America (Gilded Age) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
monopolies) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entranceway2014-03-01 04:54 pm
monopolies) wrote in entranceway2014-03-01 04:54 pm
( video )
[ He wakes up and he's back in Wonderland, and all those foggy memories snap into place. They still stick together like pages of a book that's had soda spilled on it, so it's impossible to separate them chronologically after so long away. But the things he remembers are sharp and clear.
Except he notices that Wonderland is sorta fragmented into pieces. He thinks something catastrophic has happened and, now more than ever, he desperately wishes that his friends are somewhere, happy, that they've escaped what's happened here. They can't still be around after so long. Then again, who knows how long it's been with this place?
The last time he was here, he probably would've sat down and spent an hour freaking out somewhere behind a bush. This time he does the exact same thing, except he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed about it. Fuck it he is a global economic power he'll do what he wants.
After a while of rocking and shaking behind a tree, he gets up, dusts himself off, and decides to reintroduce himself.
Somehow he's found his phone again, with everything on it and the chipped in the corner. Just the way he'd left it. Maybe he should take this as a sign that he hasn't been away so long, at least in Wonderland time, but he doesn't. Too busy preparing his reintroduction.
Normal people would probably just turn their device on, say their hellos and see who is around and who is new. If you are expecting normal behavior from America I don't know what to tell you. Except "lower your expectations because this asshole is still a crazy motherfucker."
He'd found himself on a lone piece of forest, which is not the ideal location for his reentry. In the distance looms the lone, floating entrance hall. After a few seconds of debating the value of his life, he realizes he's immortal and abandons the last fuck he could possibly give before making a running start to leap to the next floating island. A manic grin and one thought propel him to his destiny:
Do it for the vine. ]
[ Finally everything is set up just the way he wants it. Camera placed just behind the closed doors of the entrance wall, it's propped up to frame the hall in such a way that it looks like just any normal day in Wonderland. The real trick is turning it on at just the right moment. He decides to turn it on from behind so the video doesn't capture his initial appearance. Slipping away as quietly as possible, the video just captures a few silent seconds of the doors.
Which then BURST OPEN IN AN EXPLOSION OF SHRAPNEL AND FIRE. USA USA USA.
The smoke clears and, surprise surprise, guess who's standing at the center with arms cross and cocky grin in place? No Crowley, that's for fucking sure, like he'd be capable of anything this epic. For those who knew him the changes are small and subtle, probably nothing to catch amidst the chaos. A taller stature, unhindered by painful wounds, a face that's still young but no longer burdened by self-consciousness and undercurrents of fear.
In the split-second he opens his mouth, just before he speaks you might be expecting something like YOUR HERO HAS RETURNED. But no. ]
WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY RAPTORS?
[ Good news: he's even more of a selfish shithead than before. Bad news: that was the good news.
God help you all.
and now a million years later do I add an obligatory nsfw warning?? don't read my threads if you value your time and integrity ]
Except he notices that Wonderland is sorta fragmented into pieces. He thinks something catastrophic has happened and, now more than ever, he desperately wishes that his friends are somewhere, happy, that they've escaped what's happened here. They can't still be around after so long. Then again, who knows how long it's been with this place?
The last time he was here, he probably would've sat down and spent an hour freaking out somewhere behind a bush. This time he does the exact same thing, except he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed about it. Fuck it he is a global economic power he'll do what he wants.
After a while of rocking and shaking behind a tree, he gets up, dusts himself off, and decides to reintroduce himself.
Somehow he's found his phone again, with everything on it and the chipped in the corner. Just the way he'd left it. Maybe he should take this as a sign that he hasn't been away so long, at least in Wonderland time, but he doesn't. Too busy preparing his reintroduction.
Normal people would probably just turn their device on, say their hellos and see who is around and who is new. If you are expecting normal behavior from America I don't know what to tell you. Except "lower your expectations because this asshole is still a crazy motherfucker."
He'd found himself on a lone piece of forest, which is not the ideal location for his reentry. In the distance looms the lone, floating entrance hall. After a few seconds of debating the value of his life, he realizes he's immortal and abandons the last fuck he could possibly give before making a running start to leap to the next floating island. A manic grin and one thought propel him to his destiny:
Do it for the vine. ]
[ Finally everything is set up just the way he wants it. Camera placed just behind the closed doors of the entrance wall, it's propped up to frame the hall in such a way that it looks like just any normal day in Wonderland. The real trick is turning it on at just the right moment. He decides to turn it on from behind so the video doesn't capture his initial appearance. Slipping away as quietly as possible, the video just captures a few silent seconds of the doors.
Which then BURST OPEN IN AN EXPLOSION OF SHRAPNEL AND FIRE. USA USA USA.
The smoke clears and, surprise surprise, guess who's standing at the center with arms cross and cocky grin in place? No Crowley, that's for fucking sure, like he'd be capable of anything this epic. For those who knew him the changes are small and subtle, probably nothing to catch amidst the chaos. A taller stature, unhindered by painful wounds, a face that's still young but no longer burdened by self-consciousness and undercurrents of fear.
In the split-second he opens his mouth, just before he speaks you might be expecting something like YOUR HERO HAS RETURNED. But no. ]
WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY RAPTORS?
[ Good news: he's even more of a selfish shithead than before. Bad news: that was the good news.
God help you all.
and now a million years later do I add an obligatory nsfw warning?? don't read my threads if you value your time and integrity ]
no subject
Eyes and smiles, he was expecting something like that. It’s a soothing balm on his broken ego. The rest, nothing readied him for where that goes, and his silly grin, that sucking dick could not repress, slackens into shock. Luke stares up at him and tries not to cry again. Because the only thing worse than crying when you’re getting a blow job is crying when you’re giving one.]
Oh.
[He sucks in a hard breath. There’s a fragile fluttering thing in his chest that he's not poetic enough to call his heart. Stunned, Luke offers brief smiles between moments of pained silence, trying to take that all in.]
You’re… You’re a dream, too. I don’t feel alone with you. I used to always feel alone.
[His voices dips until he’s just leaning against America’s body and mumbling his deepest feelings against his cock. America deserves someone so much more spectacular than this emotional wreckage of a human being, and it’s a mystery to Luke why he doesn’t recognise that.]
I never thought I’d feel safe with anyone. I never thought I wouldn’t be- You’re brilliant. And nice and- and people have written entire anthems about how great you are. I can’t compete with that.
[Because if things are threatening to get too emotional, the best thing to do is distract everyone with a joke while you make your getaway. Luke skids out the shower, in a wet, naked scramble to grab some lube from the bedroom. The kind that tastes of old chocolate you found down the back of the sofa and makes your tongue numb.
After several painful minutes of fumbling, he gives up trying to get it open and makes his reappearance in the bathroom, shoving it at America and almost slipping and breaking his bony arse in his haste to jump his boyfriend with needy kisses. Bodies crashing together like he’s trying to create a star, arms around his neck like he’s trying to get America in a chokehold.]
You’re so- I love you, c’mon. You’re the best, c’mon.
no subject
The blood pounding in his ears drowns out his own thoughts, makes it harder to form the things he wants to say. That he's ashamed to feel lonely even here in Wonderland with no countries and no one from his world, but he doesn't feel that when he's with Luke. That he enjoys their mundane conversations and dumb jokes and shitty meals together just as much as he enjoys their clumsy sex, which is also as much as he enjoys the heart-pounding, demon-hunting adventures he thrives on this world. Because he thrives with Luke too. Life has a comfortable normalcy when he's with Luke ("normalcy" for America being, of course, "fucknuts crazy infused with the banality of daily life").
He thinks he's found something that sums it all up nicely when Luke decides that it's the opportune moment to run away, leaving America with an open mouth and a neglected hard on. ]
Hey, wait--! Wait...
[ Looking lost, he has half a mind to just finish himself off before he gets a permanent case of blue balls. Then he spots the conditioner. Disappointment and sexual frustration evaporate into the simple joy of lathering his hair.
He's just about finished when Luke finally returns, unboarding the struggle bus with lube in his hand and desperation in his kisses. Ameirca scrambles to switch gears from "enraptured with bathing" back to "overly emotional and horny." He grabs hold of Luke so he doesn't fall, so there's no space left between him, stuck together like atoms sharing electrons. Between feverish kisses and unsteadily contorting himself so he's not strangled, America tries where Luke has failed to get the cap off. It doesn't work so he just uses his freakish strength to tear it off, spilling half of the contents all of his his hand and half down the drain.
Before it can be washed away, his hand dips down over Luke's coccyx, below it, pushing and crooking in with two slick fingers to brush over fragile nerves. Steam and sweat and hot water already make it hard to breathe in the stiflingly cramped shower. Now with Luke pressed against his chest, so demanding and needy that America can't help but rock his hips against Luke's in a desperate bid for friction, he almost feels like he's about to suffocate.
A laugh slips through his harsh breaths ad a smile winds around Luke's lips. ]
Think I know what ya mean when ya said "sex with you feels like dying - the good kind." Warm 'n blissful and... Never forgot that. Never forgot you. [ He rumbles in Luke's ear, grinning against the skin along his jaw. The promise of no teeth is forgotten, at least in the moment. ] Yeah, okay, yeah, I love you, I'll-- Want me to hold ya up, fuck you against the wall? Or you wanna turn around and...?
[ What he's really asking is who Luke trusts more not to slip and fall: himself or America. Neither option is a good one. ]
no subject
[He breathes eagerly, before America even gets all the words out. His boyfriend’s fallen into the robot logic trap, which is as far as Luke’s brain gets before all he can think about is the heat between his legs, nice fingers rubbing inside of him while sharp bites make his legs trembling and weak.
All these sweet murmurs in his ears do nothing to clear his head. Never forgot him. It’s almost as good as ‘never leave’, and just as painful to hear. Something to lock away with mute fragility, as he strokes the very low curve of his back. The glass is cold enough to make him shiver, but if he leans on it he can drag America closer and claw up his back, dig his fingers into America’s arse and thighs and rub against him while he laughs hot words between shallow pants.]
And alive. Feel how all the blood’s in your head… My heart is pounding. Look. [There’s not much space to press America’s hand over his chest. After a failed attempt to wriggle into the gap between their skin, America’s hand is dragged to his neck to feel how fast his pulse is racing. As if this is something unusual for sex, and not just a result of the heat on his already weakened breath.]
You sure you can lift me? I know you probably noticed, but I got pretty ripped while you were away. It’s all that dense muscle. Really heavy…
[He hikes his legs around America’s waist with a bounce that leaves all his weight hanging from a solid set of shoulders, in a scrabbling fight to lock his ankles around a trim waist. Apparently, he trusts America more than he trusts himself. Sex against a shower wall isn’t the most comfortable position, but then again, you very rarely have sex against a wall with someone who can lift a car.]
no subject
The tide of unstoppable weirdass thoughts leads to an unfixed stare hovering over Luke's chin for a few seconds before he snaps back to reality. Wonderful, still awkward but fun reality where Luke scrambles up his body like a lopsided panda trying to climb a tree while America's hands slide under his thighs to support him. Sliding up, of course, to fondle Luke's ass to make up for twenty seven long years without scrawny Brit butt to grope. How he ever got by, no one knows. ]
I'll always persevere for you! [ He chirps with a bright smile. The look he gives is one of utmost sincerity and devotion that's only achieved by dogs and children upon entering Disney World. And now America, who is like a child with a dog both going to Disney World every single fucking day.
In case Luke starts getting all emotional and crying again, America quickly chases it with lips pressed against Luke's racing pulse and a laugh that glides over the mark left behind. ] Ohhh, all this muscle, why didn't I ask you to lift me? Guess I'll have to test the limits of my strength holdin' you up! Hope my knee don't give out.
[ A knee newly scarred, jagged and pink and raw, that I have forgotten to mention until this point and I put it in another tag there's no going back now it's there. But it's evidently not causing him too much trouble. He's able to hold Luke against the wall, trembling only with desire, sliding into him with a sharp breath and a bitten off, incoherent murmur as he eases Luke onto his cock with their helpful friend gravity. Truly an appreciated friend after the moon room sex. He holds himself still for a moment, face pressed to Luke's shoulder as he tries to get a handle on himself, trying to fight past his cloudy mind and thrumming body with eyes screwed shut. ]
It's been a while.
[ For him and Luke, and in general. Good ol' Leftie has kept him company during his busy, lonely months, but it's nothing compared to having a boy he loves, had loved and now falling in love with all over again, digging his nails into America's shoulders, hot and tight and alive. Already established that Luke is alive and well, but for someone like America it's a fact that bears repeating. He clings to it and tries not to let the emotions broiling in his chest overspill. God knows the last thing their terrible sex needs is more gushy crying.
After a few moments, his hand slides up to cushion Luke's bony shoulder blades from the shower wall as he moves his hips, shallow and more careful than he needs to be. ]
Is this okay? Can go as fast or rough as ya want, just wanted... [ he bucks his hips and laughs ] Gotta make sure I last long enough to make ya mindless! Like what'm I, a virgin? Pfft. Who'd want that?
[ Who'd want a virgin with a jacked up body, really? But Luke said that none of that mattered, and that makes America's heart flutter. With a shaky moan, his voice drops from teasing into something low and gravely and honest. ]
I'm glad ya wanted to take it fast. Missed this, missed you. And best of all you didn't gimme no time to get all confused or think too hard 'bout how to woo you again, hah!
[ It doesn't give him a chance to worry too much that this is all a cruelly vivid dream. That any second he'll wake up with wet sheets and a heart that feels like lead. There's a small prickling of worry at the edge of his mind that he chases away with a bruising kiss. ]
no subject
Just like there’s no disconnect in their shared history that would lead to Luke reminiscing about the past. His love is continuous and fierce, like an orphan, feeling with every banished, bereaved, sexual part of him. Pretending there’s no past, just a thick fog of love and bodies and whispered promises and entertaining fuck-ups. ]
Only someone crazy.
[He laughs airily when he finally gets a grip on all the pieces of his heart that feel ready to fly away. Only now he’s getting all gushy and moony-eyed when America’s all over him like a super-friendly puppy, and he loves these moments, these seconds when all that fierceness and focus is shone on him. He doesn’t care if America makes love to him slow, fast, because his naked body, it’s power and vulnerability, the steely arms and delicate veins of his wrist obsesses him.]
Don’t matter what you do. Steady as a rock.
[A big, stupid rock stuck in the middle of the Pacific. Apparently, Luke was being polite and pretending he hadn’t noticed the wound, but it’s kinda impossible to ignore when America goes and shoves it in his face. The worst thing about America’s injuries is it’s impossible to judge how concerned you should be. Who knows whether it’s the result of a fight, the economic depression of 1897, or if his cherished dumbass thought it was a good idea to pet a crocodile or duct tape legos to his feet.]
This is steady for me. You’re the only one going fast.[Hand resting on the top of his head, he responds to America’s honesty and neediness with touches that are gentler than Luke normally is. But his other hand still clutches at him, digging into his cute ass, just in case he gets ideas.]
Don’t get confused. Don’t leave me again. I don’t want you to go anywhere.
no subject
But he's already going fast, diving head-long into a life he'd thought he lost three decades ago. Time goes by too quickly for him, so he thinks it's okay to be slow and careful enough to relearn the plains of Luke's (skinny, definitely not ripped but still cute in a sort of flimsy way) body, press himself chest-to-chest like they could never do with his war wounds, try not to get lost in the warmth and friction that makes his breathing stagger and thoughts crackle into indecipherable white noise. Instead he focuses on every tremor of Luke's body, every sound he makes, and whatever piece of their disintegrating conversation is left.
There's no way to promise he'll never leave. People always leave. He's not sure if it'll be him or Luke to be the first to go, but, he thinks, he can make a promise that's just as good: ]
I'll always find my way back to you. Even if ya die. I hear England can talk to ghosts, so I'll enlist his help! Or he's delusional, which is also possible. [ Which is an entirely appropriate conversation to have when you're kissing your boyfriend's jaw while fucking him, obviously. Did you miss this Luke. ] Still! Point stands, you can't get rid of me that easy. A little parallel dimension travel and possible memory loss are just a couple bumps in the road.
[ A problem for most people, America thinks, but he knows where to get horses that can clear six foot high "bumps" with ease. Clearly he is ahead of the game and will ride these horses through the universe.
(If he shows up one day at Sarah Jane's door having stolen one of the Four Horsemen's rides, they may have to hide him for a bit.)
He grins with a sharp confidence built from the ashes of near-ruin, years of impossible survival and probably some insane delusions of his own. But he rationalizes between the two of them, anything is possible, and making these promises isn't just wishful thinking. An impossible country and an impossible boy.
There isn't any room between them for America to snake his hand over the patch of bare abdomen that makes Luke squirm, so he tries to press against it, trapping Luke's cock against his slick abs as he stares with the sort of bright-eyed lunacy that, years ago, was dimmed by the fog of self-consciousness that hung over his head. Depression and trauma and a black hole of ugly emotions, rage and guilt and an almost pathetic need to be loved in spite of that, all of which had dampened his spirit. It's all still there, but at least now America has built a big ass bridge made of coping mechanisms to traverse it. Now he can grin at Luke with enough confidence for both of them. Maybe now, he thinks, he can be someone Luke deserves. ]
When we do meet again, on the outside--hah, talkin' 'bout this place like it's prison, but, ah, y'knowwhatImean--whenever that is, whether ya can pop around time t'see me whenever or we just gotta meet in my future, your present. Whenever that is, I'm gonna take you everywhere. Show ya everything, show ya off to everyone. In the mean time I'll fill ya up with stories of the years gone by, tell ya all 'bout the places we'll go.
[ There came a point where he stopped thinking exactly what he was saying and just started murmuring whatever he was feeling in a low voice, more entranced with Luke's lips than the words falling out of him. ]
no subject
Ghosts’re for people who’re stuck in the Dark Ages. [He rumbles, voice box vibrating under America’s hot kisses. A gravity-heavy thrust that makes them both stutter provides him with an opportunity to bite the shell of America’s ear ear like a reproving mother cat, and Luke takes it with careless viciousness.] You’re better than that.
[Somehow, the idea of America hitchhiking through dimensions to wind up on his doorstep is less fantastical. There’s already only one dimension of separation between them, after all. Wonderland’s proven that. No reason they can’t close that gap. That’s a sliver of hope that grips his heart and squeezes it tight, until it feels like he’s not breathing at all between the steamy air and America’s stare that pins him like a startled rabbit. He scratches lines into America’s back, squirming on his cock as his boyfriend paints their lives with a thick unreality that allows him to sink into America’s whispered dreams of the future as easily as he walked into that starry desert landscape what feels like a lifetime ago.]
I want- I wanna- Take me. Take me everywhere. I wanna go everywhere with you. [Wherever America kisses, Luke slides his hand against the back of his neck, a firm grip that holds him against Luke’s skin. An immature demand to keep these kisses frequent and endless while he bangs his head against the glass to stave off overstimulation.] I wanna see it. The world. Take whatever you’ve got. Ev’rything. You and me.
[Never mind that back home, he’s already in a relationship, albeit one that’s now distant and half-forgotten. Never mind that he can’t move away from his mum, not further than driving distance, that all his studies and work and obligations are in England, and America can hardly abandon his people and land for a temporary relationship with one stupid kid from another pack.
The longer he’s here, the less he can understand that steady, grounded life. But that gap in his soul can be filled up with stories and adventures and parasitic dependence. He can languish in the bright friction of America’s body, and under the spray of water and the relentless thrusts, his tearful eyes and choked squeals of ] Take me, take me [almost aren’t desperate at all.]
no subject
And besides, it's so, so much nicer to let the fantasies swallow him up until he's far beyond the reach of fears and doubts. America doesn't think about the life Luke would have to leave behind (or at least periodically abandon) to be with him, and America doesn't think about the responsibility of dragging a somewhat-normal human boy through dimensions into his fucked up world. These are things to worry about when he crosses that bridge. As long as the possibility remains of a life outside of Wonderland, even the smallest possibility and an unsteady relationship, it's enough for America.
Each feverish demand shoots through him like lightning, bouncing off his heart and through his lungs to make his breathing hitch, right over the wings of the butterflies in his stomach to his hips and cock and crackling over every inch of him until he feels like Luke must be able to see how much America loves him painted over his skin. He can see it all so vividly too: showing Luke the parts of him beyond his body. He can show Luke all of what makes him him. ]
Everywhere, everything. [ It's a promise he presses to Luke's neck as a hand hold him in place, his hips bucking with every "take me". Desire to be slow and careful and drawing out the moment starts to crumble under the weight of an exciting future, one that isn't completely impossible, whispered and panted with almost religious conviction. ] Every part of me, I'll show you fields and mountains and rivers and-- and the Northern Lights. Things that don't even live up to their dreams, I'll show 'em all to you. And my house, my heart, where I keep that chest and all my memories and I'll let you inside. The little spots on the map that make me me. Your America, your Alfred.
[ Through the haze, even right on the brink, he manages to guide one of Luke's hands to his heart that pounds like it's trying to break out of his chest. Through it all he manages to pull back to shine an ecstatic, crooked grin at the boy in his arms. ]
If you're wonderin' where it is on my body, pretty sure it's my left ventricle! In case you wanted to inject a little philosophy into physiology know-how. Betcha could map me out better than any cartographer--unless you're into cartography too, then that'd just be really hot.
[ He plants a sweet kiss to the corner of Luke's mouth to conclude the most bizarre substitute for dirty talk since the beluga argument. Existentialism, metaphysical biochemistry, and the kinds of countries should be added to the list of their awards for "Being Able To Talk About While Still Maintaining An Erection."
The hand that had guided the hand to his chest slides down Luke's body, over the curve of his hip and squeezing the base of his cock, and he really has to think hard about all the pretty scenic (but wholly unerotic) views he's going to show to Luke, otherwise he'll fall right over the edge the squirming and thrusting and slick warmth and choked cries has him teetering of. Otherwise he'll look up and see the expression Luke wears as he begs America to take him-- ]
Fuck.
[ Aaaand it's too late. His body goes taut as he comes, the hand on Luke's cock shaking and squeezing instead of stroking, mouthing Luke's name against his lips between blissed-out panting. The real miracle is that he manages to stay upright instead of letting himself collapse against the boy he's pinned to the wall. ]
no subject
Draw you like one of my French girls.
[He breathes into America’s mouth, with words that are frayed at the edges. Breathing ragged as America’s hips slam up and drive out most surface thoughts, until he can feel America’s arms trembling and Luke’s trembling too because he’s in so deep.
Every molecule of his being is tight and focused on the happiness in those mercurial eyes, making sure it doesn’t die out. Sometimes it seems like America’s eyes contain all the sky he’s ever seen, and Luke decides he wants to know everything about him with a deep, cavernous yearning for his companionship. For that gleam that makes him special. He could run, in America. Whenever he needed to get away, just pick up and run across the wide expanse of the country to somewhere new and different, and still never leave the boy he loves behind. The promise of an adventure with this boy who holds him safe, straight like a spine. It’s been a long time since his blood’s had new routes to travel, and his fingers linger over the hammering of America’s heart, grows drowsy and fond.
Too drowsy. The hand on his cock isn’t doing much of that nice, zippy, electrifying thing. He can work with the shaking, but the squeezing is getting kinda counterproductive and then America stops moving, and it’s nice to hold him and squidge against him, but he can’t bounce on America’s lap when he’s being kept pinned and opened like a butterfly captured by a terrible, terrible nerd. Only try to encourage him to get a move on with fumbling fingers and motivating kisses. Until he figures out what’s going on, and then he groans loudly in America’s ear.]
You didn’t pull out?
[The whine is punctuated by banging his fist against America’s chest with futile weakness of someone giving up a long battle. The parts of Luke’s brain that’s always running in the background, even when higher thinking has collapsed under the pressure of getting fucked silly, decides they really need to start planning things better. Not just for the no-condom thing, but because America always comes right before Luke really wants him to and there must be a scientific (or minorly kinky) solution to this problem..]
Did you come inside me? I’m gonna have all your come dripping down my legs for the rest of the evening, America!
[Ah, the erotic pre-post orgasm ‘you got your bodily fluids in inconvenient places’ discussion. Never mind that America risks life and limb every time he tries to go down on this ungrateful sod. Luke just stares at him with pitiful eyes, and it’s almost like he’s trying to make America keep fucking him into senselessness, just to shut him up.
Almost, if Luke wasn’t completely sincere about everything.]
no subject
Can't help it! Been twenty seven years since I've touched you, and my heart's all a-flutter with lovey stuff.
[ Pouting doesn't save Luke from a delighted smile and a peck on the lips. America eases him down, holding onto Luke's hips to keep him upright as he pulls out to kiss down Luke's abdomen. Once again he treads the path of risking life and limb in the name of adventurous blowjobs. ]
Tell ya what, you can come inside me later, then we can be hot messes together. Deal?
[ Yes, he thinks, that's a completely legitimate solution that will pacify my cranky boyfriend. Then we'll get to complain TOGETHER about having jizz leaking out of us AND we'll get to have sex again! This plan is flawless.
In the mean time he can enjoy warm water beating on his back as he kneels once again before an emotionally volatile weapon of mass destruction to suck his dick. Slower, his ever-present energy dimmed after climax, he grins and kisses his favorite patch of self-loathing. Is it a comfort that he's still unperturbed by Luke's missing navel after three decades, or dismaying that he's still fascinated by it? Better question: will America ever care enough to stop bringing attention to it? No. Probably not. Probably he'll just keep prodding it like a dog who continuously shoves its face in peoples' crotches and chews up underwear, forever stupid and annoyingly inappropriate.
One of his hands slips behind Luke, taking a detour (to no one's surprise) to grope the cushion of Luke's bony ass before continuing on, slipping inside where it's slick and wet and he can run the pads of fingertips over the ridge of firey nerves. His lips trail down to place soft kisses over the head, licking along the length of Luke's cock almost absentmindedly.
And of course he thinks this is the perfect time to resume conversation. Let's start by missing a key pop culture joke. ]
So you've been at it with French girls huh? [ No hurt, no bitterness, no jealousy (okay, maybe a little jealousy bubbles distantly inside him, but that's only because a romp with Luke and French girls sounds like a whole lot of fun he missed out on). Years of comforting himself with thoughts that Luke had moved on, forgotten him and gone back to his boyfriend cushion America from feeling anything but amusement. Mostly he's teasing, but if it's true? He's happy for Luke. Humans should continue on with their lives when he's not around.
Even if America's twenty seven years had been only a week for Luke. Life moves fast. ]
French gals always know how to have a good time. But don't tell me they're prettier than me!
no subject
You went away and came back all out of my league, now.
[Twenty-seven years. It’s a weird number. It seems too human. A year is normal, like going away to uni and not seeing someone in a while, before remembering exactly why you were great friends during school. Or a century. He could handle that. It’d just be part of the weirdness of dating an immortal boy. One more crazy story in a lifetime of crazy stories.
Twenty-seven years is flabby and middle-aged. It’s for lonely housewives waiting for their husbands to come home from war, or for meeting a fling from your twenties and finding the spark’s still there. Not for skinny teenage boys who grin when their dopey boyfriends don’t even consider apologising, and skip straight to suggesting they both be equally miserable and equally unable to walk the next day. That’s the kind of insanity-driven kindness that makes Luke want to stick with him.
Well, it’s either unthinking kindness, or an entirely cynical attempt to get laid again. But Luke’s on board with that, too, so he doesn’t mind so much.]
Yeah, that’s smart. Deal.
[But his blotchy cheeks turn a brighter pink when America’s brush over that spot that makes him flush in shame, and he resorts to pleading.] It’s ugly. Don’t kiss it.
[Thankfully, America doesn’t stay for long, that attention span working in his favour as America pulls at him. Hips twitch as he searches for the perfect balance between rocking back onto America’s fingers and rub against his mouth with shameless urgency. Laughing and curling over America’s head as those lazy movements of his tongue push him into a sedated mindlessness.]
S’good. No one’s as pretty as you.
[And because it’s impossible to lie when someone’s touching your dick and laughing at you, Luke tells the flustered truth for, like, the first time in fucking forever.]
Sounds like you’re the one who might’ve been having it off with French girls! I haven’t… D’Artagnan kissed me. While you were… I was making him a sandwich and he just shoved me right up against- I know he’s got the hair, but I don’t think he counts as a girl.
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Still. He'd kissed Luke (and maybe Luke kissed back). But America had kissed others (and done more with a few), boys and girls, the makings of American legends and normal people who quietly made their own histories. Fallen in and out of love more times than is probably advisable. Fidelity was tenuous even with the ones who liked him back. As far as he's concerned, Luke could have fucked his way through all of Wonderland and it wouldn't make a difference. America's just happy to have him back, and he shows as much with gracious kisses along the shaft.
If he's honest it's also to show how much better his kisses are than anyone else's. ]
Waited 'til his competition was outta the way to make a move? Either he's real considerate or he knew I'd shower ya with so much attention you wouldn't wanna be anywhere but by my side!
[ He crooks his fingers with every rock of Luke's hips. Pulling back just millimeters from the head, he squints up through the steam, his breath drifting over the sensitive skin as her murmurs: ]
Nothin' about you is ugly, Luke Smith. Not your skin, not your soul, and definitely not your smile.
[ And then he swallows the whole thing to the root with the eagerness of someone who doesn't realize that they're probably going to encounter another sexual disaster. The only saving grace is that he moans Luke's name in a rumbling voice as his head bobs instead of arguing about whales. ]
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[What? Luke likes all sorts of puns, especially the really crap ones. Has ever since he was a kid. Irony and satire were too complex and culturally bound, but puns were easy to see how words connected to other words to alter the meaning a little. Luke loved that shit. Spent hours coming up with really cheesy puns and telling them to people, only to discover they’d all been invented already.
That’s the real reason he could never pick D’Artagnan. He’s way too French to appreciate a good pun. That and these kisses are much better than the ones with D’Artagnan. Luke’s knees wobble and slip on the wet, and he drops to the floor with jerky, sinking movements. Heel pressed into the curve where the basin meets the wall, knee banging into the floor sharp enough to make him jolt, and Luke tries to drag America’s mouth with him the entire way.]
Don’t say stupid stuff to me. [He huffs, eyes closed and head lolling back in pleasure. And to get out from under the spray that’s now rebounding onto his face. He can’t figure out how to spread his legs without digging his toes into America’s groin, but his arms writhe against the glass like this is a moment of perfect luxury. Which it is, really, to have a sweet, affectionate boy moan his name against his cock and make everything feel nice.]
Doesn’t matter when I’m next to you, anyway. [He murmurs, cheeks pink, eyes roving over every bit of flesh in front of him. He trails his hand down America’s back, fingers massaging any stray bits of dirt that got missed in the first go around.] You’re like a star. Who'd look at me when you're so beautiful?
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The compliments definitely make it worth it. He pulls his mouth away to grin fully, leaving his cock to the mercy of the shower's spray as his fingers thrust in and out, tracing over the nerves that make Luke's breathing stutter. ]
To be fair, no one can really compare to me. [ Because this is the perfect time to preen. ] But stars ain't nothin' but big firey balls millions of miles away without a human to admire 'em. You may not be into the whole whimsy thing, but you still got scientific admiration. You make me greater. Besides, what's better than havin' a star wanna shine only on you?
[ Is this how you charm someone??? In America's self-centered head it is. He looks rather pleased with himself as he gives a teasing lick to the frenulum. ]
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Uh-huh. [He agrees, unable to voice anything other than a squeaky hiccup of agreement when America’s hand sinks into him deep, and the noises Luke’s making are getting closer and closer together.
For a second he thinks America isn’t going to lick him again, just plans to drive him crazy by rubbing that nub inside him. Luke’s hand goes straight to his cock, but his jerky tugs falter when America starts using his tongue again, and his world narrows down to America’s mouth. He keeps his hand wrapped loosely around the base and he squishes down to watch what he does, wide eyes focused on America’s satisfied expression because the blowjob could all be a bluff.]
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Said chest is probably 30% graphic smut recounting their sexcapades. No one is surprised.
It's hard to grin while giving head, but somehow America manages a smile as he takes the head back into his mouth, making a point to be almost teasingly slow with his tongue lazily tracing around the head. ]
Wan' i' sof'?
[ So maybe he doesn't remember every single detail or conversation they've had, but it's kinda hard to forget the first time giving a blowjob and Luke trying to fuck his throat raw. And he remembers that request as his hair was yanked and a dick shoved down his throat.
Accompanying the question is America's hand, reaching up to tenderly brush his boyfriend's knuckles. It's an ambiguous gesture; hard to tell if he's trying to hold hands or offering to jerk him off. Probably both. ]
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Yes. Yeah, please.
[With a tongue sliding around causing a melty, shivery surge of heat, he’d happily agree if America suggested difficult, squashed sex on a playground swing, but it’s the puppy dog eyes and the I’m-going-to-own-you smile, and the quick grope of his fingers that really does him in and makes his stomach flip like it’s their first time touching all over again.]
If you do that, I’m gonna come
[It’s a warning and a plea all rolled into one.]
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And besides, he wants to show off that he's no longer that fumbling virgin who took an uncomfortably long time to find the prostate and couldn't handle a little hair pulling. Now he can turn Luke's innards molten with a press of his fingers, slick with his own spend, each bob of his head met with a stroke up into his mouth. Once he thinks he's got it to just the point where where the heat at the base of Luke's spine finally gives way, America's eyes flicker up to his face, squinting through the steam to watch the fallout. He ignores the hot water that's turned his back bright red by now, the strained muscles in his neck and his sore knees, and he doesn't care about any of it because it's all worth it to just be with Luke again. America has been given a second go at their relationship and he wants to cherish it every moment he's in Wonderland.
At least this time he's prepared as Luke comes. In a rare, shining moment amidst their endless failures, he actually manages to swallow without coughing or getting it up his nose or anything. As soon as Luke's wrung out, America kisses his way up his boyfriend's torso, landing on his flushed cheek and holding him through the shakes. ]
Hey there cutie. Want me to get ya scrubbed up before we take it to the bed?
[ Terrible come-on or thoughtful suggestion? You decide. ]
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Not the immediate sensation where you’ve got to sort yourself out, obviously. The abstract feeling. Cheap and pleasant, shiny-faced and glad to be alive. Warm, damp skin and warm, damp breaths. Constricted, though, like they’re both trapped in a vacuum and running out of oxygen. Is what Luke would say, if he didn’t actually know running out of oxygen doesn’t feel this nice.
As he snuggles down against America’s chest and the mindlessness ebbs, he realises that America has become the more experienced one, the one who really knows what he’s doing. It’s a change in the balance of power between them, and he’s embarrassed by how easily America worked him. Too much so to give anything other than a shy nod and a trying-not-to-smile smile.]
So I can fuck you.
[He says, after a few moments of beautific smiling, even as it’s clear he would be asleep this very minute if he wasn’t at risk of drowning.]
I missed fucking you. [A fleeting touch to America’s cheek is traced down through the puddles of his shoulders and finish pressed against the top of his scar. Luke’s own half-assed contribution to the scrubbing up effort, but better than his sleepy repetition acting as a substitute for pillow talk.] We should fuck in every room.
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America chuckles, licking the drops of water that trickle into the hollow of Luke's throat with a warm, agreeing smile. ]
So you can fuck me.
[ He joins Luke in happily drowning in air thick with steam and their own labored breaths. If it was the sun burning his back instead of a steady jet of water, he could almost mistake it for summertime in Florida. Except instead of a swampy smell to accompany the oppressive humidity, he can nuzzle against Luke and curl into a scent that's distinctly him, something that makes a warm, homey feeling blossom in America's chest. ]
I missed you. And I missed you fucking me! Now that I ain't so sore and covered in gross wounds, you can have me however ya want, wherever ya want.
[ His energy has returned enough that he can scramble to his feet, gently hoisting Luke up along with him. While chattering away, he piles on the soap or shower gel or whatever the hell is left over from trying to get America clean. Maybe he's just lathering Luke up with shampoo. Oh well, at least he's doing it with light, messaging touches. ]
I can lie on my stomach now, so I can just spread out on your mattress, or have myself up on all fours. Problem with that though is if I get really into it, sometimes I push back a little too hard and ya might go tumbling off the bed, ha ha!
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The pace of inane chatter wash away all the lonely anxiety of the last seven days, a chittering background noise to his late nights and mornings he hadn’t even realised he needed. If he wasn’t completely spent, he’d have a very homesick hardon right now.]
If you’re gonna get that excited, maybe I should tie you up again!
[It’s a suggestion made far too happily for a boy who’s not all that into bondage. Luke likes vanilla and sunshine and safety, but when you playing Russian Roulette twenty-four seven, you kinda get addicted to the thrill. Pushing your limits is fun when you’re young and fearless and know you can die at any minute, and it’s made Luke into the sort of kid who would frown intensely at someone playing with a lighter, and then enthusiastically try to bang them on the edge of a skyscraper.]
Or take you down with me. Or you can tie me up, ‘cos it’s okay if it’s you. [He hums and catches America's hands so he'll still, and Luke can kiss all the wet patches on America's neck and breathe in his ear.] Let’s do everything. I wanna have you in every position.
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His hand dips further down, slow and purposeful. Washing away the excess lube and come that Luke had complained about, careful as he traces over sore and sensitive skin, he slides closer until he's pressed flush against Luke, close enough to feel the tremors as Luke whispers in his ear. Kissing along Luke's jaw gets some suds in his mouth but America thinks it's worth it. ]
Everything. We'll do everything. You can bind my arms and splay my legs, make it so I can't get out without some serious rope burn. But you too, it's okay if it's you. When I tie ya up, I won't ever hurt ya, I'll get ya to come so many times you won't remember anything that isn't bliss in your veins or my mouth on your cock.
[ And then, right on time, America ruins the fucking mood by being himself. He decides that it's perfectly acceptable to give Luke a light smack on the rear and follow it up with conditioning his hair with innocent cheeriness. ]
This smells real good! I usually get the flower stuff but this smells like summer.
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I want it. I know you’ll never- [He accepts soft kisses on his bruised lips as a promise to having America’s gentle hands on his skin and his hard mouth making his knees weak, so then it wouldn't even matter if his wrists are held fast. Because America’s done everything to deserve Luke’s trust.
The slap cuts through his dreamy headspace. Luke tenses up, eyes wide with surprise and recrimination, because what the hell are you playing at, Jones?. The few moments of scandalised open mouth says it all, before he sags under hands in his hair.]
Bit girly, flowers. [Ah, the sweet taste of casual sexism in the morning.] Dunno what kinda summers you’re having. Where I’m from, they smell like grease and hot tar.
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Half my population is girls. [ Clearly that's a legitimate response. Not even defensive, just stating fact. ]
Hah, definitely sounds like a London summer! Or New York, or Pittsburgh, or pick any big industrial city. I'll have to take ya out somewhere a little quieter. You'd probably fry in the South and Midwest [ he prods a red patch from the heat of the water with a pruny hand ] so maybe Northern territories. Oregon don't smell like desert flowers, obviously, but it's rain and wood and Earth, which are way better smells than hot tar.
[ It's weird how easily the fantasies come to him. Seeing Luke outside of Wonderland, even in his own time, taking him to every corner of his land and showing off every bright part of him. ]
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I would not fry! I want to see New Orleans, too. And swamps. [He complains, weakly slapping America’s hand away from his heat-damaged skin.] You’ll still take me to New York, right? After we do Oregon. And then it has to be Las Vegas...
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