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valmoraTitle: Hearts and Minds
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Greece/Turkey
Rating: R
Notes: originally posted here for this prompt on the kink meme, and kindexed here. This is a rather belated de-anon; I think I missed it when it was indexed.
Summary: Turkey's history and pain are written on his body.
There are two things Turkey does not do: spill all his secrets, and tell secrets about what he doesn’t do.
Yeah, okay, he’s a dick, but at least he’s honest about it.
Anyway, so the whole secret thing is why he’s been keeping the mask on even when Greece’s cock is hilt-deep in him, or why he doesn’t get totally naked ever unless he’s face-down in the bed or doing Greece from behind. And it’s not like Greece needs a whole lot of skin to get Turkey desperate.
And then Greece, in the middle of fucking him stupid into the mattress – on his back this time – slows down and unbuttons his shirt and then pushes up the shirt under it like it’s nothing, or more accurately not a total violation of Turkey’s admittedly muffled-by-Grecian-tongue protests.
Greece runs his hands over Turkey’s chest, and Turkey pushes him away – enough that it fucks up the angle of Greece inside him, and ow.
So while Turkey’s busy being concerned about not bleeding all over the sheets like a virgin on her fucking wedding night he kind of doesn’t notice that Greece is getting him totally naked, and by the time Turkey’s pretty sure he’s okay Greece is already doing heinous things to his chest. Or more accurately the scars on his chest.
Greece murmurs, after having licked his way down Turkey’s chest, “I don’t remember these.” He traces the line that trails down Turkey’s right side.
Turkey closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Greece’s. “The Radiant City,” he whispers, and Greece’s fingers lift from it.
“Medina, then. And this one?” The left, cutting down his heart.
“Mecca.” He has no words to grace that name because there is no gracing it, because it is the grace itself. He knelt once at Mecca’s feet, come to claim her, and he has never been so humbled by anyone, man or Nation.
And when she was taken from his house it was by cutting out his lungs. Small scars. Great wounds. He opens his eyes.
Greece looks at him, and leans forward. Kisses his throat. “They’re ugly,” he says.
“I know.” Why else would he want to keep the shirt on? It’s not like he has anything to be ashamed of. He knows exactly how hot he is.
“If you wear a shirt in bed again,” Greece says, “I’m going to rip it off you.”
Turkey doesn’t want to ask if that’s because Greece doesn’t care that they're ugly or if he gets a kick out of seeing Turkey’s pain.
"Glad to know I'm just that good," Turkey says, and grins, and kicks Greece because hey, wasting time they could be using having sex.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Greece/Turkey
Rating: R
Notes: originally posted here for this prompt on the kink meme, and kindexed here. This is a rather belated de-anon; I think I missed it when it was indexed.
Summary: Turkey's history and pain are written on his body.
There are two things Turkey does not do: spill all his secrets, and tell secrets about what he doesn’t do.
Yeah, okay, he’s a dick, but at least he’s honest about it.
Anyway, so the whole secret thing is why he’s been keeping the mask on even when Greece’s cock is hilt-deep in him, or why he doesn’t get totally naked ever unless he’s face-down in the bed or doing Greece from behind. And it’s not like Greece needs a whole lot of skin to get Turkey desperate.
And then Greece, in the middle of fucking him stupid into the mattress – on his back this time – slows down and unbuttons his shirt and then pushes up the shirt under it like it’s nothing, or more accurately not a total violation of Turkey’s admittedly muffled-by-Grecian-tongue protests.
Greece runs his hands over Turkey’s chest, and Turkey pushes him away – enough that it fucks up the angle of Greece inside him, and ow.
So while Turkey’s busy being concerned about not bleeding all over the sheets like a virgin on her fucking wedding night he kind of doesn’t notice that Greece is getting him totally naked, and by the time Turkey’s pretty sure he’s okay Greece is already doing heinous things to his chest. Or more accurately the scars on his chest.
Greece murmurs, after having licked his way down Turkey’s chest, “I don’t remember these.” He traces the line that trails down Turkey’s right side.
Turkey closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Greece’s. “The Radiant City,” he whispers, and Greece’s fingers lift from it.
“Medina, then. And this one?” The left, cutting down his heart.
“Mecca.” He has no words to grace that name because there is no gracing it, because it is the grace itself. He knelt once at Mecca’s feet, come to claim her, and he has never been so humbled by anyone, man or Nation.
And when she was taken from his house it was by cutting out his lungs. Small scars. Great wounds. He opens his eyes.
Greece looks at him, and leans forward. Kisses his throat. “They’re ugly,” he says.
“I know.” Why else would he want to keep the shirt on? It’s not like he has anything to be ashamed of. He knows exactly how hot he is.
“If you wear a shirt in bed again,” Greece says, “I’m going to rip it off you.”
Turkey doesn’t want to ask if that’s because Greece doesn’t care that they're ugly or if he gets a kick out of seeing Turkey’s pain.
"Glad to know I'm just that good," Turkey says, and grins, and kicks Greece because hey, wasting time they could be using having sex.
