Hello~ It's Moonsilk- Yaoi-Lover, even though I've changed my name to Rhen Nightshade. Please note the uniquely personalized AN and take the time to read it, it's important.
Anyway, this is a roleplay that my wonderful beta and great friend, elepaio. It is RussiAmerica. I was America, and elepaio, Russia. This started with no plot whatsoever, but we gave it something resembling a plot, so don't kill us for a bit of randomness for the first few questions. Be assured, those first few are smutty and thus allowed to be random.
SO. You need to know the setting: Basically, right now, they're IM-ing. And they're playing the Random Question Game: You ask a question, the other person answers, and then you answer as well. Russia's in Moscow, America's in DC. The title has nothing to do with anything... well, kinda but not. Elepaio came up with it because of something later, but then you'll have to wait for that... da?
Important roleplay notes:
Blah, blah, blah: Talking, or in this instance, typing. When they see each other, this'll be written in more of a storylike form than in chats.
'Blah blah blah': Thoughts. Not emphasized words, thoughts. Look for the little apostrophes, they signal the difference.
*Whatever, whatever, whatever*: Actions. Whatever they're doing. Again, when they're in person, we'll use a story-form syntax.
Okay, now that I've talked your ear off: Go read! It has something for everyone, I swear: For the crack-and-kink queen, for smut-lovers, humor-attracted people and the like. Seriously.
elepaio's A/N: I cannot believe that we are actually posting this. I'm extremely embarrassed, because it's my first time writing anything quite so blatantly raunchy. I say that the category should be Sex/Pervertedness, they need that category!
Oh, and one last thing that's worth mentioning – we're both well aware that the internet cannot be accessed when traveling by plane, so technically Russia and America should not be able to continue IM-ing… Please disregard this. It works because of England's random magic or some top-secret Russian-American communications network which functions at high altitudes, okay? *is promptly shot*
Russia: Америка, who was your first? Were you on top or bottom?
America: H- hey! What's with that question? *Glares* *Rocks back in chair* Iggy. And I refuse to answer that second... thing!
Russia: Hnn~ *hums through teeth* My first was the Mongolian empire. Obviously, I was on the bottom... You know I still bear the scars.
America: *Refuses eye contact with the screen*
Russia: *Smirks ever so slightly* Your turn, Америка.
America: *Thinks for a minute* *Leans forward to rest head on hands on table* Most compromising position ever to be found in?
Russia: *stares expressionlessly at America, tone mockingly bland* Ah yes. You should remember it well... It was 1964, and I was visiting because our leaders were discussing a ridiculous disarmament policy or some similarly trivial affair. As I recall, you decided that we really couldn't wait to get back to my hotel room, and we ended up in the President's suite. *blinks at the screen in a conniving fashion* It was one of the rare occasions where you topped, and I believe I was tied to the headboard and you had a gun up my ass when the President walked in... yes. That was a tricky one to word your way out of, was it not, dear Америка?
America: *Stares blankly* I had wiped that from my mind for eternity, thank you very much. *Scowls, slowly turning red* *Mutters, talking to self, not bothering to get mad at Russia because he will just do something to blow him off* Stupid idiot and his memory... Stupid self for thinking of the question... Very stupid self for asking the question... Fucking question.
Russia: *smirks innocently* I love you too, darling. *pronounces the last word like a cruel joke*
America: *Kicks back in chair, legs slam down on the table* I was going to say that time when England and I were still together, we had to... Invade China for our bosses. At the same time. And then Japan walked in. *Shivers*
America: I was mortified, England, who was still somewhat in Pirate mode, just smirked. And then Japan decided to join.
America: *Looks around in slightly disgusted shock* I mean, who would have thought? China is his brother!
America: *Remembers he's supposed to be mad at Russia and then looks away again*
Russia: *eyes narrow in amusement* How very... interesting, Америка. Triple penetration... I would not envy China, after that incident.
Russia: I myself have never participated in such... vulgar activities.
America: Japan decided to fuck China in the mouth, and I did not *Shudder* need to imagine what it must have felt like to China.
Russia: ... *for once America's willingness to blabber whatever emerges in his head has silenced him*
Russia: Your... your question. *he blinks once, rapidly and hard, as if to eradicate the mental image of America's most compromising situation* What is your favorite position? Although I'm almost positive I already know~…
America: *Unwillingly turns bright red* If you know, then why are you asking? Do you want me to jog your memory or something? *Rants for a minute about fucking accurate Russian memories*
America: *Talks enough for his short-term memory to violently refuse to think about the question*
Russia: Ah... I was just wondering if you actually preferred a different position than twisting and shrieking beneath me, hands tearing into the sheets. Or sometimes the skin on my back... that is rather unpleasant, Америка. You can't seem to prevent yourself from panting and drooling, and your eyes are always unraveling, like you can't quite remember who you are. *offers up a shallow smirk* You are very pretty when you writhe and beg and scream, you know that?
Russia: I was just curious, because you always seem to end up in this position... so is there one that is more to your liking?
Russia: *sinister smirk*
America: *Violently recalls question and shuts up* *Glares, still red* N- no. *Proceeds to curse self for honesty*
Russia: My favorite.. hnn~... I especially liked that time when I tied your hands to the leg of the World Conference table with a scarf. You were bent over as if on all fours but your arms were up above your head, and I was on top of you... one hand around your chest, the other on the floor to brace myself. *slowly adjusts his scarf, eyes narrowed and glittering* Yes, I am nearly positive that this was my favorite. Would you be willing to try it again sometime~?
Russia: *blinks coolly* It's only an eleven-hour flight from Moscow to Washington, you know.
America: *Runs a hand through his hair* Do whatever you want.
America: ... Wait! I did not just say that!
America: I did NOT think that through! I did NOT say that!
America: I was just trying to defle- I WASN'T SAYING THAT EITHER!
America: *Head hits the back of his chair* *Was obeying the conditioning to "Act first, think later"*
Russia: *grins, genuinely pleased* Do not try to take it back. It has been too long, dear Америка. Expect me in thirteen hours at your capitol's airport.
Russia: And I am intending to take this laptop as carry-on... *smirks suggestively*
America: . . . *Decides not to think about it*
America: ANYWAY... Favorite food and why? Alcohol doesn't count as a food, no matter how often you ingest it.
America: *Suddenly remembers Russia's use of that food and hopes that you don't bring it up*
Russia: *remains silent for a moment, eyes half-lidded, deliberating* Oh, there are two. I must say I am particularly fond of watermelon. It's so sweet, crunchy and delicious. Also very difficult to get here, as you know, which makes it all that much more of a delicacy. But then, of course, there is... *rests his chin on one palm, gazes benevolently at the ceiling, but the smirk is wide and dangerously raw* Darling, do you recall the time we couldn't find the lubricant?
America: *Attempts to suffocate self by smothering with hands*
Russia: It's unfortunate that roadside cafés do not stock such items... We had parked the car in a vacant lot just off the highway. You were adamantly opposed to being fucked dry, and didn't wish to use saliva, so I was forced to walk three blocks and request slick, lubricative substances... I'm positive that the waitress nearly had a heart attack, how lovely~. I was provided with ketchup and honey, and you chose the honey, odd, considering your endearment to burgers. Perhaps you were being considerate...? *a small, taunting chuckle as he gazes intensely at the screen as if he could see America's face* Honey, you have never tasted sweeter.
America: *Attempts to calm self by running hand through hair* Yeah, I actually remember that. I STILL have NO IDEA how you managed to go all the way. I thought that you'd give up. That seems to be the most patient I've seen you. Then again, you do run pretty fast... *Has resigned himself to the fact that Russia will continue to bring up the dirty things and has switched mindframes*
America: *Smirks, remembering* And it was quite interesting, sticky and sweet and gold, unlike the sticky sweetness you normally swallow, but why you tasted any honey at all I don't know. There wasn't that much.
America: But it got all over you, too.
America: The other sweet thing, not the honey.
America: Although honey did get on your hands...
America: That was slightly uncomfortable. It got on me, too, and what you didn't lick up stuck to my clothes and got all... *Makes a face*
America: *Grins* Contrary to popular belief, I do like something more than burgers. Although I think you're one of the few who may have guessed. You know, vanilla ice cream. It's cold and delicious, melts in your mouth. And it's sweet. I like the sweetness more than the burgers. If you'll remember, I'm sure you do, *Smirks* the last time I had ice cream in your presence? *Points* you couldn't wait that time. But you contaminated it when I was halfway done, couldn't you hold out? Your "cream" *Laughs slightly* was hotter than the ice cream, it got on your chest and melted my treat! I still think you did it on purpose.
Russia: *is disgruntled at your mention of one of the few times he permitted America to top, frowns slightly but quickly adopts the facade of a pleased smile* Ah, of course. I was surprised by how adamant you were about smearing the ice cream across my chest... but you didn't really mind when it was...spoiled... *snickers* did you? You still licked it off.
America: I wasn't gonna waste it!
Russia: You surprise me, America, considering that being wasteful appears to be the very basis of your society. *absent-mindedly studies his fingernails, still rather irritated by America's mention of the time he had topped* But tell me... what is it you do to, shall we say, satiate yourself when I'm not around...? *grin becomes feral and malicious, intentionally toying with America* Do you stick your tongue down a bottle of vodka? Jerk off after you've dipped your hands in ice? Use a vibrator with a stronger setting than they sell in regular markets? Hnnn...~?
Russia: *realizes that he, too, will have to answer this question, sobers and pales considerably, smirk dwindling into silence*
America: *Scowls* *Flashes his middle finger at the screen* NO, you MORON, *He can't find an insult strong enough* I do NOT stick my tongue down a bottle of vodka! How you came up with that, I have NO IDEA. *Growls, not looking at the words he's typing and allows his fingers to run rampant*
America: A bottle of vodka doesn't have the depth of your mouth, and the bottle itself is hard and not that cold. I would immerse the bottle in ice to frigid temperatures before filling my mouth when I "satiate" myself, sometimes letting it drip from the corners of my mouth because you do that, even if you don't know, when I'm all hot and panting it's not just MY saliva you're seeing. And my hands don't go in ice, they're cold enough from holding the bottle by that time. And before your mind goes there, I also don't fuck myself on the vodka, that's just... *shudders at the thought* But my fingers aren't as pleasing, so yes I have a vibrator that's stronger than the market, I have no idea how or why France gave it to me, but I also don't use it that much. And nothing is as close to the real thing, fuck you, by the way.
America: The contrast of the cold glass on my skin, of my fingers nearing ice, that brings to mind the memories and that's enough.
America: *Rereads what he wrote* *Blanches*
America: *Hides behind his hand* *Flips the screen off*
Russia: Америка... *purrs slightly* It seems you get more desperate than I have known. I... *shifts uncomfortably, condemned by his lack of foresight* I have... travel maps... they are not difficult to acquire, and more rewarding than porn. I run my hands over their contours, remember the warmth of your skin, and yes, I... I do jerk off to them. I try to get my hands as warm as yours by heating them over the toaster, or the gas burner, or sometimes under hot water, but it's infuriating because the heat never stays. And I can't even begin to replicate the taste of your mouth... it's something like cinnamon or nutmeg, with an aftertaste of overprocessed hamburger meat, shitty coffee, and smog. Or the wet warmth of your tongue grazing down my... *eyes narrow to almost-slits* That's when I want you the most, dear. *runs a slender tongue over chapped lips* And sometimes, I do it in the shower- the warmth is at least skin-deep, and it's much less messy that way. When it comes to that, I use my fingers. Vibrators are far too uncomfortable and are usually of - shall we say - an insufficient size. *gives a soft, almost inaudible groan, eyes focused somewhere in the distance* Nnnn... I want you, Америка... my taxi is approaching the Moscow airport now.
America: *Shifts in chair, squirming* *Turns on fan* A map, Russia? Interesting. Never thought you one to do that. *Smirks, crossing legs on desk, jeans becoming much too tight* Only thirteen or so more hours for you to wait, huh, Russia...
America: And it's my turn to think of something.
Russia: *lets a thin hiss slip out between his teeth* This is not amusing, Америка. Particularly because I am aware that you want me at least as badly. You were the one who invited me, remember~?
America: *Splutters* Hey! I wasn't thinking!
America: ...
America: *Hits head again*
Russia: I'm exiting the cab. I will contact you again in... two hours? This heightened security is extremely irritating.
– Russia has signed out –
America: Fuck. It's been over two hours.
– Russia has signed in –
Russia : Америка, are you there? The flight has commenced. It was extremely difficult to convince the security personnel to allow me to leave my scarf on while passing through the checkpoints, but I managed. *grins at the memory of the cowering security guard, causing the person seated next to him to shudder at the sight of those frigid amethyst eyes and inch slowly closer to the aisle* I am still rather... unwilling... to display my scars in public. Shall we continue this conversation where we left off? *eyes narrow in mirth* I believe it was your turn to ask a question...
America: Yeah, I'm here. Got stuck listening to this one song... I think I've been listening to it for an hour.
America: ANYWAY, I had this question to ask you... But you TOOK OVER TWO HOURS and I forgot it. Now let me think it up again.
Russia: Hurry up, or I may have to take drastic measures to relieve my boredom. I would enjoy pressing the service button repeatedly, or perhaps disabling the lavatory smoke detector and burning through a pack of cigarettes. That is always entertaining. For the moment, leering at this person seated next to me is amusement enough. The color of my eyes seems to be making them uneasy... or perhaps it is this saccharine smirk...? *directs another simpering glance at poor innocent passenger*
America: DON'T DO THAT.
America: I pity the person sitting next to you. I really do.
America: Anyway, I can't remember. So I just thought of one! *Swings legs off table and sits straighter* How big are you? Not geographically, I mean... *Pointedly looks down, but then remembers that Russia can't see him* You know what I mean. And don't give me a vague generalization, as I'm sure you will remind me, I DO know the generalities. I mean inches and that. *Thinks for a moment* And don't give me something crazy like Prussia and five meters. I know he doesn't have five meters.
Russia: Oh really? *eyes narrow in mild interest* And you have fucked Prussia often, I suppose~? Do you recall those years when he resided with me behind the Iron Curtain?
Russia: …
Russia: ...I'll admit it. He really does not have five meters.
America: OH, HELL NO.
America: Yes, the latter is true, but HELL NO.
Russia: Hnn~? Америка?
Russia: Does it bother you that I partake in fucking other nations from time to time...?
America: *Growls and flips screen off* I went drinking with Denmark and England and Prussia. Prussia got REALLY drunk and then proceeded to strip. Iggy joined him, then they started making out, and IT BURNS, THE IMAGES BURN MY EYES!
America: And shut up and answer the question.
Russia: Ah, you know me too well. I shall have to think of some way to surprise you~
Russia: Америка, I still do not understand why you are requesting this information... Is it not enough to know that I am large, and it is difficult for me to make condoms small enough to fit your underendowed length? If you insist, *frowns and winces, casting a precautionary glance at the person sitting next to him to ensure that they aren't looking at the laptop* my length is 12.5 inches and my girth is six, erect.
Russia: I am... enclosing a picture, so that you can see that these measurements are indeed correct.
– Russia is sending you a picture: russiabigcountry –
America: Do I want to know how you knew this to exacts?
– You have received picture: russiabigcountry –
Russia: ... *stares expressionlessly at screen, unwilling to disclose information*
America: Got it.
Russia: The picture is to your liking, hnn~? *sugary smirk*
America: *Flips off screen* Fuck you.
America: Since I have to answer *Rolls eyes at self for lack of foresight* I'm not underendowed, you're just huge! For most normal people, I'm above average! 7.1 inches long, 5.1 in girth. *Rants on about how Russia is the largest fucking country in the motherfucking world*
Russia: But it's why you're attracted to me, is it not? *tilts his head slightly, blinking with mock innocence and puzzlement*
America: *Blushes and looks away* Fuck you.
America: ...
America: Your turn.
Russia: ...Really, Америка...? I thought there was more between us than that...
Russia: What was your most rewarding sex experience? *gazes at the screen intently, possibly scheming at how best to replicate the experience once he receives America's answer*
America: Why... Do you continue to make me remember these things? I'm perfectly happy, relaxing (kinda), and then I get bombarded with... *Glares at the question*
America: Well, unfortunately, I have to ask for clarification. Do you mean "rewarding" as in, "can't breathe, can't walk, spent, sore, haven," *Glares at words as he's typing them but can't think of any other way to word it* or "walking away with a limp or a smirk, knowing that, although there is pain, it was... mind-blowing"?
Russia: Whichever you find more rewarding. I was thinking more along the lines of the most intense, so pleasurable that you cannot breathe or even quite remember who you are or what you stand for... but then that happens often with you, does it not, sweetheart~?
America: *Scowls* Not.
America: *Hits head at lame comeback*
America: Remember our... "anniversary" a few years back? It was up at your house and I guess that you were DESPERATE for heat because seriously, you were ROUGH. I don't remember how many times you made me come that night, you continued to wake me up for more again and again, slamming into my body until my throat was hoarse from the screams. You even tied me up with your scarf, but that was near the beginning when I showed some resistance. *Goes red at the memory* I'm not sure if the "lovebites" from that night are gone yet, you were that fierce. But then again... *Smirks devilishly, intent on mischief* You do lose yourself when it comes to me, don't you? I'm so hot, sometimes overcome with the moment, and I can be rough when I want to be, biting and clawing and licking….
America: I remember that you said you love the licking, my tongue gliding over your cold body, up your neck and down your chest, and I think I can classify the noises you make when I take you in orally as "mewls of pleasure and need", because I normally end up on top then. But you just find yourself overcome with me, which is why, I think, that you make every second count. I still think you love it, need it, when I'm the dominating one, remember all those times I made you beg for more, faster and harder until you were just as messy as you say I am? *Grins, crossing arms at the words* You act all proud, and I crave your passion, but I just love your submission, Russia~ *He speaks the words as he types it, a low, seductive purr as he reminds Russia of all the times he has dominated*
Russia : *blinks expressionlessly at the screen* Америка, that is... *reveals just the barest smidgeon of a frown, unwilling to deny the aforementioned accusations yet even more opposed to admitting their truth*
America: *Slow smile* Yes?
Russia : *winces slightly, giving a thin hiss as he repositions the laptop to completely cover his groin and the area in close vicinity, in a precautionary movement to ward against prying eyes* Does it... suffice to say that I am hard? *directs a chilling glare in the approximate direction of the North American continent, giving another hiss as he shifts his legs, seeking a less painful position* Fuck you.
America: *Smirks ever so innocently* You're welcome, just how many more hours?
Russia : *gives a slight, nearly inaudible groan which could almost be classified as a growl, eyes crystalline and cold as star-splattered darkness* Please... excuse me. *grits his teeth* I will return from the lavatory in five minutes, under the condition that there is no line. And you may expect to experience a triple dose of the ache I am currently enduring once this plane alights in Washington.
Russia : *breath hitches as the fabric of his coat shifts over his legs as he moves to unbuckle his seatbelt* And that is not a threat but a guarantee, darling.
America: I wonder how you hide that on a plane. *Ignores "guarantee"*
Russia : Fuck you. *is extremely irked because he would actually enjoy fucking America, rather than the derogatory statement that the word has come to imply* It is, difficult, da, *he never uses that affirmative unless he is especially aggravated, and the tone itself is laced with venom* because of the length of this coat... if I were any less intimidating, I might balk at walking about the plane holding one of those ridiculous flimsy pillows in front of my crotch. But, ah, I can ensure that no one will dare to question my motives.
– Russia has signed out –
– Russia has signed in –
America: Welcome back~
America: *Smirks again*
Russia : Screw you.
America: Literally?
Russia : In both the literal and figurative terms of the expression, darling. *sinister smirk, person next to him notices that he's returned to being creepy instead of shifting about as if he really had to go to the bathroom and slowly melts into the back of the seat*
America: *Rolls eyes, disregarding the statement for the next ten hours* Whatever. Your turn.
Russia : My best time... You will be surprised to learn, dear Америка, that it was not with you.
America: *Shock flits over his face, followed by anger and pain* Really? *he growls the word, running a hand through his hair to wipe away the weakness* Who then, *he spits the words as he types them, short and clipped* Russia? *he sighs, one hand still threaded in this hair as he attempts to reign in his childish temper* And... what happened? *His voice cracks as he says it, so he decides to shut up and glare daggers*
Russia : Do not jump to conclusions, любовь. *his countenance is serious, sincere rather than smirking* Just because it did not necessarily involve you does not mean it did not regard you. It was with France, which is... perverse and ironic, I suppose. It was the only time he was permitted to touch me without suffering... dire consequences. *flashes a hint of a grin, recalling the dull, heavy sound of a water pipe colliding solidly with France's head on more than one occasion*
Russia : It was back in the early 1940s when it happened... we were attending an Allied meeting. I had retired early to my room, and I must confess, ah, even then, Америка, you were stunning. Radiant, effervescent... I knew you would be warm, and I wanted you for my own. It was pure coincidence when I discovered a travel brochure discarded on the bedstand, and I spread it out on the floor and warmed my hands on the space heater and… *pale cheeks are stained with the faintest spray of a blush* I was fast, and rough. I wanted to believe that they were your hands.
Russia : I made no effort to silence myself, and I'm nearly positive I was gasping, shuddering, and panting, if not outright moaning. But I... couldn't reach it. My hands were too cold, it wasn't you, I couldn't bring myself to let go, disengage from the finite inaccuracy of that brochure and the roughness of the floor on my thighs and the ridicule of the entire situation.
Russia : I was bent over myself, fingers kneading up my length, wheezing and almost tearing up from the frustration when France walked in. He cast a supercilious glance at me, the pamphlet, smirked, and offered to help. I was tight and aching, and I wanted to see the white so badly that I must admit when he knelt down next to me I pressed up against him like a proper whore. That night was... *flush intensifies* At first he handcuffed me to the table (from where he produced those handcuffs, I have no idea) and splayed my legs, and, ah, I couldn't sit and I couldn't kneel and I couldn't arch my back.
Russia : When he rammed in, I shrieked... his thrusts were too hard, too soon, and he was sporadic and swift and would withdraw nearly all the way before shoving forth again. His hands were dexterous and warm, and he knew just where to press and jerk and tug to bring me close to ecstasy. I was already halfway there, and more than anything I craved the impending release… he moved two fingers to my mouth and every time he drove in I screamed, screamed like I never have before and bucked and bit down on his fingers until I tasted blood, brazen and senseless and soulless because I just wanted him to pound me harder because all I could see was you...
Russia : ... I wanted to be fucked by someone who smelled like cinnamon and sweat and... aromatic sunlight... not roses and pricy champagne. And then when I saw sparks and couldn't see, couldn't breathe, he clenched his fingers around the base of my shaft and kept driving onward, wouldn't let me cum, he wouldn't let me cum, and every movement was taught and coiled, a shivering, curdling screech, and I was dizzy and shaking and almost sobbing and oh, when he let me go I believe I screamed Америка and when my vision cleared I was alone, lying on my back with the table in splinters around me.
Russia : *is now most thoroughly blushing, and jumps when the flight attendant taps his shoulder to enquire if he would like to purchase a beverage*
Russia : Does that... suffice for an answer...? I hope you are not... too ashamed of me. *calculating smirk* Have I left you with a little problem of your own? Hnn~?
America: *Stares at words* *Mind has formed a complete blank slate* Y- you- France- *Somewhere in his mind, he begins to plot how to best murder France* I- words- can't-
America: *He scowls at his honesty, scowling more at the overwhelming tightness in his jeans*
America: FRANCE?
America: *He runs a hand over his arm, reassuring himself that yes, the world has not just come to an end*
Russia : I-I told you, America, by that point I was too far gone to care... *allocates slightly hurt look*
Russia : And don't act as if you haven't done it with France.
America: *He blushes, remembering his earlier years*
America: *He squirms, jeans too tight, going straight from uncomfortable to painful*
Russia : And, dear, have I managed to return my previous problem to you? *sly smirk*
America: *Flashes his middle finger at the screen* Fuck you. *He cannot stop his mind from following that sentiment to how gratifying it would be right now to be fucked by yo-*
America: ...
America: BACK IN TEN.
Russia : Kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol... *snicker*
- America has signed out –
We're not done roleplaying. This is actually still going on… We haven't even gotten to where they're near each other. Russia still has a lot of time to kill on that plane…
elepaio adds: Here's the link to the picture which Russia sends America. Unfortunately, it's on y!gallery, so that means you need to be over eighteen and registered before viewing. Sorry about that… .
http:/ yaoi. y-gallery. net/view/663205/ (take out the spaces)