hetalia_kink | Hetalia Kink meme part 15

He pulled me over him, let me hover and we were both bare and my mouth did what it wished and danced over his face and his empty scarred body. A hum and a deep throat moan was his response. His eyes snapped open with a click, and I looked up at them with heavy eyelids and they flashed back at me. I crawled up to his face and mirror bright irises glinted my face back up at me, and I had to close my eyes and press my forehead against his, it was too, too much. He kissed me, and I crumpled in.

“You’re dead gorgeous,” he whispered in the silence, breath fanning over my ears. I shivered, and he spun us over and took me in, real pain cast to the wind like a real thing, whisked through the trees and the starlit desert outside his window, shrieking. I gasped and threw my head back against his pillow, and he set the pace and bent forward, and I rolled us again, over over over, the bed kept going, I stopped over him, still in him. His hair glowed in a halo around his head.

I licked the bridge of his nose as I started moving in him, and he made a noise like a cat. “So are you,” I said to his cheekbones. He chuckled.

“Liar.” He wound my hair around his fingers and clacked our teeth together. “I love it.”

I wanted to tell him no, it wasn’t a lie, I never lie, I try not to lie, but he kissed my thoughts away and I was still thrusting away until my skin tasted like iron and he dug his fingers into my scalp, almost touching my brain. I shook over him and he turned into jelly under his skin, crying out a slur of names that I couldn’t really tell what they were. I held his waist to mine tightly, and he gave slightly in my grip. His breath came out shallow, and he started squirming in my arms. I groaned into his shoulder and floundered as my senses swirled and I was shook awake by a flailing Arthur, who wasn’t naked and in his bed, but in mine and eyes wide and I was squeezing the life out of him. I slackened my grip and he took in a few deep breaths as I tried to open my eyes for more than half a second, catching on to the last fragments of my dream-

Wait. Dream. Arthur. Shit.

I stared with horrified shock at him, completely awake and two inches away from his face, the sheet between us hot and clinging and wet. I dimly realized he had a hand gripped in the fabric by my hip and his right leg was twined around my left, but I barely noticed it, distracted by my burning face and his bewildered expression.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, completely at a loss for what to say; he stayed completely still, frozen, as if one muscle twitch would frighten me away.

Because I’m an idiot, I let my mouth run away from my thoughts again and blurted out, “So, did you sleep as well as I did?” He started out of his shock and sputtered, and I bit my lip and winced in terror of what was to come.

I was so dead.

{A/N: The one above this was supposed to be 'And Then, And Then [1b/3]'. I swore I wouldn't be a fail and I'm a fail. *headdesk*}

Anon, why so damn awesome? That dream was actually cracky and dream-like enough to seem real, and I love how Alfred's thoughts bound all over the place like an over-excited puppy. And damn but that boy should learn when to keep his mouth shut. XDDDD And I love how you managed to sneak in Alfred not noticing Arthur's overture / attempt to be nice to him with the pillow thing. <3

... Stacy and Clinton and shopping sprees, oh my! I'd ask if they've noticed how gay they are, but clearly they have. XD

oh, Author!Anon, this is GLORIOUS. you are MOST definitely not a fail.

I love your writing style; so much so it left me speechless. I can feel the obssesion, the crush America has on England, the passion. and I love how the surreality of the dream was incorporated.

looking forward to the continuation ^^

I absolutely adore the way you write Alfred. ♥

IT'S FABULOUS~ I love it. ♥

I want MOAR!

This is delightful! I'm looking forward to the continuation. :D

{A/N: Thanks for the comments, guys! Glad to see people are enjoying this <3}

It never occurred to me that I might one day be falling asleep to the sounds of America’s Next Top Model with America using my chest as a pillow, snoring like the giant lug he was. I’d lost track of what was happening on the television, halfway sleep while Tyra Banks was busy being incredibly vain. Only after my eyes stayed closed through an entire commercial break did I realize I’d have to turn off the television or risk leaving it on all night.

America presented a bit of a problem, as he was nigh immovable, especially when sleeping, but with some maneuvering and shoving, I managed to reach the remote control. The idiot still had an arm flung over my waist, and it was getting hot under his ridiculous body temperature. It was… well, I had to admit it was begrudgingly comfortable, and it was putting me to sleep even faster.

Things slowed, and my mind drifted pleasantly, recalling the shopping trip I would forever claim America had dragged me on. He’d certainly been the one dragging me into that Hot Topic store at the end of it, anyway. It was completely tacky and overdone, but somehow, that seemed to fit America’s citizens.

Of course he’d blamed it all on my fashion sense, claiming I’d dressed ‘just like that’ in the Sixties. Stupid. The Sixties had more class than some of the ridiculous things I saw in there. The accessories weren’t half bad, though. That was about the best I could say.

Eyes only half-open in the darkness, I figured it was safe to assume America wouldn’t notice if I played with his hair. It was a constant temptation, but I wouldn’t want him thinking anything special of it, so normally I wouldn’t. But with his breath on my collarbone and his snores turning into quiet sighs and other little noises, it was irresistible.

His hair was soft but thick, and I slipped even further into unconsciousness while pulling my fingers through it. I didn’t notice when my hand stopped moving and I fell asleep with my fingers still at the nape of his neck.

America had forced me into the dressing room with something that had too many buckles and strips of fabric to be called just one pair of trousers. Honestly, you could make another pair out of all the extra material. I contemplated it for a second, and envisioned trousers made entirely out of fabric strips and buckles and chains.

I’d been thinking for a few moments when America’s fist hit the door, rattling the whole place. Dodgy American building, shaking like that. The door opened, swinging in, and America slammed it behind him. He was wearing this fishnet shirt with a graphic tee over it, and I had a vague sense of déjà vu. That wasn’t really important though.

What was important was that America was crowding into the changing room, and I’d somehow managed to get the overly complicated trousers on when I wasn’t looking. America was looking, though, and I was swimming in them, the baggy things pooling around my ankles though they were tight over my waist.

I snapped at him, and I’m not sure what I said, but it was something telling him to get out. I was half-dressed, I’d only just noticed. My shirt was on the little provided bench, while the one I was supposed to be trying on was still on its hanger. America didn’t listen to whatever I’d said, and the room seemed to shrink slightly.

“Those don’t look right,” he said in a low voice I’d never actually heard before. His fingers hooked in the waist of my trousers and he pulled. I didn’t resist, fascinated. America didn’t do this normally, wasn’t upfront with me of all people. “Let’s get ‘em off.”

I did nothing but accept as America leaned down to assault my mouth. Maybe not assault, because it was good, damn good, but it was also rough and demanding and I liked it more than I should admit. I moaned instead, I think, because we kind of vibrated against each other from the lips down and my body tingled.

“I love you.” I’m pretty sure I said that, because America was the one who replied with I know. He must’ve known by now, and yes, he did. America didn’t say it back, but only lifted me easily with that strength of his, and put me flat on my back on the bench. It was long enough to lay out on, and I dizzily watched it widen to let America crouch over me on all fours without falling off.

I held onto America’s arms where they were around me, and ran my hands over his smooth skin, under the t-shirt. I pulled and Lady Gaga’s face on his chest tore in two, the shirt hanging open in dark tatters. I stared, and when America bit down on my shoulder, I gasped in shock. Everything was dark and sharp and ragged and delicious.

He abused my throat with tongue and teeth while my hands tore at his shirt so that it came off in ribbons. Dressed in scraps, America pressed down to kiss me again, nipping at my lips and doing everything perfectly. Because he was so, so perfect and could never know. I whined when he let me go and sat up.

“Tell me you want me,” he demanded. I shook my head. I wouldn’t, couldn’t or he would win and I’d be his without him ever being mine. His palm pushed against the crotch of my trousers and I rocked up into the unmoving pressure.

“Tell me what you want,” he purred, too close with hot breath on my ear, “and I’ll give it to you.” I couldn’t speak, and it was America’s fault. He was kissing me again and tugging me down into a wash of slow, pleasant, not fast enough, not enough.

When he leaned back, he pulled a moan from me, and it sounded like You. Probably was. Didn’t matter, America’s hands were on me, rough and pretty. Wood at my back, and it was harder than I’d imagined being with America, but it was America. All forgiven.

I remembered I was wearing trousers when the chains on them clinked as America tugged the zipper down. He didn’t do anything else, though, and I squirmed. He started talking into my skin, always talking, and I didn’t catch a word of it.

He had me, property of the USA, stamped by his mouth and blue blue eyes and smile and everything. America’s tongue swirled over my navel, but he didn’t go further. Stayed aching too close and too far and I wanted, bloody fucking tease.

“Pleasepleaseplease…” Me, that was me, I was sure. America’s mouth was busy on my hip, making a mark there that I would look at later and remember everything. I reached for him and caught hair, thick and soft, and déjà vu hit me again. He bit the spot between hip and thigh and I could have cried.

“Not fucking you here,” America told me. I hadn’t realized my trousers and pants were around my knees. “I’ll take you home first, and have you in my bed. Do you like that, Arthur?”

“Yes, Alfred.” Only words in my vocabulary, only words that mattered. If not in his bed, where were we? The surface under me was hard again. Wood, in the store, bad music filtering in and teenagers shopping outside. That was it.

I bit my lip to keep quiet, harder when I realized it mattered. America smiled at me, caught halfway between his normal sunshine and devious. I wanted to press it to my own mouth, take in that brightness and possession and make it mine, and he could have me for it, have whatever he wanted. He must have read my thoughts.

America was sweet to the taste, only because he would always be to me, and his hand wandered, strong pressure between my legs. He licked into my mouth, and then retreated to whisper into it.

“Show me,” he said, and I knew what he meant. My hips moved, creating friction against his hand and eyes slipping closed when long fingers covered me, skin on skin. It would get better. He was letting me get myself off on his skin, just watching, but it would be better. He would take me home, and we would do this right, and the thought was doing more for me than the hand.

I may have flailed, caught his side in my hand, and tugged him down so his chest pressed to mine. But it wasn’t America. It was a barrier between us, and I frantically moved up, more, faster. There had to be nothing. I’d torn his shirt, and mine was gone, so there should be nothing.

There should be noise, too, but all I could hear was our breathing. America had been collected before, but he’d been above me as well. He wasn’t.

We were on our sides, and something between us, thin but there. I gripped harder and it was a hip, and I could feel America’s breathing on my face. Smelled like he would taste, with mint toothpaste making it sharp.

“Don’t take me in,” America whined, not sounding the same kind of powerful he had before, but the desperation made me shiver just the same. I couldn’t though, take him in, because we weren’t. And when did he start using euphemisms? When was I able to think of big words this close to orgasm?

“I don’t have any socks,” he moaned, and I felt my eyes blink open, sticky and resistant. It was dark, and America’s eyes were shut as well, his hip in my hand. He rocked against me, and my eyes shut again. The feel of his body hard and thrusting forward to me was better. Not real, but better. He groaned, head pushing to my shoulder and I noticed the arms around my waist.

He was hot and under covers and thrusting into the sheet between us and we were in bed in his apartment in New York. And I was three seconds from coming. He needed to stop moving immediately, but… God. My breath choked as America moved, huffed out wordless noise in my neck, and there was no stopping myself.

My clothes and his between us, plus a sheet, and he was still so warm and present that I could do nothing but grip onto him harder and panic as my body ground back into him. I bit my lip hard. Bad, bad, very bad situation here, and I was still only mostly awake.

I squirmed, tried to force myself away, but his arm tightened and my name sighed out from between his lips, while his hips crushed against me. I tried not to whimper, but the sound and feel of him was too much. My fingernails dug in and might have cut if not for the sheet and his sweatpants protecting his hips.

The sheet stuck to me with sweat and I couldn’t help thrashing, body in charge. America’s breath rattled and his lower body shook, pressing to me. We were both coming at the same time, and he was sleeping and I would die of shame, but this moment was pure gold. Leverage, and our legs were wrapped together. America’s head tipped back and his mouth was two inches from mine, and I could kiss him if I wanted to. For real.

I shuddered and felt my eyes widen as my mind and body came down from its high. A second later, America’s eyes blinked open, slowly then faster, and I couldn’t wipe the shock from my face. I was half in heaven and confused half out of my mind. He’d said my name, and both his pants and mine were clearly ruined. Had we been… had we really been dreaming of, of each other? Were we this in denial?

America’s mouth opened and my thoughts halted their dizzy circling. It closed, I could breathe. Opened again and it stalled in my chest. And he asked me-

Did I sleep well?

Bloody fantastic, you moron, what do you think?! I couldn’t say it, though, and I simply sputtered for a while, probably looking like a fool. His legs shifted so that I realized they were still mixed up with and between mine.

I gave up. I tipped my head forward and knocked it against his collarbone, and I gave up. Perhaps, if I was very lucky, we could pretend the whole horrendously humiliating situation hadn’t happened. Laughable thought, really, but a guy could dream.

{A/N: YAY I DIDN'T FAIL ON THIS POSTING}

I was going to leave a ~~coherent~~ semi-coherent review -- one can only do so much after reading something so hot -- but then I read this line: Were we this in denial?

NO SHIT, SHERLOCK.

Maybe I can be coherent when I stop laughing. <3

LOL Oh this was HILLARIOUS! XDD

And hot. Mmmyes, very, very hot. WIll it be continues? Or is that the end of the prompt? =u=

Captcha: Gilbert's Gravort. Well no idea what gravort is, but there definitely needs to be more Gilbert watching What not to Wear marathons

Still fabulous, author!Anon. ♥

And I love the bit about Arthur playing with Alfred's hair. He really is the type to do that and it's so sweet.^^

Too hot... can't find proper words. Need more. Seriously... I love this. I hope it will be continued. <3

And I also adore the way you write Arthur. I love the contrast in writing and sense between these two POVs. You capture their personality and essence so well. ♥

Oh yeah, and that was hot as hell. Hnng. ♥♥♥

Oh, very hot, anon! I love the situation you set up (with them watching very, uh...female oriented TV shows) and how comfortable they were in bed before the dreams :3

Arthur's reaction was very cute, and I hope you dont make him blow up and start yelling at Al too much. That just happens so often in stories...

LOL That happens so often in canon, too. But yeah, it might not be the best plot choice with just one part left. And frankly, avoiding that kind of response from Arthur is probably why author!anon chose to have Arthur wake first and hear his name on Alfred's lips; that way, he can finally make a move with nothing to fear. :Db

Why yes, yes you are in denial.

Shh, he's in denial about being in denial. XD

man... i'm not a fan of clothing (especially not when these two are involved XD /shot) and fashion, but this fill is fucking fantastic.

ilu for this! keep up the good work!

The OP (finally) appears!! Oh my word I'm so sorry I'm only just posting a comment. LJ has only just decided to inform me of these updates.

Oh boy I have enjoyed reading this. I love how you have set it up, the reasons as to why England is visiting America in the first place, why he's at his house and just why he's in the same bed as him. I'm a sucker for all the little details and you have not disappointed~^^

I also love how America is trying to justify to himself why he's using England as a pillow, it's not cos he likes it/him or it's comforting, oh no, it's to annoy Arthur for hogging all the best pillows. You keep telling yourself that, Alfred! Hehe.

I love the image of Alfred falling asleep with a smile on his face.

And I wonder, the part during Americas dream when England is curling his fingers in his hair, is that the point at which England starts to do that in reality?

Oh gosh I love it, I love the contrast between the two dreams, how you capture their personalities so brilliantly. How the details inside the dream shift and change to accommodate what is happening, like the bench Arthur is laid upon widening to allow Alfred to also comfortably position himself on it and the bed seeming to be never ending no matter how many times they roll over on it. That was delightful~♥

And oh I'm becoming more and more incoherent but the part running up to Arthur waking and him witnessing Alfred still in his dream and then the part that followed, just woah. I'm practically gushing here. I'm also beyond happy that it was Arthur that woke up, that's what I had hoped for. Thank you for reading my mind!~^^

Seriously, this is even better (and hotter) than anything I could have ever imagined. Thank you so much for taking the time to fill my prompt. I can't wait to read the next part :)

And finally, I am in complete and utter love with your writing style. It's beautiful.

Oh, Arthur, dearest, you are not in denial. Your denial denies its denial.

This was incredible, Author!Anon. So hot and so funny!

{A/N: Sorry about the wait! Break life sucks. But I'm done now.}

It went bone-achingly quiet for a very long while.

England shook in America's arms - whether from laughter or from miserable sobbing, it was rather hard to tell. America himself stared at the far wall, eyes barely blinking. He had to say something, he couldn't let them just lie there in their cocoon of awkward for this long. Finally, he cleared his throat quietly.

"... I'm sorry?" he said tentatively, cringing at the wall.

"You 'ad a sex dream 'bout me?" England whispered incredulously, voice muffled in America's skin just low enough for it to be inaudible. It was conceivable. America had said his name, but... he had to hear it from America while he was conscious.

Within a second, the shaking stopped altogether. England's shoulders hunched, and a deep, rattling breath was sucked in somewhere in the vicinity of America's breastbone. It whooshed out a moment later, and England's face whipped up, red and scowling.

"Sorry?!" he whisper-shouted, apparently not wanting to break the near silence just yet. "You've just... this is completely indecent and embarrassing and you've involved me, and all you have to say is sorry?!"

England pulled back his arm as much as he could while still in America's embrace, and punched him in the shoulder. It wasn't very effective, given his lack of room to work with, but he hoped it got his annoyance across well enough.

America's face twitched as it went through several different cringe positions. "Well what else am I supposed to say? I mean, it's not like there's something that you can really say in something like this! I mean, how would they teach it to people? 'Oh, remember, kids, if you ever find yourself humping your best friend in your sleep, here's what you should do'? As if!" he yelled, still addressing the wall over England's shoulder. He huffed and scrunched up his nose. "Life sucks."

"You could try going for something with a bit of tact," England snapped, ignoring the fact that while he was supposed to be bristling with anger, he hadn't tried to move away at all. "Perhaps an attempt at explaining why you can't control your bodily urges might be helpful. Or, I don't know, maybe not offering half-assed apologies?"

"Hey, I was asleep!" he protested, unconsciously squeezing him tighter while he got swept up in the argument. "And I'm still not really sure what I'm even apologizing for; it just always seems like a good idea. When in doubt, say you're sorry."

England offered him a blank stare. They were clearly too close to each other, and the sheets were sticking to his legs, but England would be damned if he was going to lose this argument due to humiliation. America continued to pout stubbornly at the wall, refusing to make eye contact.

"Apologies are vaguely worthless if you don't know what they're for," he pointed out dryly. "Even less if you don't even bother looking at the person you're speaking to."

America sighed in a long-suffering manner, rolling his eyes to the headboard and ceiling before flopping down to face England and freezing in the middle of his head roll, eyes as wide as they'd ever been. His intended 'There, happy now?' died on his tongue as he suddenly realized just how close they were to each other. "Um. Hi."

England bit his lip and willed away the blood slowly moving to his cheeks. "H-Hello," he said weakly. "There, that's... that's the proper way to... to..."

England paused to clear his throat. It should be illegal to be that wide-eyed. Especially with eyes that blue. Especially with his mouth all shocked and lax and-

"We're going to get stuck like this," England said dully, desperate for something to interrupt his awkward staring. Of course, bringing up the fact that they'd both just, erm, reached peak a few minutes ago was probably just about the most awkward way to change topics in the history of time.

And Then, And Then [3b/3]

(Anonymous) - 2010-11-30 09:19 (UTC) - Expand

And Then, And Then [3c/3]

(Anonymous) - 2010-11-30 09:24 (UTC) - Expand

And Then, And Then [3d/3]

(Anonymous) - 2010-11-30 09:25 (UTC) - Expand

Re: And Then, And Then [3d/3]

(Anonymous) - 2010-11-30 11:01 (UTC) - Expand

Re: And Then, And Then [3d/3]

(Anonymous) - 2010-11-30 17:20 (UTC) - Expand

OP

(Anonymous) - 2010-12-01 07:18 (UTC) - Expand

Re: And Then, And Then [3d/3]

(Anonymous) - 2010-12-01 17:42 (UTC) - Expand

idiot fail!anon from below

(Anonymous) - 2010-12-02 07:34 (UTC) - Expand

Re: And Then, And Then [3d/3]

(Anonymous) - 2010-12-05 14:12 (UTC) - Expand

It's already been mentioned how awesomely and actually dream-like you wrote the dream sequence, so I will instead praise the fact that you wrote a USUK story from America's perspective. That NEVER happens! Well, okay, maybe it does, but I've never seen it. Whenever first person is happening, or even limited third person, the perspective is always Englands so that the narrative can slobber all over how attractive America is and. . . I sort of prefer England. It's great that his sexiness can shine through!

Anyway going back to my primary head, I also loved how Dream!England was described as having no ligaments, because I just took a lab test about muscles yesterday and that makes me giggle because it would be so true if he could really sling his leg over America's shoulder. Oooooooh you took a vaguely mid-quality-pornish plot and made it into something AWESOME! GO YOU!

And I will be saving this story in my favourites and waiting for an update in it, yes I will.

Ooops, except the story appears to be finished and I was a dumbo idiot who didn't realize the page wasn't completely scrolled down!

Well. . . WHOOPEE!!

Hetalia Kink meme part 15

And Then, And Then [1c/3]

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OP!

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And Then, And Then [3a/3]

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OP

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idiot fail!anon from below

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same fail!anon