Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Life got in the way and I completely forgot I'd promised to fill this. I hope you can forgive me! Here, have a peace offering:
It had been four years since England had last set eyes on Belgium.
He drank her in as thoroughly as his brain could process as she led him up the narrow stairwell to her apartment, the noise from outside still audible through the walls. In the streets of Brussels, he knew, the celebrations would last for days. In the streets of Brussels, his soldiers were being cheered and hugged and laiden with gifts by thousands of newly-liberated Belgians, but there was only one that England's eyes raked the crowd for. And when he had finally seen her blonde head fighting to the front of the crowd, nothing else mattered. The war could wait. Everything could wait. All he cared about was holding her tight enough to reassure himself that it was truly her.
The weather was as beautiful as the day, but neither of them wanted to spend more than a few hours outdoors even with the celebrations going on around them. There were more important things to do, in places where they could have a proper conversation with only the two of them, alone, uninterrupted and unobserved.
She shut the door and crossed the room to pull the windows closed, and suddenly everything was plunged into near-silence. The screaming and cheering of the crowds below was reduced to nothing more than a faint buzz, ringing quiet and distant in his ears. He looked at her and she shrugged. "It's soundproofed."
"Soundproofed? Why?"
"Because when you host meetings between members of the Resistance on a more or less weekly basis I imagine it would get annoying to have to spend the whole time whispering in each other's ears. Anyone listening at the keyhole now wouldn't hear a thing. I have opaque window blinds, escape tunnels, hidden cupboards... They use - well, used - this place as a weapons and information depot as well. I had to keep it safe."
England stared at the pale flower-print wallpaper, the china plates and the quaint little flowers hanging from the windowsill and smiled. He wouldn't have expected anything less from her. His eyes moved to her face and a tiny jolt went down his spine. For the thousandth time, her beauty caught him off guard and wiped his brain clean of anything he had been about to say. He couldn't have told you precisely what caused it - her soft features, the way her hair reflected golden in the sunlight from the window, her casual expression as she described how she'd endangered her life almost constantly to fight for her freedom when everything had to have seemed hopeless - but before he knew what he was doing he had completely lost control of himself. It barely even sounded like his voice that growled, "God, I missed you," as he strode up to her, took her face in his hands and kissed her for all he was worth.
She melted into his arms, clinging to his shoulders to stay upright, and her weight was comforting, reassuring him that she was there, finally she was really there, and he she would never have to leave again. When they finally came up for air, both pink and breathless, he ran his thumbs over her cheeks and relished the feel of her skin on his, a feeling that was a thousand times better than how he remembered it. He'd missed the way her breath caught like that, the specks of brown in her blue eyes, the way her nose curved, her smell, her taste, everything. "You're amazing. You know that, right?"
She went to nod, but he caught her lips again before she could move her head. She held him against her as tightly as she could as he pressed quick, closed-mouth kisses around her cheeks, her mouth, her eyes. "I missed..." He kissed the corner of her lips. "You can't..." The other corner. "So worried..."
Belgium pulled away, leaning back in his arms. She held a finger up to his lips, her expression serious, and said, "England?"
She was kissing him again before he could nod. He closed his eyes and kissed her back, their lips moving against each other in perfect asynchronicity. They sucked in quick breaths, each one nothing more than an unwelcome distraction keeping them from making up for lost time. His hands trailed from her jaw to her neck, her shoulders, then they were remembering her waist, her breasts, the curve of her hips. He hardly noticed they were moving until the wall was firm and solid against his back and Belgium was pressing him into it, fingers playing with the neck of his collar. "I missed you... you so much, I- oh," she gasped, forcing the words out as he kissed a frantic, desperate path down her neck to her collarbone, where she was, his memory prompted, particularly sensitive. He nipped and sucked at pale skin stretched over bone as she gripped his uniform like a safety railing, moaning in a way that made his heart ache with fullness. He didn't stop until he was sure he'd left a mark - something that would last, if only for a few days, as a reminder that she was finally his again.
Something primal shot through him like a spasm, something harsh and gentle at the same time and she shrieked in surprise as he grabbed the backs of her thighs and hoisted her off the floor. The shriek turned into laughter and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, clinging to his shoulders, and he tried to search through the burning fog his mind had become to remember where the bed was.
Their lips barely broke contact as they fell onto the mattress, wholly tangled up in each other. England would've been surprised at the ease with which he ripped off her blouse, not even bothering with the buttons, if he hadn't been too busy drowning in her newfound sweet reality to care. He kissed her jaw, her neck, her lips, everywhere he could reach as her fingers worked frantically at his shirt. It came free, finally, and he shivered as she ran her hands over his chest. And stopped.
She unwrapped her legs from around his waist and sat up, kneeling on the mattress in front of him in her skirt and bra, her eyes suddenly dark with concern.
"What's wrong?" he asked, confused.
She didn't speak. Just pushed apart the two halves of his shirt front that were hanging down, untucked from his trousers, and traced a finger across his skin. "Oh, England..."
He looked down, following her gaze, and said nothing. His scars. He'd forgotten she hadn't seen them yet. So many endless nights of bombing and fire and death had left their mark in the form of burns that covered the skin across his heart like spiderwebs. They had healed over, were no longer painful, but the sensation of her fingertip sent tingling sensations across his whole body.
She raised her eyes to his, the space between her eyebrows creased with worry, and he said, "It's nothing."
"You're hurt."
"Not any more. I'm fine."
But she was shaking her head now, sitting back on her heels and clasping her fingers on her lap as though trying to restrain them. "You're always getting hurt because of me."
"Because of you? This isn't your fault. You didn't do anything to provoke Germany. He would've come for me whether you surrendered or not. And don't look at me like that, it took America, Russia, France and I combined to bring him down. If you'd tried to fight for any longer than you did he would've wiped you off the map."
Before he could resist, she'd grabbed the edge of his shirt and pulled it off his left shoulder. "Here," she said, running a fingertip over the discolouration that webbed out just below his collar. "I know that one. It's from the Somme."
He sighed. "Bela..."
"It was because of me that you got yourself tangled up in that!" She stared down at her hands clenching themselves into fists on her lap. "Don't try to deny it just to make me feel better!"
"Listen." He lifted her chin up until she was looking at him properly, her eyes just a little too bright. "You didn't drag me into the Great War. Lots people were against me involving myself at all. Ignoring my promises and watching you burn was always an option. It was, Belgium. It would've been easy. But I chose not to. I chose to defend you. And yes, it hurt me. A great deal, in fact. But you didn't do that to me. I did it to myself and I'd do it again, because I'd rather die than watch you get killed."
She blinked up at him, the beginnings of tears still welling in her eyes, then before he could say another word she'd thrown herself on top of him and her lips were on his again. He tangled his fingers into her hair, pushing aside that ribbon of hers, and pulled her closer, harder against him, desperate for her scent, her taste, her heat, her friction, her. Somehow his shirt ended up discarded on the floor along with the rest of his uniform and his hands were working blindly, unhooking her bra, tugging her skirt and knickers from her hips until they lay flush against each other, skin on skin, and all he could think of was how he could possibly have survived those four years without her.
It was fast, frantic, both of them desperate for each other. England flipped her onto her back and traced declarations of love across her body with his lips and his tongue, trying to rediscover every sound she could make for him. Those moans from the back of her throat, the high-pitched gasps when he does something she didn't expect, the pants and the whimpers and say my name, say it like you're mine again until he covers her lips with his own and kisses them away. He could feel himself getting close, so close, but he'd made his mind up not to come until she did. He wanted to show her how much he'd missed her.
"England," she breathed, "England, now, don't make... don't make me wait again..."
That was all she needed to say. He sank into her, sighing as the memory of how she felt washed back over him, and began to move. She moved with him, the two of them in rhythmic synchronisation, and moaned incomprehensible, loving nonsense into his ear as she gripped his back with her fingernails. The world seemed to have dissolved into nothing but noise and pleasure and her, everything about her, from her legs tightening around his waist to the scent of her skin to the feeling of her breath panting against him. He could feel the heat inside him building, growing, cresting, and redoubles his efforts because he knows he can't physically hold out any longer, not with her of all people in his eyes and his mouth and his skin.
She came mere seconds before him. He felt her muscles tense just before her nails dug into his skin and her back arched up off the mattress, her eyes rolling back into her head. And then he followed her over the edge, his entire body simultaneously expanding and contracting in ecstasy. He moaned her name over and over against her pulse as the universe tore itself apart and everything winked out of existence, as the civilians and the soldiers and the tanks and the war outside their window disappeared and all that was left was her, flushed pink and smiling, pushing his hair back from his forehead and leaning down to kiss him thoroughly on the mouth.
"Don't ever leave me again," she smiled against his lips.
He gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her sweat-tangled hair. "Wouldn't dream of it."
They fell asleep there like that, at four o'clock in the afternoon as the celebrations barrelled raucously on outside the window, still wrapped tightly around each other, unwilling to let go. Belgium buried her head in his shoulder and shut her eyes almost instantly, sleeping as though she hadn't since the day he'd left Dunkirk. England followed not long after, grateful for every curve and contour of her body pressed against his, every movement of her chest as she breathed slowly, peacefully in and out. In the morning he would have to unwrap his arms from around her and they would have to separate - they still had a war to fight, even if right then it seemed very far away - but for now, just for these blessed hours, he could make himself believe that he would never have to leave her again.
THIS IS LOVING AND HOT AND GORGEOUSLY EMOTIONAL AND SENSUAL AND I THINK IT IS ONE OF THE BEST THINGS I HAVE READ EVER
Seriously though, this is beautiful. Just the characterization of the two of them and the way their feelings for each other shone through the whole fic, and the way the sex wasn't overly explicit but it wasn't just alluded to either really suited the tone of the fic. This is overall a lovely thing to behold.
I am a little pile of feel-sy goo and I may be shipping EngBel just a little bit right now.
Aw, anon, thank you so much for this wonderful fill! And please don't worry, life happens. This was worth the wait!
I loved so many things about this fill. I love the sweetness and the obvious way they not only love each other, but also care about each other. It's such a sweet relationship, I really wish it was more popular. I love the "God, I missed you" and him going up to kiss her, how he missed the curve of her nose - such an intimate little detail!
"I missed..." He kissed the corner of her lips. "You can't..." The other corner. "So worried..." Ahhhhhh I think that was my favorite part of all. Or this: say my name, say it like you're mine again.
I just really loved this fill, it made my heart melt for both of them. Thank you so much! <3
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Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2013-03-26 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)It had been four years since England had last set eyes on Belgium.
He drank her in as thoroughly as his brain could process as she led him up the narrow stairwell to her apartment, the noise from outside still audible through the walls. In the streets of Brussels, he knew, the celebrations would last for days. In the streets of Brussels, his soldiers were being cheered and hugged and laiden with gifts by thousands of newly-liberated Belgians, but there was only one that England's eyes raked the crowd for. And when he had finally seen her blonde head fighting to the front of the crowd, nothing else mattered. The war could wait. Everything could wait. All he cared about was holding her tight enough to reassure himself that it was truly her.
The weather was as beautiful as the day, but neither of them wanted to spend more than a few hours outdoors even with the celebrations going on around them. There were more important things to do, in places where they could have a proper conversation with only the two of them, alone, uninterrupted and unobserved.
She shut the door and crossed the room to pull the windows closed, and suddenly everything was plunged into near-silence. The screaming and cheering of the crowds below was reduced to nothing more than a faint buzz, ringing quiet and distant in his ears. He looked at her and she shrugged. "It's soundproofed."
"Soundproofed? Why?"
"Because when you host meetings between members of the Resistance on a more or less weekly basis I imagine it would get annoying to have to spend the whole time whispering in each other's ears. Anyone listening at the keyhole now wouldn't hear a thing. I have opaque window blinds, escape tunnels, hidden cupboards... They use - well, used - this place as a weapons and information depot as well. I had to keep it safe."
England stared at the pale flower-print wallpaper, the china plates and the quaint little flowers hanging from the windowsill and smiled. He wouldn't have expected anything less from her. His eyes moved to her face and a tiny jolt went down his spine. For the thousandth time, her beauty caught him off guard and wiped his brain clean of anything he had been about to say. He couldn't have told you precisely what caused it - her soft features, the way her hair reflected golden in the sunlight from the window, her casual expression as she described how she'd endangered her life almost constantly to fight for her freedom when everything had to have seemed hopeless - but before he knew what he was doing he had completely lost control of himself. It barely even sounded like his voice that growled, "God, I missed you," as he strode up to her, took her face in his hands and kissed her for all he was worth.
She melted into his arms, clinging to his shoulders to stay upright, and her weight was comforting, reassuring him that she was there, finally she was really there, and he she would never have to leave again. When they finally came up for air, both pink and breathless, he ran his thumbs over her cheeks and relished the feel of her skin on his, a feeling that was a thousand times better than how he remembered it. He'd missed the way her breath caught like that, the specks of brown in her blue eyes, the way her nose curved, her smell, her taste, everything. "You're amazing. You know that, right?"
She went to nod, but he caught her lips again before she could move her head. She held him against her as tightly as she could as he pressed quick, closed-mouth kisses around her cheeks, her mouth, her eyes. "I missed..." He kissed the corner of her lips. "You can't..." The other corner. "So worried..."
Belgium pulled away, leaning back in his arms. She held a finger up to his lips, her expression serious, and said, "England?"
"Yes?"
"Stop talking."
Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2013-03-26 10:28 pm (UTC)(link)Something primal shot through him like a spasm, something harsh and gentle at the same time and she shrieked in surprise as he grabbed the backs of her thighs and hoisted her off the floor. The shriek turned into laughter and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, clinging to his shoulders, and he tried to search through the burning fog his mind had become to remember where the bed was.
Their lips barely broke contact as they fell onto the mattress, wholly tangled up in each other. England would've been surprised at the ease with which he ripped off her blouse, not even bothering with the buttons, if he hadn't been too busy drowning in her newfound sweet reality to care. He kissed her jaw, her neck, her lips, everywhere he could reach as her fingers worked frantically at his shirt. It came free, finally, and he shivered as she ran her hands over his chest.
And stopped.
She unwrapped her legs from around his waist and sat up, kneeling on the mattress in front of him in her skirt and bra, her eyes suddenly dark with concern.
"What's wrong?" he asked, confused.
She didn't speak. Just pushed apart the two halves of his shirt front that were hanging down, untucked from his trousers, and traced a finger across his skin. "Oh, England..."
He looked down, following her gaze, and said nothing. His scars. He'd forgotten she hadn't seen them yet. So many endless nights of bombing and fire and death had left their mark in the form of burns that covered the skin across his heart like spiderwebs. They had healed over, were no longer painful, but the sensation of her fingertip sent tingling sensations across his whole body.
She raised her eyes to his, the space between her eyebrows creased with worry, and he said, "It's nothing."
"You're hurt."
"Not any more. I'm fine."
But she was shaking her head now, sitting back on her heels and clasping her fingers on her lap as though trying to restrain them. "You're always getting hurt because of me."
"Because of you? This isn't your fault. You didn't do anything to provoke Germany. He would've come for me whether you surrendered or not. And don't look at me like that, it took America, Russia, France and I combined to bring him down. If you'd tried to fight for any longer than you did he would've wiped you off the map."
Before he could resist, she'd grabbed the edge of his shirt and pulled it off his left shoulder. "Here," she said, running a fingertip over the discolouration that webbed out just below his collar. "I know that one. It's from the Somme."
He sighed. "Bela..."
"It was because of me that you got yourself tangled up in that!" She stared down at her hands clenching themselves into fists on her lap. "Don't try to deny it just to make me feel better!"
Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2013-03-26 10:33 pm (UTC)(link)She blinked up at him, the beginnings of tears still welling in her eyes, then before he could say another word she'd thrown herself on top of him and her lips were on his again. He tangled his fingers into her hair, pushing aside that ribbon of hers, and pulled her closer, harder against him, desperate for her scent, her taste, her heat, her friction, her. Somehow his shirt ended up discarded on the floor along with the rest of his uniform and his hands were working blindly, unhooking her bra, tugging her skirt and knickers from her hips until they lay flush against each other, skin on skin, and all he could think of was how he could possibly have survived those four years without her.
It was fast, frantic, both of them desperate for each other. England flipped her onto her back and traced declarations of love across her body with his lips and his tongue, trying to rediscover every sound she could make for him. Those moans from the back of her throat, the high-pitched gasps when he does something she didn't expect, the pants and the whimpers and say my name, say it like you're mine again until he covers her lips with his own and kisses them away. He could feel himself getting close, so close, but he'd made his mind up not to come until she did. He wanted to show her how much he'd missed her.
"England," she breathed, "England, now, don't make... don't make me wait again..."
That was all she needed to say. He sank into her, sighing as the memory of how she felt washed back over him, and began to move. She moved with him, the two of them in rhythmic synchronisation, and moaned incomprehensible, loving nonsense into his ear as she gripped his back with her fingernails. The world seemed to have dissolved into nothing but noise and pleasure and her, everything about her, from her legs tightening around his waist to the scent of her skin to the feeling of her breath panting against him. He could feel the heat inside him building, growing, cresting, and redoubles his efforts because he knows he can't physically hold out any longer, not with her of all people in his eyes and his mouth and his skin.
She came mere seconds before him. He felt her muscles tense just before her nails dug into his skin and her back arched up off the mattress, her eyes rolling back into her head. And then he followed her over the edge, his entire body simultaneously expanding and contracting in ecstasy. He moaned her name over and over against her pulse as the universe tore itself apart and everything winked out of existence, as the civilians and the soldiers and the tanks and the war outside their window disappeared and all that was left was her, flushed pink and smiling, pushing his hair back from his forehead and leaning down to kiss him thoroughly on the mouth.
"Don't ever leave me again," she smiled against his lips.
He gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her sweat-tangled hair. "Wouldn't dream of it."
They fell asleep there like that, at four o'clock in the afternoon as the celebrations barrelled raucously on outside the window, still wrapped tightly around each other, unwilling to let go. Belgium buried her head in his shoulder and shut her eyes almost instantly, sleeping as though she hadn't since the day he'd left Dunkirk. England followed not long after, grateful for every curve and contour of her body pressed against his, every movement of her chest as she breathed slowly, peacefully in and out. In the morning he would have to unwrap his arms from around her and they would have to separate - they still had a war to fight, even if right then it seemed very far away - but for now, just for these blessed hours, he could make himself believe that he would never have to leave her again.
Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2013-03-26 10:53 pm (UTC)(link)A!A I AM SPEECHLESS OMGGGGGGGGGGGGG
THIS IS LOVING AND HOT AND GORGEOUSLY EMOTIONAL AND SENSUAL AND I THINK IT IS ONE OF THE BEST THINGS I HAVE READ EVER
Seriously though, this is beautiful. Just the characterization of the two of them and the way their feelings for each other shone through the whole fic, and the way the sex wasn't overly explicit but it wasn't just alluded to either really suited the tone of the fic. This is overall a lovely thing to behold.
I am a little pile of feel-sy goo and I may be shipping EngBel just a little bit right now.
Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2013-03-29 01:23 am (UTC)(link)OP here
(Anonymous) 2013-04-01 10:20 pm (UTC)(link)I loved so many things about this fill. I love the sweetness and the obvious way they not only love each other, but also care about each other. It's such a sweet relationship, I really wish it was more popular. I love the "God, I missed you" and him going up to kiss her, how he missed the curve of her nose - such an intimate little detail!
"I missed..." He kissed the corner of her lips. "You can't..." The other corner. "So worried..." Ahhhhhh I think that was my favorite part of all. Or this: say my name, say it like you're mine again.
I just really loved this fill, it made my heart melt for both of them. Thank you so much! <3