The Pain

“So, whattcha wanna do next?”
“...I'm cold. Let’s lie down.”
“Mm, ‘kay .”
England didn't even smile as America - again - darted before him and hit the bed first, digging into the sheets and making a cute face.
“Move please,” England demanded as he lifted the covers and slid under them, his back to the overly energetic nation. He felt sleepy, so he just dragged America’s arm around his waist, closed his eyes and began thinking random thoughts. It was so ever easy with America by his side. He felt at ease and safe. After all, it was true that America was way stronger than him - although he never admitted it and made it up with his moral... meh?
England could be very good at ignoring America when he wanted to sleep but he was sure that was a hand stroking his side, preventing him from the sweet sleep next to America. Granted. He really couldn’t read the athmosphere, could he? And yet England was sure he was giving out clear signs that he wanted to restore his energy.
Oh well. England wasn’t that tired, really. And though they’d already done it once that day, he would still enjoy the creeping touch that right now -
“Nnh...”
- was brushing against his breast, thank you. England never really got why America despised when his nipples were touched, it sure did appeal to England. And America knew it.
The other nation was getting demanding. He pressed up to England’s back and enjoyed and copied his motions. He began to stroke England - both from the behind and from the front, gaining pleasured sounds from his weaker, therefore submissive partner.
Well, England would have fought back. He definitely would have. But really, he was kind of tired and who said it wasn’t okay to enjoy being on the receiving end? There. That would justify that he was now moaning and helping America tug his boxers off, first only lifting his hips as high as he could (which was difficult from the position on his side), then rolling on his back slightly, so that he could lift his hips higher, and finally tugging his boxers down himself. As per usual, America was useless at this.
I should have some say in this, England thought as he recognized the movement behind him. Going by the occupation of both America’s hands and lower body, he must have been sliding his own undershorts down. This theory was confirmed when England felt America’s hot erection against his tailbone.
America was getting really possesive. When it crossed England’s mind to flip the control, the more powerful nation had already gotten his hands on their lubricant tube (England could hear him open it, well, it wasn’t his fault that he had his eyes closed). Steadying himself in anticipation, England could fully relish the warm feeling of America’s chest put against his shoulder blades and the intended gap between America’s crotch and England’s butt. Thankfully, America was no longer a brat and took his time preparing England. After all, they were doing it for each other, as England once not very gently explained when he got to be the seme (actually he couldn't bear America’s roughness so he used... but never mind that). England bent backwards so that his puckered ass would be more accesible. And America first rubbed his entrance with warmed lubricant (yes, he’d taught him that too), then slid a finger in and messed with it for a while so that England couldn't tell just how many of them were inside becuse it all felt so good...
“Nn... ah - ah - ah...! N-nn... ah...”
England’s hitched breathing evened out a little as he tried to regain his breath; he had no chance. He felt something softer and... blunter pushing against him. He moaned once again and felt with joy how he enveloped America and then as he empathetically pushed inside, every once a while rocking back and forth with quick motions that England loved so much. This way, there was almost no pain. G-God it felt good, being penetrated like this. Once America was fully inside, he began to pull out and slide back in, never coming out fully of course. England’s breathing sped up to „ah“s with every breath as America thrusted harder. It, it hurt a bit at this point. But no matter, England knew this would pass after a minute. And he didn’t have to hold his voice back, for with his face turned away from America, it was impossible to tell whether he was groaning out of pleasure or out of shards of pain.
Eventually, America rolled so that he was on top of panting England, sending elaborate hard thrusts inside, ones that made England’s vision go somewhere away and only left him with the violent bliss.
The pain had already ceased.

Plot? What plot? Nevermind, back to fanwork.