Thursday, December 26, 2013

An England Lemon -- Falling Backwards

Character: England

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: Anja, long dark hair, daring

Inspiration: GeniexReader! 

But it's not Halloween.  It's the first thought that blasts through Arthur's head when he walks into his house and sees his lover spread out over the couch wearing a silky, swishy genie outfit.  But who cares?  Is the second thought, the stronger thought, the one that makes him stop and stare and swallow back the doubts and hesitations which accompany his revelation.
He shuts the door with his foot because he doesn't want to take his eyes off her, because if he does, she'll disappear like a phantom of his own desire.  A ghost which haunts all his passionate thoughts.  Then he watches her rise, every so slowly, pushing her body up as she stares at him from beneath thick lashes.  Her eyes scream out all sorts of things and Arthur swallows thickly, because she inspires shivers to erupt all over his body and it is delicious and provocative all at once.
It's not Halloween but who cares?  The thought cements into a strong reality, which pushes and pulls at Arthur's subconscious and makes him want to act.  His eyes shift over her, over her bare legs and the skin that is covered by the thinnest, most decadent slip of see through fabric.  He swallows again, and this time it is to push back the burning wall of his desires.  He doesn't want to give in yet.  Not yet.
"What's this?" he asks, and his voice betrays all those desires, which aren't very well hidden anyway.  Anja smiles at his transparency and throws an arm onto the back of the couch.  The movement pushes out her chest just a little, and Arthur's eyes duck down to admire the soft spheres of her breasts and the way they fit so finely in that fabric.  When he looks back up at her, she is baring the hint of a smile.  A very amused, sly smile.
She delicately shrugs, her shoulders lifting and falling elegantly.  She allows her eyes to drift over her lover's body and spends a moment musing over the almost exhausted appearance of him.  The UN meeting hadn't gone well, then.  Arthur looks frazzled and tired.  His clothes are wrinkled.  His hair is mussed.  His appearance is what supplies her with the perfect response.  "Just thought I'd help you relax, that's all."  She beckons him closer.
Relax.  It's a good way of putting it, perhaps.  He steps closer, tosses his leather work case on a nearby chair and saunters over to where Anja is waiting.  Every step makes him feel lighter than before, like he's about to start flying, or suffocating, or falling.  It is an extreme burning of his lungs, a dull, sedative-induced pound of his head.
She doesn't touch him when he comes.  She wants to, but her body remains in its folded, relaxed position on the couch.  She tilts her head up to look at him and he raises an eyebrow, as if to ask what she's waiting for.  Anja raises an eyebrow right back and then gestures to the floor.  "Kneel down."
He stares.  Kneel down?  Arthur pauses, but slowly drops to his knees.  He is not usually this submissive but he wants to see where she's going with all her lovely orders.  What will be next?  He can't stop himself from reaching out for her.  He nestles himself between her legs and drags his fingers up to her thighs, finally giving in to the harsh need to feel that loose fabric ghosting over her warm flesh.
She leans forward and Arthur thinks she looks rather like a queen, towering over him like that.  Her fingers drag through his blond hair, tugging his head back and forcing his eyes to clash with hers.  There is a short but delicious shift of friction, a battle of wills, which rages between them.  And then Anja is giving into him, surprisingly.  Because she isn't exactly someone who just lets him have his way.  Not when she's so obviously in power.  He raises his eyebrows at her in question.
But she only grins.  There is something in those eyes of hers that puts him on edge, and he looks into them warily, like he isn't sure what sort of emotions he should be experiencing, what actions he should take.  Anja gently brushes his hair back and drops her mouth to his, pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss to his lips before darting back.  His eyes flutter and he wants to follow her back, wants to crush her to the couch and kiss her everywhere.
Anja smiles.  Her eyes crinkle up in mischief.  She untangles her legs from around his body and leans back.  Her next words leave him feeling cold and hot, entranced, spellbound, hesitant. 
"You have three wishes.  Whatever you want.  Just tell me what to do."
Whatever you want.  Three wishes.  Arthur stares up at her in shock and she giggles, tilting her head as she stares right back down at him.  He is idle for only a second before he pushes himself up and over her, his knee pushed between her legs, his arms caging in her head.  He furrows his brows at her and says, "Anja, you don't have to do this - "
But she cuts him off with a kiss, dragging her hands over the front his dress shirt and then dipping to the back of it, holding him close.  He makes a noise against her mouth but doesn't pull away.  He all but melts into her kiss, sagging against her body like a man who is starving for love.  She pulls him closer.  Against his lips, she whispers out a soft, "It'll be fun, Arthur."  And he pulls away just in time to see a delicious smirk skimming over her mouth. 
He breathes out shakily, suddenly overcome by all the crashing desires that have been tempting his body ever since he walked into his house and saw her spread out for him. 
Does she even realize that this sort of thing is practically something every man wants to experience?  The simple, delicious moment where a dominate woman allows herself to be totally controlled, utterly submissive.  It makes his head ache, his body pound, his legs shake.  Tremors whip through him and he can't breathe.  He can only see Anja, sitting in front of him, bending into all sorts of positions that he's never dared ask of her.  His eyes shudder closed and Anja palms his cheeks, smiling just a little, as though she's well aware of all his inner struggles.
Perhaps she is.  Perhaps she can see them as clear as daylight in his bright blue eyes.  Maybe he amuses her.  Maybe she's smiling because she knows what it's like to want something so, so badly, to have it sitting right in front of you, close enough to touch, kiss, love. 
"Well?" Anja wonders, eyes filling with mirth.  It makes Arthur smile, too, because he never would have imagined he'd be coming home to this situation.  He scoffs and playfully kisses her, teeth scraping over her bottom lip.  She squirms and reached up to hold him, hands shifting over his waist and atop his thighs.  Against her mouth, Arthur chuckles, "You can't just expect me to know what I want."  He says this like he's clouded in disbelief, but doesn't want to be.  Like he wishes he knew how he should treat this balanced, delicious situation.  And what does he want?  What does he want from her?
It is a question that floats through him without substance, lightly walking through his thoughts, pressuring him as he stares down at her.  There are little kinks, ideas that smart over him and make him pause and consider.  But all Arthur can think of in this moment is that he wants to kiss her, badly.
"Kiss me," he murmurs, and Anja raises an eyebrow in surprise.  Her fingers fiddle with his collar, loosen his tie.  Her touch sends his heartbeat racing, his skin scorching.  She leans forward as if to kiss him, but doesn't go the full distance.  Instead she wavers centimeters away, her breath breezing over his mouth, her eyes staring into his.  "Kiss you?" she wonders, and touches his cheek.  There is a curious look in her eye, like she's wondering why he hasn't asked her something else, something more passionate, more erotic.  "Is that all?"
His eyes drift closed and he swallows back a wave of desire.  With a light clear of his throat, Arthur shakes his head and whispers, "Then touch me."  And his voice, the way it shakes and quivers with embarrassment and passion, makes Anja smile.
Her mouth brushes over his, and Arthur immediately responds.  He kisses her deeply, with hot intensity, and against his lips Anja murmurs, "Your wish is my command."  And the words are so twisted and dark, and her voice is so bold and wicked, that it is all Arthur can do to let her push him over and straddle his hips.
She kisses him again before delving her lips over his jaw and down his neck.  Her tongue is hot against his skin and it flickers over him like a spell, leaving him breathless and yearning.  And yet it is nothing compared to the way she rolls her hips into his, presses her core to his growing erection.  He clutches her tightly, his fingers digging into her skin, but nothing can stop the moan from spilling into the air.  He bites his bottom lip to stop it but the rough way Anja rocks her hips against his cock makes it rush forth, undefeated.
Anja chuckles a little, amused because of the way Arthur is fighting his desire.  She drags a hand through his hair again and kisses him once more, flickering her tongue out to clash against his.  And, while their lips work together heatedly, Anja's hands move to jerk at the buttons of his shirt.  When they are undone, she scrapes her nails lightly over his chest and he shivers almost violently against her, sagging backwards into the couch and sighing heavily.
"How do you want me?" she asks suddenly, her voice nothing but a husk of rough passion.  Her lips drag down his chest as she pushes his shirt away, her fingers already tugging at the button of his pants.  Before Arthur can so much as think about her erotic question, she is jerking down the zipper of his pants and dragging his erection into the air.  By now it is harder, hard enough to make her want him very badly.
He moans and looks down at those hands as they gently work on him.  One wish is granted, he thinks, and he's still got two others saved away.  Two other wishes that could fulfill the most darkest, deadliest desires that he hides deep within himself.  And yet while she's touching him like that, with fingers that know instinctively just how to please, Arthur can't possibly stop to consider how he wants to fuck her.  He only knows that he does.  That if he doesn't see her beneath him, panting, whimpering, he is going to die.
She kisses him again and it makes him crazy.  His hands rush to her face.  He cups her cheeks and pulls her in closer, dominating her in the only way he can.  His lips are insistent, rough, and she gives a breathless little moan that makes him feel proud and aroused and a great many other things as well.  But he can't stop to consider those, either, because then Anja is slipped her fingers farther into his pants and rubbing the underside of him and it feels so good, so amazingly good that he can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe.
"Anja-!" he gasps and bucks his hips a little before he can stop himself.  The move makes him blush on his part, and his cheeks splinter with pink.  But Anja only smiles and their kiss turns slower, more heartfelt, washed through with a lighter, less clouded passion. 
"What's your next wish?" she whispers, and when he opens his eyes to look into hers, her expression is so deliciously mischievous.  Arthur chuckles out breathlessly and gasps, "Can I wish for a thousand more wishes?"  And Anja grins wildly and raises an eyebrow, rubbing him harder suddenly, easing her fingers over the tip of his cock and then tumbling them back down, watching him bite his lip and shiver and moan.
"That's cheating, Arthur," she purrs, kissing his jaw.  He laughs a little when he catches his breath, and looks up at her through eyes that are screaming with desire and something else.  Something that gives him the look of a predator even as he pants from beneath her.  Something dangerous.
"Well you're not playing very fair yourself," he tells her, pushing off from the back of the couch as his hands rush over her.  He slides them over her bottom and squeezes the flesh of her before pulling her apart and easing his fingers against her core.  She's still wearing that cursed outfit but he can still feel her, still feel the hot wetness of her, the almost angry passion the exudes her body.  He wants to taste it and the rest of her, wants to pin her down and show her exactly what his last two wishes consist of.  Because he can't put them into words, can't tell her outright what he wants when he doesn't even know himself, not fully. 
Anja moans and strokes him harder, burying her mouth against his neck as she collapses on top of him.  She likes to think that she's good at manipulating him, but the truth is that Arthur is good at getting his way, too.  And what he wants right now is her, bare beneath him, uncoiling for him, ready for him to fuck the sense right out of her.
"Get on your back," he mutters to her, and Anja moans again because that voice of his is so delicious when he orders her around.  "Is this another wish?" she wonders, but idly does as he says.  A moment later, she's laying down on the couch and Arthur is fitting himself above her.  He smirks down at her and murmurs a quiet, "No.  It was just a suggestion."  And she laughs because he really is good at getting what he wants.
Her hands drift up his chest and she pushes away his shirt, which had still been fluttering against his skin.  It folds down his body and drips off the couch and is forgotten, replaced by skin and lips and dirty, erotic thoughts that will soon be brought to life. 
"Mmm…what should I do for you next?" she asks coyly, and Arthur grins wolfishly.  He rolls his hips into hers and nearly moans at the heat of her arousal, which pounds against him sinfully, deliciously.  When he leans down to kiss her, Anja all but pulls him in, wrapping her legs around his waist and thrusting his hips back down to grind against hers.  He does moan then, and he doesn't even try to stop it this time.
Arthur sighs out and after a moment, he chuckles.  "Stop trying to rush me," he whispers at her.  One of his hands idly goes to her breast, which he has been wanting to touch for a very long time now.  She is not wearing anything beneath the light, swishy fabric.  He can see right through it, too, and it beckons him down.  A moment later, his mouth is latching onto one pert nipple and his tongue is rushing over the netty fabric, warm against her flesh.  Anja arches her back a little and moans, tangling her fingers into his hair, dragging him closer.  His free hand jerks against her other breast, but soon, Arthur is pushing his fingers beneath the fabric, feeling her bare and soft and raw, and then searching for the tie that keeps the fabric tight against her.  He wants her free, wants her now.
After Anja helps him take the breast covering off, Arthur continues his worldly pursuit of her body.  He kisses down her stomach, splays his hand over her abdomen, then delves his kisses further, further down.  When he gets to the pounding flesh of her core, Anja can hardly breathe, and Arthur enjoys hearing her whimpers and breathless, raspy moans.
His tongue swishes over the fabric, which is also sheer even here.  The sight friction from the clothing makes Anja's reaction ten times better.  She is arching up, pushing her breasts into the air and keening loudly as his fingers join his tongue.  He knows how to pleasure her, knows how to make her lose her control and many other things.
But soon it is not enough, not nearly enough.  Arthur moans against her wet core and rises his head to look at her.  She is staring sightlessly at the ceiling, looking hapless but so, so good.  Slowly, she turns her eyes to his and watches him smile a wicked, sinister smile.  And she knows that he's about to give her his next wish.  Knows because of the sudden confidence in his eyes.
"Touch yourself," he tells her, and his voice is a strong but soft interlude of power.  She stares at him with vague surprise, because she hadn't been expecting that.  And yet…the thought is erotic, touching herself in front of him, pleasuring herself while he watches with those dark, passionate, lustful eyes.  She swallows back a harsh wave of desire and slowly pushes his hands away, replacing them with her own.  And then, knowing his eyes are on her, taking in her every move, she slips her eyes closed and swirls her fingers against her core.
She's done this before.  She knows how to move her hand to ensure the utmost pleasure.  Sometimes, when Arthur is gone, she settles for him and imagines that he is there above her, that her fingers are actually his.  And yet it is so different now, knowing that he is there.  The pleasure seems to skyrocket, and while it would usually take longer to feel the very beginning traces of an orgasm, Anja feel is spike through her sooner, faster.  She slows down because she doesn't want to come, not yet. 
Her free hand dips against a breast and she massages it.  Her thumb traces a nipple.  Her fingers splay out over that breast and she clutches it harshly before easily letting it go and starting all over.  Meanwhile, her other hand jerks away from her core and searches for the waistline of her outfit, slipping inside to touch herself more substantially.  When she slides a finger into her core, Arthur moans and touches her knee, pressing a kiss to the inside of it as he watches her movements with heady, overpowering eyes.
She's going to come.  It is a realization that strikes her with a sudden intensity.  She's going to come from her own touches, right in front of him, and she doesn't even feel ashamed.  Anja's eyes fly open and she stares at him.  Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her breasts quiver, push into the air.  Her fingers hasten and she cries out from the beginning of her release as it torches through her.  And all the while, Arthur stares in awe, watching the way her body is unfurling itself.  Then his eyes harden and he suddenly heaves the sheer fabric up her thighs and he pushes them back, against her stomach.  And as he shoves her hand away and replaces it with his tongue and his fingers, Anja's voice becomes a cadence of desperate pleas.
"Nnnmg!  Ar-Arthur, Arthur, ha-haa!  Ohh…!" 
He drinks her in, sweeping his tongue over her soaking folds, delving his fingers fast into her pounding flesh.  And she cries out harder, body arching up delightfully, deliciously, thrusting her hips into his face even as he pins her down.  And then it is over and she's gasping, panting on the couch, eyes wide like she's seeing stars or some beautiful ghost or the final extent of their love.  And Arthur is crawling up her body, kissing her here and there with gently, loving lips; letting her slowly come back to him from wherever she's gone, from whatever place a person goes to after they experience the sort of shattering release she's just had.  When she does return, she gives him a satisfied smile and tugs him close, pushing her lips against his and splaying her hands out over his bare back.
It is the ideal finish but it is far from over, and Anja realizes that Arthur happens to be very hard, harder than before even.  His member is throbbing, aching to experience the same form of ecstasy that Anja just had, and she'd be damned if she let him suffer any more in such a cruel, sinful way.
"Fuck me," she tells him, her voice a mussed up mess of nerves and sloppy desire.  "Fuck me, Arthur."  He can't stop himself from kissing her harder, roughly dominating her with his kiss, moaning against her as he rolls his erection against the wetness of her core.  And when she moans into the kiss and whispers a muffled, "I want you to fuck me," Arthur can't possibly stop himself from doing exactly that.
His nerves are on fire and he hastily lines himself up before delving into her.  The movement is harsh, sudden, but it doesn't matter.  There is no pain at all.  He slides in smoothly, adjusting to her soaking inner walls and setting a fast pace.  And though Anja has only just come, though she still singes from the remnants of release, she cries out with pleasure as Arthur pins her down to the couch and fucks her like he's never done before.
He is usually so gentle, sometimes infuriatingly so.  But today he is a savage, thrusting into her like an animal.  And Anja loves it, loves it, loves it.  She can't get enough of him, of the way his cock trembles into the very farthest reaches of her, of the way the heat of him molds so deliciously with the heat of her.  And it isn't really fair, honestly, that he can make her feel so crazy and insane and delirious in every other moment.  It isn't fair but she seems to be getting him back, now.  She has unknowingly pushed him over the edge of reason itself as he takes her down a path he's never taken in their previous lovemaking sessions.
"Arthur…fuck, Arthur, f-fuck, yes, mmm!" she feels another orgasm swell up within her and it is harsher this time.  It dominates all else, every other emotion.  It uncoils from within a deeper part of herself, from a darker, more maddening area of her physic and it makes her scream.  His name become a wailed mantra that topples him over in its passion, and soon she is coming and he is coming.  Because watching her arch and whimper and come, feeling her throb relentlessly against his cock, it makes him spill into her without a second thought.  And it makes stars erupt against his vision, makes the earth spin faster, faster. 
They come back slowly, shifting through the insanity of their release in a dreary, exhausted manner.  Soon, Arthur is collapsing into her arms and Anja is pulling him close, aware that his softened flesh is still inside of her and happy that it is.  She kisses his temple and he sighs out in complete satiation.  And for a very long moment, they stay like that in silence.
But then… "Should we go to the bedroom?" Arthur wonders idly, picking his head up to look at his lover's face.  She hums out and touches hair, slowly whispering, "You've still got one wish left, if I recall."  And Arthur laughs because she's so ridiculous, even in the midst of this fullness.
A moment later, he's pulling her up and into his arms, and they're dawdling back to where their bed awaits.
The door closes and they fall back into love.