Wednesday, September 25, 2013

A Prussia Lemon -- Conquer


Character: Prussia

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: If any of you are badass German speakers, I would love you forever if you helped correct my abysmal German.  :D  What can  I say?  I'm lazy~


She didn't like beer.  Didn't like the bitterness of it, the way it curdled down her throat, the way it effected people.  But she did like company.  She liked being around people and laughing and tipping herself back into a world full of youthful dreams and happy-go-lucky aspirations.  And even though she didn't know German and was alone in a great, wide, new country without any friends, she found herself very easily assimilating into the atmosphere of the beer garden.
Germany.  She had come to it because her father had died and she thought it was high time she grew up.  She was alone in a country she knew little about but she was okay.  The people around her knew very good English.  And even though the Germans were stereotypically cold and unfriendly, she found herself fitting right in and enjoying herself wholeheartedly.
There were hundreds of people piled up inside and out of the beer garden.  Tents had sprung up around the small property to make up for the lack of room inside.  People were sitting together at picnic tables.  Women wore dirndls and carried five beers at a time as they ducked through the crowd.  The lone woman who was there for the day just stood off to the side wearing a bright smile.
"Willst du nicht ein Bier?" [1] a lazy voice suddenly drawled from her right, and the strange woman turned.  Behind her stood a man who had snowy white hair and the prettiest red eyes she'd ever seen, ever.  He was holding a half empty beer glass, his eyes narrowed shards that drilled right through her.  His cotton shirt was tucked into his pants, and he wore traditional lederhosen.  Despite the fact that her knowledge of the German language was sadly nonexistent, she was able to get a grasp of what he was asking her.
"I hate beer," she told him, hoping that she wasn't making a fool of herself.  She wasn't even entirely sure why he was speaking to her at all.  She watched his expression closely after she spoke English, the way his eyes narrowed even more, the way his posture changed just slightly as he peered down at her.
"Tch," he finally muttered, reaching back to idly scratch the back of his head.  He didn't take his eyes away from her.  Then after another long moment in which he seemed to be internally debating something, the man said in surprisingly good English, "How could you not like beer, Frau? [2]  Crazy tourist."
She smiled a little at that, suddenly finding it amusing how every German she'd come across thus far had been able to hold a decent conversation with her in English.  The white haired man noticed the fleeting smile and raised one sharp eyebrow.  The effect of his expression was deflated when he took a drink.  "What is it?" he wondered when he was done, and watched curiously as the woman before him shrugged and shifted on her feet, looking a little shy all of the sudden.
"English," she murmured, and then cleared her throat and explained, "Your English is really good.  All you Germans are really good English speakers - "
"I'm not German," he cut her off, looking highly offended and even angry.  She was taken aback at the sudden change in his casual demeanor.  Now he stood taller, back angled and he hovered over her and his eyes, they flashed like blood red rubies.  She took a startled step back, watching him with curious eyes as he seemed to remember himself and drew back.  "…I'm Prussian," he muttered, turning away from her. 
She gaped for a moment and then stupidly asked, "Like the Teutonic Knights or something?"  Did Prussians even still exist?  Did he have the right to all himself a Prussian when there wasn't even any Prussian country?  She watched him make a noise in the back of his throat, as though he couldn't believe that she had only been able to think 'Teutons' at the word Prussia.  But he acquiesced with a lazy shrug, because he had heard this all before.  There was no Prussia, not anymore.  He looked up into the sky and murmured, "Ja.  Teutonic Knights."  The immeasurable sadness in his eyes took her breath away.
She shifted and looked away from him, suddenly feeling out of place.  People whirled around them, dashing off to get to tables, dragging people away to join the makeshift dance floor that spun and contracted with lively accordion music.  And then bright crimson eyes caught a hold of hers and the strange Prussian man jerked a thumb behind him, "Mein bruder…he's over there.  Would your boyfriend mind you having a drink with us?"
She laughed because she didn't have a boyfriend, she'd left him far far away in America with only the words, 'I need to grow up, without you' to hold onto.  She laughed because of the way he looked a little offended at her happiness, like he thought she was making fun of him for even asking her.  She shook her head. "I'm here alone, actually.  And I hate beer," she told him for the second time, and she swore she saw the hint of a smile fleetingly curve over his lips at the reminder.
"Ja, ja," he nodded, then grabbed her wrist and turned in the other direction, leading her fluidly through the crowd.  "You can drink water then, you crazy tourist."  And she laughed at the nickname she had seemingly gotten from him.
Moments later, they had weaved their way through the thick crowd and reached a lone picnic table set aside from the others.  On it sat a man with combed back blonde hair, also wearing lederhosen.  He had a bulky frame, and probably towered over the silver haired man.  Who, she suddenly realized, she didn't know the name of.
"What's your name, anyway?" she suddenly wondered, and he glanced back at her in surprise, though she couldn't tell what he was surprised at.  That he had forgotten to tell her, or that she even had to ask.  Though in her mind, she thought it was the former.  He pulled her to the table and muttered a gruff, "Call me Gilbert, Frau.  And this is Gilbird."  He gestured to a small yellow bird that was plucking at its tiny features beside the blonde man, who had looked up and was staring at her with startlingly clear blue eyes.  "Oh," Gilbert said offhandedly as he sat down, "and this is my bruder.  Ludwig."  And he cringed a little as though he didn't like his brother's name. 
"Hello," she said, settling herself down beside Gilbert and smiling over at Ludwig, whose face was a little pink.  She couldn't tell if he was flustered because of the multiple beer glasses that littered the wooden table or if it was her fault, and she reached forward to offer her hand as a truce.  His gaze jerked down at it for a moment before he grudgingly accepted.  His handshake was very firm and even a little intimidating, but with Gilbert beside her she felt alright, for some reason beyond her.
"Would you like a beer?" Ludwig asked, voice polite but expression unwavering.  He seemed to have cottoned onto the fact that she didn't speak German, and she was unsurprised that his English was just as good as his brother's.  She opened her mouth to answer him but Gilbert beat her to the punch, "She hates beer."  And Ludwig's mouth popped open just a little to express his utter shock at the denial of his most beloved beverage.  Before he could start stuttering, though, Gilbert turned to her and asked, "They have other drinks.  What do you want?"
His voice and expression left little room for her to argue, so she reluctantly agreed to a Mike's Hard Lemonade, because the taste of alcohol wouldn't be quite so profound mingled with the lemon.  She didn't want to drink too much either.  She had her common sense about her, thank you very much, and she wasn't just going to allow herself to get piss drunk in some strange country whose customs she didn't fully understand.  Never mind the small yet still significant language barrier.  She wasn't stupid.
Except she didn't feel uncomfortable when Gilbert returned with not one bottle of Mike's but three, claiming that he'd 'help her'.  And she didn't even care when she'd finished her first and moved onto her second, all the while aware that Gilbert had only taken a sip of the one he'd gotten for himself.  Ludwig watched the two curiously as they bantered back and forth.  They hadn't known each other hardly an hour and yet it felt like they were old friends.  But as one hour dragged to two and as the sky began to darken into the wispy gray strands of night, the term 'friends' didn't really fit.
She wasn't drunk, not even close.  The world just barely spun around when she moved.  She was hardly even tipsy.  And yet…she suddenly wished she was, because then she'd have more courage to do the things that her ridiculous mind was goading her to do.  Ridiculous, because it would go against every single personal code of conduct she had for herself.  Ridiculous, because it was not only dangerous but stupid, such a stupid thing to do in a country she was utterly alone in.  And somehow degrading, too, to think that yet another American tourist had fallen into the same mold that many of her brethren had created.
She still had most of her common sense, but it was just a little bit tainted, just a little bit blurred by the sudden craving to tunnel her fingers through silver hair and to wrap herself around the straps of that lederhosen.  Strange, that she should suddenly want to give that part of herself away, to a stranger no less.  But she'd always been restless, always searching and never finding, and she was used to the moments where she'd surprise herself because she possessed something she didn't know she had.  Besides, the mere fact that he was a stranger and that she'd never see him again after this night was what really sparked her interest.  Made her lean in and smile a smile she reserved for moments like this.  Moments of conquest.
Whether Gilbert or Ludwig knew her thoughts, neither said anything.  But Ludwig made a point to shift his form reluctantly toward the dance floor, pretending to watch the swarm of people.  And that was when Gilbert leaned in close to her ear, his hot breath wavering over her skin, and whispered, "Do you know how to dance, Frau?"
His eyes pierced into hers the moment she raised them and for a moment she could only sit there, his words ringing in her head.  Then her lips curled up into a smile that was laced with poison and she murmured, "Of course I do, Gilbert."  His eyes became iron spikes that grounded her directly where she was, on rough wood that she longed to feel beneath the rocking sways of not so tender loving.
"But," he whispered, and it was such a low tone that she had to lean in further to catch the rest of his sentence.  "Can you dance like that?"  Like that.  For a split second she was positive that he was saying something dirty, that he actually was on the same path as her.  But then she noticed that he was glancing at the dance floor and knew with a sudden jolt of disappointment that he wasn't being dirty or speaking in innuendos.  That he was asking if she could dance the sort of traditional, modern-twisted, drunken dances that the people were performing 30 feet away.
She tried her best to tuck away the cold strands of discouragement and looked over her shoulder at the twirling, not so graceful figures of the dancers.  They were just ordinary people, like her, like him.  Some wore lederhosen and dirndls, some were more casually dressed.  Some, she was sure, were tourists like herself who were drunk and brave enough to risk the unfamiliar accordion-style dance.  She turned back to Gilbert and wondered what would happen if she said she could.  Would he take her dancing?  She would have loved to see that happen, but she decided to be honest so she didn't embarrass herself.  "…No."
She looked back toward the dance floor just to avoid his eyes.  But no one could successfully ignore Gilbert, not if he had anything to say on the matter, and it was barely a moment later that he jumped up and began tugging at her arm.  She started, surprised at the insistent look in his eyes.  Across from them, Ludwig looked pointedly away.
"What are you doing?" she asked, finally standing up.  She was curious, curious to know if he was going to do what she thought he was.  She was not let down.  As he started to pull her toward the dancers, he said, "I will teach you, woman.  It's easy."  And when they got there, and he swept her up into his arms without even a hint of reserve, she tipped her head back and laughed.  These were the moments she would not forget.  The blur of color, the pulse of bodies, the lull of heightened accordion, and the stranger's arms that made her warm and safe and somehow incomplete.
He showed her the steps, at first.  But when it was clear that it was impossible to teach someone in this chaotic atmosphere, Gilbert just settled for twirling her around, moving like the rest of the inexperienced crowd.  It wasn't embarrassing at all; it was exhilarating.  She laughed and clutched at him for dear life as he pulled and tipped and spun her around.  She almost felt like a child again, grasping at her father's belt as he danced with her in the backyard.  But then again, there was really nothing about Gilbert or the way he held her that was like her father.  And that was what made her heart rate skyrocket, her fingers slip around the straps of that lederhosen and hold on as the world disappeared into flurries and shards of broken movement.
It happened so quickly that her mind had to sluggishly catch up to the haphazard movements of her body.  Her hands were not five seconds around their new hold when Gilbert looked down at her.  Really looked.  And then he was pulling her closer than was necessary for dancing, and his mouth was descending upon hers and the last bit of her breath was blown away with the wind and his lips.
She didn't even stop to wonder at his kiss, the suddenness of it or the fact that they weren't dancing anymore.  She didn't care about that.  She only knew that it felt right, leaning against the broad expanse of this stranger's chest, having his arms around her, his hands grasping at her shirt, his mouth moving into a dance of their own as bodies rotated and twisted around them.  The accordion was nothing but a dulled simper of music.  All she could hear was the blood pumping in her ears and her heart, which raced against all timely restraints. 
Her hands shifted over the traditional cotton shirt he wore, to where the first few buttons were undone.  When her fingertips blazed over the small expanse of skin, he shivered almost violently and heaved her closer, hands grasping her butt and dragging her up against his hips.  She gasped at the hardened feel of an erection and wondered how she hadn't noticed it before now.  She gasped again when he growled and spat, "VerdammtDu machst mich verrückt, Frau." [3]
She didn't understand him, at least not all of his words.  But she understood 'damn' and she understood 'woman', and the tone of his husky words gave her insight into the emotions behind them.  Shivers erupted down her body and she made a little, whiney noise against his mouth, which had stopped kissing her so as to breathe.  He responded to her, though, his lips subtly shifting over hers, and his hands did not move from her body. 
It was delicious but she needed to breathe.  Her lungs screamed at her to pull away just as her body seized forward.  Finally her lack of breath won over and she broke the kiss to rest her forehead against his.  Crimson eyes slanted down at her through the darkness, gleaming with a certain evil that she wanted to wholeheartedly claim for her own.  That desire captured her so vindictively that she wasn't surprised when her own voice, low and husky, murmured the words, "Should we go?"  And his eyes flashed dangerously down at her, his mouth slipping into a smirk that was both possessive and delicious. 
He didn't say a single word.  Didn't tell her yes or no.  He just slipped a hand around her slender wrist and turned away, weaving in and out of the crowd with a grace that could only be obtained when one wanted something very very badly.  She followed him carefully, jostling her body against the forms of others who bumped into her.  The crowd was so thick that she didn't have a clue where they were.  The darkness made everything unfamiliar even though she'd been on the grounds all day, and it was with a silly, blind faith that she continued on.
It struck her that she was doing the exact thing she swore she'd never do as a tourist in a foreign country.  She had laughed at the image of the American woman, the way the world saw them as easy and possessive.  She had laughed because she had never considered herself to be one of them, and yet here she was, ready to be both easy and possessive if it meant she'd spend just one night with a man who claimed to be Prussian.  She wasn't laughing now.
Everyone needed a few crazy nights to break away from social restraints, and also personal ones at that.  Everyone needed to do something completely insane before they got too old.  It was an initiation into adulthood, a way of laughing at yourself when you are old and gray and remembering the silly youth you had been all those years before.  Tonight was one of those nights.  One of the nights that would forever haunt her memory, and she knew before it had even begun that she would never forget the flash of his silver hair or the gleam of his red eyes.  Or his touch, which burned through her very clothes even as he dragged her along behind him.
The crowd began to thin out as they reached the edge of the festivities.  There was much fewer people now, but still he continued on until there was barely a handful lingering about.  He pulled her toward two buildings that seemed to be abandoned outhouses and for a moment, she wondered if it would house their fated night.  But he did not go inside.  Instead, Gilbert swung around the middle of them, to a small space was located between the second outhouse and the first.  And it was in that cramped space that she was pushed up against the cold cement, and kissed very roughly.
Her arms wrapped around his neck and she brought him closer, just as he heaved her up and pushed his hips against hers to hold her there.  His stiff erection felt delicious against the fabric of her clothes and she whimpered a little when he rolled his hips roughly.  His long fingers slid from her waist to her sides, dancing along her shirt and pulling at the wrinkled fabric.  It was so clear that he wanted to tear it away, wanted to feel her skin with his skin and melt against the emotions tearing through him.  But he didn't give into the fierce desire to see her bare.  It was too cold, to public, and he wasn't sure how far she would want to go considering those circumstances.
But she was willing to defy all reason that night.  The alcohol that ran through her system helped make up for the confidence that she lacked, and it was with fingers fumbling with desire that she jerked at the buttons of his tradition cotton shirt.  Cold air hit his chest hard and he inhaled sharply as her warm fingers contrasted that chill.  Her legs wrapped around his waist and she kissed him harder, flicking out her tongue to taste him better.  He opened his mouth and let her explore, but all too soon Gilbert was overcome by the fierce need to conquer.
His teeth sunk gently into her lip and she moaned, taken away by the dominance he was suddenly exerting.  His tongue clashed with hers, their teeth clanking together in the heated kiss.  His hips rocked hard against her core and he ground his erection against her jeans.  His fingers moved up to slip beneath her shirt, feeling her hot skin and introducing it to the cold air.  Her fingers tightened on his shirt, which was hung about his frame.  The straps of his lederhosen were still firmly in place, but without his shirt they just lay against his bare chest.  She would have moaned at the sight he made, if not for the fact that her mouth was entirely occupied.
His hips jerked against her again, but this time it was with a desperate air that told her how badly he needed her.  Foreplay was a questionable thing when one was pressed up against a public building, and so she didn't complain when he went to tug at her jeans.  The thick fabric was pulled over her hips to her thighs, where it would remain for the rest of their encounter.  Her panties were slid up too, and she all but hissed at the sudden clash of chilly air that hit her. 
She expected him to deal with his pants and then take her, wildly, harshly.  But to her surprise, Gilbert took his time.  His hand took a mischievous path down her body, over her rounded hip, to her core, and that was when she lost all semblance of grace and turned into a puddle of nerves. 
"Oh!" she gasped, taken aback as his fingers first rolled over her wet core and then slid inside her.  It was such a sudden move that she could only hold onto him while he thrust into her.  He stopped kissing her so that he could watch the fierce emotions play over her features.  Their breath intermingled and they stared at each other, wondering what was next, and how they would go about attaining it.
But there were no rules or guidelines here.  No order to this angry passion.  This was cold curses whispered into hot skin, long fingers brushing desire into aching bodies, and a torturously calm expression that had eyes which saw everything.  Every movement, every breath, every gasp, every shiver.
It was with a hefty curse that Gilbert drew away from her, too soon and yet not soon enough.  He pushed his hips against her to hold her up and reached around to fumble with his pants, which still clung haphazardly to his hips.  Then, when they hit the ground, he kissed her, pressing all his desire into the movement of his lips.  And when she had steadied herself against him, he wasted little time in pushing past all her barriers and taking her.
Her head fell back as she took him in, the girth of him absolutely taking her breath away.  Her thighs trembled, shiver wracked through her, and her mouth opened up in a silent moan.  Gilbert watched her very carefully, watched the expression on her face and the way she was reacting to him.  When he was certain that she felt no pain, he pulled out and then thrust his cock back into her.  She whimpered, pleasure ripping its way over her body in rippling waves.  Her fingers clawed at his chest and then gripped the straps of his lederhosen, happy for the hold they supplied.  For some reason it was immensely hot to hold onto his like that, for the both of them.  It made him move his hips faster, harder against her.  It made her bit her lip to hold back her moans.
She was all too aware that they were in a public place.  Not very crowded at all, but still public.  It would be too easy to be discovered, too easy to moan too loudly and have someone find them.  And so she buried her head against his neck, her mouth pressed diligently against his skin to muffle all the sounds that escaped her.  That, too, was somehow erotic to him.  The threat of being discovered increased his need to spill himself into her, and his thrusts quickened their pace.  He pushed them both toward delirium.
His hips bruised her.  The force of his thrusts knocked the breath out of her and she couldn't so much as think.  All coherent thought was blown away with the profound insanity that had taken over their bodies.  That insanity increased when Gilbert eased a hand back up her shirt, this time slipping beneath the cup of her bra and touching her breast.  His thumb brushed over her hard nipple and she moaned against him, biting into his skin and making him grunt out a pleased thrumming moan. 
She was so close, so very close.  Her orgasm was beginning to rip through her and she pulled back to bite his ear, whispering a very soft, very breathless warning into it.  He grunted and kissed her neck, his hips ramming against hers in a tangled dance that screamed with desperate passion.  It was delirious, the feelings that coursed through their bodies, and with a harsh whimper she felt herself coming on his stiff cock.
"O-Oh!" she moaned, and wished she could remember his name.  In the intense bliss she had long forgotten.  She only knew him by his eyes, his hair, his body as it made hers crazy with wanton pleasure. 
He moaned lowly, so that it was barely a rumble in his chest, and all too soon he felt himself spilling into her.  His hot seed reached the very depth of her and she moaned at the feel of it scorching through her body.  But even as he came, he didn't let up the force of his thrusts.  He shook her down into a second orgasm, making her bite her lip hard to stop the increase of moans that threatened to leave her throat.  Her eyes slammed shut and she tightened around him again, pulsing over his cock as it softened from his own orgasm.  Then he stopped altogether, his thrusts becoming only a shard of a memory as her mind shut down and she collapsed against him.
They remained like that for a while.  Moments turned to minutes, which spread out into the night like forgotten stars.  And only when the cold began to creep back into their bodies did they pull away from each other, all too aware that time was slipping through their fingers and soon, they would be nothing but memories, too.
Silence cascaded over them.  Gilbert helped her down, then tugged up his pants and fixed his shirt.  He watched her through his gleaming red eyes as she straightened her bra and pants, and then they just stood there like strangers, wondering again the ever present question of what came next.
But she was already aware of that answer.  Nothing came next.  Not with them.  There wouldn't be another meeting, there wouldn't be another moment spent between two building in the shade of night.  And there wouldn't be another drink or dance or walk back into the festivities that they only recently came from.  Not for her.
So she just stepped forward, hands sliding up the straps of that lederhosen, trying to cement the feel of his cotton shirt into her memory.  And she pressed her trembling mouth against his, unsure if she was shivering from the cold of October or from an unknown, undiscovered emotion.  Then he watched her pick up the bag she'd brought with her, take one last glance at him, smile that gleeful, childish smile, and walk away.  He watched her until her shadow was nothing more than a shift of the darkness, then he reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up and leaning against the wall of the makeshift alley.
As he thought back on his encounter, he realized that he'd never asked for her name.  And yet even without it he knew he would never forget the not so innocent tourist, who came to witness Oktoberfest and yet didn't care for the taste of beer.


Translations:
[1] Willst du nicht ein Bier zu bekommen?: Don’t you want a beer?

[2] Frau: Woman

[3] VerdammtSie machen mich verrückt, Frau: Damn.  You make me crazy, woman.

~~~

10 comments:

  1. Very intense yet beautiful one night stand. It's been awhile since we've seen Prussia. ^_^

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  2. I love reading your stuff because it's not just sex, you have a whole background story that leads up to it which is always great, your lemons are always my favorite ones to read and they never disappoint ~~~ the ending was touching but it made me so sad :) you're such a good writer, keep up the great work!!

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  3. when orgasms were nosebleeds I'd sure lost liters of blood xD my my, youre lemons are really the best (and I know a huge amount of them xD) *q*
    I'd love to help you with your german, but as I've seen so far you have a good translator. the only two mistakes were in the upper half of the story, Its not "Willst du nicht ein Bier zu bekommen" but "Willst du nicht ein Bier?" or even better: "Willst du ein Bier?"
    also its not "Verdammt. Sie machen mich verrückt, Frau" (to be honest, the grammer would be right, but it just dont fit in the situation.. it's very polite form of address so "Verdammt. Du machst mich verrückt, Frau" suits better :3
    glad to help you xD

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    1. Thank you for the help :) I finally got around to editing it~

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  4. I just--I was a mass of giggles the whole time. It was so sweet despite so much passion. So much so that I can't make this comment sound any less than slightly-pedantic. I suppose it's just the effect Gilbert has on me. Thank you SO much for writing amazing things!!! (And I mean that, they are ALL amazing!)

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  5. Actually I am from Germany and I speak German so... Congratulations! xD in the story is the german correct. but please do me a favor because of the translation... do not use google translator xD

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  6. Hi I realm love your smut writing because not only is it in great writing form but it is also making it seem like it is real because of how well you portray the characters. Thank you for doing the things you do!😊

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  7. I'm basically repeating what everyone else is saying, but god, that was great. I love how detailed and personalized your smuts are. <3

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  8. I kind of want to see this continued, to have them meet again and actually have a name for her this time, but I'm also sort of content having this be a one night stand. The confusion is real and so is the enjoyment of your beautiful stories. If you ever make a novel please let me know so I can be the first to read it.

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