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Entry tags:
Untitled [Estonia/FemFinland]
Title: Untitled
Characters/Pairing: Estonia/FemFinland
Rating: 18+
Length: 1k
Summary: Getting caught in the rain and coming home to warm up - in more ways than one. Unfinished.
Other: Written in bits and pieces in my sketchjournal. Will not be finished.(Original entry)
Untitled
They had been out in the rain.
It had not been raining when they had left early that evening, heading out for a night on the town. It was only after it was all over, and they stepped out from the night club flushed with drink and completely happy, that they had found themselves wishing that they had the foresight to check the weather reports, or to drive rather than rely on public transit.
It was pouring, and they became caught in it.
In their state, they didn’t mind. Finland laughed about it; Estonia smiled and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. Regardless, they ended up soaked.
And so they waited for the bus, and became soaked. When it arrived they hopped on, slunk to the back. They talked, hushed, their faces close together. Finland took Estonia’s hands in her own, rubbing them as she chattered, trying to warm him.
She said his hands were freezing. He only smiled and replied that hers were, too. But it didn’t matter. They laughed it off; neither of them cared.
They stayed that way as the bus rumbled down the road, streetlamps passing by them in the black night, their faces caught in the glare of the window. There was nothing but the two of them.
Not long before they neared his place of residence. A tug of the cord, a minute. Stop. Then they were out in the rain again. A short walk to his place, but they didn’t mind. The rain had reduced itself to a drizzle, and she was smiling, holding his hand. It took so much to restrain himself from staring at her, so much to keep himself from blushing.
They were barely in the door before she tugged him to her, kissed him firmly. He braced himself against the door, stuttered a question when she released him. Finland only smiled and told him she had wanted to do that all night.
He tried to reply, but Finland kissed him again, halting that. Resigned, Estonia drew her to him, blushed a bit as she wound her arms around his waist. Shivering and cold, the two of them chilled from the storm outside. He cupped her cheek, traced it, slipped back to stoke her hair, dripping wet from the rain.
It was familiar, comfortable, and there were few questions to be asked. No “Will you stay the night?” because Finland would. No “Are you sure?” because Estonia knew she was. When the kiss finally broke, and they looked at each other again, the only question was “What now?” and it was one that was unspoken, no need to say it, because his eyes did.
Finland smiled. She knew.
She knew. As she knew, the questions went unsaid. When she took his hand and pulled him gently with her, drew him along, it was not unexpected.
Still he found himself startled, flustered, as if what was to happen had never happened between them before, though they had engaged in that way so many times, had relations so many times in the past, had become so familiar with one another that there was not, nor should have there have been, any surprise regarding her gestures toward him.
She drew him to the couch. Pushed him down gently, and he sank down under her hand. Soon she was pressing close to him, wrapped up in him.
Before he could even think she was wrapped up in him, her arms around his shoulders, her body pressed close to him, her mouth on his own, kissing him deeply. He set his hands on her hips and drew her closer, closer, flush up against him, so close that not even a piece of paper would fit between them.
He lost himself in her mouth, her body, the sensation of her against him, damp from the rain, her dress clinging to her. Her fingers tangling in his hair. Her thighs on either side of his thighs as she straddled him, pressing.
Pressing, grinding, and he choked back the curse that threatened to slip its way past his lips, not that it would have been sounded anyway. Muffled. His mouth on her mouth, his tongue past her lips as she sucked it like – he tried not to think, but she was making it damn hard, in more than one sense of the term.
They broke the kiss, panting. His cheeks were burning. She was smiling. One kiss, light, then she reached up to slip his glasses off.
“I don’t think you’ll need these,” she said. A laugh.
“I—I, ah, no, I don’t think I will.” Nervous, flustered, though he was used to that, he was used to it, used to having her in his lap, her arms around him, her body warm against him, her breasts pressed against his chest.
He was used to that, used to all of it, yet she still managed to drive him crazy.
He blinked at her as she set his glasses down on the sidetable, still smiling. Then she was pressed to him again, and there were no more words, and no more questions.
No need for words as he slid his hands over her, stroking, touching. Deep breaths, quickening as his fingers trailed over the wet fabric. It clung to her every curve and it seemed as if she hardly wore anything, may as well have been wearing nothing at all. He blushed and kissed her and continued on, his hands trembling.
She was trembling too, but for a different reason.
She was laughing at him. That was why. Laughing at his shyness, his nervousness.
He grew bolder, slid his hand down between her thighs, and in response she nipped at his lip and rocked against his hand. Hot and damp, he could feel everything, and he hardly needed to do anything because she moved, pressed against him. She panted, moaned against his lips, and he was sure some of it was put on, meant to tease him and all his shyness, but he didn’t care. He slid his fingers along the crease, heard her gasp, then smiled.
Characters/Pairing: Estonia/FemFinland
Rating: 18+
Length: 1k
Summary: Getting caught in the rain and coming home to warm up - in more ways than one. Unfinished.
Other: Written in bits and pieces in my sketchjournal. Will not be finished.(Original entry)
Untitled
They had been out in the rain.
It had not been raining when they had left early that evening, heading out for a night on the town. It was only after it was all over, and they stepped out from the night club flushed with drink and completely happy, that they had found themselves wishing that they had the foresight to check the weather reports, or to drive rather than rely on public transit.
It was pouring, and they became caught in it.
In their state, they didn’t mind. Finland laughed about it; Estonia smiled and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. Regardless, they ended up soaked.
And so they waited for the bus, and became soaked. When it arrived they hopped on, slunk to the back. They talked, hushed, their faces close together. Finland took Estonia’s hands in her own, rubbing them as she chattered, trying to warm him.
She said his hands were freezing. He only smiled and replied that hers were, too. But it didn’t matter. They laughed it off; neither of them cared.
They stayed that way as the bus rumbled down the road, streetlamps passing by them in the black night, their faces caught in the glare of the window. There was nothing but the two of them.
Not long before they neared his place of residence. A tug of the cord, a minute. Stop. Then they were out in the rain again. A short walk to his place, but they didn’t mind. The rain had reduced itself to a drizzle, and she was smiling, holding his hand. It took so much to restrain himself from staring at her, so much to keep himself from blushing.
They were barely in the door before she tugged him to her, kissed him firmly. He braced himself against the door, stuttered a question when she released him. Finland only smiled and told him she had wanted to do that all night.
He tried to reply, but Finland kissed him again, halting that. Resigned, Estonia drew her to him, blushed a bit as she wound her arms around his waist. Shivering and cold, the two of them chilled from the storm outside. He cupped her cheek, traced it, slipped back to stoke her hair, dripping wet from the rain.
It was familiar, comfortable, and there were few questions to be asked. No “Will you stay the night?” because Finland would. No “Are you sure?” because Estonia knew she was. When the kiss finally broke, and they looked at each other again, the only question was “What now?” and it was one that was unspoken, no need to say it, because his eyes did.
Finland smiled. She knew.
She knew. As she knew, the questions went unsaid. When she took his hand and pulled him gently with her, drew him along, it was not unexpected.
Still he found himself startled, flustered, as if what was to happen had never happened between them before, though they had engaged in that way so many times, had relations so many times in the past, had become so familiar with one another that there was not, nor should have there have been, any surprise regarding her gestures toward him.
She drew him to the couch. Pushed him down gently, and he sank down under her hand. Soon she was pressing close to him, wrapped up in him.
Before he could even think she was wrapped up in him, her arms around his shoulders, her body pressed close to him, her mouth on his own, kissing him deeply. He set his hands on her hips and drew her closer, closer, flush up against him, so close that not even a piece of paper would fit between them.
He lost himself in her mouth, her body, the sensation of her against him, damp from the rain, her dress clinging to her. Her fingers tangling in his hair. Her thighs on either side of his thighs as she straddled him, pressing.
Pressing, grinding, and he choked back the curse that threatened to slip its way past his lips, not that it would have been sounded anyway. Muffled. His mouth on her mouth, his tongue past her lips as she sucked it like – he tried not to think, but she was making it damn hard, in more than one sense of the term.
They broke the kiss, panting. His cheeks were burning. She was smiling. One kiss, light, then she reached up to slip his glasses off.
“I don’t think you’ll need these,” she said. A laugh.
“I—I, ah, no, I don’t think I will.” Nervous, flustered, though he was used to that, he was used to it, used to having her in his lap, her arms around him, her body warm against him, her breasts pressed against his chest.
He was used to that, used to all of it, yet she still managed to drive him crazy.
He blinked at her as she set his glasses down on the sidetable, still smiling. Then she was pressed to him again, and there were no more words, and no more questions.
No need for words as he slid his hands over her, stroking, touching. Deep breaths, quickening as his fingers trailed over the wet fabric. It clung to her every curve and it seemed as if she hardly wore anything, may as well have been wearing nothing at all. He blushed and kissed her and continued on, his hands trembling.
She was trembling too, but for a different reason.
She was laughing at him. That was why. Laughing at his shyness, his nervousness.
He grew bolder, slid his hand down between her thighs, and in response she nipped at his lip and rocked against his hand. Hot and damp, he could feel everything, and he hardly needed to do anything because she moved, pressed against him. She panted, moaned against his lips, and he was sure some of it was put on, meant to tease him and all his shyness, but he didn’t care. He slid his fingers along the crease, heard her gasp, then smiled.