A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed/faved/ put this story on their alerts list. I'm very grateful. Please enjoy the next chapter~

Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine -sulk-


Seven Sinners:

England

Lust

England had always considered himself a gentleman and gentlemen always knew where the line was.

But as his head hit the pillow and his tongue worked to explore every inch of America's mouth, he thought that perhaps he wasn't so sure anymore.

He had thought that he would die—that the fire within him would burn until he was only forgotten ashes. His attempts to contain the inferno—those endless nights in the bathroom, on his bed—had left him unsatisfied and done nothing but stoke the flames.

What was worse was the humiliation after he was done. The washer was always full of his stained sheets and towels and the trash cans seemed to be forever overflowing with the sickening combination of tissues and paper napkins.

Everyone knew it. They had to know it. When he walked down the street, sat at those boring world meetings across from him, he could feel the stinging heat that sat permanently on his cheeks. He had felt as if the whole world could see beneath the calm exterior how he writhed and ached for simple release.

It came in the most unexpected way. A simple, innocent dinner invitation had turned into an animalistic rutting session that had left both him and America flushed and breathless on the kitchen floor. That had been the first time that he had lost control, the first time the line had suddenly blurred before his eyes.

The next time, he had barely kept himself together as the sensuous tempo at which the two bodies met threatened to take him once again over the edge.

His appetite was insatiable. Days in bed. A week with no outside contact until Germany or France came pounding on his door with demands that he and America attend the scheduled meetings at once (that was Germany) or that they let him join in (that was France).

.

.

.

It was never enough.

"More…please more." He gasped, America working to keep up with the frantic demands.

Faster. Harder. England had no limits.

Even when he took the reins himself, rocking his body with such force that he was sure America's eyes would fall out of his head, he was always left wanting more.

Unless there was a national emergency, there was never a "not tonight." No moment was never not perfect. England was never content.

America hissed as England's nails trailed jagged lines down his back, adding to the numerous others that had accumulated and scarred over the past weeks.

Even as he reached his climax and his mouth fell open in a soundless scream, England knew—after they had fallen back onto the sheets, the only sounds in the room their ragged breathing—that it was time, only a matter of time, before the fire relit anew and the ache and the want would come rushing back.

"England? Do you love me?" America's voice was soft and uncharacteristically shy as he asked the question that had been hanging on the tip of his tongue.

Lust and love. He had lost his ability to differentiate between the two, but he gave America his most genuine smile as he answered, "Yes." He opened his arms to let the other man in, deciding for once that, yes, he could wait. He would not let the fire burn out of control.

The line was there and he hovered dangerously over it. But he had not crossed it. Not today.

Tomorrow would bring another fight.


A/N: Again, let me know how you feel about the story. Feedback keeps me going strong! Pride is scheduled next. Any guesses?

With love

-dancer