hetalia_kink | Hetalia kink meme part 27

Hetalia kink meme part 27

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xii. “You have too much stress in your life,” France says when Germany comes home and collapses on the couch. “A holiday would do you some good.”

They rent a house in Marseille and they fuck in every possible place they can.

“Stop calling me,” Germany says over the phone. “I’m on holiday.”

“You hate going on holiday,” Prussia says.

“I don’t know,” Germany says. The wooden walls of the changing stall poke at his back and the sand between his toes tickles. When France traces his fingers down Germany’s hips and tears off his swim shorts, it’s all Germany can do not to gasp.

“It’s not that bad,” he says.

France’s hands grasp at his thighs, and a devilish smile greets him when he looks down.

“I have to go,” he breathes.

“What? But-”

xiii. “How was the honeymoon?” England sneers.

France sighs, opens his mouth to explain, but Germany cuts him off.

“Good,” he says, and because the irritated crease in England’s brow isn’t quite furious enough, he keeps talking. “We had a lot of amazing sex.”

“You’re getting quite bold,” France tells him later, when they’re huddled in a corner at the bar. Germany silently swallows the rest of his drink, and France raises an eyebrow. “I see you already regret your words.”

“Sometimes I regret my entire life,” he says, and he doesn’t mean it like that, not really, because he’s tipsy and can’t believe he mouthed off to England, but that’s how it sounds, especially when his words are followed by the clink of an empty whisky glass set gently on the table.

France runs his thumb down Germany’s jaw, his fingers brushing gently against cool skin. “My dear,” he murmurs under the dim yellow bar lights, “sometimes we all do.”

xiv. They spend their Sundays in bed together; “because all the shops are closed,” Germany says, but really, because he never wants to leave the warmth of their bed, France’s arms tracing patterns down his bare back as they breathe together, their lips almost touching.

They don’t always make love on those days, because Germany revels in the quiet, domestic peace that they share, “and because your youth wears me out much more than I’d care to admit,” France sighs after Saturday nights, Germany’s fingers trailing through his hair, a classic wine still lingering on their lips.

They lull about in a Strasbourg apartment, cozy beneath white sheets in a timeless, rustic bedroom, and it is beneath those sheets that Germany, his hair loose and his eyes still heavy with sleep, murmurs something important into the pillows.

“I love you,” he says sleepily.

France cracks open his eyes. “Do you?”

Germany’s gaze flutters towards him, and their hands clasp together beneath the sheets. “Yes,” he breathes, and France smiles.

“I was beginning to think you’d never say it.” He leans forward and kisses Germany’s forehead, humming. “I love you, dear.”

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Hetalia kink meme part 27

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