Under Your Skin

teaandcharcoalforbreakfast and Thrice Written

USUK

R18

Author's Notes:

RP with teaandcharcoalforbreakfast! She's a great writer, so go check out her fics. And yes, this fic is about docking because this fandom doesn't have enough of it.

Warning(s): docking

England = teaandcharcoalforbreakfast

America = Thrice Written (me)

Under Your Skin

It all started out quite nice and normal. They'd had an enjoyable night out in town: a stroll through central park then a large supper of Italian food followed by seeing the newest Disney movie.

Normally by this point in the evening England would be content and just a bit tired, ready for a few lazy kisses and then heading straight to bed. This time, though, was different. America had been teasing him all night, keeping him just on the edge of arousal, and his new cologne was only making things worse. He was nearly mad with desire. It took every fiber of his being not to tear America's clothes off in the back of the cab.

When they made it into the elevator (alone, thankfully) he slammed America against the door and demanded, "What is it you want?"

America just grinned. With a deft shrug, he slipped out of England's grip, and then it was England's turn to be shoved up against the cool elevator wall. When England opened his mouth to respond, America went ahead and cut off his snippy answer with a open-mouthed kiss—but as quickly as he leaned in, he pulled back again, and watched the color rise in England's face with satisfaction.

"Well, isn't it obvious what I want? I think the question should be: what do you want, sweetheart?" One hand found England's waistband and hooked a finger slyly through a belt loop. God, toying with England when he was near out of his mind with lust was fun. Sure, America always ran the fifty-fifty chance of having his head bitten off, but the odds were so worth it.

"Want you naked." England kissed him again. "On your hands and knees maybe, or spread-eagled on the bed. Any way you want. I want to make you squirm, want to make you scream, want to make you come until you can't feel your dick in the morning. Name it. Whatever will make you come the hardest. Christ, America, I'm going to fucking sodomize you. I'm going to—"

Then the door opened. It was too early for them to be on America's floor. England shoved America away and just in time: a young woman with two small children got on. England mentally cursed then with every bad word he knew.

America watched them for a second to make sure that they were facing away from him and England (it also helped that one of the children, a little girl with pink-ribboned braids, started chattering to her mother and diverted the attention away from them). Then he sidled closer to England, close enough for their shoulders to touch, before bending over slightly until his lips were just barely brushing his ear. He could tell England was a bit embarrassed, if the way he tried to edge away was any indication. But there was nowhere to go; America had him cornered.

His words were a mere whisper of breath. "Yeah, baby, I love it when you talk dirty to me like that. It gets me so hot. But wanna know what'll get me off the most? Having your dick up against mine. Watching your face as I play with your foreskin. Tugging at it until you beg me to stop or you'll come . . . and then feeling it stretch over the head of my cock . . . how 'bout it? Wanna try?"

He pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the shell of England's ear and straightened up again.

England blinked in genuine confusion before whispering back, "What? Why would you? You can't be serious. It's unsightly and, well, can it even stretch that far?"

"Gay porn says it can. And if you don't wanna watch, you don't have to. Just close your eyes and let me do it for you—all you have to do is enjoy the feeling." America paused to consider his options. "Would having me give you a blowjob beforehand sweeten the deal?"

He probably said that last part a bit too loudly. The young mother gave them a disconcerted, repulsed look over her shoulder, then slid an arm around each of her children and pulled them closer to her, as if to protect them.

England felt himself blush as he thought it over. Well, he always said he'd try anything else, and the idea of having America under his skin with him . . .

The elevator stopped and the family got off. As soon as the doors closed, England draped himself with relief over America. "Blowjob after. You'll be too eager while I'm trying to recover."

He didn't give America a chance to respond before pressing their mouths together again and giving America's ass a firm squeeze with both hands.

They made out like teenagers until the elevator dinged to a stop on their floor. Breathing heavily, America finally detached himself from England and said, eyes bright with anticipation, "So that was a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes, bloody idiot! Now let's get into your flat before we're interrupted again!"

He tugged America through the hall, not stopping for fear of someone else stepping out and seeing them. It felt like it took America hours to get his key into the lock, and he hadn't had so much as a glass of wine at dinner. As soon as the door was open, England pushed him in. He slammed the door behind them and locked it. He turned towards America, saw his youthful eyes full of primal lust and pounced on him again, his hands tugging at his shirt and jeans this time.

America was more than happy to return the favor. Once England managed to get him out of his shirt and pull down his zip, he took over; then it was something of a tipsy backwards dance to the couch as he got all the obnoxious buttons on England's dress shirt unfastened with impatient tugs. Once that was taken care of, he went for England's belt like an animal.

It was only after he'd gotten England's cock out of his underwear that he finally slowed down. He held it in an upturned hand, like he was weighing it in his palm. With his other, he gently peeled the foreskin back. "What's it like having this thing, anyway?" he asked, curious.

England chuckled and reached down to stroke America's length. "What's it like not having it? It's just always been a part of me. Now come here."

He tipped America's chin up and claimed his lips again. There was something about the boy's wonder that made him want to go more slowly, although he would later claim that the cool air in America's apartment cooled his hot skin.

America took this chance to push him down onto the couch; he let their mouths linger together for a few more seconds, then began making his way down England's body, tracing the outline of his jaw, the side of his neck, his collarbone, his chest. He paused to suck on a nipple until it hardened under his tongue before skimming down England's navel and dropping to his knees between his legs.

"I know you said you wanted one after . . . but I'm gonna get you wet first 'cause, you know. It'll chafe like hell otherwise," America said. With the utmost care, he slid the foreskin down to fully expose the head of England's dick, then went down on him like he'd been craving it.

England moaned softly as America's talented tongue began to circle his head. There was no treat on earth like a blow job from America. He'd gotten to the point where sucking cock was an art. When he finally wrapped his lips around England's shaft he made his mouth seem so small and tight and he was oh so wet and soft without a trace of teeth. He seemed to have an endless number of different ways to please England as well, from teasing him for hours to just laying there and letting England mercilessly fuck his mouth. Today he took the middle path, holding England down so that he could do all the work but also moving quickly, no doubt trying to get to the main event.

He did seem to be doing more with his foreskin than usual, sliding it around and flicking his tongue between it and his shaft, and oh did that feel so perfectly wrong! He loved it. Maybe this whole docking business wouldn't be so strange after all.

Finally, after a good handful of minutes, America pulled back to take a breather—or so he led England to believe. He actually did suck in a deep breath. But instead of exhaling right away, he carefully separated England's foreskin from his penis just a tad, pressed his lips to the space in between, and blew. England's foreskin puffed up like a small balloon. It only lasted a couple of a seconds, though, because America had to stop and laugh.

"I've kinda always wanted to try that," he admitted. "The Puffer Fish thing. Didn't think it'd actually work that well, haha!" He dropped a kiss on the head as a semi-apology and gave England a firm stroke, making sure to move his foreskin up his shaft and then down again as he did so. God, it was turning into a fixation. He couldn't get enough.

England was torn between shoving America away for doing that and continuing to let him have his way. He was close. He'd come within a minute anyway. As he thought he threaded his fingers back in through America's hair. But he just looked so cute with his flushed face, ruffled hair, and his swollen lips around England's cock. Oh, he wanted to see that as he came.

"America," he warned, "I'm almost—hnn, done. I want to come down your throat."

And that was America's cue to stop what he was doing, despite the round of bitching he knew he'd be in for. He immediately lifted his mouth off, tightened his grip on England's dick, and said cheerfully, "Nope. Sorry. We were gonna try docking, remember? I don't really feel like hanging around with a hard-on for twenty minutes waiting for you to get it back up again, so no orgasm for you. For now, I mean."

"You are a cruel, cruel man. I shouldn't have fucking said a thing." England leveled a glare at America's bright, happy face. He hated himself for the fact that he couldn't say no. He flopped backwards. "Fine. Just do it then, you complete arse."

"Okay!" America wiggled his butt to show that yes, he did indeed have a damn fine ass, then got to work.

He rocked back on his heels to survey the scene for a moment, trying to figure out how best to go about it. In the porn, the two men were usually standing face-to-face, but England obviously wasn't going to budge after being inflicted with blue balls. Which left America with only one option that (hopefully) wouldn't end with one of them in tears of pain—he climbed atop England and straddled his lap, getting their nether regions as close together as he could.

Before England could protest his weight, America took his cock and experimentally rolled the foreskin upward, over the tip, to see how far it could stretch. He didn't think it would magically become loose and malleable all at once, and it didn't. So he continued to massage it between his fingers, coaxing it up over the head and back down again, trying to go a little farther each time as he warmed it up. The fact that he'd gotten everything shiny and slick with his saliva really helped, a lot more than he'd expected it to.

After a bit, America glanced up at England to judge his reaction. "Does it feel good?"

England pursed his lips. "It's good. A bit odd, but . . . oh America, you just look so lovely like that." He wasn't sure if the playing was actually starting to affect him or if it was just because he was so close to coming. "I just want to fuck you. So badly. Please. Don't tease me anymore." He looked up at him pleadingly.

"Actually, since we're doing it like this, wouldn't it be me fucking you? Just a thought." America kissed him on the mouth, then went back to what he was doing. "Okay, I think you're stretched enough now. Let's try it." He took England's hand and wrapped it around England's cock. "Come on, help me out here, sweetheart," he added.

He got a steady hold on his own dick, and guided it to press their tips together. "So . . . I think you just take your foreskin and roll it over my cock, right? And then try to hold it there while I stroke and stuff."

"Alright," England said skeptically.

He carefully rolled the skin forward, covering his own head first and then sliding it up over America's. It had felt odd enough to just have it covering him while he was aroused, and now having it slide over America as well. He still wasn't sure he liked it. There was a lot of tension in his skin, like when America would first push into him from behind. He just hoped that he'd get used to having his lover's cock on this side too.

Then America began shifting his hips, sliding just the tip of their erections together and stroking gently. Now that, that was something. It was like every nerve in his cock had been laid flat for America to trace over all at once. He took the hand that wasn't clamped around his skin and threw it over America's shoulder as he milked the both of them, mixing their pre-come. It took all he had not to moan aloud.

America chuckled softly in his ear. "I can feel your throat working against my shoulder, sweetheart. It's okay; you can be as loud as you want. The neighbors won't care." He was building up a steady rhythm with his hips. Not a fast one—they were only tenuously connected, after all—but satisfying nonetheless.

"And to think you said you wanted to come in my mouth over this. It feels good for you, too, yeah?" he murmured against England's temple. He used his free hand to stroke up the side of England's neck and tangle in his hair, fingers heavy with pleasure.

"Yes!" England cried out. "Faster! Please!"

But then when America obliged him, the sweat and spit and pre-come became too much and they slid apart.

"Fuck," America swore, and reached down with both hands to bring their cocks together again. This time, he took the initiative and slid England's foreskin first over the head of England's dick, then over the head of his own. Everything felt damp and sticky and hot, but in the best way. They were practically melting together.

He breathed, "You have to hold on to us a bit tighter," and moaned when England wrapped his hand more securely around their joined cocks. "Oh, God, yeah. Just like that. You feel so tight, but in a totally different way than when I have my cock in your ass. It's amazing."

England wasn't really listening to him anymore. He'd been on the edge for so long. He just needed something else to finally push him over and satisfy him, but his mind was too hazy to think what that something could be.

"Please," he groaned, "please, oh please, Meri, please!"

America was panting. Always in tune with England's body, he closed his fingers around him and began stroking him roughly and vigorously. It disrupted the pattern of movement between them, but he could tell England needed it more than he did. "You sound like you're about to come, baby. Go ahead. Do it." He brought their lips together one last time and squeezed along England's shaft, maybe a bit harder than he normally would have dared.

England gasped as he felt his orgasm racing through him. His body was wracked with shudders as it squeezed him for everything he had. Tears were in his eyes. It had never been this intense before. He dug his fingers into America's back, but he couldn't scream. All he could manage was ragged gasps.

America waited patiently for England to finish, then brought his cum-streaked hand up to his own mouth. He let England watch in a blissful daze as he licked his fingers clean, one by one, until his skin was glistening and pristine.

"My turn," he said with a wink once he was done. "You're not gonna leave me hanging after I gave you the princess treatment, are you?"

It took England a moment to register that America was speaking to him, but then he nodded and got onto his hands and knees before America, switching their positions. Even as blissed as he was, he knew just what America liked and had him coming almost immediately. He was still out of his mind enough that his come tasted good and England sucked him dry.

With a content sigh, America relaxed back into the couch, and when England climbed up to join him he took him in his arms. They shared a brief, tired kiss before cuddling together among the cushions.

After a moment, America said sleepily, "Now I can"—he yawned—"officially say that I've 'gotten under your skin.'"

England rolled his eyes. "You always do. Now should we clean up now or later?"

"Clean up later. So stop being an old man and make out with me."

England sighed and muttered, "Incorrigible little brat," but kissed him all the same. It wasn't quite 'making out', he didn't have the energy for that, but it was nice and sweet and America seemed to enjoy it well enough. When they pulled apart England pressed his forehead against America's. He liked looking at him like that. All he could see was his lover's colors: the deep blue of his eyes and warm pink of his blush. He settled himself so he was laying on America's chest and closed his eyes.

At least since it was America's idea he wouldn't whine in the morning.