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roesslyngTitle: Emerging from the swell
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Netherlands/Romania
Rating: 18+
Length: 500 words
Summary: Netherlands asked, and Romania was happy to oblige.
Other: Written for Char for Kink Lucky Dip.
What would he feel like inside you?
The waves gradually hardening, turning
under like daylight, as the air farther inland,
without noticing, loosens its grip on the salt.
-Title and excerpt from "At Dusk" by Alexandria Hall.
Emerging from the swell
Summer night. Late. The air is heavy and hot, the dark barely-there and filmy.
Romania's hands are cold, and Netherlands' skin shudders under his fingertips. In the stillness, he hears his breath catch. He lifts his eyes to him, catches him looking back from where he waits resting against the headboard.
"Keep going," Netherlands mutters, impatient. Head tilting back to egg him on. A slip of moonlight spilling through the window falls over his skin in a gash of white across his throat.
Romania laughs. "I could make you beg for it."
"You could." A pause. "You won't."
"Not tonight." And he smiles wide, showing his teeth, letting Netherlands get a good long look at them.
It's easy to make them longer, sharper, enhancing what's already there. But even if it hadn't been, he'd have done it anyway. Because Netherlands had asked. He'd asked straight-faced as always, cheeks pinking from the embarrassment of voicing what he wanted.
So Romania ducks his head and presses his mouth to his throat, gentle as a kiss before he bites down.
He hears Netherlands grunt from the pain as teeth slice through skin. The broad hand at Romania's hip grabs him, and another sinks into his hair. But it's to keep him there, not haul him off. The stiffness of Netherlands' cock makes that clear.
Blood full in his mouth. The heavy undertaste of shore and peat. It seeps past his lips as he sweeps his tongue over the wound, hears Netherlands groan. He can feel the flesh trying to heal and he pauses, easing the bite, wondering if that's enough. If he should stop.
"Keep going." The words are a growl, Netherlands grinding the words out through his teeth as his hand moves between them to grip their cocks together and stroke.
There's a firmness to his words, his hand, something beyond the urgency for more. It's the solidness of someone who knows what he wants, the sureness of someone who wrestles his existence from water that would drag him under.
Biting deep and hard, Romania tastes blood again, and wonders – suddenly – if anybody else has done this. If nobody else knows the salt and soil and sandy taste of him. He clings to Netherlands, sinking sharp fingernails into his shoulders, digging into the earth that is him.
Netherlands' hold on him is steady and sure, but his voice isn't. He gasps, mutters a curse that Romania can't catch, and that's how Romania knows he's almost there.
They bring each other over in the stillness and heat that leaves them sticky and spent. Silent for a while, and Romania feels soaked through, as if the blood drained into his very bones.
He reaches for Netherlands' face, cups it in his hands as he kisses him open-mouthed, blood still on his lips. It's an invitation that Netherlands takes, sliding his tongue into his mouth to taste himself as he has so many other times.
But this is different than before.
They both feel it.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Netherlands/Romania
Rating: 18+
Length: 500 words
Summary: Netherlands asked, and Romania was happy to oblige.
Other: Written for Char for Kink Lucky Dip.
What would he feel like inside you?
The waves gradually hardening, turning
under like daylight, as the air farther inland,
without noticing, loosens its grip on the salt.
-Title and excerpt from "At Dusk" by Alexandria Hall.
Emerging from the swell
Summer night. Late. The air is heavy and hot, the dark barely-there and filmy.
Romania's hands are cold, and Netherlands' skin shudders under his fingertips. In the stillness, he hears his breath catch. He lifts his eyes to him, catches him looking back from where he waits resting against the headboard.
"Keep going," Netherlands mutters, impatient. Head tilting back to egg him on. A slip of moonlight spilling through the window falls over his skin in a gash of white across his throat.
Romania laughs. "I could make you beg for it."
"You could." A pause. "You won't."
"Not tonight." And he smiles wide, showing his teeth, letting Netherlands get a good long look at them.
It's easy to make them longer, sharper, enhancing what's already there. But even if it hadn't been, he'd have done it anyway. Because Netherlands had asked. He'd asked straight-faced as always, cheeks pinking from the embarrassment of voicing what he wanted.
So Romania ducks his head and presses his mouth to his throat, gentle as a kiss before he bites down.
He hears Netherlands grunt from the pain as teeth slice through skin. The broad hand at Romania's hip grabs him, and another sinks into his hair. But it's to keep him there, not haul him off. The stiffness of Netherlands' cock makes that clear.
Blood full in his mouth. The heavy undertaste of shore and peat. It seeps past his lips as he sweeps his tongue over the wound, hears Netherlands groan. He can feel the flesh trying to heal and he pauses, easing the bite, wondering if that's enough. If he should stop.
"Keep going." The words are a growl, Netherlands grinding the words out through his teeth as his hand moves between them to grip their cocks together and stroke.
There's a firmness to his words, his hand, something beyond the urgency for more. It's the solidness of someone who knows what he wants, the sureness of someone who wrestles his existence from water that would drag him under.
Biting deep and hard, Romania tastes blood again, and wonders – suddenly – if anybody else has done this. If nobody else knows the salt and soil and sandy taste of him. He clings to Netherlands, sinking sharp fingernails into his shoulders, digging into the earth that is him.
Netherlands' hold on him is steady and sure, but his voice isn't. He gasps, mutters a curse that Romania can't catch, and that's how Romania knows he's almost there.
They bring each other over in the stillness and heat that leaves them sticky and spent. Silent for a while, and Romania feels soaked through, as if the blood drained into his very bones.
He reaches for Netherlands' face, cups it in his hands as he kisses him open-mouthed, blood still on his lips. It's an invitation that Netherlands takes, sliding his tongue into his mouth to taste himself as he has so many other times.
But this is different than before.
They both feel it.
