Sunday, April 13, 2014

A Johanna Mason Lemon -- Efflorescence

Character: Johanna Mason

Fandom: The Hunger Games

OC: Bethany Carpenter

Inspiration: This is possibly one of my most shameless lemons yet, so prepare yourselves ;3

Johanna made love like she was roughly scratching away at dried paint.  She had a certain way about her that made all her movements seem poignant and raw.  And she always said that Bethany was a mushy romantic, at least compared to her own pragmatic dynamism.  Bethany was alright with falling into this category.  She liked to consider it a balance, as perfect as it was going to ever get, between two souls who couldn't help but careen into one another.  Johanna would scoff at the thought, but Bethany knew that inwardly she was pleased.
"Would you just hurry up?" Johanna grumbled, her head cushioned into crossed arms that were strewn up and behind her hair.  Forest green eyes blinked down to watch the unhurried ministrations of her lover, who was nestled comfortably between legs, her lips tracing a slow path down Johanna's abdomen.  The musky scent of arousal set the scene in the lightest of ways, like the taste of a dream playing with the senses.
Bethany raised her head to glance at Johanna, a dry expression hooking itself onto her features.  This was another difference between them: Johanna's patience ran out extremely quickly, whereas Bethany liked taking her time.  It made for a lot of interesting scenarios, if nothing else.
Bethany kissed the top of her lover's thigh.  Against her skin, she murmured, "Do you have somewhere else to be?"  The response she received was a scoff and a rough twist of fingers in Bethany's hair, impatiently lifting her head again.  Green dashed into articulate eyes. 
Instead of answering Bethany's question, though, Johanna merely asked one of her own.  "Did you bring the strap on?"  The bluntness of her words almost had Bethany blushing, but she held it at bay because she knew it would only amuse Johanna. 
With a disgruntled sigh, Bethany lifted herself up and glowered down at her lover.  "Are you sure you're ready for that?  We only just got started."  The last part came out as a whine, because Bethany had wanted to drag out the initial pleasure as long as possible.  The petting, the touching, it thrilled her.  But Johanna preferred a more brash, direct approach.
"Just put it on," Johanna said, settling her head back into her arms.  In that position, her breasts were pushed up into the air just a tiny bit.  It drew Bethany's attention and made her want to lean down and caress that scarred, flawed body.  But instead she just rolled her eyes and slid off the bed, reaching for the bag she'd brought and tossed on the ground earlier that evening.  When she returned to the bed, she was reluctantly buckling the contraption around her hips.  Johanna watched with heady eyes, her mouth curved into the hint of a delicious smirk.
"You look so sexy with that on," the older woman purred, slowly pushing herself up.  Her eyes lingered on the straps that clung around Bethany's thighs.  The primal, predatory way Johanna smiled made a thrill of uneven pleasure rush through her, like a waterfall of heady passion.
Bethany tilted her head and reached down to fondle with the fleshy strap on, pumping it like she would a real cock.  She watched Johanna's eyes light up in interest as she watched her every movement.  Then Bethany smirked and murmured, "Aren't you gonna touch me, 'hanna?"  And the older woman scoffed and sat up, gently pushing Bethany onto her back and muttering, "Che.  Maybe I should be the one wearing it.  You deserve some punishment, you rude wench."  She drew out the last word and it sounded like sticky honey was saturating every letter.
Bethany beamed.  "D'you wanna ride me or something?  Shouldn't I make sure you're ready for it first?"  But her words were careless and backless, because she knew that Johanna was more than ready, and besides, the older woman liked a little pain mingled in with the pleasure.  Something that Bethany learned early on.
"Shut up," Johanna muttered, and then she kissed her younger lover hard, her fingers tugging into Bethany's hair and pulling at her scalp.  Bethany let out a little whimpering sound that made Johanna feel full of power, and she pushed Beth further into the mattress whilst pressing a knee between her legs.  The dildo shifted against Johanna's leg and the reminder of it made the kiss that much hotter, wetter, deeper.
"Mmm…" Bethany moaned, hooking a leg around Johanna's slim waist.  She pushed herself onto her elbows and kissed Johanna harder, their tongues meeting and rubbing against each other.  Then the kiss dissolved when Johanna gently pushed Beth back down, hooked her legs up around her waist, and curled her fingers around the dildo.
Johanna had this way of taking what she wanted first and leaving Bethany gasping with a pounding arousal.  But she always paid Bethany back tenfold later on, so Bethany wasn't about to complain as she watched Johanna rub the strap on against her folds.  Instead, she just got comfortable, settling herself against the pillows and watching with heady, fascinated eyes as Johanna began to push the cock into her core.  Then, when the older woman had taken all of it, Johanna let out a deep sigh and started shifting her hips against Bethany's.  It was this moment that Beth enjoyed the most, because it meant she could touch Johanna as much as she wanted and the older woman wouldn't stop her.
She raised her hands to Johanna's waist, rubbed over the tops of her thighs for a moment before reaching up to trace the underside of her breasts.  Then, because she still dearly wanted to taste that skin, Bethany gently pushed herself into a sitting position and lowered her mouth to Johanna's breast.  Johanna watched, swallowing down her moans and rocking against the strap on faster, faster.  And when Bethany gently tugged her nipple between tongue and teeth, Johanna let out the most mesmerizing moan that made Bethany utterly ache.
"Does it feel good?" Bethany asked after a long minute of licking and sucking and tasting.  She raised her head to Johanna's, looked into those bright eyes that were filled with delirious passion.  And the answer Beth got was worth everything second spent glorifying that body.  Johanna tangled one hand into Beth's hair and forced her head back, her mouth lurching down to devour Bethany's lips.  The strength of the kiss, coupled with the increasing pace of Johanna's hips, left Bethany with the knowledge that her lover was nearly there.
"Mmm," Johanna moaned, the sound muffling into Beth's mouth.  She swallowed the sound, taking the kiss deeper and curling one hand around the older woman's waist.  Her hips rocked forward just a little, and though the position didn't allow for much movement, the small improvement sent Johanna spiraling down into a burning pit of desire.  She broke the kiss and buried her face into Bethany's neck, breathing out hard and pressing her breasts against her young lover's.  "I'm gonna come," she warned, and her voice was surprisingly strong even as the rest of her quivered and shook. 
Bethany took it all in stride.  She nodded, looked up towards the ceiling and murmured, "Whenever you're ready."  And she was barely finished with her sentence before Johanna was arching her back, pounding her hips harder, taking the strap on deeper, faster.  She let out a grumbled moan that seemed to crackle and break and shift with pleasure, and Bethany let it reverberate through her as Johanna drowned against her smaller frame.
Then Johanna was pushing Bethany onto her back, moving her hips smoothly as she dragged out her own orgasm.  She closed her eyes and Bethany could only watch, watch as the remnants of passion filtered through her expression, breath, movements.  It was lovely.  Then it was done, and Johanna was sighing out and pulling away, sliding off the fake cock and tracing the buckles that held it against Bethany's waist.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, both taken aback by the immense pleasure of being together.  Then Johanna leaned in to press her mouth against Bethany's, and into the kiss she murmured a low, "It's your turn."  The younger woman shivered at the words and let her lover unbuckle the strap on and slide it off.
"Are you gonna put that on now?" Beth asked, her voice sort of lazy even against the backdrop of intense desire.  But her lover only shook her head, smirked, and said, "I've got a better idea.  You'll like it."  The promise had Bethany sitting up and raising an eyebrow, curiosity getting the better of her.  It was only when Johanna had dug around in the drawer beside the bed that said curiosity was sated.  The toy was a hot pink and Bethany was well acquainted with it, but was usually the one who used it on Johanna and not the other way around.
She gave Johanna a crooked grin and shifted her legs apart, looking positively mischievous.  "I do like this idea," she murmured, blinking up at the older woman.  Johanna slid closer, nudged Beth's legs around her waist, and scoffed playfully.  Then she gently pressed the dildo against her lover's core and smirked, "Guess we don't need lubricant.  You're soaking wet, you little slut."
Bethany pouted up at her, probably because of the mock insult, and whined, "Hurry up, 'hanna.  This little slut needs you~"  And Johanna gave her a small shove as though to say, 'stop being so corny'.  A moment later, the older woman was rather roughly pushing the toy into her lover.
"Tch!  Go slower!" Bethany exclaimed indignantly, her back arching in discomfort.  She sent Johanna a pouting glare, but the older woman only smirked and stubbornly ignored her.  "'Hanna - ohhh!" a little buzzing sound filled the static silence and made Bethany arch her back in something that had little to do with pain.  Her fingers clutched at the sheets and she gasped loudly, feeling the vibrations of the dildo traveling to places inside her that she hadn't even known existed.  And above her, Johanna's eyes glittered.
It wasn't gentle, the movements of that toy.  Johanna knew how to combine the pleasure and the pain in the most delicious and intricate of ways.  Her long fingers brushed over the nub of Bethany's clit and, coupled with the vibrations and motions of the toy, it made her orgasm come all the faster.  Beth's hips surged forward helplessly, her mind a startlingly blank maze woven through with pleasure.  She felt herself launching into her orgasm before she could stop herself, and by then all she could do was lay there and let Johanna work her magic on her body.
"'Hanna…'hanna…!" she cried, twisting into an arch that had Johanna's mouth watering.  The older woman quickened her already fast pace, pumping the toy in and out of Bethany's core and watching her lover unravel with harsh, domineering eyes.  It wasn't until Bethany was gasping and spent, splayed out against the sheets, that Johanna slowed down and eventually tossed the toy over the edge of the mattress, not caring where it landed.
Then the older woman crawled up Bethany's body, nudging her limbs aside and collapsing against Beth's chest.  Her chin rested right above her young lover's breast, and Johanna idly slid her hand up and down Bethany's side as she listening to her lover's erratic breathing begin to slow down. 
"I'm not finished with you yet," Johanna warned, her voice low with unfulfilled passion that had yet to be released.  Bethany let out a breathless chuckle and smoothed her hand through Johanna's hair.  Their legs tangled together.
"Glad to hear it," came her soft response.  She pressed a kiss to her lover's head and closed her eyes.  They would have ample time to explore and rediscover the nature of their relationship, but for now, a little rest was more than welcome. 


Monday, April 7, 2014

An Austria Lemon -- Nefarious

Character: Austria

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: The sequel to 'Misfit Me' is finally up!  It's not my best, but hopefully you all like it :3  

Roderick likes to think of himself as sophisticated and classy.  Centuries of adhering to these personal codes of conduct have made him (in his opinion) into the perfect gentleman.  He is proud of his many talents, and yet…he has come to realize that in this modern, sprawling world, a part of him has been sort of, kind of, a little left behind.
He is mostly fine with this.  There is nothing in this modern world that quite compares to the colorful world of his predecessors.  He would rather remember the times of knights and sword fighting and Mozart.  There is little that quite excites him as much as listening to the classical, passionate notes of times gone by.  Except perhaps, for one thing.
You are traditional too, in a wicked sort of way that you deftly try to hide.  He isn't sure why you hide away such a lovely part of yourself.  He isn't sure but there is little he can do about it.  You are stubborn and strive to be as modern as possible.  Your clothes, you manner of speech, the way you address your would-be superiors, it all lends a fascinatingly contemporary air to you.  An air that sometimes makes Roderick feel a little, well, old.
And even though he knows that the rest of the world is slowly leaving him behind, he desperately doesn't want you to do the same.  Which is why he occasionally sheds that gentlemanly conduct and uses more underhanded ways to remind you that he is still the Great Austria, still proud and sophisticated and classy.  He wouldn't say he is being manipulative.  He has just learned all the best ways to exploit you.  He knows you won't complain at least.
You certainly don't.  From the moment you walk into house and notice the clothes he's wearing, you stare at him wide-eyed.  Then you drop your purse to the floor, unravel your scarf, unbutton your coat, all the while letting your eyes scan his figure again and again and again.  A relentless stare that makes Roderick feel only a tiny bit uncomfortable, because he knows that if he gives you feel even the smallest bit of control you will walk all over him.
"Roderick…" you drawl, smirking.  Your coat falls but you take no notice of it.  You're still checking him out, still dragging your eyes over those amazing God-like jeans.  It's been weeks since you went to that store to buy them and he hasn't worn them even once.  So you're surprised to see that he's suddenly remembered about them.  Surprised, turned on, and very eager to find out why he's decided to give you such a lovely eye-full.  You bite your lip and meet his eyes, smirking vividly, "You're looking very modern today."
He raises his eyebrow at the slight jab and proceeds to ignore you.  There is nothing you hate more in the world than being ignored.  He knows it.  Knows as well that it is the quickest and more amusing way to make you snap.  He turns a page in his book and, out of the corner of his eye, sees you frown.
"You aren't gonna ask where I've been all day?" you wonder idly, walking into the room and collapsing into the chair opposite him.  You tap your fingernails (rouge, avant-garde style) on the small, circular tabletop and blink at him.  After a moment or two, Roderick raises his head to look at you, his face a lovely mask of utter boredom.  He says lazily, "I'm trying to read, [Name]."  And as he turns back to his book, he feels a vigorous spike of excitement shoot through him. 
You stare, trying to decide if he's seriously brushing you off or just joking around.  Roderick doesn't joke.  Why, then, does it feel as though you're missing something dreadfully important?  You lean forward, glancing at the book he's reading.  Musical theory.  It can't be that interesting since Roderick's probably read it numerous times already.  But he looks totally engrossed in the text.  Maybe a little too engrossed.
"I see that," you say in amusement.  Your legs brush against his and then curl around his shins.  He glances up at you with a raised eyebrow, and you give him a smile that says, 'those jeans would look lovely strewn against tiles'.  He glowers.  You brush your fingers against his hand.
Roderick never puts up much of a fight.  So you're surprised when today, he snaps his book shut and stands, untangling his legs from yours and saying, "No, [Name].  I'm not in the mood to play your games."  He glances at you like you're a child.  And under the carefully put upon air around him, you actually find yourself feeling like some bratty, spoiled girl.  Rouge nails, womanly figure, sex appeal and all.  You stare in shock as he turns to the kitchen and starts to brew tea.
There must be something you're missing.  Roderick is wearing those jeans and acting all deliciously hard to get and that's not normal.  So there must be something you're missing.  You stand up and pad into the kitchen, wildly interested in the way he's acting and not really hurt by the way he brushes you off.  You're most fascinated. 
You're happy, at least, to see that Roderick pulls out two teacups and not one.  He isn't entirely brushing you off then.  So you don't feel as bad as you sidle up next to him, fitting your side to his and peering at his face.  He glances at you, emotionless, and to your surprise he raises a hand and touches your hair, drags his fingers down your cheek, neck, arm.  His touch is a gradual building of intensity that makes you swallow, move closer.  But when his fingers burn against the skin of your abdomen, the kettle starts to go off and he turns away as if nothing just happened.  You stare and take the teacup when he hands it to you, not sure what to say in the face of this new and highly intriguing man.
The jeans had been the first strike.  The personality overhaul the second.  Roderick is quite enjoying himself.  He rarely lowers himself to this form of entertainment.  But the expression on your face is priceless, and though he realizes that he might be a little harsh, he will make it up to you later.  So he doesn't feel too bad when he blinks casually at you from over the rim of his teacup.  Inside he is basking in your confusion.  He should have known you'd figure it out though.
He is not so adept at these social skills than he'd like to believe.  The art of the perfect expression is perhaps the only thing he excels in.  Other than that he is see-through.  Transparent.  And you're slowly beginning to grasp at the finer details of his little plan.
"Those pants…" you inch forward, reveling in the slight surprise that flits over his face.  When your hand slides over his stomach, the muscles beneath his shirt flex and clench.  You tilt you head and mutter lowly, "They make me a little crazy.  But you already know that, don't you?"  He swallows and must realize that you're in the know.  He must because the next move is a staggering display of thinly veiled despair.
He shoves his teacup to the counter.  The contents slush and spill down the edges but he doesn't care for once.  All he cares about is his plan.  (Which is more about maintaining dominance and less about driving you crazy, but the latter is fine too.)  The next moment he's tucking you between the counter and himself, threading his fingers into your hair, and kissing you hard.
You're surprised but not anywhere near complaining.  The way he forces your head back has you clutching his tightly, trying to match the burning pace of his mouth.  But it's hard to, hard because Roderick is utterly crushing any of your attempts at control.  You'll admit that the notion is rather arousing for you.
He forces your head to the side to kiss a path down your neck, nibbling here and there and delighting in the way your skin blossoms with red.  "Mmm," you tilt your head back farther to accommodate him and bite your lip, thoroughly enjoying the ease of his dominance.  He's enjoying it, too.  The way your body quivers beneath his has him jerking one leg between the both of yours and settling against your core. 
His hips mold against yours, the friction from those jeans rubbing heat into you.  You make another breathless moaning noise that Roderick proceeds to swallow as he rushes forward to kiss you again.  This time, he lets you tangle your fingers into his hair and kiss him back.  But by now, you're quite content with letting him have his way, and very interested to see where this will go. 
"Mmm…" you sigh again when he pushes his mouth against yours.  His fingers spin little circles on the skin above your pants.  His tongue dips against your lower lip and he starts to nibble at it.  You moan a little and whimper, "You're being…really kinky today Roderi - mmph!"  He swallows your words and revels in the surprised but oh so delightful noise you splutter into the suddenly deep kiss.
And what a kiss it is.  His fingers tilt your chin up, poised and curled around your neck.  His mouth devours yours in a carelessly slow manner, like he's savoring you as well as struggling with his own internal impatience.  Your skin is burning.  It doesn't help that his entire body is pressing yours into the counter, and that you can feel his erection grinding deliciously against your stomach.  You grip him hard and kiss him back, trying to maintain a level of clear-headedness.  But inside you're a mess and you've got a feeling you're not fooling Roderick at all.
His hand suddenly slips around your neck and he pulls you closer.  The touch borders on menacing, but Roderick doesn't do menacing and it only further excites you.  You hear yourself moaning before you can stop yourself, and then Roderick's smiling gleefully against your lips and your narrowing your eyes at him.  He chuckles, "Do you like it when I act this way?"  And the lilt of his voice, the way it cascades into an amused silence, makes you glower.  He's getting you back for the dressing room escapade.  It's a realization that hits you suddenly and profoundly, and you're not sure why it took this long to figure out.
"Hmph," you make a face at him and he presses his forehead against yours, smiling.  His eyes soften up just a little bit.  His expression makes your heart swell but you won't admit it.  Instead, you just curl your arms around his waist and mutter, "This is your revenge, isn't it?"  His growing smirk and the twinkle in his eye answers your question.  You sigh, dragging your hands up his chest, starting to mess with the buttons of his shirt.  "Well then I guess we'd better hurry it up.  I have things to do."  Your lie rolls off your tongue in such an obvious way that Roderick finds himself scoffing.
"Do you really?" he asks dryly, casually undoing your pants and shimmying them down your legs.  You watch with a pout, not helping or hindering, just studying the lazy way he removes your clothing.  When you're bare, and your underwear is laying on the kitchen tiles, Roderick devours the sight of you with hungry but patient eyes.  You tilt your head, wait for him to get his thoughts back together, and smirk.
After a moment, he starts loosening his own clothes and you eagerly help him, dashing his shirt onto the tiles and then sighing.  You trace the hem of his jeans, where the denim meets his skin, and he raises an eyebrow.  With a smirk, you explain, "It's such a shame that these have to go.  You never wear them."  To annunciate your words, you slide your palm over his erection and give him a gentle squeeze.  His eyes flutter briefly, but Roderick seems to be in amazing control of himself today and he doesn't make any sort of sound to urge you on.  You pout.
"Take them off," he tells you after a moment.  His eyes clash into yours with unbending resolve.  His mouth hovers temptingly near yours but he doesn't move in.  He merely watches you, until you have no choice but to listen.  You can't deny that, when you go to unbutton the jeans, you're a little bit more excited than you outwardly claim.  It's been a while since you've fallen into this sort of situation, and the ebb of arousal has taken its toll on you.
"Fine, fine." You mutter, slipping the zipper down over the bulge of his cock.  He watches you closely as you do, and you smirk up at him.  A moment later, you're hooking your fingers into his jeans and boxers and tugging them down over his hips.  He helps, then kicks them off, and steps closer to you.  The feel of his freed cock, the hardness of it against your stomach, makes you shiver into him.
He hums out a little, slipping his hands around your back to grip your butt.  He gently squeezes it, his mouth lingering closer to yours.  The silent demand in his eyes makes you chuckle and close the space between you, pressing your mouth obediently to his and sinking into the kiss with a sigh.  You hook one leg around his waist, grind into his erection a little, and moan when he presses himself closer.  The friction pulls at you, makes you crazy.  You grip him hard and buck your hips forward, but your impatience only seems to make him more amused.  You'll eventually get him back for all this, but for now all you can do is drown against him and try to remember how to breathe.  It is harder than you'd think.  His next words only make things harder on you.
"…Turn around," he mumbles against your mouth.  You stop kissing him.  To say that you aren't surprised would be a blatant lie, because never once has Roderick ever been willing to do anything like that.  But he merely raises an eyebrow and squeezes your waist playfully, like he's silently laughing at your disbelief. 
"Really?" you ask a moment later, narrowing your eyes at him.  You definitely don't want to appear to be too eager, even though his suggestion has made your blood boil in anticipation.  "Are you sure?" you ask again, slowly, like the words you're forming are not your own. 
He 'che's and blushes the faintest bit, just enough to drag back a sense of the old him.  The one that lives with utmost dignity and would never even consider doing anything kinky whilst making love.  (At least until you crashed head first into his life.)  You grip his forearms and watch him curiously.
After a moment, Roderick gives you a sideways look and mutters, "Don't you always complain that I'm boring?"  He starts to push you around and you let him, laughing, "I never said that!  I only said that you're a little bit repetitive." 
You imagine that he rolls his eyes at your words.  You're about to say something more, but your words die on your tongue because then, his hips are molding against your butt and the hardness of him takes your breath away.  A moment later, when he starts to gently push himself into you, more than just your breath is shattered.
"God!" you gasp immediately, because it hurts and you aren't expecting it.  But he's gentle even when he's rough, a paradox that can only be truly, really understood when he's got you pressed up against him, his hands everywhere.  His fingers slip around your hips to rub reassuring circles into you inner thighs, spreading you apart at the same time.  But there is nothing reassuring about the way he hilts himself inside you.  There is only the rawness of lust, the way it makes a person drown with anticipation and sinful, wicked temptation.  And him, the feel of him, the heat of him, the way he is stretching you and pulling you apart and making you breathless, choking, bizarrely unstable.
Roderick grips you harder, sighing out like he is Atlas holding up the world.  It is not a peaceful sigh.  "[Name]…relax.  You're really tight," he mutters, bumping his hips into yours in a tiny, miniscule thrust.  The movement had you gripping the edge of the counter hard, your knuckles a stark white.  His words drizzled through your brain like a slow, rainy day and you inhaled shakily.  It's hard to relax when he's got himself pushed into you from behind, but already you can feel the dull drill of pleasure begin to replace the pain.  So you focus on relaxing the muscles of your abdomen, then your shoulders, your hips, and when you hear your lover give a pleased, relieved noise, you know you're successful.
"Is that better?" you hear yourself ask.  Your voice is coated and heavy, and blurs your words together.  You feel Roderick's fingers clench and flex against your thighs.  You feel the rumble of his hum reverberate through his chest and into your back.  Then he mutters a low, "Better," that also coated and heavy and blurred, like he's just swallowed an ocean of salt water.
You press your cheek against the countertop and nod.  He bumps a thrust into your hips again, and this time it creates a beautiful symphony of shivers just beneath your skin.  His next thrust takes him almost fully out of you, and when he pushes himself back in, it's with that rough-but-gentle firmness and it makes you want to come, so badly.
"'S good," you murmur against the wood, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts.  Your eyes flutter and your breaths become sharp pants that lilt through the stacked atmosphere, melding around the other sounds in the room: the slap of skin, the quiet inhalations of your lover, the gentle scratch of your nails, the subtle-barely-heard tick of the kitchen clock.  You stare at a red smudge that your lipstick left behind on the countertop, then you close your eyes and relax, relax, relax into the sensation of making love.
It's a coarse sensation, bleak even.  And it feels different when you can't see Roderick's face, when you can't watch his emotions tumble and spill from his expression.  But it is enough to feel his hands caving in around your skin, the tops of his thighs burning against the backs of yours, the stiffness of him infiltrating the very essence of you.  It's enough, and when his pace suddenly rushes forward, faster and hotter, you know that it's enough for him, too.
He lets out a strangled sort of moan that sinks right into your flesh and makes you swallow hard.  Then his thumb is brushing over the top of your clit and you feel yourself arch up, moan breathlessly, because God that feels good and when he does it again you can't breathe anymore, only drown.  And when he keeps touching you, keeps hitting you perfectly with every thrust, it's really no surprise that your orgasm rears and slams into you.  And watching you come lets off a domino effect and makes Roderick swear and push harder, spilling himself into you with a soft groan.
You moan again into the wood, because he doesn't stop thrusting.  The pleasure stings right through you and makes you tremble, collapse.  Roderick's arms lurch forward to hold you up, his length still deep inside you.  It takes a long moment to get your bearings back, and then you're chuckling and pushing yourself up, and he's pulling out of you, turning you around, and jerking you firmly against him.
"Did you like it?" he asks a while later as he threads his finger through your hair.  You smile against his neck and hum, "Mm.  But I like seeing your face more."  He pauses a moment, then chuckles, "So you do like it when I'm repetitive."  And when you shrug and grin, he rolls his eyes.  "Unbelievable…" he mutters, but drags you closer anyway and squeezes you into his arms.
You hum, a cadence that drops, drags against his shoulder.  Then you murmur, "Roderick…let's go to the bedroom and be repetitive again, hmm?"  And, well, there's really only one answer to a suggestion like that, and he doesn't let you down.


Monday, March 31, 2014

An America Lemon -- Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Character: America

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: Two words = Cowboy!America.  I wanted to see this happen so I decided to write it up for ya~  Fixed the picture for you guys too :3

America was bred from a hundred different skies.  The land was segregated into North, South, East, West, and yet it was all so interconnected, so irrefutably entwined that a deep sense of integration persisted even amid gaping differences.  And that was how Alfred was.  So different, so hard to follow.  He was split in so many directions that it was impossible to truly understand him.  And yet people always thought they knew.  Always thought they understood the quirks of his personality.  Even when they didn't really have an inkling of what was truth and what was ironic fallacies, pushed into reality with an insincerely sincere smile.
Except sometimes Alfred could be sincere, when he really wanted to.  Sometimes when he was alone or with someone who knew him very well, he'd drop the semblance of 'loveable idiot' and become someone realer, with more gravity, more seriousness.  More blazing determination.  That was how you liked to see him, with that fire in his eyes, ready to latch onto whatever issue was in the forefront of his mind.  And this particular issue was one both of you were ready to latch onto.
He stopped short in the doorway of his bedroom, not expecting the sight of you.  You worked a lot and came home late most days, so it was rare for you to be there in the early evenings.  But that wasn't why he stopped.  He stopped because of the brown leather that was edging over your tanned skin, the curve of a hat slipping down over your face, and the smirk that had eased itself over your lips at the surprised gaze that was directed at you.
"Howdy, Alfred," you drawled, and your voice was set in such a sultry tone that he swallowed hard.  His blue eyes became darker with every second he spent staring at you.  He took a step into the room, then closed the door shut behind him without looking away.  "…Are those my old cowboy boots?"  And hat, and belt, he wanted to also ask, but he was having trouble speaking.
You raised an eyebrow and turned your gaze down on your body, which lay curled up at the head of the bed.  You were indeed wearing his boots, though they were slightly too big for you.  And his hat.  And his belt.  And nothing else.  Well, besides the thin undergarments which had stars and strips printed on them rather obnoxiously.  You figured that was a nice touch.  Your eyes darted back up to his and you were pleased to see the lust that was building up in his gaze.  "Looks like it," you said casually, as though you hadn't realized your attire before that moment.  His eyes flashed dangerously and you smirked wider. 
Alfred had different levels of passion.  You'd discovered this for yourself ages ago.  Sometimes he could be rough and quick, sometimes he liked to drag out the passion and sentiments.  But tonight was the time for neither.  Tonight was new and interesting and had no boundaries. 
"Hmm," he said, mirroring your too-casual tone.  He crossed his arms and his eyes slid over your panties, amusement crossing his expression.  "I like what you did with the leather." 
You snickered a little, biting your lip in an attempt to hold your laughter back.  You were, surprisingly, completely comfortable even in your flimsy attire.  You felt right at home under the scrutiny of his eyes, and it was with an air of utter confidence that you said in a snarky tone, "I thought you would."
His smile turned predatory, ferocious, but he kept up his casual air in the most infuriating way.  If he saw the impatience driving a path through you, Alfred didn't say anything.  He did watch you, though, with eyes that said, 'I can see.  The way you want me, the way you need me.'  And it made you ache for him something awful.  This wasn't the loveable idiot who ate hamburgers nonstop and who came up with the craziest ideas.  Here, there was a more intelligent gleam in his eyes, a darker sliver of a personality that made you want to fuck him silly.
You fell back on the bed, arms flying high over you as they landed on the pillows.  And then you shot your eyes back down to his tense form, where he was pushing up his glasses with two fingers, gleaming eyes cutting through the dim light.  "Alfred…" you murmur, reaching out a hand for him.  "Don't just stand there like a stranger~"  Your eyes turned to melted pleas and he was powerless in the midst of them, and also too excited to feel your body writhing beneath his, enslaved in passion.  So it was with that air of lazy indulgence that he sighed out and twisted his tie loose, until it was only a tangled mass of threads on the floor.  The he popped the first few buttons of his dress shirt and stepped forward.
His hand slipped around your wrist and he dragged it up above your head along with the other one.  His body slipped over yours with perfect grace and the sudden crash of his body heat and weight made you shiver delightfully.  His dress shirt creased over your bare stomach, the starch infiltrating your senses and leading your down a path where clothing was nothing but optional.  He hovered above you like that, pinning your hands down, knee pressed sinfully between your legs, and then Alfred leaned in to kiss you.  Solemnly, with a trembling of soft romance.
Except you didn't want soft romance.  You wanted passion, driven so far into bone and marrow that every microscopic part of you burned from the fire.  You wanted that dark gleam of his eyes pinning you down, down into a special sort of world neither heaven nor hell, but filled with the essence of him, everywhere.  You wanted him rough, like pine trees and decaying fences and ceaseless, relentless land and cowboys. 
You wrestled one hand out of his tight grasp and tickled it down his arm, stopping on your way to curl your fingers over the brim of his hat as it rested upon your head.  And then you gently eased it off and pushed it onto him, instead, and the rowdy, no-nonsense sight he made had you purring out with desire.  It was just a hat and yet it was so much more.  It made him as rough as the land he called his own and that was when you like him best, when he mirrored the darker facet of his country.  The one which silently careened through tall grasses and mindlessly, arrogantly swayed as one of them.
He blinked down at you through eyes that were suddenly as dark as a night sky, dashed through with starry lights which gleamed out every single, endless desire.  His lips quirked up into that smirk, the crooked one that blazed over his features with a twist of delicious confidence.  A dimple rose up beside it and you leaned in to kiss it, hooking your legs around his waist as you did.  He hummed, a growled out sort of sound, and then turned his head so that his mouth was pressing against yours.  He pushed you back down into the pillows and the weight of his kiss and his hips made you delirious.
"Mmm…Alfred," you whispered.  He glanced up at you and you shivered at the wilderness that invaded his gaze.  That predator gleam had grown, turned and shifted into something else, something that you felt radiating from every crevice and corner of his body.  You panted.  You couldn't get enough air, your lungs were a shallow mess of twisting, windswept desire that you couldn't control, not even a little bit.  His eyes gleamed down at you and you whimpered out a short, breathless, "Touch me.  I want you to touch me, Alfred~"
Those eyes flashed.  That smirk broadened.  He gave you a crooked, wicked smile that made his entire expression turn brutal with passion.  But even though you could clearly see how badly he wanted to give in, Alfred only raised an eyebrow and maintained that air of casual disbelief.  "Really?  Now that's interesting," he murmured, voice dark and slivered with all sorts of promises.  You squirmed beneath his hips, trying to get him to move against you.  You could feel his hard cock, could see the bulge of his jeans and you knew, without a doubt, that he was rock hard.  But he still didn't give in.
Alfred smirked and brushed his mouth against your trembling lips.  When you moved into him, he pulled back and chuckled at the whimpered moan that escaped your throat.  He brushed his fingers over your hair, tucking it behind your ear in an oddly sincere, loving gesture.  And then he rocked back, pulling himself into a sitting position and looking down at you.  Like a mountain sentinel surveying his territory.
"You want me to touch you…" he muttered, locking his brilliant blue eyes with yours.  You stared at him in wonderment, unsure as to how you got yourself into his position.  You started off with so much power but you'd let it go too quickly, without even realizing it.  But there was little you could do about it, not when he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you whole.  Not when he had you pinned beneath him and was torturing you with just the feel of his erection.  It was baffling.
His fingers traced along the brown leather that cupped your breasts.  You'd found the top in a store that sold all sorts of odd lingerie and thought it would go nicely with the stars and stripes panties.  It obviously did, if your lover's expression had anything to say on the matter.  And the coil of rope (courtesy of said lingerie store) attached to the side, by your hip, seemed to make him even more turned on. 
He fingered the rope with an almost aloof expression, but when he raised his eyes back to yours, Alfred looked anything but aloof.  He raised an eyebrow, "Naughty girl.  Good girls don't say such wicked things."  He chuckled a little and tugged at the zipper that was situated just between your breasts.  He was tugging the leather open a moment later, staring down at your naked chest. 
You saw his brief distraction as the perfect opportunity to get some of your power back.  As Alfred sighed out and ran his hands up your abdomen, stopping just below your breasts and fitting his thumbs along the valley between them.  You smirked and touched his hands, curling your fingers around his wrists before dragging them up his arms, over his shoulders, around his neck.  Then, tugging him down a little and forcing him to lean over you, you whispered a low, erotic, "I never claimed I was a good girl, Alfred."  And you watched him hold back a shiver with amusement.  His eyes darkened.
He was momentarily under your spell as you slid your hands down his chest and began unbuttoning his shirt.  You did so at an even pace, like the situation you were in was totally normal.  Like Alfred didn't have a raging erection and like you weren't pounding for him, right through the stars and stripes that covered the most sensitive part of you.
He moved his hands so that they pushing into the pillow near you head, and watched you move beneath him, pushing his shirt away and smooth your fingers over his sculpted chest.  Then he sighed out and hummed, moving his weight onto one elbow and reaching down for the rope again.  With a smirk he asked, "And what do you plan to do with this, ma'am?"  And you giggled a little because his voice had that crease of the West in it, that slight drawl that edged over his tongue and lilted his words into pure country. 
He idly raised his hand to cup your breast as he waited for an answer, squeezing the globe of flesh in his fingers with a soft sort of reverence.  You bite back a smile and shrugged, sneaking a leg around his waist and gently pulling him against your core.  Then you pushed a hand into his hair and looked up at him boldly, crassly, "I was hoping you'd have some ideas, actually."
He grinned wolfishly and ducked down to take your breast into his mouth, like he finally couldn't resist the call of your body, like it was the only thing he wanted to do.  But against your flesh he chuckled, and you knew that he had many other things on his mind as well, many other things that had to do with other endeavors.  You clutched at his hair and held back a moan as he rolled his hips against yours. 
"I have lots of ideas," he admitted, and his voice was arrogant in way, slivered through with pride and desire and knowledge.  He kissed the valley of your breasts and moved onto the other one, taking his time as he dragged his tongue over your hardening nipples and looked up at you, at your reaction.  Whatever he saw there seemed to please him because he smirked wider, more crookedly.  "But none of them would be very gentlemanlike," he said, and there was a warning in his voice, a warning that you planned to totally, steadfastly ignore.
"Good," you purred, watching his eyes flash and burn with more desire and more determination.  You slowly hooked your other leg around his waist and locked your ankles behind him, wriggling your hips against the bulge of his jeans and watching his cheeks flush with color.  But it wasn't embarrassment.  It was a struggle, plain and simple.  A struggle for the upper hand, a struggle to reign in the desperate side of his arousal and ignore all his immediate desires.  "Now touch me.  I want you to."  And he blinked down at you from behind his glasses and the rim of his cowboy hat.
With a raised eyebrow and all sorts of feigned innocence, Alfred said, "I've been touching you."  And bit back a smile as you groaned in impatience.  You wiggled your hips and your hands ran along the edge of his jeans in an obvious hint.  "You know that's not what I mean," you told him with a glare.  A glare that he shrugged off and ignored.
Before you knew what was happening, Alfred was unhooking the rope and was making a show of unraveling it, staring at you all the while.  He was a little surprised to see the expression on your face, the hint of wariness that you were trying to hide away.  He chuckled, "It's your fault, you know.  You shouldn't have included this in your little role-play.  It only makes me want to use it."  When you didn't say anything, he sighed and leaned in to kiss you softly.  Against your mouth, he whispered, "I'll be gentle.  I promise you'll like it.  And if you don't, I'll stop."
You laughed but it was a little strained, because it had only been for fun, just a little skit to make everything seem realer.  You hadn't thought Alfred would actually use it.  His lovemaking was usually raw but in a different way, a more emotional one.  He blinked down at you and pressed his forehead against yours, waiting for your answer, and you finally gave it to him in the form of a kiss.  "Fine," you muttered, watching him grin, "but you'd better not give me rope burn or something." 
He chuckled and grabbed your wrists, clicking his tongue in faux dismay as he gently tied the rope around them.  "Don’t be ridiculous," he quipped.  He leaned over you to tie the other end of the rope to the headboard, and then caught your eye with a cheeky grin, "You can easily get out of it.  I was never very good with knots."
You huffed and tugged at the rope experimentally.  With a little effort, you were sure you'd be able to wriggle out of the bonds, but you were surprised at the fact that you didn't really want to.  You hadn't anticipated that the night would go in this direction, but it was strangely erotic.  You found yourself yearning for more, wanting to see just how far Alfred would take this, just how much you'd let him control you. 
He was still hovering above you, watching you closely.  When you slowly met his eyes, he furrowed his eyebrows and muttered, "You're not in pain or anything, right?  For a moment there you seemed - "
"I like it," you cut in, and he immediately shut up and stared at you in surprise.  After a long moment of utter silence, Alfred slowly began to smile that predatory smile, and you knew what you said had turned him on.  You smirked right back and he murmured huskily, "You like it?  You like being tied down underneath me?"  You laughed and purred out a simple, aroused, "I like it."  And the sight and sound of you admitting it made Alfred swallow back a harsh wave of desire.
"Fuck," he whispered, amazed at how much his own arousal seemed to skyrocket at the current situation.  You giggled and raised an eyebrow.  
"That's a good idea," you murmured sinfully, "I was just about to suggest that you start fucking me.  You're already so hard."  And to annunciate your words, you shifted your hips into his and nearly moaned at the stiffness that was his cock.  Alfred didn't even try to stop his own moan, which spilled from his lips lazily, indulgently.
He inhaled roughly, sharply, and drew back to fiddle with the belt tied around your waist.  The fact that it was his old belt didn't appear to faze him at this point.  He was already so turned on that there was little left that could faze him.  And yet you still had some tricks up your metaphorical sleeve.  
You watch his curse and throw the belt away.  Watched him fiercely tug down your panties.  And when they got stuck on the cowboy boots (that were a few sizes too large), you watched Alfred pout and begin to roughly take them off.  And that was when you stopped him.
"Leave them on," you said, making him stop and stare down at you.  You were a total mess, curtsey of his impatient handling of you.  The leather top you'd been wearing was laying haphazardly beneath you, useless now but still encased against your skin.  You were tied to the headboard but were near naked.  Your panties were down around your shins.  He raised an eyebrow.
"They're too big," he said blandly, like he didn't feel like arguing right then.  He pushed your panties out of his way and peered down at you, "And besides, I'm the cowboy.  You're just…" he waved his hand and shrugged, making you raise your eyebrows dryly.
"I'm just what?" you asked, and Alfred chuckled like he knew he was in trouble but didn't really care.  He began untangling your panties as he slipped them over the boots, leaving them on. 
"You know," he smirked, shoving your legs open when the panties were finally free.  He roughly ground his clothed cock against your soaking core and chuckled darkly, watching your expression turn from annoyed to reluctantly stimulated.  And when he decided you were sufficiently distracted, Alfred muttered something that made your eyes jerk open in something that bordered on ferocious indignation.  "You're my horse."  And that was when you decided that it was high time you got your power back.
"You're horse."  You deadpanned, and he smirked down at you in amusement.  "Yup," he drawled, his voice and face cheeky and completely audacious.  And you scoffed.
"What?  You don't agree?" he asked with a mischievous pout.  He rolled his hips into yours again and watched your eyes fluttered half closed.  Then he brought his hands down to flip down the zipper of his pants and pop the button, suddenly overcome by the desire to free his near painful erection.  As he did, Alfred hummed and smirked down at you, murmuring a wicked, "But I'm gonna ride you.  So that means you get to be the horse."
He pulled his jeans and boxer briefs down.  For a moment, you were utterly distracted by the sight of his cock, which was harder than you could have imagined it to be and oh so ready to be touched.  But then you raised your eyes into his and glared, wriggling your wrists without his notice as you formed a plan of your own.  "You aren't gonna ride me," you said with a shrug, trying not to react as Alfred nestled himself between your legs, pushing his throbbing cock against your equally throbbing core.
He looked like he was about to say something.  He was about to open his mouth, about to ask why you sounded so sure, and that was when you surprised him and set your little plan into action.  Your hands flew from their bonds, your legs hooked around his waist, and moments later Alfred was being pushed down into the sheets, sprawled onto his back.  He stared up at you in total shock, his eyes wide as you jerked the rope around his hands.  And then you laughed and watched his expression turn pouty and annoyed, like a child who was denied something he wanted desperately. 
You rolled your hips into his and he bit his lip, glaring.  "You're my horse, Alfred."  You were positive that he could have gotten out of the loosely tied knot you'd haphazardly made, but ultimately gaining the upper hand was never so simple.  You had your power back and you were determined to hold onto it. 
You lowered your mouth to his chest and started kissing and touching him, dragging your tongue over his flesh like it was your purpose in life.  And when you sunk your teeth into the crook of his shoulder, Alfred cried out in surprise and pain.  He stared down at you and watched as you lapped at the mark that was now painfully throbbing over his skin. 
"Y-You bit me!" he exclaimed, still churning with shock and something else, something that edged along with his surprise and made him want more.  But he would never admit that he was utterly aroused by that move of yours.  You hummed in agreement and went back to kissing over his chest, licking around his nipple before flicking it with your tongue.  He swallowed and inhaled roughly, almost panting beneath you as your hand reached down and gave his member a few fierce pumps.
"Yup," you said cheekily, copying his previous audacity and making him groan.  "My horse needs to be tamed.  You're too wild."  And he glared up at you with a huff.
"I'll show you wild," he muttered, but you didn't hear.  A moment later, you were sinking down onto his cock, slowly drawing his tip into your wet hole.  And Alfred watched with heavily lidded eyes as you tossed your head back and took him all the way in.  You let out a long moan and he gritted his teeth tightly.  And that was when Alfred decided he'd get you back a little.
With a powerful surge of his hips, he bucked into the air and roughly pumped his cock into you.  You gasped and clutched at his chest, scrabbling for a hold as he continued to dominate you even in his submissive position.  He chuckled amidst the sinful arousal and grunted, heaving his thrusts faster, harder as he rammed your hips upward.  It took you a long moment to figure out how to counteract him.  Finally, when his hips bucked up again, you rose yours into the air and off his cock entirely, leaving him panting beneath you.  He pouted.
"That's not fair," you gasped, staring down at him.  He looked wild below you, like rough terrain and mountains, wide sunsets that spanned across endless grasslands, mustangs that ruled those fields and belonged there.  And you decided that you didn't really want to tame him.  You liked him raw, liked those facets of his personality.  You leaned in to kiss him and he was surprised at the soft, lingering movement of your lips. 
"Behave," you whispered to him, smiling gently, and he blinked up at you as though waiting to see what tricks you'd pull out next.  But there were none.  Nothing but making love to him.  Nothing but showing him in so many words that you loved him.  Loved him like the North, the South, the East, the West.  Loved him like nothing else.
You guided his cock back into you, but this time neither of you tried to gain the upper hand.  You just slowly sunk back onto it, filling yourself up with his stiff flesh.  You rested your elbows on the pillow near his head, cradling your hands against his hair and leaning into kiss him.  And he let you, let you handle him in that soft, delicate way.  Let you thrust yourself against his shaft.  And he enjoyed it, he really did, but Alfred didn't like holding himself back in any way, and you were surprised when, moments later, you felt his hands drift over your back.
You lifted your head up and saw the useless tangle of rope above him.  Then you looked back down at him and saw that his eyes were sort of soft, like he had somehow gathered all your loving emotions together and was holding them close to his heart.  He breathed out and lifted himself up onto his elbows, circling one arm around your waist and turning you over onto your back.  Then he ducked his head and kissed you deeply, meeting your tongue with his and sighing against your mouth.
"…Alfred?" you questioned, wondering why he was being so gentle with you all of the sudden.  This entire night had been anything but, and you were surprised at the way he was rocking his hips smoothly into yours with a slow build up of passion.  He buried his head into the crook of your neck and moaned, holding his arm tighter around your waist as he pulled you up against him.  Your eyes fluttered as the tip of his cock brushed deep within you.
He didn't say anything but he didn't need to.  You felt all his words in the way he made love to you.  You felt them all as they were absorbed into your skin, as they sunk into your body and curled up around your heart.  And you gasped and panted and whispered his name as he picked up his pace little by little and brought you to a crashing, halting, beautiful finish.
"Alfred!" you exclaimed softly, your head falling back into the air.  He turned his eyes to yours and watched your expression as you came.  And he kissed you soundly as you unraveled in his arms, thrusting faster as your core tightened and fluctuated around his cock in the most brilliant of ways.  And moments later, when he spilled himself into you and groaned out a long, thankful moan, you tangled your fingers into his hair and brought him back to your mouth, kissing him deeply with everything you had and more.
He was insincerely sincere.  He smiled a lot but didn't mean it, and yet he did.  He was many things that you didn't always understand, and probably never would.  But he was also one thing that you did understand, utterly, completely, because he showed it to you in so many ways that it was impossible to ignore him. 
He was yours.

Extended Ending

"Alfred~" you called, trying to keep the smirk off of your face.  He lifted his head and blinked at you, probably surprised to see you standing in the threshold of his office.  With a laptop in hand.
"What is it?" he asked, leaning back in his leather chair.  He smiled a little at you and you stepped forward, wondering how long that smile would stay on his face.  Not long, you'd wager, and smirked.  "What do you think?" you asked, turning your laptop toward him.  He took one look at the website you were on and deadpanned.  "I thought you should choose which one you liked.  Cause, ya know, you're the horse and all.  And you'll be wearing it."
Saddles.  Everywhere.  He stared.
"You might want to start running," he said, leaning back and loosening his tie casually.  But the gleam in his eye was very real and you'd be stupid not to listen to him.  With a laugh, you put the laptop down on his desk and jolted out of his office, squealing in amused surprise when he followed.  That determined expression was back and you were all too happy to accommodate it into your evening schedule.  If he could catch you, that is~