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XXII	By : lovelycudy Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 3815 -:- 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-XXII
- 1
He wants this.’
‘He wants this. This. Me.’
England could not think of anything else as he kissed America’s sweet mouth and let his hands roam over the tanned chest.‘He’s just a boy’, part of his mind insisted. ‘He wants it’, another part protested. And sure enough, Alfred let out a deep, breathless moan when England’s hand brushed over his nipple. That was all England needed to make up his mind. He leaned forward and deepened the kiss, his hands tangling in America’s golden hair, his cock hard and throbbing in his pants.
England kissed down America’s neck, his chest, his belly, tracing circles with his tongue, sucking the soft skin, drinking in the soft gasps and pants the boy let out. He licked a broad trail around the navel, dipping the tip of his tongue in it, his fingers (dexterous, nimble, bony) ghosting over the soft curls leading to America’s crotch.
The boy was thrashing, jerking his hips upwards and trying to rub against his teasing hand, trying to get more and more from him. England had to stifle a chuckle at the boy’s evident inexperience, his abandon. It would be cute if he weren’t so aroused by it. Reluctantly, Arthur moved away from America, who whined at the loss of contact the back of his throat. He got out of the bed and crossed the room in quick, broad steps. He opened one of the drawers in the oak armoire against the wall. It was a good, solid piece of furniture, one of those things England had made himself, for himself and for his little colony, for their house in the New World. America had spent many afternoons sitting inside of it, drowning in the perfume England had left in it, cuddling against the towels and sheets that once had hugged his beloved master.
When he climbed back on top of the bed, England had a small crystal vial with him, an amber, viscous looking liquid swirling inside it.
“Almond oil, pet.”. ‘Please understand, please understand, don’t make me explain it to you, don’t be that naïve.’ “Ahhh” America’s eyes widened, a flash of understanding going through them.‘Thank God.’ “Take the rest of your clothes off and lay on your stomach.” He tried (hard, painstakingly hard) not to leer openly when America took his clothes off: what a vision it was, strong but lean muscles, tanned skin contrasting with paler skin where his clothing kept him covered, the sharp angles of the man he would be battling again the roundness of the child he still was.
He was the most beautiful thing England had ever seen.
America finished stripping and lay down on the bed, his front pressed against the mattress, legs kicking nervously in the air. England poured some of the oil on America’s back, rubbing it over the younger man’s shoulders, working on the supple muscles, inching his ways down to the boy’s ass, trying his best to be gentle and soft, not wanting to scare Alfred. ‘Alfred.’ Alfred who said he wanted this, Alfred who had crawled onto Arthur’s lap and kissed him, who had assured him, between each kiss: 'It’s alright, Arthur. It’s alright. I love you, I love you’ and really, what could he do? How could he, how could anyone, reject America? Sweet America; young, virginal, golden America. England kept massaging and rubbing Alfred’s muscles, relishing in how his skin glistened in the wake of his caresses, the sweet perfume of almonds and, beneath it, the scent that was pure America.
He rubbed the boy’s body, making him groan and moan, pant and sigh, his not-yet-adult voice filling the void of England’s bedroom, tiny exclamations of “England” and “Arthur” and “yes” falling from his pink lips. Arthur parted America’s ass cheeks, one long finger sliding over the cleft, fluttering touches teasing at the small entrance, the oil easing his caresses. America arched back and moaned, long and loud, making England’s cock throb in his trousers.
“Does that feel good, my darling? Do you want me to go on?”
America nodded and pushed back into England’s hand, trying to get more friction, more heat, more anything.
“Lower your head, poppet,” England said, a gentle but firm hand pushing the boy’s head down and letting his ass stick up on the air. Arthur wrapped a hand around Alfred, fisting his cock and slid his hand up and down, just a few strokes, a simple teasing that made his young colony gasp and pant.
“Please, please, please, Arthur, please, England, please, please!” England drank in the boy’s litany, savoring his plain and unguarded honesty.
He loved him so much, his wonderful boy, his brilliant child, so strong, so brave, made of grass and wheat and freedom. He wanted America. He wanted to be his world, his master, his lover, the first and only one for, sweet, darling America, with his pliant body and eyes as blue as the sky. Alfred, beloved Alfred of the earnest laugh and unbeatable enthusiasm. So different from himself, but also so similar. Flesh of his flesh, a home for his people; for him, by him, but so unique, so happy, so fresh.
England plopped on the bed next to America and kissed him with a long, deep, slow kiss, lips moving against each other, Arthur’s tongue guiding Alfred’s. He broke the kiss and couldn’t help but smile: his charge’s face was flushed and sweaty, his pupils blown out, eyes dark with lust, hair sticking to his skin. England lifted a hand to caress the boy’s head and planted a short, chaste kiss on his lips. He trailed his hand down, over America’s taut stomach to graze his fingers over the aching erection, his fingers circling over the smooth head and smearing pre-come on it. America’s hips jerked forward, all eagerness and youth.
“Please.” Whining.
“Have I ever denied you anything, my precious boy?” England smiled, half predatory, half fond. He motioned America to sit on the bed, his back against the headboard, his legs bent and spread open. England knelt between the boy’s thighs, his hands keeping his hips still, and licked America’s cock from hilt to head, making sure to make as much noise as possible, slurping in a vulgar way that made Alfred thrash and whimper.
“G-God!”
England chuckled and lowered his mouth on America’s erection, taking all of it inside him (“My, my, I’ve finally found something you are good for, mon petit mignon,” Francis had said years, centuries before, when England was nothing but a little child and all he had were arrows and forests) and massaged the shaft with his tongue and sucked hard, saliva dripping over America’s crotch, one hand caressing his sack and the other rubbing at the tight entrance. Arthur bowed even lower, deep-throating Alfred, and slid one wet finger inside him. It was barely a breach, just one fingertip, but combined with his skilled mouth it was enough to send the young colony over the edge. America screamed, voice raw and deep, and came in England’s mouth, filling him with hot, bitter liquid.
It was the most delicious thing England had ever tasted.
Before America could recover, Arthur flipped him over and forced his ass into the air again. Ever so caring when it came to his dear boy, England managed to put several pillows under the colony’s stomach, allowing him to slump over them and rest.
England positioned himself behind America and undid his trousers, freeing his aching dick at last. He rubbed his slicked fingers over America’s twitching hole, fighting off the urge to slide them in, stretch the boy, and fuck him into oblivion. It took all of his willpower not to thrust into Alfred’s body, and he only succeededs by reminding himself that they had all the time in the world. He could wait until the lad grew up, when he was finally a man even by human standards. In the mean time, he might as well enjoy himself.
He parted America’s cheeks with one hand and grabbed his erection with the other, inching closer until the tip of his cock was touching the boy’s hole. Both of them moaned at the sensation. England rubbed his dick over the cleft, enjoying the slick and warm caress of the oil and young flesh, pre-come leaking from his slit and mixing with the lubricant.
“Spread your legs as wide as you can, lovely.” America obeyed, the blessed child. “Yes, just like that.”
Once he was granted better access, England grasped Alfred’s thin hips and started stroking himself, making sure that the tip of his dick kept touching the boy’s tight entrance, pushing against it, feeling it twitch and loosen ever so slightly. America’s breath was ragged and shallow, England’s was hitched and rough. The room was filled with the noises made by their bodies moving together, of Arthur’s foreskin wetly sliding over the head of his cock, of flesh slapping flesh and, beneath it all, lust and need pounding in their ears.
America was hard again and started humping the pillows under him, desperately trying to get off. England picked up his pace, jerking off against Alfred’s ass, stroking himself with rough, quick movements, hips snapping sharply as he approached his orgasm. Finally, with one vicious thrust, he felt the head of his cock slide into America’s body, making the boy cry out (in pain or pleasure, England wasn’t sure) and clench around his dick. It was too much, too much of everything, too tight, too hot, too slick, too perfect. America cried out again as he came for the second time and England barely pull out before coming on the newly stretched hole, his semen filling the colony up and sliding over his perineum and balls.
Arthur collapsed against America’s back, boneless and spent, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He kissed Alfred’s neck and buried his face into the boy’s golden hair, drinking in the wonderful perfume of sex, almonds and youth. America mumbled something against the mattress that sounded like ‘love’ and ‘Arthur’ and England felt his chest explode with gratitude and adoration for his brilliant child, his precious colony, his beloved America. He flipped them over and kissed Alfred heatedly, combing his hair with his long, strong hands.
He tried to sit up to clear the rapidly cooling semen from Alfred’s body, only to be stopped by the other’s strong hand.
“Don’t leave me.” Arthur looked at Alfred’s face, so open, so honest, worry and fear shining in his bright blue eyes.
“I won’t, dear. I just want to clean you up. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
Once again, America’s hand stopped him. “No.”
“No?”
The boy’s face flushed an embarrassed red, and he looked away before answering. “I - I like it. You. Yours. Inside me. I want to feel it inside me.” The words were rushed but clear. England’s soft cock twitched valiantly in response.
“Ah. Ah. It’s all right. All right. You can” keep my come in your delightfully tight ass, keep it dripping between your legs, keep yourself full until you are old enough for my cock, oh God, I want to fuck you into the mattress, I want to spread you and pump into you until you can’t walk straight and you are sore and raw and open and begging for my dick to split you in half "stay in bed. We can stay in bed. Let’s go to sleep, my lovely.”.
America beamed and moved to snuggle closer to his guardian, Arthur’s come slowly dripping out of him and wetting his thighs, and England fell asleep surrounded by America’s warmth, sated.
- 1
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XXII