Forever...? (Soviet x Britain Contryhumans) COMPLETED

Chapter 4

Warning: Smexy Time

Two weeks later~

Britain entered the room with his briefcase in one hand. He sat down at his spot near the head of the table, taking out a notepad and pen.

France sat beside him, "hey, darling."

Britain scoffed, "don't 'darling' me."

"Why? Aren't we married?" France asked, turning to him.

Britain got out the divorce papers and handed them to France, "'aren't we married' indeed."

France scanned over them and her eyes widened, covering her mouth with her hand, "th—this wasn't me! I asked him to tell you I took Aussie and Kiwi on a trip to Paris!"

Britain nodded, "uh huh? Well, I signed it and got someone else."

"Who?" France asked, looking up him with hurt eyes.

"Just wait," Britain said, taking the papers from her hands and putting them back in his briefcase.

"Well," France tried. "I cheated on you!"

Britain was unfazed, "I know."

Then, he came in. His tall figure walking formally to the seat beside Britain. He sat down, kissing Britain's cheek. France looked at them with wide eyes.

"Hello, Britain," he greeted.

"Hello, Soviet," Britain said back. "France said that the divorce papers were fake."

Soviet raised an eyebrow, "may I see them?" Britain nodded, taking out the documents. He handed them to his boyfriend and looked at France quickly. She looked nervous. "Her signature looks real, not forged. Her writing is the same, also."

Britain gently took the papers, "thank you."

"Any time," Soviet said. He took Britain's hand and kissed it. Britain blushed slightly, laughing.

The meeting was long, nothing amazing. Britain was at home, laying on his bed. He was staring at the ceiling in boredom. He cleaned the house, made his sons' and his beds, gardened, put new flowers in a the vases, and organized his room.

His doorbell rang, starling him slightly. He went downstairs and opened his front door, smiling. He stepped aside, welcoming Soviet.

"Her excuse was worse than Russia's when he's drunk," Soviet said, laughing. Britain laughed as well, getting tea ready.

They both agreed to sit in Britain's room while talking. Once they were there, Soviet took their teacups and put them on the bedside table. Britain looked at him confused. Soviet walked up to him, paused for a second with a dumb smirk, then kissed Britain aggressively. Britain was surprised, but kissed back.

What surprised him more, was when Soviet took his leg and wrapped it around his waist. He pushed them to the wall, biting Britain's lip.

(420 words yeet—)

Britain opened his mouth and felt Soviet's tongue enter his mouth. He held Soviet's neck tighter as they uselessly fought for dominance. Soviet won, obviously, and retraced the now-familiar cave.

He pulled away, a thread of saliva connecting their mouths. "I love you, Britain," he whispered.

"I love you too, Soviet," Britain said back. Soviet attacked Britain's neck, licking the still-healing hickey he left a few days ago. He left more marks, working to unbutton Britain's shirt. He got his black jacket off and was starting on the vest.

"How cold are you?" Soviet teased, referencing to all the layers Britain wears.

Britain laughed, "I should be saying that to you." He was quieted by Soviet biting down on his neck, letting out a surprised groan.

Finally, Soviet got Britain's vest and white shirt off. He kissed his lover again, holding his thin waist. Britain smiled, hugging Soviet's waist with both his legs. He tugged on Soviet's jacket, silently telling him he wanted it off.

Soviet chuckled, setting Britain down on his bed. He took off his thick jacket and black shirt. He picked Britain up again, making Britain giggle, and laid him down on the bed. He got on top of him, kissing down his chest and stomach. He got to the brim of Britain's dress pants and looked up at him.

Britain nodded and Soviet slid the rest of his clothes off. He took his member into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down. Britain moaned, and pressed Soviet's head down. Soviet, completely underestimating his boyfriend's size, choked slightly. He hummed, making Britain moan louder.

"A—Ah, Soviet~" he groaned, arching his back slightly. Soviet felt his cock twitch slightly, smirking. He sucked on it, hearing Britain trying to make a coherent warning. He let a load of cum into Soviet's mouth, moaning a little louder. Soviet swallowed it, pulling away from him. He wiped his chin, smiling at Britain.

Soviet took off his own pants and boxers, positioning himself at Britain's entrance. He slowly entered him, hearing him whimper. He pushed in all the way, Britain whimpering louder.

He wiped his tears, "tell me when to move, okay?" Britain adjusted quickly, nodding after a few quick minutes. Soviet pulled out and thrusted back in.

Britain moaned Soviet's name, holding his arms above his head. His eyes rolled back as Soviet continued thrusting in and out of him. He quickened with Britain's command and went harder. The posh country moaned louder, arching his back.

Again, his words faintly slipped into Roman. Britain didn't seem to realize, but just kept moaning and panting.

"D—Durior~ (Harder~)" Britain moaned.

(I couldn't find a Roman translator, so we're doing Latin)

Soviet only guessed that meant "harder" or "faster." So he did both.

"D—Durior! V—Ventilabis me! (Harder! Push me!)" Britain almost screamed. Soviet fulfilled his request with out knowing was it was. Britain moaned, almost covering up Soviet's grunts.

A knot tied itself in Britain's stomach, his cock twitching. He soon cummed over the both of them, Soviet following soon after. He pulled out and flopped beside Britain.

"I love you, Britain," Soviet whispered.

Britain smiled, "Te quoque amo. (I love you, too.)"

Oof—

Words: 961