Love of the Half Eaten Peach

From inside, Spain mutes the television, the pop idol on screen seeming far more attractive now that he doesn’t hear her mediocre singing voice. He shifts on the floor cushion wincing as he stands, putting fingers to his sore left side. Yup, it’s definitely still tender. Romano’s headbutt has gotten more potent as he’s gotten older; Spain can’t help but smile. “Accidentally” crawling into the wrong bed last night had still been worth it. “Accidentally” running his hands over the sleeping South Italy’s body doubly so. Hmm, but Lovi isn’t quite as soft as he used to be, he muses to himself walking over to the door with bare feet. He’s foregone the traditional yukata of the inn in favor of a lazy green t shirt and pair of short gray spandex shorts that he loves kicking around in. Romano never fails to complain about how indecent they are and yet somehow that makes it even more fun. The other is just so cute when he’s flustered.

“Would you put some real clothes on, we don’t need to spend the entire week staring at your fucking package!” He’d merely smiled, sitting back on the couch with the cycling magazine catching the pillow Romano had thrown without so much as looking up.
“Thank you Lovi!” he chirped, sitting back propping a leg up to let the other get a better look because clearly he wouldn’t be looking if he really didn’t want to see. He heard Romano yelling at his brother ”Dammit, don’t encourage him by looking!” and brought the magazine up higher to hide the small grin. Ah, so North Italy liked looking at him too? Oh this weekend was shaping up with so many possibilities...

“Waah! Lovi I can’t see!” Spain hadn’t looked up again until he’d heard the crash and watched both of them rolling around on the floor covered in what appeared to be Bavarian cream. Well that was certainly a welcome surprise. He could read about the new Civia Halstead later, there was happy shirtless Italian mischief afoot!. He didn’t question the whys of the confection, both brothers were notorious snackers after all and ohh a little pudge would definitely soften them both up.
“If it’s a wrestling match you two want you should’ve asked!” He smiled wide,, arms extended for them both only stopping at the overturned bowl over his head and Romano swearing up a blue streak. He licked his fingers off thinking it was definitely worth it when Veneziano offered to help clean him off.

And right now, Spain is expecting to see France with at least two young women hanging off him like the time they roomed together in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Now that was a vacation! It was a shame that Neither Italy could join him. Veneziano wanted to watch the parade in Düsseldorf and he couldn’t convince Romano that he’d have a much better time in America. Really, turning down wine and women to spend two weeks in Germany eating wurst, what a terrible influence the other nation was on hs boys... Had Germany somehow seduced them both into his bed? No, certainly not Germany but Prussia definitely is on his list for that and oh, Austria too can be such a little minx when he puts his mind to it. Spain still wonders sometimes and he finds his mind wandering again as he slowly opens the door tonight just what delectable little humans France will be bringing back. Instead he sees a sullen looking young nation slung around France’s shoulders like a sack of rice. Spain blinks, stepping out of the way as France enters the room, practically dumping his burden on the couch.

Spain closes the door behind them trying to hide his crestfallen expression. “I thought you were bringing back “company”,” he whispers standing beside France somewhat confused. He was hoping, really because rooming with two Italies for the last few nights was like a slow, sweet torture and he does have needs after all, he’s not a stone and two cute little barely legal Japanese girls would’ve been wonderful for that. Instead he sees what he assumes is some young nation because he can’t think of any other reason why what appears to be a barely pubescent boy would be on the sofa because France may have some insatiable lusts at times but even he has his limits.

And America looks up at them both recollecting himself because now it’s not just one but two perverted adversaries he’s going up against and he’s gonna bring it like a competitive cheerleader. He sits up on the couch with a sly grin, blue eyes darting from one to the other mind quick at work at how to best do this. He definitely heard what Spain had said and hell he’s nothing if not flexible; Japan’s tied him in fucking knots enough to have proven that. He toys with the cravat, knees together innocently, his expression anything but.

“I can be ‘company’, if that’s what you want, lover.” France turns his head into Spain’s shoulder, forcing himself not to simply laugh out loud at how ridiculous America sounds. He wonders if it’s merely his appearance that makes it so ludicrous because somehow America always seemed a little more sexually enticing than this in the past.

Spain is still staring at him blurting out at last, “You kidnapped the Falkland Islands?” he asks looking nervous. “Don’t you remember what Arthur did to Argentina?” America looks annoyed at the comparison and opens his mouth but finds France fielding the question first.
“Oui, of course. And I didn’t cry for him once either. No, Toni, this isn’t Angleterre’s little jailbait, look closer.” America smiles again, standing up as if he’s on display. He strikes a pose like vogue, framing his face cutely. Spain looks in his eyes and sees the Atlantic and Pacific both standing out against the backdrop of a massive continent.
“Ah, Alfred!” He smiles and circles America with a wide grin admiring the somewhat disheveled page boy clothing. “You were such a cute little colony, weren’t you?”

America in turn scrutinizes the both of them, France in particular. There’s something about that expression says that he’s not nearly as enthralled as he’d initially let on and as Spain gushes about how cute his outfit is- ignoring the improbably of the situation entirely- America shifts gears. Okay, so maybe I need to do something different here. Lolita ain’t gonna cut it, they want some innocent little pedo bait I am in there like swimwear. His glance flickers to Spain and the hand that raises his arm, thumb circling the soft cuff of his shirt and rubs his pulse. America finds the sensation disturbingly pleasurable. Alright, Al, focus. You got this shit in the bag... His toying with the white ruffles of the cravat grows more childish and innocent and he looks up at France and then Spain with big eyes turning on the guileless charm.
“Aren’t I still cute, big brother?” he asks shuffling his feet, casting his gaze downward.

France silently commends him for the change in strategy and thinks that perhaps he might have underestimated America after all. What do you want, Alfred? What do you want that you were willing to change like this and orchestrate such a setup with Matthew? And what was the hidden meaning of that exchange? He considers this as he watches America play his part and can’t deny that it’s a much more alluring picture. For a moment he almost forgets that America has a very specific goal in mind and he resolves to take control of the situation- and then they can get to the fantastic sex afterwards.

Spain seems to melt, stroking America’s hair softly.
“Oh, of course you are,” he all but purrs, placing his hands over America’s smaller ones. “And you say you’re our company tonight too?” He’s already moving again, untying the soft cravat, his green eyes bright and fixed on the smooth, unblemished skin of America’s neck. “You’re such a bad influence on me, Francis,” he laments as he deftly undoes the white silk willing his hands almost trembling with excitement. “Lovi is mad at me and here you bring me such a tempting little distraction.” Even as he complains, he’s already dipping his head to the right to taste the soft young skin of America’s neck with a sigh. France chuckles, admiring Spain’s ass in those tight, short shorts.
“Then why don’t I take half of him, Toni, and we’ll share the indiscretion?”

He walks over and indulges himself with a squeeze of that delicious ass that Spain pays no attention to. France glides behind America and Spain finally lets up long enough from the pliant, salty skin to catch his eyes.
“Please tell me you didn’t just bring him to get me in trouble.” He breathes the words out in french, knowing America won’t understand them. Indeed, America’s only response is a half giggle as Spain’s fingers easily work the buttons of the vest, taking time to gently tease him through the thin white shirt. France grins back as he slides the garment from America’s shoulders. He presses his lips to America’s ear, matching the husky tone in kind.
“You wound me. I interrupted some little scheme of his and he thinks to seduce me for some purpose instead. He didn’t expect you to be here.” Spain brightens at that mentally crossing himself, resolving to do penance later for this delightful transgression- much later.
“Ohh... then I guess I better let myself be seduced~”

America meanwhile, shivers and moans, his small hands reaching up to tangle in Spain’s messy hair. Oh man, these perverts are on me like white on rice. This is gonna be even easier than I thought! He isn’t sure who to lean into when Spain solves the dilemma by unbuttoning his shirt and moving his mouth down to his collarbone. His tongue glides over the faint outline with a feathery lightness making the young body react accordingly. America tips his head back and whimpers when France nips at his earlobe; the sensitive nerves cause his entire body to shiver involuntarily. It occurs to him in some faint part of his mind that yes, he’s going to have to let him get aroused to do this but oh god he didn’t think it was gonna be this fucking hard; no pun intended.

And it is totally fucking hard, too. America wonders if it’s a side effect of the condensed mass or if he’s more turned on than he thought he’d be. Somehow his shirt disappears without him noticing and he wonders if that’s some sort of french magic trick.
“H-hey,” he gasps out, his fingers tightening in the soft brown locks threaded through his fingers. “No fair, you guys are still dressed.” France laughs softly at that, looking over America’s shoulder.
“Ah, but of course you’re right... perhaps we should remedy that, yes?” America almost falls backwards when France moves, blinking at the loss of contact when Spain pulls back as well. “Shall I assist you, Toni?” France asks, already pushing the t shirt up, greedy hands brushing over his stomach as he does so.
“Of course!” He lifts his arms above his head obediently and America wonders if they do this all the damn time. They move naturally in sync as France pulls the fabric up making sure to leave a nice view of the hard tanned stomach and holy shit, was Spain really hiding all that under his clothes?

America can’t help but notice after oggling Spain’s goodies that France seems to be paying an unnecessary amount of attention to the other’s chest and even as he stands behind him America can see the leer over Spain’s shoulder as France watches America and presses his mouth to Spain’s neck lightly ignored the soft snicker.
“Ahh... Francis you know that tickles,” he complains and swats at those wandering hands. “Take that kimono off already I don’t want to be the only one here naked!” And oh does America watch those abs tighten and contract as Spain laughs and he mentally smacks himself. Okay, don’t lose focus. Jeez it’s not like you’ve never seen naked guys before and he’s so got nothing on those guys in that hot Amsterdam Twinkfest DVD...

Except it’s not some overpaid barely legal actor that looks at him with brilliant green eyes and a lazy smile completely unaware that the french douche behind him is totally feeling him the fuck up. America shifts as he listens to Spain sigh and tip his head back while France hooks thumbs into those shorts- those damn second skin shorts- like it’s America who’s the target and not him. And god if America doesn’t just totally forget the whole reason he’s there and wonders wildly if France isn’t just gonna fuck Spain right in front of him and make him watch. And watch he does as France lightly nips Spain’s neck in spite of the soft protest of “Francis I think poor Alfred’s gonna be jealous,” and fuck yes America’s jealous! Hey you stupid old pedos, I’m the one you’re supposed to be crawling all over, not each other!

He just barely holds back the sour expression as he watches the two of them, his shirt still half undone. Ignore me, will you? Oh we’ll just see about that! America merely looks hesitant, uncertain as he starts to unbutton the remaining buttons of the linen shirt looking up from under dark lashes.
“So... I should do like this too?” he asks, making sure to pitch his voice just a touch higher- not that it isn’t already rather childish but hey all’s fair in love and screwing people over right?- as he lets the fabric slip from his shoulders. His small fingers entwine in the tie and he notices the two jerks finally fucking stop and look at him now. “Sorry... I cant seem to undo this knot...” He almost laughs, masking it as a hiccup as Spain slips out of France’s clutches so fast the other nearly falls over and kneels down in front of him looking up.

“Oh of course, Alfred, that was so rude of me...” And Spain is paying him so much more attention with his hands running up America’s sides that he wonders if Canada would kill him for just throwing the whole idea out and enjoying the ride. But dammit Canada might get over it but the thought of letting France win just needles at him- and oh how that jerk fucking rubbed it in when they stopped calling them “freedom fries”. So yeah Spain is gonna have to go. America sighs, letting him think it’s out of simple shyness or desire or what the hell ever and damn but Spain takes his time in finally putting his hands over America’s to slowly undo that little scrap of fabric. “It goes like this... Alfred.” American can’t help but notice the hitch in his voice, the way those green eyes are completely focused on their hands and America’s skin, shaking just slightly like a damn addict and America looks to France wondering if he knows just what the hell is up with that.

Ah, Toni, France thinks with a sigh, you always did have such a weakness for innocent little nations. But Spain’s little underaged addiction allows him to take a mental step back and observe and completely delight in America’s little emotional tug of war. He also appreciates the way America’s hands grab at Spain’s shoulders, the way his knees knock together when Spain mouth moves to taste one of those perky little pink nipples and really, if America had played it like this from the get go it would’ve been far more enticing. But this is not playing where that was... And with that thought, France unbelts the yukata and lets it drop to the floor. He stands up a bit straighter when America catches sight of him and those blue eyes go wide when they catch sight of the Eiffel Tower in all its glory. Oh, you like that, do you, Alfred? Completely unashamed he slowly takes his cock in hand and strokes, letting America get a perfect view of his hand sliding languidly up and down the shaft.
“How does he taste, Toni?” France asks, smirking when Spain draws that nub between his teeth harder and makes America whine and close his eyes.

“Oh he tastes perfect, Francis,” Spain answers quickly and shit if his hands don’t just feel so big when they move and fan out over America’s back. And damn is America ever glad that Spain’s arms are around him because he’s sure that he’d have fallen over by this point if they weren’t. He wonders if Spain really is that fucking built or if it just seems that way because America’s body is so much smaller and then decides he’ll leave that question to the fucking philosophers because Spain is groping his ass, not wasting any time in spreading him and- Okay Al, pull it together, think, you need to get Francis not this guy and shitshitshit how am I supposed to get him to stop I don’t even want him to stop... America worries his lower lip between his teeth and he forces himself to look at France again: France with that fucking gorgeous uncut cock.

“D-don’t you want me, papa?” he asks with perfect innocence, face tinged with the flush of passion and ohhh yes he’s playing the game far more seriously now whether he realizes it or not. France hears Spain groan as America’s small hands knead at his shoulders and really thinks for the time being he could be content just to watch the two of them because really, what was hotter than Spain and a deliciously young America? Not for the first time he wonders if he should’ve seduced him during the Revolution because as delectable as Canada was, surely America would’ve been just as wonderful. And at that thought France can’t help but let his mind wander back to the two of them standing in the hallway as he sits back on the couch and just imagines what it would be like to have two sinfully young bodies intertwined with his, both of those small pink mouths on his cock at the same time worshipping it. My God why did I ever let Matthew run off with Yao, surely he won’t have half the imagination or drive that the boy deserves. Oh but America asked him a question and as France watches him, still stroking, tugging that generous foreskin up over the head of his sensitive cockhead he looks at him lustily, eyes dark and desirous.

“Of course, papa desires you, mon petit... But you look so perfect there with Toni ravishing you how can I do anything but watch?” Spain hears him dimly speaking to America and even as he moves his mouth from one nipple to the other thoroughly enjoying his little present, he almost laughs. Haha, Francis, you always did know just how to play them perfectly... I wonder if Al would let us borrow whatever he used to make himself so young? Lovi would look adorable... But then again South Italy wouldn’t be nearly this pliant and right now Spain certainly could appreciate a partner who required just a tad less... “work”. France is such a good friend, Spain thinks to himself as he kneads the soft flesh of America’s ass, squeezes it together, spreads him, fingers digging in and he really will have to take him from behind so he can admire that ripe little bottom as he shoves his cock in and hmm does that thought just make him shiver. Sucking, biting America’ right nipple, he pulls back just long enough to admire his handiwork- oh how red and swollen it is, must lick it better!

America whines, head bowed and he half hears France answering him and dammit dammit, why does England have to be such a “wham bam get the fuck out of my bed” asshole whenever they fuck ‘cause no one ever prepared America for such a vicious overload of his nerves especially not “no touch” Japan. And Spain even smells good too; when America bows his head, half hunched over he can smell the honey of his shampoo and he’s warm and hard and “ohgodohgodohgod…” America wishes he could take these stupid pants off and just grind and rub against him- naked cock against that hard, smooth chest. “A-ant-t-…” he can’t seem to get the words out and really he can’t quite remember what the hell he was even going to say except it might have “stop” or “don’t stop” or “please sweet jesus fuck me ‘cause for whatever weird reason the superficial change of body seems to have made everything that much more intense and he really thinks he’ll just come from Spain’s tongue on his nipples alone ‘cause fuck New York City and Los Angeles never saw so much fucking action.

"Do you have any of those little metal clips, Francis?" Spain asks suddenly in between the quick teasing swipes of his tongue. America blinks, trying to focus and when Spain continues with "These would look so cute pinched off with them" he finds himself coming back down hard. Whoa, slow the damn pedo bus down, you are not getting freaky with the whips and chains!
"I have a few things in the bedroom," France answers languidly and America can't keep his eyes from widening and the lump of apprehension forming in his gut. He swallows hard and looks at France incredulously. Are you fucking crazy?! If you think for one minute I’m gonna… And then France raises an eyebrow as he sits back on that sofa so smugly as if to ask “how far are you willing to go for this?” You snail eating old pedo bastard you think this is it, don’t you? You don’t think I’ll take this as far as I need to? Well fuck you, Pierre, think again.

Spain sees America’s brief flash of panic and looks over at France concerned.
“Well, maybe we can just skip that and-“
“You don’t have to do that, big brother,” America cuts in looking at him with big wide eyes and dammit he knows he looks adorable when he does that so it better fucking work. “If… if it would make you happy then I bet I’ll really like it.” He nods enthusiastically and mentally pats himself on the back for how earnest he made that sound. He even resists the urge the stick his tongue out at France. “But I wish papa would play with me too.” He twists the ball of his foot on the ground in an affectation he’s sure is cute as hell and puts the ball back into France’s court ‘cause he sure as fuck isn’t going to wear the bastard out if he’s just sitting there fucking jacking off even as hot as it looks ‘cause there’s just something about that big hand fisting that hard dripping cock that’s- Jesus, Al, focus focus. So yeah maybe cock might be like his fucking kryptonite but that doesn’t mean that our hero’s out of the fight yet!