[ oneshot ] Release [ Turkey/Greece]
Title: Release
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Turkey/Greece
Warnings: A tinge dark. Some dubcon.
Summary: The Greek War of Independence. Turkey and Greece find themselves in reversed roles.
Author Notes: Historical errors may abound, although I did look all of this up. Takes place during 1828.
Written for chromatic_coma via a fic meme.
Meme Keycode: Turkey/Greece -- Spoils of war -- bound hands
1828 AD
Peloponnese
“Couldn’t--” Turkey coughed thinly, blood running down his chin from a split lip. “Couldn’t beat me on your own, could you?” He smiled sharply, daring to raise an eyebrow at Greece even though he was the one on his knees with his arms bound behind his back. The windowless room was lit by the meek flame shivering on the end of a long candlewick.
It provided enough light for Greece to see that Turkey was exhausted, black bruises lining his eyes from both lack of sleep and from fists smashing into his face. He was covered in blood -- most of it not his own.
But not Greece’s either.
“Like a fucking baby, cryin’ for help.” The mocking continued even though the former great Empire was thoroughly and soundly defeated. One could admire him for that.
Greece’s eyes flickered up from observing the bruises that covered the wide chest and met his former conqueror’s eyes with a measured blankness. That only spurred Turkey on more; he lowered his voice, sounding so sinfully seductive that his words were almost as sweet as they were poisonous.
“What’ll keep me from claiming you again?” He asked, lips curved in a smile. If the triple threat of Russia, the United Kingdom and France turning against him again did nothing to deter his determination to get Greece back, nothing would.
The younger nation regarded him with bland silence, letting that be his answer. The door was closed but he was sure that France was right outside, more than likely with his ear pressed to the wood in order to overhear their conversation. Ally of him or not, he still knew to be wary of the Frenchman.
Greece shifted on his feet, restless.
Something was missing.
Green eyes moved across the dim chamber, which had once been someone’s bedroom. A bed in the corner with a rusted metal frame and no mattress, a rickety chair with a shoddy writing desk where the candle had been set to burn -- but mainly it was empty, serving right now merely as a prison until he decreed what to do with Turkey.
He had to let him go. He didn’t actually want to go to war against Turkey and reverse their positions; all that mattered was his independence.
Or was it?
The thought stirred him, made him edgy. He should have been feeling victorious, bubbling over with glee. Not attempting to figure out why he was surprisingly hollow about at last defeating Turkey. He’d fought long and hard before the Great Powers had even deemed his cause worthy of being aided.
He had earned his freedom.
Turkey’s dark gaze followed him as the nation moved away from the door and circled around him. He purposefully relaxed even though sweat was rolling down his back as Greece stepped out of view. He was furious but had long ago learned that the humiliation of defeat was even worse when his enemies saw him crack with fury and frustration.
He shifted with displeasure like a caged predator as Greece ran a fingertip down his strained biceps to the rope looped and knotted tightly as to keep his arms firmly behind him. He breathed carefully, waiting. The finger slid across his wrist and then transferred to his back, following the line of his spine upwards. Turkey chewed on the side of his cheek as Greece pressed a splayed palm against his back, applying no pressure.
But his muscles still locked, painfully conscious of who was touching him.
“What?” He smirked without turning his head. “Missed me already? It hasn’t been that long since Messolonghi. You remember that, don’t you?”
“… when you last raped me, you mean?” Greece inquired with disgust.
Turkey struck, sensing opportunity. “Can’t rape the willing.”
Greece’s hand gave him a rough shove to the ground. Turkey grunted as he landed on his stomach and immediately rolled over, cursing as he remembered that his legs were also bound at the ankles. He tried to kick anyway, on reflex, which Greece blocked coolly and then slid on him.
“What are you doing?” Turkey demanded suspiciously as Greece’s knees came to rest on either side of his hips and free hands pinned his shoulders down, causing even more strain against the hold of the ropes.
Greece met his gaze and finally smiled, none of it reaching his eyes. “’Can’t rape the willing’, you said.” He flung back in Turkey’s face before sliding down and pressing his mouth to Turkey’s nipple, tasting blood, dirt and sweat -- along with bitter gunpowder. The Empire tensed and tried to buck him off.
He soon discovered that too much was stacked against him even though he was still the bigger of the two. Turkey let out a hiss of not-quite-pain as Greece bit down on the bundle of nerves and then soothed the ache away with the flat surface of his tongue, encouraging another ache to begin between his legs. He glared at the ceiling and cursed. “Get off, you little shit. You don’t have the balls for this.”
Calloused fingers slid from his shoulders down. One hand stopped on the ignored nipple and the other continued, sliding down his bruised stomach until it sank underneath the waistband of his pants and curled around his hardened flesh. Greece lifted his head and looked at him.
“What exactly do you think I’m going to do?” He asked calmly even as Turkey’s cock twitched against his palm.
Turkey frowned before he forced himself to smirk. “Play out a little fantasy of yours, I’m guessing. How many times you thought about this, brat? Enjoy it, ‘cuz it ain’t never going to happen again.”
Green eyes narrowed at him. The grip on his manhood tightened before going lax. “I am going to enjoy it.” He murmured and began moving down. Turkey braced himself as his legs were pressed to the hard floor and his pants pulled down as far as they could go. He was stunned at what was going to happen. It was unnatural, and the moment he got out he’d gather what remained of his navy and--
“Shit!” Turkey choked as his cock was enveloped in wet heat. He stared in disbelief as for the first time ever Greece began sucking him voluntarily, sooty eyelashes pressed against his hollowed cheeks. Hands gripped Turkey’s lean hips, restraining him from thrusting as an incredibly talented tongue massaged his shaft.
If he could have retained enough thought to analyze the situation, he would have wondered what the hell was going on. At it was he breathed harshly and still tried to push into the nation’s mouth, body pained and protesting at his vigorous struggling. Greece laid over his legs, keeping them still, and took him deeper without gagging.
He snaked a hand to cup Turkey’s sac, rolling the tense balls against his palm before circling the base of the engorged cock tightly between thumb and forefinger. Greece pulled off, face flushed and hair messy around his face. He breathed almost as hard as Turkey, glancing up to look at the man’s expression before he lowered his head again.
The pause was enough for Turkey’s wits to band together. “What, France ain’t giving you enough?” He gasped, throat still raw and because Greece had begun to lick him with wide sweeps of his tongue. “What about Russia? Doesn’t he have a big enough cock for you?”
The younger nation ignored him. Lick, lick, mouth sliding down to the base where his fingers still gripped Turkey tightly. The Empire curled over him, arms in agony from the unnatural position. “No? Great Britain?” He asked darkly, possessively. Hadn‘t they all been his allies at some point? Now they were taking away his most prized territory and that was something he wouldn’t be forgetting. “Ain’t they all taking their turns?”
Greece stopped and exhaled, irritated that Turkey kept running his mouth off. He shook his head faintly and pushed the Empire down again in order to be able to swallow him with ease of long practice. Although he’d never done it because he hadn't wanted to before. He was finding a strange, intoxicating sort of power as he heard Turkey’s low groan and tasted precum.
He moved his tongue lazily, wetting the shaft with saliva. He risked removing the second hand away from Turkey’s hip and pulled back long enough to wet his own fingers before returning to the task, hearing Turkey murmuring something in his native language that was too rushed for Greece to hear.
Convinced that the Empire was distracted, Greece reached with some difficulty to slip his hand into his own breeches until he was circling his own entrance with his fingertips. He slid a single digit inside, cautious, because it had been a while since Messolonghi.
Discomfort was nothing new to him. Greece worked up to two fingers that spread and scissored while his mouth continued distracting Turkey. Whenever he sensed the other was near a climax he’d pull back and squeeze the base of the shaft, denying him release. Turkey’s murmurs were now distinctly angry swears, which would have made Greece smirk had his lips not been otherwise occupied.
His own fingers clumsily brushed against his prostate. Greece couldn’t help a gasp that got Turkey’s attention.
“What are you doing?” He demanded suspiciously, trying to rise up again. Greece pulled his fingers out and rolled off Turkey. That dark gaze was on him and smoldering, frustrated at being defeated and denied.
Greece didn’t bother with an explanation. He kicked off his shoes and shoved out of his breeches, pausing only to tug free a shoelace before he moved closer to Turkey again.
Turkey didn’t like that. He attempt to kick again, glaring at the young nation with a promise of death on his face. “What the fuck are you going to do with that?”
“What do you think?” Greece returned, dodging the blow and straddling Turkey’s thighs. They were both hard and they rubbed against one another accidentally. Greece shivered at the sensation and then remembered his plan.
He looped the leather shoestring around the base of Turkey’s cock and then knotted it.
Turkey stared at the piece of string with dawning comprehension.
“You fucking shit.” He said slowly, to which Greece offered a shrug as he balanced himself on his knees and gripped the erect shaft underneath him, guiding it.
“You said,” Greece’s stomach flexed with tension as he found the right angle and the head began to push into him. “to enjoy myself.”
The head popped in and Turkey spit out a curse, unable to look away as Greece’s head tilted back, body a beautiful long line of tension and eagerness.
He began working down with his knees, thighs almost trembling. Turkey could have thrust up, hurt him, gotten some revenge; instead he just stared until Greece had seated himself and they were connected in the most intimate way possible.
Greece took a long, shuddery breath. It hurt. It burned. He was stretched and feeling raw and finally tasting sweet victory as Turkey shifted under him minutely, watching him with an unreadable expression.
He didn’t waste time. Greece set his hands on Turkey’s shoulders, not caring he was adding too much pressure on the Empire’s arms and began moving. Turkey grit his teeth at the dual pain/pleasure sensation and thrust his hips up as Greece began descending and the green eyes that had begun to close snapped open to stare down into his.
“I’m still fucking you.” He grit out with a bone-dry smile and Greece actually laughed at him. At his bravado, insolence, sheer being a bastard that had raped him and kept him crushed under his foot for four hundred years in the name of protecting him. At being free even if he couldn’t see into the future to know how long that would last.
Laughed because he continued moving, meeting thrust for thrust and taking his pleasure even as he was returning it to Turkey, showing him that things could have been different between them.
Too late now. Greece’s fingernails dug into Turkey’s shoulders as he came over Turkey’s abdomen with a low moan that was joined by the prisoner’s frustrated one as he tightened exquisitely around the cock inside of him. Turkey ground into him desperately.
Greece allowed it, busy catching his breath. He shivered as his nerves danced still with his orgasm and Turkey’s fervent thrusts that still sent off little sparks of heat low in his stomach even though he was already growing soft.
“Get this thing off me!” Turkey hissed, furious at his inability to gain release with the shoelace acting as a cockring. Greece sat back on his knees and pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead with one hand, gazing down at his former conqueror with a hint of satisfaction in his drowsy gaze.
“No.” He said simply and rose up shakily, careful to move away as Turkey snarled in fury and tried to knock him down. Greece watched as Turkey cursed out his mother, his people, his religion and all of his allies -- and calmly redressed before leaving the room, finding France standing at the end of the hallway with a flush to his face and one hand suspiciously without a glove.
Greece didn’t spare him much of a look as he walked past, needing to start preparing to be recognized now as a proper nation. “You can have him now.”
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Turkey/Greece
Warnings: A tinge dark. Some dubcon.
Summary: The Greek War of Independence. Turkey and Greece find themselves in reversed roles.
Author Notes: Historical errors may abound, although I did look all of this up. Takes place during 1828.
Written for chromatic_coma via a fic meme.
Meme Keycode: Turkey/Greece -- Spoils of war -- bound hands
1828 AD
Peloponnese
“Couldn’t--” Turkey coughed thinly, blood running down his chin from a split lip. “Couldn’t beat me on your own, could you?” He smiled sharply, daring to raise an eyebrow at Greece even though he was the one on his knees with his arms bound behind his back. The windowless room was lit by the meek flame shivering on the end of a long candlewick.
It provided enough light for Greece to see that Turkey was exhausted, black bruises lining his eyes from both lack of sleep and from fists smashing into his face. He was covered in blood -- most of it not his own.
But not Greece’s either.
“Like a fucking baby, cryin’ for help.” The mocking continued even though the former great Empire was thoroughly and soundly defeated. One could admire him for that.
Greece’s eyes flickered up from observing the bruises that covered the wide chest and met his former conqueror’s eyes with a measured blankness. That only spurred Turkey on more; he lowered his voice, sounding so sinfully seductive that his words were almost as sweet as they were poisonous.
“What’ll keep me from claiming you again?” He asked, lips curved in a smile. If the triple threat of Russia, the United Kingdom and France turning against him again did nothing to deter his determination to get Greece back, nothing would.
The younger nation regarded him with bland silence, letting that be his answer. The door was closed but he was sure that France was right outside, more than likely with his ear pressed to the wood in order to overhear their conversation. Ally of him or not, he still knew to be wary of the Frenchman.
Greece shifted on his feet, restless.
Something was missing.
Green eyes moved across the dim chamber, which had once been someone’s bedroom. A bed in the corner with a rusted metal frame and no mattress, a rickety chair with a shoddy writing desk where the candle had been set to burn -- but mainly it was empty, serving right now merely as a prison until he decreed what to do with Turkey.
He had to let him go. He didn’t actually want to go to war against Turkey and reverse their positions; all that mattered was his independence.
Or was it?
The thought stirred him, made him edgy. He should have been feeling victorious, bubbling over with glee. Not attempting to figure out why he was surprisingly hollow about at last defeating Turkey. He’d fought long and hard before the Great Powers had even deemed his cause worthy of being aided.
He had earned his freedom.
Turkey’s dark gaze followed him as the nation moved away from the door and circled around him. He purposefully relaxed even though sweat was rolling down his back as Greece stepped out of view. He was furious but had long ago learned that the humiliation of defeat was even worse when his enemies saw him crack with fury and frustration.
He shifted with displeasure like a caged predator as Greece ran a fingertip down his strained biceps to the rope looped and knotted tightly as to keep his arms firmly behind him. He breathed carefully, waiting. The finger slid across his wrist and then transferred to his back, following the line of his spine upwards. Turkey chewed on the side of his cheek as Greece pressed a splayed palm against his back, applying no pressure.
But his muscles still locked, painfully conscious of who was touching him.
“What?” He smirked without turning his head. “Missed me already? It hasn’t been that long since Messolonghi. You remember that, don’t you?”
“… when you last raped me, you mean?” Greece inquired with disgust.
Turkey struck, sensing opportunity. “Can’t rape the willing.”
Greece’s hand gave him a rough shove to the ground. Turkey grunted as he landed on his stomach and immediately rolled over, cursing as he remembered that his legs were also bound at the ankles. He tried to kick anyway, on reflex, which Greece blocked coolly and then slid on him.
“What are you doing?” Turkey demanded suspiciously as Greece’s knees came to rest on either side of his hips and free hands pinned his shoulders down, causing even more strain against the hold of the ropes.
Greece met his gaze and finally smiled, none of it reaching his eyes. “’Can’t rape the willing’, you said.” He flung back in Turkey’s face before sliding down and pressing his mouth to Turkey’s nipple, tasting blood, dirt and sweat -- along with bitter gunpowder. The Empire tensed and tried to buck him off.
He soon discovered that too much was stacked against him even though he was still the bigger of the two. Turkey let out a hiss of not-quite-pain as Greece bit down on the bundle of nerves and then soothed the ache away with the flat surface of his tongue, encouraging another ache to begin between his legs. He glared at the ceiling and cursed. “Get off, you little shit. You don’t have the balls for this.”
Calloused fingers slid from his shoulders down. One hand stopped on the ignored nipple and the other continued, sliding down his bruised stomach until it sank underneath the waistband of his pants and curled around his hardened flesh. Greece lifted his head and looked at him.
“What exactly do you think I’m going to do?” He asked calmly even as Turkey’s cock twitched against his palm.
Turkey frowned before he forced himself to smirk. “Play out a little fantasy of yours, I’m guessing. How many times you thought about this, brat? Enjoy it, ‘cuz it ain’t never going to happen again.”
Green eyes narrowed at him. The grip on his manhood tightened before going lax. “I am going to enjoy it.” He murmured and began moving down. Turkey braced himself as his legs were pressed to the hard floor and his pants pulled down as far as they could go. He was stunned at what was going to happen. It was unnatural, and the moment he got out he’d gather what remained of his navy and--
“Shit!” Turkey choked as his cock was enveloped in wet heat. He stared in disbelief as for the first time ever Greece began sucking him voluntarily, sooty eyelashes pressed against his hollowed cheeks. Hands gripped Turkey’s lean hips, restraining him from thrusting as an incredibly talented tongue massaged his shaft.
If he could have retained enough thought to analyze the situation, he would have wondered what the hell was going on. At it was he breathed harshly and still tried to push into the nation’s mouth, body pained and protesting at his vigorous struggling. Greece laid over his legs, keeping them still, and took him deeper without gagging.
He snaked a hand to cup Turkey’s sac, rolling the tense balls against his palm before circling the base of the engorged cock tightly between thumb and forefinger. Greece pulled off, face flushed and hair messy around his face. He breathed almost as hard as Turkey, glancing up to look at the man’s expression before he lowered his head again.
The pause was enough for Turkey’s wits to band together. “What, France ain’t giving you enough?” He gasped, throat still raw and because Greece had begun to lick him with wide sweeps of his tongue. “What about Russia? Doesn’t he have a big enough cock for you?”
The younger nation ignored him. Lick, lick, mouth sliding down to the base where his fingers still gripped Turkey tightly. The Empire curled over him, arms in agony from the unnatural position. “No? Great Britain?” He asked darkly, possessively. Hadn‘t they all been his allies at some point? Now they were taking away his most prized territory and that was something he wouldn’t be forgetting. “Ain’t they all taking their turns?”
Greece stopped and exhaled, irritated that Turkey kept running his mouth off. He shook his head faintly and pushed the Empire down again in order to be able to swallow him with ease of long practice. Although he’d never done it because he hadn't wanted to before. He was finding a strange, intoxicating sort of power as he heard Turkey’s low groan and tasted precum.
He moved his tongue lazily, wetting the shaft with saliva. He risked removing the second hand away from Turkey’s hip and pulled back long enough to wet his own fingers before returning to the task, hearing Turkey murmuring something in his native language that was too rushed for Greece to hear.
Convinced that the Empire was distracted, Greece reached with some difficulty to slip his hand into his own breeches until he was circling his own entrance with his fingertips. He slid a single digit inside, cautious, because it had been a while since Messolonghi.
Discomfort was nothing new to him. Greece worked up to two fingers that spread and scissored while his mouth continued distracting Turkey. Whenever he sensed the other was near a climax he’d pull back and squeeze the base of the shaft, denying him release. Turkey’s murmurs were now distinctly angry swears, which would have made Greece smirk had his lips not been otherwise occupied.
His own fingers clumsily brushed against his prostate. Greece couldn’t help a gasp that got Turkey’s attention.
“What are you doing?” He demanded suspiciously, trying to rise up again. Greece pulled his fingers out and rolled off Turkey. That dark gaze was on him and smoldering, frustrated at being defeated and denied.
Greece didn’t bother with an explanation. He kicked off his shoes and shoved out of his breeches, pausing only to tug free a shoelace before he moved closer to Turkey again.
Turkey didn’t like that. He attempt to kick again, glaring at the young nation with a promise of death on his face. “What the fuck are you going to do with that?”
“What do you think?” Greece returned, dodging the blow and straddling Turkey’s thighs. They were both hard and they rubbed against one another accidentally. Greece shivered at the sensation and then remembered his plan.
He looped the leather shoestring around the base of Turkey’s cock and then knotted it.
Turkey stared at the piece of string with dawning comprehension.
“You fucking shit.” He said slowly, to which Greece offered a shrug as he balanced himself on his knees and gripped the erect shaft underneath him, guiding it.
“You said,” Greece’s stomach flexed with tension as he found the right angle and the head began to push into him. “to enjoy myself.”
The head popped in and Turkey spit out a curse, unable to look away as Greece’s head tilted back, body a beautiful long line of tension and eagerness.
He began working down with his knees, thighs almost trembling. Turkey could have thrust up, hurt him, gotten some revenge; instead he just stared until Greece had seated himself and they were connected in the most intimate way possible.
Greece took a long, shuddery breath. It hurt. It burned. He was stretched and feeling raw and finally tasting sweet victory as Turkey shifted under him minutely, watching him with an unreadable expression.
He didn’t waste time. Greece set his hands on Turkey’s shoulders, not caring he was adding too much pressure on the Empire’s arms and began moving. Turkey grit his teeth at the dual pain/pleasure sensation and thrust his hips up as Greece began descending and the green eyes that had begun to close snapped open to stare down into his.
“I’m still fucking you.” He grit out with a bone-dry smile and Greece actually laughed at him. At his bravado, insolence, sheer being a bastard that had raped him and kept him crushed under his foot for four hundred years in the name of protecting him. At being free even if he couldn’t see into the future to know how long that would last.
Laughed because he continued moving, meeting thrust for thrust and taking his pleasure even as he was returning it to Turkey, showing him that things could have been different between them.
Too late now. Greece’s fingernails dug into Turkey’s shoulders as he came over Turkey’s abdomen with a low moan that was joined by the prisoner’s frustrated one as he tightened exquisitely around the cock inside of him. Turkey ground into him desperately.
Greece allowed it, busy catching his breath. He shivered as his nerves danced still with his orgasm and Turkey’s fervent thrusts that still sent off little sparks of heat low in his stomach even though he was already growing soft.
“Get this thing off me!” Turkey hissed, furious at his inability to gain release with the shoelace acting as a cockring. Greece sat back on his knees and pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead with one hand, gazing down at his former conqueror with a hint of satisfaction in his drowsy gaze.
“No.” He said simply and rose up shakily, careful to move away as Turkey snarled in fury and tried to knock him down. Greece watched as Turkey cursed out his mother, his people, his religion and all of his allies -- and calmly redressed before leaving the room, finding France standing at the end of the hallway with a flush to his face and one hand suspiciously without a glove.
Greece didn’t spare him much of a look as he walked past, needing to start preparing to be recognized now as a proper nation. “You can have him now.”