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A fleeting touch	By : lovelycudy Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1942 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A fleeting touch
- 1
America is beautiful. That is the only thing England was sure of, in the hazy heat and fading light of a too hot afternoon. She is beautiful, with her plump flesh that always yields under his hands, her soft skin, her blonde hair and too blue eyes. She even smells beautiful, England thinks with a sigh, a mix of cherry bubble-gum and ice tea and endless grass. She smells sweet and tastes even sweeter, with her clumsy kisses and delightful mouth.
He looks at her, standing on the doorway of his room –their room-, short blue dress hanging on her curves - delicious and sinful. He stands up (old gentleman habits, ‘old fashioned old man, hahaha’, she would say) to greet her, and she runs into his arms, her untamed force almost –almost- knocking him back.
“You missed me, I reckon?” He tries and fails to be sarcastic, smothered as he is by an armful of womanly perfection.
“No”, she replies, cheeky smile in place, blue eyes sparkling.
And there’s kissing, oh there is always sweet, too-eager kissing and she slurps a little and is too forceful but who cares when her hands (not dainty hands, strong, hard-working hands) tangle themselves in his hair and her body pressed against his just the right way. His own hands are around her waist, warm and soft, keeping her flushed against his chest, her breasts squished between them. Soon, her strong legs are wrapped around him and she’s rubbing against him, pure sexual desire and he can’t believe there’s a single hair made of Puritans in her body.
He stumbles towards the bed and lowers her there, the flimsy blue cotton of her dress pooling over her hips, legs exposed, girlish underwear flashing temptingly. The first time they made love (thirty years ago, give or take, England reminds himself), England was surprised to find out that she was wearing simple, white cotton knickers; years later, she still favoured those cute, almost childish undies and he, he couldn’t think of anything sexier than them. Than her.
He takes her sandals off her feet, runs his hands over her muscled shins, her scraped knees, her round thighs, her firm hips, her narrow waist, her ticklish sides, her smooth shoulders. He can sculpt her with closed eyes; he would never get tired of touching her, though: after years and years and even more years of not having, he simply can’t help himself.
He kisses her again, her pretty mouth shining and tender and she shifts on the bed, bends her legs and opens them, the little enchanter, and makes room for him to kneel between them. He does so and kisses her again, hands sneaking down to her breasts.
“No bra? He says, raising an eyebrow. It’s both arousing and worrying; especially if he thinks of the way her nipples are already hard, clearly visible through the thin cotton, painfully visible to all the men she might have crosses on the streets. Jealousy… jealousy is not something he’s proud of and yet it comes with astonishing ease.
“I took it off in the elevator, you perv” Her voice is huskier than normal, breathless. And then, lower “I know you like it”.
He looks at her, amazed and thankful to have her. He grabs her breasts, round and firm and lets the heel of his palms massage the hard nipples, his fingertips caress the curve of the flesh and his mouth lick and nip at her neck.
America closes her legs around England and pushes her hips upwards, her crotch against him; he can feel her getting wet trough her

panties, her smell filling the room.
England slowly unbuttons her dress, kissing each new inch of exposed skin, licking the valley between her breasts and lower, her belly and navel, the hem of her underwear, the warm mound until he finds himself over her throbbing lips and licks, proud of himself when he hears America moan.
He kisses his way back and takes hold of one of her breasts, his whole hand unable to cover it all, his mouth focused on the other and kissing, nipping, licking and tugging, breathing over it, making the pink, small nipple stand up an darken, almost trembling. He covers it with his warmth mouth and sucks, hard, eliciting a desperate cry from America. Her legs once again around England’s waist, her back arched upwards, her hand firm on the bed’s headboard. England pulls away and turns his head to take care of America’s other breast: suck, nip, lick, kiss, his hot mouth covering as much as it can, leaving America trembling with need.
He lowers his hands again and runs his fingers over the elastic waistband of her underwear before pulling it down, past the golden curls and trembling flesh, all the way down until they join the sandals at the feet of the bed.
England then lowers himself and settles down between America’s bent knees, his flushed cheeks mirroring hers, still somehow shy after all the time they have been together. He kisses her mouth one more time before scooting back and kissing between her legs, a long and wet kiss, his lips and tongue and her hot flesh perfect together, getting her ready and drinking her, deliriously in love.
Soon a finger joins his mouth, slick with saliva and America’s wetness and he rubs it up and down her flushed lips, slowly easing it into her, the muscles of her strong body tightening around it. His mouth moves up and he kisses her clit, fluttery at first and them more deeply, tongue lavishing the small bud as he adds another finger into her and starts moving them in and out.
England alternates between kissing her clitoris and her lips, now three fingers working in and out her, her hands clutching the bed-covers frantically. America opens her legs wider and England moves upwards, his mouth finding America’s neck and resting there, as his thumb starts circling her clit while the other fingers continue to move in and out. She feels tight, hot and wet around him, her orgasm building at the tip of his fingers, sweat and pleasure making her shine. England focuses on America’s face and his rhythm almost falters at that sight: her cheeks flushed, blue eyes wide and sparkling, her mouth open, her trembling chest and desperate pants - England’s heart is about to burst with pride and sheer gratitude towards the woman writhing under him, that perfect woman he loves so much.
America arches upwards and England pushes even deeper, his thumb heavy on her clit, rubbing it rough, the way he knows she likes it as she gets closer and closer to her climax. England’s cock throbs between his legs, desperate for the release it will only get after America. He slides his hand into her, his fingers finding for the spot - swollen and sponge-like - that renders America unable to do anything but melt with pleasure; every stroke making America cry out and clutch the fabric beneath her, the headboard, England’s shoulders, anything as long as she can claw into it because it is just too much and she is about to explode, pop, go supernova and take everything with her.
England can feel she is about to come, and lowers himself back between her legs, his hand contorting painfully as he strokes one, two, three more times and she comes, comes and comes, liquid flowing from her, soaking the bed-cover and hitting England in the face, her heels digging into the mattress before her body falls limp on the bed, exhausted and satisfied.
England licks the wetness clinging to her, delighted to taste her, before kneeling in front of America’s barely stirring body. He unzips his trouser and takes his cock out, his hand already slick moving up and down it, jerking himself off. It only takes a few movements for him to come, shooting hot strings of semen over her tender flesh and collapses on top of her, making her moan in delight, his heart beating so fast that it feels like it is about to break his chest.
They fall asleep holding each other, naked, sweaty and sticky – happy, sated and in love.
- 1
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A fleeting touch