moar fic.

[mushroom]

except for the zombies
England/Spain; NC-17; 1,975 words
written for the kink meme! the prompt called for a modern-day relationship (and, um. other things.)

"We get together and the world ends," England says, drunk and laughing, but there's a painful edge to his voice and Spain kisses him to make him shut up. It's dark in England's house, and cold - they haven't moved from their spot just next to the window for several hours, night has fallen and there's only the orange glow from the streetlamp outside sending thick shadows across the room. Objectively outside is beautiful; the snow is still falling softly and everything is blanketed in white, and at first it was exciting and pretty and they happily watched people rushing out to play, thinking about wrapping up so they could join them, but then everyone outside started getting sick, and, well.

"We should move," England says when Spain pulls away, and glances towards the window. "They might-"

"Yeah," Spain agrees, because they're on the ground floor and there are still a few people out there, slow and shuffling and aimless but they've seen what happens when they spot a human.

They stay in the shadows, England wobbling a little as he clambers to his feet and he clings onto Spain's shirt. "We can still see the road from the upstairs bedroom," he says, and giggles when they have to drop to their knees and crawl under the light of the next window. "We're like spies."

"Really drunk spies," Spain corrects, laughter in his voice, because they've shared a bottle and he would be flushed and giddy if he wasn't so terrified.

"Shhh," England hisses, as they get back on their feet and creep through the shadows into the hallway. Something moans outside. "Oh God," England murmurs in reply, and then Spain grabs his hand and tries to pull him towards the stairs. The front door is locked and bolted and nothing outside could possibly see them, but they run for it anyway, hurrying up the stairs as fast and silently as possible.

They pause once they're inside the bedroom, still clinging to each other and listening for anything - but there's just their panting breaths and silence, and England wants to laugh. The curtains are wide open, flooding the room with deep shadows and a stark glow catching the edges over one side of room, turning the unmade poster bed into a sea of waves and hollows.

"Fight you for it," Spain suddenly says, looking at the bed.

"Bring it," England grins, and grabs him for another kiss, rough and messy and they're both smiling ridiculously until laughter bubbles up and England pulls away again, hissing for quiet. Silence echoes back, nothing has changed but the reminder is enough for England to soundlessly take Spain's arm and lead him further into the room.

"We need to be quiet about this," he says, regretful.

"I can do that. I might have to gag you, though," Spain teases, his thumb brushing over England's neck, and he catches the flash in England's eyes even in the darkness. "Seriously?"

"It'd be safer," England says, solemn voice and grinning lips and Spain kisses him again, like he can't get enough of it, his hands on either side of England's head and just holding him still.

He pulls away to rest their foreheads together, breathing the same air and his voice is barely even whisper when he says, "This is..."

"Yeah," England sighs, and they both grin, and then, "Romano--"

"Romano told me to 'stop being an idiot and come see you.'"

"So politely?"

"Well," Spain starts, but England doesn't care and cuts him off with a kiss, touching the corners of his jaw with his fingertips and drawing him down as he settles back on the bed, shuffling back so he can lie across it completely with Spain straddling his thighs, chest to chest as the kiss turns slow and intense, focused entirely on each other.

"There's, ah, ties somewhere over there," England says, vaguely waving behind him as Spain slides a hand under his shirt.

Spain laughs against his cheek. "You're really serious about that?"

"Well," he starts, turning his head away but Spain follows his lips, can feel the heat of the blush rising on his skin, "I don't certainly don't need it, but it's rather... fun."

He laughs again, forcibly quiet as he rolls away and off the bed, peering around in the low light until he finds two long, silk ties, both shiny and indistinguishable. "Put your hands up by the pillows," he whispers, commanding as possible, and he would laugh at how quickly England complies if it wasn't such a turn on.

On the bed again he crawls up so he's kneeling beside England's chest, blocking the light so he can only see the curve of an arm and the tips of his fingers illuminated. Spain kisses him again, quick and chaste, before taking the first tie and turning it into a gag, tying it around the back of England's head and making sure it is loose enough to be comfortable.

The second is wrapped around his wrists, binding them tightly together before fixing them to a curved rod on the headboard. "I've still got my shirt on," England tries to point out, but he can't quite make the words coherent and Spain doesn't seem to mind as he unbuttons it and lets the cloth slip to either side.

"You're meant to be quiet," he murmurs, before straddling his hips and lowering his lips to England's chest.

"This is a bloody terrible idea," England says, but it's rather muffled and slurred and Spain doesn't stop.

"It was your idea," he points out after a long moment of teasing England's nipple, drawing his lips away with a wet smack. England doesn't reply, but he wriggles underneath him impatiently, pushing his hips up and Spain grins at the feel of England's erection straining against his trousers - he reaches down to palm him through the cloth, squeezing lightly and England groans through the gag.

Spain moves to the side of the bed again to strip off, silhouetted in the glow from outside and England stares, tries not to whine with impatience. He's dips and shadows, highlighted angles and as beautiful as ever and for the first time England fights against his bonds, tries to get his hands free just so he can touch him, trace the lines and pull him down with him and make sure this isn’t some drunken, terror-induced hallucination.

"Hey," Spain says, back on the bed and pulling off England's trousers. "Stop struggling."

He does, with a defeated slump (the knot is too strong, tied with practiced skill) but Spain's hands are quickly on him again, stroking up the underside of his cock and flicking over the slit in a way that has England bucking up, wild. Spain makes a sound, something low and amused, as he pushes England's legs apart, and he spreads them further without command as Spain settles between them, lying on his front so his mouth can easily slip over the head.

England hums, pressing his lips together as best as he can to stay quiet because Spain's tongue is wicked, teasing and swirling and then there's a spit-slick finger against his hole, pushing in and crooking up and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"Hey," England tries to say, only just intelligible, but it trails off rather breathily when Spain adds another finger. "Who said you could top?"

"You're the one tied up," Spain observes, before covering his cock again and hollowing his cheeks, pushing in another finger. England chokes off a gasp and strains against the silk, his whole body tense and almost shivering.

"You're next," England promises, eyes shut and his lips parted, but concedes with, "Lube. Drawer," angling his head towards the bedside table.

It's quick, like a sudden scene change - one moment Spain's tongue doing devilish things and the next his cock is nudging England's hole, pressing slowly into the hot, tight pressure and England arches his back, pushes up onto the balls of his feet and tries to moan as quietly as possible. Spain curls a hand around England's cock and pulls off the gag with the other, props himself up on his arm so they can kiss, soft and careless, as he starts to thrust and England rocks his hips up to greet him.

It’s slow and burning and oddly gentle, hushed gasps and whispers and huffed laughter. England comes first, clenching and spilling over Spain's hand with a soft cry that Spain tries to lick out of his mouth. Spain is close enough that the way England says his name makes him tip over the edge, thrusting in one more time with a choked-off moan, and when he collapses beside him England has to half-kick him to remind Spain to release his hands.

"So," England says, still a little bit breathless. "I never offered you a cup of tea."

"I don't like tea," Spain says, honest and unapologetic.

"Should we... check outside?"

They both glance towards the window. It's stopped snowing, but they can still see the bright glare reflecting up from the street.

"No," Spain decides, and there's silence, and once they get under the covers and huddle close together so there is nothing but each other's breathing, they fall asleep quite comfortably.


---

"Can they- I mean, if they get us, do we- would we turn into one of them?" America is babbling, panicked, down the phone line. England is hungover, and he hasn't even had his morning cup of tea yet and this is just intolerable.

"Let's try to not find out, shall we? Stay inside and for once, please, don't try to be a hero."

"Horror movies aren't supposed to be real!"

"Quite," England agrees, and glares at the bright afternoon light with bloodshot eyes. He moans sorrowfully, quietly, and there's a muffled echo from outside. He shuts his eyes again and throws an arm over his face.

"What was that?" America shrieks. England takes a deep, calming breath.

"Nothing. Stay away from the windows."

Beside him, Spain stirs with a low groan, rolling over and throwing an arm over England's stomach.

"Is- is there something in the room? England! You're not allowed to die!"

"It's just Spain, you idiot."

"Oh. Oh, really? Like, in your bed? Did you finally get laid?"

England bristles. "Not that it's any of your business, and this is really not the time but, yes, if you must know."

"Congrats, man!"

"Shut up," England says, but he's smiling. "And phone your brother, make sure he's okay."

"Sure, but he's got like, moose and shit to protect him. He'll be fine."

"Hmm. Stay safe. Try not to do anything stupid."

"Whatever! See ya later, England!"

"I hope so," England says, and thumbs the end call button, dropping his phone back on the bedside table.

"G'morning," Spain mumbles into his shoulder, his eyes still closed. He snuggles closer and hooks a leg over England's thigh, his skin sun-warm against England's side, and England can feel his cock stirring again.

"Hey," he says, brushing a hand down Spain's arm. "It's your turn."

Spain hums happily, rocking his hips so England can feel his hardness pressing against his leg with ready interest and he's grinning lazily, soft and cheerful in a way that has England smiling back despite himself.

His phone starts ringing again. He growls, low and annoyed, and reaches over blindly to grab it and answer, letting his hand fall back onto the pillow near his head. "Hello?"

"How dare you!" France screams, angry and tinny.

England hangs up on him, and when he turns back from switching off his phone and dropping it on the floor Spain greets him with a warm, sloppy kiss. Something crashes outside, glass breaking and screams but it's distant and muted and this, here, is quietly perfect.