prismatica | 001 | ( VIDEO. )

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001 | ( VIDEO. ) | APRIL 9th

_{[ It's a little unlike him to put off making an appearance, vaporwave furry alien world or not, but finally, America makes his introduction on the network with a couple of very urgent and important questions. Nevermind the fact he's already sprouted a pair of fox ears. He looks a little something like this.

Nevertheless, he acts as if nothing is amiss: ]}

HEYA GUYS!! Alfred here!! Dude, I know this shit is totes whack and all, but I've got to ask you all a few things really quick, okay!? LISTEN UP!!

1. Have any of you been probed in the ass yet?
2. Where the fuck is the Denny's?

Hit me up, okay! These things are important!! Hahaha, okay, seeya--!!

_{[ With that, he's gone as quick as he appeared. ]}

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_{[ Everything happens so quickly, and he's accustomed to seeing France act dramatic, but this was a different kind of dramatic. Not the typical "sacré bleu, I've burnt my crepe!" but more like "sacré bleu, I've got a hard on for my not-nephew!" Kind of dramatic.. whatever that is. His hands go up in defense, any remnants of his smile disappearing and a look of confusion crossing his face as France waves the pan at him. He's puzzled, still hungry and perhaps a little startled by France's reaction. ]}

Dude, chillax! I said I was sorry for dropping your sugar, calm your Frenchy tits.

_{[ The more France rambles off and is rightfully kicking him out, the more his lower lip wobbles. ]}

But I-- I don't really want to go either! The sweet crepes are my favorite. What are you talking about, safer? I'm not going to hurt you, bro. Here, let's just..

_{[ He advances to France, taking him by the wrist, the one that is holding the pan, and lifting it back onto the stove. His touch is warm as is the rest of his body; France is probably close enough to feel it radiating off of him as he shifts closer-- actually, behind him, hand slipping upward to clasp over France's. He's totally fucking Ghosting these crepes. Unchained Melody is definitely playing in the background ]}

Let's finish these, but show me how you do it, 'kay? I can be more helpful. I can make the rest of them. We have plenty of batter still!

Edited 2019-05-11 00:24 (UTC)

[ Of course he thinks it's about the sugar. Even if France had explained that this was a moon-blessing thing -- a needing to keep their dignity thing -- America thinks it's about the sugar. It isn't that he didn't catch the quivering lip; he'd felt terrible, but sacrifices had to be made. ]

I know. I understand that you do not want to leave but --

[ What he wanted to say is that he needed a little space, but it's like for once America can read his mind and chooses to do the exact opposite. He tries again, this time backing up a step. ]

I can finish making them and bring them over to your apartment. It's not even like you're staying that far from me!

[ These are all solid options, but the younger nation in all of his efforts to amend the slight he thought he was guilty of is determined to make things right. It's cute, or would have been, if not for that whole sacré bleu, I've got a hard-on for my not-nephew thing. He watches in mild fascination (and horror) as the pan is guided back to the stove -- and since he's attached to the pan he is also guided back.

If he could close his eyes and pretend, this would be nice. It kind of hit him right in the domestic kink to have someone sneak up behind him and just do exactly what America is unintentionally doing. His fingers are folding over France's hand and his skin is warm and inviting... but then America speaks up and breaks the spell, but not without a guilty shudder of pleasure at having his voice so close to his ear.

He is a dramatic man, yes, but he's really looking out for the both of them. If America was close pressed against his back he's worse off in the awkward twist France does to try and get away. At least he somehow managed to get the counter digging against his lower back and not the stove. France forces himself to look sterner and a little less deer in headlights. ]

Do you not know the meaning of distance, America? I can hardly breathe!

_{[ It all seems like a plausible and more convenient idea to cope with their struggles, but also, America isn't having any of it. He's distracted by the way France feels-- the hair traced down his arm something he had noticed plenty of times in the past, but just even more curious about where else. Yes, this is the same hair he typically criticizes. Maybe it's because he's so young and impulsive, but he has little restraint, especially right now.

France scolds and twists out of his nestled position and America can only let out a surprised squeak when he feels the older nation turn to give him a look. America's expression is one France might know too well-- something a bit hungry, and not just for sweet crepes. He takes this moment to settle his hands on either side of France, fingers curling and gripping onto the safe part of the stove. He's locked in, neighbored by a pair of bulky biceps. ]}

Hey, hey. It's fine, okay? I don't want to be distant from you.

_{[ Some nervous laughter escapes him, but his voice is actually quiet if not a bit soothing; something very different than he usually projects. His little fox ears indicate interest, perking up slightly. ]}

I wanna be closer to you. We have more freedom to do that here since we don't have bosses ordering us around, yeah?

_{[ DANGER. ]}

You're so good at cooking, France. What else are you good at?

_{[ MAYDAY.
It's just then he dips down, speaking softly and allowing their lips to brush slightly. ]}

Why is it called a French kiss?

_{[ CALL THE POLICE. ]}

[ France is too occupied by his own running thoughts to even try to imagine where America's have gone. Since he'd stepped foot in the kitchen to help, he hadn't acted as bothered to be near France as France was. Maybe he'd even kicked himself for his lack of self-restraint. Everything is an effort to distance himself from the young blond but he's failed. The squeak had been satisfying to his own ego but the look in America's eyes stopped him cold.

It didn't matter that he was trapped by strong arms. France wasn't thumping him on the chest or scolding him (and boy did he have a scathing arsenal), the words dying when America tries to soothe him.

First of all, France was absolutely shocked by America having an indoor voice, let alone a soft one. His eyes narrow in a blend of curiosity and warning when he confesses to wanting closeness. The exchange has thrown France into silence, which is his own damned fault because it allows for DANGER to slip directly into MAYDAY. ]

Stop that...!

[ Stop what? France's hands go to push against America's chest in a latch ditch effort to put space between them but the only thing that happens is that his palms rest there, and he's mad. He's mad that his libido is the one thing that's making it impossible to completely ignore America, even though he knows better. He's mad that the blond won't listen to him.

He's absolutely seething that the first thing he does when America asks him about the kiss isn't telling him off for being an insufferable ass. No, France's lips are tingling from the warm breath fanning over them and the light brushing of skin on skin. His libido wins, if just for the time being. He'll show him exactly why it's called a French kiss, but not until he gets a jab in for his trouble. ]

Wouldn't you want to know? Maybe I'm just the best at this.

[ WE'RE GOING TO NEED A BODY BAG. ]

Doubt it!

_{[ Soothing voice and smooth demeanor out the window already, America basically laughs in his face, but it's a conflicting feeling of shut up and why. It only gets more strained when he rubs the round of his nose against France's, because it's nice, but he's so insufferable. A lot is happening.

Finally, though, he teases no longer, allowing this to simply happen, meshing his mouth against France's. His lips are like velvet, youthful and lacking traces of experience. The kiss isn't as rough as it could have been, gentle, but also lackluster.

He does at least tip his head slightly to fit their mouths together better, his face beginning to grow hot. It's fine, it's just a kiss. You know. As bros. ]}

[ It's almost a blessing for France's sanity that America's demeanor shifted back to the obnoxious youth he is. For a split second, you know, beyond the haze of lust and guilt, he might have debated to himself if America were really a shapeshifter in disguise trying to seduce him. No. No, it's just America... trying to seduce him. Okay, still weird.

France can be drawn to weird when he's this far gone off of pheromones and hunger -- and while he bristles at the nose brushing his (cute--that was cute), he's fast to sigh the moment their lips meet in an actual kiss. The first observation is how soft America is. It's surprisingly gentle, enough to draw in the older blond's interest but---

Well, he's not surprised that America hasn't gone around kissing half the globe yet (literally give him a month though and this will change). France gives him points for at least tipping his head so he doesn't smash his glasses against his face. His eyes are closed but he feels the blush and feels a flutter of vindication for putting him through this mental torture. It was only fair that France continues and possibly show America how it's done.

His hands slide up slowly over America's chest and collar to rest on his neck, wondering if he's half as warm as the younger nation. He's found his space heater, he guesses... Tentatively (because he does think America would spook easily), he pushes back with the kiss, his own efforts moving it past lackluster to involved, adjusting the pressure. Maybe even going to far as to be bold and let his tongue say hello to that velvety bottom lip because he needs to know if it's his imagination or if he can still detect a bit of sweetness left behind. Why yes, he's going to hell but if he's going he might as well enjoy the act that put him there (please France, you were destined the moment you cropped up in some Bronze Age field). He pulls back just enough to offer a suggestion. ]

Do you usually keep your hands to yourself when kissing someone, America?

[ Ah yes. Why did that sound almost cheeky? The point is, with how his body is reacting, it's almost as if he has little control over actually telling America off in a way to keep him away, and now that he's had a taste he doesn't want to. He'll regret this later, but his mind is steadily focusing in on getting a little closer. A hand snakes its way down, over America's bicep ( internally sobbing that it's a good bicep ), and down to where he was gripping the stove. Is he trying to guide the boy's hand over to his hip instead? Yep. ]

_{[ The moment he feels those sneaky hands slide up his chest and around his neck, America's body visibly shivers. France will feel his chest is firm beneath the skin, but he's well rounded and squishy there. He's a bit too vocal when he feels the tongue skirt against his lower lip and he forces himself tighter against France, now keenly aware of the other man's arousal-- France will probably feel tightness in his pants as well with how close he has bright them together. Their kiss is broken and he feels a little hazy, half lidded eyes regarding France silently when he's asked a question.

He's.. actually quiet for a change. It's hard to know what he's thinking.

His hands take control, both taking France by the hips and squeezing him, dipping in hastily for another kiss. It's rough, but my God, he's forcing himself on the other male. ]}

[ Does America even have enough free time back home to eagerly makeout with anyone? He's sure he would have heard rumors of the younger nation smooching one of their own and a pin drop could have been heard over the lack of juicy gossip. His lack of response makes him raise a brow, contemplating if he'd overstepped some unknown sensitive topic.

Luckily for his boner and conscience, it seems as if his efforts pay off. The huff is a strange little mix between indignation and arousal, but of which are snuffed out by the return of America's lips. Here's a good place to note that while France would be more than happy to scold America for being so rough, the eagerness and inexperience might be ...cute. He doesn't mind it, though France is very quick to reposition his hands, one going to curl at his nape while the other settles lightly on the younger blond's smooth jaw.

This is him, trying to sort out the momentum (and honestly, maybe failing) before he gets knocked back in the cabinets. He leans in until they're chest to chest and pushes, teeth nipping lightly at the first chance he can get. The other blond can control whatever he wants after they find a place on the couch.

Where France will inevitably come to his senses in that unpleasant way most things must. But, that's the inevitable future, not the present. Cordis has him appreciating this side of America and kissing him is a relief from all of the denial. Sorry, buddy. ]

_{[ His eagerness is cute, to the point where it might be easier for France to ignore any second thoughts about what they're doing. He's young; France shown a different kind of admiration for him when he was a child besides now-- the way his lips felt and the energy he was showing.

His fox-like ears twitch, a small squeak coming from him at the nips to his lip. France might enjoy the fact he tries to imitate what he does, nipping back at the oldernation's upper lip with a bit too much vigor.. it's probably more like a bite. His entire body shivers as he pulls away enough to try and catch his breath, heavy lidded eyes locking with France's. ]}

Hey, France..

_{[ His voice sounds thick if not a little desperate. ]}

You can touch me where ever you want to, you know..

_{[ DANGER. ]}

[ Imitation is the best way to learn how to properly behave granted the original source knows what they're doing. France does. France also doesn't seem to mind that America's zeal made his mirroring nip sharp enough to sting and draw out a groan. Sure he likes being bitten if the mood fits it.

Never had he anticipated it fitting in here but... here we are. Breathless, stupidly aroused and adding to his list of bad decisions. France's ears burn at the tone America's voice takes on and for a moment he stares, unsure if he'd heard correctly. The hand that had lingered on the boy's jaw went to move to the slope of his shoulder instead, squeezing gently. ]

I don't think you know what you're saying...

[ It isn't a criticism but... god help him. He motions to the living room. ]

Not in here. I don't need to burn anything else, thank you.

Yeah.

_{[ His voice is soft, but full of want. It's a little awkward exchange as America slowly untangles himself from the older man, but what he does next is a but unexpected. He dips down and scoops France into his arms, gingerly taking him over to the couch without giving him a chance to protest. Here is where he places France down on the cushions with a slightly ungraceful plop. He proceeds to take the position on top, eyes meeting the other's. However, his expression seems.. reluctant, if not nervous, maybe scared? Hmm. ]}

Hahaha, yeah, okay! So this is better! So I'll just--

_{[ --dip down and kiss France with the same enthusiasm as before. That tongue of his is already trying to wiggle its way into France's mouth, dear god. ]}

[ France might not have time to protest, but damn it if he doesn't try. His innate ability to squawk and writhe stubbornly are fruitless in America's strong arms, but from how Pierre chimes in he probably cursed in bird. Who said he didn't accept other languages into his heart?

Being released is indeed a graceless event that has his face heating and eyes narrowing marginally up at the younger nation. It's clear by now that this isn't his usual bag but France knows that he can learn if he's properly taught. Sure, he'd never anticipated doing it -- but now that they're here, with France somewhat haphazardly strewn across his own couch and America straddling him -- he may just have to delve deeper. Multitask a little. His nerves are a little ruffled but the almost uncertain look in America's eyes forces him silent on his critique, nodding at how this was indeed a better alternative.

His libido isn't helping, either. At first, the kiss earns an appreciative sigh that deepens into a groan. Hell, the tongue isn't immediately shunned, either. That bravado ends up catching him off guard and a moan mutates into an alarmed sounding grumble when younger nation's zest becomes overbearing. His hands go to the boy's cheeks and he holds him steady but disengages for two seconds, unable to stop from sounding a bit flabbergasted ]

America, slower please. I do not mind enthusiasm but I do not want a broken nose in the process!

_{[ America makes a small noise akin to a foxy yip when he's pried away after trying to get into it too quickly. He absolutely whines, ears folding back as his spine curves inward, his hips crushing down upon the older male's as he is held away from his face. ]}

I don't wannaaaaaa. Who cares about your nose, it'll be fine. C'mon, old timer, keep up with me!

_{[ He rolls his head out of France's grip and goes straight for the neck, raising his hips off of France again and sticking his back end completely in the air. His teeth scrape and nip hastily, pleased noises rumbling from him as he laps against France's skin, seeming to enjoy a quicker pace. This only happens for a couple of seconds before he does as he was instructed, slowing down considerably as the attention on his neck turns into slower, more tantalizing kisses that seem surprisingly gentle and sweet, warm lips sealing and sucking carefully on various places across slope of his skin. ]}

[ There is a confused and somewhat offended mutter that isn't covered up with America's whining, France shooting the ceiling of his living room a "why me?" sort of stare that quickly ends when he feels teeth against his neck and he's forced to close his eyes and shudder. Lack of skill and timing be damned, he likes the subtle drag of teeth against his skin.

...don't get the wrong idea (okay do. please get the wrong idea).

France's hands find a nice home on America's sides, gripping at his ~~love handles~~ waist and the cloth covering them. What's that? The genuine countdown to him going what am I doing starting? Ah yes, and the tic-tock stacatto is loud and clear when he raises his knees to kind of just nestle the younger nation between them.

God help him. The pressure of America's lips on his skin makes his pulse flutter shamelessly. It is sweet and he's struggling to not ask him for more. ]

Bring that smart mouth of yours back up here, hm? I'm not done telling you how to use it.

[ There are nicer ways to ask for a kiss, France. Jesus. ]

I don't wanna!

_{[ WOW. Didn't he just ask France how to kiss him just a few minutes ago? America remains where he is near France's collar bone, blue eyes looking up at France innocently, his pointed ears folded backwards. He takes in another smell of his Cordis companion. ]}

You taste and smell good right here, so I wanna be here.

_{[ And so, he continues to kiss France along his neck and the parts of his collarbone that aren't obscured by his shirt. Every once in awhile, France may feel a playful nip or drag of his teeth, simply experimenting on the older nation. ]}

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001 | ( VIDEO. ) | APRIL 9th

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