![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Busby’s Chair suddenly begins to glow its familiar aura, a smoky bluish-green that reminded England of rogue waves and treacherous whirlpools. It’s beckoning him, he knows. If Busby’s Chair had a face, it would have been smiling – no, cackling - with a lunatic glint in its eyes. It just knew that he was coming back for more. Daunting as it might be, it’s its sick way of greeting him.
His trousers are the next to go. His underwear, next.
England knows he’s falling for the same temptation all over again – but its pull is too damn strong for him to resist.
After all, the act is indulging a fancy, something you can easily brush off the second you’re done with it. Something quick, dirty, fucking shameful - but nothing harmful.
The initial contact was always the hardest.
A low, icy hiss drawls from England as he nestles himself into the chair, the chafed fabric covers baking hot on his skin.
That familiar shiver running from the nape of his neck down to the base of his spine slithers its usual course, signaling that the spell has begun to take into effect for the umpteenth time.
England feels the effects right away. Every inch of his skin is suddenly ablaze with unreal warmth – a kind tingling that seems to seep right down to the marrow of his bones.
It’s time to start the fantasy. With a shaky gasp, England closes his eyes and forces his tense muscles to relax and slouch over.
He mentally debates on several candidates – France with his silver tongue, whispering silky sweet nothings into his ear while fucking him through the mattress; Australia with a satisfied, roguish smirk as England goes down and sucks every inch of his cock; Spain with his honeyed, velvety skin and nimble fingers that made England pant his name in wanton ecstasy.
Each scene, right down to the tiniest of sensations, ripples through England’s vision. Everything feels like liquid steam on his skin – every breath, every lick, every word that gnashed through his gritted teeth. They each had a way of making him lose control.
And being the desperate fool that he is, he just craves more of it.
England’s heart beats ten notches higher, each intense pump making his body shiver with arousal.
He ventures a small peek at his current state. After just a few flicks of his imagination, a filmy sheen of sweat already began to coat his body. A thin stream of pre-come trickles down from his hard cock.
Fuck, the damn Chair just knows how to whittle him down into a blubbering mass. And he was just a few minutes into it. It seems that every sense he possessed is magnified a thousand-fold, making each vision life-like and tangible.
His trousers are the next to go. His underwear, next.
England knows he’s falling for the same temptation all over again – but its pull is too damn strong for him to resist.
After all, the act is indulging a fancy, something you can easily brush off the second you’re done with it. Something quick, dirty, fucking shameful - but nothing harmful.
The initial contact was always the hardest.
A low, icy hiss drawls from England as he nestles himself into the chair, the chafed fabric covers baking hot on his skin.
That familiar shiver running from the nape of his neck down to the base of his spine slithers its usual course, signaling that the spell has begun to take into effect for the umpteenth time.
England feels the effects right away. Every inch of his skin is suddenly ablaze with unreal warmth – a kind tingling that seems to seep right down to the marrow of his bones.
It’s time to start the fantasy. With a shaky gasp, England closes his eyes and forces his tense muscles to relax and slouch over.
He mentally debates on several candidates – France with his silver tongue, whispering silky sweet nothings into his ear while fucking him through the mattress; Australia with a satisfied, roguish smirk as England goes down and sucks every inch of his cock; Spain with his honeyed, velvety skin and nimble fingers that made England pant his name in wanton ecstasy.
Each scene, right down to the tiniest of sensations, ripples through England’s vision. Everything feels like liquid steam on his skin – every breath, every lick, every word that gnashed through his gritted teeth. They each had a way of making him lose control.
And being the desperate fool that he is, he just craves more of it.
England’s heart beats ten notches higher, each intense pump making his body shiver with arousal.
He ventures a small peek at his current state. After just a few flicks of his imagination, a filmy sheen of sweat already began to coat his body. A thin stream of pre-come trickles down from his hard cock.
Fuck, the damn Chair just knows how to whittle him down into a blubbering mass. And he was just a few minutes into it. It seems that every sense he possessed is magnified a thousand-fold, making each vision life-like and tangible.
Moments of physical rapture with someone else with no emotional attachments whatsoever – it’s what England exactly wanted. Needed – the Chair would have implied. He can have anyone he wanted, and no one will ever know.
It’s just him and the Chair. His and the Chair’s little secrets.
Closing his eyes once more, England lets his mind’s eye wander for a fresh new face to think about.
At first, he tries consider Germany. Armed with firm musculature, a cold and calculating gaze, and a large bodily frame – Germany is certainly the dominating type. He’s fitting.
England’s imagination enters into overdrive again. He feels the rough caress of Germany’s tongue on his neck, the unusually firm way that he’s holding England down with his bare hands.
Everything’s perfect, except for one thing.
What is Germany like in bed, anyway?
England has next to no ideas, save for some strident hearsays and personal perceptions. Since Germany is all about commandeering his subordinates, perhaps the same behavior translates into his sexual advances. Now that he thought about it, England knows next to nothing about Germany, in general.
He sees Germany as a dangerous opponent in the battlefield – no more, and no less. How he would be as a partner, England has no clue.
It’s always best to test the waters first.
England licks his lips, drinking in the bittersweet flavor of beer, that overpowering aftertaste of Germany, after a bruising kiss. He tries to relish the glide of his sweaty skin across Germany’s hard muscles born from months of rigorous training, the lack of breath in his lungs as Germany’s huge frame lies above him while staring at his eyes.
His little stint as Germany’s precious little captive.
After a few seconds, England already knew that something is wrong.
From some reason, the arousal he’s been having for the past few minutes starts to take a huge drop. England isn’t able to pinpoint why the fuck is this happening, but he clenches his eyes tighter, imagining the probable feel of Germany’s cock inside him, just to save the vision from dissolving. He attempts a few lazy strokes as a last resort, but the arousal just kept fading completely. The wild thrumming of his skin rests to a stop.
England knows he should have been enjoying it – Germany fit all of his criteria, after all - but something is still missing.
He can’t quite put his finger on it, but the point is moot. Germany simply won’t do.
It’s just him and the Chair. His and the Chair’s little secrets.
Closing his eyes once more, England lets his mind’s eye wander for a fresh new face to think about.
At first, he tries consider Germany. Armed with firm musculature, a cold and calculating gaze, and a large bodily frame – Germany is certainly the dominating type. He’s fitting.
England’s imagination enters into overdrive again. He feels the rough caress of Germany’s tongue on his neck, the unusually firm way that he’s holding England down with his bare hands.
Everything’s perfect, except for one thing.
What is Germany like in bed, anyway?
England has next to no ideas, save for some strident hearsays and personal perceptions. Since Germany is all about commandeering his subordinates, perhaps the same behavior translates into his sexual advances. Now that he thought about it, England knows next to nothing about Germany, in general.
He sees Germany as a dangerous opponent in the battlefield – no more, and no less. How he would be as a partner, England has no clue.
It’s always best to test the waters first.
England licks his lips, drinking in the bittersweet flavor of beer, that overpowering aftertaste of Germany, after a bruising kiss. He tries to relish the glide of his sweaty skin across Germany’s hard muscles born from months of rigorous training, the lack of breath in his lungs as Germany’s huge frame lies above him while staring at his eyes.
His little stint as Germany’s precious little captive.
After a few seconds, England already knew that something is wrong.
From some reason, the arousal he’s been having for the past few minutes starts to take a huge drop. England isn’t able to pinpoint why the fuck is this happening, but he clenches his eyes tighter, imagining the probable feel of Germany’s cock inside him, just to save the vision from dissolving. He attempts a few lazy strokes as a last resort, but the arousal just kept fading completely. The wild thrumming of his skin rests to a stop.
England knows he should have been enjoying it – Germany fit all of his criteria, after all - but something is still missing.
He can’t quite put his finger on it, but the point is moot. Germany simply won’t do.
Time to think of a new partner, then.
Italy’s benign expression swims into his mind with a bubbly smile and an innocent demeanor. It’s hardly arousing, for obvious reasons. Japan is pretty much the same. As resilient as he might be, Japan doesn’t seem to radiate that vibe that England is looking for.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, America’s face suddenly emerges from the blackness. His body materializes seconds later.
He’s naked, too, save for his glasses. The buttery glimmer of the lamplight makes his skin and muscles gleam with a tan-like glow, accentuating his youthful features.
‘He’ walks toward England’s seat with that clunky, awkward gait similar to the real America’s. It’s an exact replica, right down to the boyish cheeks, angular shoulders, and the brawny arms.
But he’s fucking naked. And so is England.
‘America’’s lips twitch into a grin unlike anything England has seen before – it has a wolfish characteristic to it, something fundamentally less of the America that England is familiar with.
With a wave of cold dread, England realizes that the Chair is the one that’s controlling the visions. He tries to smudge America’s image away from his mind, but everything is becoming more and more real by the second. More solid.
England is aware that he can still end everything by just opening his eyes, but something in him – the spell, England blames it on the fucking spell – is making him shut his eyes tighter, just to see what happens next.
Out of the corner of his closed eyes, ‘America’’s large hands entwine around his waist, fingers lightly tracing circles on the small of his back.
The blueness of his eyes is the same. So are the sinewy, muscular contours of his body. That sweet, husky scent that’s reminiscent of pine trees. This illusion could have passed off as the real America.
“You want me, don’t you, England?” ‘he’ murmurs.
Perhaps the Chair’s spell is just tempting him to try this out.
England brushes his own fingertips gently on the skin of his neck, along at the juncture of his left shoulder, imagining the feel of America’s lips on his tingling skin. ‘America’ kisses him on the exact same spot. They’re as warm and soft as England thought they would be; it’s oddly uncharacteristic for a brusque Nation such as America, but it’s fucking there. It must be fucking there.
A stifled moan rumbles from the back of England’s throat.
Italy’s benign expression swims into his mind with a bubbly smile and an innocent demeanor. It’s hardly arousing, for obvious reasons. Japan is pretty much the same. As resilient as he might be, Japan doesn’t seem to radiate that vibe that England is looking for.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, America’s face suddenly emerges from the blackness. His body materializes seconds later.
He’s naked, too, save for his glasses. The buttery glimmer of the lamplight makes his skin and muscles gleam with a tan-like glow, accentuating his youthful features.
‘He’ walks toward England’s seat with that clunky, awkward gait similar to the real America’s. It’s an exact replica, right down to the boyish cheeks, angular shoulders, and the brawny arms.
But he’s fucking naked. And so is England.
‘America’’s lips twitch into a grin unlike anything England has seen before – it has a wolfish characteristic to it, something fundamentally less of the America that England is familiar with.
With a wave of cold dread, England realizes that the Chair is the one that’s controlling the visions. He tries to smudge America’s image away from his mind, but everything is becoming more and more real by the second. More solid.
England is aware that he can still end everything by just opening his eyes, but something in him – the spell, England blames it on the fucking spell – is making him shut his eyes tighter, just to see what happens next.
Out of the corner of his closed eyes, ‘America’’s large hands entwine around his waist, fingers lightly tracing circles on the small of his back.
The blueness of his eyes is the same. So are the sinewy, muscular contours of his body. That sweet, husky scent that’s reminiscent of pine trees. This illusion could have passed off as the real America.
“You want me, don’t you, England?” ‘he’ murmurs.
Perhaps the Chair’s spell is just tempting him to try this out.
England brushes his own fingertips gently on the skin of his neck, along at the juncture of his left shoulder, imagining the feel of America’s lips on his tingling skin. ‘America’ kisses him on the exact same spot. They’re as warm and soft as England thought they would be; it’s oddly uncharacteristic for a brusque Nation such as America, but it’s fucking there. It must be fucking there.
A stifled moan rumbles from the back of England’s throat.
‘America’ answers with a mischievous smile.
England now etches a slow path on his lips with his fingers, looking forward to the electric touch of America’s own that was soon to come. The illusory America follows suit, his lips raking along the path where England’s fingertips were mere moments ago.
That’s the game, and always has been. He still has some degree of control over the actions of this America. After all, ‘he’ remains to be an illusion – somewhat incorporeal. ‘He’ still needs something – someone – physical to channel his movements into reality.
The warmth of ‘America’s' breath, the mere nearness of it, is more than enough to make England’s head spin in dizzying circles.
A smile that just about matches America’s unfurls itself from England’s lips.
This is the crux of the spell, isn’t it? Prostrating himself to the mercy of this America isn’t what he intended to happen, but fuck it all – never has he experienced anything like it in all his years as a Nation.
England’s fingers soon splay and latch themselves onto America’s skin. A part of him is aware that he’s scrabbling at thin air, right back at the physical plane at the secret room in his basement. At the same time, he knows that another part of him still remains attached onto the otherworldly consciousness that is being conjured by that wretched spell, with him reaching out to this ‘America’.
The skin of America’s chest is supple and smooth under his touch. Every curve, every taut muscle, hides a portion of that inhumane strength that England is all too familiar with. It’s hypnotic – enticing - now that he dwells on it. So much power in one lithe package …
As if reading his thoughts, America suddenly presses his body onto England’s, his breath hot and misty over England’s right earlobe. With skin pressing against skin, all of England’s nerves explode with ecstasy at the heated contact.
He already saw this coming, and he doesn’t know why, but it somehow still managed to surprise the hell out of him. The excitement, the craving, is practically burning the insides of his chest right now.
He can feel America’s hard cock prodding and pressing underneath the cleft of his left hip, edging closer and closer to his – ah, fuck. Grabbing the opportunity, America begins to smear his own pre-come under England’s thigh with small, random thrusts of his hips.
Squeaks and creaks from the Chair beneath him, along with Americas tiny baritone soughs in his ear form a melodic trance that almost made England’s control fall off the brink.
Shite.
England now etches a slow path on his lips with his fingers, looking forward to the electric touch of America’s own that was soon to come. The illusory America follows suit, his lips raking along the path where England’s fingertips were mere moments ago.
That’s the game, and always has been. He still has some degree of control over the actions of this America. After all, ‘he’ remains to be an illusion – somewhat incorporeal. ‘He’ still needs something – someone – physical to channel his movements into reality.
The warmth of ‘America’s' breath, the mere nearness of it, is more than enough to make England’s head spin in dizzying circles.
A smile that just about matches America’s unfurls itself from England’s lips.
This is the crux of the spell, isn’t it? Prostrating himself to the mercy of this America isn’t what he intended to happen, but fuck it all – never has he experienced anything like it in all his years as a Nation.
England’s fingers soon splay and latch themselves onto America’s skin. A part of him is aware that he’s scrabbling at thin air, right back at the physical plane at the secret room in his basement. At the same time, he knows that another part of him still remains attached onto the otherworldly consciousness that is being conjured by that wretched spell, with him reaching out to this ‘America’.
The skin of America’s chest is supple and smooth under his touch. Every curve, every taut muscle, hides a portion of that inhumane strength that England is all too familiar with. It’s hypnotic – enticing - now that he dwells on it. So much power in one lithe package …
As if reading his thoughts, America suddenly presses his body onto England’s, his breath hot and misty over England’s right earlobe. With skin pressing against skin, all of England’s nerves explode with ecstasy at the heated contact.
He already saw this coming, and he doesn’t know why, but it somehow still managed to surprise the hell out of him. The excitement, the craving, is practically burning the insides of his chest right now.
He can feel America’s hard cock prodding and pressing underneath the cleft of his left hip, edging closer and closer to his – ah, fuck. Grabbing the opportunity, America begins to smear his own pre-come under England’s thigh with small, random thrusts of his hips.
Squeaks and creaks from the Chair beneath him, along with Americas tiny baritone soughs in his ear form a melodic trance that almost made England’s control fall off the brink.
Shite.
SO GOOD.
I mean... this is set up very well. Your depiction of the characters involved is very nice. I particularly like the inclusion of Canada's sort-of-family. Russia's motive is skin-crawling, vaguely appealing, and rings appropriate. I also like your choice of language throughout - you don't mince words, and it adds to the fine edge you've put on this tone.
I feel like I've read things by you before. And bookmarked them.
Have I? It might be a bit early to ask for a partial de-anon, but...
So, yes. I'll be sticking around, for sure.
I mean... this is set up very well. Your depiction of the characters involved is very nice. I particularly like the inclusion of Canada's sort-of-family. Russia's motive is skin-crawling, vaguely appealing, and rings appropriate. I also like your choice of language throughout - you don't mince words, and it adds to the fine edge you've put on this tone.
I feel like I've read things by you before. And bookmarked them.
Have I? It might be a bit early to ask for a partial de-anon, but...
So, yes. I'll be sticking around, for sure.
chair sex shouldnt be so damn good and you had me going there I thought he had come!
America licks the outer lobe of England’s right ear, taking great care to delight in the little nibbles he dished out along the way. “Hey, England,” he whispers, breathless and unreal. “Touch me all you want, okay?”
He clasps his fingers around England’s wrist with fine-tuned strength – so, so gently similar to the warm way the real America would have handled him; it’s powerful and unyielding, but not strong enough to hurt.
Bringing the digits closer to his mouth, America takes great care to slowly lick and suck on every finger, savoring their invisible flavor. England can only stare, slack-jawed, at the phantom America’s ministrations. It’s hard to believe that the America he knew would do such a thing – together with that subtle, lustful crinkling of his eyes, that lewd manner he uses to gaze at England’s befuddled expression.
Everything is not what it seemed. The America that England knows is virtuous, innocent, and has the mental capacity of a childish git. Surely such sexual feats are beyond his capabilities?
America runs England’s wet, sticky thumb across his lips.
“I’ll do whatever you want with me, if you’d let me to.”
His voice is like the original one, with that exact pitch and that zestful intonation of every syllable, but the mere words themselves – they don’t match. England simply can’t imagine America saying those things, not even in this fantasy vision.
Not to him, anyway.
Still, at the very back of his mind, England can’t suppress the inevitable fact that America must know these things by now; he isn’t a child anymore. He can’t really deny that America certainly knows how to suck a cock and to fuck a person senseless.
He’s still a handsome, young man with desires, after all.
Besides, England’s own throbbing cock begs him to overwrite any form of logic and sentimentality. Such asinine concepts are of no use here in this realm.
England recognizes the fact that America is fucking attractive, and that’s all that matters.
With much effort and deep gulp of air, he swallows the lump that has managed to wedge itself in his throat. His heart beats just a little bit faster after that acknowledgement, but it’s not as if he can do anything about it now.
Curse these hormones to hell.
Using his left hand, America guides England’s trembling fingers across his well-muscled body, leaving a narrow trail of saliva along its wake. Slowly down to his Adam’s apple.
Along his tense shoulders, right and left.
He clasps his fingers around England’s wrist with fine-tuned strength – so, so gently similar to the warm way the real America would have handled him; it’s powerful and unyielding, but not strong enough to hurt.
Bringing the digits closer to his mouth, America takes great care to slowly lick and suck on every finger, savoring their invisible flavor. England can only stare, slack-jawed, at the phantom America’s ministrations. It’s hard to believe that the America he knew would do such a thing – together with that subtle, lustful crinkling of his eyes, that lewd manner he uses to gaze at England’s befuddled expression.
Everything is not what it seemed. The America that England knows is virtuous, innocent, and has the mental capacity of a childish git. Surely such sexual feats are beyond his capabilities?
America runs England’s wet, sticky thumb across his lips.
“I’ll do whatever you want with me, if you’d let me to.”
His voice is like the original one, with that exact pitch and that zestful intonation of every syllable, but the mere words themselves – they don’t match. England simply can’t imagine America saying those things, not even in this fantasy vision.
Not to him, anyway.
Still, at the very back of his mind, England can’t suppress the inevitable fact that America must know these things by now; he isn’t a child anymore. He can’t really deny that America certainly knows how to suck a cock and to fuck a person senseless.
He’s still a handsome, young man with desires, after all.
Besides, England’s own throbbing cock begs him to overwrite any form of logic and sentimentality. Such asinine concepts are of no use here in this realm.
England recognizes the fact that America is fucking attractive, and that’s all that matters.
With much effort and deep gulp of air, he swallows the lump that has managed to wedge itself in his throat. His heart beats just a little bit faster after that acknowledgement, but it’s not as if he can do anything about it now.
Curse these hormones to hell.
Using his left hand, America guides England’s trembling fingers across his well-muscled body, leaving a narrow trail of saliva along its wake. Slowly down to his Adam’s apple.
Along his tense shoulders, right and left.
Relinquished [1;8/8] Please don't mind the previous fail numbering. OTL
(Anonymous) 2010-09-29 03:48 am (UTC)(link)Moving south to his chest.
England halts the movement a bit to feel the beat of this America’s heart. He doesn’t know why, but he wishes to familiarize himself with every inch of perfect skin, every skipping pulse, just everything about this new America.
The pounding under his palm is powerful and constant; commanding, even, just like the way England expects it to be.
He doesn’t know whether to be amused or disappointed that he’s using America’s heartbeat of all things for his own assurance of this America’s authenticity.
It’s not like it makes a difference, anyway.
With a nauseating jolt, England suddenly retracts his hand out of America’s grip, as if he was burned by it.
Damn.
He’s losing control of the vision. America is already acting out of his own accord, and apparently, England is hitching along for the ride just fine. He isn’t exactly complaining, but bloody hell, he’s already losing himself bit by bit under the spell’s machinations. It has never before happened with his previous encounters.
He won’t let America take the reins this time.
As the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, he has his own ways of getting what he wanted.
-to be continued-
England halts the movement a bit to feel the beat of this America’s heart. He doesn’t know why, but he wishes to familiarize himself with every inch of perfect skin, every skipping pulse, just everything about this new America.
The pounding under his palm is powerful and constant; commanding, even, just like the way England expects it to be.
He doesn’t know whether to be amused or disappointed that he’s using America’s heartbeat of all things for his own assurance of this America’s authenticity.
It’s not like it makes a difference, anyway.
With a nauseating jolt, England suddenly retracts his hand out of America’s grip, as if he was burned by it.
Damn.
He’s losing control of the vision. America is already acting out of his own accord, and apparently, England is hitching along for the ride just fine. He isn’t exactly complaining, but bloody hell, he’s already losing himself bit by bit under the spell’s machinations. It has never before happened with his previous encounters.
He won’t let America take the reins this time.
As the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, he has his own ways of getting what he wanted.
Wow. Just. Wow. I really loved this! Gah, I feel so bad for the two boys...all that guilt and awkwardness after. I kind of hope for some sort of continuation but it's still perfect on its own. Awesome job anon!
Part 2 "Now you see me, now –Oh. Oh wait you don’t, eh? Sorry..."
(Anonymous) 2010-09-29 04:20 am (UTC)(link)(2a/?)
“Thanks Mattie you’re an awesome brother you know that right?”
It took every ounce of not to throttle his brother, not that anyone would notice of course on the outside Matthew remained his passive self. He was not enjoying the company of his new confidant. But his brother seemed to be enjoying himself. But that was why Matthew had let him in on this mission because Alfred was getting what his haughtiness deserved.
The thought made Matthew want to cackle evilly.
“Hey Mattie could you tell me where we going or is it like a secret headquarter or something?”
Alfred asked. He wondered what kind of secret mission could lead them to a shopping district in broad daylight.
Matthew cut to the chase. “We’re picking up a package for my boss. That’s all there is to it, really-”
But Alfred had already tuned out his brother. “Hey we should go and buy some new shirts at American Eagle!” He grabbed Mattie’s hand and proceeded to drag the spy into the shop. Matthew glared and pulled free from his brother. “You know, I can just leave you behind, eh?”
The American shook his head and mumbled something like an apology but wasn't quite one.
He continued to follow his brother, annoyed with how secretive the spy was being… (Never mind that it is in Mattie’s job description.) What was Mattie’s job anyways? Alfred wondered back on the sheets of paper he found. The mission details. They surprised Alfred the more since Matthew was assigned to spy on (a kind of friend but more like a rival) Ivan Braginski.
“It’s just a check-up. That’s why the paper has all his hotspots listed. Don’t worry it’s just to make sure he’s clean. I check everyone in the UN.” Matthew’s attempt to comfort the American failed. Epicily. And said American told the Canadian so. It resulted in some hockey stick ass whooping, which proved the American’s point that Mattie didn’t know how to comfort people. AT ALL. To which the Canadian smirked and said “I only comfort people I like.” Then the -poor miss popularity must be loved by all- older twin started to cry. (Pitifully, Matthew would add.) Until the younger of the two apologized and told the other he didn’t mean it.
Alfred was too caught up in his own flashback that he hadn’t even noticed that his twin had stopped walking. So like most people he brushed right past him and didn’t even flinch. Until he was grabbed by his hoodie, causing the American to nearly topple backwards.
“The fuck was that for?!” He exclaimed at his brother who blinked innocently at his twin.
“What?” Matthew asked as he batted his eyes. “I thought you wanted to pick up the package for me?”
Alfred hadn’t noticed it, but Matthew really meant it when he said “for me”. Because what the spy knew that the clueless one didn’t was that when the worker at the store looks back on the retrieval of the package, it will be Al the loud mouthed one they will remember and not the unidentifiable Canadian.
Alfred looked at the store that his brother stood in front of. His jaw dropped and his eyes nearly fell out of his skull.
“An anime stop? Your top secret mission is being held by nerds?”
-tbc-
“Thanks Mattie you’re an awesome brother you know that right?”
It took every ounce of not to throttle his brother, not that anyone would notice of course on the outside Matthew remained his passive self. He was not enjoying the company of his new confidant. But his brother seemed to be enjoying himself. But that was why Matthew had let him in on this mission because Alfred was getting what his haughtiness deserved.
The thought made Matthew want to cackle evilly.
“Hey Mattie could you tell me where we going or is it like a secret headquarter or something?”
Alfred asked. He wondered what kind of secret mission could lead them to a shopping district in broad daylight.
Matthew cut to the chase. “We’re picking up a package for my boss. That’s all there is to it, really-”
But Alfred had already tuned out his brother. “Hey we should go and buy some new shirts at American Eagle!” He grabbed Mattie’s hand and proceeded to drag the spy into the shop. Matthew glared and pulled free from his brother. “You know, I can just leave you behind, eh?”
The American shook his head and mumbled something like an apology but wasn't quite one.
He continued to follow his brother, annoyed with how secretive the spy was being… (Never mind that it is in Mattie’s job description.) What was Mattie’s job anyways? Alfred wondered back on the sheets of paper he found. The mission details. They surprised Alfred the more since Matthew was assigned to spy on (a kind of friend but more like a rival) Ivan Braginski.
“It’s just a check-up. That’s why the paper has all his hotspots listed. Don’t worry it’s just to make sure he’s clean. I check everyone in the UN.” Matthew’s attempt to comfort the American failed. Epicily. And said American told the Canadian so. It resulted in some hockey stick ass whooping, which proved the American’s point that Mattie didn’t know how to comfort people. AT ALL. To which the Canadian smirked and said “I only comfort people I like.” Then the -poor miss popularity must be loved by all- older twin started to cry. (Pitifully, Matthew would add.) Until the younger of the two apologized and told the other he didn’t mean it.
Alfred was too caught up in his own flashback that he hadn’t even noticed that his twin had stopped walking. So like most people he brushed right past him and didn’t even flinch. Until he was grabbed by his hoodie, causing the American to nearly topple backwards.
“The fuck was that for?!” He exclaimed at his brother who blinked innocently at his twin.
“What?” Matthew asked as he batted his eyes. “I thought you wanted to pick up the package for me?”
Alfred hadn’t noticed it, but Matthew really meant it when he said “for me”. Because what the spy knew that the clueless one didn’t was that when the worker at the store looks back on the retrieval of the package, it will be Al the loud mouthed one they will remember and not the unidentifiable Canadian.
Alfred looked at the store that his brother stood in front of. His jaw dropped and his eyes nearly fell out of his skull.
“An anime stop? Your top secret mission is being held by nerds?”
-tbc-
so i just read this fill and the one that came before it in one go.
and now i'm sitting here wibbling and desperately hoping Matias gets there and shakes some sense into him and then is the big brother of awesomeness and Jake gets run over by a truck. a truck driven by Peter. =D!
...i'm weird. please write more soon!
and now i'm sitting here wibbling and desperately hoping Matias gets there and shakes some sense into him and then is the big brother of awesomeness and Jake gets run over by a truck. a truck driven by Peter. =D!
...i'm weird. please write more soon!
This anon has been watching this request, but she never expected it to be filled so epically. That was a bloody perfect kink fill, I'm sure OP will be thrilled! Don't forget to post this to the fills list, Author!Anon!
OMG YES TO THIS! SECONDED!
Especially bonus 1... and 2... aaaaand 3...
Especially bonus 1... and 2... aaaaand 3...
..... OP is beyond words. T-this is honestly a scenario I've wanted to read about since I started shipping USUK 2 years ago. OP didn't think anyone would fill, but SWEET MERCY Author!Anon this was tremendously satisfying on every level, from the mood, to the emotions, and the acts and situation itself - just... guh.. I... !!!
Your writing prose is flawless and fluid and the characterizations are SPOT ON. Your dialogue? Refreshing, intelligent, and just *perfect* anon. And that didn't take away from the kink side either, in fact it just enhanced it. OP cannot worship this enough, anon, and promises if Author!Anon ever deanons a shower of gifts will ensue!! Ahh god. Just... like the other anon above said, I can't help but crave some sort of closure of their feelingsbut isn't that how USUK is in the first place, though that's just because of how great your writing is!!! Anon saves this story to harddrive with the utmost reverence, author!anon! Thank you, thank you!!
Your writing prose is flawless and fluid and the characterizations are SPOT ON. Your dialogue? Refreshing, intelligent, and just *perfect* anon. And that didn't take away from the kink side either, in fact it just enhanced it. OP cannot worship this enough, anon, and promises if Author!Anon ever deanons a shower of gifts will ensue!! Ahh god. Just... like the other anon above said, I can't help but crave some sort of closure of their feelings
Woah, this was so perfect.
You really went above and beyond the prompt here--the whole complexity behind England's feelings of irritation, protectiveness, and attraction for America.
It may not have a happy ending, but that makes this story even better--so much more realistic...I completely agree, if America was humiliated like that, it'd be very difficult for him to engage in a sexual relationship with England.
Nngh. This was just so so good. Definitely saving, and hoping for a de-anon!!
You really went above and beyond the prompt here--the whole complexity behind England's feelings of irritation, protectiveness, and attraction for America.
It may not have a happy ending, but that makes this story even better--so much more realistic...I completely agree, if America was humiliated like that, it'd be very difficult for him to engage in a sexual relationship with England.
Nngh. This was just so so good. Definitely saving, and hoping for a de-anon!!
Hey, this is the first APH fic I've ever done, so I'm sorry if it sucks. Someone else should fill this with some GilMatt lovin~ I'm sorry in advance if I did something wrong with French.
FILL :D
Matthew walked into his usually obnoxious home to find it quiet, eerily so actually. It should have bothered him more than it did, but alas he was warn out from meeting with his doctor for an…examination of sorts. His lower back and ass were kind of sore, and the only thing on Matthew’s mind was hitting the hay. So when he walked into his dining room to finding his father(s) and brother assembled at the dining room table not acting completely bat shit for once, although Al was doodling on something again…wait is that a Maple Leave’s jersey and a sharpie? Bitch is gonna get it. Well, to say the least Matthew was confused and reading to beat down a certain hero.
“Hey Mattie, dads’ are worried about you.”
Oh great, Mr. High-and-mighty-hero, thank you for that stunningly thoughtful comment.
“Matthew, listen. You’ve been spending more, and more time at the Doctor’s lately, and your father and I have are starting to get concerned. Is there anything going on that you’re uncomfortable telling us about?“ Arthur tried the concerned parental unit look, but ending up looking constipated. “You know you can tell us anything.”
“Oui, bonbon we’re here for you regardless of what is going on right now.” Francis said.
“Al…” Arthur threatened.
“If you die can I have your stuff?” Alfred asked asked before going to list the things he wanted. “Your pink DS is really gay so I don’t want it, but can I have your Xbox, minus all the non-violent hockey games of course. Oh and that pair of skinny jeans I got you for your birthday that don’t really fit you because they’re my size because it’s not like you even wear skinny jeans-”
“Eh! What the hell Al! You…!” Matthew paused, “Wait, who says I’m going to die?”
“So, you don’t have cancer?”
“No! Christ, no!”
“What about leukemia? Or in an ingrown toenail? Or AIDS?” Alfred ventured.
“Alfred! Toenails can’t kill a person!” Said Arthur.
“They can if they’re serious.” Alfred proudly stated. “It happened in House.”
I’m surrounded by idiots.
“American TV is not at all credible! You should be watching the BBC, you’d learn more from an episode of Inspector Morse than watching that American rubbish you kids try to pull off as entertainment.”
“Ah non, crumpet, bonbon, calm down we can talk this out later, oui? Mathieu, tu are not sick, so what has been keeping you at the doctors?”
FuckFuckFuckFuckFuck. Hey Dad(s), Al, I’ve been getting plundered up the butt by my GP. I don’t have cancer, but I’m afraid I’ve caught the gay. Thanks for your influences eh, Dad(s).
“Mathieu?”
“Huh? Oh…Um, you know, stuff.”
Matthew walked into his usually obnoxious home to find it quiet, eerily so actually. It should have bothered him more than it did, but alas he was warn out from meeting with his doctor for an…examination of sorts. His lower back and ass were kind of sore, and the only thing on Matthew’s mind was hitting the hay. So when he walked into his dining room to finding his father(s) and brother assembled at the dining room table not acting completely bat shit for once, although Al was doodling on something again…wait is that a Maple Leave’s jersey and a sharpie? Bitch is gonna get it. Well, to say the least Matthew was confused and reading to beat down a certain hero.
“Hey Mattie, dads’ are worried about you.”
Oh great, Mr. High-and-mighty-hero, thank you for that stunningly thoughtful comment.
“Matthew, listen. You’ve been spending more, and more time at the Doctor’s lately, and your father and I have are starting to get concerned. Is there anything going on that you’re uncomfortable telling us about?“ Arthur tried the concerned parental unit look, but ending up looking constipated. “You know you can tell us anything.”
“Oui, bonbon we’re here for you regardless of what is going on right now.” Francis said.
“Al…” Arthur threatened.
“If you die can I have your stuff?” Alfred asked asked before going to list the things he wanted. “Your pink DS is really gay so I don’t want it, but can I have your Xbox, minus all the non-violent hockey games of course. Oh and that pair of skinny jeans I got you for your birthday that don’t really fit you because they’re my size because it’s not like you even wear skinny jeans-”
“Eh! What the hell Al! You…!” Matthew paused, “Wait, who says I’m going to die?”
“So, you don’t have cancer?”
“No! Christ, no!”
“What about leukemia? Or in an ingrown toenail? Or AIDS?” Alfred ventured.
“Alfred! Toenails can’t kill a person!” Said Arthur.
“They can if they’re serious.” Alfred proudly stated. “It happened in House.”
I’m surrounded by idiots.
“American TV is not at all credible! You should be watching the BBC, you’d learn more from an episode of Inspector Morse than watching that American rubbish you kids try to pull off as entertainment.”
“Ah non, crumpet, bonbon, calm down we can talk this out later, oui? Mathieu, tu are not sick, so what has been keeping you at the doctors?”
FuckFuckFuckFuckFuck. Hey Dad(s), Al, I’ve been getting plundered up the butt by my GP. I don’t have cancer, but I’m afraid I’ve caught the gay. Thanks for your influences eh, Dad(s).
“Mathieu?”
“Huh? Oh…Um, you know, stuff.”
Second/last part~!
Al stopped bickering with his father and air quoted Matt. “I see…“Stuff.” Looks like my baby brother is finally becoming a man. You can thank me for the help later bro, as long as you tell me what a babe she is.” He wiped a fake tear away from his eye.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Al panicked, “Am I the only one in this family not batting for the other team? At least you’re on top right Mattie?” Matthew flushed.
“Al! You know that’s not appropriate to talk about!”
“Oui, bonbon shouldn’t say it like it’s a bad thing. There’s nothing wrong with being on the bottom, oui crumpet?”
Arthur blushed and Matthew groaned, “You frog!”
“Eww, I don’t want to hear about my parents having sex!” Al yelled.
Oh god please, can I go now? “Dad(s), I’m tired, can we talk about this later?”
“Oh non, non, darling crumpet I speak only to assure confidence in our young and insecure bonbon~.”
Well they’re ignoring me again. Matthew slowly began to limp/edge away from the dining room, hoping not to get noticed as his parents made kissy lips and batted eyelashes and his brother plugged his ears and shouted to ten.
“AHA! Hey! Hey! Listen! Listen! Tell me who’s doing you so hard you have to limp! Big brother Al will beat him up for you!” Al said.
Matthew groaned.
The two dysfunctional parents snapped out of their lovey-dovey eyelash batting, “Oui bonbon, tell us who.”
“Urkg.”
“Come on Mattie, tell us. Tell Big Bro.”
Matthew backed into a corner so red tomatoes would be jealous. “Drforgrbrt.”
“Mattie~ In American please?”
“Dr. Gilbert.”
“A bit louder please?”
“…Dr. Gilbert.”
“Louder?”
“I’M HAVING SEX WITH MY DOCTOR.”
Al looked as if was in thought for a moment before opening his mouth and proving otherwise, “The creepy guy with the bird?”
“Yeah.” Matthew said.
“Yeah.”
Al stopped bickering with his father and air quoted Matt. “I see…“Stuff.” Looks like my baby brother is finally becoming a man. You can thank me for the help later bro, as long as you tell me what a babe she is.” He wiped a fake tear away from his eye.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Al panicked, “Am I the only one in this family not batting for the other team? At least you’re on top right Mattie?” Matthew flushed.
“Al! You know that’s not appropriate to talk about!”
“Oui, bonbon shouldn’t say it like it’s a bad thing. There’s nothing wrong with being on the bottom, oui crumpet?”
Arthur blushed and Matthew groaned, “You frog!”
“Eww, I don’t want to hear about my parents having sex!” Al yelled.
Oh god please, can I go now? “Dad(s), I’m tired, can we talk about this later?”
“Oh non, non, darling crumpet I speak only to assure confidence in our young and insecure bonbon~.”
Well they’re ignoring me again. Matthew slowly began to limp/edge away from the dining room, hoping not to get noticed as his parents made kissy lips and batted eyelashes and his brother plugged his ears and shouted to ten.
“AHA! Hey! Hey! Listen! Listen! Tell me who’s doing you so hard you have to limp! Big brother Al will beat him up for you!” Al said.
Matthew groaned.
The two dysfunctional parents snapped out of their lovey-dovey eyelash batting, “Oui bonbon, tell us who.”
“Urkg.”
“Come on Mattie, tell us. Tell Big Bro.”
Matthew backed into a corner so red tomatoes would be jealous. “Drforgrbrt.”
“Mattie~ In American please?”
“Dr. Gilbert.”
“A bit louder please?”
“…Dr. Gilbert.”
“Louder?”
“I’M HAVING SEX WITH MY DOCTOR.”
Al looked as if was in thought for a moment before opening his mouth and proving otherwise, “The creepy guy with the bird?”
“Yeah.” Matthew said.
“Yeah.”
omg theres a PLOT and their not horrible outta character! I don't mind him bottoming but some stories just have him so OOC its like...no.
I love this please do update.
I love this please do update.
Please continue!!
I drew u a picha~
http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e110/Chocobosh/USUK.jpg
I drew u a picha~
http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e110/Chocobosh/USUK.jpg
Hopefully it tickles OPs funny bone.
“It was nice for you and uh Tony to come visit America.” Canada said as he made some pancakes for the four of them. “Kumataro doesn’t really have any friends but he and Tony seem to be getting along really well.”
America laughed at that. “I’m sure they’ll be the best of friends!” He said in way of agreement, glancing to where the two seemed to be in a deep conversation on the floor in the living room.
“I hate that fucking limey.” Tony told Kumajirou as they conversed about their mutually hatred of England.
Kumajirou nodded sagely, or what could have been sagely for a bear. “He treats um so badly.”
Tony looked at him head tilted. “Canada?”
“Who?”
“Canada, isn’t he your partner?” Tony asked, nodding his head to where Canada and America were in the kitchen.
“Yes him.” Kumajirou said as he went back to what he was saying. “England always treats that country-”
“Canada.” Tony supplied.
“So badly!” The bear continued, not seeming to notice Tony interrupting him.
Tony frowned, if an alien could frown and nodded. “He treats America badly too. He’s always putting him down and making fun of him. I’d like to shove a sharp probe up hi-“
“Ignoring! He ignores that person.” Kumajirou added, Tony once again supplying Canada. “Yes him. He’s always wanted England’s attention even though he has me. It was much better when um. . .who?”
“Canada.”
“Right. It was betted when France was here.” Kumajirou told Tony with a wave of his paw. “To bad he couldn’t hold up to England.”
“What we need to do is show England that he can’t push them around anymore.” Tony said with a wicked look. “What we need to do is abduct him and then conduct horribly painful experiences on him.”
Kumajirou nodded eager to hear more. “What experiments?”
“We’ll take a-” Tony was interrupted as he was about to continue his horrible plans by Canada’s voice.
“Pancakes are ready!”
“Food!” Kumajirou called happily as he ran toward where Canada and Amerian were.
Tony huffed in annoyance. “Bears. . .they don’t make good partners.” He said to himself as he followed after the polar bear, deciding to give these ‘pancakes’ a try.
“It was nice for you and uh Tony to come visit America.” Canada said as he made some pancakes for the four of them. “Kumataro doesn’t really have any friends but he and Tony seem to be getting along really well.”
America laughed at that. “I’m sure they’ll be the best of friends!” He said in way of agreement, glancing to where the two seemed to be in a deep conversation on the floor in the living room.
“I hate that fucking limey.” Tony told Kumajirou as they conversed about their mutually hatred of England.
Kumajirou nodded sagely, or what could have been sagely for a bear. “He treats um so badly.”
Tony looked at him head tilted. “Canada?”
“Who?”
“Canada, isn’t he your partner?” Tony asked, nodding his head to where Canada and America were in the kitchen.
“Yes him.” Kumajirou said as he went back to what he was saying. “England always treats that country-”
“Canada.” Tony supplied.
“So badly!” The bear continued, not seeming to notice Tony interrupting him.
Tony frowned, if an alien could frown and nodded. “He treats America badly too. He’s always putting him down and making fun of him. I’d like to shove a sharp probe up hi-“
“Ignoring! He ignores that person.” Kumajirou added, Tony once again supplying Canada. “Yes him. He’s always wanted England’s attention even though he has me. It was much better when um. . .who?”
“Canada.”
“Right. It was betted when France was here.” Kumajirou told Tony with a wave of his paw. “To bad he couldn’t hold up to England.”
“What we need to do is show England that he can’t push them around anymore.” Tony said with a wicked look. “What we need to do is abduct him and then conduct horribly painful experiences on him.”
Kumajirou nodded eager to hear more. “What experiments?”
“We’ll take a-” Tony was interrupted as he was about to continue his horrible plans by Canada’s voice.
“Pancakes are ready!”
“Food!” Kumajirou called happily as he ran toward where Canada and Amerian were.
Tony huffed in annoyance. “Bears. . .they don’t make good partners.” He said to himself as he followed after the polar bear, deciding to give these ‘pancakes’ a try.
This. Is. Fucking. Brilliant!!!! That's just perfect! PERFECT!!! Kumabear's forgetfulness of Canada just seems so natural and Tony... XD I don't know what else to say. You made anon happy X)
Dude, this is awesome. Were you thinking of a specific battle when you wrote it?
I love you. X3 This is exactly what I wanted! Kumajirou is so perfectly forgetful but protective. And Tony, well, I love Tony. A lot. And I love you, did I mention that? I am sick as a dog but this made waking up to check my intarwubs worth it.
I'm pretty sure that Tony falls in love with Canada after trying those pancakes, just sayin'.
I'm pretty sure that Tony falls in love with Canada after trying those pancakes, just sayin'.
ILU so much and am back to hardcore stalking this fill <3
Page 282 of 359
- «
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- 138
- 139
- 140
- 141
- 142
- 143
- 144
- 145
- 146
- 147
- 148
- 149
- 150
- 151
- 152
- 153
- 154
- 155
- 156
- 157
- 158
- 159
- 160
- 161
- 162
- 163
- 164
- 165
- 166
- 167
- 168
- 169
- 170
- 171
- 172
- 173
- 174
- 175
- 176
- 177
- 178
- 179
- 180
- 181
- 182
- 183
- 184
- 185
- 186
- 187
- 188
- 189
- 190
- 191
- 192
- 193
- 194
- 195
- 196
- 197
- 198
- 199
- 200
- 201
- 202
- 203
- 204
- 205
- 206
- 207
- 208
- 209
- 210
- 211
- 212
- 213
- 214
- 215
- 216
- 217
- 218
- 219
- 220
- 221
- 222
- 223
- 224
- 225
- 226
- 227
- 228
- 229
- 230
- 231
- 232
- 233
- 234
- 235
- 236
- 237
- 238
- 239
- 240
- 241
- 242
- 243
- 244
- 245
- 246
- 247
- 248
- 249
- 250
- 251
- 252
- 253
- 254
- 255
- 256
- 257
- 258
- 259
- 260
- 261
- 262
- 263
- 264
- 265
- 266
- 267
- 268
- 269
- 270
- 271
- 272
- 273
- 274
- 275
- 276
- 277
- 278
- 279
- 280
- 281
- 282
- 283
- 284
- 285
- 286
- 287
- 288
- 289
- 290
- 291
- 292
- 293
- 294
- 295
- 296
- 297
- 298
- 299
- 300
- 301
- 302
- 303
- 304
- 305
- 306
- 307
- 308
- 309
- 310
- 311
- 312
- 313
- 314
- 315
- 316
- 317
- 318
- 319
- 320
- 321
- 322
- 323
- 324
- 325
- 326
- 327
- 328
- 329
- 330
- 331
- 332
- 333
- 334
- 335
- 336
- 337
- 338
- 339
- 340
- 341
- 342
- 343
- 344
- 345
- 346
- 347
- 348
- 349
- 350
- 351
- 352
- 353
- 354
- 355
- 356
- 357
- 358
- 359
- »
Page 282 of 359