A/N: It feels so nice to write normal smut after two months of weirdness. You have no idea! God, I am such a porn junkie...
Hope you enjoy :D
They felt like teenagers as they ran through the streets of Chicago, one of them occasionally pushing the other into a dark corner or alley to kiss him breathlessly. They giggled like horny teenagers and probably looked it too. America had persuaded England to leave the sensible but dignified clothes he had arrived in at the apartment. He now wore some of America's: an old, worn pair of jeans (truly worn – from heavy work and a lot of love over the years. America at least had that much sense) and a Beatles t-shirt with a zipper hooded sweatshirt over it. The trainers on his feet were made of old canvas, rubbed thin on the side where the fabric connected to the rubber. He certainly felt like a hoodlum, and it was so exciting, sending thrills all up and down his spine. Although, maybe the thrills were due to the cold or maybe even America's skilled lips upon his own.
Speaking of things he didn't know, he wasn't even sure why he was doing this. It was true that he loved being coarse and even a bit boorish, but it wasn't usually so easy to get him to admit it. The casual observer might speculate that it was the couple of gin and tonics he'd had back in that bar. But that wasn't the case. He might be teased for his drinking habits, but he could hold his liquor better than that, thank you. Besides, he had felt light-headed and fluttery from the moment he'd stepped out of the terminal and seen his big blond goofball smile at him like he was the only thing in the world worth having. That was it, he realized as America pressed him against the door of the apartment, heavy and warm and solid for once. It was America's mere presence that had done all this to him. In spite of his embarrassment that he'd come undone so quickly, he was rather impressed.
There was a click and the door opened, sending them both tumbling onto the floor. England at least had the sense left to glare up at him.
"Sorry," America said, giggling and getting to his knees, "Didn't think that one through so much."
"Never mind that, get the bloody door!"
He stood and shut the door. This time it was England's turn to press him against it, licking and sucking and loving as though they hadn't kissed for the last twenty years instead of just the last twenty seconds.
"So," he asked when he pulled away, poking America's nose for good measure, "Do you have any master plan for today, or are we just going to collapse on the bed and ravish each other until dawn?"
"I did, but I kind of like that better. Can you go all night?"
England cocked an eyebrow, "Can you?"
America laughed, "No, not really."
"Good, you would make me feel so old."
"So could you at one point?"
England grinned, "Why are you so obsessed with my stamina?"
"Can't pretend it's not erotic."
He kissed America on the cheek, "Sorry, not even during the privateer days."
"That's a damn shame."
"I am only twenty-three, you know."
"You like to pretend you're twenty-two," England said, smiling.
"Although," He ignored America and looked at the microwave, "It's three-thirty in the morning, so I might be able to go until sunrise if we spend a lot of time on foreplay."
"We'll see, but seriously there was something I wanted to try."
That seemed to get him thinking about it though. England watched as America looked him up and down, obviously planning something sexy from the look on his face.
"You're undressing me with your eyes, aren't you?" England asked, trying to make him laugh because he was starting to feel slightly self-conscious.
"Is it that obvious?" America asked, blushing.
England couldn't help but smile. Sometimes he was so cute when he was oblivious, "There's no need for that," He grabbed America's shirt, pulling him forward, "You have my permission to use your teeth."
The boy turned bright red at that, but England didn't give him time to mull it over because then they were kissing again, clashing teeth and tongues and making it so that England couldn't even remember which taste had started as his and which was America's. It was good to know that England had taught America to be a good kisser even when flustered. He brought America into the bedroom, both of them shedding sweatshirts and shoes on the way. They didn't bother to close the door, England just shoved him down onto the mattress, but as soon as he tried to crawl on top America flipped them. He bit the collar of England's shirt and tugged.
"What are you doing?" England asked.
"You told me to undress you with my teeth, so-"
England just held him close and laughed.
"I thought I'd try being sexy…" America muttered.
"You are sexy." England said, stroking his hair.
America turned bright red again, "Thanks. But I know I can do this!" He leaned down and undid England's zip and button with his teeth, which was far more attractive then than any other time England had seen it done.
"Oh, God," he whispered, unable to look away from America's face.
"Mmm, so you like it now?"
Hell, he'd switched to his bedroom voice. And then he was taking off England's clothes in the best way he knew how, making him writhe and moan even though he was just pulling his shirt off and sliding his trousers down. It was those fingers, digging in at exactly the right moments, so broad and strong with just the right amount of callus. But no matter how good America was, England wasn't in the mood to just lay back and take it. He flipped them and went to ravishing America's mouth again. When he pulled away, America was flushed and panting and lovely.
"Look at you, my little whore," he teased, knowing that America loved being talked down to, "Shall I remind you who your master is?" He grabbed at America's t-shirt, but he resisted.
"I have no master."
"My you're awfully… oh what's that phrase you people like to use?"
"Well, I can assure you, you'll be full of spunk soon enough."
As beautiful as America's shocked-but-slightly-turned-on-at-the-same-time face was, England still had to take advantage of the situation to free him of his jeans and boxers.
"What's this?" He ran his finger along America's half-hard cock, "Getting excited from just this? Slut."
"Hang on a sec," America said, grabbing his arms.
"Yes, love?" England asked, attaching the endearment to let him know he wasn't playing anymore.
"Can you get off for a moment?"
"Of course." England rolled off onto his side and watched as America knelt on the floor and pulled a box from underneath the bed. He asked what it was.
America smiled, "Open it," he said, giving England the box.
It was a rather large cardboard box, like the shoeboxes America used to hold everything but bigger. Curious, he took the top off. He found a pair of black leather gloves accompanied by matching boots.
"I want you to wear those. And nothing else."
"Alright," England said, getting out of bed and freeing himself from his underwear. This wasn't the oddest thing either of them had requested by a long shot, so England had no problem with it. It did explain, though, why he'd caught America examining his shoes the last time they'd met. The boots fit him quite well. Although the leather was new and not softened with nigh-constant use, it did bring back memories of days long-gone, when his mere presence commanded fear from any who dared to sail his oceans. He wondered if that was what America was going for. He'd already expressed a desire to have England tie him up and shag him in full privateer regalia, and they'd fulfilled it severally. He wondered mildly why America hadn't just asked him to bring his things, but dismissed it. Even if he enjoyed it too, it was really America's kink and they'd do it on his terms.
"Now," England said, shoving America back onto the bed, "What exactly do you want me to do?"
"Just the normal," He managed to wiggle out from beneath England and knelt on his bedroom floor, "I'm your prisoner, and my hands are tied behind my back."
"Do you want your shirt off first?"
"Mmm… nah. I'll keep it for now."
"Whatever you want, love," England knelt down and kissed him on the cheek and then stood again, "Now, you cur, are you going to surrender?"
"Never!" America said, straining against his imaginary ropes.
Always so defiant at the start. England spat on his forehead, "You'll learn not to fight me. Must I give you to my men first? They'd love someone like you. They haven't seen anyone so pretty and vulnerable for a long, long time. I've two dozen of them, and I'm sure they wouldn't mind sharing."
America shivered. That was one of the few things that they refused to do in real life. No matter how arousing they both found the idea of America being used and passed around like a toy no one really wanted, there was something they found distasteful about involving other people in any of their dominance scenes. But still, that didn't mean it couldn't be alluded to.
"But no," he turned away and looked out the window. Oh, it was just like America to forget about the blinds before this, wasn't it? Even if they were up high England didn't like the exposure. He shut the curtains, "They'd ruin you. Boy, they'd tear you open and make you unusable. No," he turned back to America, "A treasure like you I'll keep to myself. Would you like that?" He quickly crossed back over and grabbed America's chin, "I'll keep you in this room, bring you the finest food so that you stay this lovely, and you'll be all mine. You'll serve me whenever I feel the need, whether you want to or not. But you'll want to. It'll only be a matter of time before you learn to spread your legs and moan like the little slag you are."
"I'll smother you in your sleep instead!"
"Still so spirited. I see I'll have to break you tonight." He let go of America's face, "Let's start simple. Kiss my boot."
"What? No way," America tugged on his ropes, looking absolutely disgusted.
"You'll do it and you'll like it."
England just kicked him.
America let out a gasp and fell over like it hurt.
"Sit up, bloody cunt!"
"You kicked me! Goddammit, you sick fuck!"
"I said UP!" He kicked him again.
Whimpering, America got back up onto his knees.
"Now we'll try this again," He made his voice low and dangerous, "Kiss. My. Boot."
America glared and bared his teeth. England narrowed his eyes, and America stiffened. Still glaring, he lowered himself and kissed the leather twice.
"Good boy. You're learning to fear me. That will serve you well."
America didn't say a word, he just straightened up.
"Don't worry, that attitude won't last long. I'm going to break you in a few moments, brat."
He walked past America, going to the nightstand to grab the lube and maybe a toy or two to tease him with. He wasn't expecting America's leg to swing out and trip him. He landed safely and spun around to look at him.
"What do you think you're doing?" He demanded.
America stood, a predatory grin on his face and closed Swiss Army knife in his hand.
"You ought to search your prisoners better," He said, "Now I'm armed, and you're not." He leaned down and gently squeezed England's wrists, meaning that according to the rules of their games they were tied.
He went beneath the bed, pulling out boots and gloves of his own.
"Now that you're my pretty little prisoner, what should I do?" He twisted the still closed knife in his fingers before kneeling above England, "How about I stab you," He poked the rounded edge of the handle into England's stomach, "You'd never do this to anyone again. Or maybe here," He pressed it against England's sack, "So that you'll never want to."
"No, please no."
"Not so much fun when you're in this position, is it?"
"Please," England whimpered, giving into America's whim, "Don't hurt me."
"I'm not as bad as you." America said, dropping the knife and throwing it away, "I won't attack you. I won't rape you. I just want to humiliate you so that you're never going to hurt anyone again."
England laughed harshly and got to his knees, "How old are you, lad?"
"Twenty-two," America lied. As usual.
"Far too old for this sort of game. Don't be a hero. You've bested me so I'll let you go and never bother your town again. But if you try to interfere with my lifestyle, I shan't let you go so easily."
"You're tied up," America reminded him.
"So were you."
He launched himself across the room and grabbed the knife, pretending to free himself.
"Bastard!" America shouted. He grabbed his lightsaber off the shelf and England had to try not to laugh, "That's what you get for leaving weapons on your walls."
"Really? You can't wield a sword like that. You're a civilian."
"You'd be surprised what a desperate man can do."
"I know full well."
He rushed America, who held the child's toy out, hands shaking. England wasn't sure if it was him being in character, or an actual fear that England would hurt himself. However, as he approached America quickly sidestepped and gave him a solid blow across the back. England fell to his knees, knowing that if the sword was metal and he human that would be the least that would do. America held the blade to his throat.
"Now you're going to behave, aren't you?"
"Go to hell," England growled.
America reached below and twisted one of his nipples, "Next time that's your balls."
"You have quite the fascination with my bollocks, don't you, boy? Maybe you'd like to suck them."
"Not on your life!"
England laughed, but it died as America pressed the sword harder against his throat.
"So, why don't you suck on this instead?" He placed his fingers in front of England's lips.
"What is this supposed to be?"
"Suck on them." America said, matter-of-factly, "I- I still want to humiliate you!"
"So this isn't getting to you at all, having me pinned, under your power? This is how it all starts, you know." America opened his mouth, most likely to say something foolish, but England licked the tips of his fingers, "I guess that I'll appease you for the moment."
He took two of them into his mouth and sucked. He licked along the seam from the outside of America's pointer finger to the juncture of his middle and ring fingers. America let out a moan and ground down into him. England couldn't help but smile around the fingers. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the soft chemical taste of America's glove. It was a lot older and more used than the ones he'd been given, loved and worn with the taste of salt and a little bit of pine intermingling with the leather taste.
He felt peaceful, sitting there and sucking on America's fingers, until he felt one of those lovely, broad fingers circling his entrance. Realizing this meant that America had dropped his weapon at some point (England made a mental note to pay more attention to such things in the future), He quickly turned and pushed America over onto his back.
"I'll let you have a taste of power, but remember whose ship this is, wench."
"I'm a man, dammit!"
"I can tell," England said, taking his cock, "This is some lovely equipment, I must say. Maybe I'll have to take it."
"W-what's that supposed to mean?"
"You threatened to castrate me earlier. I may choose to take it a step further. Maybe it would take the fight out of you."
"What do you need me to do?"
"Much more obedient once I threaten your manhood, aren't you?" He took the hand with the knife in it and held it (still closed) up to the base of America's cock, "Now you're going to lie here like a good little whore while I fuck you, or I'm going to make your breeches a bit looser, if you understand my meaning." America growled, but didn't move.
Maybe he was starting to learn, England mused as he prepared him. He was probably being too careful and gentle for the scene and the rough leather gloves he still wore, but he wanted America to enjoy himself. He debated on whether or not to break the scene further and ask how America was feeling, or if there was anything he wanted in particular, but then he gave a little shiver. England froze.
"What the hell are you doing, stupid pirate? If you're gonna rape me, at least be a man about it."
"I'm a privateer," England said on reflex, "And this isn't about getting it over with for your sake, it's about entertaining me, and I just happen to find how greedily you're taking my fingers entertaining."
"You're in no position to tell me what to do," England reminded him, poking his cock with the knife. He pulled his hand away and wiped his fingers on the cloth he'd gotten with the lube.
America whimpered and put his head down on his hands.
"Just like a dog about to be whipped," England said, lining up.
He pushed in none-too gently and America whimpered. He paused for a moment, trying to judge if America was acting or not.
"No, Captain," He whimpered, "Please no."
England felt as though he'd swallowed a stone. America had gotten too deep, hadn't he? England pulled out and soothed his hands down America's sides.
"I'm sorry, love, I'm so sorry."
"You'd better be," America grunted, bucking his hips back, "I can't even do a good humiliation scene with you, can I?"
"Look, if I didn't want you in me, I'd just kick you off. I'm not that weak."
"Except for in The Netherlands," England said, frowning.
"Come on, bro, that was one time, I was high, and you were drunk. It's not happening now. Just chillax."
"Only if you never, ever use that word in my presence again."
"Oh, thank you for showing mercy, Captain."
England growled. Stupid America, getting back into character before they had the chance to finish talking. He thrust in as hard and fast as he could. America arched beautifully beneath him, let out an almost-inhuman cry and then allowed his top half to collapse. England continued to pound into America's ass, loving every little whimper and "No," and "Stop" coming from his victim.
His hands began to roam America's body beneath his t-shirt. Ooh, quite the nice prize he'd captured this time. America had been working out. Both of his hands explored America's chest and stomach, smoothing over his perfect abs and cupping his gorgeous pectorals. He normally wasn't anywhere this fit, always at least a little bit soft to the touch. It only made England feel more powerful because now he was dominating such a strong, muscular-
And then he was on his back with America lustfully looking down at him.
"I don't know how you got to be a captain since you keep letting your guard down."
"Only for a pretty little thing like you."
"Well, this 'pretty little thing' is about to fuck you up the ass!"
"Such a brat, aren't you? I'd take out your tongue, but then you won't be so fun when I teach you oral."
"Hey, thanks for the suggestion!" America wiggled up until he was almost sitting on England's collarbone, cock brushing his lips, "Suck it."
"Why wouldn't I just bite it off?"
"Because if you try it," he placed two fingers on the side of England's neck, "Before you even get through the skin you'll have lead in your brain."
"Must we keep threatening each other with genital mutilation and death? Surely there must be a-"
America took advantage of England's open mouth to shove his cock past his lips. England almost gagged, but got over it. He automatically started to suck, but then he realized that it was out of character and stopped. Oh God, please let America not comment on that!
"What are you waiting for? I'm sure that you sucked your way to the top. Or did you just let everybody fuck you instead?"
Thankful, England threw an obligatory glare America's way before beginning to please him. America sighed and began to pet his hair instead of pretending to hold a gun to his head. England let him, content to look up and watch his face. He turned such a beautiful shade of pink, after all. His eyes were clenched and he had his bottom lip between his teeth. If only that damned shirt wasn't in the way so that he could look up at America's perfect body as well as his perfect face. Still, if it weren't from the way that his unattended cock burned against the cold air of the apartment, he could have kept watching forever.
As it was, he spat America's cock out and rolled them over. America still looked dazed. England stroked his fringe, dark and plastered to his forehead with sweat. He loved when America was like this, reduced into such a desperate creature. As his other hand went to America's hip he couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. He was the only one who got to see this, the only one America would become so undone for, the only one he needed like this.
"Please," America whispered, "Please fuck me."
"In time, my pet." England kissed his forehead, "On your knees."
He climbed off, allowing America to roll over. He looked up at England, eyes pleading for his touch. For a moment, England felt the tiniest bit of guilt, but he knew that it would only be better if he put it off.
"We did this in the beginning," He said softly, "Now that you're like this, we'll try it again. Kiss my boot."
"Yes," America whispered, smiling, "Oh God, yes."
It wasn't at all like before. This time America mouthed the leather, licking and opening his mouth as wide as possible. England felt each movement resonate in his balls, making him almost as excited as if that mouth was on his cock and not his foot. He almost couldn't look away, but much like when America had been sitting on his chest, he needed something touching him, relieving all that pressure and his hand wouldn't be able to do it properly.
"That's lovely, that's perfect," he said, tipping America's head back up. Christ, the saliva was practically dripping off his boot, "You can roll back over now. I don't want you falling on that lovely face of yours."
"Yeah," America breathed, lying back down on the carpet.
England helped America to hook his legs around his waist. He felt America's calf spasming in his hand and wondered if he'd be able to hold on. Well, it would just have to do. He shoved America's shirt up so that he could finally get a look at that gorgeous chest. It was every bit as fantastic as he'd imagined, every hill and valley of his beautiful tan flesh enhanced by the dull light of the lamp. He swallowed and realized he couldn't take it anymore. Without any more than a moment of eye contact, he entered America again.
There was no scream this time. Just a sigh as America melted back into the carpet. They quickly fell into their usual rhythm, just a hair slower than they would admit to enjoying in public. England reached down and took America's hand, noticing for the first time that their gloves were made of different colored leather. The material was too thick too. Their fingers didn't fit like they were supposed to. He freed America's hand and then pulled his glove off with his teeth.
America let out a breathy laugh as England intertwined their fingers again, "Your hands 're cold."
"Maybe yours are just too hot."
America laughed again, arching up against England.
England closed his eyes, just wanting to feel. He felt America's sculpted body against his, one of those strong working hands in his, that hot welcoming hole around his cock. He buried his nose in America's hair and inhaled. He wanted to go deeper, bury his entire body in him instead of just his cock. Yes, every second he stayed in this country America was all around him. Even if there were miles between them England felt America's presence resonating around him, just a little bit of a vibration drawing him closer, closer and deeper. He wanted to melt into the body beneath him and be one with America forever and ever.
He pressed his lips against America's and opened his mouth. He accepted him, like always. That was who America was once you peeled away the layers, so soft, so sweet, so willing. England could feel every little move America made, every start, every shallow breath. The entire room shook just a little, America's presence just as tense and jittery as America himself.
America came first, moaning something into England's tongue. Then everything fell. For a second the entire room was still. England followed him in that still moment, trying to say America's name into his mouth and failing. As he lay there, panting on America's chest, he felt the room's frequency go back to normal. He closed his eyes and knew that America was looking down at him.
"Damn, England," America whispered, bringing his trembling arms up to hold England, "Just damn."
"England opened one eye sleepily to look up at him, "So I take it you liked it?"
"I'll tell you as soon as I think I can stand."
England smiled and threw his arms around America, trying to hold him too, "I'm glad."
They didn't say anything for a while. England knew that eventually they'd get cold and have to go for a shower, but right then it was enough just to lay there and compare the beats of America's heart to the vibrating of the world around them.