[APH] Tango Flamenco
Title: Tango Flamenco
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia / Hetalia World Series
Characters/Pairings: Spain/South Italy
Genre/Rating/Warnings: romance/PG/none
Summary/Excerpt: Spain and Romano dance the Tango Flamenco.
A/N: This is meant to be read before / after / while listening to Armik's Tango Flamenco. The fic's in 2nd person POV and guess who you are~ Teehee.
Tango Flamenco
Heat gurgles in your stomach. It’s thrilling, it’s unnerving. You can’t determine what exactly makes your heart race faster and sends tingles to the tips of fingers and toes. The air around you crackles with electricity and the familiar rush from the anticipation of the dance courses through your frame. You’re a little nervous too, because the partner waiting for you across the dance floor is not the Antonio you know. Then again, you aren’t you either. Not for this moment.
Both of you move.
Like your centers of gravity tug you closer to each other just so. Just so that the only presences you feel of him on you are the warmth of his breath on your neck, the sure grip of his hand on your shoulder and your interlaced fingers. You catch the whiff of carnations on his clothing as both of you glide across the dance floor in sure, measured steps. The desire to hold more of him builds in your belly, spreading outward like a ripple. Control, his gait tells you. You inhale and pull apart as the tempo picks up.
Both of you raise your hands in the air and encircle each other while stomping in rhythm.
Like mating birds, you seek to tantalize him as he does you. The breath hitches in your throat. You can’t tell who’s enticing who. He leans close and you pull back. You feel a triumph as he pursues you with renewed determination. A twirl makes your head light. He catches you and your skin heats up from the contact. After a maelstrom of movement, you both fall back into control. You lace your fingers in his as his hand settles on the curve of your waist.
Both of you slide effortlessly across the floor once more.
You swallow at the sight of sweat beading on the soft spot between his ear and his jaw. He propels you and again you smell carnations with a hint of his musk you’ve inhaled countless times waking up on languid Sunday mornings. You feel the electric prick of air cooling your own sweat off your arms.
His eyes meet yours and your heart pounds. Your entire body freezes for a single moment as his emerald gaze holds you fast. Like one hypnotized, you can’t look away and passion rises to your chest. You feel violated somehow, yet as if licked by delicious sin, you want more. More than contact, his gaze surpasses intimacy. You lick your dry lips as those eyes send shivers down your spine.
The world contracts and the room grows hotter. Both of you engage in a light banter with your feet.
His knees brush your thighs and the heat rises to your neck in genuine shock. Control, you remind him through the tightening of your fingers.
But you too are at wit’s end. This damnable craving to have him has built up since the music began. Desire oozes from him and tangles with your own. In a whirl of dance, your noses briefly touch, teasing, and you could almost taste the tang of his lips.
Never have you felt frustration mount so high as he pulls back and smirks. Ah, there is to be another dance after this, when you two are alone with no tangueros or guitars. Your chest constricts with excitement as you both glide to the final steps. The last chord is strummed and both of you come crashing beautifully from your high.
END
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia / Hetalia World Series
Characters/Pairings: Spain/South Italy
Genre/Rating/Warnings: romance/PG/none
Summary/Excerpt: Spain and Romano dance the Tango Flamenco.
A/N: This is meant to be read before / after / while listening to Armik's Tango Flamenco. The fic's in 2nd person POV and guess who you are~ Teehee.
Tango Flamenco
Heat gurgles in your stomach. It’s thrilling, it’s unnerving. You can’t determine what exactly makes your heart race faster and sends tingles to the tips of fingers and toes. The air around you crackles with electricity and the familiar rush from the anticipation of the dance courses through your frame. You’re a little nervous too, because the partner waiting for you across the dance floor is not the Antonio you know. Then again, you aren’t you either. Not for this moment.
Both of you move.
Like your centers of gravity tug you closer to each other just so. Just so that the only presences you feel of him on you are the warmth of his breath on your neck, the sure grip of his hand on your shoulder and your interlaced fingers. You catch the whiff of carnations on his clothing as both of you glide across the dance floor in sure, measured steps. The desire to hold more of him builds in your belly, spreading outward like a ripple. Control, his gait tells you. You inhale and pull apart as the tempo picks up.
Both of you raise your hands in the air and encircle each other while stomping in rhythm.
Like mating birds, you seek to tantalize him as he does you. The breath hitches in your throat. You can’t tell who’s enticing who. He leans close and you pull back. You feel a triumph as he pursues you with renewed determination. A twirl makes your head light. He catches you and your skin heats up from the contact. After a maelstrom of movement, you both fall back into control. You lace your fingers in his as his hand settles on the curve of your waist.
Both of you slide effortlessly across the floor once more.
You swallow at the sight of sweat beading on the soft spot between his ear and his jaw. He propels you and again you smell carnations with a hint of his musk you’ve inhaled countless times waking up on languid Sunday mornings. You feel the electric prick of air cooling your own sweat off your arms.
His eyes meet yours and your heart pounds. Your entire body freezes for a single moment as his emerald gaze holds you fast. Like one hypnotized, you can’t look away and passion rises to your chest. You feel violated somehow, yet as if licked by delicious sin, you want more. More than contact, his gaze surpasses intimacy. You lick your dry lips as those eyes send shivers down your spine.
The world contracts and the room grows hotter. Both of you engage in a light banter with your feet.
His knees brush your thighs and the heat rises to your neck in genuine shock. Control, you remind him through the tightening of your fingers.
But you too are at wit’s end. This damnable craving to have him has built up since the music began. Desire oozes from him and tangles with your own. In a whirl of dance, your noses briefly touch, teasing, and you could almost taste the tang of his lips.
Never have you felt frustration mount so high as he pulls back and smirks. Ah, there is to be another dance after this, when you two are alone with no tangueros or guitars. Your chest constricts with excitement as you both glide to the final steps. The last chord is strummed and both of you come crashing beautifully from your high.
END