle. Hears the loud noise of skin peeling from the seat - grinding of hips, a shudder - another growl resounds over heavy breathing.
His calf against Denmark’s powerful back and it nearly slides off. “The fuck y’waiting for.” A demand, not a question.
He thrusts down onto Denmark’s finger. “Y’even using lube?” Loud, but not intelligible.
Denmark pulls up and his other elbow on the seat slips - the finger slides in harder.
“Whatever. Keep goin’, don’t bother answerin’.”
Flash of off-kilter cocky grin surrounded by streetlight glow - yellow-bright-tinged hair stuck to his forehead -another finger. “Yeah -” one harsh pant “- y’know, just stick it in. You’re - ugh - too slow.”
Denmark spits into his hand - whoops, where he thought his hand was - tries again. Moans.
“Want me to fuck ya? You’re not even gonna last a minute -” Netherlands’ hoarse growl.
“Shut up, man.” Netherlands’ hips go up - slippery - two hasty hands at his ass, hips - throws a leg up onto the back dash for leverage as Denmark enters him. Solid, sharp, there’s a noise that escapes somewhere, out the door and into the night.
Too hot, he can feel it - “Move,” he grits out.
Denmark’s knee hits the seatbelt. Nearly slips off the narrow seat, and then - tight, too fast, too tight, fuck, fuck, fucking -
“Would you shut up?”
Oh. Denmark leans down, Netherlands’ leg slides up his arm, sticky, sweaty, hairs catching and pulling - puts the arm up near the window, braces - shit, slips - Netherlands is nearly bent in half. The car fills with slaps, panting, Netherlands’ taunts and insults, commands, Denmark’s cursing, slurring, heaving -
Way too hot in this car, there’s sweat everywhere. Can’t get a good grasp on anything. Netherlands is sliding in the seat, Denmark is sliding - all knees and arms and elbows - Netherlands starts chewing him out when his head his the door.
“Thought ya - wanted - a good fuck.”
“I didn’t - mean - y’should - “
“Suck it up.” Another vicious pound, deep - Denmark groans.
Netherlands’ hand moves to grip himself - wet, when did they get so wet - other to Denmark’s hair, twist - also wet, sharp scent of sweat sex leather beer smoke.
Fast, uneven pulls, not at all in time with Denmark’s movement inside of him, and Denmark comes right after he does, smearing his hand through the mess across Netherlands’ stomach - forward lurch as he loses his balance, smacks his head against the window.
His keen is loud.
The two of them, heaving chests, still tangled - Netherlands flings an arm down, weak, brings it up and lights a cigarette.
“Let’s call a cab.”
Netherlands rolls his eyes, nods, blows smoke in Denmark’s face.
---
Song - Backseat by Staygold
Rating: R
Pairing: Denmark/Netherlands
Summary: Sloppy drunk!sex in the backseat of a car.
Warnings: NSFW
I wasn’t gonna de-anon for this but then I basically did on the Meme anyway. So, here, have some fail porn I wrote in like 20 minutes in a really weird mood.
---
BACKSEAT
---
Netherlands hits the back seat of Denmark’s car, drunken half-sprawl half-stumble.
“You’re too drunk to drive, moron.”
Denmark’s snort. “You’re too drunk to talk.” He stumbles in, slides half on the floor, door half open, limbs sticking out still.
It’s dark.
A hand slides somewhere, by someone - Denmark’s face in Netherlands’ stomach, rubs there, not-quite-kiss through fabric.
“Gettin’ drool on my shirt,” too garbled to understand, and Denmark’s world is a blur of burgundyblack - deep gold shining, scowling -
Oh.
Hands in hair -
- maybe it’s hair -
- the car door?
Whatever. A thrust and grind down into the heat, the hard muscle and -
- skin, where’d that come from - who cares, there’s a mouth at his neck and hot exhales on his ear and a slurred rumble from somewhere.
“Y’smell like beer,” Netherlands mutters.
“And you smell like cigarettes.” Denmark moves, stuttered grind, mouth-on-mouth - it’s sloppy. The taste of cigarettes, too - beer, spit, arousal.
Netherlands shifts, from underneath Denmark’s heavy weight, he can feel it burn against him - kicks them both more firmly into the seat, there’s a door on his leg. Sticky backseat. A shirt riding up, might be his - oh, he’s sticking to the seat, yeah, that’s his. “Ya taste like beer too,” and a rough hand slipping up Denmark’s side.
Seatbelt’s digging into his back before forceful mouth, tongue, teeth.
Bitten lip and a groan - Denmark presses further, bears down, attacks the strange twist of Netherlands’ neck through gasps between his teeth. Quick, it’s fast, they’re moving fast. Somewhere a shirt’s lost, he can imagine the crescents in his back now; he curses. “Get yer pants off -” one long slur against that neck and a scramble ensues - slipping, sliding, odd jerks of limbs and growling when the tight space and sharp angles collide with knees, heads, elbows.
“Idiot, y’could help -” swipe of hands to Denmark’s own crotch, thunk of shoes hitting the pavement outside - visions of charcoal and burnt gold underneath him. “Wasn’t joking,” Netherlands growls with a yank - the pants and underwear come down, catch on Denmark’s erection - twists out of that - this car’s too hot. His hand slips on a steamy window and it’s back to sloppy trails of saliva through hair, over subtle ridges, soft bite to a nipple - hips thrown back down to the seat and they both groan and scramble.
Netherlands’ hand finds itself in sweaty hair. Tug, pull, twist, Denmark’s teeth meet his in a clack, legs tangle. Hears the loud noise of skin peeling from the seat - grinding of hips, a shudder - another growl resounds over heavy breathing.
His calf against Denmark’s powerful back and it nearly slides off. “The fuck y’waiting for.” A demand, not a question.
He thrusts down onto Denmark’s finger. “Y’even using lube?” Loud, but not intelligible.
Denmark pulls up and his other elbow on the seat slips - the finger slides in harder.
“Whatever. Keep goin’, don’t bother answerin’.”
Flash of off-kilter cocky grin surrounded by streetlight glow - yellow-bright-tinged hair stuck to his forehead -another finger. “Yeah -” one harsh pant “- y’know, just stick it in. You’re - ugh - too slow.”
Denmark spits into his hand - whoops, where he thought his hand was - tries again. Moans.
“Want me to fuck ya? You’re not even gonna last a minute -” Netherlands’ hoarse growl.
“Shut up, man.” Netherlands’ hips go up - slippery - two hasty hands at his ass, hips - throws a leg up onto the back dash for leverage as Denmark enters him. Solid, sharp, there’s a noise that escapes somewhere, out the door and into the night.
Too hot, he can feel it - “Move,” he grits out.
Denmark’s knee hits the seatbelt. Nearly slips off the narrow seat, and then - tight, too fast, too tight, fuck, fuck, fucking -
“Would you shut up?”
Oh. Denmark leans down, Netherlands’ leg slides up his arm, sticky, sweaty, hairs catching and pulling - puts the arm up near the window, braces - shit, slips - Netherlands is nearly bent in half. The car fills with slaps, panting, Netherlands’ taunts and insults, commands, Denmark’s cursing, slurring, heaving -
Way too hot in this car, there’s sweat everywhere. Can’t get a good grasp on anything. Netherlands is sliding in the seat, Denmark is sliding - all knees and arms and elbows - Netherlands starts chewing him out when his head his the door.
“Thought ya - wanted - a good fuck.”
“I didn’t - mean - y’should - “
“Suck it up.” Another vicious pound, deep - Denmark groans.
Netherlands’ hand moves to grip himself - wet, when did they get so wet - other to Denmark’s hair, twist - also wet, sharp scent of sweat sex leather beer smoke.
Fast, uneven pulls, not at all in time with Denmark’s movement inside of him, and Denmark comes right after he does, smearing his hand through the mess across Netherlands’ stomach - forward lurch as he loses his balance, smacks his head against the window.
His keen is loud.
The two of them, heaving chests, still tangled - Netherlands flings an arm down, weak, brings it up and lights a cigarette.
“Let’s call a cab.”
Netherlands rolls his eyes, nods, blows smoke in Denmark’s face.
---
Song - Backseat by Staygold