hetalia_kink | Hetalia Kink meme part 15

Hetalia Kink meme part 15

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hetalia kink meme
part 15

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Ahh yeah that is the super duper delayed Christmas reveal for 2009 LOL...just found the time to finish it now...
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In his design notes, Himaruya mentioned that Denmark has drooping eyes and a big mouth. Let's put that mouth to work, shall we?

Denmark gives really, really awesome head. Singles, doubles, quickies, denial, teasing, deep-throating, this guy can do it all. And everyone knows it. So when the need is there, Denmark inevitably finds someone banging on his door for a good blow.

The catch? There is no catch. Denmark loves it and doesn't mind it a bit. He digs the attention and hey, a little oral fixation never hurt anyone.

BONUS: Sweden, Netherlands, or Germany is hung like a porn star and nobody else can get them off like Denmark can.

fix·a·tion - noun - \fik-ˈsā-shən\

Definition of FIXATION:

The act, process, or result of fixing, fixating, or becoming fixated: as

a: a persistent concentration of libidinal energies upon objects characteristic of psychosexual stages of development preceding the genital stage

b: stereotyped behavior (as in response to frustration)

c: an obsessive or unhealthy preoccupation or attachment

--

Denmark has always been a man of many talents.

He can consume alcohol at the speed of light, for example, and he’s pretty sure no one can bust heads like he does. He can build things (much better than Sweden) and he can blow through crossword puzzles faster than Prussia can download internet porn. He can keep a tight budget, take care of his people, and fold the perfect paper airplane.

He also has this trick he’s pretty proud of.

He usually breaks it out at parties when everyone is too drunk to remember that they’ve seen it a million times, waving over their attention and standing on a chair so that they can all see him do it. He uses whatever is handy; usually a banana or something similarly shaped, and makes a show of cramming it into his mouth, holding onto the end with two fingers, taking a bow when they all “ooh” and “aah”. (Which they do, it’s just usually sounds like unrelated conversation or someone yelling for more beer.)

He can’t remember ever having a gag reflex, which certainly puts that whole “choking on a potato” theory to rest in his opinion. It occasionally makes getting sick annoying, but for the most part, it’s done him nothing but good, garnering him tasteful golf claps at public gatherings and a lot of free bananas.

It also works well with his second biggest talent: having not an ounce of shame in his entire body.

Maybe it’s because he sucked his thumb until he was a teenager or maybe because Ancient Scandinavia dropped a shield on his head during a trade run when he was a baby, but he’s always had a weird compulsion to have something in his mouth. Gum, cigarettes, bottle caps, pens, he always needs something to be there, otherwise he just feels awkward and naked, like something’s missing. Half the time, he isn’t even aware of his absent chewing or sucking until he’s hacking up bits of plastic or someone is making a disgusted comment about him biting his nails and he has to sit on his hands to keep from nibbling away at his fingers. It doesn’t help either that he was graced with luscious, sensitive lips. Putting stuff in his mouth just happens to feel good, no matter how often someone smacks his wrist when he makes a grab for a government branded pen.

Which isn’t to say that the others disapprove of his habit. Quite the opposite, really.

As it turns out, it boils down quite simply:

No gag reflex + inherent need for something in his mouth + desperate attention whore = Denmark being very, very popular.

Not that they don’t also love him for his charming good looks and dazzling personality.

Norway sees him, at the very least, once a month. Never alone-- he always brings Iceland with him, pulling him inside with their pinkies linked together like real brothers, never saying hello or offering small talk where Denmark is concerned, perfectly content to limit his involvement in the situation to his head down and his knees on the floor. That’s the connection to outside life, Denmark thinks. Even when he doesn’t have his pants around his ankles, Norway has never been one for idle conversation, not in his every day life and certainly not in his sex life. The only time he ever says anything during their little meet-ups is when the lights are low and he has a hand running up and down Iceland’s back while they both slide in and out of Denmark’s mouth, slipping against each other as they move back and forth, sweat-slick hair stuck to their faces, focused on only each other. (He’s always a little offended by this-- it’s a damn fine skill to be able to take two at a time and the least they could do is acknowledge his flawless technique.) Denmark is never sure what it is that Norway says though; he’s often too busy trying keep his teeth back and his breath steady. But he can make an educated guess.

Norway always has had a thing for Iceland calling him ‘brother.’

In that same line of thinking, the situation is the same with Sweden, but worse. Sweden comes to him rarely, only a few times throughout the year, generally when Finland is preparing for the holidays, and it’s always with an obnoxiously quiet mood that never fails to rub Denmark the wrong way. He always pretends that he doesn’t want to be there, even as he spreads his legs and watches his zipper be plucked up and tugged down between Denmark’s teeth. His face rarely changes, always stuck in that “I’m-so-scary-don’t-get-in-my-way” expression that nobody in the world likes. But Denmark doesn’t mind it. He’s never been afraid of Sweden and his scowl. He never has been and he never will be, especially when he’s bobbing up and down between his legs, lapping at him and coaxing forth those little, unhinged sounds that he knows no one else can get out of him. Sweden’s big. Bigger than he knows Finland can handle, and it gives him a sense of smug satisfaction like no other every time Berwald’s hands clench around the chair he always sits in. And for as fleeting as his visits are and for as ungrateful as he always is, Denmark always finishes him off with a smile, letting Sweden come on his face to let him have that little idea that he is the one still in control of the situation.

And what a laugh that is.

For as often as it might appear otherwise and for as dirty his reputation might be, Denmark is always the one in charge, no matter the situation, whether his guest knows it or not. His (frequent) visits with Netherlands are a prime example of how subtle of an art it can be-- the finesse required in keeping someone oblivious and happy.

Netherlands has an air about him, something stuck somewhere between arrogance and lazy sarcasm, and it follows him wherever he goes. He likes to be the one in control of things, whether it be a football argument or what he’s ordering for lunch, and he never really does lose it. Denmark assumes it comes from that whole “fighting for your independence thing” or something. Whatever it may be, Netherlands is always aloof during his impromptu drop-ins, his cool direction always comes along with him. Or so he would like to think.

Whenever he shows up, he’s always straight to business, right from the get-go, shoving his way through the door and yanking Denmark’s tie, sleeve, whatever he can get a hold of, dragging him off to the bedroom that he knows is at the end of the hall, kicking off his shoes as they go and raking his free hand up and down Denmark’s belly. He never bothers to shut the door, usually too preoccupied with mouthing at Denmark’s neck by that time, and the attention that he lavishes in those first five or ten minutes is always a welcome change from the usual dry starts that he’s used to. (Although, the teeth marks that he leaves behind can be a bother when it comes time to dress for important meetings the next day.)

For as nice as it is, though, the licking and biting eventually dissolves into Netherlands grinding up against his thigh and roughly palming his crotch until he flips him around and jostles him onto his knees, leaning back against the bed frame looking expectant and impatient while Denmark nimbly unbuckles his belt. He always grins while he watches, right up until those first, burning touches when Denmark’s fingers wrap around him. That’s when the smile falters and he takes the initiative to take a hold of the situation, winding his hand in Denmark’s hair and dragging him down until he knows Denmark can taste him. He never does just want a quick blow-- he’s more the mouth-fucking kind of guy. The kind of guy who gets off on snapping his hips forward and burying himself as deep as he can which, in Denmark’s case, is all the way. And, of course, Denmark lets him do just that. He lets Netherlands pretend that he is always one step ahead of the game, his fingernails occasionally drawing beads of red from Denmark’s scalp when he forces himself in and out, face flushed and mouth tense around curses.

Things are always rough with Netherlands. The kind of rough that leaves him needing chapstick and a change of pants when they finish.

Denmark doesn’t mind the rough, but there are some situations where it simply can’t be applied. Nights with the girls, to name one. Crude as he often is, he has a very strong set of morals when it comes to treating a lady right and, unless they explicitly ask for it, being forceful just isn’t included. It they request it, he’ll oblige under the condition that they keep it to themselves and not go around blathering about how he left bites on the insides of their thighs and rug burn against their back. He doesn’t need any more nasty adjectives tacked onto his already tarnished image. (And, really, if Switzerland ever found out about the things Lichtenstein has asked for, he’s pretty sure he would get his lips stapled shut.)

It always is a pleasant surprise to get a call from one of the girls, though. A nice change of pace to be greeted at the door with a smile instead of being pushed back into his own house and always a fine switch in feel. He’d never deny that he loves the weight of a cock in his mouth, but there’s just something sweeter about the curve of rounded hips and the soft peach skin beneath layers of lace and nylon that he gets the treat of unwrapping. He likes the difference-- the sensual, calm worship that is expected of him rather than a breathless sex-fight. (Not that he hasn’t had those positions reversed. Belgium has met him with stiletto heels more than a few times and Canada always likes his slow and saccharine.)

Hungary is a perfect balance of both and it never fails to excite him when he gets those mid-afternoon calls. She never answers the door when he knocks; Austria is always the one to greet him, as cordial as ever as he takes his coat and leads him down outlandishly decorated halls to the bedroom where the barest hint of flowery perfume lingers outside the door like an invitation. He’ll let Denmark in first, a slight incline of his head for permission, and Hungary will always be waiting for him in the same bed, laying on top of the same white, satin sheets, in the same black belts and garters. It’s classy, somehow, seeing her with her legs crossed, barely hidden by the sheer curtains that hang around the four-post frame, a small smile playing on her lips when she says hello. It’s that little attention to detail that makes playing with the girls so fun; things like the perfume and sheets and lingerie.

The lace is deceptive, however, as Hungary is always commanding. She likes him shirtless, sometimes just unbuttoned, and she keeps a small, jeweled pin on the nightstand to clip his bangs back so that she can see his forehead. (He still hasn’t quite figured that one out yet.) She walks him through what she wants, hands roaming over his back and hips as he works his way down, her eyes closed and pink lips just barely parted until he places his palms on her knees and spreads her legs, wide enough to get started while still showing off enough for Austria. She’ll indulge him; roll her hips and stroke two fingers up his neck, letting him take his time because she appreciates his appreciation just as much as he appreciates her letting him appreciate her. He lets his hands linger, deftly unclipping her garters while he mouths at her through already damp panties, Austria somewhere in the background, winding an old record player. If there is one thing Denmark has learned, it is that Austria can’t handle anything sexual unless there is music in the air; not even when he is only a spectator. (He has also learned that Austria always puts on something by Franz Liszt, a habit Denmark finds incredibly distracting.) Setting the mood is as far as Austria’s role goes, though, and the rest is Hungary gripping the sheets and arching her back, barely restrained breath caught in her flushed chest, Denmark stroking her thighs and fluttering his tongue against her until all of that carefully planned sexuality is replaced with raw, wet want, swallowed up by goose bumps and curling toes as he plunges his tongue into her.

He never is allowed to use his hands on her in that respect. He’s not terribly fond of that rule, but it’s Austria’s one stipulation and he figures he better not fuck with it, especially when Hungary is so sweet when she comes undone. Her hair never stays up when she starts bucking and by the time her breath stops heaving, she’s a rumpled, sweaty mess, panting and tinged with pink, looking so absolutely ravishable that it makes him wish they could take things a step further.

But that’s against the rules too. And it’s his rule.

Putting his mouth to work is one thing, hopping into bed is another. He doesn’t mind dealing out head, but it honestly offends him when it’s assumed that a good blow comes paired with a good fuck. The chain of events is simple: they get together, they both get off, they go their separate ways. No hanging around long enough for things to get awkward. He’s loose, sure, but he isn’t a slut. There’s a difference, goddammit, and he prides himself on maintaining it in the strictest sense possible.

Well.

Except for that one, little exception.

Sort of.

Denmark has been with pretty much everyone at least once and he’s seen about everything. He knows just about everything about everyone when it comes to how they deal with their pleasures; both of the Italy brothers cry, Estonia immediately Tweets about it, America eats something and demands round two, the list goes on and on. There are a lot of unique ways that they handle things, but there is one, all-encompassing trait they all posses: kicking off when they’re done. Sometimes, they’ll stay long enough for a shared cigarette or a shower if things went particularly well, but all in all, they’re usually in and out in an hour or so. And that’s fine; if Denmark wanted commitment, he’d find it and if he minded them taking off, he’d stop offering up blowjobs to every person he knows. It’s just a fun thing that he does that keeps everybody entertained and there isn’t a thing wrong with that.

But, every now and then, it’s nice to feel appreciated.

And that’s when he breaks his own rule.

Whenever Germany invites him over, it is always in person, usually after a meeting or group dinner, his neighbor pulling him aside while everyone else mills about, awkwardly extending an offer to get together at some later date. (They always schedule it-- Germany doesn’t do spontaneity.)

It’s a little bit cute when he invites him over; he’s just so straight-laced that when he finally does have his own needs, he has to flounder his way through innuendos that make it sound like he wants to do something else even though he, Denmark, and everyone else in the entire world knows exactly what’s going down. He doesn’t turn red or stammer like Lithuania or Japan do, but there’s just such a God-awful air of embarrassment that Denmark usually stops him half-way through his schpeel, signs off on a date in his day planner, and ends it there until the day he actually leaves.

Germany never comes over to his place, always inviting him over instead, going so far as to pay for his ferry ticket even when he doesn’t ask him to. When he gets there, Ludwig is always waiting for him in his usual clothes with a pot of strong coffee and a blissfully quiet living space, Prussia barred from the basement so that Germany can have twenty-four hours to himself. They eat lunch in relative silence, most of the talking coming from Denmark’s end in an effort to get him to relax, and coffee is long and drawn out as Germany avoids the issue at hand, obviously wanting to get down to business, but not having the faintest idea as to how he should go about asking for it. Eventually, Denmark will suggest they move to the bedroom and they will, but only after Germany cleans and dries the dishes.

Oddly enough, once he’s actually in his bedroom, a lot of the tense awkwardness eases up. Familiar environments, Denmark supposes. His confidence starts to return, lured out by the siren call of oral sex, and slowly but surely, he’ll work up enough courage to ask, politely, for Denmark to please strip down to his shorts and join him in bed. Which, of course, Denmark has already started doing, shirt dropped over the back of a chair with his pants while Germany’s sit, perfectly folded, in the laundry hamper.

Compared to other requests he’s gotten, Germany is the most vanilla person he knows. Spain is fond of the good old 69 and he knows for damn sure that France never leaves home without at least one vibrating egg inserted somewhere in his person, so it’s always an interesting switch when Germany lies down on his back, propped up by pillows that could very well pass for bricks, and has Denmark shift down on his stomach, between his legs with both hands gripping his hips. And that’s all; there’s no scratching or choking or dirty talk-- he just leans back against the headboard, breathing, keeping his hands to himself while Denmark slips his tongue up his length, raw and wet, teasing him with laps and hot sighs against his skin. He never just dives into it with Germany. Oral is oral is oral, but when it comes to this particular situation, it’s an act to be savored.

Germany, for all his awkwardness, is a very, very well off. Enough so that even Denmark sometimes has problems getting him all the way in. He always has to brace himself, palms against the bed, when he finally stops playing and starts to sink onto him, lips tight and stretching and eyes half shut in concentration. He’ll be freshly showered, like he always is, tasting clean and warm, something Denmark can appreciate after so many sweaty hook-ups after bar crawls or concerts, and he can feel every little twitch and quiver that shakes up through Germany’s careful composure. He likes those little breaks. It’s like a victory that he can literally taste.

He can count the number of times he’s been with Germany on both hands, but he still knows every crevice to explore and every little secret place to snake pressure against. He knows right where to lick and the right moment to push past his palate, swallowing motions timed for maximum impact that always makes Germany hiss. He knows where to kiss, where to touch, where to feel. He knows because he pays attention to things that he likes.

And while he’s never been one for playing favorites, if he had to pick a favorite dick, it would be Germany’s.

Sometimes, if he’s really lucky, Germany might unwind enough to drop shaking hands on his shoulders. He won’t say anything, but with every time Denmark pulls up, his back flexes and Germany’s fingers squeeze him, egging him on without words, occasionally hunching over so that he can slide his palms down Denmark’s bare back to dig into his hips, always wanting to inch lower but never doing so. Those are the extra fun times. The times when he knows he’s doing such a damn fine job that Germany forgets that he’s too shy to be handsy.

Denmark, though, has always been a hands-on kind of guy and he can’t resist kneading into Germany’s muscled thighs, over and under, scraping his nails against rough skin that has no business always being covered up by perfectly starched dress pants. His stomach too-- it’s a crying shame he doesn’t wear his tank tops in public more often because damned if it isn’t one of the seven wonders of the world.

His one complaint would be that Germany never does last that long. It’s a long process to get him in bed, but once things do get moving, the timer starts running down, and quick. He figures it’s because Germany doesn’t bother to get himself laid very often, or maybe because he’s still pretty young, but it doesn’t take long before he’s biting his fist and trying not to buck his hips despite all of Denmark’s squeezing encouragement, hips shaking while the heat rushes out of him and straight down Denmark’s throat. He always makes eye contact while he comes and Denmark can’t quite figure out why, but he looks right back at him and swallows every drop before sliding himself off and flicking his tongue out to catch anything he might have missed.

That is where things stop with everyone else. Denmark will get up, ignoring the wet spot on the front of his underwear, make a quick trip to the bathroom, and leave after congratulating his partner on a job well done. He’ll spend the rest of the day in a good mood, jack off before bed, and get back to his normal work in the morning. It’s routine, practically a tradition.

But Germany is the exception to his own rule because he reverses their positions before Denmark can even think of leaving. He’s still too awkward to graduate to using his mouth, but he has boldness enough to push Denmark onto his back and slide a hand down to finish him off, a duty that never takes more than a few minutes if he hasn’t already jizzed in his pants sometime along the way. And even that isn’t so out of the ordinary-- Australia, Russia, Ukraine, and Finland have all been kind enough to return the gesture more than a few times too.

What makes it interesting is that after they’ve both started breathing normally again, Germany wants to cuddle.

And not the sort of chokes-the-life-out-of-you-I-just-want-something-to-fall-asleep-on Greece-style cuddling or the weird, huffy breathing, Monaco-patented clinging. But serious business cuddling. After-glow kind of cuddling. The kind of cuddling that kinda makes his heart clench up a little bit.

He’s not even sure if Germany is aware of what he’s doing when he slips his arms around his stomach and pulls him down to lie beside him in bed, sidling up against his back and tucking his head down into his hair. He never bothers to redress either of them and the heat that builds up under the covers-- skin on skin, sex-warmed fingers stroking at his belly-- is so undeniably comfortable that Denmark can never bring himself to leave. (Not that he ever really has anywhere important to be.) It’s never less than an hour, either. He’s not sure if Germany needs that kind of physical contact to come down from his high or if he just really likes snuggling, but that prolonged stretch of quiet sighing and gentle touching always happens when they finish. They don’t make pillow talk or tangle their legs together, not like lovers, because that’s not what they are. They just rest there, back to chest, and spoon for a while before one of them eventually figures they should get on with their day and their daffy little ritual ends with a handshake and an invitation to do it again sometime soon.

Denmark wonders if Germany will ever ask him to spend the night and wonders harder still if he’ll agree to it.

Maybe.

Probably.

After all, Denmark really likes being popular.

End.

--

PFFFFFF WHAT IS THIS

Somehow, this went from HELLO I LOVE PENIS to HELLO CUDDLING IS THE BEST. I don't even know, man. Sorry that this wasn't as graphic as it could have been, but nonetheless, I hope you liked it OP!

I DONT

I DON'T EVEN

AHHHHHHH

JUST

AHHHHHHH 8D

WHY HEY THERE DENMARK AND GERMANY I'VE NEVER EVEN THOUGHT OF YOU BEFORE I NEED TO REMEDY THIS AAAAAAH I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY BUT FLAILS YEAH

And dude. Write more het. ALSO AB;FIHGR;LDJF HI AUSTRIA WHY DON'T YOU HIT MY VOYEURISM KINK A LITTLE HARDER THERE.

GONNA GO READ THIS ABOUT FIVE THOUSAND MORE TIMES AND THEN PROBABLY DRAW SOME PORN BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT I DO SO YEAH BRB.

I don't even know where to start, Ancient Scandinavia? Norway and Iceland holding pinkies? Austria and Liszt? Liechtenstein??

Estonia immediately Tweets about it

And Germany = ♥

You are amazing and I love you much more than I probably should.

And it's even better exactly because it's not extremely graphic.

Oh good god. Loved it, loved it, loved it, loved it. All the little details about each nation ♥♥♥

As someone already said- the Ancient Scandinavia line, and the pinkies :O
The NedDen was as fucking hot as that pairing always is. And that was some great het. Germany and cuddles ♥

Monaco. That's some adopted headcanon right there. Australia, Russia, Ukraine and Finland -- I greedily wish they'd been featured XD

THE VIBRATING EGG LINE.

I also wonder if I know who you are, hon hon hon.

I shall join you in wondering, above anon. *creepy eyebrow wiggle*

I don't even know what to say about this fill. I don't usually like to read outright porn, but MAN THIS WAS HOT.

Germany and cuddling! Eeep! I don't even ship DenmarkxGermany but now I'm wondering if I should. Also, was I the only one mildly surprised that Russia was in the kind-enough-to-return-the-favor category?

I love you for the "choking on potatoes" line. ^^

And now I'm super creeped out because the thing that got me the most was the bit about Norway having a thing for Iceland calling him 'brother.' o_0 What's wrong with me?

I didn't think that I knew who this anon was until I read this comment. Now I think I know.

Beautiful! Great work on catching the personality of each character - I really like the small details around the scene of the blow, and it's very erotic in the lack of actual details about the blow itself. I could easily imagine, much more vividly in fact when I read words like "old record player in the background", or the change between pleasing a man and pleasing a woman.

Very good use of characters we normally don't get that much around. I somehow was expecting America and England and close to nothing else. I got it the other way around I love that! Thumbs up. Both of them.

(And man, I wish I owned a Denmark now ;; )

Anon, that was fucking spectacular. For serious. As far as this not!OP is concerned, it was just graphic enough, and I absolutely loved the daylights out of it.

The end made me d'aw. Your Denmark/Germany makes me seriously reconsider my vow to never ship in earnest without canon backing. >////>

This is fantastic! I love the way you included so many little details that say so much, in spite of how small they are, about so many characters. And I love that Denmark gets off on this too, and the snuggling-with-Germany thing is just adorable. Really excellent fic, authoranon.

Now I am in love with Denmark and Germany, curse you great writers making me adopt all these pairings! This was really great, how you got a feel for each character and their little quirks.

I loled in the first part when you described all the things Denmark can do and throughout the whole fill kept thinking of the song from Beauty and The Beast about Gaston...
(No one sucks like Denmark, no one fucks like Denmark, no one pleases the countries quite like Denmark, lalalalala....)

No one sucks like Denmark, no one fucks like Denmark, no one pleases the ladies quite like Denmark, lalalalal....

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

I HAVE NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT THIS PAIRING EVER. AND NOW I SHIP IT.

Oh Goddess, that's just so cute!! It went from utter sexy smut to "Well, I... I kinda like him. See? I'm cuddling. Yes. Cuddling. Denmark can stay. Spend the night. Spend a week. A year.... Mine forever. -uber blush-" LOL

I <3 you, Author!Anon.

I WANT TO BEAR YOUR CHILDREN.

Although damn you for making me ship Denmark/Germany, which is extremely rare.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hetalia Kink meme part 15

Anyone and everyone/Denmark - god-tier blowjobs

Loose 1/7

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THIS CALLS FOR CAPSLOCK

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