Monday, April 7, 2014

An Austria Lemon -- Nefarious

Character: Austria

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: The sequel to 'Misfit Me' is finally up!  It's not my best, but hopefully you all like it :3  

Roderick likes to think of himself as sophisticated and classy.  Centuries of adhering to these personal codes of conduct have made him (in his opinion) into the perfect gentleman.  He is proud of his many talents, and yet…he has come to realize that in this modern, sprawling world, a part of him has been sort of, kind of, a little left behind.
He is mostly fine with this.  There is nothing in this modern world that quite compares to the colorful world of his predecessors.  He would rather remember the times of knights and sword fighting and Mozart.  There is little that quite excites him as much as listening to the classical, passionate notes of times gone by.  Except perhaps, for one thing.
You are traditional too, in a wicked sort of way that you deftly try to hide.  He isn't sure why you hide away such a lovely part of yourself.  He isn't sure but there is little he can do about it.  You are stubborn and strive to be as modern as possible.  Your clothes, you manner of speech, the way you address your would-be superiors, it all lends a fascinatingly contemporary air to you.  An air that sometimes makes Roderick feel a little, well, old.
And even though he knows that the rest of the world is slowly leaving him behind, he desperately doesn't want you to do the same.  Which is why he occasionally sheds that gentlemanly conduct and uses more underhanded ways to remind you that he is still the Great Austria, still proud and sophisticated and classy.  He wouldn't say he is being manipulative.  He has just learned all the best ways to exploit you.  He knows you won't complain at least.
You certainly don't.  From the moment you walk into house and notice the clothes he's wearing, you stare at him wide-eyed.  Then you drop your purse to the floor, unravel your scarf, unbutton your coat, all the while letting your eyes scan his figure again and again and again.  A relentless stare that makes Roderick feel only a tiny bit uncomfortable, because he knows that if he gives you feel even the smallest bit of control you will walk all over him.
"Roderick…" you drawl, smirking.  Your coat falls but you take no notice of it.  You're still checking him out, still dragging your eyes over those amazing God-like jeans.  It's been weeks since you went to that store to buy them and he hasn't worn them even once.  So you're surprised to see that he's suddenly remembered about them.  Surprised, turned on, and very eager to find out why he's decided to give you such a lovely eye-full.  You bite your lip and meet his eyes, smirking vividly, "You're looking very modern today."
He raises his eyebrow at the slight jab and proceeds to ignore you.  There is nothing you hate more in the world than being ignored.  He knows it.  Knows as well that it is the quickest and more amusing way to make you snap.  He turns a page in his book and, out of the corner of his eye, sees you frown.
"You aren't gonna ask where I've been all day?" you wonder idly, walking into the room and collapsing into the chair opposite him.  You tap your fingernails (rouge, avant-garde style) on the small, circular tabletop and blink at him.  After a moment or two, Roderick raises his head to look at you, his face a lovely mask of utter boredom.  He says lazily, "I'm trying to read, [Name]."  And as he turns back to his book, he feels a vigorous spike of excitement shoot through him. 
You stare, trying to decide if he's seriously brushing you off or just joking around.  Roderick doesn't joke.  Why, then, does it feel as though you're missing something dreadfully important?  You lean forward, glancing at the book he's reading.  Musical theory.  It can't be that interesting since Roderick's probably read it numerous times already.  But he looks totally engrossed in the text.  Maybe a little too engrossed.
"I see that," you say in amusement.  Your legs brush against his and then curl around his shins.  He glances up at you with a raised eyebrow, and you give him a smile that says, 'those jeans would look lovely strewn against tiles'.  He glowers.  You brush your fingers against his hand.
Roderick never puts up much of a fight.  So you're surprised when today, he snaps his book shut and stands, untangling his legs from yours and saying, "No, [Name].  I'm not in the mood to play your games."  He glances at you like you're a child.  And under the carefully put upon air around him, you actually find yourself feeling like some bratty, spoiled girl.  Rouge nails, womanly figure, sex appeal and all.  You stare in shock as he turns to the kitchen and starts to brew tea.
There must be something you're missing.  Roderick is wearing those jeans and acting all deliciously hard to get and that's not normal.  So there must be something you're missing.  You stand up and pad into the kitchen, wildly interested in the way he's acting and not really hurt by the way he brushes you off.  You're most fascinated. 
You're happy, at least, to see that Roderick pulls out two teacups and not one.  He isn't entirely brushing you off then.  So you don't feel as bad as you sidle up next to him, fitting your side to his and peering at his face.  He glances at you, emotionless, and to your surprise he raises a hand and touches your hair, drags his fingers down your cheek, neck, arm.  His touch is a gradual building of intensity that makes you swallow, move closer.  But when his fingers burn against the skin of your abdomen, the kettle starts to go off and he turns away as if nothing just happened.  You stare and take the teacup when he hands it to you, not sure what to say in the face of this new and highly intriguing man.
The jeans had been the first strike.  The personality overhaul the second.  Roderick is quite enjoying himself.  He rarely lowers himself to this form of entertainment.  But the expression on your face is priceless, and though he realizes that he might be a little harsh, he will make it up to you later.  So he doesn't feel too bad when he blinks casually at you from over the rim of his teacup.  Inside he is basking in your confusion.  He should have known you'd figure it out though.
He is not so adept at these social skills than he'd like to believe.  The art of the perfect expression is perhaps the only thing he excels in.  Other than that he is see-through.  Transparent.  And you're slowly beginning to grasp at the finer details of his little plan.
"Those pants…" you inch forward, reveling in the slight surprise that flits over his face.  When your hand slides over his stomach, the muscles beneath his shirt flex and clench.  You tilt you head and mutter lowly, "They make me a little crazy.  But you already know that, don't you?"  He swallows and must realize that you're in the know.  He must because the next move is a staggering display of thinly veiled despair.
He shoves his teacup to the counter.  The contents slush and spill down the edges but he doesn't care for once.  All he cares about is his plan.  (Which is more about maintaining dominance and less about driving you crazy, but the latter is fine too.)  The next moment he's tucking you between the counter and himself, threading his fingers into your hair, and kissing you hard.
You're surprised but not anywhere near complaining.  The way he forces your head back has you clutching his tightly, trying to match the burning pace of his mouth.  But it's hard to, hard because Roderick is utterly crushing any of your attempts at control.  You'll admit that the notion is rather arousing for you.
He forces your head to the side to kiss a path down your neck, nibbling here and there and delighting in the way your skin blossoms with red.  "Mmm," you tilt your head back farther to accommodate him and bite your lip, thoroughly enjoying the ease of his dominance.  He's enjoying it, too.  The way your body quivers beneath his has him jerking one leg between the both of yours and settling against your core. 
His hips mold against yours, the friction from those jeans rubbing heat into you.  You make another breathless moaning noise that Roderick proceeds to swallow as he rushes forward to kiss you again.  This time, he lets you tangle your fingers into his hair and kiss him back.  But by now, you're quite content with letting him have his way, and very interested to see where this will go. 
"Mmm…" you sigh again when he pushes his mouth against yours.  His fingers spin little circles on the skin above your pants.  His tongue dips against your lower lip and he starts to nibble at it.  You moan a little and whimper, "You're being…really kinky today Roderi - mmph!"  He swallows your words and revels in the surprised but oh so delightful noise you splutter into the suddenly deep kiss.
And what a kiss it is.  His fingers tilt your chin up, poised and curled around your neck.  His mouth devours yours in a carelessly slow manner, like he's savoring you as well as struggling with his own internal impatience.  Your skin is burning.  It doesn't help that his entire body is pressing yours into the counter, and that you can feel his erection grinding deliciously against your stomach.  You grip him hard and kiss him back, trying to maintain a level of clear-headedness.  But inside you're a mess and you've got a feeling you're not fooling Roderick at all.
His hand suddenly slips around your neck and he pulls you closer.  The touch borders on menacing, but Roderick doesn't do menacing and it only further excites you.  You hear yourself moaning before you can stop yourself, and then Roderick's smiling gleefully against your lips and your narrowing your eyes at him.  He chuckles, "Do you like it when I act this way?"  And the lilt of his voice, the way it cascades into an amused silence, makes you glower.  He's getting you back for the dressing room escapade.  It's a realization that hits you suddenly and profoundly, and you're not sure why it took this long to figure out.
"Hmph," you make a face at him and he presses his forehead against yours, smiling.  His eyes soften up just a little bit.  His expression makes your heart swell but you won't admit it.  Instead, you just curl your arms around his waist and mutter, "This is your revenge, isn't it?"  His growing smirk and the twinkle in his eye answers your question.  You sigh, dragging your hands up his chest, starting to mess with the buttons of his shirt.  "Well then I guess we'd better hurry it up.  I have things to do."  Your lie rolls off your tongue in such an obvious way that Roderick finds himself scoffing.
"Do you really?" he asks dryly, casually undoing your pants and shimmying them down your legs.  You watch with a pout, not helping or hindering, just studying the lazy way he removes your clothing.  When you're bare, and your underwear is laying on the kitchen tiles, Roderick devours the sight of you with hungry but patient eyes.  You tilt your head, wait for him to get his thoughts back together, and smirk.
After a moment, he starts loosening his own clothes and you eagerly help him, dashing his shirt onto the tiles and then sighing.  You trace the hem of his jeans, where the denim meets his skin, and he raises an eyebrow.  With a smirk, you explain, "It's such a shame that these have to go.  You never wear them."  To annunciate your words, you slide your palm over his erection and give him a gentle squeeze.  His eyes flutter briefly, but Roderick seems to be in amazing control of himself today and he doesn't make any sort of sound to urge you on.  You pout.
"Take them off," he tells you after a moment.  His eyes clash into yours with unbending resolve.  His mouth hovers temptingly near yours but he doesn't move in.  He merely watches you, until you have no choice but to listen.  You can't deny that, when you go to unbutton the jeans, you're a little bit more excited than you outwardly claim.  It's been a while since you've fallen into this sort of situation, and the ebb of arousal has taken its toll on you.
"Fine, fine." You mutter, slipping the zipper down over the bulge of his cock.  He watches you closely as you do, and you smirk up at him.  A moment later, you're hooking your fingers into his jeans and boxers and tugging them down over his hips.  He helps, then kicks them off, and steps closer to you.  The feel of his freed cock, the hardness of it against your stomach, makes you shiver into him.
He hums out a little, slipping his hands around your back to grip your butt.  He gently squeezes it, his mouth lingering closer to yours.  The silent demand in his eyes makes you chuckle and close the space between you, pressing your mouth obediently to his and sinking into the kiss with a sigh.  You hook one leg around his waist, grind into his erection a little, and moan when he presses himself closer.  The friction pulls at you, makes you crazy.  You grip him hard and buck your hips forward, but your impatience only seems to make him more amused.  You'll eventually get him back for all this, but for now all you can do is drown against him and try to remember how to breathe.  It is harder than you'd think.  His next words only make things harder on you.
"…Turn around," he mumbles against your mouth.  You stop kissing him.  To say that you aren't surprised would be a blatant lie, because never once has Roderick ever been willing to do anything like that.  But he merely raises an eyebrow and squeezes your waist playfully, like he's silently laughing at your disbelief. 
"Really?" you ask a moment later, narrowing your eyes at him.  You definitely don't want to appear to be too eager, even though his suggestion has made your blood boil in anticipation.  "Are you sure?" you ask again, slowly, like the words you're forming are not your own. 
He 'che's and blushes the faintest bit, just enough to drag back a sense of the old him.  The one that lives with utmost dignity and would never even consider doing anything kinky whilst making love.  (At least until you crashed head first into his life.)  You grip his forearms and watch him curiously.
After a moment, Roderick gives you a sideways look and mutters, "Don't you always complain that I'm boring?"  He starts to push you around and you let him, laughing, "I never said that!  I only said that you're a little bit repetitive." 
You imagine that he rolls his eyes at your words.  You're about to say something more, but your words die on your tongue because then, his hips are molding against your butt and the hardness of him takes your breath away.  A moment later, when he starts to gently push himself into you, more than just your breath is shattered.
"God!" you gasp immediately, because it hurts and you aren't expecting it.  But he's gentle even when he's rough, a paradox that can only be truly, really understood when he's got you pressed up against him, his hands everywhere.  His fingers slip around your hips to rub reassuring circles into you inner thighs, spreading you apart at the same time.  But there is nothing reassuring about the way he hilts himself inside you.  There is only the rawness of lust, the way it makes a person drown with anticipation and sinful, wicked temptation.  And him, the feel of him, the heat of him, the way he is stretching you and pulling you apart and making you breathless, choking, bizarrely unstable.
Roderick grips you harder, sighing out like he is Atlas holding up the world.  It is not a peaceful sigh.  "[Name]…relax.  You're really tight," he mutters, bumping his hips into yours in a tiny, miniscule thrust.  The movement had you gripping the edge of the counter hard, your knuckles a stark white.  His words drizzled through your brain like a slow, rainy day and you inhaled shakily.  It's hard to relax when he's got himself pushed into you from behind, but already you can feel the dull drill of pleasure begin to replace the pain.  So you focus on relaxing the muscles of your abdomen, then your shoulders, your hips, and when you hear your lover give a pleased, relieved noise, you know you're successful.
"Is that better?" you hear yourself ask.  Your voice is coated and heavy, and blurs your words together.  You feel Roderick's fingers clench and flex against your thighs.  You feel the rumble of his hum reverberate through his chest and into your back.  Then he mutters a low, "Better," that also coated and heavy and blurred, like he's just swallowed an ocean of salt water.
You press your cheek against the countertop and nod.  He bumps a thrust into your hips again, and this time it creates a beautiful symphony of shivers just beneath your skin.  His next thrust takes him almost fully out of you, and when he pushes himself back in, it's with that rough-but-gentle firmness and it makes you want to come, so badly.
"'S good," you murmur against the wood, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts.  Your eyes flutter and your breaths become sharp pants that lilt through the stacked atmosphere, melding around the other sounds in the room: the slap of skin, the quiet inhalations of your lover, the gentle scratch of your nails, the subtle-barely-heard tick of the kitchen clock.  You stare at a red smudge that your lipstick left behind on the countertop, then you close your eyes and relax, relax, relax into the sensation of making love.
It's a coarse sensation, bleak even.  And it feels different when you can't see Roderick's face, when you can't watch his emotions tumble and spill from his expression.  But it is enough to feel his hands caving in around your skin, the tops of his thighs burning against the backs of yours, the stiffness of him infiltrating the very essence of you.  It's enough, and when his pace suddenly rushes forward, faster and hotter, you know that it's enough for him, too.
He lets out a strangled sort of moan that sinks right into your flesh and makes you swallow hard.  Then his thumb is brushing over the top of your clit and you feel yourself arch up, moan breathlessly, because God that feels good and when he does it again you can't breathe anymore, only drown.  And when he keeps touching you, keeps hitting you perfectly with every thrust, it's really no surprise that your orgasm rears and slams into you.  And watching you come lets off a domino effect and makes Roderick swear and push harder, spilling himself into you with a soft groan.
You moan again into the wood, because he doesn't stop thrusting.  The pleasure stings right through you and makes you tremble, collapse.  Roderick's arms lurch forward to hold you up, his length still deep inside you.  It takes a long moment to get your bearings back, and then you're chuckling and pushing yourself up, and he's pulling out of you, turning you around, and jerking you firmly against him.
"Did you like it?" he asks a while later as he threads his finger through your hair.  You smile against his neck and hum, "Mm.  But I like seeing your face more."  He pauses a moment, then chuckles, "So you do like it when I'm repetitive."  And when you shrug and grin, he rolls his eyes.  "Unbelievable…" he mutters, but drags you closer anyway and squeezes you into his arms.
You hum, a cadence that drops, drags against his shoulder.  Then you murmur, "Roderick…let's go to the bedroom and be repetitive again, hmm?"  And, well, there's really only one answer to a suggestion like that, and he doesn't let you down.