“I got the door,” France said, bringing England from his trance. England just lifted his eyes and smiled a softer smile, permitting France to pull him into the dimly lit room.
It as a fairly nice hotel, with a king sized bed with a delicate duvet and what seemed to be hundreds of pillows. France released his hand from England’s grip and pulled the curtains closed, face still burning from embarrassment and arousal and attraction and damnit England you aren’t supposed to be so endearing. He began unbuttoning his dress shirt but as soon as he did England was before him, unbuttoning it for him, and the next thing France knew England was leaning forward and kissing a trail down France’s chest as he went, making pleasant sounds as he went.
“England, what…” France murmured as England nipped at his navel, standing up straight and helping France shrug out of his shirt, tugging the other nation towards the bed. The lights were already dimmed from earlier in the day and the bed was made, but laid out, just waiting for two bodies to curl up inside.
England was humming to himself as they tripped over to the bed, England reaching up and circling his arms around France’s neck, nuzzling against France’s exposed neck, grinding up against him, moaning under his breath. England snuck his fingers into the nation’s hair and pulled his ponytail out, letting blonde locks fall over his hands and over France’s shoulders.
Whatever England was humming was giving a good beat because the two seemed to sashay across the lush carpet instead of the usual rough handling and intense stripping. England slid out of his vest and helped France unbutton his shirt as they were practically pressed together, limbs entangled. As soon as a bare white shoulder was exposed, France was overwhelmed with the need to taste and bit down gently, shivering at the delicious moan England emitted.
In one swift movement France was straddling England on the bed, thighs clamped on either side of England, tending to England’s neck and chin and the corner of his lips as England drunkenly tugged at France’s trousers. France wasn’t used to the caring way that England ran his hands up his sides but he found he didn’t care, really, he enjoyed it more than anything—he could really become accustomed to Sensual England—
“Ohh ahhh,” England murmured, arching his back to France’s touch. They were still partially clothed but the friction was near unbearable between them, and France knew if he didn’t shuck these trousers immediately either him or England were going to become—and then he heard it. It was a murmur at first, since England was leaning back, facing away from France, half-buried in the sheets.
“‘Meri,” England mumbled. France was leading kisses down England’s neck and his ears perked at the sound of England forming coherent words.
“Mmmland?” France said against England’s lips. “No drunken babbling, you’ll ruin it.”
“Hmm… America,” England said, louder this time, and France stopped. England took a tentative breath and France looked up, licking his lips, brow furrowed in confusion.
England was leaning back, completely lucid beneath him, eyes closed, face flushed and lips swollen but looking positively gorgeous in contrast to the cream-colored sheets. His breathing was tense but he seemed completely relaxed, seemingly unaware of what he just said.
That Old Song and Dance - 3
It as a fairly nice hotel, with a king sized bed with a delicate duvet and what seemed to be hundreds of pillows. France released his hand from England’s grip and pulled the curtains closed, face still burning from embarrassment and arousal and attraction and damnit England you aren’t supposed to be so endearing. He began unbuttoning his dress shirt but as soon as he did England was before him, unbuttoning it for him, and the next thing France knew England was leaning forward and kissing a trail down France’s chest as he went, making pleasant sounds as he went.
“England, what…” France murmured as England nipped at his navel, standing up straight and helping France shrug out of his shirt, tugging the other nation towards the bed. The lights were already dimmed from earlier in the day and the bed was made, but laid out, just waiting for two bodies to curl up inside.
England was humming to himself as they tripped over to the bed, England reaching up and circling his arms around France’s neck, nuzzling against France’s exposed neck, grinding up against him, moaning under his breath. England snuck his fingers into the nation’s hair and pulled his ponytail out, letting blonde locks fall over his hands and over France’s shoulders.
Whatever England was humming was giving a good beat because the two seemed to sashay across the lush carpet instead of the usual rough handling and intense stripping. England slid out of his vest and helped France unbutton his shirt as they were practically pressed together, limbs entangled. As soon as a bare white shoulder was exposed, France was overwhelmed with the need to taste and bit down gently, shivering at the delicious moan England emitted.
In one swift movement France was straddling England on the bed, thighs clamped on either side of England, tending to England’s neck and chin and the corner of his lips as England drunkenly tugged at France’s trousers. France wasn’t used to the caring way that England ran his hands up his sides but he found he didn’t care, really, he enjoyed it more than anything—he could really become accustomed to Sensual England—
“Ohh ahhh,” England murmured, arching his back to France’s touch. They were still partially clothed but the friction was near unbearable between them, and France knew if he didn’t shuck these trousers immediately either him or England were going to become—and then he heard it. It was a murmur at first, since England was leaning back, facing away from France, half-buried in the sheets.
“‘Meri,” England mumbled. France was leading kisses down England’s neck and his ears perked at the sound of England forming coherent words.
“Mmmland?” France said against England’s lips. “No drunken babbling, you’ll ruin it.”
“Hmm… America,” England said, louder this time, and France stopped. England took a tentative breath and France looked up, licking his lips, brow furrowed in confusion.
England was leaning back, completely lucid beneath him, eyes closed, face flushed and lips swollen but looking positively gorgeous in contrast to the cream-colored sheets. His breathing was tense but he seemed completely relaxed, seemingly unaware of what he just said.