Axis Powers Hetalia - Hungary/Ukraine - Scars
Title: Scars
Author: Chaser/ iroh_fancier
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: Hungary/Ukraine
Rating: NC-17/M (probably more of an R since it's not all that explicit, but I'm doing the higher rating to be safe here)
Warnings: Sex, potentially triggering insults about breasts, discussion of war wounds.
Request/Prompt: First touched
Word Count: 2,835
Summary/Notes: Ukraine is uncomfortable with her large breasts. Her new girlfriend tries to rectify that.
Ukraine’s H cup breasts had been a joke for centuries, and some Nations simply weren’t content with snickering behind her back. Until today, however, not even France had quite dared to interrupt a World Meeting to make a jibe about them.
“You could auction off your vast tracks of land, you know,” Prussia had remarked during Ukraine’s presentation about her ongoing recession. His tone was casual, breezy even. He might have been commenting on the weather, or the dubious quality of the food England had brought in for lunch. “What?” he asked when his brother and several other Nations stared at him in horror. “Oh, like you wouldn’t pay good money for a piece of that. She could fix her whole economy if she-”
The last thing Hungary wanted to do was break up a World Meeting with senseless violence. But seeing as it was only Prussia, she had no qualms about removing the frying pan from her purse and re-introducing it to the back of his skull. Prussia, who had not had the pleasure of its company in at least a week, promptly tumbled forward onto the conference table, his face frozen in a smirk even as it landed in the middle of England’s black pudding. And that, apparently, had been the signal for a very flustered Japan to motion for a lunch break.
“We will break for an hour,” Germany said when the motion passed overwhelmingly. “And when we return, there will be no interruptions, no crude humor and _no random acts of violence_,” the last instruction he directed at Hungary as he hauled his older brother out of the ruined pudding.
“Where did all the little birds come from?” Prussia said deliriously. “Hey, West. Can you see all those awesome little birds?”
“Try not to talk, Prussia,” Germany grumbled as he steered his brother from the room.
“The pudding isn’t the only thing I made,” England said as the Nations filed out after them.
“I’ve brought bangers and mash. Jellied eels. Spotted dick?”
When no one acknowledged him, England stalked out of the room, muttering about thankless bastards who he didn’t care for one bit at all. His departure left only Hungary and Ukraine, who was still standing in front of the screen as her ancient laptop hummed with the effort of the power point presentation. Her breathing was ragged, and Hungary could tell that she was trying not to cry.
“Ukraine?” Hungary taped the switches on the wall, flooding the room with light.
The Slavic Nation covered her mouth with a hand and looked away, her cheeks scarlet and her eyes glossy with tears.
“They were all laughing at me,” she whispered.
Hungary clenched her fist around the handle of the frying pan. “Prussia’s an asshole. He has to say something disgusting or irrelevant at every meeting, and I have to brain him with my frying pan. I think there’s even a rule about it somewhere.”
She had hoped Ukraine would laugh, but if anything, the joke seemed to make her even more miserable. “They were all thinking it, though. Everybody looks at me and-and sees-” she cupped her hands over her breasts. “And they figure it’s all right.” She shook her head, and Hungary was instantly reminded of her brother; Russia always looked young and vulnerable, too, when he was humiliated. It made her feel deeply uncomfortable. She had never been good at comforting people, and when she and Austria had been married, she had preferred to leave most of it up to him, just as he left things like military decisions and dealing with Prussia’s antics in her hands. But their marriage had fallen victim to human politics nearly a century ago, and anyway, Roderich was home in Vienna preparing for a concert. She had no choice but to handle her girlfriend’s tears by herself.
Anyway, Hungary mused as she gently rubbed Ukraine’s back, he’d been shocked enough last week when his ex-wife (and his best friend still) told him that she had just started dating a female Nation. He hadn’t known what to say then and Hungary suspected he wouldn’t know now-in fact, she suspected he’d concocted the “upcoming violin quartet” as a polite excuse to give him more time to “process,” as he'd probably put it.
“Do you want to get something to eat?”
Ukraine shook her head again. “They’re all probably in the restaurant.”
“We can have something delivered. Italy said there are 10 different pizzerias in a two mile radius-and he would know.” Hungary tried not to crinkle her nose; the younger Italy brother was one of her favorite Nations, but no matter how many Italian restaurants he dragged her to, she had yet to build up a tolerance for anything but basic spaghetti.
But Ukraine seemed to like the idea, so that was good enough for her. And thankfully, the nearest pizza parlor also offered spaghetti. Although it was one of America’s abominable chain restaurants, Hungary had to admit as she twirled the noodles around her fork that the fare wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. As the two sat on the bed with the pizza box between them, she decided that it was also time for a change in subject. Unlike Roderich, who had never seemed to know what to do with any Nation shorter than his breastbone, Ukraine liked children; when Iceland’s volcano had erupted and her flight had been delayed in Dusseldorf for several days, she’d helped one of her people and her four children find lodging until the skies cleared, feeding, bathing and playing with her children whenever the poor woman needed to rest. With this in mind, Hungary decided to tell her about Italy when they lived in Holy Roman Empire’s house.
“Did you really put him in your dresses?” Ukraine asked as she wiped some pizza grease from her lips. She was already smiling again.
Hungary shook more pepper onto her plate. “Austria insisted on making him wear a dress, because he was so young, and he seemed to really like it. He was always saying that my dresses were prettier, though, because their colors were brighter, and because they had hats.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why he was obsessed with hats. But my dresses were all too big for him to really play dress up, so I made him one of his own.”
“He was so different from Natalia,” Ukraine mused as she stole a meatball from Hungary’s plate. “She always hated the dresses I made for her when she was small.” As she sat up, a button popped from her blouse and landed face down in the marinara, exposing a stretch of ecru lace and an inch of tantalizing pale cleavage.
Hungary felt a blush prickle in her cheeks and a flutter somewhere deep within the folds between her thighs. Ukraine’s smile vanished instantly.
“Oh, no. It’s come off again. And right in the-” she sighed and fished through the sauce to retrieve the drowning pearl.
“Do you have your-” but the word failed her. Instead, Hungary made a sewing motion with two fingers.
Ukraine produced a sewing kit from a pocket in her slacks. “Yes. I have to carry it with me everywhere.”
Hungary watched as she deftly cleaned the button against a napkin and thought about the best way to phrase the next suggestion. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you took it off, though?” was the best she could think up.
“I’m used to having to mend it in all kinds of places,” Ukraine insisted. “On the airplane the same button popped off my traveling blouse at least eight times.” She sighed again. “Even when I make my own clothes, this seems to happen.”
She looked up as Hungary touched the needle poised between her fingertips. “Katya, it’s all right. I’m not going to laugh.”
Ukraine looked doubtful.
Hungary smiled and caressed her cheek. “Would I be here if I thought anything about you was ugly?”
The doubtful look only deepened, giving Hungary no choice but to kiss it before sitting back and untucking her own blouse from the waistband of her skirt.
“Elizaveta?”
Hungary let her fingers stray to the first button on her collar. “Hmm?”
“I’m sorry, love,” Ukraine lowered her gaze. “I know how much you want to, but we’ve only dated for a few weeks-”
“It’s too soon for sex,” Hungary agreed. “But there isn’t any harm in letting you look if I want you to, is there?”
Ukraine’s blush had travelled all the way down her neck. “No, I guess there isn’t.”
“Good.” The blouse pooled around her hips and Hungary cast it off with a flick of her wrist. The bra beneath was serviceable-cotton edged with just enough lace to be attractive enough to catch the eye while the wearer sprung the clasp at her breastbone. Which Hungary did without further ado. She opened the material like curtains on a stage.
From the look on her face, Ukraine was trying very hard to ignore them, but Hungary knew it was not out of concern for modesty. Hungary kept her expression neutral as she traced a finger along the scar that bisected her left breast.
It was generally inadvisable to talk about exes with a new lover, especially when that new lover hadn’t been around for more than a few weeks. In her centuries of living, however, she had learned that the most inadvisability of many actions were often complete crap. “It’s an old wound,” she explained. “During the War of Austrian Succession, Maria Theresa asked for my help when Prussia took over Silesia.”
Ukraine looked up at last, and her brow furrowed immediately. “Prussia did that?” Her fingers clenched into a fist.
Hungary snorted. “That weakling? Please! I’ve landed more blows on him than he has on me, and he never hurt me even half this serious. One of his soldiers got lucky, though. When I was fighting off some of his friends, he sneaked up and slashed me right across the chest. If Nations healed like humans, it would probably look a lot worse.”
“I’m sorry.”
Hungary caressed the scar again. “So was Roderich. He’s always been a gentleman about everything, but it was an adjustment, especially when it was mending. And even now, it’s hard not to be ashamed sometimes, even if Roderich would never mention it and Prussia knows I’d kick his ass if he did.” She flashed Ukraine a smile that she didn’t have to feign at all. “But I’m also proud to be scarred, because it means I’m willing to fight for Nations I love. I’d do it again for Roderich, and I’d do it for Feliks, and I’d do it for you.”
One of the things Hungary liked best about Ukraine was the sweet, shy way her lover smiled.
“You would really?”
“Of course!” Hungary winked. “I love you, Katya. And that means I also love your breasts.”
“That is the problem. Everybody loves them.”
“No, not like that! They’re your land, your steppes. Part of what makes you _you_.” She reached out and rested her hand on top of Ukraine’s. “I don’t think they’re ugly or too big. And when you’re ready, I’d really like to see them.”
“Wait.” Ukraine caught her hand as Hungary went to close her bra. “Don’t do that yet.” Her free hand drifted hesitantly to the top button of her blouse and pushed it back through the hole. Aware that her own working nipple was hardening considerably from the cold and from desire, Hungary restrained herself from offering to help as Ukraine tremulously opened the rest, revealing a truly impressive brassiere that also closed in the front. With eyes closed and head turned demurely, Ukraine undid the line of hooks and shrugged the garment back. Liberated, her breasts spread and sank down to the middle of her chest. Their nipples were large and a chrysanthemum pink.
Hungary had never seen a more beautiful pair. “Wow,” she whispered. Then, hesitantly, “You can touch me, you know. Can I touch you, too?”
Ukraine nodded hesitantly, as if the lightest touch might cause her pain.
“Here.” Hungary took her hand and trailed it down the length of her scar. This seemed to help her girlfriend focus. Gasping, Ukraine looked up and retraced the path with her index finger.
“It’s soft,” she said tremulously. “Like silk. I had thought it would feel…rough. Like sandpaper. Or terrycloth.”
“Well, you know what they say about appearances.” Slowly, Hungary repeated the motion on her girlfriend. Her breasts were softer than her own, probably because of their size. They reminded her of touching a mouse pad, and Ukraine laughed when she told her so.
“Japan has mouse pads that are shaped like women. The wrist rests are their breasts,” she said.
Hungary couldn’t help laughing. “Japan has some very strange ideas about novelty goods.”
“Umm,” Ukraine shifted nervously. “I only know because I’ve bought a few.”
“You have?! Get out!”
“No,” Ukraine insisted. “I-the girls he draws on them are very pretty. And even if I don’t like my breasts, Elizaveta, I do like breasts.”
It was an absurd thing to say, Hungary thought. But Ukraine seemed to know it, because she was giggling, and her girlfriend couldn’t help but join in. Just as abruptly, they both stopped and looked into each other’s eyes.
When Hungary pushed the pizza box aside, Ukraine didn’t protest. Nor did she when the smaller Nation closed the space between them and climbed onto her large, firm thighs.
“Mhh,” Hungary cupped her chin and pulled her into a short kiss. And then, when Ukraine did not object, into a longer and deeper one.
“Nh,” Ukraine agreed as a heavy arm slipped around her waist and a hand spread across her scarred breast. It hadn’t been as sensitive since the injury, but it possessed enough feeling still for Hungary to tell that Ukraine was squeezing it.
“Katya,” she moaned as she returned the gesture. “Can you feel this?”
“A little. It’s difficult, because they are so big.”
“Is this better?” Hungary rubbed her thumb across the wide aureole, which shrank slightly at her touch.
“Yes.”
“Is this even better?” Shifting her weight, Hungary bowed her head and repeated the action with her tongue. Ukraine’s hitch in breath and the jolt as her body stiffened was the only confirmation Hungary needed. “God, these are so pretty,” she whispered as she licked and nuzzled. “So pretty, Katya.”
“E-Elizaveta,” Ukraine’s hand tangled in her long hair. “Please…”
“I’m not hurting you, am I? If you want me to sto-”
“No. No, please. Don’t stop.”
“Mh,” Hungary agreed before wrapping her lips around the narrowing center and suckling like a child.
“Oh!” The hand dug into her scalp as Ukraine arched her back. “Elizaveta! I-I think…nh…”
“Mhh?” Hungary flicked her tongue across the pebbled tip.
“Yes. Yes. I’m going to-” And Ukraine arched again before letting out a little cry. When Hungary looked up inquisitively, she noted the sheepish grin on her girlfriend’s face.
“I-I suppose I am sensitive in other places,” the larger Nation explained. “And I haven’t-not in several years. It’s difficult, when most Nations are males. Sorry. I-I think I’m babbling.”
Hungary laughed. “It’s all right. Mhh?”
She wasn’t prepared for Ukraine’s kiss, or for being pushed onto her back. “It isn’t fair for me to leave you,” Ukraine explained as she kissed the scar. “But-if you don’t want-”
“I do want,” Hungary said as she parted her thighs. And as inexperienced as Ukraine claimed to be, she thought, the Nation certainly knew how to use her fingers. They had hardly slipped up her skirt and into her panties before they were squeezing her clitoris. Hungary only managed a few desperate pushes of her own before she drenched herself.
The two cuddled together on the pillows, caressing each other’s hair and kissing gently as they both came down. Hungary was vaguely aware that her foot was missing its high heel, and resting in a lukewarm piece of pizza.
“We should go,” Ukraine said after kissing her hair. “I don’t want to, but it’s been at least an hour. And I don’t want Germany to yell at us.”
“If Germany should be yelling at anyone, it’s his older brother. And anyway, I’m not going back when I’m all sweaty and wet and probably covered with pasta sauce. I need a shower.” She kissed her lover’s fingers, tasting herself.
Ukraine made a thoughtful noise. “I think I need one, too. Would you mind if-well, if I joined you? Since we are sharing a room, it would save time, and water…” she kissed her lover again. “And I would like to show you some parts of myself that I like better.”
Hungary laughed and pulled Ukraine into a tight hug. “Only if you’ll let me wash these,” she said. And when she grabbed both of her breasts and squeezed, Ukraine laughed instead of flinching.
Author: Chaser/ iroh_fancier
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: Hungary/Ukraine
Rating: NC-17/M (probably more of an R since it's not all that explicit, but I'm doing the higher rating to be safe here)
Warnings: Sex, potentially triggering insults about breasts, discussion of war wounds.
Request/Prompt: First touched
Word Count: 2,835
Summary/Notes: Ukraine is uncomfortable with her large breasts. Her new girlfriend tries to rectify that.
Ukraine’s H cup breasts had been a joke for centuries, and some Nations simply weren’t content with snickering behind her back. Until today, however, not even France had quite dared to interrupt a World Meeting to make a jibe about them.
“You could auction off your vast tracks of land, you know,” Prussia had remarked during Ukraine’s presentation about her ongoing recession. His tone was casual, breezy even. He might have been commenting on the weather, or the dubious quality of the food England had brought in for lunch. “What?” he asked when his brother and several other Nations stared at him in horror. “Oh, like you wouldn’t pay good money for a piece of that. She could fix her whole economy if she-”
The last thing Hungary wanted to do was break up a World Meeting with senseless violence. But seeing as it was only Prussia, she had no qualms about removing the frying pan from her purse and re-introducing it to the back of his skull. Prussia, who had not had the pleasure of its company in at least a week, promptly tumbled forward onto the conference table, his face frozen in a smirk even as it landed in the middle of England’s black pudding. And that, apparently, had been the signal for a very flustered Japan to motion for a lunch break.
“We will break for an hour,” Germany said when the motion passed overwhelmingly. “And when we return, there will be no interruptions, no crude humor and _no random acts of violence_,” the last instruction he directed at Hungary as he hauled his older brother out of the ruined pudding.
“Where did all the little birds come from?” Prussia said deliriously. “Hey, West. Can you see all those awesome little birds?”
“Try not to talk, Prussia,” Germany grumbled as he steered his brother from the room.
“The pudding isn’t the only thing I made,” England said as the Nations filed out after them.
“I’ve brought bangers and mash. Jellied eels. Spotted dick?”
When no one acknowledged him, England stalked out of the room, muttering about thankless bastards who he didn’t care for one bit at all. His departure left only Hungary and Ukraine, who was still standing in front of the screen as her ancient laptop hummed with the effort of the power point presentation. Her breathing was ragged, and Hungary could tell that she was trying not to cry.
“Ukraine?” Hungary taped the switches on the wall, flooding the room with light.
The Slavic Nation covered her mouth with a hand and looked away, her cheeks scarlet and her eyes glossy with tears.
“They were all laughing at me,” she whispered.
Hungary clenched her fist around the handle of the frying pan. “Prussia’s an asshole. He has to say something disgusting or irrelevant at every meeting, and I have to brain him with my frying pan. I think there’s even a rule about it somewhere.”
She had hoped Ukraine would laugh, but if anything, the joke seemed to make her even more miserable. “They were all thinking it, though. Everybody looks at me and-and sees-” she cupped her hands over her breasts. “And they figure it’s all right.” She shook her head, and Hungary was instantly reminded of her brother; Russia always looked young and vulnerable, too, when he was humiliated. It made her feel deeply uncomfortable. She had never been good at comforting people, and when she and Austria had been married, she had preferred to leave most of it up to him, just as he left things like military decisions and dealing with Prussia’s antics in her hands. But their marriage had fallen victim to human politics nearly a century ago, and anyway, Roderich was home in Vienna preparing for a concert. She had no choice but to handle her girlfriend’s tears by herself.
Anyway, Hungary mused as she gently rubbed Ukraine’s back, he’d been shocked enough last week when his ex-wife (and his best friend still) told him that she had just started dating a female Nation. He hadn’t known what to say then and Hungary suspected he wouldn’t know now-in fact, she suspected he’d concocted the “upcoming violin quartet” as a polite excuse to give him more time to “process,” as he'd probably put it.
“Do you want to get something to eat?”
Ukraine shook her head again. “They’re all probably in the restaurant.”
“We can have something delivered. Italy said there are 10 different pizzerias in a two mile radius-and he would know.” Hungary tried not to crinkle her nose; the younger Italy brother was one of her favorite Nations, but no matter how many Italian restaurants he dragged her to, she had yet to build up a tolerance for anything but basic spaghetti.
But Ukraine seemed to like the idea, so that was good enough for her. And thankfully, the nearest pizza parlor also offered spaghetti. Although it was one of America’s abominable chain restaurants, Hungary had to admit as she twirled the noodles around her fork that the fare wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. As the two sat on the bed with the pizza box between them, she decided that it was also time for a change in subject. Unlike Roderich, who had never seemed to know what to do with any Nation shorter than his breastbone, Ukraine liked children; when Iceland’s volcano had erupted and her flight had been delayed in Dusseldorf for several days, she’d helped one of her people and her four children find lodging until the skies cleared, feeding, bathing and playing with her children whenever the poor woman needed to rest. With this in mind, Hungary decided to tell her about Italy when they lived in Holy Roman Empire’s house.
“Did you really put him in your dresses?” Ukraine asked as she wiped some pizza grease from her lips. She was already smiling again.
Hungary shook more pepper onto her plate. “Austria insisted on making him wear a dress, because he was so young, and he seemed to really like it. He was always saying that my dresses were prettier, though, because their colors were brighter, and because they had hats.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why he was obsessed with hats. But my dresses were all too big for him to really play dress up, so I made him one of his own.”
“He was so different from Natalia,” Ukraine mused as she stole a meatball from Hungary’s plate. “She always hated the dresses I made for her when she was small.” As she sat up, a button popped from her blouse and landed face down in the marinara, exposing a stretch of ecru lace and an inch of tantalizing pale cleavage.
Hungary felt a blush prickle in her cheeks and a flutter somewhere deep within the folds between her thighs. Ukraine’s smile vanished instantly.
“Oh, no. It’s come off again. And right in the-” she sighed and fished through the sauce to retrieve the drowning pearl.
“Do you have your-” but the word failed her. Instead, Hungary made a sewing motion with two fingers.
Ukraine produced a sewing kit from a pocket in her slacks. “Yes. I have to carry it with me everywhere.”
Hungary watched as she deftly cleaned the button against a napkin and thought about the best way to phrase the next suggestion. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you took it off, though?” was the best she could think up.
“I’m used to having to mend it in all kinds of places,” Ukraine insisted. “On the airplane the same button popped off my traveling blouse at least eight times.” She sighed again. “Even when I make my own clothes, this seems to happen.”
She looked up as Hungary touched the needle poised between her fingertips. “Katya, it’s all right. I’m not going to laugh.”
Ukraine looked doubtful.
Hungary smiled and caressed her cheek. “Would I be here if I thought anything about you was ugly?”
The doubtful look only deepened, giving Hungary no choice but to kiss it before sitting back and untucking her own blouse from the waistband of her skirt.
“Elizaveta?”
Hungary let her fingers stray to the first button on her collar. “Hmm?”
“I’m sorry, love,” Ukraine lowered her gaze. “I know how much you want to, but we’ve only dated for a few weeks-”
“It’s too soon for sex,” Hungary agreed. “But there isn’t any harm in letting you look if I want you to, is there?”
Ukraine’s blush had travelled all the way down her neck. “No, I guess there isn’t.”
“Good.” The blouse pooled around her hips and Hungary cast it off with a flick of her wrist. The bra beneath was serviceable-cotton edged with just enough lace to be attractive enough to catch the eye while the wearer sprung the clasp at her breastbone. Which Hungary did without further ado. She opened the material like curtains on a stage.
From the look on her face, Ukraine was trying very hard to ignore them, but Hungary knew it was not out of concern for modesty. Hungary kept her expression neutral as she traced a finger along the scar that bisected her left breast.
It was generally inadvisable to talk about exes with a new lover, especially when that new lover hadn’t been around for more than a few weeks. In her centuries of living, however, she had learned that the most inadvisability of many actions were often complete crap. “It’s an old wound,” she explained. “During the War of Austrian Succession, Maria Theresa asked for my help when Prussia took over Silesia.”
Ukraine looked up at last, and her brow furrowed immediately. “Prussia did that?” Her fingers clenched into a fist.
Hungary snorted. “That weakling? Please! I’ve landed more blows on him than he has on me, and he never hurt me even half this serious. One of his soldiers got lucky, though. When I was fighting off some of his friends, he sneaked up and slashed me right across the chest. If Nations healed like humans, it would probably look a lot worse.”
“I’m sorry.”
Hungary caressed the scar again. “So was Roderich. He’s always been a gentleman about everything, but it was an adjustment, especially when it was mending. And even now, it’s hard not to be ashamed sometimes, even if Roderich would never mention it and Prussia knows I’d kick his ass if he did.” She flashed Ukraine a smile that she didn’t have to feign at all. “But I’m also proud to be scarred, because it means I’m willing to fight for Nations I love. I’d do it again for Roderich, and I’d do it for Feliks, and I’d do it for you.”
One of the things Hungary liked best about Ukraine was the sweet, shy way her lover smiled.
“You would really?”
“Of course!” Hungary winked. “I love you, Katya. And that means I also love your breasts.”
“That is the problem. Everybody loves them.”
“No, not like that! They’re your land, your steppes. Part of what makes you _you_.” She reached out and rested her hand on top of Ukraine’s. “I don’t think they’re ugly or too big. And when you’re ready, I’d really like to see them.”
“Wait.” Ukraine caught her hand as Hungary went to close her bra. “Don’t do that yet.” Her free hand drifted hesitantly to the top button of her blouse and pushed it back through the hole. Aware that her own working nipple was hardening considerably from the cold and from desire, Hungary restrained herself from offering to help as Ukraine tremulously opened the rest, revealing a truly impressive brassiere that also closed in the front. With eyes closed and head turned demurely, Ukraine undid the line of hooks and shrugged the garment back. Liberated, her breasts spread and sank down to the middle of her chest. Their nipples were large and a chrysanthemum pink.
Hungary had never seen a more beautiful pair. “Wow,” she whispered. Then, hesitantly, “You can touch me, you know. Can I touch you, too?”
Ukraine nodded hesitantly, as if the lightest touch might cause her pain.
“Here.” Hungary took her hand and trailed it down the length of her scar. This seemed to help her girlfriend focus. Gasping, Ukraine looked up and retraced the path with her index finger.
“It’s soft,” she said tremulously. “Like silk. I had thought it would feel…rough. Like sandpaper. Or terrycloth.”
“Well, you know what they say about appearances.” Slowly, Hungary repeated the motion on her girlfriend. Her breasts were softer than her own, probably because of their size. They reminded her of touching a mouse pad, and Ukraine laughed when she told her so.
“Japan has mouse pads that are shaped like women. The wrist rests are their breasts,” she said.
Hungary couldn’t help laughing. “Japan has some very strange ideas about novelty goods.”
“Umm,” Ukraine shifted nervously. “I only know because I’ve bought a few.”
“You have?! Get out!”
“No,” Ukraine insisted. “I-the girls he draws on them are very pretty. And even if I don’t like my breasts, Elizaveta, I do like breasts.”
It was an absurd thing to say, Hungary thought. But Ukraine seemed to know it, because she was giggling, and her girlfriend couldn’t help but join in. Just as abruptly, they both stopped and looked into each other’s eyes.
When Hungary pushed the pizza box aside, Ukraine didn’t protest. Nor did she when the smaller Nation closed the space between them and climbed onto her large, firm thighs.
“Mhh,” Hungary cupped her chin and pulled her into a short kiss. And then, when Ukraine did not object, into a longer and deeper one.
“Nh,” Ukraine agreed as a heavy arm slipped around her waist and a hand spread across her scarred breast. It hadn’t been as sensitive since the injury, but it possessed enough feeling still for Hungary to tell that Ukraine was squeezing it.
“Katya,” she moaned as she returned the gesture. “Can you feel this?”
“A little. It’s difficult, because they are so big.”
“Is this better?” Hungary rubbed her thumb across the wide aureole, which shrank slightly at her touch.
“Yes.”
“Is this even better?” Shifting her weight, Hungary bowed her head and repeated the action with her tongue. Ukraine’s hitch in breath and the jolt as her body stiffened was the only confirmation Hungary needed. “God, these are so pretty,” she whispered as she licked and nuzzled. “So pretty, Katya.”
“E-Elizaveta,” Ukraine’s hand tangled in her long hair. “Please…”
“I’m not hurting you, am I? If you want me to sto-”
“No. No, please. Don’t stop.”
“Mh,” Hungary agreed before wrapping her lips around the narrowing center and suckling like a child.
“Oh!” The hand dug into her scalp as Ukraine arched her back. “Elizaveta! I-I think…nh…”
“Mhh?” Hungary flicked her tongue across the pebbled tip.
“Yes. Yes. I’m going to-” And Ukraine arched again before letting out a little cry. When Hungary looked up inquisitively, she noted the sheepish grin on her girlfriend’s face.
“I-I suppose I am sensitive in other places,” the larger Nation explained. “And I haven’t-not in several years. It’s difficult, when most Nations are males. Sorry. I-I think I’m babbling.”
Hungary laughed. “It’s all right. Mhh?”
She wasn’t prepared for Ukraine’s kiss, or for being pushed onto her back. “It isn’t fair for me to leave you,” Ukraine explained as she kissed the scar. “But-if you don’t want-”
“I do want,” Hungary said as she parted her thighs. And as inexperienced as Ukraine claimed to be, she thought, the Nation certainly knew how to use her fingers. They had hardly slipped up her skirt and into her panties before they were squeezing her clitoris. Hungary only managed a few desperate pushes of her own before she drenched herself.
The two cuddled together on the pillows, caressing each other’s hair and kissing gently as they both came down. Hungary was vaguely aware that her foot was missing its high heel, and resting in a lukewarm piece of pizza.
“We should go,” Ukraine said after kissing her hair. “I don’t want to, but it’s been at least an hour. And I don’t want Germany to yell at us.”
“If Germany should be yelling at anyone, it’s his older brother. And anyway, I’m not going back when I’m all sweaty and wet and probably covered with pasta sauce. I need a shower.” She kissed her lover’s fingers, tasting herself.
Ukraine made a thoughtful noise. “I think I need one, too. Would you mind if-well, if I joined you? Since we are sharing a room, it would save time, and water…” she kissed her lover again. “And I would like to show you some parts of myself that I like better.”
Hungary laughed and pulled Ukraine into a tight hug. “Only if you’ll let me wash these,” she said. And when she grabbed both of her breasts and squeezed, Ukraine laughed instead of flinching.