FIC: The Great Escape
Fanfic masterlist here.
Title: The Great Escape
Length: 4,400 words
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex scenes (outdoors)
Genre: Tee-hee
Characters, Pairings: Austria/Spain
Summary: The price for distracting him from a day's work was steep. Very steep.
Notes: Filled for the Hetalia Kink meme. Original request: While attempting to get Austria to 'loosen up', Spain accidentally seduces him instead. Have some adolescent tomfoolery.
“What is this.”
Spain grinned sweetly, even with Austria’s sullen tone. He had a basket of turrón and cocoa beans held out towards him, fragrant in the cool spring air, and his eyes were shining in excitement. No doubt he had been expecting Austria to take him out to the Alps or something or the sort. Well he had another thing coming.
“I’m afraid I’m busy,” Austria replied flatly, noting but altogether ignoring the utter dejection that overtook Spain’s earlier cheer. He was in a terrible mood. With all the wars and negotiations his lord had been forcing down his throat, there had barely been any time to even have a proper meal and he was sure that, if he were a tad less refined, he would have punched a hole in the wall already. Luckily his upbringing had firm foundations and he would not resort to such inelegant behaviour, particularly when such behaviour would cause damage to his own home.
“But…” Spain began his counterattack, eyes wide and lip trembling. Austria groaned and tried to shut the door on Spain but the other nation was quicker. He huffed irately, moving towards his desk as Spain followed him dutifully.
“For future reference, someone has to do all the paperwork while you gallivant around the globe and wage war.”
Spain’s expression was righteously insulted.
“They’re your wars!”
“And there’d be a lot less of them if you learnt to use that head of yours once in a while.”
“Well you can ask for someone else’s armada then if mine isn’t good enough for you.”
Austria leaned back in his seat, fighting off both a headache and the slightest smile at the sight of Spain pouting away from him, arms crossed. It was a sight to behold, considering the fact that Spain was feared war lord. Furthermore, the basket had been placed on the desk and smelled sinfully good. Austria looked at Spain from over the rim of his glasses.
“Did you come here for something?”
Immediately, Spain perked up again and that happy grin was on his face, sulk forgotten, both hands on the desk as he leaned forward, nose to nose with Austria.
“A picnic!”
Austria looked at him skeptically, eyes alternating between Spain and the basket for a good minute. Finally, he answered.
“No.”
“But Austria-”
“I’ve told you I’m busy and your visit is unannounced. I’m sure you can go with someone else.”
“I want to go with you,” Spain insisted, expression entirely too pleading for his own good. Austria narrowed his eyes and firmly intertwined his fingers together in his lap. He usually gave in to Spain whenever he had requests like these because there was never usually a reason not to, but now he did have one (several, really) and to be treated to a rare display of Spanish wheedling was something Austria hated with a passion because Spain knew exactly how to exploit it to his advantage. It did not help that Austria was painfully weak to those eyes. He leaned to the side, addressing someone outside his study.
“Hans, please escort Lord Carriedo out. Prepare some tea and cakes for him on the porch. Tell that Italy… Italy… what was her other name?”
“Feliciano Vargas, my lord.”
“…Vargas, right. Tell Vargas to amuse him.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Hey!” Spain’s protest was duly ignored as the attendant cheerfully led Spain away, basket disappearing with them. Austria relaxed his posture after the door closed, closing his eyes and leaning back into his chair. He hoped that now he could get some work done but he was unable to deny the feeling that it would, ultimately, be an exercise in futility.
True enough, the attack came in waves, as the Spanish are wont to do on the battlefield.
It had been that chocolate drink, first. Austria always left his window open in spring and summer as the study tended to feel rather stuffy. He remembered the cocoa beans from the basket Spanish had thrust into his arms and cursed silently as he heard the bushes outside his window rustle. They were spoils from the Americas, if he recalled it correctly. A tall metal cup, ornate and emblazoned with a crest he recognized as that of the House of Habsburg, was filled with the drink and had been left on the windowsill, freshly brewed and warm to the touch. Unable to deny that he was, at the very least, thirsty, Austria replaced the cup onto his own desk, taking luxurious sips between signatures.
It was delicious and rich, everything good and bad about the world blended into a single metal cup, and Austria hated how its warmth spread throughout his entire body with a gentle tingling sensation that made him feel incredibly drowsy without… actual drowsiness. He couldn’t quite explain the sensation chocolate inspired within him, but it certainly felt wonderful. Austria gave himself a little leeway then, just a quick break to close his eyes and collect himself. He needed to be able to focus.
That was when the second wave came. Spain sauntered into the study with a swagger, as though he owned the manse, and Austria opened his eyes for the sake of scoffing at him. Spain leaned over with his elbows directly on top of the papers Austria had briefly abandoned, all smiles.
“You look awfully bored, Austria.”
“You look awfully on top of my work, Spain.”
Spain pouted briefly but it disappeared in a split second.
“The sky is nice and blue, y’know?” He grinned. “And there aren’t any clouds either.”
“Hmm, seems like perfect weather for laundry, doesn’t it?”
Spain’s pout was full force this time. “You don’t do any laundry, so you don’t get that excuse.”
“Well, I suppose it would be good weather for a picnic too….”
“Right?” Spain positively beamed. Austria couldn’t help the faint smile on his own face before he leaned over to the side once again. He wouldn’t be tempted.
“Hans, please put some guards in front of my door and make sure Lord Carriedo doesn’t get in anymore. I didn’t think I’d actually have to tell you the first time.”
The attendant was right by Spain’s side in an instant. “My apologies, my lord.”
“And do make sure he doesn’t trample on anymore rosebushes while he plays around the manse,” Austria’s tone was bland in that casual way of his, speaking over Spain’s retorts as he was hauled out the study once again.
The door shut firmly behind them and Austria let out a sharp exhalation of breath, shaking his head. It appeared that he was weak to those eyes and that smile. He’d have to be more careful; he had very nearly thrown the towel in completely. It wouldn’t do for him to bend to every single whim Spain begged of him. After all, it was Spain who had married into Austria’s house. He moved to return to his work when he caught sight of something on the floor. He picked it up.
It was a red carnation - a false red carnation. Upon closer inspection, he could see that it was made with a light paper that had been dyed blood red, something he soon discovered was part of the stationary that his lord had prepared for Spain, complete with the Habsburg crest, something he thought had been a waste of money as Austria was the one who actually kept any written correspondence in the manse. It had been folded rather artistically into its organic shape and he had to admit that it was rather well done. Spain must have dropped it in his most recent struggle out.
What caught Austria’s eye was the ribbon fastened tightly around the stem. Red, of course, but it was attached to a little white card. He opened it curiously, surprised to find lightly smudged ink and large, looping calligraphy that began and ended in large flourishes. Showy and rather beautiful. He could think of at least one person who matched the handwriting, though the thought that that person was the owner of the handwriting was a little more difficult to accept. At least the smudges proved that Spain’s penmanship wasn’t perfect.
Amused, Austria leaned into his chair and read the card. He had expected a poem of some sort, but what greeted him instead was something that read like a very brief letter of some sort. Dear Austria, I know you’ve got lots and lots of work to do but I think you really should loosen your ascot and have a picnic with you-know-who and the like.
He chuckled to himself, shaking his head and about to fold the card shut and seal it away in his drawer when he heard music. He looked past his shoulder, outside the window.
The final barrage. Austria could feel a days worth of productivity slipping away from his fingers even as he sat there.
Spain was seated under a tree, leaning against its great large trunk with an instrument in hand, strumming away without a care in the world as he sang something Austria could only surmise was a Spanish love song. His eyes were half-closed, head tilted back as he focused on producing the deep baritone that accompanied the music. Austria stood and leaned against the windowsill, carnation in the hand that hung slightly down, chin resting in the other. He was being won over and he couldn’t find it in him, really, to spurn any further advances.
As the final notes vibrated in the air, Austria met Spain’s drunken grin with a smile.
“Were you serenading me?”
“The only thing I do best, the only way I know how.”
“And how is that?”
“Passionately, of course.”
Austria couldn’t see any reason to doubt that catchphrase of his at all considering the incidents of the past hour or so. Spain set the instrument aside and got up to his feet, walking towards the windowsill.
“What was that you were playing on?”
“A vihuela. I’ve recently adjusted some of the strings so that I can play more notes. Did you like the song? I wrote it myself.”
“It was nice,” Austria agreed, smiling as he found himself face-to-face with his assailant. “It could stand to receive a few adjustments here and there.”
“Hey, writing a song is hard,” Spain pouted again. “You can critique me all you want when you write one yourself.”
“Duly noted,” Austria nodded with soft chuckle.
“So? Are we going on that picnic?”
“Only because you’re distracting me.”
Spain laughed, rich and full. “Just admit it! You want to get away from work.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Austria replied casually, leaning away from the window in order to enter the grounds through more conventional means. “I hope you have some real food in that basket.”
“Way ahead of you,” Spain called out as Austria closed the door to the study behind him.
The weather was as lovely as Spain had said. Austria was more than glad to leave the manse and stretch his legs a little. He circled it round to the back, noting the lack of tableware on the porch he had ordered Hans to prepare earlier. Now that he thought about it, there hadn’t been any guards outside his door either, just Hans waiting on him as he usually did. He smirked lightly, shaking his head as realization dawned. He’d have to have a talk with the servants later about their pampering of Spain. It wasn’t good for Austria’s health.
In front of Austria’s window stood a waiting Spain, all smiles. Austria rolled his eyes, smiling faintly in response, and followed him across the grounds. He knew nothing of the good spots in his estate and fortunately Spain, who favoured the outdoors much more than Austria, knew his way around. They settled for the base of a large, sprawling tree on top of a grassy knoll that gently overlooked the gardens at the back of the manse. Austria sat down, slowly trying to memorise his surroundings, not aware that such a place existed, and by the time he returned his attention to Spain, he had already spread out a thin blanket and laid out the cups and plates on top of it.
A metal cup caught Austria’s eye and he picked it up to inspect it. It was the same as the one Spain had sneaked onto his windowsill, smooth and interrupted only by the Habsburg crest, and without a handle of which to speak.
“You know, I’ve never seen these around the manse before,” Austria said, turning the cup over. Spain glanced at him and what he was holding before shrugging, reaching forward to pour some brewed chocolate into Austria’s cup.
“Well, it’s not yours. It’s mine.”
“Yours?” Austria echoed in surprise.
“Yep. You can’t drink chocolate in your regular teacups, so I had a set made in silver,” Spain said, popping a piece of turrón into his mouth, humming in approval at the dessert.
Austria eyed Spain, mystified. It wasn’t possible for Spain to be calculated about something like this because, well, he was an airhead. Everything he did was incredibly honest and natural, so even if he went to such romantic lengths to get Austria to leave his study to have a private picnic together, it meant just that. Spain had stated his purpose early on in his assault: he wanted to have a picnic with Austria.
A slow, knowing smile found its way to his lips and his expression softened a great deal. It was soon replaced by a slightly devious expression.
“Emblazoning the cups? I’d almost think you wanted to show off our marriage.”
Spain blinked in that sweetly naïve way of his and said, “Huh?”
Austria rolled his eyes. “Hence the ‘almost’.”
He relaxed, taking a long, slow sip of his drink. It was rich and warm, but as it rolled down his throat, he could feel a slow burn travelling lower and spreading in thin, wispy tendrils into his fingers and toes, making them curl slightly. It made a tingle ripple through his body, and though it was drowsy and pleasant, it felt more intense somehow. It was the heat, likely. The day was warm and the drink was hot.
In fact, the day was warm enough to warrant Spain discarding his jacket. He raised a single knee to rest his elbow against it and produced the vihuela from before, strumming some chords as he began to chat animatedly about Romano. Underneath the jacket, his cambric shirt had been sloppily thrown on as usual, with the collar hanging wide open and pressed flat against his shoulders where he had neglected to tie them and his buttons were a hole out of place. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but Austria couldn’t take his eyes off Spain’s rarely exposed collarbone, the unbroken line of golden bronze skin that tapered off into a firm, tanned jaw and tightened around the lines of his throat, accentuating a subtle Adam’s apple that Austria had never been able to see clearly before. It bobbed up and down with every word he said, and before he knew it, Austria found himself creeping closer. He could smell earth and cocoa on Spain’s skin, the gentle vibration of heat that surrounded him, and as he swept his gaze up, Austria saw those green eyes absently staring in the distance, glittering brilliantly in the sunlight.
He hadn’t expected the finishing blow to be total overkill.
Austria was pressed flush against Spain’s back, eyes fluttering shut as he buried his face in Spain’s hair, a hand under the loose shirt and palm pressed flat against his skin, sliding higher. Austria inhaled slowly, kissing down the nape of Spain’s neck and along his throat, well aware that Spain was still talking away and hoping he’d soon be distracting enough. He replaced his lips with his tongue, and then his teeth, and as his fingers began to slowly encircle a nipple, the shirt had pooled at his wrist and was starting to impede in Spain’s music making.
“Austria, I can’t play with your arm in the way,” Spain complained, turning his head back slightly and inadvertently giving Austria better access to his collarbone. He used his free hand to grip Spain’s chin in place.
“Maybe I don’t want you to play anymore,” Austria murmured directly into Spain’s ear, licking the shell and nipping it gently.
“Hey, that tickles,” Spain tried to turn out of Austria’s rather firm hold of him but failed. He squirmed lightly. “You don’t want to hear me play? Why? Is it bad or something?”
“It’s distracting.”
“But I thought you liked listening to musi- oh.”
Spain arched his back into Austria’s chest, shuddering. Austria’s wandering hand had slipped easily past the loose catches of Spain’s trousers and down to his groin, where it was gripping Spain’s cock tightly. He heard the vihuela fall away with a discordant clatter and felt fingers digging into his arm, and Austria smirked happily as he sank his teeth into Spain’s throat, earning a hitched gasp in return.
“W-What are you doing?” Spain stammered as he tried to keep his hips from rolling instinctively into Austria’s grip. It tightened and he arched sharply, moaning.
“Distracting you,” Austria said, lapping away the blood he had drawn in the crook of Spain’s neck.
“A joke works fine,” the last syllable disappeared into a cry when Austria’s fist began to slide up and down his cock. Spain was twisting in Austria’s arms, writhing and making absolutely delicious noises. Austria held him down as firmly as possible with his left hand, the pace of his right hand almost frenetic. He could sense the confusion in the other nation even as he gave into the sensations and Austria found that he had to clarify himself if he wanted Spain to be wholeheartedly involved in what he was trying to initiate.
“I prefer sex,” he said briefly, toying with the head of Spain’s cock with his thumb, and he swore he heard the gears in Spain’s head click loudly with another oh.
“You should have said,” Spain muttered, biting down on his lower lip as he reached a trembling hand back and palmed Austria’s crotch. Austria groaned appreciatively encouraging him along and responding with a slow, long stroke. Spain stopped holding himself back, thrusting into Austria’s hand as he began to try to work Austria out of his clothes from his position, stopping suddenly with another jolt of realisation.
“What is it?” Austria asked him impatiently, leaning forward and grinding against him as a testament to just how uncomfortable he was getting.
“We’re outside!” Spain exclaimed scandalously.
The silence that followed was one of utter stupefaction.
That was the last straw. With an irritated growl, Austria jerked his hand out of Spain’s pants and flipped him onto his back. He straddled Spain at the hips, pinning him down with his weight, and removed his glasses, folding it and placing it neatly into the pocket of his suit jacket as he roughly loosened his ascot with narrowed eyes.
“One more inane comment out of you and I will tie you up. And gag you.” As if to further emphasise his point, he ground down once, slowly, eliciting a gasp and a flinch. “For the record, I don’t care in the very least that we’re outside.”
Spain opened his mouth to retort, but the glare sent his way shut him up. He didn’t know if his comment was inane but he didn’t want to risk a gag. Instead, after a moment’s hesitation, he gave Austria a timid nod of agreement. Austria smiled in response, dipping down to give him a peck on the lips. And then he thrust a slippery finger into Spain.
Spain jerked, eyes widening and then fluttering as Austria began to slide his finger in and out, slowly at first, and then as Spain’s uncomfortable squirming gave way to encouraging thrusts, he increased his pace, adding in a second and third finger, stretching him out. Hose and galligaskins eventually shimmied out of and kicked off, Spain spread his legs apart and groaned in quiet appreciation when Austria moved off him, replacing his fingers with his tongue and occupying his hand with Spain’s cock.
Spain threaded his fingers into Austria’s hair and guided him along, breathing now laboured and hitching with each sensitive brush and press against his quivering skin, dampened with the earliest onslaughts of sweat. Austria took his time, wanting to savour the moment for as long as he could. He relished the taste of chocolate as he continued to loosen Spain with his tongue, having used it earlier as some additional lubrication to his own saliva. Glancing up without breaking contact, he noted with a great measure of satisfaction the sweetness in Spain’s contorted face and observed it change as he moved his mouth higher and sucked gently at his balls. He smirked lightly, running his tongue along the underside of Spain’s cock and toying with the tip of it. The strangled cry and reverent call of his name was more than satisfying.
He pulled back, moving to kneel as Spain stared at him blankly, confused and disoriented, face flushed red from exertion.
“What are you doing?” Spain asked breathlessly, a hint of frustration in his voice.
Austria smirked again, pulling his jacket off his body and placing it neatly on the grass.
“Is something wrong, Spain?”
“Yes,” Spain answered back immediately, expression unreadable. “What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” Austria replied, unfastening the catches of his breeches.
“Oh,” Spain paused momentarily before reaching down to stroke himself, having been neglected. “Can you hurry up?”
“Patience is a virtue,” Austria said, eyeing Spain with some degree of amusement.
“This isn’t virtuous,” Spain ground out stiffly, to which Austria laughed in agreement. It only served to fuel Spain’s actions and he moaned slowly, hips rolling into his fist feverishly. His pace was becoming increasingly erratic and Austria recognised it as a sign of an impending orgasm. He quickly intervened, pulling Spain’s hand away and ignoring his protests as he made him sit up against the tree. Austria parted Spain’s bent legs with both hands and kneeled, positioning himself between Spain’s thighs.
Spain threw his head back with a cry as he was penetrated, arms wrapped around Austria’s neck, cursing in his native tongue. Austria took a moment to catch his breath before he buried his face in the crook of Spain’s neck and began to thrust Spain into the tree, ramming in roughly when Spain tightened his legs around his waist and pressed them almost flush against each other.
Spain whispered curse-laden endearments into Austria’s ear, urging him on and clawing his back with a strangled groan when Austria’s hand returned to Spain’s cock and pumped in earnest. His hips bucked and he found himself grinding back insistently. Austria’s grip on his thigh began to slip as sweat beaded his skin, and he felt something inside himself erupt as he closed his eyes and sank his teeth into Spain’s skin, muffling his cry as he came generously inside of Spain with a few lingering thrusts.
Spain’s orgasm came a few moments later, with Spain’s own grip finding and tightening around Austria’s, guiding his hand faster and faster until he lost himself in a shuddered moan. Austria slumped against Spain, whose head had been tilted back in order to breathe a little easier. They remained still for a while, catching their breaths, and Spain curled an arm around Austria’s neck and threaded his clean fingers in Austria’s hair.
“Before you say anything,” Austria murmured breathlessly. “This is all your fault.”
“Fine,” Spain replied, equally winded. “But your shirt is your own problem.”
“Fine,” Austria bit back, unable to help the grin on his face as he turned his head and found Spain’s ear with his lips. “I blame you for an entire day’s worth of paperwork.”
“But it’s only the afternoon,” Spain replied, mystified.
Austria sighed softly.
So dense.
EPILOGUE
"Good day, Lord Edelstein."
Austria froze, feeling his insides grow cold at the very familiar voice. He raised and turned his head with much difficulty, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, and mouth opening and closing in horror.
"G-Good day, Hans," he replied as normally as he could, stammering stiffly as his hands began to shake with embarrassment.
"What, dare I ask, are you doing, my lord?" His attendant's smile was outwardly charming, but Austria knew him better than anyone and could easily discern the smug goading edge it had, as per the twinkling eyes. He was asking for trouble, such cheek, and he knew very well that Austria could not very well dish it out considering the... circumstances. But Austria would not go down without a fight!
"Nothing much," Austria lied, very badly, still rooted to the spot. His attendant tilted his head and body - as Austria had earlier in the day - to get a better view of what was in Austria's hands. Austria felt himself stupidly not attempting to hide it.
"Laundry, my lord?" Hans' smile had transformed into a wide grin. "Surely such a thing can be delegated to the servants."
"No!" Austria cried out at first, panicking and trying to collect himself. "I mean... No. No, such a f-fine day for laundry. Why bother the other servants when I can do this myself? I'm sure they could use a break once in a while."
"Really?" Hans asked coyly, stepping closer in an attempt to take the shirt from Austria. "But my lord, I am quite sure the servants would not mind washing a single shirt."
Austria ripped it away from his reach in a panic. He did not need to see the stains on it. "Really, Hans. I am not washing just the shirt."
"But you do still have many documents to sign..."
"Hans. I will do the laundry."
"All the laundry?"
"Yes!" Austria finally lost his even temper. "Yes! I am washing all the laundry today! Go back into the manse and... and make a cake!"
Hans smiled sweetly and bowed with a flourish. "As you command."
As his attendant disappeared into the manse, laughing softly to himself, Austria glared at the sullied shirt in his hands with disgust. He hated being frugal.
He should have just burned it.