Fantastic Anon - thanks I'll put the updates on the fill list. I'm new to this, so if I make a mistake with the filling process, let me know.
Dinner was quiet. Italy sipped at his gourmet wine as they ate dinner silently. Germany was a good cook and he loved to cook with pork. It was nice and sweet but warm and hearty. Sometimes Italy liked to have dinner at Germany's place instead of pasta. But only sometimes.
Italy grinned over the lip of his wine when he felt the tip of a shoe try to sneak up the leg of his trousers, trying to text the texture of his leg - skin or silky fabric. Italy shifted away slightly when he felt the intrusion and looked over to his partner - the ever stone-faced German and took a sip of wine.
The shoe disappeared back to its owner and Italy grinned. Germany was killing himself trying to find out if he'd gone through with the kink or not. For Italy, it was delicious psychological foreplay. He wondered if he could get his German so riled up he'd leave the dishes in the sink, dirty and all (he's only been able to get Germany to leave the dishes in the sink once and that had felt like a great victory).
The tip of the shoe touched the tip of Italy's and the Italian looked up to his partner eating silently.
"Stop it."
Germany didn't look up from his dinner. "Stop what?" He looked up then. His eyes were dark. Italy sighed and leant forward. The table in the kitchen was small. Germany had a larger one in the other room that they usually sat at with Prussia and other guests. This one was small and wooden, so if Italy shuffled forward a little bit and slipped his hand underneath. He slithered it forward and felt the crotch of Germany’s pants where the fabric was tightening. Italy smiled at the passive face of his German, who had gone back to eating his dinner like nothing was going on.
Italy squeezed and Germany twitched.
“You’re excited,” Italy grinned and swirled his wine glass before taking a sip. "Did you wear them?" Germany swallowed. "Did you?"
“Maybe,” he whispered. “You’ll find out if you’re a good boy.”
Italy rose from his chair when the fork fell from Germany’s hand to the plate with a clatter.
“And if I’m not?”
Italy smiled and ran his fingers through his partner’s hair, stopping to fist his blonde locks at the base.
“Ve, then you’ll be punished, of course.”
Italy then kissed him passionately, hungrily, like he’d been starved for weeks, which indeed he had, for it had been quite a while since they’d done the dirty – and, oh, did Italy need to be done and get dirty. He broke off panting, his grip never slackening on the German’s hair. Germany licked his lips. His eyes looked wild and blue like a frenzied ocean.
“I want you to wreck me,” Italy panted. “I want it all night. I want it everywhere and every way. I want to use safe words.”
Germany swallowed. The room was getting incredibly hot and his clothes were getting incredibly tight. “You want it like that?”
“Yes,” replied the Italian with definite conviction. “I want you to use the safe word. Just for a while. You remember them?”
“Nothing you can do will hurt me,” Germany replied.
Italy frowned. “Did I ask you what you think?”
The German didn’t smile, but Italy could see one being supressed by the way the corners of his lips twitched.
“No,” he said eventually. “You didn’t.”
“Safeword. Tell me it.”
Germany took in a sharp breath. “Kohlensäure.”
Italy sighed and smashed his lips against Germany’s, pulling himself into the man’s lap and forcing his mouth open. Germany moaned deeply, his hands coming up to grip his partner’s back as the chair shuffled and screeched noisily along the kitchen tiles.
“Take me out to the lounge,” Italy demanded. Germany rose with Italy in his arms like he weighed nothing and walked out to the lounge. “Sit. With me on top of you.”
“Yes,” he replied raggedly. Italy attached his mouth to the exposed skin of Germany’s neck and suckled. He was intent on leaving those bright red marks his partner always complained about in the morning.
Germany sunk into the lounge as Feliciano straddled him.
“Good boy,” he hummed. “Such a good boy. Can I see now? See if you’ve worn them for me?”
Germany nodded. “Of course,” like he really had a choice in the matter.
Italy smiled. “I think I want you naked first,” he said, pulling off Ludwig’s knitted jumper and undershirt. He ran his hands over that chiselled chest, over the nipples and then down his sides (Germany was slightly ticklish there, Italy had found out, much to his delight and the German’s dismay/horror).
“You know…,” Italy hummed as he settled on his knees between Ludwig’s legs. His hands began to undo the fly. “If you didn’t wear them…,” he unzipped the fly and cupped Germany’s erection through the strained fabric of his cotton boxers. “I’ll have to punish you. And I’m going to be upset if you’re not wearing them, so I’ll punish you hard. Very hard. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need to leave? For a second or two to put them on. I’ll let you,” he sighed against Germany’s clothed thigh.
Germany screwed his eyes shut and sighed. Italy couldn’t be sure if it was because he was being turned on by Italy’s kink over his suspenders, or that he was secretly pleased that Italy would find out that he hadn’t worn them and punish him severely. In any case, Germany answered ‘no’, and lifted his hips to push his pants down to his mid-thigh. Italy unlaced his shoes and touched the socks.
The pants came off then and Germany heard Italy give a long hum of appreciation. He flexed his toes a little. Italy kissed his knee.
“You wore them,” he whispered. His fingers touched the leather clasp holding his socks up. “I knew you would. You’re such a good boy. Good boys get rewards. Guess what’s under my clothes. Do you want to find out?”
Germany shivered. His fingers flexed into the cushion of the lounge and his eyes looked to the roof. He would let Italy do as he would, do whatever he wanted to the German's body, just for the moment. Just for now. Italy could do as he pleased, because the German knew his lover's stamina - knew how many rounds he could last before he waved his little while flag to call it a night. Germany suppressed a smirk, but didn't suppress the groan when Italy began his 'reward' on Germany. He'd have his time. All he'd have to do was wait.
And with Italy's skilled mouth running up and down his shaft, Germany certainly would be contented to bide his time.
Oh the feel of leather against skin… there could be nothing more erotic than that. His German lover’s sock-suspenders cut tightly into his skin, fastened by a little buckle and Italy’s hand caressed it, the contrast to the buttery leather and Germany’s smooth skin and downy blonde leg hair. Germany was such a good boy; such a good, good boy. His cock was red and weeping, standing at full attention as Italy removed his mouth with a small pop!
Germany knew his face was shamelessly red, that his eyes would have held such a great amount of lust and darkened how Italy liked them as he climbed onto his lap. Germany felt the smooth silk of the stockings slide against his bare thighs as Italy’s deft fingers began to work at the buttons of his shirt. Germany remained silent and motionless. He was painfully hard and dripping.
“Germany was such a good boy and wore them for me,” he whispered against the blonde man’s neck, mouthing red marks. “So I’ll give him rewards.” Italy’s hand gave a few hard, fast tugs against German’s member and the man couldn’t help but buck and twitch and groan at the sudden assault. “Maybe it would have been fun if he hadn’t… maybe,” he bit down hard against the skin just at the junction of his shoulder and neck. “But I would have been angry. It doesn’t matter really.”
The shirt came off in haste, thrown somewhere behind them (Germany hopes not into the smouldering fire on the far wall). Then Italy is rocking against him, kissing him passionately, sliding his tongue against his and biting down on his bottom lip with his teeth. Germany reaches up to pull him close, to bury his hand in his auburn hair. A hand travels down to his ass and grips the pale cheek, shoving his hips closer so they collide and Germany can feel the scratchy, strained and damp fabric of the panties against his hyper-sensitive tip. Italy groaned against his mouth when Germany pulled back the suspender strap. The sound it makes as it snapped against Italy’s cheek resonated throughout the room.
Italy got off Germany’s lap for a moment and stood up, taking a fistful of Germany’s hair and tugging him forward. Germany tried not to allow his eyes to roll back in pleasure, in the mix of pain and bliss that so turns him on, and Italy knows doing this will make him wild – make him something untameable and unsatisfied and completely his to control. That is not what Germany wanted. Not tonight. He wanted Italy satisfied and contented and almost ready to fall asleep blissful and happy, and then – and only then, would he begin his fun. To carry out Italy’s wish. To wreck him. Absolutely annihilate him.
“Suck.”
He does. It’s not an unsurprising request – Germany rarely gives blow-jobs. One, because he’s often very methodical about sex, and two, he’s not confident he’s that good at them. The reason why he conceded and wore the suspenders is because Italy had not explored his kinks and fetishes and sexuality the way Germany had. Germany liked the bondage and the spanking and the pain, and being so full of pleasure and pain that he shook at the sheer intensity of the euphoria it could bring (Italy was quite a good dominant when he’d been convinced that someone could actually like to be hurt). Italy, up until recently, had been a virgin and their sex had been rather vanilla. Had he been in such a mood, maybe Germany wouldn’t have worn the suspenders just to see what his partner would do to him, but the night is not about him.
So, Germany sucks.
His cheeks hollow and his tongue lavish and to show his appreciation, Italy tugs on his hair roughly and groans his name. His thighs and knees wobble and Italy’s back arches.
“So good, oh Ludwig!” he swears in Italian then as Ludwig takes him deeper, swallowing once letting the feel of the back of his throat coax his orgasm. “I’m going to… I want to… ugh,” he swallows dryly. “Is that all right?”
Germany swallows once again before tightening his lips and sucking harder in an attempt to answer. Italy unravels at the seams, his legs shaking and his head falling back over his shoulders. Germany wraps an arm around his waist in case his legs, the slim things they were, decided to give out. When they did, Germany caught his lover’s weight, letting Italy grasp his shoulders and hair, panting into the crown of his head.
“Ludwig,” he moans gently, contently, and kisses his hair. “Ludwig, Ludwig…,” he sighs.
He falls gracefully into his lap again, straddling him, kissing him all over – face, brows, lips, eyelids, cheeks. One hand reached down and hastily brushes away the silk panties, pushing them to the dip on the side of his arse between his thighs as he spreads his legs and gently lowers himself down onto Ludwig.
He gasps out when it stretches and there’s a slight burn, but he lifts himself up a little bit more, then down again to accommodate for the intrusion. Germany’s hands are on his hips, not guiding him or forcing – just resting there.
While, Italy rode him as he will and Germany sinks back into the lounge, contented for the moment to watch the show. He’s got considerably more stamina than his Italian partner – indeed sometimes he draws it out, finds that the longer he leaves himself strung the better the release will be. Italy is not like that however. Adolescent in his pleasures, he’s a one-show pony, a quick-draw McGraw – all those weird American terms he’s heard the man describe his old British lover. Italy, for sake of a better word, is all about the ending. Germany likes the scenic route.
Italy asks him, in a ragged panting breath, “A-are you close? Germany?”
He’s not on the precipice, but he’s not exactly too far away either. Then, however, he has an idea.
“Come, Italy.”
The Italian looks shocked. “W-what?”
“Come.” Germany says. “That’s an order.”
Italy shivers when Germany grabs his cock that has sprung back to life, pumping it roughly. Italy lets out a keening wail messing Germany’s hand, lingerie and Germany’s tank top. He shivers and shakes and slowly his beautifully aching body crawls off Germany and presses by his side.
“Germany, let me…,” he whimpers and reaches out for his member.
“No,” he catches Italy’s hand.
“Ve, why not?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong? Do you not like this… I-,”
“Lay on your side.”
Italy blinks. “What?”
“I said; lay on your side, Italy.”
The Italian, with some hesitation, positions himself on the lounge with Germany behind him. For a moment, he thinks their spooning, but Germany’s still poking him in the back and oh! It must be painful by now, mustn’t it?
“Hold the back of my neck,” commands Germany as he nestles his nose behind Italy’s ear. A hand comes up to rest onto the junction of Germany’s neck and shoulder. He grabbed onto Italy’s hips, positioned the man’s legs one over the other before wrapping a hand around the man’s lean waist, so he wouldn’t fall off the lounge and onto the floor.
“L-Ludwig?” he muttered. “Is this some weird sex move?”
He hummed against Italy’s ear. “Squeeze your thighs together.”
“Huh?”
“Just do it.”
“H-how?”
Germany sighed. “L-like you have to go to the toilet or something.”
Germany positioned himself just under the frill of Italy’s lace panties and the side clips of his silken stockings. Italy squeezed his thighs together and Germany thrust forward. Italy yelped at the strange sensation – the man was having sex with his legs! It was weird! He could feel Germany’s hands roaming around his body, touching him roughly as his gasps filled his ear. Germany felt this way? Loved the stockings so much that they weren’t merely foreplay?
“Sheiẞe, Italy…,” he moaned. “I’m going to ruin these fucking things.”
The textures of the stockings rubbed against his tip, against his shaft, were slightly painful and excruciatingly blissful. He was no stranger to pain during sex, and the slightly rough texture on a hypersensitive region of his body had him shaking.
He came in a mess, ruining the expensive silk, tearing and grabbing his lover’s body and grunting his completion into his ear. Italy squirmed as his arousal sprang back to life – Jesus, why did Germany have to be so hot? Why did him, completely losing control in the throws of pleasure turn him on so much?
“Damn it, fuck,” Germany sighed, relaxing his hold on Italy.
The Italian man sighed and stretched, contented in is exploration of his own sexual needs for the night. It had been good – surprising, and maybe, just maybe, he’d try it again. Although, obviously with a new set of lingerie.
“Ve,”he sighed and rolled over to Germany. The man was still panting. “That was great, Germany.” Germany didn’t respond. He caught his breath and looked at the contented Italian.
“I’m hungry,” he muttered. “Ve… do you still have the gelato in the freezer?”
He did, but he didn’t tell Italy that.
Until he went to get up, went to move in those ruined little stocking and panty set and nothing else except legs for miles and his cute little ass that had been claimed for Deustchland many, many, many times.
Germany grabbed onto Italy’s thigh, running his hand down the silk covering it.
“Who said we’re done?”
“Ve?”
So basically this fill has switched Gerita to ItaGer, and then back to Gerita again. This part is long overdue. I plan to finish up this fill within the next week, so please look out for more! Also, intercrural - there you go OP! Expect more soon!
A!Anon, this is still excellent, but you may want to look into a grammar beta just a bit? I noticed some tense shifting and suddenly reappearing clothes.
Other than that it's good and oh my god intercrural sex thank you so much
You're welcome, it was actually so fun to write! Gah, it's terrible - been switching tenses for different fills and obviously didn't proof-read. Curses. The next part should be up soon - - - hon hon hon
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Re: Suspended 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-24 03:54 pm (UTC)(link)Dinner was quiet. Italy sipped at his gourmet wine as they ate dinner silently. Germany was a good cook and he loved to cook with pork. It was nice and sweet but warm and hearty. Sometimes Italy liked to have dinner at Germany's place instead of pasta. But only sometimes.
Italy grinned over the lip of his wine when he felt the tip of a shoe try to sneak up the leg of his trousers, trying to text the texture of his leg - skin or silky fabric. Italy shifted away slightly when he felt the intrusion and looked over to his partner - the ever stone-faced German and took a sip of wine.
The shoe disappeared back to its owner and Italy grinned. Germany was killing himself trying to find out if he'd gone through with the kink or not. For Italy, it was delicious psychological foreplay. He wondered if he could get his German so riled up he'd leave the dishes in the sink, dirty and all (he's only been able to get Germany to leave the dishes in the sink once and that had felt like a great victory).
The tip of the shoe touched the tip of Italy's and the Italian looked up to his partner eating silently.
"Stop it."
Germany didn't look up from his dinner. "Stop what?" He looked up then. His eyes were dark.
Italy sighed and leant forward. The table in the kitchen was small. Germany had a larger one in the other room that they usually sat at with Prussia and other guests. This one was small and wooden, so if Italy shuffled forward a little bit and slipped his hand underneath. He slithered it forward and felt the crotch of Germany’s pants where the fabric was tightening. Italy smiled at the passive face of his German, who had gone back to eating his dinner like nothing was going on.
Italy squeezed and Germany twitched.
“You’re excited,” Italy grinned and swirled his wine glass before taking a sip. "Did you wear them?"
Germany swallowed. "Did you?"
“Maybe,” he whispered. “You’ll find out if you’re a good boy.”
Italy rose from his chair when the fork fell from Germany’s hand to the plate with a clatter.
“And if I’m not?”
Italy smiled and ran his fingers through his partner’s hair, stopping to fist his blonde locks at the base.
“Ve, then you’ll be punished, of course.”
Italy then kissed him passionately, hungrily, like he’d been starved for weeks, which indeed he had, for it had been quite a while since they’d done the dirty – and, oh, did Italy need to be done and get dirty. He broke off panting, his grip never slackening on the German’s hair. Germany licked his lips. His eyes looked wild and blue like a frenzied ocean.
“I want you to wreck me,” Italy panted. “I want it all night. I want it everywhere and every way. I want to use safe words.”
Germany swallowed. The room was getting incredibly hot and his clothes were getting incredibly tight. “You want it like that?”
“Yes,” replied the Italian with definite conviction. “I want you to use the safe word. Just for a while. You remember them?”
“Nothing you can do will hurt me,” Germany replied.
Italy frowned. “Did I ask you what you think?”
The German didn’t smile, but Italy could see one being supressed by the way the corners of his lips twitched.
“No,” he said eventually. “You didn’t.”
“Safeword. Tell me it.”
Germany took in a sharp breath. “Kohlensäure.”
Italy sighed and smashed his lips against Germany’s, pulling himself into the man’s lap and forcing his mouth open. Germany moaned deeply, his hands coming up to grip his partner’s back as the chair shuffled and screeched noisily along the kitchen tiles.
“Take me out to the lounge,” Italy demanded. Germany rose with Italy in his arms like he weighed nothing and walked out to the lounge. “Sit. With me on top of you.”
“Yes,” he replied raggedly. Italy attached his mouth to the exposed skin of Germany’s neck and suckled.
He was intent on leaving those bright red marks his partner always complained about in the morning.
Germany sunk into the lounge as Feliciano straddled him.
“Good boy,” he hummed. “Such a good boy. Can I see now? See if you’ve worn them for me?”
Germany nodded. “Of course,” like he really had a choice in the matter.
Italy smiled. “I think I want you naked first,” he said, pulling off Ludwig’s knitted jumper and undershirt. He ran his hands over that chiselled chest, over the nipples and then down his sides (Germany was slightly ticklish there, Italy had found out, much to his delight and the German’s dismay/horror).
“You know…,” Italy hummed as he settled on his knees between Ludwig’s legs. His hands began to undo the fly. “If you didn’t wear them…,” he unzipped the fly and cupped Germany’s erection through the strained fabric of his cotton boxers. “I’ll have to punish you. And I’m going to be upset if you’re not wearing them, so I’ll punish you hard. Very hard. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need to leave? For a second or two to put them on. I’ll let you,” he sighed against Germany’s clothed thigh.
Germany screwed his eyes shut and sighed. Italy couldn’t be sure if it was because he was being turned on by Italy’s kink over his suspenders, or that he was secretly pleased that Italy would find out that he hadn’t worn them and punish him severely. In any case, Germany answered ‘no’, and lifted his hips to push his pants down to his mid-thigh. Italy unlaced his shoes and touched the socks.
The pants came off then and Germany heard Italy give a long hum of appreciation. He flexed his toes a little. Italy kissed his knee.
“You wore them,” he whispered. His fingers touched the leather clasp holding his socks up. “I knew you would. You’re such a good boy. Good boys get rewards. Guess what’s under my clothes. Do you want to find out?”
Germany shivered. His fingers flexed into the cushion of the lounge and his eyes looked to the roof. He would let Italy do as he would, do whatever he wanted to the German's body, just for the moment. Just for now. Italy could do as he pleased, because the German knew his lover's stamina - knew how many rounds he could last before he waved his little while flag to call it a night. Germany suppressed a smirk, but didn't suppress the groan when Italy began his 'reward' on Germany. He'd have his time. All he'd have to do was wait.
And with Italy's skilled mouth running up and down his shaft, Germany certainly would be contented to bide his time.
Re: Suspended 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-24 08:15 pm (UTC)(link)OP
(Anonymous) 2013-07-25 12:25 am (UTC)(link)Anon you are doing wonderfully!
Re: Suspended 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-25 03:25 am (UTC)(link)Re: Suspended 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-08-07 03:51 am (UTC)(link)Re: Suspended 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-08-21 04:25 pm (UTC)(link)Writer!anon also enjoys puns with innuendo.
Re: Suspended 4/6
(Anonymous) 2013-09-01 07:22 am (UTC)(link)Germany knew his face was shamelessly red, that his eyes would have held such a great amount of lust and darkened how Italy liked them as he climbed onto his lap. Germany felt the smooth silk of the stockings slide against his bare thighs as Italy’s deft fingers began to work at the buttons of his shirt. Germany remained silent and motionless. He was painfully hard and dripping.
“Germany was such a good boy and wore them for me,” he whispered against the blonde man’s neck, mouthing red marks. “So I’ll give him rewards.” Italy’s hand gave a few hard, fast tugs against German’s member and the man couldn’t help but buck and twitch and groan at the sudden assault. “Maybe it would have been fun if he hadn’t… maybe,” he bit down hard against the skin just at the junction of his shoulder and neck. “But I would have been angry. It doesn’t matter really.”
The shirt came off in haste, thrown somewhere behind them (Germany hopes not into the smouldering fire on the far wall). Then Italy is rocking against him, kissing him passionately, sliding his tongue against his and biting down on his bottom lip with his teeth. Germany reaches up to pull him close, to bury his hand in his auburn hair. A hand travels down to his ass and grips the pale cheek, shoving his hips closer so they collide and Germany can feel the scratchy, strained and damp fabric of the panties against his hyper-sensitive tip. Italy groaned against his mouth when Germany pulled back the suspender strap. The sound it makes as it snapped against Italy’s cheek resonated throughout the room.
Italy got off Germany’s lap for a moment and stood up, taking a fistful of Germany’s hair and tugging him forward. Germany tried not to allow his eyes to roll back in pleasure, in the mix of pain and bliss that so turns him on, and Italy knows doing this will make him wild – make him something untameable and unsatisfied and completely his to control. That is not what Germany wanted. Not tonight. He wanted Italy satisfied and contented and almost ready to fall asleep blissful and happy, and then – and only then, would he begin his fun. To carry out Italy’s wish. To wreck him. Absolutely annihilate him.
“Suck.”
He does. It’s not an unsurprising request – Germany rarely gives blow-jobs. One, because he’s often very methodical about sex, and two, he’s not confident he’s that good at them. The reason why he conceded and wore the suspenders is because Italy had not explored his kinks and fetishes and sexuality the way Germany had. Germany liked the bondage and the spanking and the pain, and being so full of pleasure and pain that he shook at the sheer intensity of the euphoria it could bring (Italy was quite a good dominant when he’d been convinced that someone could actually like to be hurt). Italy, up until recently, had been a virgin and their sex had been rather vanilla. Had he been in such a mood, maybe Germany wouldn’t have worn the suspenders just to see what his partner would do to him, but the night is not about him.
So, Germany sucks.
His cheeks hollow and his tongue lavish and to show his appreciation, Italy tugs on his hair roughly and groans his name. His thighs and knees wobble and Italy’s back arches.
“So good, oh Ludwig!” he swears in Italian then as Ludwig takes him deeper, swallowing once letting the feel of the back of his throat coax his orgasm. “I’m going to… I want to… ugh,” he swallows dryly. “Is that all right?”
Germany swallows once again before tightening his lips and sucking harder in an attempt to answer. Italy unravels at the seams, his legs shaking and his head falling back over his shoulders. Germany wraps an arm around his waist in case his legs, the slim things they were, decided to give out. When they did, Germany caught his lover’s weight, letting Italy grasp his shoulders and hair, panting into the crown of his head.
“Ludwig,” he moans gently, contently, and kisses his hair. “Ludwig, Ludwig…,” he sighs.
He falls gracefully into his lap again, straddling him, kissing him all over – face, brows, lips, eyelids, cheeks. One hand reached down and hastily brushes away the silk panties, pushing them to the dip on the side of his arse between his thighs as he spreads his legs and gently lowers himself down onto Ludwig.
He gasps out when it stretches and there’s a slight burn, but he lifts himself up a little bit more, then down again to accommodate for the intrusion. Germany’s hands are on his hips, not guiding him or forcing – just resting there.
While, Italy rode him as he will and Germany sinks back into the lounge, contented for the moment to watch the show. He’s got considerably more stamina than his Italian partner – indeed sometimes he draws it out, finds that the longer he leaves himself strung the better the release will be. Italy is not like that however. Adolescent in his pleasures, he’s a one-show pony, a quick-draw McGraw – all those weird American terms he’s heard the man describe his old British lover. Italy, for sake of a better word, is all about the ending. Germany likes the scenic route.
Italy asks him, in a ragged panting breath, “A-are you close? Germany?”
He’s not on the precipice, but he’s not exactly too far away either. Then, however, he has an idea.
“Come, Italy.”
The Italian looks shocked. “W-what?”
“Come.” Germany says. “That’s an order.”
Italy shivers when Germany grabs his cock that has sprung back to life, pumping it roughly. Italy lets out a keening wail messing Germany’s hand, lingerie and Germany’s tank top. He shivers and shakes and slowly his beautifully aching body crawls off Germany and presses by his side.
“Germany, let me…,” he whimpers and reaches out for his member.
“No,” he catches Italy’s hand.
“Ve, why not?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong? Do you not like this… I-,”
“Lay on your side.”
Italy blinks. “What?”
“I said; lay on your side, Italy.”
The Italian, with some hesitation, positions himself on the lounge with Germany behind him. For a moment, he thinks their spooning, but Germany’s still poking him in the back and oh! It must be painful by now, mustn’t it?
“Hold the back of my neck,” commands Germany as he nestles his nose behind Italy’s ear. A hand comes up to rest onto the junction of Germany’s neck and shoulder. He grabbed onto Italy’s hips, positioned the man’s legs one over the other before wrapping a hand around the man’s lean waist, so he wouldn’t fall off the lounge and onto the floor.
“L-Ludwig?” he muttered. “Is this some weird sex move?”
He hummed against Italy’s ear. “Squeeze your thighs together.”
“Huh?”
“Just do it.”
“H-how?”
Germany sighed. “L-like you have to go to the toilet or something.”
Germany positioned himself just under the frill of Italy’s lace panties and the side clips of his silken stockings. Italy squeezed his thighs together and Germany thrust forward. Italy yelped at the strange sensation – the man was having sex with his legs! It was weird! He could feel Germany’s hands roaming around his body, touching him roughly as his gasps filled his ear.
Germany felt this way? Loved the stockings so much that they weren’t merely foreplay?
“Sheiẞe, Italy…,” he moaned. “I’m going to ruin these fucking things.”
The textures of the stockings rubbed against his tip, against his shaft, were slightly painful and excruciatingly blissful. He was no stranger to pain during sex, and the slightly rough texture on a hypersensitive region of his body had him shaking.
He came in a mess, ruining the expensive silk, tearing and grabbing his lover’s body and grunting his completion into his ear. Italy squirmed as his arousal sprang back to life – Jesus, why did Germany have to be so hot? Why did him, completely losing control in the throws of pleasure turn him on so much?
“Damn it, fuck,” Germany sighed, relaxing his hold on Italy.
The Italian man sighed and stretched, contented in is exploration of his own sexual needs for the night. It had been good – surprising, and maybe, just maybe, he’d try it again. Although, obviously with a new set of lingerie.
“Ve,”he sighed and rolled over to Germany. The man was still panting. “That was great, Germany.”
Germany didn’t respond. He caught his breath and looked at the contented Italian.
“I’m hungry,” he muttered. “Ve… do you still have the gelato in the freezer?”
He did, but he didn’t tell Italy that.
Until he went to get up, went to move in those ruined little stocking and panty set and nothing else except legs for miles and his cute little ass that had been claimed for Deustchland many, many, many times.
Germany grabbed onto Italy’s thigh, running his hand down the silk covering it.
“Who said we’re done?”
“Ve?”
So basically this fill has switched Gerita to ItaGer, and then back to Gerita again. This part is long overdue. I plan to finish up this fill within the next week, so please look out for more! Also, intercrural - there you go OP! Expect more soon!
OP
(Anonymous) 2013-09-04 12:37 am (UTC)(link)Other than that it's good and oh my god intercrural sex thank you so much
Re: re OP
(Anonymous) 2013-09-10 09:05 am (UTC)(link)