[ drabbles / ficlets ] Axis Powers Hetalia Collection I
Title: Taste
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: APH does not belong to moi.
Warnings: None.
Pairings: France/Greece
Summary: France. Greece. Ice cream.
Author Notes: Written for the kink meme.
There had to be a ridiculously vital reason as to why France had never really taken into consideration how beautiful Greece was.
Maybe he'd been too distracted fighting with England, or Turkey had been a little too good at keeping the brunet nation under lock and key for a respectable six hundred years.
Well. That was all quite rectified, and he was paying attention now, a little speechless as he watched Greece ignore the whirlwind chaos in the meeting room. A tiny spoon, meant for stirring tea, dug into the side of a triple-scoop of vanilla and then was swallowed by very pretty, very pink lips.
Then the spoon came out, sticky still with sweetness, and Greece licked it absently even as Switzerland pointed a gun at Austria right over his head and threatened to pull the trigger, to Austria's dignified apathy and as Prussia -- pardon -- East Germany-- encouraged him with a bloodthirsty grin.
France got up from his seat, moved around the table, and ruthlessly shoved Latvia out of his chair, who'd been the lucky bastard that got to sit next to Greece.
"Eh--?" Latvia sputtered as France leaned closer to Greece from his new position, smiling lecherously. Latvia's feeble indignation went utterly unheard.
"Mon cher, I can't help but notice how delicious... that looks." France stumbled, almost giving himself away. He rested his cheek on his hand, blue eyes focused on Greece's mouth.
"Ah." Greece blinked at him, unguarded. "Do you want some ice cream?"
"I couldn't possibly." France demurred, trying to keep his hands under control. Groping at an inopportune time usually got him bruised and beat, and Greece's big stick thing looked like it could crack his head open.
"... then why did you come over?" Greece's eyes were a vivid blue-green, suddenly focused and intelligent. France spread his hands in faux-helplessness. "You caught me. I did come over here to discover what they tasted like."
Greece's expression transmuted with subtle bewilderment. "'They'?" He managed to echo back before France caught his face between his hands and tasted Greece's lips.
Title: Gemini
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: APH does not belong to moi.
Warnings: Twincest, some cursing.
Pairing: Canada/America/Prussia
Summary: The North American twins discover that Prussia has a thing for twincest.
Author Notes: Written for the kink meme.
Canada noticed it first. He was unused to the sensation of someone's intent gaze, unsure of what to think when his skin suddenly broke out into goosebumps, as if someone had exhaled against the base of his spine. Hot and cold.
He stopped playing thumb wars with America and lifted his head, trying to determine where this tingly-anxious feeling was surging from.
Prussia arched an eyebrow, reacting coolly to being caught staring, even though Canada had seen a flash of predatory sharpness on the nation's expression. Canada smiled nervously, questioningly.
And lost the thumb war.
America noticed it the second time, for even as self-involved as he was, that gaze was not one easily ignored. He assumed it was because he was just that awesome, until he noticed it was Prussia, and then he sort of paused, breath stuck to his throat.
"Is he staring at us?" He whispered to Canada.
"You are sitting on me." Canada bit back in answer. As if there weren't enough chairs to go around at their meetings. Then, suspiciously; "...who?"
"Prussia."
Canada's expression flattened. Then sort of went pensive. "Hm."
America wiggled in his lap, impatient and curious.
Prussia almost made an audible gasp. Twin blond heads turned to stare at him from across their shared chair. The former Order of the Teutonic Knights scoffed and arrogantly turned his head away, pretending to be interested in Poland rambling on about dying his wheat blue.
Canada giggled. Honest to goodness giggled. America stared at him, slightly concerned. That laugh... well. It didn't really resemble Russia's creepy little giggles, but at the same time...
"You've been hanging around that Red fucker too long." America decided, and he was going to leave it at that when Canada cupped his neck with a hand, urging his head down to speak into his ear.
"Watch Prussia." His twin whispered, breath fanning hotly against his ear. America shivered and distractedly glanced at the white-haired Nation through askew glasses.
Canada sounded innocent when he asked; "Doesn't he look hungry?"
America hummed. Poland said "like" for the fortieth time in under a minute. Somewhere in the back row, Greece snored and Italy loudly whispered-asked to Germany if blue-dyed pasta would taste good.
Canada took his brother's earlobe into his mouth and sucked on it. America's lips parted, cheeks flushing red. But his sky-blue eyes remained perfectly attentive on Prussia, who stared at them as if he wanted to crawl over or under the table, whatever it took to get to them, to get a closer view.
America smirked. Oh. This. This could be fun.
Title: This Beat Is Sick
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: APH does not belong to moi.
Warnings: Faint spoilers to the Revolutionary war.
Pairing: UK/USA
Summary: America has a song stuck in his head, and England really wants him to shut up and focus.
Author Notes: Written for the kink meme.
"This was not--" America's head tilts back, his hair so shiny and golden that England's fingers itch to card through it, see if the temptation matches up to the hype. And he knows it does, and sometimes he wants to beg America to let it grow out.
Then his former colony's hips come down again, riding his lap, and England moans incoherently.
"--what I meant."
America. Loudmouth until the bloody end. "Shut the bloody hell up." England snarls, not caring, he's about two minutes away from coming so hard that he might come close to dying (and wouldn't that be a stitch, a country dying from fantastic sex) and America laughs at him in a way that both makes him want to kiss him and gag him.
"I want to take a ride on your disco stick~" Hips move, roll, and America has a sinuous way of sliding and gliding and grinding, taking all of him in, so unselfconscious of his taking and giving of pleasure that England wonders where the hell he learned that, but he knows it's only America, raw, wild, at his most basic core. "Let's have some fun, this beat is sick~"
England is scowling, pretending that those words aren't sexy, that he watches those lips come together and doesn't think about them on his cock, and it's all ridiculously pretentious when he has the younger by his waist and is slowly pushing up to meet him with the slap of flesh, their bodies perspiring.
England's feet dig into the bed, seeking purchase, and America stops singing as he tosses his head back again. Knowing fingers wrap around his erection, ignored until now, as England is too close to the edge and doesn't want to come before America does.
No; he wants to come with America.
A needy, painful, savagely satisfied sound rips from his boy's throat and England clenches his teeth as America clamps down on him and spurts in his hand. England closes his eyes and stops resisting the inevitable, pulling America harder against him as he climaxes.
It leaves him breathless to realize that America is allowing him to claim him again, even if momentarily, and it's all tied up with thoughts of rifles in the rain and boots stuck in mud and tears in his eyes because of unending loss, flashes of these thoughts as he slumps on the bed, trying to gasp for breath.
Then America comes down on his chest, warm, utterly sated, still sensuous but sluggish now. He licks at one of England's nipples, gathering the sweat on his tongue, and England's heart skips a beat.
Shit.
He covers his face. There's a frailty about him at that moment that he can't afford. So he goes on the offense. "Your music is farking terrible."
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: APH does not belong to moi.
Warnings: None.
Pairings: France/Greece
Summary: France. Greece. Ice cream.
Author Notes: Written for the kink meme.
There had to be a ridiculously vital reason as to why France had never really taken into consideration how beautiful Greece was.
Maybe he'd been too distracted fighting with England, or Turkey had been a little too good at keeping the brunet nation under lock and key for a respectable six hundred years.
Well. That was all quite rectified, and he was paying attention now, a little speechless as he watched Greece ignore the whirlwind chaos in the meeting room. A tiny spoon, meant for stirring tea, dug into the side of a triple-scoop of vanilla and then was swallowed by very pretty, very pink lips.
Then the spoon came out, sticky still with sweetness, and Greece licked it absently even as Switzerland pointed a gun at Austria right over his head and threatened to pull the trigger, to Austria's dignified apathy and as Prussia -- pardon -- East Germany-- encouraged him with a bloodthirsty grin.
France got up from his seat, moved around the table, and ruthlessly shoved Latvia out of his chair, who'd been the lucky bastard that got to sit next to Greece.
"Eh--?" Latvia sputtered as France leaned closer to Greece from his new position, smiling lecherously. Latvia's feeble indignation went utterly unheard.
"Mon cher, I can't help but notice how delicious... that looks." France stumbled, almost giving himself away. He rested his cheek on his hand, blue eyes focused on Greece's mouth.
"Ah." Greece blinked at him, unguarded. "Do you want some ice cream?"
"I couldn't possibly." France demurred, trying to keep his hands under control. Groping at an inopportune time usually got him bruised and beat, and Greece's big stick thing looked like it could crack his head open.
"... then why did you come over?" Greece's eyes were a vivid blue-green, suddenly focused and intelligent. France spread his hands in faux-helplessness. "You caught me. I did come over here to discover what they tasted like."
Greece's expression transmuted with subtle bewilderment. "'They'?" He managed to echo back before France caught his face between his hands and tasted Greece's lips.
Title: Gemini
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: APH does not belong to moi.
Warnings: Twincest, some cursing.
Pairing: Canada/America/Prussia
Summary: The North American twins discover that Prussia has a thing for twincest.
Author Notes: Written for the kink meme.
Canada noticed it first. He was unused to the sensation of someone's intent gaze, unsure of what to think when his skin suddenly broke out into goosebumps, as if someone had exhaled against the base of his spine. Hot and cold.
He stopped playing thumb wars with America and lifted his head, trying to determine where this tingly-anxious feeling was surging from.
Prussia arched an eyebrow, reacting coolly to being caught staring, even though Canada had seen a flash of predatory sharpness on the nation's expression. Canada smiled nervously, questioningly.
And lost the thumb war.
America noticed it the second time, for even as self-involved as he was, that gaze was not one easily ignored. He assumed it was because he was just that awesome, until he noticed it was Prussia, and then he sort of paused, breath stuck to his throat.
"Is he staring at us?" He whispered to Canada.
"You are sitting on me." Canada bit back in answer. As if there weren't enough chairs to go around at their meetings. Then, suspiciously; "...who?"
"Prussia."
Canada's expression flattened. Then sort of went pensive. "Hm."
America wiggled in his lap, impatient and curious.
Prussia almost made an audible gasp. Twin blond heads turned to stare at him from across their shared chair. The former Order of the Teutonic Knights scoffed and arrogantly turned his head away, pretending to be interested in Poland rambling on about dying his wheat blue.
Canada giggled. Honest to goodness giggled. America stared at him, slightly concerned. That laugh... well. It didn't really resemble Russia's creepy little giggles, but at the same time...
"You've been hanging around that Red fucker too long." America decided, and he was going to leave it at that when Canada cupped his neck with a hand, urging his head down to speak into his ear.
"Watch Prussia." His twin whispered, breath fanning hotly against his ear. America shivered and distractedly glanced at the white-haired Nation through askew glasses.
Canada sounded innocent when he asked; "Doesn't he look hungry?"
America hummed. Poland said "like" for the fortieth time in under a minute. Somewhere in the back row, Greece snored and Italy loudly whispered-asked to Germany if blue-dyed pasta would taste good.
Canada took his brother's earlobe into his mouth and sucked on it. America's lips parted, cheeks flushing red. But his sky-blue eyes remained perfectly attentive on Prussia, who stared at them as if he wanted to crawl over or under the table, whatever it took to get to them, to get a closer view.
America smirked. Oh. This. This could be fun.
Title: This Beat Is Sick
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: APH does not belong to moi.
Warnings: Faint spoilers to the Revolutionary war.
Pairing: UK/USA
Summary: America has a song stuck in his head, and England really wants him to shut up and focus.
Author Notes: Written for the kink meme.
"This was not--" America's head tilts back, his hair so shiny and golden that England's fingers itch to card through it, see if the temptation matches up to the hype. And he knows it does, and sometimes he wants to beg America to let it grow out.
Then his former colony's hips come down again, riding his lap, and England moans incoherently.
"--what I meant."
America. Loudmouth until the bloody end. "Shut the bloody hell up." England snarls, not caring, he's about two minutes away from coming so hard that he might come close to dying (and wouldn't that be a stitch, a country dying from fantastic sex) and America laughs at him in a way that both makes him want to kiss him and gag him.
"I want to take a ride on your disco stick~" Hips move, roll, and America has a sinuous way of sliding and gliding and grinding, taking all of him in, so unselfconscious of his taking and giving of pleasure that England wonders where the hell he learned that, but he knows it's only America, raw, wild, at his most basic core. "Let's have some fun, this beat is sick~"
England is scowling, pretending that those words aren't sexy, that he watches those lips come together and doesn't think about them on his cock, and it's all ridiculously pretentious when he has the younger by his waist and is slowly pushing up to meet him with the slap of flesh, their bodies perspiring.
England's feet dig into the bed, seeking purchase, and America stops singing as he tosses his head back again. Knowing fingers wrap around his erection, ignored until now, as England is too close to the edge and doesn't want to come before America does.
No; he wants to come with America.
A needy, painful, savagely satisfied sound rips from his boy's throat and England clenches his teeth as America clamps down on him and spurts in his hand. England closes his eyes and stops resisting the inevitable, pulling America harder against him as he climaxes.
It leaves him breathless to realize that America is allowing him to claim him again, even if momentarily, and it's all tied up with thoughts of rifles in the rain and boots stuck in mud and tears in his eyes because of unending loss, flashes of these thoughts as he slumps on the bed, trying to gasp for breath.
Then America comes down on his chest, warm, utterly sated, still sensuous but sluggish now. He licks at one of England's nipples, gathering the sweat on his tongue, and England's heart skips a beat.
Shit.
He covers his face. There's a frailty about him at that moment that he can't afford. So he goes on the offense. "Your music is farking terrible."