Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Oh, good morning, Mr. Bonnefoy!”
The Frenchman waved at the friendly neighbor, smiling his usual sweet smile as he walked out of his house. He didn’t motion to close the door, but he didn’t look like he would be going back in. In fact, it seemed like he was waiting for someone.
The neighbor picked up on this, and asked, “I say, are you in a rush?”
France shook his head, and answered, “I’m just waiting for someone to come out of the house.”
He turned to look into the doorway and discovered that no one was there.
With a smaller smile than before, he leaned into the doorway and whispered in an alluring purr, “Why don’t you go ahead and get it over with if you’re so embarrassed?”
The person he had been murmuring to finally stomped out, but stood directly behind France, their feet close together and arms clenched in front of their body.
The neighbor raised her eyebrows, an uncertain smile creeping across her face as she exclaimed, “What a lovely little woman you have there!”
The person standing behind France knocked his foot into the back of the Frenchman’s leg, as if they were urging for them to correct her.
France cleared his throat, yanking on his tie a little before confirming, “Yes, well...I should be going now.”
The neighbor smiled a little brighter than before and bid them with a wave, continuing her stroll down the street.
Once the woman had walked out of earshot, France felt a hand grip the back of his suit rather harshly as a man hissed, “Let’s just hurry this up.”
The taller man nodded, a rather forced smile through the constriction of the clothing crawling across his lips as he agreed, “Why yes, let’s.”
The two didn’t say much to each other as they walked, but France did look at the person next to him with a bit of a smile.
This was probably, without a doubt, one of the best bets he could have possibly won.
**********************************************************************

“Now remember, before we start this meeting, I want you all to make sure your notes are well put together before saying something stupid like last time.” Germany advised as he placed his suitcase on the oak table, the light from what peeked in through the curtains glistening atop the surface of it.
Italy swung into his chair, bright eyed and excited for the meeting to come. “I can’t wait to tell you how long I’ve thought about what you told us in the last meeting!” he beamed, resting his chin on his fists in excitement and anticipation.
The German nation didn’t speak with as much order or in as demanding of a tone when he responded to Italy. “I don’t doubt that, since you stayed in your room for most of last night. You didn’t even eat with us, did you?”
“I don’t remember seeing him in there,” Japan recollected, looking down at his own papers contemplatively.
“Can we just start this meeting already??” Romano huffed, “I had things to do.”

“Things?” Italy repeated, a small smiling creeping into that statement, “Or people?”
Romano’s face began glowing a bright scarlet color as he reprimanded his younger brother, “You can’t say stupid shit like that! You’ll get punched in the face! Smartass…!”

Italy cowered behind Germany at his brother’s anger, mouth pursed shut.

Germany sighed heavily, and turned to the other nations who had arrived not too long ago.
“The meeting won’t be starting right now, but I do need to get a roll call started, so I don’t forget afterwards.”

He stood before them, holding a pen and a clipboard in each large hand, and began, “America?”

A chipper and pumped up nation sat in his seat as he called out in a loud voice, “The hero has arrived!”
Germany frowned and muttered under his breath, “Yes...of course. China?”

The ancient country raised a silk sleeve, still looking down at his notes in concentration.

The German nodded, then continued, “Britain…..Britain?? Is he not here yet?”

“That’s not like him,” China muttered, breaking out of concentration, “But France appears to be late, too.”

“Hey...didn’t they make some sort of bet earlier?” Russia asked, “Britain lost that bet, if I’m not mistakened.”
“Ha!” Alfred chuckled, “Of course he did! It was a HUGE upset! I don’t remember what their agreement was or any of that, but I’m sure it had to be embarrassing as HELL for Brit to--”

*Click*

The room fell silent at the sight before them.
No one spoke, but they did stare.
Even China, who had once been focusing on his notes, looked up to see what had shut the entire conference room up.
The maids looked. The Nordics stared. It took everything Norway had to keep Denmark from breaking the silence and making some sort of awful outburst.
Alfred was obviously blushing at the sight.
It was….it was….
It wasn’t ugly, that was for sure.
In front of them stood England, wearing a pale blue and white long sleeved schoolgirl uniform, white stockings that were obviously too tight for him to wear, and brown loafers.
He didn’t look at anyone, keeping his head down and his arms folded. A small grunt of discomfort came from him as he squirmed a little in the getup.
Alfred was going to assume that maybe he was...wearing panties too?? He wasn’t sure, but God..if he were to bend down or even sit down...the whole world would know. They would definitely know.
France, on the other hand, seemed pretty laid back, as he smiled with a hand on the other nation’s shoulder. He didn’t even have to say anything. Everyone knew just how proud he was of this little victory. It was a little weird that that was what France wanted him to do, but they didn’t, and hadn’t planned on, putting anything like that past him.
No, they weren’t saying he was sick or anything. They just knew he liked making England look silly.
No one spoke for a little while longer.
In the silence, out of nowhere, Norway muttered, “Nice skirt.”
England bit down on his lip at the comment and furrowed his thick eyebrows, standing close to France.
The Frenchman gestured towards the Norwegian and announced, “Thank you, Japan picked it out for me.”
The crowd looked at Japan, who suddenly seemed so absorbed in his notes, but they all knew he had gotten a good look at it. He himself had to admit that Arthur didn’t look too bad in it. In fact, he looked really cute wearing it. Because he wasn’t so muscular and didn’t have much of a build, it made some of his features look a little...feminine. He liked that about the outfit. It was nice.
But Japan didn’t make an outward expression about it.
England suddenly raised his head, a rather unpleasant scowl resting on his face, as he balled his hands into fists and declared, “It’s only for one day, so don’t make a big fuss about it.” Despite the edge in his voice, his deeply flushed face told another story.

Still, that being said, the countries tried their best to not bother him about it, and turned to tend to their own things, but still glanced every once in awhile as he made his way to his seat.
America didn’t take a single breath at first when the Brit sat next to him. Instead, he held the last one he had taken in his throat and looked to his side with wide eyes.
Shit..he was sitting right next to him with that outfit on? The fuck?
Still….it was nice to look at. He considered it awful because it showed every part of him that gave him such high sex appeal.
He swore right there in the seat he was sitting in, if England were wearing panties with that plain little uniform, he wasn’t going to be able to stay through this meeting for very long.
He decided to not say anything, but stared deeply at how plump his legs looked in those...tight...fucking horrid stockings. God damn. Couldn’t Japan have found a cuter uniform for that poor man? Could he? Did he just want America to suffer? He knew that maybe there was a way to just...ignore it. There had to be.
Despite the uniform being a mess made straight out of Hell’s sweatshop, England oddly made it look good.
“Well, let’s just...get this meeting started.” Germany insisted, “We don’t have all day to get this done.”
The other nations nodded in agreement, and tried to concentrate on the meeting.
For most that was easier said than done.
France finally came and sat down beside his embarrassed frenemy, smiling at him.
He received a bitter “piss off” and was left at that.
America leaned back, since England was sitting between them, and whispered, “What the hell did you do to make him wear that?”
France only smiled wide. He whispered back, “You’d be surprised what Angleterre will do out of pride.”
The American didn’t say anything after that.
He turned back to Germany, but couldn’t stay like that for long, as his eyes slowly, oh so slowly, craned back to the Brit in the itty bitty skirt.
God damn it.
God damn it.
BREAK

The meeting was already excruciating enough, with Italy babbling on and other countries going at it about the dumbest, smallest things, but America and France’s attention had been on one thing the entire time.
England sat all through the meeting with his arms folded, and he didn’t bother talking to either of them, keeping his eyes dead on Germany, because he knew, deep down, someone in the room was staring at him.
He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t going to let France make any more of a fool out of him than he already had.
America began sweating after a while, because fucking hell….the Englishman was making this extremely hard to get through.
England had his legs crossed currently, and since his legs were under the table, not much could be seen.
But...America kept thinking about the possibility...that he was wearing panties under that uniform.
Why else would he have looked so uncomfortable this whole time?
Holy shit, if he were wearing panties...if he were wearing girls’ underwear…
No. No, stop that.
America felt his breath catch in his throat as he realized that he was starting to grow a little hard under the table.
Nah, this was ridiculous. There was...no way in Hell. Did England wearing a skirt turn him on? Did it?
No, maybe he was just a little excited by the fact that there was a chance he was wearing panties...maybe that was..
What if they were crotchless panties?
What if they were laced? He hoped to God they were the same color as that uniform.
“Mr. America, is there a problem?”
America snapped out of his perverted daze, realizing that half the room, including England, and Germany, was looking dead at him, and he gulped hard.
He didn’t know what to say at first.
What had he done to catch all this attention?
After fumbling over words and pretty much making a blathering a fool of himself for a solid 5 seconds, he managed to blurt with a sheepish smile, “I’m fine, just a little out of it.”
Germany sighed and, in a seemingly exhausted tone, warned, “Well, Britain has already caught you staring twice now.”
America felt his heart punch him straight in the gut.
It was like his brain was telling him to pay the fuck attention and his penis was telling him to get a little more intel so he could play this fantasy off right.
Instead of doing either, he sighed in defeat and admitted, “I stared for quite a bit, but I should don’t think I’ll be doing it anymore.
This triggered the Brit, who straightened up and spat, “You shouldn’t have been looking in the first place!”

“You two should calm down,” France proposed with a smile, “I can sense some tension, hm??”

England folded his arms closer to him and turned to the other man as he retorted, “Tension that you caused because you put me in this stupid uniform!”

“I gave you the option of taking it off,” France brought up, “So you can’t blame me for that one.”

England’s face froze, and suddenly he bit his lip, face flushed again, and turned to Germany. “Can we..move this along!?” he grumbled, eyebrows arched and eyes slit.
Germany let out a small stream of air and went on, “Now...where were we…?”
BREAK
The country on the other side of the situation was not doing much better. He had caught himself staring many times.
England had never let the Frenchman peek in the room while he had changed, so this was surprising to him as well. Seeing him with that little skirt on, wearing those stockings, it made him seem so innocent in a way.
He really enjoyed watching the smaller man blush and fuss over how embarrassing it was. It made him chuckle deep down. Maybe now the little black sheep of Europe would watch what he said. He wasn’t as lucky as he had been during his days as a pirate. It just wasn’t avoidable for him to be fucked over in these types of situations. Ha.
That being said, he thought Japan did a pretty good job of picking out an outfit for him to wear. He figured the Japanese wore pretty cute clothing, and he was excited when Japan actually agreed to doing it for him. Of course, he didn’t….go into detail about it. Instead, he let him think on his own..heheh. It was actually pretty funny, the way it had been brought up.
And now that he was looking at those not so plump, but oddly seemingly plump thighs in those nice, white and blue laced stockings, and he saw just how much that skirt revealed, it left him with a giddy, bubbly, and almost sinful feeling. England looked good. That much was apparent. If anyone thought otherwise, it was probably because they weren’t used to seeing him in such revealing clothing….
France suddenly caught England resting his right leg on the floor before lifting his left leg over it. He did this in a smooth motion, keeping his arms folded, and…
Holy shit.
France had caught a small peek of his underwear.
It…
Blue and white...
Striped panties!?!??

France felt his heart pounding in his ears, his face flaming red as he covered his mouth.
Shit, shit shit….that was...that was kind of hot, to be straight to the point.
He knew that England’s...bits...were probably hanging out of the fabric. There was no doubt about that. He definitely couldn’t stop thinking about that.
The Frenchman bit down on his lip and hid a small chuckle, finding it relatively hard to keep from laughing about the fact that England actually wore...blue and white striped fucking panties...like, those kind of panties seemed too innocent for someone like him...really...striped panties...wow...Wow..
He kept his head turned, but his eyes on England a little while longer.
He was sure his heart had stopped beating when he caught eye contact with him.
Did...did England...just look at him?
And he didn’t even say anything?
What...what…?
Wait..did that mean…
Did that mean...when he had crossed his legs like that…
Was he trying to tease him?
France didn’t look for a second. His eyes remained on ….whatever he could get his eyes on that wasn’t England.
That smug little bastard...that sneaky little tease...what a load of shit. Why was he acting like this? What was he trying to prove? Was this still a pride thing?
Well whatever it was, France had mixed feelings towards it. He knew that the Brit was biting on a bit of pride because of all this, but Jesus. He could stand to not be a cocktease.
Well, he was going to confront him about it shortly.

“Okay, that’s it for today,” Germany announced, “We’ll pick up from where we left off next week.
Once what was said had been said, France stood up immediately, shakily putting his things away.
He felt his heart thundering in his heated ears as he thought about what he was going to say without sounding like an idiot.
Beside him, he noticed that England was trying a lot less harder to get his things situated as he stood with that usual resting bitch face while stacking his papers and sliding them into a folder in his suitcase.
Stupid little bastard.
France had to stop him before he tried to escape--
“Hey Brit, what’s your deal!?”
He turned when he heard America’s little outburst as he stood in front of the shorter nation, lips curled in a wobbly frown as he looked with a wildly flushed face. He had his hands straight at his sides and close to him, standing his ground, obviously.
Had...England made the same looks at America?
Just what kind of game was he trying to play? Was he trying to prove something, or was he just being petty? He couldn’t think of any reason for England being so...flirty??
Maybe the tights were cutting off circulation.
Japan had been lingering for a bit now, surveying the way the uniform looked from quite a distance as he stared with a studious frown, his chin pressed between his thumb and the second knuckle of his finger.
He didn’t walk too much closer, but he did look much closer than he had before.
America kept his eyes on the shorter nation in front of him and went on to say, “You wanted us to stop staring yet you were the one making it obvious that you have a skirt on!”
“Because it’s obvious,” England shot back, “It’s very painfully obvious that I have on a schoolgirl uniform, you idiot.”
During all of this, no one noticed the click of a camera as Japan snuck a small photo of the man wearing the revealing outfit. After this, he slipped out of the empty conference room.
France thought to himself during the little altercation the two had.
If he hadn’t been mistaken, he had noticed that the American had been staring unusually hard at England’s legs in particular.
What was the younger country’s deal…? They were weird stockings that happened to be a bit too tight for England’s thighs….they weren’t even that cute.
He bit his lip in contemplation.
Was he going to have to experiment with this?
A small smile grew.
“Angleterre,” France urged, tugging on England’s sleeve, “We must be going.”
“Going?” America repeated with a raised eyebrow, “Wasn’t he uh, supposed to come home with me?”
The tall nation shifted eyes between the two as he asked that, as if he were trying to signal something to France.
The Frenchman raised a brow himself, and widened his eyes a little. He didn’t know what he was getting at, but he didn’t want to either. Besides, America could have the Brit all to himself once he was finished with what he had in mind….
“Don’t worry,” France assured, “I’ll have him at your house when we’re done.”
He leaned close to England and whispered, “We still haven’t finished your end of the deal.”
The statement caused the Englishman to scoff as he griped in a hushed voice, “You just told me to come to the meeting like this. What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!?”
France straightened himself up with a wide smile as he concluded, “We’ll be back with you, America. In the meantime, you should go home, okay?”
America didn’t show many signs of assurance, but he did frown a little with a reddened face and answer flatly, “Okay.”
With that, he walked out of the conference room, leaving the two behind.
England whipped around to France and shouted, “I’ve got a good mind to slap you in your sleazy, gross, frog face!!”
The other man held up his hands in the air and explained in a mockingly innocent tone, “But didn’t you say that if we had won the bet then the punishment would be my call??”

“That’s….that’s not how that works!!” he retorted, hands curled into fists, “You stupid, sloppy, little amphibian!”

“Hey...listen,”
France took a step forward, stepping dangerously close to England, who backed up just a few inches.
“You noticed how America looked at you, right?” France asked, “You know he was looking dead at what you were wearing, right?”
The Brit didn’t relax, but he did lower his eyes as he grizzled with a slightly flushed face, “Yeah...what’s your point?”
France hid a small chuckle as he proposed, “You think...America has a thing for guys...wearing skirts?”

England didn’t answer. He had begun blushing deeper, and couldn’t find the words to fight back. He was right, though. America...stared for awhile, it seemed. He didn’t look like he could control himself very well. The idea of someone being turned on by him flattered him for the most part, but...it was that greasy, weird and obnoxious America…..why??
He knew it had France a little flustered, too. That much he could see as well. But again...why? It was a thin schoolgirl uniform that Japan probably picked up in Akihabara or whatever that weird town was called….the place with the weird little characters….what was it called...an-yme? An-eemay? An something..he didn’t know how to pronounce it. But besides that, all of this was just ridiculous.
He looked to something beyond them as he murmured, “So...what kind of..extension are you putting on this bet??”
France looked back at him with a devious glow in his eyes.
He knew exactly what he would have in store for America.
******************************************

Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
America stifled a sharp breath as he gripped the bulge in his pants, breathing heavy and curled up in his bed.
Shit, it really was getting to him. Seeing England in that uniform, looking at those...delicious thighs and how tight those stockings were...there was no doubt they would leave indentions in the Brit’s legs once they were rolled down….the area would probably be slightly reddened, tender...maybe even a little irritated…

Thinking about it made America’s abdomen tighten up, and he knew he was hardening even worse.
Fuck.
He would kiss the softened cresses in his skin, maybe use a little tongue, probably even nibble on them, and he would tear holes in the stockings to make them even tighter on England’s legs, so they’d leave those cute little marks...God that would be hot…

He would definitely make sure they would never come off. He would keep them on him during the whole time they would fuck. He wanted every inch of England’s beautiful legs marked by his teeth, nails, and anything else he could use to let people know that those legs were his.

“F...fuck,” America could feel the urge to stroke himself growing and growing as he thought about how hot it would be to just fuck England senseless in something cute...something with a lot of ribbons, maybe lace panties or silk..silk panties seemed nice…
Oh, shit the panties.
He would do so much with those panties. Especially if they were silk or laced. He could picture them now. A nice dark color, with bright colored ribbons, soaked in precum and other fluids, begging to be taken off.
He would make sure the panties would roll against his thighs as they were slid down, and as soon as they would hit the floor,he’d take a good, long whiff of all that built up pleasure having been released into the material.
You know what? He probably wouldn’t even wanted England to take off the panties. He’d probably just push them to the side and do what he had to do.
When had he...started stroking himself?
America looked down to see that he had already started pumping his cock with his hand, gripping harder as it got closer to the base and letting up once his fingers reached the tip.
He rubbed over the tip with the pad of his thumb, the stimulation causing a wave of pleasure to run through him and wrench out a rough groan from his throat.
It had been too much for him to just sit and think about it. He wanted to fuck that cute Brit as he wore a skirt. He...just wished he could wear a cuter uniform.
Knock, knock, knock.

America suddenly opened his eyes when he heard someone at the door.
He sat up wearily, looking down at his hardened cock as it jerked for release, and questioned whether or not he could just finish what he had started and see if whoever was there would wait until he was finished.
Maybe it was important. He didn’t get many visitors often, and this seemed like a weird time for someone to show up.
With a heavy sigh, he stood up, fixing his jeans and staring down at the stubborn erection as he mumbled to himself, “This better not be something stupid.”
“Coming,” he called as he approached the door. Ha. The irony in that. The fucking irony in that.
He opened the door and began with a bothered edge in his voice, “I don’t have all day so….”
Suddenly he stopped speaking when he saw who was standing in front of him.
It definitely wasn’t stupid.
But it was dangerous as hell.
England stood in front of him, wearing a pretty revealing mint green pleated skirt with a matching long sleeve cardigan and a white collar. That wasn’t what got America, though.
What got him was the fact that he was wearing white stockings with green lacing.
And they looked…..good on him.
England tapped his foot against the hardwood floor as he grumbled, “Are you gonna let me in?”
America snapped out of his daze and nodded obnoxiously as he blurted, “Uh, sure, make yourself at home!”
The shorter man brushed past him, arms folded, as he walked into the house.
Calm down, penis, calm down! America thought to himself with sweat running down his forehead as he realized his erection was revving back to life.
FUCK!
What the hell was the meaning of this!?
Wait….
France...you stupid piece of--
“Well? Aren’t you going to sit down with me?”
The American didn’t respond right away, but after a minute of hissing swears under his breath to God knows who, he finally turned with a rather pleasant smile and chirped, “Sure, let’s do that!”
All he had to do was stay calm and make sure his penis didn’t make any dead giveaways.
It sounded so much easier to do in his head, but he had a feeling that maybe he would get through this.
With a small smile, he sat quite a distance from England on the couch, grabbing the remote almost as if he were a robot and asked in a flat voice, “What do you wanna watch?”

England crossed his legs, resting his left over his right, and muttered dryly, “Why don’t you just put it on something you like…”

The other nation felt something screaming in his ear, as if it were saying, dude, he’s asking for it.
But deep down in his mind he had a feeling that England was just….being England??

Without really saying anything, he flipped through channels, and came upon some type of horse race.
“Don’t your people watch this?” He asked, turning to the shorter man.
England kept his arms folded as he kept his eyes on something else, not responding.

America made an ugly frown. He wasn’t going to sit here with an awkward boner and let England snap at him this whole time. Why was he here anyway?
“Brit,” he began, still keeping that atrocious frown on his face, “Why are you here if you don’t wanna talk to me? Was there something I did?”
England shot a look at him finally, lip twitching as he stared wide eyed and with a bright red face.
He didn’t speak, but he kept on staring daggers into America’s eyes.
What the fuck did the smaller nation want him to say!?”
The American paused when he didn’t see him standing there, and gasped, “Shit...what?”
Suddenly he felt something nudge him….down there.
He looked down slowly, knowing he would see someone there, but not believing it all that much.
When he looked down, he could see England’s deeply flushed face between his legs as he muttered, “You...don’t have to look...if you don’t want to..”
Everything stopped.
Just what was this???
What the royal fuck was he doing down there?
America suddenly felt lightheaded. All the blood from his brain was going straight to his dick. This just seemed really weird and really hot at the same time.
Was this that thing France was talking about?
If that were the case then….
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but…” England whispered, unzipping the bigger nation’s pants slowly.
The grainy sound of the zipper sliding down filled America with some kind of...sexual panic. If he were to go through with this he would most likely die. Was England aware of what he was wearing? This was dangerous! He wanted the American to die of some kind of sex related death. That’s what this was, yeah. A weird, fucked up plotted death that he and France had put together. This was too good to be true. If he were to go through with this….
“Wait.”
England looked up from what he was doing, face still glowing a red color.
America looked down at him and almost lost his shit. He was too cute for this. The outfit, the face, the way he looked up with those furrowed eyebrows….this was too innocent for him.
Still, he knew the man was fucked up. Obviously he was if he was going through with something stupid like this.
America licked his lips and stuttered, “What...are you doing, exactly? Are you...are you just giving me a blow job…?”
The Brit scowled.
He looked up and retorted, “No.”
This sent the sandy blond into some type of spiral. What was he doing down there then? Was he going to tear up his poor penis and give it to France? Last time he checked England didn’t have razor sharp teeth. He should’ve paid more attention to him. Now he was probably going to die--
Oh.
Oh.
Wait one goddamn minute.
America noticed something through the gap between England’s chest and his own crotch onto the hardwood floor.
Something had dripped onto his floor, what...what was that?
What was England up to?
He noticed that the man under him had had a very weird stance upon first arriving. He had seemed so uncomfortable...but why?
Had he found the reason?
America licked his lips lightly and murmured, “Ah...Brit….are you alright?”
England didn’t respond as his face deepened to a darker red color, and he started unzipping the other nation’s pants, wincing a bit and closing his eyes before kissing the bulge in the boxers with the most delicate lips.
It was enough to send the taller nation into a sexual spiral as he felt any bit of breath he had been saving in his lungs for one last inhale shoot out in a stream of air.
Dear God…
“Wait,” America managed to protest, “W-wait, we need to talk about this!”
England didn’t listen. He hooked his fingers around the band of the other’s boxers and began sliding them down to reveal a flushed cock, still twitching with a bit of arousal from before, and much of what he was dealing with now.
He didn’t say anything, but he did wince again, squinting his eyes a bit.
America moved a little to see if he could shake him off, wondering in his head why he had been so horny and stupid enough to not tell this cute little man to just go hom--

“Ngh..!”

He stopped when he heard the soft noise come from the man under him, and it sent his insides squirming….in an oddly good way.
The flustered nation realized that his leg sat in between England’s thighs, having brushed him only lightly.
Why did he feel something hot seeping through his sock?
“Oh dear God,” America gasped under his breath.
England bit down on his lip and closed his eyes, his breathing a little faster than before, then whispered, “Move your leg.”
For just a moment, the larger nation kept that leg there.
He looked down to see a dark circle had spread onto the sock of his right foot, and staring at it only aroused him further.
He was going to guess that maybe, just maybe that was lube that had just happened to leak from the smaller man’s ass. He was also going to guess that maybe…..maybe he was wearing panties.
And maybe….oh God.
Maybe those panties were soaked.
Jesus Christ.
America smirked at England all of a sudden, and it made the Englishman sneer, “What’re you looking at?? What’s your deal??”

“Say, Brit..” America teased, “You….came here for a reason, and it wasn’t just for shits and giggles, right?”

England hesitated before he uttered, “No….I didn’t….I don’t wanna explain it, just let me do what I have to--uhn,”
The bushy browed nation had been interrupted in mid sentence by America just barely brushing his toes against what he was guessing to be his balls. There was the sensation of having rubbed cotton against cotton, and it caused America to widen his eyes a bit.
England’s ass had gone into the air from the brief sensation, as if he were trying to avoid America’s foot at all cost.
“Brit….” America mumbled, “You uh...wouldn’t happen to be wearing panties, would you?”

England didn’t answer. In fact, he had both of his hands on the other’s leg as he arched his back to keep his genitals from making contact with his foot again. He didn’t seem very willing to answer that question.
With a small frown, more mischief than anything within the meaning of it, he placed his own hands on England’s shoulders and raised his leg high enough to nudge the man’s crotch.
“A-Ahn,” The British man couldn’t control the louder moan from coming out of his throat, and his thighs unknowingly clamped around America’s leg as he whimpered, “Y...you dirty little bastard…”
“Oh?” America chuckled, “I’m not the one clinging to a leg and sweating over a little friction.”

Still, he had to admit. The feeling of England’s warm erection against his leg made his own boner twitch almost painfully. He was seriously enjoying this.
“Ah….you….can’t do that.” England murmured between pants as he squirmed from where he sat, “If you’d shut your mouth and let me finish…”

America paused when he saw the Englishman stand up wearily.
What was he doing?

England stared dead at America and pulled his skirt up to reveal….
Soaked….
Striped…
Cotton…
Panties.

America could see England’s flushed dick through the now translucent underwear, as what he was going to guess was lube trickled down his thigh and seeped into those cursed fucking stockings.
What was he supposed to say about this? America couldn’t even form words. Was he supposed to congratulate him on proving once again that just staring at him in that sexy, revealing, dampened outfit could send him at full sail? What was he supposed to say? He didn’t know why he was doing this to himself. He didn’t know why he was torturing his poor boner by wasting time and asking questions. This was his absolute sex dream coming to life. To have England before him in that cute outfit with wet panties and a flushed face just sent him into a sex filled daze.
The obviously aroused American stared with wide eyes as he said in a small voice, “You’re...wearing panties….”
“Y-yes,” England admitted whilst looking in another direction, “They’re female underwear. I lost my bet with France and….he made me wear this….because he knew it would turn you on.”

America was speechless.

The Brit didn’t wait much longer before climbing into America’s lap and lifting his skirt up. “Be a dear and hold this for me, please?”
Absentminded and otherwise too shocked to really respond, America obeyed by holding the skirt up for the man on top of him. He stared directly at the wet undergarments as he did this.
England slit his eyes at the taller nation before reaching down between his thighs and slid a finger into the panties to push them aside, revealing his fully erect cock.
His arm slid down further so he could pull out whatever was causing all that hot moisture to soak into America’s pants, though he was just now feeling that sensation.
England let out a small moan as he pulled out what was revealed to be a butt plug with a jewel shaped handle.
Was that….was that a princess plug?
France, that dirty little dog. Perhaps he too shared America’s fetish.
With a deeply flushed face, England placed his hands on America and raised his ass right over the other man’s throbbing dick. He looked down at it and licked his lips.
“Okay...okay….” England breathed, “I’m….I’m gonna have to uh…”
America looked up at England with those same sex dazed eyes and held his hands up. He didn’t know if it was okay to touch him. He knew for a fact though that he wanted more than anything to pick the Brit up and pound him right there on that couch. But he wasn’t going to piss him off. No. He didn’t wanna fuck this up.
The Englishman looked the other man dead in the eye and commanded, “Put your hands on my hips. Go under my skirt and do it.”
America felt every fiber of his being screaming “by God, just touch him!”. With shaking hands, he slid them under the skirt and found England’s soft skin, wrapping each hand around his hips. God...this actually felt right. This felt like such a good fit.
“Okay,” England continued, licking his lips again, “Now hold still.”
The green eyed blond kept a firm hold on the other’s shoulders as he slowly sank lower and lower, thighs quivering as his ass brushed against America’s veiny, twitching cock.
God, God, God! America thought frantically, Please let this not be a dream!!
“Mmm,” England suddenly whimpered, “I...I hate to admit this...but...but I really really want it…”
“Hm?” America mumbled, not really in a condition to speak. He liked this side of England….even though he seemed to want to be in charge, he really really seemed to have a needy slutty side to him as well.
America bucked his hips upward, feeling just a small bit of heat hug the tip of his dick before he receded, and England shuddered, letting out a very unusually submissive whine.
“No,” England blurted, digging his nails into America’s shoulders, “Don’t move. I said don’t move.”

“God,” America chuckled, “You’re a little slut when you don’t have it your way.”

“I...I’m not!” England defended, “I just...want it...so bad..!”

“Hmmm……” America smirked now, “Do you think your little ass is worthy of my dick?”

England looked up at him condescendingly.
“Shut up.” he spat. “Last time I checked, I’m in charge. If anything your sad cock isn’t worthy of my ass.”

“But it’s not like you’ll hop off me and go home, though, is it?” America teased before bucking his hips upwards, once again feeling the brief heat clench the head of his cock.
England trembled from the sensation, and whined, “America….please….!”

“Then what’re you waiting for?” America whispered, “Ride me like you’re a calvary.”

England’s face became a bright red, but he obeyed as he slid down on the throbbing penis.
“Ah...ah….AH!”
He cried out as his ass clamped around America’s cock, his entire body shaking from the feeling of his ass being filled with nothing but the flesh of another man.
“Oh...oh, fuck!” America grunted. England’s insides felt good. Thanks to that princess plug and the lube, it was like plunging head first into fresh pussy. God. If this was how he was going to die he’d welcome it with open arms.
England looked back at him and began riding America, rolling his hips, causing friction between his ass cheeks and America’s crotch. The pleasure he received from these erotic movements wrenched out whimpers and groans from the man on top.
America let out his own low moans from the feeling of all that heat and moisture rubbing and grinding against his cock ever so smoothly. Had France given him tips on this? He had no idea, but damn he was good.
“Ah...America….hold...hold on..”
England slid off of America and stood wearily.
“Get up.”
Confused, America stood up and watched the other man pull his uniform off, leaving only the stockings on and the panties rolled down his left thigh. His cute but damp outfit laid in a puddle of clothing on the floor. He then got down on all fours, placing his arms on the couch and his knees on the floor. He raised his ass in the air and towards America with a glow of lust in his eyes when he looked back at him.
“I want you to fuck me with these stockings on.”
America stared for a second. This couldn’t be a dream. There was no way. This was...absolutely amazing. What had the American done to deserve this??
“Come on, hurry,” England whined, wagging his ass in the air, “Hurry up and fuck me.”
America obeyed enthusiastically, and knelt down to slide his cock in with ease, causing the man under him to let out another one of those slutty moans from earlier.
“S-start moving,” England ordered, trembling thighs shifting up and down to create some kind of stimulation until something started.
The bespeckled nation grimaced a little. He understood that England was in charge, but he wanted things his way every once in a while.
Still...he did not wanna fuck this up.
So he began thrusting now, at first at an excruciatingly slow pace, as he took a moment to feel his insides before really engaging in his movements.
During this, the Brit let out moans and gasps as he gripped the couch and matching his movements by thrusting his own hips backwards.
“Shit,” America breathed, quickening his pace, “You’re so wet and hot, fuck,”

“Ah,” England uttered, “Y-you’re such a pervert..!”

America caught sight of England’s tight stockings now, and reached down to roll them down just enough to reveal rings of reddened, tender and irritated creases in his thighs.
He traced his fingers around each one, feeling every indention on the surface of the delicate skin and teased, “You’re wearing some tight little stockings...look how sore your thighs are…”
England shuddered from the ticklish sensation of America’s hands brushing his legs. It was soothing, and he had to admit in the smallest of voices in his head that it felt good. Perhaps it felt good to him for the fact that it caused a slight itchy pain from physical contact.
But it wasn’t good enough for him.
“Ah...America,” England whimpered between gasps, “Harder...h-harder, please.”
The bigger nation began slamming into the man under him now, with more force as he grunted, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
The pleasure was too much for him. In fact, it almost made it all feel too good. Every inch of his body yelled for him to keep thrusting into the pocket of slippery heat that was pretty much swallowing every inch of his dick the farther in he would thrust.
He grabbed England by his ass cheeks and tried spreading them apart to see the action better, but damn the Brit’s anus had a viper grip on his cock.
America suddenly felt his dick hit as deep in as it could with a rough thrust and England’s entire body trembled as he let out a loud, sexy moan with enough power in it to send America’s heart racing even faster than it was now.
“Ahh, fuck!!” The Englishman blurted, “Uhn, yes! Hit it harder!”
The American felt his body reaching its limit the harder he thrust, nails digging into England’s ass cheeks and causing the man under him to cry, “Ah...yes, yes..! I’m so close...I’m so close…!”
“M-me too,” America breathed, his thrusts becoming harder and faster as his crotch slapped against England’s ass with a clapping sound and the undulating of the smaller man’s cheeks.
He pushed the Brit deep enough into the couch where his face was buried in the cushion, his outbursts of pleasure muffled.
“Mmffing, mmmffing!”
America almost paused when he heard the almost incoherent exclamation, and pulled England back a bit by his shoulders whilst still thrusting to ask in a shaky voice, “Wh-what?”
“I...I said I...Nghaaaah!”
With an orgasmic holler, the smaller man came all on the front of the couch’s middle cushion, every muscle in his body trembling and shuddering from pleasure as his body stiffened.
America felt England’s insides pull him in even deeper from the orgasm, and he too clenched his eyes shut as he shot white heat into his ass hole, letting out a low “fuck” while keeping a firm grip on the other nation’s ass cheeks as he dragged his nails from there through his thighs, small tears creating holes in the stockings he still wore.
The two collapsed on each other, slumped against the couch and panting softly. Both were a sweaty mess, clinging to each other while their bodies slowly relaxed in a hazy after-sex glow.
With his hands being as steady as he could get them, America slid the wet panties down England’s thigh and bundled the now cold and soggy underwear in his hand. He rolled over on his back as he laid against the couch with his bottom on the floor, still panting softly.
England looked down at America with an ever dimming haze in his eyes as he uttered, “Wh...what’re you going to do with those…?”
“S...souvenir,”
It was all America could whisper as he remained on his back.
England stared at the couch as he remained where he was, bent over on one of the cushions. He mumbled, “You better give me something to wear home...I won’t leave without something on my arse.”
America smirked before answering, “Then I guess you’ll be staying here until I can get the laundry done.”
“Fair enough.” England sighed in defeat, finally rolling over and sinking to the floor alongside the other nation.
“Damn….” America chuckled while staring down at the aftermath of England’s stockings, “I really did a number on you, didn’t I?”
The Englishman didn’t respond right away. He looked down to see red lines glowing through the tears in his stockings, and he griped, “You didn’t have to ruin them….”
America smiled sheepishly now, rubbing the back of his head nervously. Perhaps he had probably gone overboard destroying those poor stockings like that, but it was a moment of weakness. How could he have helped that?? How?
“Well, in any case, I’m not going to be able to go home like this.” England concluded, “Looks like I’ll be staying here for a while, won’t I?”

The American kept his eyes on the bundle in his hand as he muttered, “Yeah...looks like it….”

Suddenly a thought came to him now that his mind was clearing up.
“Oh yea….” America began, looking over at a still disheveled England, “What the hell kind of bet required you to wear a skirt if you lost in the first place?”
England’s eyes widened slightly, as if he were called out of his daze, and he looked over at the younger nation like he was trying to recall something.
“Oh...that’s right…” he spoke in a small voice, “That...can be discussed after I shower.”
“Fair enough…” America sighed, “It is kinda weird, though…..”

The Brit didn’t say anything else. He slid out of his stockings, then stood up to go to the bathroom.
America stared at the practically mangled stockings, still remaining where he was.
What the hell had France put together? He did say that Japan had bought those outfits….
But….what even gave France the idea?

*************************************************

“Oh! Good morning, Mr. Jones!”

America waved to the woman with a smile as he called, “Heya, ma’am.”
He didn’t seem to be leaving just yet, and looked over at his doorway to wait for someone to come out and join him.
“Waiting for someone? Perhaps a girlfriend?” the woman giggled.
“No, ma’am,” America answered, “Just a special friend.”

“Of course, Mr. Jones,” She sighed, “If you say so!”
She waved goodbye and continued on her way.
England stepped out now, wearing a tan colored suit and carrying a small bag as he mumbled, “You done embarrassing the both of us?”
America chuckled and replied, “C’mon, let’s get going, alright?”
“Right then.” England began walking now, trailing not too far behind America.
“So,” the taller nation began, “How are we gonna do this?”

“What, get back at France??” England said this with a bit of mischief in his voice, “Oh, don’t worry….I’ve got it all figured out….”

He didn’t speak anymore on it, but he did walk behind with a wide, devious grin on his face as he pat the bag he carried with his free hand.
Time to get back at that sleazy frog……

END.