Hetalia Kink meme part 9 -- CLOSED
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hetalia kink meme
part 9
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( Christmas Reveals )
“In some ways.” He stands before her altar. She turns to lie on her back and look up at him.
“You must have hated him.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Oh? I did, most of the time.” She looks up at him through those long eyelashes, like she’s halfway asleep. “But not enough to kill him.”
Germania gives no response. Truthfully, he did not hate Rome. He only disagreed with him. Only proved to him, by ending his life, that nothing lasts forever. Germania strongly suspects that the two of them will meet again someday. Perhaps in an afterlife, or something like it. And he will explain his motivations then, if he has to, to Rome himself. A death by violence was the truest gift he knew how to give, to the truest friend and rival he ever had.
Greece watches him. Slowly, she takes the edges of her linen gown between her fingers and tugs it open. It puddles around her, white rumples lovely as shed wings. Germania bends so that their faces are close together. So that they are sharing breath, hers warm and fast and his cold and even. His hair falls down over his shoulders, a curtain around them. Tangled, dirty, golden.
“This is a sacred place,” she whispers.
“Yes,” Germania answers, before he climbs onto the altar with her. “But not to me.”
Her arms loop around him. When they kiss, she sucks and bites his lower lip. Like Rome, she is a lover. She pushes her cheek against his, and her hips against his, and murmurs-touch my breasts, touch my breasts-and he does. Germania sheds his armor piece by piece as he needs to. It clatters against the marble floor and echoes. And it crosses his mind as he has his face pressed against her neck, he wants to burn this place down. It’s too beautiful, and oh-to have her in her own burning temple. To have her moans and the creak of the flames and-But the place is stone. It will crumble with time, perhaps. It will bury itself with age. But what would fire do to it? Nothing. So he places kisses down her cheek, down her throat and chest instead. Each brush of his lips is tender and true. Just little sparks.
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