Note: This chapter should be rated mature, but I'm honestly not familiar enough with this website to change the chapter rating. If it even exists. That being said - it is Mature material. Only this chapter. But still. Heads up. :D
Oh. Oh.
And just as fast as England started the, the kiss (!), he stopped – pulled away and stared. He could feel his face heat up and up and up until he couldn't be sure what embarrassed him more – his previous action or the redness that was certainly saturating his cheeks.
But god, if he didn't want this. How could he possibly ignore this feeling of – of – need and incomprehension for everything around him? Meanwhile, America breathed for the first time in what seemed like hours – the air rushing across England's lips – they were still so close. And his heart kept doing weird skitter-y things in his chest – what the heck was with that?
He placed a hand over England's which was still cupping his chin lightly, so lightly.
"…Awesome."
England kept staring, refusing to continue what he had just done. Was it the alcohol? It couldn't possibly be just America – that was absurd, that was preposterous, that was, that was…inevitable. "What are we doing America?" England's whisper carried over the blasts and cheers – for America's ears were trained to his voice only.
America inched forward, their noses touching and smiled hesitantly. "Uh…I dunno. I mean – I know what we're doing, but I, I'm kinda confused. But I want…"
England could also feel the want bubbling in his chest to the point of no return. He knew that it would soon overflow and then…who knew what would happen next? He breathed in the scent of America - all but covering his lips with his own. So close…
"What do you want America?"
The lad's breath hitched and he repeated his earlier statement, only this time much less nonchalant: "You."
And the dam within England – the dam that had been slowly eroding away with each touch, each softly spoken word, each guarded look - burst. He looked at the lad in front of him, who clearly wanted more, noticed how easy it would be to cross that last line and fucking kiss him properly. He just couldn't seem to do it. As if America had read England's mind, he reached for the remote, muted the television and did just that.
"Alfred…"
America quickly swiveled around on the couch, lifting his legs up and wrapping them around England's slim waist, never breaking contact with his mouth and his tongue and his already slightly swollen lips and ohmigod, this is actually happening – awesooome!
England – fine with having America make the first real move - combed his fingers through America's hair, moving slowly away from his mouth to his jaw to his neck and collarbone, absently sucking or biting here and there to the increasingly pleasured responses. America on the other hand, chanced his way under England's sweater, breath rate increasing and hands roaming over clenching muscles and battle scars.
"Mmm," England sighed in appreciation against the lad's lips; America's hands were nice and warm.
"Englaaaand…" America breathed under England's ministrations.
"Even in a situation like this you whine. What now – am I too boring already?" England murmured huskily and remedied this by twisting around between America's legs and simultaneously pushing him down on the couch, crawling over him inch by agonizing inch. He nudged one knee into America's growing arousal to which he gasped in surprise.
"Jesus, England! W-who knew…hah…you were so hot?"
England's eyes widened and he huffed – face tinged pink. He 'tch'd' and searched for an adequate comeback – a difficult feat considering his current position and the fact that he had never been referred to as 'hot' before... America, of course, noticed England's flustered reaction and grinned. He groped around at England's neck for a second before grabbing a fistful of sweater and pulling him forward suggestively. "The one day you don't wear a tie, haha!"
England silenced him with a kiss which quickly turned into an exploration, a battleground, and an adventure. The two Nations pressed close – ever closer – using this somehow long-awaited moment for touching and sucking and groping and arching and breathing against each other. Soon enough, the current exposure to each Nation's bodies was just not enough. England scowled at the t-shirt covering America's broad chest and broke their heavy kisses long enough to force it over his head and toss it onto the floor.
"T-Take it all in, baby." America laughed jerkily and received a cuff on the ear for that. "Hey! I'm fuckin' hot and you got it all."
"Would you just – just shut it?" England lowered his eyes and indeed 'took it all in,' although, he would never admit it to America. He lowered his head and licked teasingly up and around America's abdominals, ribcage and his hipbones; purposely straying from where America wanted him most.
"Ah, f-fuck, England. Take off your clothes too; I don't wannahh…" America trailed off as one of England's hands dipped below the waistband of his pants and squeezed. He smiled coyly and pulled his hand back out in order to shrug off his sleeves - to pull the sweater slowly off of his small body. He smirked at America's dumbfounded expression and folded the sweater, (more quickly than it had come off) placing it on the floor and returning to the task at hand: America.
But before he could even lower himself down, the stupidly boisterous lad had gripped his shoulders and swiveled them around so that it was England lying at the mercy of America's ministrations. And boy did he plan on making them good.
"You ready for a heroic time, babe?" He palmed at the bulge in England's (much too dressy) pants and laughed huskily when the smaller Nation gasped and arched into the touch. "I…ah, I severely hope that, mmm, you realize how pathetic t-that sounded."
America kissed him – hard and sloppy and full of want. "All comes with the package, Arthur. And speaking of packages…" He waggled his eyebrows at England who groaned in disbelief and hugged at America's neck, drawing him down, down, down. His groan quickly turned from that of disdain to that of pleasure as America's mouth made its way sinfully south.
"Ah…yes, darling – a-ah."
America cooed happily and leaned back up to plant a quick kiss to England's lips. He paused for a second and England, noticing this, frowned up at his boyish face. "What – what the devil is it now…Alfred?"
The younger Nation grinned unexpectedly and kissed him again, and again – hardly stopping for breath. "Nothing. Haha, well…I'm just really, uh, happy, I guess." And before England could respond, America abruptly stood up and off the couch. He then leant forward, scooped England into his arms and proceeded across the room and up the stairs – flicking off the light with his nose and not bothering with the TV. England let lose a muffled shout and pushed weakly at America's arms – a foolish venture, seeing as the boy was able to swing a buffalo above his head as a small child. "What, pray tell, are you doing, you git?" His arms were wrapped around America's neck – slightly sweat-shined – in order to give himself the illusion of stability.
"I just remembered that France gave me a bottle of lube for my birthday last summer – thanks for that secret present, by the way - and I've never thrown it out, haha! But it's upstairs and you're slow sometimes so I thought I'd just carry you. S'also kind of a nice couch down there."
"Stop talking," England muttered into his shoulder. "Bloody frog…"
America kicked open the door to his room and set England gently down onto his bed. He caught England's mouth in a chaste kiss before opening various drawers and cabinets in his search for the elusive lube. England lowered himself to the sheets and was once more hit with the smell of America. And with that smell came the onslaught of emotions following the adrenaline rush, the clear knowledge of what he was about to do…with Alfred of all people. But – no matter how hard he tried (and he wasn't trying hard) – he couldn't find himself shying away from any of this, couldn't force his heart to stop beating so furiously.
He jumped slightly when America - having snuck up behind him - smoothed a hand from his shoulder down his arm in a surprisingly tender fashion. "England," he whispered and the addressed Nation turned quickly to face him, pulling his head down for another string of kisses. He was beyond denying, beyond rejecting, beyond caring…but only just beginning to realize all of this.
America was soon overtop of England once again, propped up on his elbows so as not to crush England – or something stupid like that. It would totally suck if I crushed England right now 'cause, 'cause - gah! America laughed against England's mouth and his hand moved to unzip the zipper overtop of England's re-expanding arousal.
"Good lord, Alfred! Hah – get rid of your fucking pants, already." England was downright panting now and America not too far behind. With fumbling fingers, he untied the strings on his sweatpants (yes, no belt!) while England shed his already unzipped pants and boxers, tossing the over the side of the bed. America finally succeeded in doing the same and stared openly, causing England to blush furiously.
America seemed to snap out of it when he noticed the lack of England in his arms. He moved towards him then, guiding him down, fitting against him like two pieces of a puzzle. Two of the most opposite puzzle pieces one would ever happen to chance upon, but…that was okay. Every once and a while England would murmur coos and pet names into his ear and America jumped at the chance to say everything that was sticking in the back of his throat. But he couldn't get them past, couldn't bring himself to say what he meant.
Eventually, America broke the silence, (if their mutual panting and curses could be considered a silence) feeling a need to say something – he couldn't stand not being heard – the silence made him feel so uncertain. "Are you, ah, sure it's o-okay that I, I…"
England rolled his eyes and reached for the lube, unscrewing it in one fluid motion and pouring a reasonable amount into his hand. He turned to look back up at America. "You're, ah, here now, aren't you? I don't really care – just get on with it."
America smiled down at him. "Haha! You always tell me how over-eager I am and –"
His protest was cut short and a loud gasp rattled through his lungs as England – having had enough of his endless chatter – gripped his cock and smoothed his hands over it, slathering it with lube. Thankfully - England thought in the back of his mind - it isn't French. The whole room would have smelled of roses or some stupidly pungent perfume otherwise.
He smirked up at America's staggered expression and continued his ministrations up and down the length. "It seems as if I've found my w-way to shut you up."
"Hah – haha, y-yeah…" Inwardly, America cursed his inability to be clever. But England himself was enough to make him somewhat splutter-y let alone his hand stroking his cock so nicely. He – grudgingly – lifted England's hand and intertwined it with his own, so that the lube could be transferred for…for what was to come. Haha – what was to come…
He leaned forward and kissed England on the nose as a silent 'sort-of-apology' and grinned at how his face instantly flared up. He quickly inserted a finger into his entrance, hoping to get past the pain he knew was causing England to go through. No need to worry though, as he found that spot with relatively little searching and almost lost it right then and there when he caught sight of England's moaned reaction. All because of me!
A second and third finger followed the first, including soft murmurs of consolation (Yes, darling – perfectly lovely – my dear Alfred) and even softer caresses.
"Are you," America gulped, "are you ready?"
"Mmhmm… Yes, dear lad – get on with it."
"Kay, well – if you want me to, uh, stop –"
"I am perfectly w-willing to flip you over and, ah, fuck you m-myself if you don't shut it."
"Haha, k-kay…" And America removed his fingers, lowered himself down, and pushed himself slowly inside; in between England's spread legs (England's spread legs, ohmigod) and –
Oh. Oh. Yes. This is what he wanted. Definitely what he wanted.
"Move," England commanded and America was more than happy to oblige.
After the first few beginning thrusts, the bed started to shake and America contemplated voicing this – he found it quite funny – but thought better of it, worrying about what England would threaten to do to him. England's heat enveloped him completely and it was all he could do - as it was - to support himself above England who lay panting below him. America, wanting to do something in which to increase England's pleasure, grasped his length in a shaking hand and pumped it in time with each thump of the bed hitting the wall. America couldn't help but laugh a little at that and England managed to shoot him a glare through his glassy eyes.
"If you're, hah, laughing at the bed sh-shaking, I, I'll, h-hah…" England inhaled sharply and threw his head back, wincing slightly. "No, no – it's fine, dear. Perfectly, mmm, wonderful…" And England arched just so that America echoed his gasp and clenched his eyes shut. Their hands continued to roam freely, bodies free of clothing and freely sweating at the exertion. Every couple of seconds their mouths would find each other and tongues would tangle; fingers would run through damp hair. Vague half-whispers of confused syllables moved beyond their lips when they weren't covered with the others'.
All the endearments from England flowed into America's ears and only added to his pleasure. Hot guy plus great sex equals a sweet deal. And he actually cares; who knew? America grinned to himself and panted against England's kiss-swollen lips as the heat inside his stomach coiled tighter and tighter – like a, a snake, or something poetic like that. He thrust up once more into England's willing body and emptied himself, seeing naught but white stars, (haha, like my flag) breathing erratic. His hand continued to move against England's cock. A few seconds passed and England's body tensed (Alfred!) – white, sticky strands soon covered his stomach and America's fingers.
Their breath passed ragged through their lungs and America eventually slipped out, sucking his fingers clean of England's seed and laughing quietly in sheer relief at what the night had become. Who knew, who knew, who knew?
"Who knew," America said before he could stop the words from leaping out of his mouth. England, still breathing heavily, raised an eyebrow at the younger Nation. He slowly lifted a hand and brushed his fingers through America's hair, fingers shaking slightly and coming to rest on America's cheek. He looked at the boy close his eyes and lean into the touch, probably anticipating an answer.
"Who knew, indeed?" America opened his eyes to England's trademark half-smile, his green eyes shining. This was enough to convince America that: Hey – a lot has changed, but I guess…this is what we're in together.
"Come here." England's voice was gentle and America scrambled over, not needing to be told twice. He lifted the covers over both of their bodies and snuggled in close to England's surprising warmth. Surprising…
England absent-mindedly stroked America's hair, reveling at the lad's ability to remain silent for more than five minutes.
"Hey, England?" Oh, there we go.
Yes, luv?" A contented hum.
"…Are you surprised?" America bit his lip and chanced a look up at England, who was neither smiling nor frowning. His hand moved a comforting and lulling rhythm against his hair.
"Yes. But not so much anymore. As much as I hate to admit it, your charm has certainly, ah, swayed me, America." England allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch when America grinned in response. It was different somehow than usual – full of happiness, giddiness, trust, perhaps a smidgeon of vulnerability. England thought this through again and decided that – no – this smile was America's usual. Just a bit smaller in scale.
America murmured incoherently against England's collarbone then spoke at a normal volume. "I wonder if you'll be limping tomorrow…"
England smirked in the darkness (they had never turned the lamp on) and tapped America on the nose. "I may be, but I'm wondering if you're going to need crutches to walk when I'm though with you…"
America's eyes widened and he looked up at England, but couldn't make eye contact since they had already shut. His breath was becoming more and more regular and America envied his ability to fall asleep so easily.
"Haha, what?"
The corners of England's eyes crinkled and he placed a fleeting kiss on America's temple.
"Sweet dreams, Alfred."
And America wondered for an unnecessarily long time if he should take him seriously.
AN - You have no idea how hard it was for me to write this. This - fangirls and possibly fanboys - is my first written smut. Ever. So. I'm really, really scared at how people are gonna react to it. Hahaha, gahhhh - It took me so long to write... D: Oh well. It's only 24 hours late. And I wonder if anyone can guess what the next chapter's gonna be about? ;)
Also - this is the second-last chapter. So's ya know. :) One more left, folks. I MIGHT include an epilogue. We'll see how I feel about the ending. Thank you so much for the kind words! See ya next chapter!