That Thing You Do
Russia found himself, not for the last time, unable to focus on whatever it was Germany was talking about at the front of the room. Even in the dark room, with only the light of the projector to illuminate him, the way America sucked on the end of his pen was mesmerizing. The silver tip moved in and out of his mouth, and his tongue would push out against it on occasion, pushing until the pen would click. When he clicked it a second time, he would pull the tip back out with his teeth.
Ever since the Cold War had ended, he'd allowed himself to indulge at staring at the youthful nation at these meetings, noting his quirks and habits. Sometimes, America would catch him staring and it would lead to them spending the night in heap of tangled limbs and blankets when they could finally escape to the hotel. It was those times Russia enjoyed the most. Sometimes he topped, and others he was barely stifling moans in the pillow as the bed rocked beneath the force of America's thrusts. He wasn't sure he'd say they were in a relationship; not a meaningful one anyway, but he had become very fond of the other as of late.
He was especially fond of the way America always had something in his mouth. Sometimes it was food, sometimes it was objects, but the effect was always the same. Russia wasn't sure if America even realized what he was doing, but he always had something there; always playing with whatever it was. Pens, pencils, straws, lollipops and popsicles; all of these had passed through those lips, in and out, between them as his tongue lulled in lazy circles.
Germany's droning stopped, and so did America's sensual tongue dance with his pen. Russia sighed, feeling a sense of disappointment wash over him as light once again filled the room and its occupants dispersed. America caught his eye as he stood, pulling the old bomber jacket off the back of his seat and quirked a brow slightly. Russia's own brow rose in response. They'd be in Russia's room tonight. He stood and walked to the door, making idle chat with America about the meeting's topics as they retired for the evening.
It was when his bare back hit the sheets and that tongue - that beautiful, wonderful tongue - was flicking over lust-hardened nipples, and lips were sucking and leaving marks, that it hit him.
"Ah! America…Ah…Stop for a second." He weaved his fingers in America's hair, resisting the urge to push him lower as the warm appendage dipped into his naval. He tugged lightly, looking down at America as clouded blue eyes flicked up to him, obviously frustrated with the interruption. Russia nearly let himself get distracted by the sight, but pushed his lust aside for the time being. "Do you have an oral fixation?" He was met by a blank stare. This didn't really surprise him.
"I don't even know that that is, but if you wanted me to suck you off, you could have just said so. I was getting there, anyway." Russia nodded and pushed him down with the hand he still had on his head. The thought left his mind as soon as America's lips engulfed him.
By the time the next meeting rolled around, he had completely forgotten about the matter. There were more important things to worry about than what America did with his mouth. Most of the year, anyway.
So when America walked in and sat down with the red, white, and blue popsicle he'd brought with him, he settled back in his seat for another boring meeting spent admiring his mouth. China stood and started talking about new economic policies in his country and how it would affect international business, and America started eating. Russia swallowed as he realized this wouldn't be a normal meeting at all.
America's cheek was resting lazily in his hand, head tilted slightly to the side as he pushed the pop into his mouth, further and further still. Russia stared, transfixed. How much more could he take in? He shifted a bit in his seat as the popsicle was slowly pulled out of his mouth, his tongue teasing along the bottom of it before flicking the tip. Alfred's eyelids were lowered in that seductive way he did as glanced across the table at Russia, and he felt his pants tightening uncomfortable. The next time America's mouth moved over the pop, he peeled his lips back slightly so Russia could see his teeth grazing lightly over the icy treat. He could not sit through a whole meeting like this. His hands slammed down on the table, drawing everyone's attention to him.
Russia paid them no mind as he moved around the table, grabbing America from his chair and throwing the surprisingly pliant nation over his shoulder. "Excuse us."
He carried America out of the meeting room and down the hall. "You were expecting this reaction, America?"
He couldn't see America's face, but he could hear the smirk in his tone. "I might have looked up oral fixation on Wikipedia and been waiting for today."
This was going to be a good night.