It's What You Do With It
Pairing: Russia and America (RusAme).
Warning: This is an LJ Hetalia Kink Meme fill de-anon. Re-checked and corrected for any misses on my part, and re-posted for my own (and possibly other RusAme fans out there) benefit, since I fear it might get lost in the endless depths that is LJ's Kink Meme. You can find the original fill on the 23rd part of the Kink Meme if you'd like.
Rating: MA/NC-17 for homo-erotic sex, hurt-comfort and America being an obnoxious ass.
Original prompt: "According to the world penis map, the average length of a Russian penis is 13.21 cm (~5 inches)
Russia and anybody (boyfriend, girlfriend, one night stand) are about to have sex. His partner is expecting Russia to have a huge penis, and was looking forwards to being filled with it. So when Russia takes his pants off, the other nation is quite disappointed.
What happens from there is up to you, though smut would be great (maybe Russia proves that "size doesn't matter"?)
Any nations are acceptable, but I would prefer not Poland, Lithuania or Estonia.
bonus: Russia doesn't randomly add "da" to the end of sentences, or where it's not really appropriate."
Disclaimer:I own nothing but this pornographic entry. Cheers.
***
America was sitting on the side of the bed, watching as Russia dimmed the light, thinking, this is it!. Tonight was the night he and Russia will be finally going to take the big leap and get down and dirty. He beat off to that thought for the better part of almost two months, at least twice a day.
(and sometimes in his office at the white house, if he wasn't too busy with work, and a dirty thought on Russia's huge cock being shoved deep and hard inside his ass sneaked through)
He was so excited he seriously forced himself not to jump in his seat. Or cum in his pants right then and there. Instead he grinned and sat on his hands. Oh boy, oh boy, there we go.
Russia was so hot in that buttoned-up shirt, and the clean and musky smell of his aftershave was sending goosebumps up America's spine and shoulders, it was almost making him even harder than he already was. And when he leaned over America, both hands propped on either side of America's thighs, where he sat on the bed, America couldn't help a little whimper out of his throat.
Then Russia was kissing him, and his mouth was unexpectedly warm and sweet, with faint traces of that little dessert they shared in the restaurant earlier. Russia opened his mouth and flicked the very tip of his tongue over America's bottom lip, and for a second there America couldn't think.
He whimpered and wrapped both arms around Russia's neck, pulling him in deeper against his chest.
He had to confess, though. Postponing the sex this long was actually kind of a good idea, as it turned out. And it was kind of nice, because now it let him get to know Russia better. You know, except for the whole cold war thing, and the sexual tension and America's little fantasies of going down on Russia while he was still wearing his Red Army uniform.
No. This time they were going to do this just right. Russia massaged both their tongues in an open-mouthed kiss and America felt his toes curl in his socks. He didn't even notice he moaned so deep in his throat over the rush of the blood in his veins.
Russia finished the kiss with a little chuckle and a peck too sweet on America's still-opened lips. His violet eyes were soft and shining when he said "it seems to me you liked it". To which America was too incoherent as to answer with an answer more eloquent than a breathy "uh-huh". He should seriously consider shutting his mouth.
No, wait! Maybe more of those mind-blowing kisses will return!
Russia, on the other hand, was untangling America's arms from around his neck, straightening up, buttoned-up shirt all creased from where America had held onto him. He was trying in vein to straighten it back into shape but gave up on the notion fast enough. America wanted him to just take it off, and while he was at it, to take him on his hand and knees hard. right. now.
Russia was still smiling when he said, "I'm glad to hear that. I enjoyed that, too, very much". But then his voice went from all-sugary to the almost business-like dark tone America remembered he used sometimes back as the USSR, and goddamnif it wasn't making his cock throb even harder against his pants. "But I think we can take it up a notch".
America's mouth just went dry.
The small smile was back at Russia's lips, but his tone was dark and suggestive. "What do you think?", and when he popped open the first button of his shirt America wanted to scream yes yes oh fuckin' god yes!. Instead, he tried to be cool and say, "yeah, sure", but it sounded faint even in his ears.
Russia chuckled again in that dark tone of his, and pulled another button, revealing his gorgeous, barrel-like pale chest, complete with a small patch of ashy-blond hairs, which America just wanted to latch on to and suck. Russia grinned softly, eyes mischievous as he stared back at America, watching his reactions.
And he was fucking teasing him. Russia fucking knewwhat he did to him, and he was milking it for all that it was worth. He should have expected it from the only nation who gave him a run for his money for more than forty years. Instead, Russia popped another button open, and then another, and when a pale-pink nipple came into view, all America wanted was to put it in his mouth.
Russia was so amused by now with America's reactions, his grin only broadened. "Would you like to touch it?", Russia asked softly, and America felt like he was a virgin all over again. He nodded dumbly, and Russia gave him a reassuring little smile, reaching out for America's hand. And when they touched, Russia's hand was cool and dry, and huge and calloused and tender, and he was guiding America's palm to his chest and that sweet, pale nipple and oh god oh god oh god.
America was testing it, how it felt under the flat of his thumb, and then between his thumb and forefinger, how the little nub felt just right when he twisted it tentatively and slowly. He looked up to meet Russia's eyes, only to find him fascinated and breathy, as he watched America's fingers doing that to him. And that was all the encouragement America needed to get up the bed and tear Russia's shirt open and suck that amazing nipple in his mouth.
Oh god, Russia was making all the right sounds, softly sucking in a rush of air and murmuring little things in Russian, which America didn't understand, but it sounded so hot all the same. Russia was pulling him up with two tender palms on both sides of his face and kissing him so deep and harsh, and America loved every second of it.
"Let me-ah. Let me suck you", America growled between the little nips Russia was giving him on his lips and jaw. Only imagining how he'd manage to stuff all of Russia inside his mouth was making him want to dry-hump Russia's thigh. He was gripping Russia firmly by his waist with one hand, the other on his nipple still, turning and flicking it lazily. The hand on Russia's waist was sneaking down inch-by-inch, further down to fondle Russia through his pants.
Seriously, he was waiting to do that since forever. Russia growled through his teeth in agreement, one hand pushing against America's chest, the other sneaking around him, into his pants and oh god squeezing, pulling America to him even closer.
When America's hand finally reached its destination, it cupped and fondled Russia through his black cotton slacks, squeezing fondly. And it, uh. It kinda... It didn't feel like Russia was all that huge as he had hope for... Well, maybe it was because of the clothes, that made it seem smaller, and probably Russia was only half-hard. Oh, but never mind that! Russia was sucking on his throat and taking his shirt off at the same time!
Suddenly, the back of his knees bumped onto the edge of the bed. He fell bare-backed against the soft linen sheets, smirking for all he was worth, reaching out for Russia to join him. Russia chucked his opened shirt onto the carpeted floor. He was starting to pull at his belt buckle, and all America could think was oh god oh god please fuck me now.
Russia chuckled in that dark tone again and said, "Don't worry, I will". Shit, did he just say that out loud? The button on Russia's slacks popped open and suddenly America couldn't give a damn.
"Yeah, I'm counting on it, actually", he shimmied out of his own pants so fast they came inside-out and snagged at his feet. He threw them on the floor as they were, half-lying on the bed with his forearm as support.
Russia seemed amused, but let his slacks slide down his long legs and pull at the floor, where he stood in black boxer-briefs and nothing more.
"Come here baby", America invited, wetting his lips as shifted onto his back as Russia came crawling on top of him.
"Didn't you say you were going to suck me?", Russia said, amused and half-serious, leaving open-mouthed trails of kisses and soft bite-marks on the side of his neck and shoulder. His tone was sending shivers down America's spine, and when Russia talked like that, it made him want to strive even harder to please him.
America was gripping his shoulder tightly, one hand on his back, and with a heave and a flip, Russia was on his back, a surprised look in his eyes.
"Don't worry, babe. I didn't forget about that", he smirked. America was straddling him, rubbing the both of them together through their underwear. "Fuck, ahh. Like that?", he moaned, biting his lip from the friction.
But in the back of his head there was something nagging at him. It kinda felt strange in a way, like something was missing, only America didn't know how.
Russia was sucking on his tongue and rubbing his huge palm through his boxers. America couldn't think, so he just moaned and sucked and rubbed Russia back, taking Russia's underwear off in the process, past his knees.
Just about then, something occurred to America, and it really sucked, and not in the good way.
You know that feeling when you look forward so much to something? And then not getting it sucks so much, just because you expected it? Kind of like your very anticipated birthday party going terribly bad.
Yup, that's how it felt right about now. It was kind of traumatizing, really.
There, standing proud and hard and dripping with precum was Russia's cock, nestled in dark-blond trimmed hairs. And not at all what America had imagined.
It was... average.
As in normal-size.
As in not monstrously huge.
America blinked and hoped he was having a nightmare. He wasn't.
There was the same type of silence you'd more likely to hear in a cemetery, not in a bedroom of a French hotel. America wanted to cry.
"What's wrong? Why did you stop?", Russia was starting to sit on the bed, America still straddling him, confusion tinting his voice.
And to imagine he was contemplating the mechanics of how to fit Russia all the way in and still manage to walk tomorrow. Well, too bad for that. Now it won't be thatmuch of a problem!
"America?" Russia asked, panicked, when America didn't answer, but all America could think about was how Russia's erection was flagging away, turning even smaller.
(now probably won't be a good time to mention all those fantasies America had on Russia ramming his ass so hard with a monstrous cock he could practically feel it in his throat)
"What's this?", America said, ever-so tactfully, with finesse reserved only to people like England and Austria. He was still watching Russia's cock, which by now has gone completely soft and limp, dead-looking. There was no way Russia wouldn't figure out what America was talking about.
Apparently, he didn't. "This is my dick, America", he said with a soft voice bordering on impatience and hurt.
No it's not!,America wanted to scream. It's supposed to be as huge as your forearm!. Instead, he made a disappointed sound and got off Russia and the bed. "'s not what I was looking for", he said as he picked his pants up the floor, turning them back inside-out the proper way.
He heard the rustle of the sheets from behind him, probably as Russia shifted his weight and pulled his underwear back to cover himself.
"Excuse me? What exactly did you expect?", Russia breathed out in a hurt and numb tone, and America felt sort of bad. He put one foot in his pants, then another.
"I was kinda imagining it'd be different. Ya know", he said faintly, still with his back to Russia.
There was silence, and then, "I see". America bent to pick his shirt from the floor. "How different?", Russia asked in a too-soft voice that sent the wrong shivers down his spine. Like Russia was seriously holding himself from crying.
"I dunno. Bigger, I guess", he pulled one arm through a sleeve, then a second.
Russia shifted again on the bed. "Is- Is it not big enough for yo-u?", Russia managed to not choke completely at the end of the word, and America really didn't like how his voice broke like that.
"'s alright". He was doing up the buttons of his shirt. "It's probably a little bigger than mine, though". It wasn't something most guys would admit to, but America was just the right combination between an idiot and a narcissist.
"Then- W-what didyou expect?", the hurt in Russia's voice was making way to confusion and sudden anger, and more rustling was coming from behind him.
America was finishing the last of the buttons now, then tucking his shirt inside his still-open pants. "I don't know, Russia. Like, bigger", he gestured with one hand. "Like, I dunno, twelve-inch long". He zipped up his pants and adjusted his shirt, looking for where he kicked his shoes earlier. "I guess it's my fault. I guess I expected too much", he murmured.
"Twelve-inch-! Oh, that's so clever, coming from you", Russia laughed darkly, and all of a sudden it seemed like it was getting very cold. In Paris. In August. "You know what? I don't care. I really liked you and I thought it was time to move forward after all these years, but I suppose you were always like this. So you know what? Just go", he finished, tight-lipped.
There was a pause and then Russia continued, "Don't worry, I'll take care of the bill for the room". There were more rustling sounds, and America finally turned around to look at Russia.
Russia was wrapped tightly in the royal-blue comforter, violet eyes sunken just-so, and the warm light in them from before turned so very cold, glaring up at him. Russia seemed paler than usual, all his earlier blushes and smiles turned to hard lines, unforgiving. It suddenly felt like fifty years ago.
And he knew it was all his damn fault.
There comes a time in every nation's life when they have to admit, if only to themselves, how much of a jerk they were. Now was such a time.
His eyes flew wide with the sudden realization of what he just said. And done. It was like a bucket of Siberia-cold ice was dumped on him. He was lucky Russia decided not to break his face in. As it seemed, though, he might as well prepare for act two of missiles in Cuba.
"Oh, my god! Oh, shit. Russia, I-", was the only thing he managed to get out, before he was cut.
"Get out", Russia grit out so-very softly through clenched teeth, not even looking at him. It looked like he was an inch from snapping.
So, of course America had to push the right button and make him do just that.
"No", he answered, and Russia's head flew up so fast, the outrage in his violet eyes promised bloody violence.
"Get out. Now", Russia almost spat, but America couldn't stop here, not now.
"No. I can't. I- I was an asshole, okay? I can't leave you like that, after all that shit I said. I'm sorry, okay? I'm-".
But Russia cut him off again, sounding tired. "Go home, America".
"No, I'm staying right here", and to make his point clear, he sat on the floor cross-legged, not moving his eyes from Russia's for a second, not even blinking. They held each-other's gaze, unwavering, stubborn, just the way they liked it.
Finally, Russia gave in, turning his head away. "Do whatever you want", and he sank into the bed, an exhausted sigh leaving his lungs in a rush. It was just a matter of time until America gave up and laid on his back, on the floor, looking at the ceiling, painted with soft yellows and shadows from the dimmed lamps.
Well, this sucked even more.
"I'm gonna make it up to you", he said to the ceiling but meant it for Russia. And if Russia heard him or not, he didn't give him any indication whatsoever. So America tried again. "I mean it. I was an asshole and I shouldn't have said all those shitty things". He took a heavy breath and really meant it when he said, "I'm really, really sorry".
But Russia didn't move or say anything, just lay there on his side, tucked into a tight ball. And if America managed to drag the whole world into another fucking world war because he was an idiot, well then, he might as well deserve it. The others would kill him first, though.
"Hey, Russia, did you hear me?", he asked, but no response again, so America decided to get up and take a look for himself. He came up to the side of the bed, where Russia's back was turned to him, and realized the real severity of his words and actions.
He was seriously dumping a guy for not having an unnaturally sized penis, just because he always imagined it in his mind. How fucked up is that? It wasn't like anyone ever confirmed Russia was heavily packed, either. It was just what he wanted to believe. It was a stupid notion he developed over the years, a fantasy with no reality to back it up.
Probably just another cold war fantasy. To his defense, Russia never gave him any reason to think otherwise, but... He was an idiot, and he fucked it all up big time.
And what's worse, he really did come to like Russia. As who he was. As the person he was. And Russia said that he did like him too, right? Didn't they both agreed to do it just right this time? And then he just had to go and fuck it all up. Just super.
"Hey, Russia", he said in a soft voice, standing right beside him, reaching out a hand to shake him. There was no way he was asleep, right? "Russia, are you asleep?", he asked, but the only answer he got was a swatting to his hand and a bitter "don't touch me". Well, at least now he knows.
"Uh, did you hear me earlier?", he asked tentatively, not really knowing what to do. He knew he was walking on very thin ice. "I, uh. I mean it. That I'm sorry and uh... And that I want to make it up to you. If you'd let me".
There was no response now either. He sighed and closed his eyes and hoped and prayed he could somehow still fix it.
He went around the bed and sat on its edge, just looking at the big lump made by the comforter and Russia. He took off his glasses and placed them on the side table. He smoothed the creased white linen under him and lay down on his side, facing Russia. Then he took air deep in his lungs and wondered how he should start.
"When I, uh, grew up, you know. Back when I was still a colony, I was starting to think about independence and... And I decided that when I came to be my own country, I'd be the biggest there was. And the best, and the strongest and all that. No matter what. And... I, uh, I guess everyone has that thought at some point. Especially us nations. I mean, look at guys like England and France and Spain and all of 'em. And you. I mean, you're the largest nation in the world! So, um".
He was rambling, he knew that, but he hated the silence, and if it meant any type of reaction from Russia, then, by any means, he'd talk his throat dry if need be.
"And then I grew up, and it didn't stop. That feeling. That's why everything I do has to be over the top, ya know? 'Meat and dreams are super-size'?", he laughed lamely. "Yup, that's me! Super-sized America, with a super-sized ego to go with it".
The lump that was Russia and the comforter twitched a little, but that was all America needed to continue.
"A-and, uh. I wanted, you know, someone who was- I mean, you were...". The 'I thought you were super-sized, too' went unsaid, but it echoed in the room so loud, they both heard it all the same.
"A-anyway. And then a lotta stuff happened, and then you came along, and all of a sudden, I find myself thinking about you. A lot". Another twitch of that big lump.
"And I was... I had all these thoughts about you. And they sorta... evolved", he paused. "And then they totally went out of hand", he sighed, wetting his lips. "Back then, everything was going out of hand... But, they sorta stuck", he finished sadly.
This time the lump didn't twitch, but a big Russian nose peeked out from between the folds, followed by a pale face, tired lines around Russia's mouth. Russia was looking at him with hopeful eyes, and America's heart broke. He looked straight in his eyes, very serious.
"You are amazing, and beautiful, no matter what I said. It was a load of bullshit, anyway. I was a total asshole, and I'm so sorry. I really do care for you, I swear. I was just... Umm...", he trailed.
"You were an idiot", Russia said softly, but without venom. America didn't know how to take that. "It was very mean of you to go out and leave in the middle". America winced, because he knew it was true. "And you were forgetting that life isn't a fantasy. Or a pornographic movie", he smiled sadly.
"I'm so sorry. You have no idea how much", he said, and by the look in Russia's eyes, he believed him. All the more reason America felt like crap. "I'd really like to make it up to you. Please", he begged sincerely.
"There is no need for that, America", Russia said, but he snaked a hand outside the comforter and stroked America's hair from his face.
"Please, Russia. I want to", America insisted in earnest, giving in to the light touch. He was brushing the side of Russia's face softly with his knuckles. It was so smooth and round, America wanted to kiss him so bad. He leaned forward, and Russia met him half-way.
It was tender, and soft, and there was a tingling in his heart, wrapping him in warmth. Russia brushed his side with his big palm, un-tucking his shirt out, and America helped him, unbuttoning it as fast as he could and throwing it to the floor, moaning when Russia flicked the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip.
"Actually", Russia backed away just enough to look at him with lust shining in those round, violet eyes. "There is just one thing I would like from you", he brushed America's lips with a thumb.
"What is it? Just name it an' I'll-", but Russia cut him off when he pecked America's lips with a mischievous grin.
"I would like to prove to you that size doesn't matter, it's what you do with it that counts", he smiled.
America was all over him in a heartbeat.
For the life of him, America couldn't understand why Russia insisted on wearing that stupid scarf of his most of the time. Granted, he didn't wear it tonight for their dinner date, since it was so goddamn hot in Paris this time of the year, but still.
Russia's neck was a thing of beauty when America sucked on it. It was white and soft and smooth, and it produced the most delicious of sounds from Russia. It gave America all the approval he supposedly needed, to keep on going at it. He nipped at it and licked with just the tip of his tongue, and Russia whimpered, whimpered! Oh, god, holding his shoulder tight, hips giving a little jerk upward, brushing his so-very obvious erection against America's thigh.
America smirked. This was just too much. He held Russia down, flat on his back as he loomed over him, looking at his face. Russia was flushed a rosy pink, lips swollen from over-indulgent kissing, violet eyes studying him, waiting to see what he intended to do. His fingers carded inside Russia's pale hair and the palm was caressing his cheek. America leaned soft and sound to kiss him again.
"Can I, ah, still go down on you?", he asked, in the same tone like he was asking, 'can we still go out for ice-cream later?'.
Russia nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to ask permission for this", he said, but stroked America's left shoulder-blade with a thumb all the same.
"Yeah, well. I figured I might as well, you know", he chuckled, leaving open-mouthed kisses and trails of saliva down Russia's collarbone and shoulder. When he reached Russia's chest, he took his time to nuzzle the small soft-as-feather ashy-blond patch of hairs, smelling Russia's skin in approval.
Russia was smoothing his hair back, brushing the tip of his ears and the back of his neck with soft fingertips. The gesture was very intimate, and it surprised him how much he liked it. It was foreign and very much not how he envisioned their first time together (in more than one way), but the feeling that Russia trusted him was too powerful. It gave him the motivation to prove he was worthy of it.
He kissed and suckled Russia's skin with more vigor, hands smoothing and lightly squeezing wherever they touched. Russia gasped when he licked a nipple and sucked it in his mouth, tongue flicking at it, the other hand massaging Russia's other side of the chest.
"Mmh", Russia made a muffled sound rumbling in his chest, hands still stroking America's hair, pulling lightly. If Russia wasn't hard before, well he sure as hell was now. America sent a hand to feel him down there, to squeeze firmly, to let him know he'd be there soon.
He kissed Russia's belly, smooth and white and firm. Not plump or fat like he used to believe, but no overly-visible muscles either. Just flat and firm, a freckle on the left side of his navel, to which he paid a complementary lick. A thin trail of dark-blonde hairs was running the length from navel to the groin hiding under the black boxer-briefs, and America nipped along it.
Russia shifted slightly, erection straining against his underwear, and America decided enough was enough. He yanked the black material, tossed it to the side, and paid Russia's cock the due respect he ought to.
Russia made a heavenly gasp as America licked him with the flat of his tongue from base to tip in one slow stroke, then twirled his tongue around the head. He suckled the length, from top to bottom to top again, one hand wrapped around the base, pumping lazily, the other fondling his sac. Russia moaned and murmured something he couldn't understand, but by the husky tone, it seemed a positive reaction.
One more lick and suck at the head, tongue lapping precum greedily from the slit, and America took him in his mouth. He moved and sucked and used the flat of his tongue again, both hands still at their tasks, then with no second thought, deep-throated Russia to the hilt.
(well, maybe something good came out of Russia being normal-sized after all, uh?)
Russia was gasping and making beautiful sounds, fingers massaging his scalp and hair, and America was showing his appreciation with more sucking and licking, saliva escaping the corners of his mouth in his excitement. That is, until big, powerful hands yanked him up and kissed him passionately hard.
"I want you now", Russia grumbled in a deep rumble against his lips, and America deemed the operation a success. Russia threw him on the bed, almost tearing off him his pants and boxers at the same time.
"Baby, I've been waiting for this for so long", he growled when Russia rubbed both their naked erections together, big hands wrapping them tightly as his hips moved to meet him. Their combined precum was not enough, though, so Russia wet his palm with some spit.
"Where's the ahh, the lube?", America asked around a moan when Russia pumped them harder together, looking for the little bottle frantically in his discarded pants. He could swear he put it there before, back when they were making out in the elevator... When he couldn't find it, he cursed and threw them back to the floor.
"I have it right here", Russia smiled innocently, holding a small tube that was distinctly notwhat America had brought with him. Which only meant...
"You cunning sonovabitch!", he exclaimed, grinning. "So I wasn't the only one thinking about it, huh?", he fixed his position on his back and helped Russia place his own knee on one broad shoulder, to give him an easier access to his ass. Admittedly, if he stopped to think of it, it was a total turn-on, that Russia carried with him lube. Like he was expecting this to happen, too. That he was also looking forward to fuck him. And, yeah, maybe Russia was jerking off to thoughts of him, too.
(and right about then he got a massive income of mental images of Russia beating off to thoughts of him, moaning, calling his name in his empty bedroom in Moscow, spurting cum all over the bedsheets. it made America so hard he thought he might burst)
"How could I not?", Russia asked, smiling crookedly, popping off the lid and squirting some of the gooey gel on his fingers. "I have been thinking about you so much lately", he said softly, coating America's entrance with a generous amount of gel. He rubbed it in circles until America squirmed a little, then inserted a finger, pumping it in and out slowly.
"Really? What kind of thou-Uhh, fuck", America groaned. Russia's finger twisted in and out of him, and it sent a spike of pleasure down his spine. "You don't have to do that, man", he said, heart drumming in his ears, looking intently as Russia's fingers entered and exited his body. Russia looked at him with a curious expression. "I prepared before I came ove- Uh, fuck!". Russia shoved the finger deeper and harder in him.
"Is that so? Well, who is exactly the cunning son of a bitch now, America?", Russia growled, his accent thicker and a wicked light in his eyes. He didn't seem to care if America prepared himself before or not, he was determined to shove another one inside of him. He wiggled both fingers deep within, like he was looking for America's prostate. Which he found.
"Ohh, god!", America panted, "Do that aga-Uhh!". He sounded so trashy and needy even in his own ears. Oh, well.
Russia hummed in approval, a calculating look in his eyes, and added a third one.
He panted heavily when he said, "Hey, I was counting on a huge-ass cock fucking me, I had to take measures, okay? You know when was the last time I was the one getting it up the ass?", he asked, riding on Russia's fingers that were moving inside of him.
Russia was taking his fingers out (America was not disappointed, dammit!) and coating himself in lube, jerking a few long, lazy strokes and positioned himself right in front of his opening. He held America's leg that was resting on his shoulder in one hand, his own cock in the other, to guide it in.
America looked at him with a smile, watching Russia concentrating on his moves. He felt it when he entered, all in one stroke, assured, and Russia was looking in his eyes again, a determined look set in his eyebrows and jaw. America pulled him in for another kiss, one hand on Russia's firm ass, encouraging him in even deeper. Russia got as far in as he could, then stopped, panting slightly.
It was kind of weird for America to be in this position. It wasn't something he did often (last time was in 1982, and he was drunk off his ass, okay?) and certainly not with just anybody. It felt weird, submitting of his own free will, of being filled and stretched like this, and with Russia of all people! Not like it hurt or felt bad or anything, it was just... It just felt pretty weird and...
Russia was looking at him intently, America noticed, as if he was waiting for something to happen, that maybe America would make him stop, get up and leave again. America didn't know what to make of it, so he asked, "Is everything okay?".
Russia smiled slightly and nodded. "Are you?", he asked, still waiting for the other shoe to fall. It won't fall, dammit! America was resolved it won't. He touched Russia's cheek in reassurance.
"I'm great", America said with a slight grin, caressing Russia's broad chest, his arm. "Now, how about you start moving-", he squeezed Russia hot and tight with his inner muscles for emphasis. Russia's eyes flew open, his jaw slack, and a soft low groan came out of him, bucking into him just a tiny bit. Good, just what America was aiming for. "- and make me eat my words, huh?", he finished, smirking devilishly.
Apparently, Russia wasn't needed to be told twice. No more than half a breath came out, and Russia was steadily and rhythmically moving inside of him, slamming in him every once in a while. He held on to the calf of America's leg still on his shoulder, going in and out, sometimes hitting America's prostate while doing so. It was good, but it wasn't enough, though, and Russia knew it, too. He lifted both America's legs in the air and on his shoulders, and continued to fuck him hard.
Okay, that kinda did the job, America was uhh! Oh god! Fu-ck pleased to note, meeting Russia half-way, one hand flat on the bed for balance, the other pulling Russia in for clumsy, wet kisses with too much tongue. But he didn't care, and Russia didn't seem to mind, either.
"Oh, god, yeah, baby. Uhh. Yeah, keep fucking me like that. Uhh, yeah! Mmn nng, uhh!", America drawled on and on, he couldn't hear anything aside of his own voice and the wet slamming and slapping sound of Russia pounding him into the mattress, bending him over. He felt Russia's wet breath on his neck, the sweat from his forehead on his jaw and cheek, maybe murmuring something for him, and maybe it was the drums of the blood in his veins.
"Uhh, yeah baby, uhh. Fuck, give it to me harder, mmn", he moaned, but was surprised as hell when in a span of two seconds Russia pulled out, flipped him on his hands and knees and slammed back into him full-force, setting the pace anew, but smoother and harder.
If America liked it before, well, now he had a whole new definition of what 'like' is. He could feel every inch of Russia even deeper inside of him, pressing on that amazing spot so hard he could practically see stars. He could fucking feel Russia's balls brushing his own when he came in so close to the hilt, and only the thought of it sent America over the edge. He jerked himself so fast and raw, only his dripping precum his sole lubricant, cursing, screamingfor Russia he was cumming. He shot all of his seed on the blue comforter, staining it sticky and dirty and white, collapsing on his forearms. His mind went completely blank for a few seconds, a low humming sound of the blood in his ears.
Russia was not long behind, groaning dark and low, still slamming into him hard, both palms digging into the sides of America's hips. He felt it when Russia came inside of him, could feel him spasming slightly and slowing down, riding the last of his orgasm, then stopping all-together, still inside. Russia collapsed lightly on the small of his back, breathing hard, forehead and hair soaked with sweat on America's already wet back. America couldn't move, couldn't speak, cheek flat against the bed sheets, a faint buzz in his head.
Finally, Russia pulled out, but America remained in his position, ass still high up in the air, too lazy and overwhelmed for movement of any kind. "Are you alright?", Russia asked, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed, lightly rubbing his back. His tone was concerned-borderline-amused, but he didn't say anything more than that.
"Yeah", America answered lazily, finally sliding onto his belly, turning his head to the side, to look at Russia's smiling face from the corner of his eye. He looked pretty smug, that sonova-
"Wait a second, I will get something to clean you up", Russia said and stood up, going away. As he listened to the running water in the bathroom sink and Russia's feet tapping on the carpeted hotel floor, he didn't think of anything in particular, just stared into space with no reason, getting his heart-rate back to normal.
Russia came back and set on the bed, placing a cool plastic bottle of water from the mini-bar on the side table. He reached for it as Russia started to clean him up, and America let him with no protests.
"Did you like it?", Russia asked tentatively between the soft strokes of the wet towel on his inner thighs. It had an undertone of I know you did, but I want you to say it all the same mixed in there as well. There was no doubt of what he was referring to. America turned his head some more to look up at him properly, grinning.
"You bet! I think we'll get along just fine, you and I. Hey, wanna get a shower together?".
***
Thank you for taking the time to read this piece, and (hopefully) see you soon.