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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~

~~~

Monday, March 3, 2014

An Austria Lemon -- Misfit Me


Character: Austria

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: I'm working on a sequel for this one, so be on the look out for it sometime soon :3  Hope this somewhat makes up for the total lack of (good) Austria smut on this blog!  


"Is this absolutely necessary?" comes the dry question you'd been waiting for.  Honestly, you're surprised it took him this long to ask.  You smile, thinking you probably look sickly sweet with your lips curled up like this.  But you only look predatory, and it makes Roderick raise an eyebrow and try not to admit how he almost enjoys that wicked smirk.  The way it makes your eyes shine with sinful acceptance.
"Roderick…" you purred indulgently, "you said just the other day that you wished you were more modern."  You say the word like it's something exotic, and with no small amount of pretention.  As though becoming modern is just the prize of a game that children play.  And from the way you blink lazily at him, you're making it quite clear who you think the child is.
He rolls his eyes and huffs.  This hadn't been his idea, after all.  If anyone was a child here it was you, for coming up with such a ridiculous plan.  You click your tongue idly and jerk your fingers over hangers, occasionally plucking a shirt of a pair of jeans off the rack and throwing it into the growing pile in Roderick's arms.  He glowered down at you from around half a foot of denim and said in his usual holier-than-thou voice, "This isn't exactly what I had in mind."  Because it isn't.  Definitely not.
But you just shrug and glance at him.  Then you do a double take because you hadn't realized he was holding so many clothes (you can barely see his face for crying out loud).  You can't stop a small laugh from bubbling past your lips and you imagine that Roderick doesn't appreciate it, but can't really do anything about it either. 
"You're supposed to go try them on, Roderick," you say complacently, and once again it sounds like the voice you use when you're speaking to a child.  He doesn't like that.  He isn't a child.  But before he can utter one of his sharp retorts, you're forcing him towards the dressing rooms and he's stumbling because he can't see where he's going. 
"Hey!" he says none to quietly.  One of the saleswomen glances over and you give her a apologetic smile.  As soon as her back is turned you shove your reluctant lover into a stall and follow after him, shutting the door with a loud click.  He dumps the pile of clothes on a bench and turns toward you with a questioning expression.  Probably because you're not exactly supposed to be in there with him.  You merely lean back with a smile and nod at the clothes.  The silent order makes him roll his eyes again.
He starts with the jeans.  He isn't sure how a pair of jeans will make him more modern.  His nice, ironed trousers suit him well enough, thank you very much.  But since you're watching him so closely, with those eyes that are clearly saying, 'take the fucking pants off if you know what's good for you,' he reluctantly jerks the trousers off and grabs the jeans.  He's only glad that the dressing room is fairly large so that he can ignore you, adamantly.
You sit on the bench next to the (ridiculous amount of) clothes and cross your arms, watching him through catty, seemingly lazy eyes.  Even though his back is turned to you, you can see the front half of him due to the mirrored walls (all three of said walls).  You take your time enjoying the sight he makes without all that proper, princely shit wrapped around his neck.  
He's now wearing a pinkish-orange tee shirt with bright yellow hems around the necks and sleeves.  You can tell he doesn't like the style but you quietly admit that he looks pretty good.  Without all those dandy, pretty-girl buttons and frocks and pins, Roderick actually looks ridiculously hot.  (He was plenty attractive before but this is different.  You don't feel at all bad for this rebellious thought.)
All the while, he mumbles about how stupid this whole endeavor is and how the various articles of clothing he tries on look terrible on him.  You see him periodically glance at his original outfit and you know he desperately wants to pull it back on.  But a part of you doesn't want that.  Because when he wears his usual outfit, Roderick is utterly incapable of being anywhere near a bad boy.  But in those jeans that hug his hips and thighs and make him tall and imposing, in that shirt that shows exactly how fit he is, he looks completely nefarious
His eyes catch yours in the mirror and you openly stare, blinking at him, not at all ashamed at the fact that he'd caught you staring at his body.  When your lips curl up into that attempted-sweet-but-just-plain-scary smile, Roderick clears his throat and turns away stiffly.  He tries not to think about the way your eyes reflect your desires.  The fact that he has become fairly astute when it comes to said desires doesn't exactly help his case.
It's when he goes to try on the next pair of jeans -- dark washed, clinging, low -- that he notices how the look in your eye changes from partially interested to astoundingly so.  You lean forward slowly, eyes sweeping up and down and up and down over his legs and his ass.  He swallows thickly and tries to ignore you but the fucking mirrored walls don't give him much success.  His back is facing you but he can still see your reflection and the way you're so obviously checking him out.  Again and again.
He sighs, a short huff of annoyance, and closes his eyes for a moment.  He counts to five in his head and tells himself that when he opens his eyes you'll be totally disinterested and possibly flipping through your phone in your ignorance of him.  But five seconds later when he opens his eyes, you're smirking and giving him that look -- the one that he'd long ago learned comes with dangerously mind blowing consequences.  He clears his throat again and watches you warily as you stand, step forward, eyeing the denim that is making him so unsettled.  In more ways than one.
"[Name]," he says dryly, hooking his fingers around the belt loops and starting to shuffle them off, "we're in a store.  In a dressing room.  Would you stop looking at me like that?!"  
You can see that he intends to brush you off and completely overlook the rising tension, and it makes you smirk wickedly.  A moment later you're stepping up behind him and saying in a husky, amused voice, "You probably shouldn't take those off right now."  And the suggestion, which is actually a pretty obvious warning, has Roderick peering behind his shoulder at you.  He raises an eyebrow.
"Che," he mutters, turning around to face you like a man (not a child, he tells himself).  
He realizes his mistake a moment after he turns and wishes he hadn't moved at all.  Because now your eyes are delving against the denim of his front and damn if it doesn't make him utterly on edge.  His eyes widen when you step forward.  He shuffles back.  
The game continues until his back is pressing against cold glass and he glowers at you and crosses his arms.  This is getting old.  And besides, there is no way in hell he'll be doing what you clearly want him to do.  He is a gentleman.  Gentleman don't have sexual affairs in a public place.  Or so he thinks.
You purr and step up to his body, slinking a leg between his and leaning in.  You watch him swallow back the desire that is starting to claw at the edges of his vision, and vow that you will bring that passion back at full force.  In his jeans and his tee shirt Roderick has so much potential.  You will douse out the rest of his reluctance if it's the last thing you do.
Your hand slides over his chest and then down, down.  When you cup his (barely) hardening cock through his jeans, you smirk and whisper, "You look great in these jeans, Roderick.  I think you'll look even better with a boner, don't you?"  You give him a light squeeze that has his eyes fluttering hopelessly.  He breathes out, a shaky, knotted mess of air, and clenches his fist.
"Th-this is completely unacceptabbllllee!" he gasps and bites down on his lip when you rub him through his pants.  His arousal is growing at an astoundingly fast pace.  He can only guess it's because of the danger in the air, the fact that someone could walk in if they made too much noise.  And you aren't going to let up, he can see the determination in your eyes.  You are going to stay right where you are until he gives in.  Stubborn stubborn stubborn.
He braces himself against the cold mirror and shoves his head back, back, back as your lips draws nearer to his.  The fact that you're utterly manhandling him doesn't even play into his head, though it probably should.  He is far used to you by now, and the wily techniques you use to get him aroused.  
His lips tremble in reluctant desire but he has no where left to run.  Your mouth descends on his and it's like you're devouring all his annoyance and hesitation, because he's left with a sort of breathless, tired passion that exhausts him.  Makes him want to give in.
You chuckle, "Stop thinking so much, Roderick."  Your hand comes up to curl around his neck and you pull him down to meet your lips.  He grunts, probably in disapproval, but kisses you anyway.  You think it's probably because he's humoring you and it amuses you.  Honestly, he should know better by now.  When he tries to pull away again you lift your other hand to his neck and lock him against you, using a surprising amount of (brute) strength to hold him in place.  He glares at you even as you kiss him.
When you finally release him, he thinks maybe you've gotten your fill of him and he can go back to trying on clothes.  But he knows he's wrong the moment you step closer, shifting that leg farther between his and pressing your thigh against his arousal.  Your hands slip into his shirt and he winces at the cold of your fingertips.  He glowers down at you in perturbed silence, then mutters, "You have the most inconvenient libido."  And the dry way he speaks has you chuckling, your expression lifting up in mirth.
"Oh, thank you," you say breezily, as though he'd complimented you.  You leaned in to press your mouth against his jaw, shifting your fingers against his nipple, rubbing your leg against his core.  The dual movement of your body against his makes him clench his teeth.  Your mouth seeks his again and this time, when he kisses you back, it isn't because he's humoring you.  "But you know," you murmur while you boldly, casually grope his body in a way only you can pull off, "I think you like this just as much as I do.  You just won't admit it."
Your hands push up his back and trace his spine.  Your entire front is squeezed against him in that inevitably delicious way and he grunts.  "What's there to admit?" he says, but his voice is strained because now he's watching those fingers of yours dart down to his jeans and tug them open.  He closes his eyes and doesn't watch when you drag his cock out and hum.
"Exactly," you purr, lowly, your voice all musk and smoke.  Your hand curls around him and he gulps when you start pumping him gently through your fingers.  You finish your train of thought with a slow kiss at the corner of his mouth, "Because it shows in every single movement you make." 
And it does.  Because then he realizes how his hips are jerking forward on their own, in little shards of thrusts.  And he realizes how he's gasping and sapping against the mirror and his knees are like jelly and his brain is just a bunch of fizzled out nerve endings.  He's much more transparent than he'd thought.  It's a realization that makes him sort of angry, in a self-imposed way.
The anger is fuel for him, like dry wood in a forest fire.  He clenches his teeth and slides his hands around your waist and then suddenly the tables are turning.  Your back is being shoved against the mirrored wall and Roderick is tilting your chin up and kissing you.  And you're suddenly drowning against him in the best, most surprising way possible.  "R-Roderi-nngh!" his hands are forcing your pants down so fast that you can't even breathe.  Then he's kneeling in front of you, pulling each ankle out of the fabric and leering up at you in a manner you rarely see him in.  But fuck if you think you'll be leaving this dressing room unscathed now that you've woken up this side of him.
He kisses your inner thigh.  His tongue darts out to taste your skin and you squirm, staring down at him with darkly blown eyes.  It strikes you how erotic he looks, kneeling in front of you with his cock curling out of his pants like that, but you barely have time to think about it before he's hooking his fingers into your panties and dragging them down, too.  And you squirm again, shudder a little because when he looks at you like that you are helpless to do anything else.
"Fuck, Roderick, would you just - " your words clump together into a soft moan as he stands and presses your hips together.  He's still wearing those jeans and it's making you crazy because he looks so fucking good in them - and the fact that you're already soaking wet seems to almost amuse him.  And then there's the little realization that he's utterly snatched away your power and is using it wholeheartedly against you.  Oh, how the fates have turned on you.  You pout.
"It's really not fair," you tell him, slipping your hands beneath his shirt and dragging it off of his body.  He lets you, then raises an eyebrow at you when the fabric hits the floor.  "This is all your fault," he tells you, scoffing.  "I said it would be nice to be a little more modern - buying new clothes wasn't at all my intention - "
"It's all about the image, Roderick!" you watch with a smirk when he hooks his hands around your thighs and drags them into the air.  You curl your legs around his waist.  Your momentarily breathless when you feel his hard cock rubbing at your entrance.  "Mm…that's good," you tell him, then clutch at his shoulders and mutter, "And besides, these jeans were made for you, I swear, you look like a fucking God - Oh!"
He's pushing into you and you're back is arching and he's chuckling a little, in a husky breathless way that's completely overcome by pleasure.  "A God?  You're so dramatic."  He hilts himself into you and remains still for a mere second before thrusting back out.  Your nails are digging into his back and the way his cock is dragging against your inner wall makes you moan softly, bumping your hips forward.  And he kisses your ear and whispers, "Shh, you have to be quiet."  He doesn't even want to imagine the curdling embarrassment of being caught in this position by one of the saleswomen.  He would probably die on the spot.
"Mm," you agree but it's easier said than done.  When you feel another moan rising to the surface, Roderick molds his mouth to yours and swallows it, turning the noise into a muffled, careless sound.  He kisses you hard and you breathlessly pant against him and tumble your fingers through his hair.  His hands slip under the shirt you're still regrettably wearing and he traces your spine.  You arch into him and gasp against the mirror, rocking your hips forward and feeling the edges of yourself blur and spin with pleasure.
You're unraveling before you know what's happening.  The beginning of a loud moan leaks into the air before Roderick is muffling it with his mouth, heart hammering in danger and thrilling passion.  Your muscles are clenching around his cock and it's tight and delicious, and it makes his head pound and his orgasm rear up within him.  You're moaning his name into the kiss and he hears it as a whimper.  And perhaps that's what ultimately has him sinking into you as deeply as possible and filling you up.
"Gott…" he mutters when he's done.  His thrusts morph into languid, lethargic movements that leave you panting.  You stare at him through lidded eyes and smirk tiredly.  Moments later, you're sliding off his softened shaft and he's holding you close to his chest, breathing heavily.  You kiss him and suddenly the world turns into a heady, delirious mess again when you realize you're not fully satisfied yet.  Roderick seems to realize this and groans, a huff of annoyance and reluctant desire.  "You can't be serious," he says, but you only smile and laugh, patting his chest and ducking away from him.
"Come on.  We're definitely buying those jeans, by the way," you tell him idly, and you don't see the smirk that wavers over his face at the mention of the apparently 'God-like' clothing.  He adds them to his little mental list of things that make you utterly insane, and chuckles.
He has a feeling that the day is far from over.

~~~