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Holy shit. This is actually good...
Damn it, I have fucking tears in my eyes.
You've got serious talent, keep it coming.
Damn it, I have fucking tears in my eyes.
You've got serious talent, keep it coming.
Oh please, please fem!Italy.Anon loves that pairing so very much.
Clash of the families!
Can't believe I didn't see this earlier... Did you post a link on the fill list? I only saw this because I check the link for my requests fairly regularly.
This is awesome!
I love your Alfred, and the way you manage to show the stark contrast between the two families. Especially in the way Alfred jumps back in line so quickly, but Lovino shouts back at the light scolding he gets from Rome.
You're doing great, anon!
Can't believe I didn't see this earlier... Did you post a link on the fill list? I only saw this because I check the link for my requests fairly regularly.
This is awesome!
I love your Alfred, and the way you manage to show the stark contrast between the two families. Especially in the way Alfred jumps back in line so quickly, but Lovino shouts back at the light scolding he gets from Rome.
You're doing great, anon!
Re: Netherlands/Denmark- College AU, awkward first time
It was hard to bare from the first time he saw the other. That wild blond hair, those bright and shocking blue cobalt eyes. The Dutchman knew from when they met, when they started dating, and even now… that this would go far.
As embarrassing as the whole thing was… He remembered everything, ever. Little. Embarrassing and nervous moment. Of that night. He’d sometimes laugh from it, sometimes feel a little more embarrassed that the whole thing did happen that way, but, it did. And there was no stopping the tiny blush that rose every time he thought of it.
xXx
“So… this is m’room. Lukas is out so we have some time together!” Mathias Kolhør, and eager young man about the age of 19, was in his second year at their university along with his tall, spiked haired boyfriend, Jan de Wolf. They had been dating for four months now, steadily and acted to their lives with the thrills of any rollercoaster could bring. The only thing they hadn’t down in their adventure called a relationship… was have sex.
This, came a little shocking to the Dutchman. Mathias, being the deviant he was, seemed like the type to at least get it in, in the span of six weeks. But nothing ever came, mind, they did fool around… quite a lot actually, in the most awkward and public of places… but this was knew.
“What movie do you want to watch?”
Jan smirked, pulling a video from his bag tossing to him, “Here.. which bunk is yours?” It wasn’t like they’ed be watching the movie anyway.
Mathias put the movie in the DVD player and laid down on the bottom bunk pulling the Dutchman down to cuddle him before pressing play. He smoothed a hand along the Dutchman’s chest knowing that Jan loved the feeling as he laid his head onto his boyfriend’s shoulder. Jan started to play with his hair, little signal that made Mathias relax into his boyfriend and nuzzle into his neck before slightly paying attention to the movie.
xXx
It was half way through the movie before Jan was on top of his Dane, kissing him hotly and wantingly, sliding and gliding his hands all over his partner, making him breathless and needy. Clothes almost fully off, Jan only hoped Mathias wasn’t going to stop him at anytime.
“Jan…” Mathias whispered into the other’s ear, making the Dutchman stop and look at him.
'Shit… we have to stop…' Jan huffed in his head before a gentle hand raised into his hair.
“J-Jan.. I.. I think we should… um… should…” Mathias blushed deeper against his flushed face, lips red and plumped from kissing, “Uh…”
“Have sex?” Jan said, talk about blunt. And with those words came a deeper red face from Mathias.
Nodding Mathias shook a bit, making his partner worry before, “Jan.. I’m a virgin.”
It was hard to bare from the first time he saw the other. That wild blond hair, those bright and shocking blue cobalt eyes. The Dutchman knew from when they met, when they started dating, and even now… that this would go far.
As embarrassing as the whole thing was… He remembered everything, ever. Little. Embarrassing and nervous moment. Of that night. He’d sometimes laugh from it, sometimes feel a little more embarrassed that the whole thing did happen that way, but, it did. And there was no stopping the tiny blush that rose every time he thought of it.
xXx
“So… this is m’room. Lukas is out so we have some time together!” Mathias Kolhør, and eager young man about the age of 19, was in his second year at their university along with his tall, spiked haired boyfriend, Jan de Wolf. They had been dating for four months now, steadily and acted to their lives with the thrills of any rollercoaster could bring. The only thing they hadn’t down in their adventure called a relationship… was have sex.
This, came a little shocking to the Dutchman. Mathias, being the deviant he was, seemed like the type to at least get it in, in the span of six weeks. But nothing ever came, mind, they did fool around… quite a lot actually, in the most awkward and public of places… but this was knew.
“What movie do you want to watch?”
Jan smirked, pulling a video from his bag tossing to him, “Here.. which bunk is yours?” It wasn’t like they’ed be watching the movie anyway.
Mathias put the movie in the DVD player and laid down on the bottom bunk pulling the Dutchman down to cuddle him before pressing play. He smoothed a hand along the Dutchman’s chest knowing that Jan loved the feeling as he laid his head onto his boyfriend’s shoulder. Jan started to play with his hair, little signal that made Mathias relax into his boyfriend and nuzzle into his neck before slightly paying attention to the movie.
xXx
It was half way through the movie before Jan was on top of his Dane, kissing him hotly and wantingly, sliding and gliding his hands all over his partner, making him breathless and needy. Clothes almost fully off, Jan only hoped Mathias wasn’t going to stop him at anytime.
“Jan…” Mathias whispered into the other’s ear, making the Dutchman stop and look at him.
'Shit… we have to stop…' Jan huffed in his head before a gentle hand raised into his hair.
“J-Jan.. I.. I think we should… um… should…” Mathias blushed deeper against his flushed face, lips red and plumped from kissing, “Uh…”
“Have sex?” Jan said, talk about blunt. And with those words came a deeper red face from Mathias.
Nodding Mathias shook a bit, making his partner worry before, “Jan.. I’m a virgin.”
It was impossible to keep track of four hands wandering all over his body at the same time, so England didn't even try. They'd scooted further back on the bed, with him still half-lying in Veneziano's lap, while Romano was straddling him, somehow making the way he'd positioned himself in itself seem bossy. Then again, it was hard to complain, hard to do much of anything at all except be reluctantly - but pleasantly - overwhelmed, when one was at the center of so much attention.
Veneziano's touches were feather-light, teasing, experimenting and exploring. England could hear his every fluttering breath, catching in his throat or melting into a soft moan every now and again as if nothing excited him more than just... being able to touch, to please. And apparently it did really affect him that much - it was kind of hard not to notice, with a half-hard cock starting to poke him a bit above the small of his back. Not that it bothered him, really, it was just... another thing that overwhelmed him a bit.
Romano, of course, wasn't anything like his brother. His touch was impatient, not very careful, pushy, and his kisses were aggressive and messy. And England wasn't quite sure why, but he liked it. There was something hungry about the way he went at the business of giving pleasure, something that said 'the reason I touch you is that in return, I want you to give me all that you can give'. It was attention-seeking and needy and craving, and it was hard not to feel wanted when you happened to be at the receiving end of it. Romano was definitely more than half hard already, and he pressed his crotch against England's own awakening erection like a challenge.
He was sure he should have protested this and left the house the minute Veneziano started making absurd suggestions. He was sure that he was going to want to crawl into a hole and die with shame in the morning. He was certain that he had no idea how the bloody hell this had happened.
Except, he did. Just like France had a way of making him do the most ridiculous things simply by goading him on until he snapped, so Veneziano had made this whole thing seem like... well, a challenge that he couldn't back down from. But he was Veneziano, for crying out loud, he couldn't have done that on purpose...
...right?
And that was when his train of thought was cut short by Romano pressing their lips roughly together. The older brother rolled their hips together at the same time as Veneziano rolled one of his nipples between his fingers, his other hand slipping in between the grinding heat of their bodies to toy playfully with England's balls. Caught up in too many sensations to properly process it all, he heard a truly embarrassing sound leave his own lips, some kind of disjointed groan that rose quickly in pitch when Romano found his other nipple and bit down on it. Sod it all, that hurt!
...so why did it make him arch his back, and why was he suddenly all but fully hard? He didn't like the way Romano was smirking at him at all, and somehow the way Veneziano giggled softly close to his ear was even more worrying. "Mmm, ve~, do that again, Fratello. Harder, this time." Suddenly supple fingers were moving from England's balls to his cock, stroking it slowly and then dancing over the head, smearing the first drops of pre-cum with soft, almost soothing motions, making England squirm and try to stifle a gasp.
Then Romano bit down on his nipple again, and he stopped caring what kind of sounds he was making.
***
I'm having so much fun balancing this two brothers, it should probably be illegal. I'm so glad you people seem to think I'm doing an okay job wit them so far ^^ And poor England will just have sit back and enjoy the bumpy ride xD
Veneziano's touches were feather-light, teasing, experimenting and exploring. England could hear his every fluttering breath, catching in his throat or melting into a soft moan every now and again as if nothing excited him more than just... being able to touch, to please. And apparently it did really affect him that much - it was kind of hard not to notice, with a half-hard cock starting to poke him a bit above the small of his back. Not that it bothered him, really, it was just... another thing that overwhelmed him a bit.
Romano, of course, wasn't anything like his brother. His touch was impatient, not very careful, pushy, and his kisses were aggressive and messy. And England wasn't quite sure why, but he liked it. There was something hungry about the way he went at the business of giving pleasure, something that said 'the reason I touch you is that in return, I want you to give me all that you can give'. It was attention-seeking and needy and craving, and it was hard not to feel wanted when you happened to be at the receiving end of it. Romano was definitely more than half hard already, and he pressed his crotch against England's own awakening erection like a challenge.
He was sure he should have protested this and left the house the minute Veneziano started making absurd suggestions. He was sure that he was going to want to crawl into a hole and die with shame in the morning. He was certain that he had no idea how the bloody hell this had happened.
Except, he did. Just like France had a way of making him do the most ridiculous things simply by goading him on until he snapped, so Veneziano had made this whole thing seem like... well, a challenge that he couldn't back down from. But he was Veneziano, for crying out loud, he couldn't have done that on purpose...
...right?
And that was when his train of thought was cut short by Romano pressing their lips roughly together. The older brother rolled their hips together at the same time as Veneziano rolled one of his nipples between his fingers, his other hand slipping in between the grinding heat of their bodies to toy playfully with England's balls. Caught up in too many sensations to properly process it all, he heard a truly embarrassing sound leave his own lips, some kind of disjointed groan that rose quickly in pitch when Romano found his other nipple and bit down on it. Sod it all, that hurt!
...so why did it make him arch his back, and why was he suddenly all but fully hard? He didn't like the way Romano was smirking at him at all, and somehow the way Veneziano giggled softly close to his ear was even more worrying. "Mmm, ve~, do that again, Fratello. Harder, this time." Suddenly supple fingers were moving from England's balls to his cock, stroking it slowly and then dancing over the head, smearing the first drops of pre-cum with soft, almost soothing motions, making England squirm and try to stifle a gasp.
Then Romano bit down on his nipple again, and he stopped caring what kind of sounds he was making.
***
I'm having so much fun balancing this two brothers, it should probably be illegal. I'm so glad you people seem to think I'm doing an okay job wit them so far ^^ And poor England will just have sit back and enjoy the bumpy ride xD
The Salem Witch Trials-or at least all the events surrounding the witch trials- isn't a bad idea, really. I grew up in the area, though, so I'll point out that the trials were something of a delayed societal reaction to a huge series of disruptive events, particularly King Philip's War. It would make sense that America, exposed to that at a young age, might seek the control and reliability of enlightenment-style laws of nature rather than an inherently unstable force like magic.
Also, while there were lots of witch trials, their most famous outbreaks were mostly in the Reformation period; America may have been less common as a nation who was exposed to that as a kid rather than as a teenager or adult.
Of course, you can just ignore all that pondering. What I really meant to say is that this story is a lot of fun and you should keep it up.
Also, while there were lots of witch trials, their most famous outbreaks were mostly in the Reformation period; America may have been less common as a nation who was exposed to that as a kid rather than as a teenager or adult.
Of course, you can just ignore all that pondering. What I really meant to say is that this story is a lot of fun and you should keep it up.
:'D
Canadian A!A thanks you lots for the trivia *-* History<3
Thanks for reading :D
Canadian A!A thanks you lots for the trivia *-* History<3
Thanks for reading :D
:'D Thank you OP for readingg <3
You'll see future parts that the history/reasoning behind America's magic, or lack of thereof, won't be too focused on a certain event :) Partially because I'm a bit iffy about the idea too (: Either way, I hope to continue this!
You'll see future parts that the history/reasoning behind America's magic, or lack of thereof, won't be too focused on a certain event :) Partially because I'm a bit iffy about the idea too (: Either way, I hope to continue this!
It was half past seven in the morning when Spain finally heard Romano's key in the door. He jerked awake, almost fell out of the couch, and then immediately tried to pretend he was asleep again. He could hear Romano shuffling about out there, and then his not-very-successful attempts at sneaking in quietly. He stopped, though, probably noticing Spain 'sleeping' on the couch, and after a moment of silence his footsteps approached.
"Hey, you." A foot nudged his knee gently, but when Spain didn't respond immediately, returned with a light kick instead. "Hey, bastard." Spain opened his eyes, not having to pretend squinting against the light, to find Romano perched on the back of the sofa and watching him with what could be described as awkward concern.
"Hey." Romano's voice was almost soft for a moment, and it made Spain want so badly to forget about how he'd looked like with his shirt torn open and France touching him all over. He wanted to get up and embrace the other man and forget it had ever happened. But what was the point of forgetting when it was probably going to happen again? "Did you wait up for me?"
"Uh... what?" Spain blinked, his train of thought effectively derailed and directed off a sheer cliff wall. He floundered for words as Romano frowned at him, and then he laughed, almost cringing at how forced it sounded. "What, oh no. I just kind of ended up watching a movie and then I fell asleep. Managed to wake up and turn off the TV, but I didn't have the energy to get myself to bed."
In truth, the tv hadn't managed to distract him for long, as he jumped at every slight noise the house made, walking back and forth to the window to see if every flutter of light - real or imagined - might be Roma's taxi arriving. The last thing he reminded was the pale white digits on the DVD player telling him that it was 4:08 in the morning, and then he must've passed out. He was so tired, and he really just wanted to return to sleep, but how could he now that Romano was finally home.
So he grinned sheepishly as Romano rolled his eyes, playing his part pretty well despite the way his head felt like someone had stuffed it with several woolly blankets. "But it's nice of you to worry about me, Roma."
That earned him another swift kick. "I wasn't worried about you, bastard. I just... It'd be stupid of you to stay up all night if I don't come back with you. You can just assume I'm staying out." Romano squirmed a bit, going red and looking away, and for once Spain didn't feel like telling him how cute he was when he blushed. Because he knew damn well that it wasn't him that Romano was thinking about right now.
"Well, of course. I'm not your Boss anymore and you're not a child, so I'm not going to sit up and worry about you when you're out having fun." He hated the exaggerated cheerfulness in his own voice, and Romano gave him a bit of a strange look before shrugging and rolling his eyes, swinging his legs over the back of the sofa and dropping to the floor.
"Whatever. I'm gonna-"
"No!" It came out too fast, too loud, and Spain felt his own cheeks heating up as Romano stared at him. "Why don't... Why don't you come here, Roma? We can... uhm, watch whatever is on TV, cuddle a bit, and I could make you some breakfast."
Romano glared impatiently. "Like hell I will. I'm still tired, and that bastard France's bathroom smells like perfume so it's not like I could get a proper shower there. I'm disgusting and sticky and the only thing I want to do right now is have a damn shower and sleep some more. Got it?"
Spain sank back against the sofa cushions, trying his best to hide the look of chagrin that passed over his face. "Got it."
Romano nodded and headed towards the stairs without so much as looking at him once. But halfway up he paused, his hand squeezing the railing, and after a moment or two grumbled: "Get some sleep too, you look like shit. Then when we wake up I guess you can make me breakfast-lunch-whatever. Is that okay?"
Spain couldn't help but smile, even though his heart still felt like it was being squeezed. "That's wonderful, Roma."
"Hey, you." A foot nudged his knee gently, but when Spain didn't respond immediately, returned with a light kick instead. "Hey, bastard." Spain opened his eyes, not having to pretend squinting against the light, to find Romano perched on the back of the sofa and watching him with what could be described as awkward concern.
"Hey." Romano's voice was almost soft for a moment, and it made Spain want so badly to forget about how he'd looked like with his shirt torn open and France touching him all over. He wanted to get up and embrace the other man and forget it had ever happened. But what was the point of forgetting when it was probably going to happen again? "Did you wait up for me?"
"Uh... what?" Spain blinked, his train of thought effectively derailed and directed off a sheer cliff wall. He floundered for words as Romano frowned at him, and then he laughed, almost cringing at how forced it sounded. "What, oh no. I just kind of ended up watching a movie and then I fell asleep. Managed to wake up and turn off the TV, but I didn't have the energy to get myself to bed."
In truth, the tv hadn't managed to distract him for long, as he jumped at every slight noise the house made, walking back and forth to the window to see if every flutter of light - real or imagined - might be Roma's taxi arriving. The last thing he reminded was the pale white digits on the DVD player telling him that it was 4:08 in the morning, and then he must've passed out. He was so tired, and he really just wanted to return to sleep, but how could he now that Romano was finally home.
So he grinned sheepishly as Romano rolled his eyes, playing his part pretty well despite the way his head felt like someone had stuffed it with several woolly blankets. "But it's nice of you to worry about me, Roma."
That earned him another swift kick. "I wasn't worried about you, bastard. I just... It'd be stupid of you to stay up all night if I don't come back with you. You can just assume I'm staying out." Romano squirmed a bit, going red and looking away, and for once Spain didn't feel like telling him how cute he was when he blushed. Because he knew damn well that it wasn't him that Romano was thinking about right now.
"Well, of course. I'm not your Boss anymore and you're not a child, so I'm not going to sit up and worry about you when you're out having fun." He hated the exaggerated cheerfulness in his own voice, and Romano gave him a bit of a strange look before shrugging and rolling his eyes, swinging his legs over the back of the sofa and dropping to the floor.
"Whatever. I'm gonna-"
"No!" It came out too fast, too loud, and Spain felt his own cheeks heating up as Romano stared at him. "Why don't... Why don't you come here, Roma? We can... uhm, watch whatever is on TV, cuddle a bit, and I could make you some breakfast."
Romano glared impatiently. "Like hell I will. I'm still tired, and that bastard France's bathroom smells like perfume so it's not like I could get a proper shower there. I'm disgusting and sticky and the only thing I want to do right now is have a damn shower and sleep some more. Got it?"
Spain sank back against the sofa cushions, trying his best to hide the look of chagrin that passed over his face. "Got it."
Romano nodded and headed towards the stairs without so much as looking at him once. But halfway up he paused, his hand squeezing the railing, and after a moment or two grumbled: "Get some sleep too, you look like shit. Then when we wake up I guess you can make me breakfast-lunch-whatever. Is that okay?"
Spain couldn't help but smile, even though his heart still felt like it was being squeezed. "That's wonderful, Roma."
As promised, have some Spain suffering and awkward awkwardness happening. Because we all like to see pain, right? Right.
Sadly, Spain never got to find out that Romano woke up France by punching him hard in the stomach and screeching at him to let go of him, damnit, he was going home to sleep on sheets that weren't dodgy-smelling and made of silk, without some pervert drooling on his shoulder. It would probably have made him feel a bit better about the whole thing.
Glad that y'all still like it and hopefully had as much fun reading as I had writingBECAUSE FUCK YEAH PORN. And pfff, OP, I'm just glad I'm living up to expectations ^^
Sadly, Spain never got to find out that Romano woke up France by punching him hard in the stomach and screeching at him to let go of him, damnit, he was going home to sleep on sheets that weren't dodgy-smelling and made of silk, without some pervert drooling on his shoulder. It would probably have made him feel a bit better about the whole thing.
Glad that y'all still like it and hopefully had as much fun reading as I had writing
Francis awoke abruptly at 5:30; he’d trained himself to do this, so it wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise, however, as the warm body tucked tightly under his arm. What had happened? Did he take a lover to bed right under Arthur’s nose, he wondered with growing horror?
But then he remembered. Rhys was in bed with him, and he was the slave he had taken last night, according to custom. He remembered everything.
He’d promised Rhys he wouldn’t touch him. He cursed himself, noting that Rhys was actually very stiff under his arm. Lifting his arm, he saw Rhys’s eyes flutter just a little, as if he were pretending to still be sleeping. How long had he been awake?
“I apologize; it was never my intention to grab you this way,” Francis said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Rhys’s eyes opened, and he looked at him uncertainly, as though he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t simply been lied to.
Francis looked away guiltily. Rhys was a person, and he didn’t deserve to be treated like his personal object. He hated that Rhys didn’t trust him, but he supposed he wouldn’t trust him if he were in Rhys’s situation.
Getting out of the bed, Francis headed across the room, going through the armoire for clothes. “Do you know where your clothes from yesterday are?”
Rhys sat up, hair tousled and one cheek pink from where it had been pressed against his arm. He shook his head, saying, “Scott took them with him.”
Francis sighed, saying, “I have some simpler clothes you can borrow. Let me see… Ah. Here.” He pulled out a lavender shirt with ruffled collar, as well as simple black breeches. They might be a little bit big on Rhys, but one had to make do with what one had.
Rhys shuffled over, arms tucked awkwardly against himself. He took the clothes from Francis without touching him. “Thank you, sir.”
Francis winced. “Don’t call me sir, please.” He couldn’t reconcile himself with a cruel slave owner, and the image such titles conferred.
“Mr. Bonnefoy?” Rhys tried quietly, eyes darting down towards the floor. It was as if he were testing out new waters with old tactics.
“Call me Francis,” Francis replied, stripping off his nightshirt without even thinking. He would wear his blue velvet suit and white linen shirt. A bow tie would probably pair nicely with it, since the shirt had a considerable amount of ruffles…
Rhys was cringing, though it appeared to be subconscious. “Francis? May I… May I change in the washroom?”
It occurred to Francis that his nakedness was probably making Rhys uncomfortable. He quickly assured him, “Of course you may. You don’t have to ask about that, all right?”
Rhys nodded, tucking the clothes against himself and heading for the washroom.
Francis sighed as soon as the door closed. Whatever had happened to Rhys, it hadn’t been an easy time. He’d heard of slaves who went mad after their obligatory sexual intercourse with their masters, struck silent or flinching at the slightest shadow. It was said they were wrong in the head.
At least Rhys was functional. Francis was thankful for that; as much as he wanted to help slaves, he wasn’t sure what he would do with one struck with madness.
He slipped into his clothes, and waited.
But then he remembered. Rhys was in bed with him, and he was the slave he had taken last night, according to custom. He remembered everything.
He’d promised Rhys he wouldn’t touch him. He cursed himself, noting that Rhys was actually very stiff under his arm. Lifting his arm, he saw Rhys’s eyes flutter just a little, as if he were pretending to still be sleeping. How long had he been awake?
“I apologize; it was never my intention to grab you this way,” Francis said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Rhys’s eyes opened, and he looked at him uncertainly, as though he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t simply been lied to.
Francis looked away guiltily. Rhys was a person, and he didn’t deserve to be treated like his personal object. He hated that Rhys didn’t trust him, but he supposed he wouldn’t trust him if he were in Rhys’s situation.
Getting out of the bed, Francis headed across the room, going through the armoire for clothes. “Do you know where your clothes from yesterday are?”
Rhys sat up, hair tousled and one cheek pink from where it had been pressed against his arm. He shook his head, saying, “Scott took them with him.”
Francis sighed, saying, “I have some simpler clothes you can borrow. Let me see… Ah. Here.” He pulled out a lavender shirt with ruffled collar, as well as simple black breeches. They might be a little bit big on Rhys, but one had to make do with what one had.
Rhys shuffled over, arms tucked awkwardly against himself. He took the clothes from Francis without touching him. “Thank you, sir.”
Francis winced. “Don’t call me sir, please.” He couldn’t reconcile himself with a cruel slave owner, and the image such titles conferred.
“Mr. Bonnefoy?” Rhys tried quietly, eyes darting down towards the floor. It was as if he were testing out new waters with old tactics.
“Call me Francis,” Francis replied, stripping off his nightshirt without even thinking. He would wear his blue velvet suit and white linen shirt. A bow tie would probably pair nicely with it, since the shirt had a considerable amount of ruffles…
Rhys was cringing, though it appeared to be subconscious. “Francis? May I… May I change in the washroom?”
It occurred to Francis that his nakedness was probably making Rhys uncomfortable. He quickly assured him, “Of course you may. You don’t have to ask about that, all right?”
Rhys nodded, tucking the clothes against himself and heading for the washroom.
Francis sighed as soon as the door closed. Whatever had happened to Rhys, it hadn’t been an easy time. He’d heard of slaves who went mad after their obligatory sexual intercourse with their masters, struck silent or flinching at the slightest shadow. It was said they were wrong in the head.
At least Rhys was functional. Francis was thankful for that; as much as he wanted to help slaves, he wasn’t sure what he would do with one struck with madness.
He slipped into his clothes, and waited.
Francis sat at the long breakfast table, seated unfortunately close to Arthur. The wart was making his slave, an oriental fellow by the name of Hong, wipe his mouth and fetch silverware he dropped on the floor. In other words, he was being a pig.
Rhys stood behind and to the left of Francis’s chair, not uttering a sound, but from the turn of his head, Francis could see he was watching Hong. He wondered if it was with pity; it didn’t seem as though Hong were bothered, though, obediently doing whatever he was told. He must have been a slave a long time, Francis reflected with a shudder.
“Francis, dear, do tell us how your night was,” Arthur said, eating several grapes at once. His eyes seemed to trail over to Rhys, who, to his credit, stayed standing still and erect.
Francis frowned, saying, “It was nothing out of the ordinary.” As if it were Arthur’s business what happened with him and Rhys! It made Francis angry that he should even inquire, especially since he clearly knew of Francis’s abolitionist leanings.
And there was no doubt that had been his revenge, a lesson taught to Francis, as Arthur’s eyes sparked with malicious mirth. “He’s not the most pliable slave I’ve ever bedded, but hopefully he didn’t cry for you.”
Francis’ grip tightened on his fork. He wanted to stab Arthur badly, as he could see from the corner of his eye Rhys’s head ducking down. “It’s really a matter I’d rather keep private, thank you.”
Arthur laughed. “It went that badly? I understand wanting to keep it private then. Have you tried the cream and strawberries? They’re divine.”
Francis said, trying to affect the same careless attitude, even as he could see Scott scowling darkly across from him, “I haven’t had the opportunity, no. I prefer blueberries.”
“Then you haven’t had the opportunity to try our strawberries. They’re grown directly on the estate, and they’re the sweetest in the county. Try them,” Arthur replied, posture casual, but eyes watching Francis like a hawk.
Francis started to protest. “No, thank you, I don’t prefer strawberries.” They stung his mouth, and he suspected he was allergic. Of course, he wasn’t about to tell Arthur that; just one more thing for him to use against him.
“Please, I insist,” Arthur said, perhaps a little too forcefully, too much of a smile for it to be real. His eyes flicked towards Rhys, then back towards Francis.
Sighing, Francis said, “Very well, since they are clearly so dear to you.” He helped himself to some cream and strawberries, wincing as he placed the cold berries in his mouth. Yes, they still stung. “Very good,” he said, patting his mouth with a napkin and wishing he could scrub out the whole inside.
Arthur smiled. “I told you, they’re marvelous. We have the best gardeners in all of the United Kingdom.” He untucked his napkin from his neck, adding, “I believe I’ve had enough. Many things to do today, and I wouldn’t want to be full for teatime. You’ll be joining me.”
It wasn’t a question. Francis nodded, faking a smile. “Of course, Arthur.” He hated him more; it would be just them and the slaves, knowing him. Hong’s distant eyes didn’t promise any help in uncomfortable situations, and Rhys was probably shy of the sting of a whip.
Arthur left then, wishing the whole table a pleasant meal before he was gone. Hong disappeared with him.
Francis could see Rhys relax just a little. However, as he observed the table, he could see several people were still clearly uncomfortable. They kept their eyes turned from him, or Rhys, he wasn’t sure which. It must be because they knew how Arthur would treat him, and that he would have no power or respect.
He lost his appetite, and put his napkin on the table. He stood, and Rhys followed him. The look back at Scott did not go unnoticed by Francis, though Rhys quickly snapped his head back forwards.
“Shall we go to the garden? I hear this estate has beautiful daffodils.” Francis wasn’t that entranced by flowers, especially something as simple as a daffodil, but he led the way to the place. It was a warm summery day, and the flowers were all in bloom. He took a seat on the garden bench with a sigh. “Rhys? You can sit down if you want to.”
Rhys stood behind and to the left of Francis’s chair, not uttering a sound, but from the turn of his head, Francis could see he was watching Hong. He wondered if it was with pity; it didn’t seem as though Hong were bothered, though, obediently doing whatever he was told. He must have been a slave a long time, Francis reflected with a shudder.
“Francis, dear, do tell us how your night was,” Arthur said, eating several grapes at once. His eyes seemed to trail over to Rhys, who, to his credit, stayed standing still and erect.
Francis frowned, saying, “It was nothing out of the ordinary.” As if it were Arthur’s business what happened with him and Rhys! It made Francis angry that he should even inquire, especially since he clearly knew of Francis’s abolitionist leanings.
And there was no doubt that had been his revenge, a lesson taught to Francis, as Arthur’s eyes sparked with malicious mirth. “He’s not the most pliable slave I’ve ever bedded, but hopefully he didn’t cry for you.”
Francis’ grip tightened on his fork. He wanted to stab Arthur badly, as he could see from the corner of his eye Rhys’s head ducking down. “It’s really a matter I’d rather keep private, thank you.”
Arthur laughed. “It went that badly? I understand wanting to keep it private then. Have you tried the cream and strawberries? They’re divine.”
Francis said, trying to affect the same careless attitude, even as he could see Scott scowling darkly across from him, “I haven’t had the opportunity, no. I prefer blueberries.”
“Then you haven’t had the opportunity to try our strawberries. They’re grown directly on the estate, and they’re the sweetest in the county. Try them,” Arthur replied, posture casual, but eyes watching Francis like a hawk.
Francis started to protest. “No, thank you, I don’t prefer strawberries.” They stung his mouth, and he suspected he was allergic. Of course, he wasn’t about to tell Arthur that; just one more thing for him to use against him.
“Please, I insist,” Arthur said, perhaps a little too forcefully, too much of a smile for it to be real. His eyes flicked towards Rhys, then back towards Francis.
Sighing, Francis said, “Very well, since they are clearly so dear to you.” He helped himself to some cream and strawberries, wincing as he placed the cold berries in his mouth. Yes, they still stung. “Very good,” he said, patting his mouth with a napkin and wishing he could scrub out the whole inside.
Arthur smiled. “I told you, they’re marvelous. We have the best gardeners in all of the United Kingdom.” He untucked his napkin from his neck, adding, “I believe I’ve had enough. Many things to do today, and I wouldn’t want to be full for teatime. You’ll be joining me.”
It wasn’t a question. Francis nodded, faking a smile. “Of course, Arthur.” He hated him more; it would be just them and the slaves, knowing him. Hong’s distant eyes didn’t promise any help in uncomfortable situations, and Rhys was probably shy of the sting of a whip.
Arthur left then, wishing the whole table a pleasant meal before he was gone. Hong disappeared with him.
Francis could see Rhys relax just a little. However, as he observed the table, he could see several people were still clearly uncomfortable. They kept their eyes turned from him, or Rhys, he wasn’t sure which. It must be because they knew how Arthur would treat him, and that he would have no power or respect.
He lost his appetite, and put his napkin on the table. He stood, and Rhys followed him. The look back at Scott did not go unnoticed by Francis, though Rhys quickly snapped his head back forwards.
“Shall we go to the garden? I hear this estate has beautiful daffodils.” Francis wasn’t that entranced by flowers, especially something as simple as a daffodil, but he led the way to the place. It was a warm summery day, and the flowers were all in bloom. He took a seat on the garden bench with a sigh. “Rhys? You can sit down if you want to.”
Rhys looked as though he felt trapped between a rock and a hard place, as he looked around anxiously and shook his head. “No, thank you, si- Francis, I’m all right where I am.” He stood next to Francis, as if ready to snap away on the next order.
Francis sighed again. “I’m not going to let anyone punish you for sitting, Rhys. It’s all right.” Really, what did Rhys expect would happen? He belonged solely to Francis; no one could touch him. Could they?
Chewing on his lip, Rhys shook his head, but his bluish-gray eyes looked down at his shoes instead. “Francis, I can’t be seen sitting down. Not unless I am doing an activity that requires sitting.”
From the uneven shift from foot to foot, Francis guessed that Rhys had learned that lesson the hard way. He looked out over the flowers, saying, “Would you like to make a flower crown with me, then? It’s simple, I’ll teach you.”
Rhys nodded, though it looked like he thought he had no other choice. It made Francis feel guilty, but he suspected standing there doing nothing was more torturous.
Standing, Francis walked around the garden, picking flowers and handing them to Rhys. Rhys followed obediently, ever growing pile of flowers cautiously carried in his arms.
Then they settled down on the bench again, and Francis smiled softly. This was an entertainment he had loved as a child; surely it would help soothe Rhys. He picked up a purple flower, and started to weave it in with two others. “It’s not so hard, once you get the hang of it; if you have enough flowers with long stems, then you can weave them together like so…”
Rhys began bending stalks and weaving them like he was shown. His face was at first stolid, eyes vaguely troubled as he stared at the flowers; it grew increasingly distracted, however, as the complexities of the task took over his mind.
Francis smiled, seeing that he was at least occupied. He worked at his, but since he was well-practiced, he was able to think of other things.
What day would be appropriate to free Rhys? He figured a month at the least, but Arthur was a stodgy old toad, and he was sure to watching for the slightest sign of disrespect. Perhaps after the wedding, he could release Rhys; that was in two months. In the hustle and bustle of moving him in permanently, he was sure Rhys could be released unnoticed.
The crown sat in Francis’s lap, and he watched Rhys work. Rhys’s crown was coming along nicely, evenly, as though he were accustomed to making things, to using his hands for intricate tasks. It was also patterned, purple, yellow, white, and blue.
Francis gently put his crown on Rhys’s head, in a moment of impulse.
Rhys looked over, shocked, reaching up to immediately feel what was on his head. The expression on his face turned soft, however, when he realized it was just the flower crown. He looked positively relieved, finishing the last weave on his crown, and then handing it to Francis.
Smiling at him, Francis said, “You look darling.”
“Thank you,” Rhys said automatically, promptly standing and looking anxious. Francis wished he could wipe that look from his face; it felt as though if he were able to make Rhys unanxious, he could stop being anxious himself.
If only things could be so simple. He would marry Arthur and live a loveless life, bitterly watching his peers marry happily. And Rhys would be a poor man, free but surely unable to find work that wasn’t taken by a slave.
It was a bitter system they lived in. Francis only hoped that someday, things could be made better.
Francis sighed again. “I’m not going to let anyone punish you for sitting, Rhys. It’s all right.” Really, what did Rhys expect would happen? He belonged solely to Francis; no one could touch him. Could they?
Chewing on his lip, Rhys shook his head, but his bluish-gray eyes looked down at his shoes instead. “Francis, I can’t be seen sitting down. Not unless I am doing an activity that requires sitting.”
From the uneven shift from foot to foot, Francis guessed that Rhys had learned that lesson the hard way. He looked out over the flowers, saying, “Would you like to make a flower crown with me, then? It’s simple, I’ll teach you.”
Rhys nodded, though it looked like he thought he had no other choice. It made Francis feel guilty, but he suspected standing there doing nothing was more torturous.
Standing, Francis walked around the garden, picking flowers and handing them to Rhys. Rhys followed obediently, ever growing pile of flowers cautiously carried in his arms.
Then they settled down on the bench again, and Francis smiled softly. This was an entertainment he had loved as a child; surely it would help soothe Rhys. He picked up a purple flower, and started to weave it in with two others. “It’s not so hard, once you get the hang of it; if you have enough flowers with long stems, then you can weave them together like so…”
Rhys began bending stalks and weaving them like he was shown. His face was at first stolid, eyes vaguely troubled as he stared at the flowers; it grew increasingly distracted, however, as the complexities of the task took over his mind.
Francis smiled, seeing that he was at least occupied. He worked at his, but since he was well-practiced, he was able to think of other things.
What day would be appropriate to free Rhys? He figured a month at the least, but Arthur was a stodgy old toad, and he was sure to watching for the slightest sign of disrespect. Perhaps after the wedding, he could release Rhys; that was in two months. In the hustle and bustle of moving him in permanently, he was sure Rhys could be released unnoticed.
The crown sat in Francis’s lap, and he watched Rhys work. Rhys’s crown was coming along nicely, evenly, as though he were accustomed to making things, to using his hands for intricate tasks. It was also patterned, purple, yellow, white, and blue.
Francis gently put his crown on Rhys’s head, in a moment of impulse.
Rhys looked over, shocked, reaching up to immediately feel what was on his head. The expression on his face turned soft, however, when he realized it was just the flower crown. He looked positively relieved, finishing the last weave on his crown, and then handing it to Francis.
Smiling at him, Francis said, “You look darling.”
“Thank you,” Rhys said automatically, promptly standing and looking anxious. Francis wished he could wipe that look from his face; it felt as though if he were able to make Rhys unanxious, he could stop being anxious himself.
If only things could be so simple. He would marry Arthur and live a loveless life, bitterly watching his peers marry happily. And Rhys would be a poor man, free but surely unable to find work that wasn’t taken by a slave.
It was a bitter system they lived in. Francis only hoped that someday, things could be made better.
Oh thank you! I'm glad you liked it! I just had to write this prompt out. It tugged at my heartstrings enough for me to get this out~
Loving this fill more and more, authoranon! It's rare to see England being the 'bad guy' and France the good one, and the angst is delicious. Can't wait for more.
Can I just say, I love how frakking bossy and spoiled Romano acts with everybody, and how both Spain and France just drink it up? Because I do. I love it.
Poor Boss. He didn't realize that Romano ran away without washing nor having breakfast, which means he was in one hell of a rush to get out of there and back to him, isn't it?
Poor Boss. He didn't realize that Romano ran away without washing nor having breakfast, which means he was in one hell of a rush to get out of there and back to him, isn't it?
Ouch, the unconscious cuddling... I just feel bad for them both. But the flower crown scene is kind of adorable. <3
It bothers me a bit how completely evil Arthur is here, even though I know it's just required by the story. It's not that it's bad in terms of the fic universe, it's just that I like England and I don't like seeing him as the villain. x); (Even though he's a bit of a bastard in canon too. But then again, so is France.) Well, it is nice that it's not France that's made the evil perv, though.
It occurred to me, though, that this society probably approves of rape within marriage... I have a feeling Arthur is going to make it nasty for Francis once they're married. Even if Francis was okay with having sex with a guy he doesn't like... (Am I a horrible person for kind of wanting to see that now? =3= It would be interesting to see how that might affect Rhys and Francis' relationship (whatever the relationship is by that point.))
It bothers me a bit how completely evil Arthur is here, even though I know it's just required by the story. It's not that it's bad in terms of the fic universe, it's just that I like England and I don't like seeing him as the villain. x); (Even though he's a bit of a bastard in canon too. But then again, so is France.) Well, it is nice that it's not France that's made the evil perv, though.
It occurred to me, though, that this society probably approves of rape within marriage... I have a feeling Arthur is going to make it nasty for Francis once they're married. Even if Francis was okay with having sex with a guy he doesn't like... (Am I a horrible person for kind of wanting to see that now? =3= It would be interesting to see how that might affect Rhys and Francis' relationship (whatever the relationship is by that point.))
so fucking awesome!!!!! fake tony! good god, I was so shocked! You go author anon.
Ace! I love this continue because the world doesn't need america to have magic he's fucking awesome! Please don't let this awesomely-amazing prompt die (I've seen with some other fills, the author will update and then vanish off the face of the planet--I'm just hoping it doesn't happen here.)
First fill, so I'm a little nervous.
XXxxxxXX
Prologue: Unwritten
XXxxxxXX
For thousands of years, since the beginning of human history the nations have existed. Their powers of magical prowess a necessary bond between the earth and their people, making themselves absolutely vital in the up keeping and collective strength of their countries.
Indeed, it was without question that every nation had magic---this was an unwritten rule, and a law every personification knew to be true.
Except....no one had ever told America.
XXxxxxXX
Kind of a crappy prologue, but I want to get to the good stuff ASAP.
Note:I both nation names, and human names, so keep that in mind....well, that and this is my first fill. Trying to finish chapter one to post today. Hopefully this doesn't suck too much...
XXxxxxXX
Prologue: Unwritten
XXxxxxXX
For thousands of years, since the beginning of human history the nations have existed. Their powers of magical prowess a necessary bond between the earth and their people, making themselves absolutely vital in the up keeping and collective strength of their countries.
Indeed, it was without question that every nation had magic---this was an unwritten rule, and a law every personification knew to be true.
Except....no one had ever told America.
XXxxxxXX
Kind of a crappy prologue, but I want to get to the good stuff ASAP.
Note:I both nation names, and human names, so keep that in mind....well, that and this is my first fill. Trying to finish chapter one to post today. Hopefully this doesn't suck too much...
For a week or so they didn't do anything much but spend time together, and honestly it was great. Romano would never have admitted it if asked, but he was comfortable around Spain like he was with very few others, feeling safe in his affection in a way that he'd never imagined that he'd allow himself. That didn't make a million insecurities and conflicting feelings automatically disappear, didn't make him a better person, or one more worthy of being loved. Most likely, nothing ever would. But at least it made him feel like for one person, maybe that didn't matter. For better or worse.
They alternated their time between their houses, so that they both could at least attempt to pay some mind to their duties, although Romano more often than not found himself avoiding them. He knew why; it was because when they were at his place, when he was busy, the one who inevitably ended up entertaining Spain was Veneziano. And the sky would fall down before that stopped bothering him. That was one thing he would never feel safe about.
He'd worried a bit that France was going to call, had even prepared to tell him to fuck off and just because they'd screwed didn't mean that he could call. He was relieved to find that he didn't, and that the one time he ran into him he simply smiled knowingly and gave him plenty of space, not even mentioning their together.
And that in a way was intriguing in itself. Did that mean he could really have this... this life with Spain, this coexistence which he would ever own up to having longed for rather desperately, but still experience new and thrilling things with others? Without having to deal with the kind of attachments and complications that he didn't know how to deal with afterwards?
It was a mindblowing thought, and he didn't really know who to discuss it with. It felt like an awkward thing to take up with Spain, Veneziano sure as hell wouldn't get it, and he'd remove his tongue with a rusty saw before he took it up with France. And honestly... he didn't have that many people that he knew how to talk to, did he? Or, hell, he didn't have anyone who he knew how to talk to, period, because he didn't know how to talk about shit. He just had a couple of people who knew how to listen, and it was a very, very short list.
And all of this was how he somehow ended up curled up in an armchair at yet another party, coaxed into talking by a combination of alcohol and light flirting, spilling all of his confused pondering to Hungary of all people. She didn't interrupt as he talked, eyes wide and bright, and every time he faltered she smiled encouragingly and reached out to touch his hand until he found the words again.
It was surreal.
"So," she said, looking a bit too thrilled for his comfort but at least kindly so, "you're really in love with Spain, aren't you?"
Romano felt himself going red and he turned his gaze away to glare randomized but probably ax-related murder at a coffee table. "I guess so," he muttered ungraciously. "I mean, love is stupid anyway, but I guess I- I-"
"Don't mind being a bit stupid around him?" Hungary suggested slyly. Romano scowled, but he didn't protest, and she seemed to take that as affirmation. She bounced a bit in her seat, and he didn't exactly see what she was so damn happy about, but honestly it felt really good to talk about this with someone who didn't seem to judge him at all.
"And so you don't mind... you know, the fact that he can be with someone else according to your deal?"
Romano looked away, his arms tightening over his chest until he wasn't so much crossing them as embracing himself. She nodded wisely. "I understand. It's hard to help being jealous, even if you know that you can trust someone, right?"
Romano didn't reply to that either. Because as much as he felt safe with Spain... the sad fact was that he didn't trust anyone, not completely. Least of all himself. Hungary seemed to pick up on his discomfort, and breezily kept talking, leaning closer so that she could take his hands and hold them between hers. "But didn't it feel a bit easier when you felt that he trusted you with being with someone else?"
They alternated their time between their houses, so that they both could at least attempt to pay some mind to their duties, although Romano more often than not found himself avoiding them. He knew why; it was because when they were at his place, when he was busy, the one who inevitably ended up entertaining Spain was Veneziano. And the sky would fall down before that stopped bothering him. That was one thing he would never feel safe about.
He'd worried a bit that France was going to call, had even prepared to tell him to fuck off and just because they'd screwed didn't mean that he could call. He was relieved to find that he didn't, and that the one time he ran into him he simply smiled knowingly and gave him plenty of space, not even mentioning their together.
And that in a way was intriguing in itself. Did that mean he could really have this... this life with Spain, this coexistence which he would ever own up to having longed for rather desperately, but still experience new and thrilling things with others? Without having to deal with the kind of attachments and complications that he didn't know how to deal with afterwards?
It was a mindblowing thought, and he didn't really know who to discuss it with. It felt like an awkward thing to take up with Spain, Veneziano sure as hell wouldn't get it, and he'd remove his tongue with a rusty saw before he took it up with France. And honestly... he didn't have that many people that he knew how to talk to, did he? Or, hell, he didn't have anyone who he knew how to talk to, period, because he didn't know how to talk about shit. He just had a couple of people who knew how to listen, and it was a very, very short list.
And all of this was how he somehow ended up curled up in an armchair at yet another party, coaxed into talking by a combination of alcohol and light flirting, spilling all of his confused pondering to Hungary of all people. She didn't interrupt as he talked, eyes wide and bright, and every time he faltered she smiled encouragingly and reached out to touch his hand until he found the words again.
It was surreal.
"So," she said, looking a bit too thrilled for his comfort but at least kindly so, "you're really in love with Spain, aren't you?"
Romano felt himself going red and he turned his gaze away to glare randomized but probably ax-related murder at a coffee table. "I guess so," he muttered ungraciously. "I mean, love is stupid anyway, but I guess I- I-"
"Don't mind being a bit stupid around him?" Hungary suggested slyly. Romano scowled, but he didn't protest, and she seemed to take that as affirmation. She bounced a bit in her seat, and he didn't exactly see what she was so damn happy about, but honestly it felt really good to talk about this with someone who didn't seem to judge him at all.
"And so you don't mind... you know, the fact that he can be with someone else according to your deal?"
Romano looked away, his arms tightening over his chest until he wasn't so much crossing them as embracing himself. She nodded wisely. "I understand. It's hard to help being jealous, even if you know that you can trust someone, right?"
Romano didn't reply to that either. Because as much as he felt safe with Spain... the sad fact was that he didn't trust anyone, not completely. Least of all himself. Hungary seemed to pick up on his discomfort, and breezily kept talking, leaning closer so that she could take his hands and hold them between hers. "But didn't it feel a bit easier when you felt that he trusted you with being with someone else?"
Romano blinked, surprised, and then thought back to it. He had felt better about the thought of having this kind of relationship with Spain when the other hadn't made a fuss about him disappearing off with France. Because it had meant nothing to him, hadn't it? It had just been sex. Very good sex, he had to admit - albeit very reluctantly - but still just sex. And Spain had been bothered, that was painfully obvious, but he hadn't brought it up, and maybe that meant that it was the same the other way around. Just because Romano felt disturbed and insecure didn't mean that Spain was actually doing or feeling anything to deserve it. It was a strange thought, but maybe it actually held some truth.
Hungary's hands were very warm and very soft around his own. Her eyes were green just like Spain's, but there was more blue in them - landlocked Hungary had more sea in her than some countries that actually had a coastline. Romano had always had a sense for color, even if he couldn't apply it to anything like Veneziano did. Right now, though, that didn't feel like it mattered so much.
Suddenly she laughed, leaning forward so that her lips brushed his ear. "I think you need to experiment more with his trust, you know. It'll make it easier to trust him."
Romano swallowed, and suddenly found himself grinning. "Yeah, I think I need to. Care to help out, bella?"
She smiled coyly, lowering her eyelashes. "I'm always there to help boys out with their love troubles, you know."
***
This wasn't quite what he'd thought he'd do when a serenely smiling Hungary had led him through the throngs of dumbly staring countries towards the door. Austria had looked up, raised one eyebrow slightly, and in an unconcerned voice said, "One of the guest rooms, if you please. Don't go too hard on him, it's embarrassing enough to watch them leave without having to help them find the door. Oh, and gag him if necessary, we both know he tends to be... disruptive."
That had been somewhat worrying, and had distracted him momentarily, enough so that he didn't have time to reflect upon how Spain seemed to have dropped his glass over his shirt, and was mopping wine from it while swearing quietly. And then Hungary had draped his coat over his shoulders and dragged him out the door, and he'd decided to deal with that later. Right then, he had other things on his mind.
And now, it wasn't what he has on his mind as much as on him that was worrying. Namely, Hungary. After a lot of kissing and very pleasant foreplay, she'd suddenly manhandled him face-forward over the armrest of a couch, pressing him down against the cool leather, light fingers dancing over his bare back and toward his hips, and then between one moment and the next, he had his pants down by his ankles. He didn't have any time to protest before he was assaulted by a feeling that he did not associate with sleeping with a woman.
Lube-slick fingers sliding in between his buttocks.
"What are you-" He gasped, shivering.
Hungary giggled. "You're not going to tell me you haven't done this before, right?" Her fingers wriggled a bit as she slid them in, and he got the impression that she was teasing him. "So just relax like you usually do." And then she scissored her fingers, and Romano came to the conclusion that this wasn't so bad.
He'd just managed to relax and enjoy himself when she pulled her fingers out - and he valiantly managed not to whine... at least very loudly - and something else pressed against him instead.
Now, Hungary had definitely been naked the last time he looked, and he'd spent quite some time getting well acquainted with her breasts. They were most definitely the real deal, and as far as he'd seen, she didn't have the kind of equipment which his backside seemed to insist was suddenly involved.
Hungary's hands were very warm and very soft around his own. Her eyes were green just like Spain's, but there was more blue in them - landlocked Hungary had more sea in her than some countries that actually had a coastline. Romano had always had a sense for color, even if he couldn't apply it to anything like Veneziano did. Right now, though, that didn't feel like it mattered so much.
Suddenly she laughed, leaning forward so that her lips brushed his ear. "I think you need to experiment more with his trust, you know. It'll make it easier to trust him."
Romano swallowed, and suddenly found himself grinning. "Yeah, I think I need to. Care to help out, bella?"
She smiled coyly, lowering her eyelashes. "I'm always there to help boys out with their love troubles, you know."
***
This wasn't quite what he'd thought he'd do when a serenely smiling Hungary had led him through the throngs of dumbly staring countries towards the door. Austria had looked up, raised one eyebrow slightly, and in an unconcerned voice said, "One of the guest rooms, if you please. Don't go too hard on him, it's embarrassing enough to watch them leave without having to help them find the door. Oh, and gag him if necessary, we both know he tends to be... disruptive."
That had been somewhat worrying, and had distracted him momentarily, enough so that he didn't have time to reflect upon how Spain seemed to have dropped his glass over his shirt, and was mopping wine from it while swearing quietly. And then Hungary had draped his coat over his shoulders and dragged him out the door, and he'd decided to deal with that later. Right then, he had other things on his mind.
And now, it wasn't what he has on his mind as much as on him that was worrying. Namely, Hungary. After a lot of kissing and very pleasant foreplay, she'd suddenly manhandled him face-forward over the armrest of a couch, pressing him down against the cool leather, light fingers dancing over his bare back and toward his hips, and then between one moment and the next, he had his pants down by his ankles. He didn't have any time to protest before he was assaulted by a feeling that he did not associate with sleeping with a woman.
Lube-slick fingers sliding in between his buttocks.
"What are you-" He gasped, shivering.
Hungary giggled. "You're not going to tell me you haven't done this before, right?" Her fingers wriggled a bit as she slid them in, and he got the impression that she was teasing him. "So just relax like you usually do." And then she scissored her fingers, and Romano came to the conclusion that this wasn't so bad.
He'd just managed to relax and enjoy himself when she pulled her fingers out - and he valiantly managed not to whine... at least very loudly - and something else pressed against him instead.
Now, Hungary had definitely been naked the last time he looked, and he'd spent quite some time getting well acquainted with her breasts. They were most definitely the real deal, and as far as he'd seen, she didn't have the kind of equipment which his backside seemed to insist was suddenly involved.
She had a firm hand planted right between his shoulder blades, and damn she was strong for a girl, so all he could do was gasp a weirdly choked, "What the hell...?"
"It's a strap on," came her voice, not quite as light and full of sunshine this time. It was huskier, breathier, and had a very nice timbre to it which made him shiver. "A pretty accurate approximate of Spain's size, as a matter of fact."
Romano didn't want to know how she knew that, and a moment later he didn't know anything at all apart from that no matter the accuracy of the size, the toy felt really nice sliding into him. She pulled out slightly and then rammed it back with rather impressive force and precision. And at the same time as Romano saw stars, nails scrabbling over the sofa for some kind of hold, he heard the woman behind him moan loudly.
Oh God. She was actually... getting off on this? That was way hotter than he'd expected it to be, and by the next thrust, they were both gasping helplessly, forced to take a moment to pull themselves together. Then Hungary laughed quietly, her voice low and sweet, and Romano, to his great surprise, found himself chuckling in return, an unseen smile pulling at his lips even as his face has pushed harder against the leather.
After that she seemed to quickly find a rhythm, clearly experienced in this kind of thing, moaning happily every time she pushed into him. And Romano could do nothing but comply to her request to bite down on edge of one of the cushions to keep from making too much noise, writhing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. It wasn't long until she had him frantic with the rising heat and pressure, and expertly reading his reactions, she turned the steady rhythm into a bout of frantic thrusts, an unexpected hand appearing out of nowhere to toy with his balls.
Within ten seconds he was crying out and spilling his release over the side of the couch. She let him enjoy the feeling of being filled and sated for quite a while, and then slid out. Romano stayed bent over and clinging to the couch, head spinning with the aftermath of pleasure, as she bustled about behind him. Then she pulled him upright for a soft kiss, leading him to the bed instead, where she laid down on her back and smiled at him, giving his shoulder a light press to indicate what she wanted.
She was already wet and very warm, and the very first touch of his tongue pulled a breathy moan from her. It hardly took him more than two minutes to bring her to a shivering, sheet-clutching climax, and then he rested with his face pressed against her abdomen, mumbling with brain-numbed pleasure as she toyed lightly with his hair. He didn't know how long they stayed like that before she sat up and beamed, kissing his cheeks almost tenderly. "How about some tea before you go home?" she suggested. "It's not that late yet, and you'll be home in time to get to bed with your man."
"He's probably asleep by now anyway," Romano mumbled, thrown by her almost sisterly affection.
Hungary smiled, shaking her head. "No, he's not. Trust me."
***
Now, next on our tour ofways of making Spain miserable Romano's new kinks, Miss Hungary is all too happy to help us out with pegging, and I have no regrets about anything ever. Not even a little bit. Like this isn't the dream of every yaoi fangirl anyway, right?
NOPE, SPAIN'S LIFE ISN'T GETTING ANY EASIER ANY TIME SOON. And not only because I'm having way too much fun with my own private little kink/nations list, I swear.
"It's a strap on," came her voice, not quite as light and full of sunshine this time. It was huskier, breathier, and had a very nice timbre to it which made him shiver. "A pretty accurate approximate of Spain's size, as a matter of fact."
Romano didn't want to know how she knew that, and a moment later he didn't know anything at all apart from that no matter the accuracy of the size, the toy felt really nice sliding into him. She pulled out slightly and then rammed it back with rather impressive force and precision. And at the same time as Romano saw stars, nails scrabbling over the sofa for some kind of hold, he heard the woman behind him moan loudly.
Oh God. She was actually... getting off on this? That was way hotter than he'd expected it to be, and by the next thrust, they were both gasping helplessly, forced to take a moment to pull themselves together. Then Hungary laughed quietly, her voice low and sweet, and Romano, to his great surprise, found himself chuckling in return, an unseen smile pulling at his lips even as his face has pushed harder against the leather.
After that she seemed to quickly find a rhythm, clearly experienced in this kind of thing, moaning happily every time she pushed into him. And Romano could do nothing but comply to her request to bite down on edge of one of the cushions to keep from making too much noise, writhing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. It wasn't long until she had him frantic with the rising heat and pressure, and expertly reading his reactions, she turned the steady rhythm into a bout of frantic thrusts, an unexpected hand appearing out of nowhere to toy with his balls.
Within ten seconds he was crying out and spilling his release over the side of the couch. She let him enjoy the feeling of being filled and sated for quite a while, and then slid out. Romano stayed bent over and clinging to the couch, head spinning with the aftermath of pleasure, as she bustled about behind him. Then she pulled him upright for a soft kiss, leading him to the bed instead, where she laid down on her back and smiled at him, giving his shoulder a light press to indicate what she wanted.
She was already wet and very warm, and the very first touch of his tongue pulled a breathy moan from her. It hardly took him more than two minutes to bring her to a shivering, sheet-clutching climax, and then he rested with his face pressed against her abdomen, mumbling with brain-numbed pleasure as she toyed lightly with his hair. He didn't know how long they stayed like that before she sat up and beamed, kissing his cheeks almost tenderly. "How about some tea before you go home?" she suggested. "It's not that late yet, and you'll be home in time to get to bed with your man."
"He's probably asleep by now anyway," Romano mumbled, thrown by her almost sisterly affection.
Hungary smiled, shaking her head. "No, he's not. Trust me."
***
Now, next on our tour of
NOPE, SPAIN'S LIFE ISN'T GETTING ANY EASIER ANY TIME SOON. And not only because I'm having way too much fun with my own private little kink/nations list, I swear.
Re: Netherlands/Denmark- College AU, awkward first time (PART 2)
(Anonymous) 2013-01-10 09:14 pm (UTC)(link)[sorry i forgot to put part 1 on the first one, my apologies... sorry about spelling mistakes as well)
A virgin? Jan deadpanned. He never expected, “A virgin?” he questioned.
“W-well.” Mathias couldn’t get his words out, stuttering and tripping over them, “ I.. w-well…”
“It’s fine,” Jan said kissing the other, “Quite and honour to be your first.”
Mathias could feel his nerves rising up as his boxers were taken off and his legs were spread apart. He closed them on the Jan’s sides.
“Relax.”
“I don’ think I can.”
“It won’t feel good if you don’t.” Jan said smoothing a hand over his partner’s abdomen and giving him a kiss, “I’ll be gentle.”
With that, nothing really happened with the nervous Dane. So, Netherlands massaged his inner thighs close to his erection. With kisses placed down the Dane’s torso, Mathias began to relax with slide movement for Jan to move on… well, before he felt a finger at his enterance.
“W-what are you doin’?” Mathias tensed slightly, blushing a deep red.
“I have to prepare you or it’s going to hurt.”
“Is that going to hurt?” Mathias asked nervously.
“No.” Jan said reaching into his bag and pulling out lube and a condom, always there, just in case, putting the lube onto his fingers, “Well at first, it’ll be uncomfortable.”
“Okay….” Mathias nodded smoothing his fingers into the Dutchman’s hair before gasping slightly, clutching at the other’s hair. I felt weird and he squirmed from it, scrunching his nose at the feeling of the finger moving around.
“Relax, Mathias.”
“Easy for you to say.”
The Dutchman sighed pushing a second finger into the tight entrance, loosening it more. He heard a slight moan mixed with a hurt hiss, “I’m going to add one more then you’ll be ready.”
“It feels weird.” Mathias pouted slightly.
With a little smirk he stroked Mathias’ erection, “Relax, you’ll like it soon.”
Eyes fluttering shut he relaxed nodding, okay. The third finger was slid in and he was stretched more. A little sound of discomfort exiting the Dane’s throat, “Guder (Gods)…”
The fingers were pulled out and Netherlands slipped off his boxers, erection bouncing out. Mathias’ eyes widened.
“That’s not going to fit…”
“It will, relax.” Netherlands said taking and attempt at comforting his boyfriend, “I promised to be gentle, I’ll go slow, okay?”
Face flushed and red, Mathias looked adorable with his innocent expression as he watched Jan put the condom on and lube himself. The Dane nodded before Jan positioned himself at his entrance, kissing the Dane in a try to comfort him.
“O-Okay… do it.” Mathias practically whispered those words, worriedly. He closed his eyes trying to relax as he felt the large erection push inside of him, a uncomfortable huffed exiting him, as he hugged Jan.
It took him a second to get used to the tightness but he began to move slowly hearing tiny moans and huffs from the other. It took a minute to get the rhythm in, even if it was unsteady and the clinging from Mathias wasn’t helping much.
A virgin? Jan deadpanned. He never expected, “A virgin?” he questioned.
“W-well.” Mathias couldn’t get his words out, stuttering and tripping over them, “ I.. w-well…”
“It’s fine,” Jan said kissing the other, “Quite and honour to be your first.”
Mathias could feel his nerves rising up as his boxers were taken off and his legs were spread apart. He closed them on the Jan’s sides.
“Relax.”
“I don’ think I can.”
“It won’t feel good if you don’t.” Jan said smoothing a hand over his partner’s abdomen and giving him a kiss, “I’ll be gentle.”
With that, nothing really happened with the nervous Dane. So, Netherlands massaged his inner thighs close to his erection. With kisses placed down the Dane’s torso, Mathias began to relax with slide movement for Jan to move on… well, before he felt a finger at his enterance.
“W-what are you doin’?” Mathias tensed slightly, blushing a deep red.
“I have to prepare you or it’s going to hurt.”
“Is that going to hurt?” Mathias asked nervously.
“No.” Jan said reaching into his bag and pulling out lube and a condom, always there, just in case, putting the lube onto his fingers, “Well at first, it’ll be uncomfortable.”
“Okay….” Mathias nodded smoothing his fingers into the Dutchman’s hair before gasping slightly, clutching at the other’s hair. I felt weird and he squirmed from it, scrunching his nose at the feeling of the finger moving around.
“Relax, Mathias.”
“Easy for you to say.”
The Dutchman sighed pushing a second finger into the tight entrance, loosening it more. He heard a slight moan mixed with a hurt hiss, “I’m going to add one more then you’ll be ready.”
“It feels weird.” Mathias pouted slightly.
With a little smirk he stroked Mathias’ erection, “Relax, you’ll like it soon.”
Eyes fluttering shut he relaxed nodding, okay. The third finger was slid in and he was stretched more. A little sound of discomfort exiting the Dane’s throat, “Guder (Gods)…”
The fingers were pulled out and Netherlands slipped off his boxers, erection bouncing out. Mathias’ eyes widened.
“That’s not going to fit…”
“It will, relax.” Netherlands said taking and attempt at comforting his boyfriend, “I promised to be gentle, I’ll go slow, okay?”
Face flushed and red, Mathias looked adorable with his innocent expression as he watched Jan put the condom on and lube himself. The Dane nodded before Jan positioned himself at his entrance, kissing the Dane in a try to comfort him.
“O-Okay… do it.” Mathias practically whispered those words, worriedly. He closed his eyes trying to relax as he felt the large erection push inside of him, a uncomfortable huffed exiting him, as he hugged Jan.
It took him a second to get used to the tightness but he began to move slowly hearing tiny moans and huffs from the other. It took a minute to get the rhythm in, even if it was unsteady and the clinging from Mathias wasn’t helping much.
Re: Netherlands/Denmark- College AU, awkward first time (PART 3)
(Anonymous) 2013-01-10 09:15 pm (UTC)(link)“I-it hurts…” Mathias huffed into the other’s neck trying to stay relaxed, but tensing a bit.
Jan stopped and kissed Mathias, “I know, just try to settle.” He smiled kissing again, he was never good at comforting, but, he hoped to be helping in anyway. Then he remembered this little spot along the Dane’s spin, between him shoulder blades. He reached around to touch it and massage it a little, kissing his boyfriend and feeling the grips loosen around him, that’s when he began to move again. Slow at first, mostly trying to find that spot that would make Mathias…
“Ah!”
Oh… There it was…
He saw the Dane buck a little at that too. He hit that spot again, hearing the same reaction again. He moved a little faster within a set rhythm. In, out, in, in, in… deeper, shallow, deep, deep, deep.
Pants, moans, and sometimes tiny cries escaped Mathias. The feeling being much more enjoyable now.
“J-Jan…” Mathias brought himself up, kissing the other, a light pink blush dusted his cheeks as he groaned and grinded for more.
“Told you it would get better…” Jan whispered against the Danes lips thrusting with his pushes.
As he would like to admit, that part of the night went well. The thrust, and sounds that Dane could make, turning him on more and more to an unbearable account of lusting want until the climax was over. But, again, what happened that night, he wasn’t fond of what had happened.
“F-faster…” Mathias moaned, hands gripping Jan’s back, who obliged him with every thrust.
It was when they heard the door opened, Mathias climaxed.
Eye’s wide, face as white as a ghost, Mathias hid his face with a pillow as Jan just stared at the Dane’s roommate.
“Hey Lukas…” Jan said feeling his own cheeks burning up.
The Norwegian nodded before throwing his bag down, not a trace of emotion in his face before he left. Leaving the duo red faced and speechless, for what seemed like forever (5 minutes). Kissing again, soon after.
BAM! The End.
Jan stopped and kissed Mathias, “I know, just try to settle.” He smiled kissing again, he was never good at comforting, but, he hoped to be helping in anyway. Then he remembered this little spot along the Dane’s spin, between him shoulder blades. He reached around to touch it and massage it a little, kissing his boyfriend and feeling the grips loosen around him, that’s when he began to move again. Slow at first, mostly trying to find that spot that would make Mathias…
“Ah!”
Oh… There it was…
He saw the Dane buck a little at that too. He hit that spot again, hearing the same reaction again. He moved a little faster within a set rhythm. In, out, in, in, in… deeper, shallow, deep, deep, deep.
Pants, moans, and sometimes tiny cries escaped Mathias. The feeling being much more enjoyable now.
“J-Jan…” Mathias brought himself up, kissing the other, a light pink blush dusted his cheeks as he groaned and grinded for more.
“Told you it would get better…” Jan whispered against the Danes lips thrusting with his pushes.
As he would like to admit, that part of the night went well. The thrust, and sounds that Dane could make, turning him on more and more to an unbearable account of lusting want until the climax was over. But, again, what happened that night, he wasn’t fond of what had happened.
“F-faster…” Mathias moaned, hands gripping Jan’s back, who obliged him with every thrust.
It was when they heard the door opened, Mathias climaxed.
Eye’s wide, face as white as a ghost, Mathias hid his face with a pillow as Jan just stared at the Dane’s roommate.
“Hey Lukas…” Jan said feeling his own cheeks burning up.
The Norwegian nodded before throwing his bag down, not a trace of emotion in his face before he left. Leaving the duo red faced and speechless, for what seemed like forever (5 minutes). Kissing again, soon after.
BAM! The End.
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