Thursday, September 24, 2015

A Greece Lemon -- Athens Is Falling

Character: Greece

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: Sort of a companion to my other Greece smut "Oh Athens, Sweetly Rising"

Heracles is not very prideful and not all that interested in making selfish deals.  If he’d had his own way, he’d be off lazing around in his Athens apartment or walking sleepily through his city.  He certainly wouldn’t be on a “boat”, as he likes to call it.  In is in fact not a boat.  It’s a yacht.  But no matter how many times you remind him he doesn’t seem to care.  All he cares about is grumbling about stupid diplomats and the apparent joys of the Mediterranean, which is by the way done with such contemptuous sarcasm that even you are surprised by it.  Heracles is not very sarcastic, either.
For someone who has lived on the Mediterranean Sea all his long life, you understand why the joys of seeing it fall rather short in his eyes.  Even you have begun to see it more as a familiarity than as the startling, breathtaking beauty it had been upon first sight.  That’s what love does to a person, sometimes.  And often it is exactly that familiarity that makes love truly wonderful.  Less cold and unforgiving and detached.
“You should at least try to be sociable,” you nudge Heracles, glancing around the deck at the group of old suits chatting several yards away.  Your lover glances at them too, looking extremely disinterested, and mutters, “I think I’d rather take a nap.”  And for the sole reason of being stubborn, Heracles proceeds to drop himself into one of the long wooden chairs, propping his feet up and closing his eyes without another word.  You sigh.
You can’t really blame him.  The entire trip has been very last minute.  The visiting diplomats had planned to leave Athens early in order to take a drive along the coast.  It is purely a tourist reason, and it has frustrated you because you had already planned everything that they were supposed to be doing.  Taking a drive down the coast is not one of those things.  That had been when one of the men suggested that they all sail down the coast instead of drive, and you had tried to be as accommodating as possible.  It hadn’t been very difficult procuring the yacht since you work for Heracles.  What was difficult was getting said man to agree to tag along, as he was supposed to.
It had taken several hefty bribes on your part to get him to agree, but you couldn’t bribe him to pay attention to his guests when he had no interest in doing so.  You frown and lean against the railing of the upper deck, looking out at the enormous yacht sprawled beneath you.  It has three decks total, all of which are filled with the bustle of tourists as they enjoy the lengthened Mediterranean trip that you had paid out of your own pocket to get.  You are tired.  Tired and grumpy too, and yet you have to smile and pretend like you are happy.  You wish you could act like Heracles and drop dead somewhere, not having to worry about the guests.  But not everyone could be afforded the same status in life, and you have to work for your rest.  And your pay.
Another sigh tumbles over your lips and you decide that you should probably go and speak with the men in your group.  You are after all their event coordinator and tour guide.  The least you could do is explain the amenities that the yacht had to offer, if nothing else.  Luckily you aren’t expected to be around them on the ship itself, except perhaps for mealtimes.
“How do you like the yacht?” you ask as you approach them.  The men immediately turn to you graciously.  They like the yacht, they say.  They like the sights of the crystal clear water and the islands.  One of the men is holding a little pamphlet that the yacht provides, which lists all the venues that would be entertaining that night, and they are discussing which ones they want to see.
“What do you think?” the man asks, opening the booklet and showing you, “The cards, or this whiskey tasting?”  You lean forward to get a look at the pamphlet and raise your eyebrows.  Figures they would have a hard time choosing between gambling and liquor. 
“The whiskey tasting sounds interesting,” you say as diplomatically as you can.  In truth, neither sound very interesting at all, but you aren’t about to shoot down their plans.  You’re thankful that they’ve decided to go and do their own thing, as it leaves you with a much more relaxing evening. 
The man smiles rather strangely at you, and you know what kind of a smile it is.  It’s an I’m-humoring-your-obvious-disinterest sort of smile, but the way his eyes flash tell you that perhaps there’s something else there too.  You’re a little bit confused, but everything clears up when the man says, “Ah, so you enjoy your hard liquor, then?”  He is making fun of you.
All you can think about is how dare he make fun of you after all the trouble you’d gone through to get them onto this yacht.  You stiffen, thinking about the personal expenses you had made, about the way you’d had to bend over backwards and suck up to several people – something your pride had suffered for.  The thought of being ridiculed by some chauvinistic old politician makes your blood boil, though you ultimately don’t get the chance to make your anger known.
An arm is suddenly looping around your shoulders and Heracles is beside you.  His tall, lanky body shields yours in the most comforting, wonderful way, but you don’t outwardly react to his presence.  Doing so would be showing a weakness to these men, who obviously don’t think much of you even after the flawless job you’ve done since they’ve arrived in Athens.  Heracles must have heard everything from his seat, for his eyes are harder than usual and his face is not soft or warm like you know it to be.  He makes quite the impressive figure, standing in all his tall suited glory.
“She prefers gin.  Straight, on the rocks,” he drawls, squeezing his arms around you and then proceeding to drag you away before the surprised diplomat could respond.  You allow him, because you’re too surprised to stop him as well.
“…Straight gin?!” you hiss as he pulls you away with a scowl marring his features.  You scowl too, but for a different reason.  “I hate gin, and I could’ve handled the situation myself.” 
Heracles only grumbles and heaves you up against him the moment you’re both hidden from sight.  You gasp at the sudden move and stare up at him with wide, surprised eyes.  But he only blinks down at you slowly, and his green gaze is the only thing that gives away his emotions.  Harried.  Claustrophobic.  Passionate.
“What are you doing?” you whisper, simply as a means of shattering the strange silence that had built up between you.  But your lover doesn’t deem the question worthy of a response.  Not a verbal one at least.  Instead he just raises his eyebrows and gently presses you up against the wall near the elevators, his lips drawing close.  But he doesn’t kiss you and you think you might die from the anticipation of it all.
“Heracles…” you breathe, clutching his dress shirt.  It’s sage green and compliments his olive skin tone wonderfully.  But as much as you enjoy the sight of him dressed up, the idea of undressing him is suddenly infinitely more appealing.  You swallow thickly as he drifts closer, like a wave that crashes then retreats again and again.  His lips very lightly graze the edge of your mouth, brush over your chin, tickle your cheekbone.  It is oddly intimate and you close your eyes.  The moment your eyelids flutter shut, his lips burn gently against them, first one then the other, until you think you have become so breathless that you might faint.
“Heracles,” you breathe again, but this time your voice shakes and shatters, cracking in two like a hurricane swallowing life.  Your knuckles are clenched tightly to his shirt, wrinkling the fabric in a way that won’t be fixed anytime soon.  Heracles hardly cares.  He cares only for the shortness of your breath and the dilution of your eyes and the way every single part of you screams, ‘I need you now, so very badly.’
The feeling is mutual.  The day has been long, and Heracles is ready to free himself of it.  He smiles that barely-there smile, the one that happens to make you even more breathless than before, and tilts your chin up with his thumb.  Then he is kissing you properly, deeply, lovingly, and all you can do is cling to him and try to keep up.
In the midst of the heady kiss, Heracles pushes the button for the elevator.  The moment it opens he shoves you inside, all gentleness replaced for one moment by a startlingly powerful need.  The elevator can’t move fast enough, and Heracles impatiently drags you against him and dips his hands over your body luxuriously.  Every touch is planned: a result of such a boring day, walking behind you with a lovely view of your rear.
When his hands clasp over said rear, you bite your lip and glance worriedly at the elevator doors.  Heracles notices the concerned look but can’t possibly stop touching you.  It’s like a switch has gone off inside him.  His passion is suddenly limitless, bounding off in several directions at once, and the thought of reining all that in is tiresome to him.  So he won’t.  He’ll just let it wash over your skin and watch it consume the both of you in that delightful way desire often works.
“Heracles, I think we should – “ you gasp as your back hits the elevator wall.  With a little stumble you press your hands hard into his forearms as he follows you, folding his body against yours.  You forget what you were going to say.  All you can think about is the way Heracles is grunting and roughly forcing your dress up around your waist.
His lips descend on yours and the kiss he gives you now is lingering and breathtaking.  The elevator doors slide smoothly shut behind him.  With a playful squeeze to your hips, Heracles pulls back and gives you a languorous smile.  He turns his back to you and presses the button for floor 3, then slowly turns back around.  Hands stuffed into his pockets, shirt rumpled, eyes gleaming passionately…he looks in that moment more like a Greek God than you’ve ever seen.  Better. 
His eyes lazily, callously dip over your figure as he steps towards you.  He leans forward, pushing one hand against the wall beside your head and leaving the other in his pocket.  Something about him looks so dangerous, like he’s planning on devouring you whole.  You wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly what’s going through his head actually.  When his eyes shine like that, anything is possible.
Finally he reaches for you, abandoning his pocket to instead splay his fingers over your revealed leg.  Your dress is still haphazardly shucked up around your hips and he enjoys the sight of you, gasping and trembling against the wall.  It is a good prelude for what he has planned.  A good beginning.
You aren’t entirely sure what you’re expecting from him.  It certainly isn’t the rawness of his touch on your core.  But when he slips his fingers into your panties and slides them down to curl around your heat, you can’t stop to complain.  Even if this is a public place and you’re nearly at your floor.  It feels too good to tell him to stop.
“Heracles…” you whisper, head tipped back as he hovers above you.  His long fingers slid easily against your core, wet already from the headiness of the kiss and the rough way he’s already touched you.  He knows what makes you excited and aroused.  He knows it so well that it’s easy to manipulate your body.  It’s hard to imagine Heracles manipulating anything, but then he’s got astounding levels of motivation when he feels like dragging them out.  Most of the time that’s only during sex, not that you mind.
“Mmm…the elevator…” you murmur, shuddering against him when he suddenly, roughly rubs at you.  His lazy movements turn immediate and fast, utterly fast, like he’s suddenly realized how little time there is.  “Oh!” you cry softly, eyes fluttering.  Your hips angle toward those delicious fingers and you tumble your hands into his hair.  His face is centimeters from yours but he doesn’t kiss you.  His lips brush your cheek, your nose, his breath puffs over your lips, but he doesn’t lean in for more.  He’s too busy watching the delightful way your expression turns hot and needy.
Then, just as you’re thinking you can’t possibly take another second of his too-fast touch, just when you think you won’t be able to stop yourself from coming from the agony of it all, the elevator stops.  It’s like a time bomb suddenly goes off between you.  Heracles launches himself away from you, stuffs his hands back into his pockets, clears his throat.  You tug your dress back down and push yourself off the wall, breathing fast and unsteadily. 
He’s a much better actor than you of course.  He’s had more time to hone that calm, lazy mask.  Compared to him, you can’t capture that subtle grace, that lazy expression.  But it doesn’t matter.  When the doors shift open there is no one around to see the mess you are, and you’re quite thankful for that.
Heracles chuckles darkly and glances at you, offering his arm.  You give him a look that tells him how exactly you’ll be getting him back but take the offering.  You doubt you’d be able to walk straight anyway.  The dull thud of your lost orgasm resounds through you, getting fainter with each second.  You slip your fingers around his arm and together you walk into the hallway, and you’re right.  Your gait is unsteady and shaky and Heracles smirks.
Luckily your room isn’t far from the elevator.  Heracles has the key card.  He digs it out of his pocket and sends you a look that makes you feel boneless.  Then with a smirk he pops the card in and the door clicks open.  You push yourself inside and nearly collapse in relief at the fact that you’re finally, finally alone.
“I can’t believe you,” you tell him with a glower that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.  You start pulling pins out of your hair as Heracles closes the door and leans against it, watching.  You’re about to say something else about his little escapades in that elevator but he interrupts you with a startlingly low, husky, “Stop.”  Of course you stop.  His delicious orders are too good to pass up.
“Leave your hair like that,” is all he says as he pushes off from the door.  His eyes are glittering with nine kinds of mischief and you take a shallow breath.  It doesn’t exactly help.
Your hand drops from your hair.  It’s half undone, and the rest of it is still twisted up on top of your head.  It looks messy in an elegant sort of way, as if you’ve slept on it without a care.  Several twists of flyaway hair frame your face.  Heracles smiles at the gracefully wild look about you and reaches up to unbutton the collar of his shirt.  He doesn’t look away from your eyes.  Not when he shucks the dress shirt away and not when he steps up to you, shirtless and beautiful.
Your breathing is a shallow mess of tangled gasps that heave through your chest.  When he reaches for you, you shiver almost violently.  The passionate touches in the elevator has made you sensitive and wanting.  He knows this.  He can see it in every shift of movement that rattles through you.  And when he calmly begins to unbutton your shirt, eyes still locked with yours, the anticipation in your gaze makes him smirk.
“You know what I love about these jobs?” he wonders airily, undoing the final button and opening your shirt.  He doesn’t take it off.  Instead he just reaches in to cup your breasts, and you’re intensely glad of your choice of lingerie.  Black lace, see through, splayed out against your skin like little cut-outs.  He’s glad too, if the gleam in his eye is any indication.
“What?” you whisper, eyelids fluttering as his calloused fingertips firmly squeeze you.  You feel like a sapling in a hurricane.  One shaky breadth of wind and you’ll fall over. 
His eyes flash and he leans in, but he doesn’t kiss you.  His mouth hovers near your ear.  His thumbs roll over your hard nipples.  Then he smirks that raw smirk and murmurs, “Seeing you dressed up like a sexy secretary.  Do you do that on purpose?”  Wear those tight skirts and those silk stockings and those high heels.  Make his wildest fantasies come to life and tease him with little reveals of your skin – skin that he can’t touch in public.  It drives him crazy.
You bite your lip when his hands drift down your waist, curling to your back and lower.  He grips your ass tightly, pressing your lower body against his.  A harsh gasp leaves your throat when you feel evidence of his erection plastered against his trousers, and your head falls back.  But still he doesn’t kiss you.
“…No,” you tell him, barely remembering to respond to his question at all.  He makes a noise in the back of his throat, plucks at your shirt, and smoothly rolls it down your arms.  Then, chuckling darkly, Heracles mutters, “You’re lying.”  He drops his head to kiss your neck and you swallow thickly when his hands return to your rear.
“You know what it does to me,” he whispers, fiddling with the zipper of your skirt.  Your breathing turns even more ragged when his tongue traces your jugular vein, nibbling at your skin.  He pulls the zipper down slowly.  His every move is a form of seduction.
The skirt falls to the floor, and Heracles murmurs lowly, “Every time I see you dressed up like this I want to rip your clothes off and fuck you.  I don’t care who else is around.  I’d fuck you right there in front of them all…”  He roughly squeezes your ass and you whimper.
His teeth scrape your throat lightly.  His fingers drift between the cleft of your rear and smoothly slide over the silk stockings.  You’re so wet that your panties and stockings are both soaked, something he immediately notices when his fingers curve down to touch you.
“Heracles!” you whisper, clutching his shoulders.  He doesn’t talk dirty to you all the time, but when he does it’s like an immediate turn on.  You’re mind could be on something completely different, but the moment he’d start talking like that you’d want nothing more than his touch.  It’s like passion has ripped a hole through your chest.  You can’t even think about anything else except the wicked promises in his voice and how much you want them to come to fruition.
He sighs out and smirks up at you devilishly.  “Look at how wet you are for me.  You like when I talk dirty don’t you?  Naughty girl.  I could take you right now easily, you’re so wet.  It’d just slide right in.  Do you want that?”  His fingers roll over your clit and you whimper again, your voice torn.  Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.  He’s driving you insane.
“Mmm…yes.  I want you to fuck me.  Hard.  Fuck me real hard, Heracles,” you whisper once you find your voice.  Two can play his little game. 
His eyes flutter and he pauses, shivers, and chuckles.  “Okay.  You want rough, I’ll give you rough, my sexy little secretary.  Strip.  But leave the heels.  Go on.”  He squeezes your ass one more time before stepping away from you, and you shiver at the loss of his warmth.  But the fire he has lit beneath your heart splutters on, brighter and hotter, stirred by the strength of his gaze as he blinks at you.
“Yes sir,” you tell him, playing along.  He sends you a smirk and sits down on the edge of the mattress.  You turn to him, give him a lingering one-over, and then send him a smirk of your own.  His trousers look uncomfortably tight, and the bulge in them is more than a little impressive.
You peel the stockings away, stepping momentarily out of your heels to strip them down your feet.  Then you slid the shoes back on and teeter there in the center of the room, flipping the stockings onto a nearby chair.  Heracles watches, watches as you unclip your bra, watches as you shuffle out of your panties.  Then, standing naked but for your stilettos, you saunter over to the bed and stand in front of him, and he immediately reaches for you.
He presses his face to your breasts, rubs his cheek over them.  The stubble on his jaw makes you shiver as it scratches over your soft skin.  His hands slid over your body, from your upper back to the front of your breasts to your hips and thighs.  Then he kisses one pert nipple before ordering, “Lay down on your stomach.  Spread your legs.”  The orders leave you feeling raw and beautiful.
You obey, sliding down onto your stomach.  The sheets are luxurious and expensive, and as you lay yourself over them you feel luxurious too.  Your legs fall open over the side of the mattress.  The cold air hits you hard, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing when you feel your lover’s hand on your bare ass.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, pulling your ass to the side and clicking his tongue.  He spreads your folds next, opening your core to his eyes.  You think you can’t get any wetter than you already are, but his calm actions make you even more so.  Especially when one curled knuckle traces the inside of your slit.
“You’re dripping.  What a wicked secretary.  Were you thinking about me all day, like I was thinking about you?  Did you fantasize about me?”  He circles your clit, then one finger inches into you, followed quickly by another, and another, until three fingers are spreading you and thrusting slowly and gently.  You bite your lip and bury your face into the sheets, gasping.  At this rate you’ll be coming before he even takes you properly.  You’re already so wet and so sensitive.
“Heracles, please,” you whimper, shuffling your hips to feel more of him.  He makes a non-committal noise and then a moment later, his hand is coming down hard on your ass and you gasp out loudly at the sting.  Jesus.  That was hot.  You grip the sheets harder and he does it again, spurred on by the sexy little gasps you’re giving him.
“So polite.  But you’ll have to be a bit more specific.  Tell me exactly what you want.”  Another slap, and his thrusting fingers quicken, making vulgar wet sounds as they enter and leave your soaking core.
You moan into the bed and spread your legs further.  In a ragged voice, you say, “I want…oh – I want your…mmm, your cock.  I want you to stuff your cock as far into my pussy as you can – fuck, Heracles!” 
Let it not be said that Greek lovers were inattentive.  The moment your words leave your lips, Heracles had his trousers halfway down his legs and was hooking his arms around your thighs, pulling you to the very edge of the bed.  His cock slides into you seconds later, filling you up so suddenly and so provocatively that you forget to breathe all over again.  You can only murmur nonsense into the wrinkled sheets.
His hands clutch your waist, squeezing your flesh almost painfully. 
He handles you roughly, starting off at an unforgiving pace that leaves you miles behind yet again.  Every slap of his hips into yours is loud in the shaky silence, and he only goes faster.  His body slides over yours, hands propped up near your shoulders.  Every thrust lifts your ass into the air and shoves his length deeper inside you.  So deep that it feels like he’s burning you from the inside out.
“Oh God…yes…mmm!” you’re practically sobbing and it’s sexy as hell.  He can’t stop, can’t slow down, even when he feels the ripping sensation of his orgasm start to tear through him.
“Come for me,” Heracles tells you, almost desperately.  He needs to feel your come around him before he finishes.  He needs the tightness of your release to succor him into his own.  And you do.  You’re already so aroused that it takes mere seconds of his sweet dirty talk to make you crumble, and then you’re coming so brilliantly that you cry out, eyes wet with tears, body unfurling into the mattress below him.
He watches you come, feels you squeeze his cock, and into that tightness he lets himself go with a growling cuss that makes you aroused all over again.  His thrusts bruise you, his hand reaches down to pull your hips against him.  He fills you up with a heat that has you gasping and writhing and crying, and when it’s all over you can only lay there and moan.
With a heaving sigh, he pulls out of you and then collapses into bed beside you.  He shucks off the trousers that still cling to his legs and chuckles at the ceiling.  “Forgive me,” he murmurs to you, turning his chin in your direction as his eyes slip closed, “I didn’t last nearly as long as I meant to.  You’re just so fucking sexy.  Couldn’t help myself.” 
A thrill whirls through you at the words and you laugh breathlessly, lifting yourself up onto your elbows and shuffling toward him.  “’S okay,” you murmur tiredly, plopping down into his chest.  He immediately curls himself around you, pressing his naked body to yours intimately.  “I love it when you lose control,” you tell him, kissing his shoulder and gently stroking a fingertip over his temple.  He catches your hand and brings it to his lips, leaving a lingering kiss on your knuckles.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he tells you.  The promise makes you shiver all over again, and he chuckles.  “Mmm…just give me a few minutes…” his eyes shut again and his breathing deepens, and his expression turns lazy and sleepy.  He’s beautiful.
“Heracles…” you whisper a few moments later as a thought suddenly crosses your mind.  He hums curiously and you tilt your head towards him.  “You haven’t kissed me properly since the elevator.  Just realized.” 
His eyes flutter open to blink at you.  A moment trickles slowly past.  Then he smirks subtly and playfully knocks a knuckle against your chin, “Then come here, agapi.” [1]
You smile and lower your lips to his, and the slow drag of passion makes you sigh out happily.  You stay there for a long time, pressed against him and kissing him in the dusky glow of early evening.

[1] agapi … love


  1. well dang, that was really hot!

  2. My god.....(nosebleeds) // Please more Hetalia lemons! This was the 1st one in like forever!

  3. Steamy with enough roughness. Yum! My kinda story! If only it happened to me in real life! Hahaha...
    I don't know anything about Hetalia but your stories have made me interested in knowing more about it. Great work! More more more! :*

  4. Sweet jezzus I love your writings