Die Wörter, die wir dalassen (3/5)
anonymous
August 2 2009, 11:01:11 UTC
Japan returns sweaty and aching after a session of sparring with Prussia. Germany is sitting on the engawa, looking out into the rock garden in the early spring cold. He jerks to attention as Japan stands and watches him.
“My…my brother?” Germany manages in Japanese. Although already deeper than any Japanese man could hope for, Kiku knows his voice will thicken with age- Germany is hardly more than a teenager. Something swoops tantalisingly low in Kiku’s stomach at the tones and inflections that make his own language sound so indecent.
“He is out in Nagasaki town.” Japan takes a soundless step forward. “What do you have there, Doitsu-san?”
There is a small bundled cloth on the floorboards. Germany opens it carefully and lays it out to show the smaller man kneeling in front of him. Steel glints on soft leather as the light hits the various instruments and bottles. Germany struggles for a moment, trying to find words. “For…for fixing. Ah…fixing injuries.”
“Healing, Doitsu-san?”
He nods but his eyebrows speak discomfort. “Deutschland.”
The longer Japan sits and listens to the younger man intone things the more a fluid sort of awareness begins to fill him. Keep him talking, it whispers. Keep him confused. “Doitsuranndo,” he tries, not really trying. There’s electricity beneath his fingertips.
“Sie können doch das Name meines Bruders gut aussprechen.” He darts his gaze a way for a moment, then turns back, pointing to himself. “Other…name- Ludwig.”
Japan drinks in the words greedily, shifting closer to the not-yet-nation. “So. Ludwig?” He receives a nod- maybe his pronunciation is better this time. “Perhaps you can teach me of your healing? I would be most appreciative.”
Making himself more comfortable, Germany shrugs as if to say to himself, ‘why not?’ “Messer,” he intones in his rich voice, indicating the small metal tool in its pouch. It’s cool and light in Japan’s fingers and fits like it belongs. Not a knife- even more precise than Kiku’s katana at his belt; Germany mimes a cutting motion.
“Messu,” he imitates, turning the scalpel over and touching the blade with his index finger. It slices cleanly through the skin, red blood rising, dripping. Precise, like the angles of Ludwig’s eyes- beautiful precision. Death and life on a knife edge.
Germany’s brow narrows at his blood and he gives a short cry. He grabs his fingers, warm in the March chill. He gropes in his pocket for something and emerges with a scrap of delicate white cloth. It’s wrapped around his finger to stop the bleeding.
“Gaze.” There’s a pulse there, in the tip of his finger between Germany’s. A pulse, low and powerful- powerful like Ludwig’s arms, like Prussian warfare. Pulsing though the air between them, the blood that pulses through his veins as Kiku swallows shakily. It rings in his ears in time with his heartbeat and suddenly Japan wants nothing more than for Germany to slide his palms down his wrists and push him to the floor and whisper medical terms into his skin, lower, lower, those muscles moving against him, hard and unrelenting and hard and-
“Ga-ze.” Japan smiles on the surface and pulls away. “Thank you, Ludwig.
Die Wörter, die wir dalassen (4/5)
anonymous
August 2 2009, 11:06:19 UTC
He halts outside the shouji door to Ludwig’s room. Something isn’t quite right, Kiku thinks to himself, lacquer tray with a nightcap of shouchuu in one hand. His hand is still raised to slide it open, but he’d heard something.
There. Again. Moving closer, Japan presses himself against the pillar, ear inches from the crack in the doorframe. Something low. A muttering, guttural. Germany.
A moan. Kiku freezes.
He knows with the conviction that only a guilty man has. He knows- the breaths, the barely audible shuffling- it’s sex. It’s sex, the sound, pure and rough against the cotton of the futon.
Ludwig says something into the night air, something tense and strained- his voice-
He almost moans, but he claps one hand over his mouth in time. In his mind he can see it as clear as the light from the moon on his feet, Germany, young, arched on the mats, hand slow and strong, denying himself, teasing and gasping in time with the sounds from across the rice-paper. Another word, so raw, rawer than Prussia, raw sex in his ears as they pulse.
His heartbeat has risen. He can’t breathe, but Kiku keeps his hand there because he has to- everything starts to go slightly dizzy, but the swirling in his heart just throbs wonderfully lower, and just like that Japan is painfully hard, his other hand inching over his legs.
The first touch comes as Germany takes a sharp breath mere metres away; he jerks and sobs between his teeth, head thrown back against the wall. He tries just fingertips, but the muffled sounds of hand on flesh maddeningly in his ears drives him crazy with the pounding in his fingers and every vein and artery, and Kiku just grabs, too desperate even to disrobe, just rubs through his layers of silk. It’s Germany’s hands on him now, and he wants- he wants Germany’s hands, he wants his cock, he wants to feel him inside of him, between his legs-
-his foot hits the wooden frame of the door with a bang.
Shit.
Everything is frozen in place- Japan knows that inside and outside they have the expression of panic on their faces, and that just makes him harder- makes his mind blanker with alarm.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Nothing else to do, afraid, risking it, gone, Japan opens the door with a bang, feigning a sudden entrance, made cunning by terror.
“What-“ he pants out, red with embarrassment but made bold by arousal. “-what was…what were you doing, Ludwig?”
Germany is covered in his crumpled blankets from the waist down; Japan doesn’t know if he’s relived or disappointed. Ludwig splutters, trembling so hard Japan thinks he hears his teeth chatter. “I…Japan, I’m…sorry, please, Gomenna-“
That voice stumbling over his own language sends a surge of lust to his groin, right to his cock, and Kiku groans. To Germany it probably sounds like anger- disgust. Japan is disgusted with himself, his erection hidden by the fold of his hakama, disgusted, aroused, wanting so badly to touch himself again, worse than he has ever wanted before. “What was it, Germany? Tell me. What were you doing?”
Die Wörter, die wir dalassen (5/5)
anonymous
August 2 2009, 11:31:46 UTC
Overwhelmed, guilty, Ludwig, not yet Germany, stares pleadingly at him. “Don’t tell Prussia. Please don’t tell Prussia-“
Japan, shaking himself, barely containing the coil in his stomach (Begging in German, oh-GOD), takes him by the shoulder, hushing him. “I’m not angry,” he reassures him with the calm of a con artist, clever fingers touching. “Please calm down Ludwig. I …I understand. I merely wish to know what…how one describes what you were doing in your language.”
He’s never done this. Never. Not with Francis, not with Arthur, not with Portugal. Never has he been this bold. He shouldn’t be- he’s Japan, reserved, not meant to. Not meant to, but the Cultural opening at Nagasaki- it’s driven him insane and this is the proof, the inane proof of the guilt between his thighs. It feels like a confession but it’s not. It’s learning the act that he does to Germany’s muted breaths, learning the language, the words, the very act itself-
Silence. Then, “…onanieren. Verb. Onanieren.”
Japan smiles. A scholar’s smile. “Ah.” Our little secret. “I do not think any worse of you, friend Doitsu. Please, let this not get between us.”
Germany nods, uneasy but relieved, perhaps trusting.
Kiku finishes the job outside on the engawa balcony, arm on the railing barely supporting him. He groans out Germany’s name- Doitsu, Ludwig, Doitsu -in between gasps, almost sobbing with pleasure, trying to be slow but wanting more than anything to just come.
Maybe, he thinks, exhausted, the most powerful orgasm of his life pulsing through him, this is what love feels like.
-
One hundred years later, World War II, there is sex.
Japan leans against the walls of his home, listening to the sounds filtering through the rice paper. It’s hushed voices, German, skin on skin and moans. It’s sex, that sound. Japan closes his eyes and pushes against the pillar, breathless, letting out a whine as he runs his fingertips under his white military uniform.
Palm deliciously wet against his cock, he throws his head back. Kiku can’t hear the other voice from the next room, wills himself not to hear the higher, nasal sounds hidden by that voice.
And he comes, biting down his sounds, still moving against his own hand, imagining Germany, imagining a different world where he isn’t outside but inside, sated.
Italy and Germany have sex. Kiku masturbates.
Panting, empty cold curling in his toes, ever the willing third wheel, Japan knows now that this is what love feels like.
author's note
anonymous
August 2 2009, 11:33:49 UTC
The words we leave behind; Japan has a shameless kink for foreign culture.
Did you know?
Half Japanese, Half German anon would like to tell you that she did some research (Jap/eng/German dictionaries) and that the Japanese word Onanii IS derived from the German word onanieren, and entered the Japanese lexicon probably in the late Edo period (early 1800s).
Portugal was the first european country to come in contact with Japan. Portugal, then spain and holland, were the first ones to bring Japan out of his shell.
Between the late 1700s to the 1800s Japan met almost every European nation and stole words from everyone. Japan took the right words from the right people- musical terms from italian, artistic terms from France and medical terms primarily from Germany.
This led to Japan taking words like Penis (pronounced pee-nis) and onanieren from German.
During the 1800s Prussia was still the dominant force. Germany would come in about 50 years later. (Thus young!Germany)
Kasutera is a Japanese cake originating from Portugal. While the Japanese thought it meant the cake itself, it is thought to actually have come from Castilla, the place.
...man, Kiku comes out as such a pervert in this.
karakuri- japanese clockwork dessan- Japanese word (french derived) for design brief/design sketch in art. gomu- japanese (dutch derived) for eraser randoseru- japanese (dutch derived) for backpack engawa- sort of balcony/walkway in japanese houses "Sie können...aussprechen"- 'But you can say my brother's name just fine'. japanese pronunciation of Prussia (Preussen) is very close to the proper german. Messer- german for (any sort of) knife Messu- Japanese word (german derived) for scalpel Gaze- German word for gauze Ga-ze- Japanese (german derived) for medical bandages/gauze shouchuu- japanese potato wine
Re: author's note
anonymous
August 2 2009, 15:42:01 UTC
Utterly fantastic. ♥ I love how there's this strong element of strangeness to it, it really plays up the foreigness that comes with cultural exchange. It's awkward and fascinating, and absolutely lovely.
(My heart nearly broke for poor Kiku at the end, there, too!)
Re: author's note
anonymous
August 2 2009, 17:15:45 UTC
recaptcha: suitor 12. Anon doesn't think there were that many visiting nations in this piece...
I fell in love with this piece when I heard the repetition of Gold for Portugal, and the emphasis on words for things - it shows the tracks of Japan-the-character's mind, the things that fascinate him. The parallels drawn between himself and his land, and his people, and how they think changing how he thinks, are - so rare in this fandom, and so spectacularly done here.
The carrying-over of isolation, even after he has opened his borders, is so sad and so lovely - that he loves at a distance, and accepts this; that he is alone in all of these - he is so alone in his head, except for that moment in the garden with young!Germany.
The way you wrote the scene with Japan-Prussia-Germany all in the same room was just so well done - now, barely two minutes later, what sticks in my mind is Japan's attention on Germany, that Prussia was this annoying background that he had to put up with.
Re: author's note
anonymous
August 6 2009, 05:02:55 UTC
That... was absolutely wonderful.
I almost de-anon'd due to how overwhelmed I feel right now, really.
Well. All I want to say is that was hot, your writing is gorgeous, I love how kinky your Kiku is and I just really love the overall atmosphere. The last bit with the Axis was especially jdkljs. ♥
Re: author's note
anonymous
August 7 2009, 13:38:15 UTC
*is floored* That was incredible, anon. Very plausible for the characters (I feel sorta sorry for Japan, always watching and wanting but never really touching) and extremely hot. ♥
Re: author's note
anonymous
August 8 2009, 23:25:49 UTC
I'm in awe. It's a lovely, wonderfully stylistic and historically accurate piece that's amazingly sensuous. Japan's fascination with cultural exchanges and his growing obsession with Germany was very, very well executed. What a way to take a seemingly simple request and really making it astounding.
Re: author's note
anonymous
August 13 2009, 18:26:13 UTC
U-uh... Sorry, my mind just went completely blank... I don't think I can add much more to this but... That was one of the best fills ever. EVER. Your words and characterizations were amazing and so... sexy.~ Thank you, this made my day.
Re: author's note
anonymous
April 14 2012, 08:44:51 UTC
Random fact:
The German word 'onanieren' comes from 'the sin of Onan,' a Christian bible story where a man 'spills his seed on the ground.' Onanism is also obscure English for masturbation.
“My…my brother?” Germany manages in Japanese. Although already deeper than any Japanese man could hope for, Kiku knows his voice will thicken with age- Germany is hardly more than a teenager. Something swoops tantalisingly low in Kiku’s stomach at the tones and inflections that make his own language sound so indecent.
“He is out in Nagasaki town.” Japan takes a soundless step forward. “What do you have there, Doitsu-san?”
There is a small bundled cloth on the floorboards. Germany opens it carefully and lays it out to show the smaller man kneeling in front of him. Steel glints on soft leather as the light hits the various instruments and bottles. Germany struggles for a moment, trying to find words. “For…for fixing. Ah…fixing injuries.”
“Healing, Doitsu-san?”
He nods but his eyebrows speak discomfort. “Deutschland.”
The longer Japan sits and listens to the younger man intone things the more a fluid sort of awareness begins to fill him. Keep him talking, it whispers. Keep him confused. “Doitsuranndo,” he tries, not really trying. There’s electricity beneath his fingertips.
“Sie können doch das Name meines Bruders gut aussprechen.” He darts his gaze a way for a moment, then turns back, pointing to himself. “Other…name- Ludwig.”
Japan drinks in the words greedily, shifting closer to the not-yet-nation. “So. Ludwig?” He receives a nod- maybe his pronunciation is better this time. “Perhaps you can teach me of your healing? I would be most appreciative.”
Making himself more comfortable, Germany shrugs as if to say to himself, ‘why not?’ “Messer,” he intones in his rich voice, indicating the small metal tool in its pouch. It’s cool and light in Japan’s fingers and fits like it belongs. Not a knife- even more precise than Kiku’s katana at his belt; Germany mimes a cutting motion.
“Messu,” he imitates, turning the scalpel over and touching the blade with his index finger. It slices cleanly through the skin, red blood rising, dripping. Precise, like the angles of Ludwig’s eyes- beautiful precision. Death and life on a knife edge.
Germany’s brow narrows at his blood and he gives a short cry. He grabs his fingers, warm in the March chill. He gropes in his pocket for something and emerges with a scrap of delicate white cloth. It’s wrapped around his finger to stop the bleeding.
“Gaze.” There’s a pulse there, in the tip of his finger between Germany’s. A pulse, low and powerful- powerful like Ludwig’s arms, like Prussian warfare. Pulsing though the air between them, the blood that pulses through his veins as Kiku swallows shakily. It rings in his ears in time with his heartbeat and suddenly Japan wants nothing more than for Germany to slide his palms down his wrists and push him to the floor and whisper medical terms into his skin, lower, lower, those muscles moving against him, hard and unrelenting and hard and-
“Ga-ze.” Japan smiles on the surface and pulls away. “Thank you, Ludwig.
-
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There. Again. Moving closer, Japan presses himself against the pillar, ear inches from the crack in the doorframe. Something low. A muttering, guttural. Germany.
A moan. Kiku freezes.
He knows with the conviction that only a guilty man has. He knows- the breaths, the barely audible shuffling- it’s sex. It’s sex, the sound, pure and rough against the cotton of the futon.
Ludwig says something into the night air, something tense and strained- his voice-
He almost moans, but he claps one hand over his mouth in time. In his mind he can see it as clear as the light from the moon on his feet, Germany, young, arched on the mats, hand slow and strong, denying himself, teasing and gasping in time with the sounds from across the rice-paper. Another word, so raw, rawer than Prussia, raw sex in his ears as they pulse.
His heartbeat has risen. He can’t breathe, but Kiku keeps his hand there because he has to- everything starts to go slightly dizzy, but the swirling in his heart just throbs wonderfully lower, and just like that Japan is painfully hard, his other hand inching over his legs.
The first touch comes as Germany takes a sharp breath mere metres away; he jerks and sobs between his teeth, head thrown back against the wall. He tries just fingertips, but the muffled sounds of hand on flesh maddeningly in his ears drives him crazy with the pounding in his fingers and every vein and artery, and Kiku just grabs, too desperate even to disrobe, just rubs through his layers of silk. It’s Germany’s hands on him now, and he wants- he wants Germany’s hands, he wants his cock, he wants to feel him inside of him, between his legs-
-his foot hits the wooden frame of the door with a bang.
Shit.
Everything is frozen in place- Japan knows that inside and outside they have the expression of panic on their faces, and that just makes him harder- makes his mind blanker with alarm.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Nothing else to do, afraid, risking it, gone, Japan opens the door with a bang, feigning a sudden entrance, made cunning by terror.
“What-“ he pants out, red with embarrassment but made bold by arousal. “-what was…what were you doing, Ludwig?”
Germany is covered in his crumpled blankets from the waist down; Japan doesn’t know if he’s relived or disappointed. Ludwig splutters, trembling so hard Japan thinks he hears his teeth chatter. “I…Japan, I’m…sorry, please, Gomenna-“
That voice stumbling over his own language sends a surge of lust to his groin, right to his cock, and Kiku groans. To Germany it probably sounds like anger- disgust. Japan is disgusted with himself, his erection hidden by the fold of his hakama, disgusted, aroused, wanting so badly to touch himself again, worse than he has ever wanted before. “What was it, Germany? Tell me. What were you doing?”
“I didn’t know, I didn’t know you were there, I-“
“What was it, Ludwig?”
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Japan, shaking himself, barely containing the coil in his stomach (Begging in German, oh-GOD), takes him by the shoulder, hushing him. “I’m not angry,” he reassures him with the calm of a con artist, clever fingers touching. “Please calm down Ludwig. I …I understand. I merely wish to know what…how one describes what you were doing in your language.”
He’s never done this. Never. Not with Francis, not with Arthur, not with Portugal. Never has he been this bold. He shouldn’t be- he’s Japan, reserved, not meant to. Not meant to, but the Cultural opening at Nagasaki- it’s driven him insane and this is the proof, the inane proof of the guilt between his thighs. It feels like a confession but it’s not. It’s learning the act that he does to Germany’s muted breaths, learning the language, the words, the very act itself-
Silence. Then, “…onanieren. Verb. Onanieren.”
Japan smiles. A scholar’s smile. “Ah.” Our little secret. “I do not think any worse of you, friend Doitsu. Please, let this not get between us.”
Germany nods, uneasy but relieved, perhaps trusting.
Kiku finishes the job outside on the engawa balcony, arm on the railing barely supporting him. He groans out Germany’s name- Doitsu, Ludwig, Doitsu -in between gasps, almost sobbing with pleasure, trying to be slow but wanting more than anything to just come.
Maybe, he thinks, exhausted, the most powerful orgasm of his life pulsing through him, this is what love feels like.
-
One hundred years later, World War II, there is sex.
Japan leans against the walls of his home, listening to the sounds filtering through the rice paper. It’s hushed voices, German, skin on skin and moans. It’s sex, that sound. Japan closes his eyes and pushes against the pillar, breathless, letting out a whine as he runs his fingertips under his white military uniform.
Palm deliciously wet against his cock, he throws his head back. Kiku can’t hear the other voice from the next room, wills himself not to hear the higher, nasal sounds hidden by that voice.
And he comes, biting down his sounds, still moving against his own hand, imagining Germany, imagining a different world where he isn’t outside but inside, sated.
Italy and Germany have sex. Kiku masturbates.
Panting, empty cold curling in his toes, ever the willing third wheel, Japan knows now that this is what love feels like.
-
Reply
Did you know?
Half Japanese, Half German anon would like to tell you that she did some research (Jap/eng/German dictionaries) and that the Japanese word Onanii IS derived from the German word onanieren, and entered the Japanese lexicon probably in the late Edo period (early 1800s).
Portugal was the first european country to come in contact with Japan. Portugal, then spain and holland, were the first ones to bring Japan out of his shell.
Between the late 1700s to the 1800s Japan met almost every European nation and stole words from everyone. Japan took the right words from the right people- musical terms from italian, artistic terms from France and medical terms primarily from Germany.
This led to Japan taking words like Penis (pronounced pee-nis) and onanieren from German.
During the 1800s Prussia was still the dominant force. Germany would come in about 50 years later. (Thus young!Germany)
Kasutera is a Japanese cake originating from Portugal. While the Japanese thought it meant the cake itself, it is thought to actually have come from Castilla, the place.
...man, Kiku comes out as such a pervert in this.
karakuri- japanese clockwork
dessan- Japanese word (french derived) for design brief/design sketch in art.
gomu- japanese (dutch derived) for eraser
randoseru- japanese (dutch derived) for backpack
engawa- sort of balcony/walkway in japanese houses
"Sie können...aussprechen"- 'But you can say my brother's name just fine'. japanese pronunciation of Prussia (Preussen) is very close to the proper german.
Messer- german for (any sort of) knife
Messu- Japanese word (german derived) for scalpel
Gaze- German word for gauze
Ga-ze- Japanese (german derived) for medical bandages/gauze
shouchuu- japanese potato wine
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(My heart nearly broke for poor Kiku at the end, there, too!)
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I fell in love with this piece when I heard the repetition of Gold for Portugal, and the emphasis on words for things - it shows the tracks of Japan-the-character's mind, the things that fascinate him. The parallels drawn between himself and his land, and his people, and how they think changing how he thinks, are - so rare in this fandom, and so spectacularly done here.
The carrying-over of isolation, even after he has opened his borders, is so sad and so lovely - that he loves at a distance, and accepts this; that he is alone in all of these - he is so alone in his head, except for that moment in the garden with young!Germany.
The way you wrote the scene with Japan-Prussia-Germany all in the same room was just so well done - now, barely two minutes later, what sticks in my mind is Japan's attention on Germany, that Prussia was this annoying background that he had to put up with.
This is beautiful.
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I almost de-anon'd due to how overwhelmed I feel right now, really.
Well. All I want to say is that was hot, your writing is gorgeous, I love how kinky your Kiku is and I just really love the overall atmosphere. The last bit with the Axis was especially jdkljs. ♥
In short, you have my love.
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Great job!
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i love you so much it's ont even funny
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The German word 'onanieren' comes from 'the sin of Onan,' a Christian bible story where a man 'spills his seed on the ground.' Onanism is also obscure English for masturbation.
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