Not a complex piece. A kink meme fill for a request that called for Belarus "face-sitting and using her brother's nose to pleasure herself". I had a grand old time. There's a punchline.
Censored a bit for the site. If you'd like to read the version with "The C-Word" and a few more graphic lines, a bit more specificity, hop on over to The Uber-Pit. Same title.
Disclaimer: I don't own any element of Hetalia: Axis Powers or any related media, including the characters featured here. I don't profit from writing this stuff.
Her skirt falls in waves against the soft curves of his chest, pooling against the line of his collarbone, the junction of her thighs. It ripples in time with the the jump of her hips. His hands are steady where they support her, fingers pressing hard into the line between thigh and buttock, but he can't still her trembling, her rocking.
Belarus rides every stroke of his tongue with a roll of her hips, and every roll brings her closer to the squirm of his mouth, harder against the proud jut of his nose. She'd always loved that nose, as much as any of the strong, masculine features that compose her brothers face – but she's never loved it as much as in this moment, wide and firm and teasing the core of her.
Brother's tongue is as sweet in action as it is in speaking. Not expert, but rhythmic, alternating between hard flicks and soft laps with a quick, clumsy pace. She imagines it isn't easy. His chest is heaving like he's run a marathon, and she can hear panting, whistling breath beneath her skirt, feel the slide of cool air where she's hot, moist exhalation where she's wet. She wishes he'd let her undress. She wants to see his throat convulse. She wants to see his pulse.
But beneath her skirt, he's blind, deaf to the world outside his own breath and the wet sound of their movement.
He's drowning in the smell and taste of her.
Belarus' lips are tingling with the rush of blood. Her toes are curled, legs tense and tight, knees pressing his shoulders into the mattress. Her eyes are stinging, but she won't tear her eyes away from the glistening curls on his bare chest, the precious dip of his naval, the evidence of his arousal, so clear and so close. Russia goes out for ever between her legs, powerful, familiar, and glorious.
She comes silently, eyes open. She hopes he won't notice, that he will keep loving her, worshiping her, only her, but her spine is arching and her hips are jumping and she's grinding hard into his nose and faltering tongue. Her muscles turn to soft wax, and he tips her forward.
He's panting for breath, sniffling and clearing his throat and keeping her at arm's length, and it's not fair to push her away, not now – but she isn't allowed to touch, and she doesn't touch, and the flecks of white are fading from her vision.
She turns to look at him, and Russia is fumbling with a handful of tissues from the bedside table. The sheen around his mouth makes her shiver.
He catches her eye as he blows his nose, and gives her a weak smile.
"You enjoyed that, yes?"
"I enjoy everything you do, Brother."
"Ah..." His smile gets a little more nervous, but she doesn't mind because if nothing else, it's a look that's only for her. "You are happy, then? Satisfied?"
"You always make me happy."
"Um, yes... Sister, will you please go home now?"
This tiny thing was written to celebrate the end of a 5-month writing project. Feedback is always very appreciated - you guys make it all worthwhile.