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
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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!
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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...
no subject
You would so fry, but alright, I'll take ya down South! If ya want swamps I'll take ya really down South to the Everglades, that'll be enough swamp to last ya a lifetime. And if you still ain't sunburned by the end you can see the Grand Canyon and Monument Valley. No tour of my shores is complete without NYC so we'll definitely hit that up! Got myself an apartment there. I tell ya, wakin' up to the sounds and sights of the city is a whole 'nother experience. Different than London, even. [ He's getting dreamy just thinking about it. ]
And Las Vegas...
[ His face scrunches up in intense thought. Americans aren't the best with geography, even in their own country, and America isn't an exception. He's constantly growing and changing, sometimes so gradually that he realizes all at once like a new graduate looking at their freshman year pictures to see how much they've changed, so it's hard to keep track even when he's at home. Without his land (and because there aren't any maps of the US in this shower--like c'mon Luke, don't you want some hot pictures of your boyfriend to jerk off to in here?) it's all the harder to recall a city that hasn't even been created in his time yet. The Hoover Dam and resulting casino, mobsters, and population boom are a World War and a Dust Bowl away. Remarkably he manages to scrounge up a memory of an area that's just some dude's ranch. ]
Oh! The stop on the Old Spanish Trail with the good wine! Road there might be a lil' rough for ya, but I can take ya there!
[ Bless Wikipedia and its availability to help me bullshit history I don't know.
It is also here that I bemoan America's time period for not having Rainbow Row in Charleston because seriously what a cute city. ]
no subject
[Luke is no stranger to hard travel, anyway. He’s from Ealing. A barren wasteland of mansions and polish delis, thirty minutes from civilization on the rickety old central line, standing in a crowd of excited exchange students and miserable BBC employees. Yes, the residents of Ealing are truly the mountain men of modern times. Even if his face winches at the prospect of hanging out in some wannabe ghost town drinking wine with old Spanish guys. Not quite blackjack and hookers.]
I can handle rough. [He pushes his chest into America’s hands as part of his fight not to curl over and squirm. Still, that might be a little bit of a lie, so he tacks on with an unrepentant grin.] I can handle you.
[Or he can handle being handled with ticklish caresses have more weight in his head, his arms squished around America’s neck or the tan lines on his waist. He keeps forgetting he can touch whatever he wants now America’s whole. Creamy with happiness, too caught up in his internal feelings to return the favour of gentle caresses with anything but trapping America in a spindly vice against Luke’s body.
The bold attempt to be as flirty and glib as America quavers under the sudden rememberence that Luke is terrible at being bold and flirty and glib, and then peters out into awkward oh-no-i-feel-like-saying-something-meaningful lip chewing. He misunderstands the dreaminess, taking it for wistful reflection. It was hard enough waking up alone in an empty room with an easily provoked raptor, and Luke knows America likely didn’t wake up to the sound of the city when he got dragged home.]
I’d like to wake up in New York with you. Wake up anywhere with you.
[That’s what he’s really longed for. Waking up next to America, warm and solid next to him (or squashed right up against him, depending on how much of a cuddly fuck he’s being that night). Sleepy morning fumbles, complaining about how early it is. Morning breath kisses and breathing in his scent. Not the artificial shampoo that reminds them of each other, but dirty hair that smells like him.
The sex is good. leg-numbingly, nails-clawed-in-backs good, but waking up and not being alone is the best.]
And little cursed towns. [Luke ruins any steamy lovey-doveyness by shoving America's rock hard chest.] I don't know why you have a million tiny cursed towns everywhere, but I don't want to go to any of those.