Monday, September 28, 2015

An America Lemon -- Elevator

Character: America

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: Getting trapped in an elevator.  The prompt idea is from someone who emailed me but I forget who you are!  I hope you see this lemon and realize that it’s for you ;)

You very much doubt that anything is scarier than riding in an elevator doomed to break down.  You have a mild claustrophobic issue regarding small spaces.  Except to your utmost amusement (sort of) and shock (well, not really) it isn’t you who does the most freaking out.  It’s the man who’s riding the elevator with you.
“Cripes!” he exclaims, and with a jarring bolt of the elevator Alfred is shoved forward…right into you.  You gasp as he hurtles you against the wall, stares at you in surprise, and then promptly turns as red as a beet.  And you suspect his embarrassment is for two things.
“…Cripes?” you inquire slowly, twisting the word on your tongue with an experimental flourish.  His blush deepens and you raise your eyebrows, enjoying the close view of it.  Close is perhaps an understatement: the force of the fall has pushed him to you like a magnet, and only inches of space separate your mouth from his.  You’d be distracted by that, if not for the amusing way he has suddenly shown his old age.
“It’s…it’s a saying, of course.  I uh…just forget I said it, okay?” he finishes quickly, almost blurting out the plea.  It’s embarrassing to show anyone the side of him that’s more old fashioned and wholesome, simply because those things just aren’t cool anymore.  It’s much cooler to be rude and brash and to wear your hat in a building and to not open doors for women and to curse and swear at every little bad thing that happens. 
You tilt your head curiously and suddenly Alfred seems to realize just how close the two of you are, and he jerks away with another heady blush.  You can’t bother to be distracted though because you’re still musing over this new part of him that you’ve never seen.  He certainly does a good job at covering it up.  Now that you think of it, all the countries do a good job at it.  Except maybe Austria but he’s not really good at anything but losing his mind in a musical score.
“What does it mean?” you ask, folding your hands behind your back and leaning against the wall.  He opens his mouth to respond but before he can, the elevator gives another lurch and the lights flicker out, only to be replaced by a menacing red strobe light that burns into existence then disappears, burns then disappears, over and over.  Every other second there is only darkness, so thick and complete that you’re only aware of his location across from you because you can feel him there, cowering in a very un-herolike way.  After a few moments of this you sigh, slide to the floor, and then say, “Come here, would you?” 
Immediately he comes forward, slides to the floor beside you, and shuffles himself into your side.  You never thought you’d be as close to him as you’ve become today, at least physically, and so you just damn it all to hell and loop your arm through his.  Touch is a powerful tool.  Yours calms him so quickly that a few seconds later, he starts chuckling.
You turn to him, glancing at what little of his face you can see through the quickly vanishing light.  You think he’s possibly more handsome than you’d ever seen him before, which is mildly ridiculous but there you have it.  Even in his fear, even in this horror-movie atmosphere, your heart beats for him.  It always has.
“What is it?” you wonder, tipping your head back to rest against the paneled wall.  He squeezes your arm closer, tighter, and says quietly, “It means ‘Christ’.  Back then…well, people didn’t usually say the actual word because it goes against one of the commandments, ya know?  So they’d make up words that sounded like it instead.  Silly.”  He chuckles again and you smile, squeezing his arm in return.  He turns to look at you and then gives you a crooked smile in return.
“You seem…like you don’t like elevators very much,” you slowly say, studying his expression as you speak.  It’s true.  Every time he gets into one he seems stiff, like he’s sure he’s going to die before he reaches his destination.  It used to amuse you but for a long time now, he only makes you warm with enchantment.
He pauses now, glances at you quickly, then clears his throat.  He’s never told anyone this but now seems like a good enough time for it, considering the situation.  So he shrugs and murmurs, “In the 1840s I went to a conference in London.  They had this new contraption called an ascending room.  I was interested in it so I decided to take it to the eighth floor – that was a skyscraper back then by the way, I was so impressed…anyway – well, the elevator broke halfway up, but it didn’t have the safety belts and things they have now.  It fell right back down and crashed on the ground floor.  I was all beat up and bleeding too.  Arthur was absolutely frantic, kept apologizing and offering me things…”  He laughs and shakes his head, not looking at you.  It’s just as well, because you’re face is horrified.
It’s no wonder why he’s always looked so hesitant about getting on an elevator.  If something like that happened to you, you’d never get on one again.  You’re surprised that he’s brave enough to do so even with that history hanging over his head.  When you tell him so, Alfred just smiles and says, “It took me years to get on another one.  When I did, I had a dozen people make sure it was in good condition.  And I’ve never ridden one by myself since then either.  If I’m alone I always take the stairs.” 
“Huh,” you say, musing over his words, “I’ve always wondered why you did that.  But Alfred,” you turn to him with a more serious face, “that isn’t going to happen to this elevator.  We’ll be absolutely fine.” 
He exhales and nods, honestly murmuring, “…I’m glad you here with me, [Name].”  You smile.
“Me too,” you softly say, but he’s still shaking and you’re still worried, even more so after hearing his story.  These sorts of things can be quite serious really.  They can lead to panic attacks and you aren’t entirely sure you’d be able to calm him from something like that.  For a moment you think he’ll be fine, nothing will happen, but you know this isn’t true.  When he tilts his head up against the wall and swallows hard, shivering as mightily as a hurricane, you know you have to take his mind off the nightmare he is in.
You aren’t sure what propels you forward.  All you know is that suddenly your leg is lurching over his, your body is twisting into his lap, and your face is once again inches away.  The proximity makes him stare, blindsided by the sheer audacity and abruptness of the move.  His cheeks redden, or at least you think they do.  It’s rather hard to tell in this reddish blinking hell.
“[Name]?” he whispers, his words coming short.  What can he say in this situation though?  That your weight feels absolutely heavenly on him?  That he’d be happy to stay like this forever?  Or that he suddenly wants to kiss you very very badly?
But before he can so much as squeak, your placing your hands softly on either side of his face and turning him towards you, thumbs brushing his chin upward.  He swallows hard again, but this time it isn’t because he’s afraid. 
It’s because you’re staring at him with eyes that seem to see everything, all the way from his viciously beating heart to the sharp slap of each brittle, unthinkable thought that crosses his mind.  Yet thinkable they are, and here you are with your wide eyes and your quivering lips and your inches of space.  And here he is with none of those, just a rocket for a heart and a rainy lethargic brain.
“Everything’s going to be fine, Alfred.  Do you hear me?” you whisper, almost so quietly that the words get lost between the paneled walls and out of sight.  But he hears.  He hears everything you say.  In crowded rooms your voice is the voice he gravitates to.  Your laugh and your smile and the way you have this enchanting way of making everyone around you feel like they’ve known you for years, even if you’re only a stranger to them.  You enthrall him merely with the honesty of your smile and the integrity of your laughing eyes.
You stare into his eyes and he stares back.  Perhaps you were waiting for his response, for a nod or a hum or something.  But you stop waiting the moment his eyes stop looking afraid.  When they instead become diamonds cut with the shards of his desire, you have no choice but to notice them.  Notice him and his desire, too.  And the gentle heat of his body and the slight hardness that presses itself to your thigh leaves you ragged and yearning.  And that’s all it takes for you to make up your mind, because in a way you’d already made it up years before.  When it came to Alfred, the answer is always ‘yes’.
A silencing beat later and suddenly you’re bridging the gap between you to press your lips against his.  He tilts his head up to meet you, capturing your upper lip between the both of his and dragging you into a kiss that makes your heart burn like wildfire.  Everything about him is wild in this moment.  His hands that grip your rear and shift you closer, his mouth that freely moves without fear, even the way he sits, like he’s waiting to jump off into some great ravine and is merely waiting for the go ahead.  You are that go ahead, and you intend on jumping with him into that craggy windswept valley built up with all your hidden passions.  Well they aren’t so hidden anymore and that’s okay. 
Something inside you doubts you ever felt anything as exhilarating as what this kiss makes you feel.  Emotions push through your skin, sinking like heat between your pores.  Your fingers clutch into his hair, pulling at their roots with a tug that makes him gasp, mouth spilling open and grunting half in pain and half in the pleasure of it all.  He is lost between the edges of two extremes tossed to the wind, two sides of the same coin that hits him hard in the chest.
“Ow,” he mutters, chuckling as much as he is allowed while your mouth ravishes his.  You bite his bottom lip and drag it slowly between your teeth, opening your eyes to stare challengingly into his.  He blinks back and his gaze appears brown in the flickering red light, as if burnt fire has somehow found a way to merge itself with blue.  You think it’s lovely in a dangerous sort of way and can’t help yourself from pushing your hands over his chest, up and down and finally being done with the fabric altogether.  Clothes are really such silly things.  That is probably why they don’t stay put.
Alfred is surprisingly muscular beneath all his clothes – a fact that you already know, of course, from the various summery UN vacations and other poolside retreats.  But never have you been so close to him before, not like this.  Not when you can touch him so freely and feel him so intimately.  Now when he clearly wants you to touch him more.
The passion fueling your movements gets momentarily doused, however, when you accidentally knock yourself against his glasses.  The kiss is displaced, broken, and you pause as if you aren’t sure where this leaves you.  Luckily Alfred can be quick on his feet when he wants to be.
He rips the glasses off, tosses them on top of his shirt, and, chuckling, drags your mouth back to his in a deep kiss that sweeps you utterly into his love.  You clutch at him, kissing him harder, tilting your head to accommodate the ferocity of this desire that thuds through you so relentlessly.  His hand slips beneath your shirt to feel the skin of your back, and suddenly the fabric is being pulled up over your head.  He drags you back into the kiss seamlessly, as if it hadn’t ever stopped, and you pant against him at his unexpected passion.  Unexpected or not, it makes your head spin.
“Mmm,” you sigh, taking his bottom lip between yours and sucking.  He responds in kind, lips moving luxuriously over yours, as if this is the most decadent moment he’s ever experienced.  You can understand the sentiment.  Because regardless of the not so romantic atmosphere, and the fact that you can’t even see him all that clearly, somehow this kiss has quickly transcended any other you’ve ever had.  It is undoubtedly because this is Alfred you are kissing – and that makes all the difference in the world.
“We probably don’t have much time,” you whisper, voice edged with a moan that makes Alfred tremble.  His body is pulsing with need, his blood racing through his veins, and his shaft has grown so hard that it’s more than a little uncomfortable as it strains against the denim of his jeans.  But the warning in your words is not something he wants to submit to, and neither do you for that matter.  Which is why the next moment, Alfred is shifting forward and lowering you down onto your back, his knees between your thighs.
“Do you want to stop?” he asks as the kiss breaks, hands propped on either side of your head.  But even as he questions you, he ducks his lips down to your neck, layering small kisses over the skin of it as one hand dips against the curve of your breast.  His fear has vanished in the flickering lights, and in its place rages a desire so strong that he cannot hope to suppress it.  Well, he’s never had very good self control after all.
You chuckle in the midst of the pleasure he’s giving you, and shake your head at the ceiling of this little square heaven.  How quickly it’s changed from evil to beautiful!  “No, don’t stop,” you tell him, arching your back and pushing your breasts into his hands.  He swallows back a thick wave of desire and hums.  Seconds later, your shirt has joined his and he’s jerking the cups of your bra down beneath your breasts in hasty passion.
There’s no time for pleasantries, no time for undressing you slowly or even giving you the attention you deserve.  There isn’t any time at all.  Neither of you know just how long it will take for the maintenance team to get here, and besides, the flickering abyss of the elevator box lends a paranoid swiftness of every touch and it thrills you.
Alfred smiles down at you boyishly and admits, “I don’t know if I’d be able to stop anyway.”  In fact the very thought of stopping, despite the hastiness of the situation, makes him blanch.  And the thought of his lost control leaves you yearning for more.  You lean forward, reach for the hands that are still toying with the bottom of your bra, and drag them up to cover your breasts.  He at the feel of your soft flesh beneath his fingers, and gently squeezes them and starts to massage the velvety skin with an eager touch.  You let out a mewling, breathless moan and tip your head back, overcome by that touch.  How does everything he does take your breath away so quickly?  You doubt you’ll ever get it back, not when he keeps –
“Alfred!” you gasp, because suddenly one of his hands has moved down, down, down and he’s stroking his knuckle over your core.  The touch is subtle since you’re still wearing your pants, but when he presses that finger harder against you, you jerk and exhale quickly.  His other hand gives your breast a firm squeeze and Alfred ducks his head to your chest, pressing fluttery kisses over your collar and the valley of your breasts.  Then his tongue suddenly starts lapping at your nipple, and whatever breath you still have is utterly lost.
“Mmmmmm…” you purr, shaking your hips against his hand and tangling your fingers into his hair.  For someone who seems so innocent when it comes to sex, Alfred is surprisingly talented.  And very take-charge.  You suppose it makes sense, really – he has been around for a long time, so of course he’d learn a thing or two about this sort of thing – but it still makes you ache that much more.  It’s like a switch has gone off in him, transforming him from the scatterbrained, chivalrous hero to something much more passionate and dark. 
“You like that?” he whispers lowly against your breast, his voice ghosting over your wet skin as his eyes slice up to yours.  Your fingers tighten in his hair and you smile lopsidedly.  Your eyelids flutter when his teeth gently scrape of the very sensitive skin of your nipple.  It gets even better when he switches, leaving a trail of wet kisses over your chest as he takes your other breast into his mouth and gives it the same treatment.
Another breathy moan, and you whisper, “Yes…”  You’d like to say something more, maybe something a little dirty to provoke more of that delicious darkness, but you don’t get the chance.  Alfred is suddenly shifting forward, moving both hands to your back and lowering you onto the floor.  He shifts his hips between your thighs and returns his attention to your chest, but before long he lifts his head to look down at you. 
Cold metal presses into your back and you arch up to him, seeking the warmth of his body.  He smiles boyishly and trails a hand down your side, moving his eyes over your form lazily.  “Wish we had more time, but – “
“I know, Alfred,” you interrupt cheekily, smirking up at him.  You move your hands to your jeans and undo them, dragging the zipper down.  He watches, eyes smoldering, as you start wiggling out of them.  Another switch seems to turn inside him, because before you get very far, he’s leaning over you and forcefully jerking the fabric the rest of the way off.  It’s strangely domineering and your heart twists breathlessly with excitement.
Alfred gives you a grin and you laugh softly, but your laugh vanishes when you feel his fingers toy with the hem of your underwear.  His thumb brushes over the lacy finish and then down, tracing your core over the fabric with a steady exploration.  Your eyes shift closed and you swallow, parting your legs for him. 
When his thumb circles the top of your clit through the lace, you whine, “Alfred, you know we don’t have time for this!”  Not that you’re complaining, but you are not leaving this elevator before you have him inside you.  After all, you doubt you’ll ever work up the courage to do something like this again.  You’re basically having sex in a very public place and could have an audience at any moment.
He chuckles breathlessly and mumbles, “I know, I know.  It’s just…I like touching you.”  The words are oddly sincere and somehow beautiful, and your eyes soften.
“I like when you touch me too,” you admit to him, and his eyes flash.  “But we’ll have time for that later.  Now take your jeans off.”
You aren’t sure what, exactly, excites him then – if it’s the promise of continuing this later on or the order you give him – but desire takes a firm hold of his expression.  He nods, hooks his fingers into your panties, and murmurs, “Yes, ma’am.”  The lace is pulled down and as you kick them off the rest of the way, Alfred works on his jeans.  He only pulls them down halfway, but it doesn’t matter.  All that matters is that you can properly see him.  And needless to say, you are impressed.
As you take in the sight of him, Alfred blushes just a little.  Unfortunately you still can’t see each other properly in this dark blinking box, but you can still see.  And feel.  And when he nestles between your legs and shifts his length against your wet core, you breathe out eagerly and yearn for more.  He is all too willing to give you just that.
“Are you ready, or should I - ?”
“Fuck me, Alfred,” you cut in yet again.  He pauses, eyes darkening, and desire prompts him forward with a groan.
“I could come just from your voice alone,” he mutters in your ear, and before you can answer, he slides into you.
It’s a tight fit, but that makes it all the better.  You’re already wet enough from his earlier ministrations that he’s able to take you fairly easily, and you whine and clutch at him as he spreads you.  Alfred gasps out and presses his forehead against his hand, which lingers near your head on the floor.  He shudders, thrusts out, and then presses further into you.  It’s shaky at first, but by the fourth of fifth thrust a pace is set.  And from then on, you’re arching into him and tightening your legs around his waist, and you’re lost in the feel of him inside you.
Every other second the red light quakes over your bodies then fades into complete darkness.  You rely on the feel of him to guide you along.  Somehow not being able to see him properly makes it all the more delicious, and you feel raw and beautiful on that floor with him hovering over you. 
One of his hands comes up to clutch at your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he moves his hips.  You moan into his ear and move your hands to his back, fingers shifting over his shoulder blades as they arch from his skin.  His breath is hot as he breathes against your neck, kissing you here and there between thrusts.  When you turn your head to face him, he gives you a shaky kiss on the mouth and you both chuckle.  Yes, this darkness is lovely, but you can’t wait to see him in full light, to explore his body when you both have more time to do so.  When you whisper this to him, Alfred groans lightly and thunders his hips faster into yours, pushing his length deeper inside you. 
You clench around him and he breathes out loudly, mumbling, “Mmm…lift your hips a little…yeah, that’s – that’s good…[Name]…!”  He pants against you and you do as he says, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts.  The power behind each one takes your breath further and further away, until you can only gasp silently beneath him.  He’s so big that you don’t think you’ve ever been stretched like this before, and you can already feel your finish spinning through you like a tight coil shattering.
“Al – Alfred!  Alfred, Alfred,” you chant, each time getting louder and more needy.  You’re so close – you’re so close you can feel your orgasm bounding through you and lifting you up off that floor and into the gravitational pull of this beautiful lovemaking.  And when you clench down on him and whimper his name and come, Alfred lifts his head to watch you through blurry, passionate eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, the edge of his voice tinged with a despair that only comes from this sort of crazy intimacy.  “And you’re mine, all mine – “ he gasps and thunders forward faster, roughly pinning your hips to the floor with powerful strokes.  He clenches his jaw and fists his hands, lifting his upper body off of yours to anchor his hips better.  You’re still clenching down on him, the remnants of your finish pulling and tugging at you – making your world brighten into a lingering brilliance – and it is with the sight of you clouding his mind that Alfred gives one last forcible thrust and trembles through his own orgasm, which absolutely takes his breath away.
“I’m yours,” you whisper, hardly able to speak as you lay there.  Your chest is heaving and he presses his forehead between your breasts for a moment as you both revel in the aftereffects of your union.  But you don’t get to linger for very long.
A grating noise crackles through the elevator, followed by a distant shout, and you know that the maintenance team is finally here.  It took them long enough.  Not that you can really complain. 
“Shit,” Alfred mutters, lifting himself off of you.  He reaches for your clothes and you sit up with a lazy smirk, pulling your bra back into place and grabbing your panties. 
“I think you mean ‘cripes’,” you tell him with a laugh.  He glowers at you.
“Careful,” he warns you as he pulls his jeans back up to his waist, “keep that up and I’ll have to punish you.”  The threat, of course, only makes you want to make fun of him all the more.
Your smile widens and he chuckles at you, helping you into your jeans and even going so far as to button them for you.  Now properly dressed, you reach for him and he circles his arms around you as you both wait to be saved.  Minutes later, the elevator lights flicker back on and Alfred breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Thanks for…erm…” he trails off, not really knowing how to finish his sentence.  You happily do so for him, “For fucking you?”  He blushes colorfully.
“No!” he exclaims, then squeezes you playfully and grins, “Well, yeah, I guess.  But mainly for taking my mind off of everything.”  You share a smile, and lean up to kiss him gently on the mouth.  He returns it slowly, reaching up to tangle his hand into his hair and keep you against him.
“Anytime,” you whisper, eyes gleaming with mischief, and he laughs shortly.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he mutters.  You’re going to respond, but his lips cut you off before you can and leave you moaning against him.
He’s going to be the death of you if he keeps this up…but then you can’t complain about that either, because you’re too busy wondering what other fears you can save him from.  You absolutely can’t wait to find out.



  1. Amazing like always!
    You are very good at this.

  2. Omg yes, I'm not even big America fan but this is awsome like everything you write, and also is one of my favourites!! :)))

  3. You know, I hear he has over 230 weaknesses. So you're gonna have to write more.

  4. Uhm I don't know...but can you make a Philippines(Maria.Black hair and eyes.tan skin) x America or Philippines x Spain lemon?I'm dying to see what the outcome is of these countries' bond.

  5. 10/10 would read again

  6. I was half expecting them to realize that cameras in elevators are a thing. but such a great story with such great detail! I love your work

  7. Shouldn't the fire department and a bunch of other people be trying to get them out and shit like that? o-e Lovely lemon doe <3