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valmoraTitle: The Artist, Not the Art
Rating: R
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Hungary, past Austria/Hungary, assorted homosexual pairings mentioned
Disclaimer: not mine, no money made
Notes: originally posted here for this prompt and soon to be kindexed.
She spent all day trying not to think of how Germany and Italy looked, seated side-by-side during the lunch break at the conference. Germany seated, eating, his knife set down and his hand on the table; Italy quiet for once, but only because his mouth was full, his left hand on the table too, right next to Germany’s. Their pinky fingers just touching, and their seats close together, Italy’s shoulder leaned into Germany.
Lovely. Adorable. Squee-worthy.
Not, unfortunately, good masturbation material. She’d been trying for the past fifteen minutes, and even the thought of Germany and Italy having sex in a gondola wasn’t enough. She was hardly even wet.
She’d tried remembering Austria, who was a gentleman and wonderful in bed, but he was better experienced in the flesh than through the memory, and that had done – something, but not enough.
Even her usual fantasy, Prussia conquering Austria, swallowing him down as Austria stifled his cries into the wood of his piano, left her cold and faintly disgusted, and wondering if Prussia wouldn’t have a venereal disease or something.
The backup fantasy – Russia and America struggling for dominance – wasn’t working either. Or Masturbation Plan D, England getting fucked by an anonymous male stranger over a desk, although she thought for a moment that made her twitch a little – no, just her fingers getting tired.
She rolled over onto her side and wondered if it wasn’t time to try yuri. And then remembered a conversation she’d had with Japan during the conference via a series of notes passed through Iceland, India and Ireland, and bypassing Iran entirely because he and Israel had been busy glaring at each other without actually looking in each other’s direction.
Greece and Turkey, and olive oil, and a brawl that turned into wrestling that turned into something more –
She wondered if Greece would accept being uke. Probably not. So Turkey on his back, slippery under Greece’s hands, finding pleasure in each other despite their own best wishes. Turkey with his heels digging into Greece’s back, swearing and cursing Greece’s name and begging for more, harder, deeper in the same breath –
She slid her thumb over her clit once more, fingers pushing inside her own tightness, and came.
Rating: R
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Hungary, past Austria/Hungary, assorted homosexual pairings mentioned
Disclaimer: not mine, no money made
Notes: originally posted here for this prompt and soon to be kindexed.
She spent all day trying not to think of how Germany and Italy looked, seated side-by-side during the lunch break at the conference. Germany seated, eating, his knife set down and his hand on the table; Italy quiet for once, but only because his mouth was full, his left hand on the table too, right next to Germany’s. Their pinky fingers just touching, and their seats close together, Italy’s shoulder leaned into Germany.
Lovely. Adorable. Squee-worthy.
Not, unfortunately, good masturbation material. She’d been trying for the past fifteen minutes, and even the thought of Germany and Italy having sex in a gondola wasn’t enough. She was hardly even wet.
She’d tried remembering Austria, who was a gentleman and wonderful in bed, but he was better experienced in the flesh than through the memory, and that had done – something, but not enough.
Even her usual fantasy, Prussia conquering Austria, swallowing him down as Austria stifled his cries into the wood of his piano, left her cold and faintly disgusted, and wondering if Prussia wouldn’t have a venereal disease or something.
The backup fantasy – Russia and America struggling for dominance – wasn’t working either. Or Masturbation Plan D, England getting fucked by an anonymous male stranger over a desk, although she thought for a moment that made her twitch a little – no, just her fingers getting tired.
She rolled over onto her side and wondered if it wasn’t time to try yuri. And then remembered a conversation she’d had with Japan during the conference via a series of notes passed through Iceland, India and Ireland, and bypassing Iran entirely because he and Israel had been busy glaring at each other without actually looking in each other’s direction.
Greece and Turkey, and olive oil, and a brawl that turned into wrestling that turned into something more –
She wondered if Greece would accept being uke. Probably not. So Turkey on his back, slippery under Greece’s hands, finding pleasure in each other despite their own best wishes. Turkey with his heels digging into Greece’s back, swearing and cursing Greece’s name and begging for more, harder, deeper in the same breath –
She slid her thumb over her clit once more, fingers pushing inside her own tightness, and came.
