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Love of the Half Eaten Peach	By : CyreliaJ Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 3689 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters. I'm also not making any money off of this.

Chapter List
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America sees France look back at him, sees those eyes roam up and down his body even as Spain has his hands on the buttons of those stupid pants, mouth moving down again and he almost laughs at the tickling breath. America can feel the energy charging the room, practically see the damn lightning shooting out at him but he keeps that sweet smile plastered on his face and as the look grows more intense, it’s almost hard not to squirm because France isn’t quite looking at his body now he’s really looking at his entire self and yeah sure he might’ve been around the immigration block a few more times than Canada and might not have quite as much open land but hey, the great plains are still vast and he still has some pretty smoking geography- and who wants to look at a bunch of trees and tundra anyway? Coyly, he puts his arms over his chest to hide the Appalachians ‘cause hey, there’s only so much free looking he’s gonna give until-

“My apologies, Alfred, I have been neglecting you haven’t I?” Bin-fucking-go.

America nods slowly and watches as France rises from the couch with a somewhat exaggerated groan. Ah, perhaps not all that exaggerated, he laments to himself; he is getting old after all. But he makes sure to focus on no one but America and he can just feel that amazing aura as he lets himself get lost in those eyes and those millions of people and the architecture of those cities and oh how he has always loved New York City’s nightlife. And he sees as that little tart watches him, “nymphette” as Nabokov would say perhaps and America shifts an arm and slides a finger between the lips of that small pink bow of a mouth feigning that nervous innocence even as his face is flushed and his legs are almost knocked together and trembling because Spain has just tugged those ridiculous garments off. Ahh, the Eiffel Tower is certain alit tonight watching that delectable display.

America isn’t quite sure why he feels slightly nervous stepping out of the pants pooled on the floor. Okay so neither of them have actually seen him naked or anything and yeah there quite a rather significant something lacking in this much smaller form but hey he’s got it going on, he knows that. Maybe it’s that expression on France’s face, that crazy intense blue eyed stare that’s making fucking love to him as he circles like some pervy old vulture. Something about it makes America feel exposed and just so damn young and desired and a million things at once that he can’t help but drop his eyes or get swallowed up. Okay well this was what he asked for and he definitely should say something or make a move because France is right there now, one large hand under his chin tipping his head back and okay he can deal with a kiss, rohypnol mouth or no or… oh god.

He had thought that France would have kissed him harder, more rough, more all consuming like he wanted to devour him so he was seriously caught off guard by how gentle it actually was. But that’s not to say that America hadn’t been rendered totally breathless ‘cause he seriously was. Maybe France is part cat or something stealing his breath- America never did trust cats- because his smaller hands clutch at France’s bare shoulders as his throat is taut to stretch, just stretch that slightest bit that damn sadist not quite bending enough to make it easy. But it’s enough that America can feel the prickles of stubble against his chin and feel the other’s tongue swipe at his lips, feel teeth nibbling with those teasing, taunting little nips and actually it’s kinda like torture not getting that crazy crushing passion ‘cause it makes him want more.

It makes him stand up taller and higher on the balls of his feet as France leads and lets himself slip out of reach and America can feel his breaths coming heavier and he almost forgets about Spain until he almost falls into him and feels hands tighten on his hips and lift him off the ground easily. Holy shit he must have like super pedo strength or something goddamn I didn’t think he’d really do it. America doesn’t even waver, his body’s held perfectly even with the condensed mass and he can’t help but wonder if it has to do with being a nation or something ‘cause Spain isn’t even breaking a sweat and- oh oh... mouth on dick, mouth on dick, Houston we have contact!

Spain hears France chuckle as he himself looks up and sees America’s eyes practically roll back into his head and watches his hands grabbing at empty air until France steps back in and takes those hands holding them behind America’s back trapping him. And if he gets in trouble for this it’s certainly going to be worth it. That small cock fits so easily into his mouth and he sucks hard drawing every high pitched whine from America as he swallows him easily. He can feel America’s body tremble and feel his thighs tense and hard and oh those slender hips are moving and trying to push and Spain just bobs his head up and down taste the salty sticky precome and he just stares temptation in the face and gives a big mental whoop as he twists and maneuvers America’s slender smooth legs over his shoulders burying his face in his crotch, that soft downy hair tickling his nose and he lets America’s cock ease out of his mouth so he can lap at it greedily.

Spain lets the weight shift to his shoulders frees up his hands rather nicely to that he can go back to worshipping that tight, taut little behind. And he can just feel how tense America is when he squeezes and slides a teasing finger between those cheeks and- Ohhh what do we have here? He can feel the slight slickness as his finger circles that little hole and he remembers dimly that France had said something about a plan and that would make perfect sense but it’s just so terribly convenient that he really doesn’t dwell too much on whatever ulterior motivation that America might have had because right now his cock between his legs feel so full and heavy he just might finish without even leaving the starting line. Spain might’ve sold Florida to America years ago but there it is right home slipping eagerly between his lips, and it’s an odd sort of homecoming- DeSoto never did find the fountain of youth but the consolation prize is well worth it- as he laps and teases the slightly loose foreskin around the head of America’s small cock.

And when Spain puts his mouth there and sucks and licks and god that feels good, America wonders if condensing all that matter down didn’t condense the nerves as well because he swears that getting his dick sucked never felt half this incredible before. It makes him whine and half sob and clench and unclench his fists helplessly because France has his hands trapped behind his back as he’s now seated fully on Spain’s shoulders and he can’t really say a whole lot anyway with those warm full lips devouring his mouth. His back is arched and he’s almost bent in half backwards but with one of France’s hands holding his wrists and the other resting on the small of his back it’s more like some wild contortion ride instead, his joints and muscles far more pliant than he’d have thought.

“Ah he’s so naughty, Francis,” he hears Spain pant out when he feels a finger teasing at him. “Already so wet for us.”

And if France had any doubt that there’s some insidious intent afoot instead of some innocent coincidence then that seals it. So the two younger nations were going to seduce England were they? Hmm, far better then such a delectable present doesn’t go to waste on that unimaginative boor. France purrs against America’s mouth loving every moment of the other’s submission, his arms remain behind his back as he lets the older nation take the lead and France uses the opportunity to taste and fuck that sweet little mouth as America just leans up for more and pants and whimpers and France take a fistful of the other’s sweat dampened blonde locks and pulls his head back showing his throat, moving his mouth to bite at that slightly tan unmarked flesh hearing America moan and whisper some incoherent nonsense as he bites his lower lip hard.

“What was that, Alfred?” he asks in a low husk near America’s ear and stops only long enough to hear the answering gasp of, “Please, I wanna suck you.”

Well that certainly gets a good response from the Eiffel Tower and France growls low in his throat and tugs just that much harder on America’s hair making his smaller body tense and tremble that much harder in response and he can hear Spain murmur,

“Whatever you just did, Francis, do it again.” Because the splash of salty warm fluid on Spain’s tongue is just absolutely marvelous right along with the tight clench of that smaller body and it’s all Spain can do to breathe and lick and not just embarrass himself or throw America down on the floor and take him right now. And never let it be said that France isn’t obliging to his lovers because he does just that and he can feel America’s wrists rubbing together where he has them pinned and hears the whines and moans and he asks in that dangerously soft voice that makes America shiver,

“And tell me, baby, why I should let you do that?”

Does France really expect him to answer with any kind of sense when he asks like that? And what kind of iron dick does he have to just stand there like he’s not hard as a rock and ohhh why does Spain have to keep flicking his tongue over that spot that makes him crazy? America squirms and tries his damndest not to just squeeze his thighs tight as hard as Spain is making it because he really isn’t trying to kill anyone and he’s really trying to answer the question because between that hand twisting his hair and those fingers fucking his ass and that mouth and all those hands oh god he hopes Canada’s having at least half this hard a time ‘cause this just so isn’t fair having to withstand some dual assault by team pedo.

“I...” okay one word down, like a million to go. “I... oh... ohgodohgod...” Yeah, that’s so not happening when France starts vampiring the hell out of his neck and Spain spreads those fingers opening him up wide and it really makes him want to either clench or spread his legs even more and beg for it except dammit he’s supposed to be running the show here!

France almost chuckles but certainly he isn’t going to let on to America that he has any motives besides tasting the fresh skin of America’s neck. But the more he considers, the more America shows just how inexperienced he truly is when Spain stretches him further- sometimes France is awed by just how well he knows the motions of Spain’s body- and his head thrashes almost violently shaking back and forth and he’s whimpering like such a little darling “I can’t I can’t I can’t…” Oh but he can and he will and France can hear Spain’s voice hushing reassurance even as he sees those shoulders tremble so excited and sees the fingers of his partner in crime’s left hand digging into America’s hip and perhaps it would be best if he allowed for time to regroup because certainly America deserves their very best. And America has to be just so eager to get back into control because for all his protests, for all his face is red and his mouth is panting he makes no move to free himself, no move except to buck his hips, push that small cock further into Spain’s mouth and France decides just now what better way to break America than to make him see there’s no breaking them?

“Let him go toni,” France says letting go of America’s wrists, stepping back, hoping if nothing else that America is a sight better at fellatio than he is at foreplay. Spain turns his head, giving another lick, looking up at him curiously answering back in French rather breathlessly.

“Can’t it wait Francis?” He still only half watches France with a sidelong expression, far too busy flicking his tongue over the taut skin of America’s scrotum and just finding his attention drawn to those free hands now pawing at his own chest excited as he seems unable to find purchase. Mmm, yes America is certainly so much more appealing like this although Spain has never actually slept with him in his usual form. But oh the way those hands cover his face as if he’s utterly embarrassed at how wanton he is or at how intensely the two of them are watching him. And Spain feels France put a hand on his shoulder as he kneels down on the woven tatami floor behind him murmuring softly,

“But our dear little Alfred has just offered to give us an intimate little kiss and you don’t want to disappoint him, do you?”

Ohh that definitely makes Spain pause and consider because no sooner does France whisper those words in his ear, no sooner is the devil once more on his shoulder calling to him than the images come, even as he looks up at America, moving a hand looking down at him through lenses half misted over like he’s just begging “big brother” Spain to do even more wicked things to him. And does the image of the terribly young nation ever come to the forefront of his thoughts, that small pink mouth wrapped around his cock, those lips pushed wide open as America takes him in deeper and okay yes, France most certainly has a point and with one last half regretful lick, with one last twist of his fingers in that slick tight heat, Spain moves his hands back to America’s slim hips and lifts him up, resituating the young nation back on his feet.

Of course America doesn’t remain on his feet for long because as soon as they touch that woven mat his legs feel as if they want to give out and god god why did Spain have to- Oh… ohhh right right, stupid you have a mission here and Pepe le Pedo just gave you the perfect opening. And America parlays those jelly legs into a perfect weapon of seduction as he clutches at Spain’s shoulders breathless, looks at France with an expression of lustful innocence that’s really only half feigned as he blinks and smiles and catches his breath squirming just a bit because there’s that phantom touch still ghosting at his insides.

“You’ll let me suck it, papa?” he asks reminding himself that he’s going for total pedo bait here and although it snagged him a rather nice Spanish Marlin he’s trying to go for a fucking French Pike.

France just nods and looks at him amused wondering if America couldn’t be persuaded to remain like that for the remainder of the conference because he really is just too precious. He sits back on the low sofa watching America, knowing that most of that innocence is feigned but appreciating the act as he would any great stage legend. Hollywood after all was built on the backs of great talent. Ah and there are those absolutely marvelous little tells that America just can’t hide, like the way his mouth opens slightly slack, the way he swallows and blinks looking at the Eiffel Tower like a starving child. But just as he locks eyes with France that naughty little smile appears on his face as he sinks to his knees and crawls over giving the both of them a show as he does.

America rarely frequents strip clubs although whenever Japan makes his diplomatic visits it’s become somewhat of a tradition. Of course most of the time America prefers to watch and take notes than really get carried away with the show and one day he does indeed vow to learn that seriously awesome flip on the ceiling trick with the bars- hey he always tries to be accommodating. And if there’s one thing he’s learned in all those visits and wasted dollars on perfunctory lap dances it’s the fine art of crawling across a floor. Granted his center of balance is still a bit off but hey he’s gonna bring it like it’s never been brought before if it’ll get those waters for Canada. He’s all wriggly and sinewy as he crawls, knowing that the nymphet thing fell flat before but figuring he’s just gotta know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. And that raised eyebrow and that dark lusty expression that passes across France’s face before he can hide it speaks volumes.

America sits back on his knees, looking up with an expression that he knows is seriously adorable- he did practice it in front of the mirror with Canada before they left, after all- and puts his small hands on Frances knees, uncertainly pushing them apart. His eyes flicker down to that heavy thick cock , he licks his lips unconsciously and fights the urge to just go down like Charlie Brown ‘cause we’re back to the whole innocence thing right now and America tips his head like he’s just not quite sure how it goes and if it kills him he’s gonna make this jerk come so hard he passes out because England never said a nation had to be conscious to sign the stupid thing after all. His hands squeeze those knees, and America lowers his head, licking just at the sticky clear fluid wetting the tip and shifts a little because he can’t help his own aching erection right now.

America remembers Canada making some snide remark awhile back about how much he loves dick but screw that jealous little twerp he only wishes he got half that play that America gets. Besides, there’s certainly something to be said for enthusiasm because what America has lacked in talent he’s always more than made up for with raw unbridled moxie- which reminds him he needs to pick some more of that up at the store next time he sees it- so yeah he’s seriously got this in the bag. And he lets just a little wicked look come into his eyes when he looks up over the rims of Texas and moves his right hand gripping the base of that super fantastic cock and takes the head into his mouth messily slurping and sucking and he hears a groan, feels an encouraging hand to the back of his head and hears some hastily whispered French and really, it’s not like he’s ever noticed a wrong way to do this. But all too soon he feels two half calloused hands on his ass and he can’t help but tense ‘cause he has a feeling this is gonna seriously break his concentration.

Like he hasn’t heard a drunken Prussia bitch enough about trying to fight a war on two fronts, America almost curses when he feel a mouth on his ass and then a tongue and Peter, Paul, and Mary teeth nipping ‘cause that feels some kinda crazy good. Good enough anyway that it makes him pause, makes his head bow, hand still around the slick cock as his head turns to the side, face hot as he breathes all shallow and heavy when he feels that squeeze. And he never knew that Spain had such big hands- at least they feel big when they knead and push and America just pushes back and tries to remember there’s a strategy in all this somewhere that he’s trying to get back and he’s searching for some kind of focus or else he’s just gonna roll over and surrender. And ohh does it ever come to him in a flash of pornographic brilliance.

America’s never been all that big into porn no matter what his brother likes to accuse him of. Really when it comes right down to it America prefers to keep most of this crap behind closed doors and he can get as freaky as he needs to from there. But hey that’s never stopped him from doing a little research here and there for curiosity’s sake. Well curiosity and England accusing him of being a one trick pony- and didn’t he feel stupid the last time America demonstrated that wicked cool kinbaku and totally blew his mind- had prompted him to do a little one handed research as it were and it certainly had left him with a few interesting pieces of data. Okay, wet is good. Wet is really good. And didn’t that one chick look totally hot with the saliva pushing out from between those lips and America just wiggles a little, makes sure he gives a nice good one and spits right on France’s cock rather messily. The response comes almost immediately. Oh yeah. I’m so totally the man.

“Mon Dieu…” For all that France likes to hold himself to a rather exacting standard where his own performance is concerned, he can honestly say that whatever mental critiques spin through his head they’d never stopped him entirely from enjoying whatever efforts his lovers put forth. Then again he’s never had anyone dribble on his cock like they’ve just had oral surgery either and at that half strangled exclamation- which not surprisingly only encourages America- Spain looks up briefly, the two pairs of eyes meeting over America’s rather nubile young form and it’s all France can do not to visibly shudder.

“He spit.” France says rather brilliantly as America gives him the Aliens treatment once again. He wonders if that’s some vulgar little trick that England taught him because if there’s anyone who’s never understood that sex is an art form and not a contest to the nasty finish line it’s him. “He spit on it…”
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Love of the Half Eaten Peach