[ oneshot ] Lovers [ Rome/Spain, Hetalia ]
Title: Lovers
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rome/Spain (Axis Powers Hetalia)
Summary: Rome is due to leave the next morning -- Hispania doesn’t want him to.
Warnings: Shota (age is unclear, but young).
Author Notes: This is technically a sequel to The Sweetest of Conquests but there’s absolutely no need to read it. Written for suxing and youkofujima. Also; it’s not the sequel that I’ve been promising people, sorry! No Gaul!France yet.
The absolute silence and stillness of the dark room confirms Rome’s suspicion that his new territory would be asleep by the time he managed to finish meeting with his generals. He closes the door and rolls his weary shoulders, tense. Gallia is acting up again, ridiculous brat that he is, and it frustrates Rome to deal with the little shit.
He doesn’t enjoy harming children. But Gallia asks for it.
He sighs and begins removing his leather armor, not needing light to do so. His calloused fingers can find the snaps and hooks easily; he’s done it before in the darkest, most fearsome of nights, he’s done it in rain, in mud and covered in blood.
The pugio is removed and set on the table. The click of metal on a hard surface apparently stirs Hispania; there’s a whisper of sheets and skin before a sleepy voice speaks out. “Roman Empire?”
He still can’t get the boy to call him Rome. One would think, after a century… “Go back to sleep.” He says, voice rough with tiredness. His eyes adjust to the dimness; Hispania has sat up in the bed, covers pooling around his thin hips. The boy regards him with a tilted head, eyelashes lowered. It’s a coy look but not on purpose; Hispania’s just not quite awake yet.
Still, it stirs Rome’s lust. He casts his mind elsewhere, before he begins to get hard. He’ll have to get up early tomorrow, and…
“You are leaving.” Hispania observes with a smile. If there’s anything he’s learned about Hispania since winning him from Carthage is that as long as there’s someone watching him, Hispania will smile, even as his voice is filled with loneliness and reluctance. But he doesn’t ask Rome to stay.
Rome wishes he would, sometimes. No one’s ever asked him that and meant it in a genuine, personal way. If they ask him to stay it’s because they want something from him. Not him.
Still -- it’s enough to know that Hispania does hate to see him go, even if he doesn’t utter the words.
“Yes.” There’s no point in lying to the boy. He needs to go take care of the rebellion in Gallia. Then he needs to pass through his other territories as well. As much as he enjoys spending time in the Iberian Peninsula, he is an Empire. And there are still lands to be conquered.
The whispering reaches his ears again as he sits down on the edge of the bed, naked. The temperatures of the day persist into the night, although it’s not uncomfortably warm.
“Did I not tell you to go to sleep?” Rome queries, with the slightest hint of impatience. Hispania weighs little next to nothing in his opinion but the bed still shifts with his movements as he scoots over and then smooth palms touch his scarred back.
“Must I?”
The hands are still small, even though Hispania has grown. Rome has been careful to cultivate this particular territory, and his people do seem to love the land when they visit. Some even claim they never want to go back to Rome -- he should be irritated with them, but truth is, he often shares their sentiments.
Particularly when those affectionate hands move down the line of his spine and then Hispania hugs him from behind, pressing his cheek against a shoulder blade. This is something that Rome allows no one else, even Germania. He has seen too many men -- good and bad -- stabbed in the back by people they relied on and trusted.
He doesn’t intend to make the same mistakes.
Still…
“Not tonight.”
Hispania exhales his disappointment against his shoulder. It doesn’t stop him for long from speaking. Maybe he’s been spoiling the boy too much lately…
“If not tonight then that means not until you return.”
Rome clears his throat, tense from restraining himself. Somewhere between those hands reaching for him and the hint of lips against his shoulder he‘s grown half-hard. “Hispania.” He says quietly, a warning.
The boy moves, rising up so that he can speak into Rome’s ear, sounding hopeful. “Can I take you into my mouth?”
His fingers curl into a fist. He is both irritated at Hispania for pressing the matter and at himself for almost fervently thanking the Gods out loud for Hispania’s cheerful, sensual willingness to do anything for him. It startled him the first time they met, and it still doesn’t fail to leave him somewhat speechless even now.
His body is not so conflicted. Rome groans and snakes his own hand down to stroke his erect manhood. He can punish Hispania later. When he gets back. In a creative, no doubt delightful way. “Get on your knees.”
The boy gets off the bed so fast that it’s downright gratifying. He almost trips and Rome hears Hispania laugh at himself and can’t help but smile in return. Then the smile turns into something much more hungry and dark as the boy settles between his legs, naked as he is. Rome makes space for him and removes his hand, wishing they had light but too reluctant to move and remedy the situation.
A hundred years is a long time for lovers to learn about each other. And Rome occasionally does like to consider that Hispania is his lover, even though that implies a dangerous fondness. He grasps the dark curls with both hands, tugging at the strands when Hispania opens his mouth and the tip of a pink tongue peeks out.
Hispania raises his gaze to meet his, their olive-green color lost to the darkness. But the connection is there and Rome savors the willingness of the act as Hispania breathes over the head of his cock and finally slides his tongue over and around it, then over and around it again. He swallows the taste of precum and then slides his soft lips down across hot flesh. Meanwhile Rome is transfixed in staring, fingers flexing and relaxing. He grows tense when he begins to get lost in the sensations, and relaxes when he realizes that he’s losing control.
Teeth graze sensitive spots, then the flat softness of a tongue soothes before lips kiss and suck. The younger nation is taking his time going down on him, giving just enough to please but also to frustrate. All he’s doing is exploring, and Rome wonders briefly if he’s memorizing the experience for when they’ll be apart.
Gods. Rome exhales. “Take me into your mouth.” He instructs, trying not to shove that tantalizingly warm mouth over his hardness and use him like a whore.
Hispania hums. Something. Maybe a song, or an agreement, or a protest. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. Still he slides his tongue all the way back to the tip, youthful face looking so sweet and innocent and focused that Rome halfheartedly considers taking him to meet Gallia. Maybe some of that sweetness will rub off on that barbaric nightmare.
Then he parts his lips and takes the head into his mouth and begins to suck. Thoughts of Gallia are thankfully banished from Rome’s mind. He inhales sharply, abdomen tense as the pleasure grows. He is speaking soft murmurs of encouragement and endearments, crude but sincerely heartfelt as he slowly moved his hips, forcing more of his length into the wet heat.
Hispania sucks, noisily, cheeks flushed. He has his eyes closed and his hands are resting on Rome’s knees, fingernails digging into rough skin. He’s still a child, small and fragile with limbs that barely have muscle definition to them. He accepts the steady push of Rome’s cock even though he visibly grimaces when the head reaches back of his mouth. It’s large for him, seems almost impossible that he can even take it into his mouth in the first place but they’ve done it before.
Rome pauses and then just stops. He pets Hispania’s hair, not attempting to go any further than that even though he’s panting. He wants to, the Gods know that he wants to, but the last time they did it Hispania was unable to speak higher than a whisper the next day.
“Shh, just suck.” The Empire commands, knowing he could come from just that without a single complaint.
Hispania hums around his length in reply. Rome groans huskily, assuming it was an agreement, and a most fantastic one.
It turned out however to be a disagreement. Rome jerked and clutched soft brown hair as Hispania went down on him, swallowing past the gag reflex until his face is buried in between muscled thighs.
“Damn--” The Empire swears and then without an ounce of shame allows Hispania to do whatever he wants with him, as long as that mouth stays on him. Rome releases the boy’s head, afraid he will rip hair out or hurt him with too much pressure. Gods, no, he doesn’t want that, not when that throat is so snug and warm and Hispania hums again; definitely a melody this time.
He braces himself back on the bed with his elbows and closes his eyes to the ceiling. Hispania pulls back to be able to breathe and then eagerly goes down on him again. Rome’s hips arch off the bed despite his intentions to remain perfectly still. He’s thrusting then, pulling out almost entirely and then a return to the slick heat. Hispania struggles to match the wild thrusts, nails drawing blood from his legs and lips tight around his erection. The pain barely registers.
Rome comes without warning. He chokes on his husky moan and automatically grips Hispania’s hair again to force him to swallow him down, spurting semen down the boy’s throat. Hispania shudders and fights out of surprise until he manages to free himself, coughing. Semen and saliva cling to his swollen lips until he wipes both off with the back of his hand.
The room is filled with their pants for breath. Hispania settles back on his ankles and then stares at the mess on the back of his hand.
He knows Rome isn’t going to be back for years. Maybe even a decade or two, if he starts on another campaign on a foreign land whose name Hispania doesn’t know.
He raises the hand to his mouth and cleans the mess with wipes of his tongue, jaw aching and his own cock hard. But he still smiles when Rome rises, pushing his hair back from his forehead with his fingers and staring at him with a bemused look. Hispania tilts his head, waiting, still hopeful.
Rome sighs and extends his other hand, crooking his finger. Hispania laughs and climbs up, sitting on the Empire’s lap and nuzzling his rough, unshaven cheeks, squirming until he feels Rome begin to grow hard in reaction.
“Imp.” Rome murmurs in a rough, low voice, running his hands across the tanned skin and down to grip the boy’s buttocks and slide his erection between them. “Did you plan this?”
Hispania laughs, kissing his chin and then his mouth, exuberant as a puppy, all traces of sleep long forgotten. “No.” He breathes against Rome’s jaw then. “Please?”
Rome massages the flesh in his hands, temptation urging him to turn the boy over and slap until those cheeks are a bright, hot red.
Later, Rome decides as slender arms wrap themselves around his neck and swollen lips press against his.
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rome/Spain (Axis Powers Hetalia)
Summary: Rome is due to leave the next morning -- Hispania doesn’t want him to.
Warnings: Shota (age is unclear, but young).
Author Notes: This is technically a sequel to The Sweetest of Conquests but there’s absolutely no need to read it. Written for suxing and youkofujima. Also; it’s not the sequel that I’ve been promising people, sorry! No Gaul!France yet.
The absolute silence and stillness of the dark room confirms Rome’s suspicion that his new territory would be asleep by the time he managed to finish meeting with his generals. He closes the door and rolls his weary shoulders, tense. Gallia is acting up again, ridiculous brat that he is, and it frustrates Rome to deal with the little shit.
He doesn’t enjoy harming children. But Gallia asks for it.
He sighs and begins removing his leather armor, not needing light to do so. His calloused fingers can find the snaps and hooks easily; he’s done it before in the darkest, most fearsome of nights, he’s done it in rain, in mud and covered in blood.
The pugio is removed and set on the table. The click of metal on a hard surface apparently stirs Hispania; there’s a whisper of sheets and skin before a sleepy voice speaks out. “Roman Empire?”
He still can’t get the boy to call him Rome. One would think, after a century… “Go back to sleep.” He says, voice rough with tiredness. His eyes adjust to the dimness; Hispania has sat up in the bed, covers pooling around his thin hips. The boy regards him with a tilted head, eyelashes lowered. It’s a coy look but not on purpose; Hispania’s just not quite awake yet.
Still, it stirs Rome’s lust. He casts his mind elsewhere, before he begins to get hard. He’ll have to get up early tomorrow, and…
“You are leaving.” Hispania observes with a smile. If there’s anything he’s learned about Hispania since winning him from Carthage is that as long as there’s someone watching him, Hispania will smile, even as his voice is filled with loneliness and reluctance. But he doesn’t ask Rome to stay.
Rome wishes he would, sometimes. No one’s ever asked him that and meant it in a genuine, personal way. If they ask him to stay it’s because they want something from him. Not him.
Still -- it’s enough to know that Hispania does hate to see him go, even if he doesn’t utter the words.
“Yes.” There’s no point in lying to the boy. He needs to go take care of the rebellion in Gallia. Then he needs to pass through his other territories as well. As much as he enjoys spending time in the Iberian Peninsula, he is an Empire. And there are still lands to be conquered.
The whispering reaches his ears again as he sits down on the edge of the bed, naked. The temperatures of the day persist into the night, although it’s not uncomfortably warm.
“Did I not tell you to go to sleep?” Rome queries, with the slightest hint of impatience. Hispania weighs little next to nothing in his opinion but the bed still shifts with his movements as he scoots over and then smooth palms touch his scarred back.
“Must I?”
The hands are still small, even though Hispania has grown. Rome has been careful to cultivate this particular territory, and his people do seem to love the land when they visit. Some even claim they never want to go back to Rome -- he should be irritated with them, but truth is, he often shares their sentiments.
Particularly when those affectionate hands move down the line of his spine and then Hispania hugs him from behind, pressing his cheek against a shoulder blade. This is something that Rome allows no one else, even Germania. He has seen too many men -- good and bad -- stabbed in the back by people they relied on and trusted.
He doesn’t intend to make the same mistakes.
Still…
“Not tonight.”
Hispania exhales his disappointment against his shoulder. It doesn’t stop him for long from speaking. Maybe he’s been spoiling the boy too much lately…
“If not tonight then that means not until you return.”
Rome clears his throat, tense from restraining himself. Somewhere between those hands reaching for him and the hint of lips against his shoulder he‘s grown half-hard. “Hispania.” He says quietly, a warning.
The boy moves, rising up so that he can speak into Rome’s ear, sounding hopeful. “Can I take you into my mouth?”
His fingers curl into a fist. He is both irritated at Hispania for pressing the matter and at himself for almost fervently thanking the Gods out loud for Hispania’s cheerful, sensual willingness to do anything for him. It startled him the first time they met, and it still doesn’t fail to leave him somewhat speechless even now.
His body is not so conflicted. Rome groans and snakes his own hand down to stroke his erect manhood. He can punish Hispania later. When he gets back. In a creative, no doubt delightful way. “Get on your knees.”
The boy gets off the bed so fast that it’s downright gratifying. He almost trips and Rome hears Hispania laugh at himself and can’t help but smile in return. Then the smile turns into something much more hungry and dark as the boy settles between his legs, naked as he is. Rome makes space for him and removes his hand, wishing they had light but too reluctant to move and remedy the situation.
A hundred years is a long time for lovers to learn about each other. And Rome occasionally does like to consider that Hispania is his lover, even though that implies a dangerous fondness. He grasps the dark curls with both hands, tugging at the strands when Hispania opens his mouth and the tip of a pink tongue peeks out.
Hispania raises his gaze to meet his, their olive-green color lost to the darkness. But the connection is there and Rome savors the willingness of the act as Hispania breathes over the head of his cock and finally slides his tongue over and around it, then over and around it again. He swallows the taste of precum and then slides his soft lips down across hot flesh. Meanwhile Rome is transfixed in staring, fingers flexing and relaxing. He grows tense when he begins to get lost in the sensations, and relaxes when he realizes that he’s losing control.
Teeth graze sensitive spots, then the flat softness of a tongue soothes before lips kiss and suck. The younger nation is taking his time going down on him, giving just enough to please but also to frustrate. All he’s doing is exploring, and Rome wonders briefly if he’s memorizing the experience for when they’ll be apart.
Gods. Rome exhales. “Take me into your mouth.” He instructs, trying not to shove that tantalizingly warm mouth over his hardness and use him like a whore.
Hispania hums. Something. Maybe a song, or an agreement, or a protest. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. Still he slides his tongue all the way back to the tip, youthful face looking so sweet and innocent and focused that Rome halfheartedly considers taking him to meet Gallia. Maybe some of that sweetness will rub off on that barbaric nightmare.
Then he parts his lips and takes the head into his mouth and begins to suck. Thoughts of Gallia are thankfully banished from Rome’s mind. He inhales sharply, abdomen tense as the pleasure grows. He is speaking soft murmurs of encouragement and endearments, crude but sincerely heartfelt as he slowly moved his hips, forcing more of his length into the wet heat.
Hispania sucks, noisily, cheeks flushed. He has his eyes closed and his hands are resting on Rome’s knees, fingernails digging into rough skin. He’s still a child, small and fragile with limbs that barely have muscle definition to them. He accepts the steady push of Rome’s cock even though he visibly grimaces when the head reaches back of his mouth. It’s large for him, seems almost impossible that he can even take it into his mouth in the first place but they’ve done it before.
Rome pauses and then just stops. He pets Hispania’s hair, not attempting to go any further than that even though he’s panting. He wants to, the Gods know that he wants to, but the last time they did it Hispania was unable to speak higher than a whisper the next day.
“Shh, just suck.” The Empire commands, knowing he could come from just that without a single complaint.
Hispania hums around his length in reply. Rome groans huskily, assuming it was an agreement, and a most fantastic one.
It turned out however to be a disagreement. Rome jerked and clutched soft brown hair as Hispania went down on him, swallowing past the gag reflex until his face is buried in between muscled thighs.
“Damn--” The Empire swears and then without an ounce of shame allows Hispania to do whatever he wants with him, as long as that mouth stays on him. Rome releases the boy’s head, afraid he will rip hair out or hurt him with too much pressure. Gods, no, he doesn’t want that, not when that throat is so snug and warm and Hispania hums again; definitely a melody this time.
He braces himself back on the bed with his elbows and closes his eyes to the ceiling. Hispania pulls back to be able to breathe and then eagerly goes down on him again. Rome’s hips arch off the bed despite his intentions to remain perfectly still. He’s thrusting then, pulling out almost entirely and then a return to the slick heat. Hispania struggles to match the wild thrusts, nails drawing blood from his legs and lips tight around his erection. The pain barely registers.
Rome comes without warning. He chokes on his husky moan and automatically grips Hispania’s hair again to force him to swallow him down, spurting semen down the boy’s throat. Hispania shudders and fights out of surprise until he manages to free himself, coughing. Semen and saliva cling to his swollen lips until he wipes both off with the back of his hand.
The room is filled with their pants for breath. Hispania settles back on his ankles and then stares at the mess on the back of his hand.
He knows Rome isn’t going to be back for years. Maybe even a decade or two, if he starts on another campaign on a foreign land whose name Hispania doesn’t know.
He raises the hand to his mouth and cleans the mess with wipes of his tongue, jaw aching and his own cock hard. But he still smiles when Rome rises, pushing his hair back from his forehead with his fingers and staring at him with a bemused look. Hispania tilts his head, waiting, still hopeful.
Rome sighs and extends his other hand, crooking his finger. Hispania laughs and climbs up, sitting on the Empire’s lap and nuzzling his rough, unshaven cheeks, squirming until he feels Rome begin to grow hard in reaction.
“Imp.” Rome murmurs in a rough, low voice, running his hands across the tanned skin and down to grip the boy’s buttocks and slide his erection between them. “Did you plan this?”
Hispania laughs, kissing his chin and then his mouth, exuberant as a puppy, all traces of sleep long forgotten. “No.” He breathes against Rome’s jaw then. “Please?”
Rome massages the flesh in his hands, temptation urging him to turn the boy over and slap until those cheeks are a bright, hot red.
Later, Rome decides as slender arms wrap themselves around his neck and swollen lips press against his.