America had been hoping for some nice sixty-nineing, but England only gave the tip of his cock a light lick before moving to nibble and kiss at his thighs.

The younger man gave England's dick a good hard suck to remind him that he'd had enough already.

England let out a loud moan, "Dear lord, be patient, will you? You're not even hard again yet."

"Yeah," America replied, letting England slip out of his mouth, "But I will be."

"Right. Now no more of that. Just let me work."

"But England."

"Hush, you idiot," England said, looking back over his shoulders, "trust me."

America humphed, but let his head fall back down on the pillows, staring at England's cock, just a few inches from his face, all big and red and begging for love. Dammit, it wasn't fair! He wanted it. And now England wasn't gonna suck him off either. England had said it was gonna be good, but now he was just-

Oh.

Oh.

It was then that England leaned back down and licked a path along the patch of skin that joined America's thighs to his pelvis. The younger man shuddered. He'd never considered that spot, but the way that England was slowly caressing it with his soft wet tongue… He was so close to America's most sensitive spots, but the fact that he wasn't quite there was hotter than if he actually had been. America felt his cock beginning to stir again. England took one hand and began gently massaging America's length, slowly coaxing it back to full hardness.

After a few blissful moments, the older nation left the crease he had previously been tracing and glided across America's ass. The hand that had been on America's cock slid down to spread his cheeks. The larger man obligingly lifted his hips as much as he could with the bindings to allow England better access. He knew what was coming. England would slide one finger, covered in lube from heaven knows where, inside even though America had already stretched himself well enough that England could just thrust in if he wanted to.

However, it wasn't one of the Brit's bony fingers that slid into him. Instead, it was something soft, wet, and twitchy. America was about to demand what England had put inside of him, when whatever-it-was started to caress his walls with practiced strokes. Not quite believing it, he pulled himself up to look down his body. Indeed, England's entire head was hidden between America's legs. The intrusion went deeper, until America could feel a row of teeth pressing around his entrance, stopping England from going any further.

America was already red, but he felt himself blush harder. He and England had been messing around for years, but he didn't think that the older man had ever rimmed him before.

He couldn't help but fall back yet again, blown away by England's ministrations. It took all he had to keep breathing. England was working his insides in a way that was just awesome. His tongue was far warmer than his fingers ever were, more talented than his cock, and wetter and gentler than either. America wondered if he wouldn't come from just that.

It wasn't fair. England was driving him crazy, and America couldn't give anything back. He was supposed to be the hero! He was supposed to suffer for his lover! And yet, there England was, kneeling above him and showering him with affections without America being able to return them. He had to tell his lover, in all romantic exactness, that idea and how he wanted to please him.

"England," America said, "Please, I wanna suck your cock."

Meh, close enough.

The smaller nation looked between their bodies at him in an expression that might have been tired amusement were it not for the way that his eyes were dark with lust and not bleary with exhaustion, "Do you really?" He asked.

"Yeah. Now come on, gimmie."

England chuckled and lowered his hips in silent agreement. America reached up and pulled the throbbing length into his mouth. Oh, that was much better: being able to play a full part in sex. Not to mention that he could enjoy the dark, musky smell that came with having England's balls at his nose.

The older man stopped rimming his partner and went for his cock instead. America couldn't decide if he was really happy or really upset about this and found himself wishing that England had two mouths.

Okay, not really, because that would be gross, but you get the point.

Both of them felt their orgasms coming all too soon. America was moaning into England's arousal half the time he was supposed to be sucking and England wasn't doing much better. However, the good news was that the vibrations coming from England's throat that passed up his shaft were more than good enough, and with a loud groan he spilled into England's mouth, the other finishing a few moments later.

After simply laying with his face against America's hip for a few minutes, England got back onto his hands and knees and began to untie America from the footboard.

"We done, babe?"

"Not if you can keep going," England said, smirking back at America.

"Awesome," America said, grinning.

"Ready yourself, then."

As soon as he was done with the ropes and thrown them somewhere in the corner of the room, he turned around and kissed America passionately. The younger man let out a soft moan. It was always so weird to taste both of them in kisses, but it was worth it for the loving way that England would caress his mouth while shaking off the last of his post-orgasm haze.

"Wrists next?" America suggested when they came apart.

"Now who said anything about that?" England asked.

He slid his hands under America and flipped him onto his stomach.

"Can you pull yourself onto your knees, America?" He asked.

America laughed, "Doggie style on rose petals? Only you'd think of that, you old perv," But he did as his lover requested.

"No, it allows me a chance to admire that lovely back of yours," He said, running a hand down America's spine. The younger blond shivered.

"Sounds good to me."

"I thought so." England kneeled behind America, leaning forward to drape himself over his lover.

The larger nation quietly rejoiced in the warmth of England's toned chest against his back. It felt so much nicer than the blankets, even if they were covered in petals. He tilted his head to the side so that he could rub cheeks with the other man. England let out a sigh and reached between their bodies to slowly rub America's shoulders. He began to move his hands, carefully working out kinks that the younger nation didn't know he had. It felt good, and even when he would be pushing on something that hurt, the feeling of pleasure when England finally freed the cluster of muscle was wonderful. In spite of how tender and caring the ministrations were, America felt himself slowly starting to get hard again.

Hey! It wasn't his fault. Blame England's weight that was resting so gently on his back, the smell of his lover and fresh sex all around him, the way that those talented fingers took away pain he didn't know he had.

"Hey, England, you ready again?" He asked.

"I think so," The older nation said, leaning over and grabbing the lube from his bedside table.

America could feel England shifting behind him, most likely slicking himself up. If the younger man wasn't hard before, he certainly was now, hearing his lover panting in his ear. A minute or so later, he felt a finger nudging at his entrance. He spread his legs, allowing England better access, and within a few moments another finger joined the first. They began to rub him, just as England's tongue had before. Now England's fingers' real skill was coming out, the touches driving America wilder than the massage ever could have.

The fingers left, and the younger man couldn't help but whimper at the loss, but he was more than compensated when England finally entered him. He let out a sigh, loving the feeling of the thick, hot member filling him more perfectly than anything he'd ever known.

"Oh God, England," He whispered, elbows giving out, forcing him to lay his head on his wrists.

"Ssh, it's okay, America," England followed him down.

"It's more than okay," America said, turning and smiling at him, "Just move before your old man back gives out or something."

"Idiot," The smaller nation said fondly, beginning to slowly move his hips back and forth.

America let his eyes flutter shut. Dear lord, this felt good. This was what he had been missing all those weeks he and England were apart. Yeah, the foreplay was nice, but this was what he wanted. He wanted to be connected to England again, joined intimately both physically and spiritually. England was above him and inside of him, but his presence was beside him and beneath him as well.

True, whenever a nation stepped onto another's land, they felt their presence, but this was different. Part of it was because this was England's room in his favorite house. An integral part of England had seeped into the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and everything else in the room. Even when the Brit would leave him here to go run errands, America could still feel him, as if he had just stepped out to take a piss. But beyond that, even, it was the bond forged during sex. It was the feeling of being part of the other person, of losing your own identity and surrendering to each other until you're better than what you could be apart. It wasn't the carnal pleasure he missed; that was easy enough to satisfy. It was being a part of England.

His brain tried to go down the route of wondering if it wasn't because that was how he was born, but he wasn't quite comfortable with assigning sexuality to the England who had slept in the same bed as him in the days when he was barely up to his big brother's thigh. So, instead, he focused on how a thoroughly modern England was riding him, rubbing his sides and thrusting into him with all he had.

America felt England's thrusts start to lose their rhythm, taking longer or shorter or else going in different depths.

"America," the smaller nation asked, "Will you be able to go again, or is this it for you?"

"Huh?"

"Will you be up for a round four?"

America perked up, pushing himself back up onto his hands, "Are you offering?"

England floundered for a moment when he almost lost his balance from the sudden movement, but he laughed about it and said, "I am." He let out a groan, "I'm close, but I'm not done with you."

"What else-" He let out a moan, "What else you got for me?" America asked.

"Nothing much," England said, "Just a little something sweet. I know how you adore your desserts."

Although England was probably using a metaphor, America imagined the older man covered in chocolate and whipped cream, begging for his lover to clean it all off. Even though America knew it wasn't good to fantasize about England when the real England was about to come in his ass, it was still enough to send him over the edge and make him jizz all over the sheets. England managed to peak just before America's legs gave out and they fell onto the bed.

It took longer for them to start to move again this time. Even though they were both strong, they were still held back by the same basic biology that applied to their people. America thought this was a load of bullshit, but he couldn't really argue too much since there was no real reason that they should be able to have sex anyhow because baby nations just kind of showed up.

However, eventually England pulled his arms from around America's chest, where they had naturally grasped when they fell. He started working on the other man's wrists, loosening the knots that held him to the headboard. Once America was free was free, England pulled himself up to kiss at where the ropes had been, although there were no angry marks.

"Oh babe, I love ya," America said.

"I… I love you too, America," England said.

America rolled over, pulling England against his chest. He buried his head in his lover's hair and inhaled deeply, smelling his old-person boring shampoo and the tea and the ocean and the forest and everything else that made up England's smell.

"You're so strange," England mused.

"Nah, you're just not creative."

The older nation looked up at him and smiled serenely.

For a few moments, America just looked at him. God he was pretty. Yeah, America knew he was a studmuffin, but times like this England was most definitely as attractive as he was. The candlelight coaxed color into his pale skin, making the shapes of his lightly toned muscle all the more visible. His hair was messier than usual from sex, and some of it was sticking to his forehead in a way that was surprisingly hot. His emerald eyes were shimmering, the more orangey light adding to the already intense look of joy. And then there was his smile. It was so small, so sweet. America loved it when England smiled, when he really smiled. Not when he was grinning with malice or smirking, but those times when he would express happiness so pure that mountain springs went crying to their mothers. Even if he was talking to his stupid imaginary friends and ignoring everyone else, England's smile light up America's world.

The younger nation didn't say anything, knowing that any comment might easily make England frown and start complaining about something. Instead, he just basked in the glow of his orgasm and England's smile.

"You're lovely," The older man finally said.

"So are you."

England blushed, "Idiot."

America smiled. He wouldn't argue. It was easy to tell that the older man meant "Thank you."

Soon, the cuddling turned to kissing, the kissing turned to making out, and the making out turned to each humping the other's legs.

"This is stupid," England said.

America laughed, "You're right."

"I'm always right, idiot," The two just stared at each other for a moment, "So what do you want?" England asked, "It's still your night, after all."

"Oh yeah, that's right," America looked away.

"So what is it you'd like?" England threaded their fingers together, "It can be anything."

"I'm thinking."

"Alright," England said, reaching over and petting a rose petal distractedly.

America looked back and he knew, "I want you to make love to me."

"Yes, but how?"

"Just love me. I know that I'm usually into kind of weird stuff too, but I kind of just want some vanilla."

"Sounds good to me," He let go of America's hands to get into the best position for making love, "Erm, could I have your legs?"

"Oh, right…" America hooked his knees over England's shoulders, bending himself to give his lover the best angle.

"You probably don't need to be stretched again, right?"

"Nah," America said, "I'm good."

"Lovely," England said, and he entered his lover again.

America felt a rush as he was filled. England didn't wait for him to adjust and just began to thrust. America wondered how it was possible that England didn't start getting sloppy once they'd gone as many rounds as they did. But the older man was still going strong, moving at just the right angle to rub him properly every time.

The larger man shuddered and wrapped his arms around England's neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Their tongues danced back and forth in a distinctly different rhythm than what their lower halves were doing, and America marveled at how England could do both so perfectly at the same time.

If there was only one thing that America could say about England in bed, it was that he was really, really good at it. It was natural, of course; England had been the largest empire in the world and there were very few people that he hadn't topped the hell out of. America felt insignificant sometimes when compared to all of the older, more experienced countries England had slept with. The older nation always said that he shouldn't worry, that he had never loved any of those countries like he loved America, but that only made him wonder why he was so good at the tender stuff, and they were back at square one.

When they came apart from their kiss, America looked up at England. The older man's eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply.

"Look at me," he said.

England opened those big, beautiful green eyes and looked down confusedly.

"You're so hot," America said, bringing a hand up to cup his face.

England groaned, "Don't do that kind of stuff while we're like this. You'll make me come."

"Isn't that the idea?" America asked, bringing his other hand up to thread through England's hair.

"Belt up. Not now."

"It's okay," America said. He took England's hand in his and brought it down to his cock, "It's not gonna take me long either."

England smiled, "You've no idea how much I love you."

"I love you too, old man."

"Foolish child."

"Delusional sissy."

"Spoiled bastard."

"Pervert."

"Idiot."

But there was no bite to their words. It was simply a game. They both took comfort in their friendly arguments. It was part of what let America know that he was with England, that he was with the man who meant the world to him and vice versa.

"God, America," England groaned, "I can't hold out much longer."

America laughed, "Me neither."

"We're not going to count down together or anything cheesy as that alright? I feel clichéd enough just making love to you on a bed of roses."

"We don't have to," America said, "I know."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I won't say anything," a ragged sigh, "-anything, then."

"Sounds good."

England rolled his eyes.

America was right, of course. He timed it so that both of them released at the same time, and England just laughed at him and pulled out to lie on his sticky, sweaty stomach.

"Lord, I'm tired," He said.

"I know what you mean," America said.

"Yes, but we still have to clean up this mess."

"Nah. Let's leave it."

"It'll be horrendous tomorrow."

"So?"

"You never think in the long term, do you?"

"Never," America said, smiling and pulling the sheets over them, "'Cause it lets me enjoy every second I have with you."

England blushed bright red, but he probably couldn't come up with anything that sweet, so he just put his head against America's chest and went to sleep.