The collar was something that had grown to be a part of the self that he hated. Studded with little gold ornaments, the leather always chafed at the skin where it was tightly secured. They made the purpling bruises Sadık had left on his neck swell even more.

In the process of hating the collar, Herakles ended up hating himself and everything that he stood for.

"I'll be thinking of you."

Biting down on his lip, Herakles crossed his bare legs, as if that would somehow make his erection disappear. The stuffy summer air served as a constant reminder (as if the healing scratch marks on his back weren't enough) that he had been left alone. Herakles closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He could almost recreate that one moment in his head, to the point where it was so real and all that he was missing was the physical human that should've been leaning over him.

"Come on, I thought you had more fight in you than that," Sadık laughed. It was almost cruel, but it retained a hint of the man's childish, mischievous nature… "Where's that ancient spirit of the Greeks?"

"Ignoring you," Herakles muttered to himself as the recent memory in his mind faded to black. He ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, remembering how painfully it had throbbed when Sadık grabbed it three days ago in an attempt to elicit some sort of response from him. That son of a bitch probably just wanted someone to humiliate.

If that were the case, then he had already done that - and plenty more. What else could he want? At this point, Herakles was no more than a dog in Sadık's eyes, just another pretty gem for the Ottoman Empire to flaunt.

Sadık could never be satisfied by anything.

"Malakas..." Herakles muttered as he took another straggled breath. His throat was dry, his lower half ached like hell, and he felt dizzy from dehydration. It had been three days since Sadık last needed him. If Herakles wasn't needed again soon, he thought he'd die of thirst.

That would've been a better alternative than the life he lead now, anyways.

Herakles shook his head. He knew full well that Sadık only visited when he was either in the mood to tease, or in the mood to fuck out his problems. It should've been a relief to him that he had been left alone for so long. This should've been a victory, not an occasion to regret.

But no matter what Herakles told himself, he couldn't move his fingers away from his cock, and in spite of his earlier thoughts, he began to stroke himself, long and slow touches. His breath caught in his throat as his thumb ran over the head of his cock once more, this time with vigor. Images of Sadık's coarse hands entered his mind, and Herakles began to pump himself as he realised how greedy he really was. He grit his teeth and tried to keep quiet, refusing to let out sounds of satisfaction. Not in this house.

It had been three goddamn days since he heard a voice other than his own, and though he didn't want to admit it, he wanted Sadık to come back. He wanted to hear someone else speak and he wanted water to drink, above all else. Oh, there were so many things he wanted...to not be chained to the wall like a filthy animal, to have a decent meal for the first time in months, to have Sadık next to him, to feel the other man's cock shoved up his ass and making him tremble lustfully from the sheer size and thick-

A strangled moan escaped from Herakles' lips as he focused on an image of Sadık's cock. All of those that things he wanted, he couldn't get, unless a certain shitbag was in a good mood. If it meant resisting Sadık or pissing him off in some way,Herakles told himself that he could ignore his own wants.

But maybe now, he slipped up a little.

As he massaged the tip of his dick, Herakles gave his balls a tight squeeze with his other hand as he drowned himself in fantasy. He could almost feel Sadık's cock jammed down his throat, scraping against the insides of his mouth, and the effort it took every time they had sex for Herakles to not vomit in repulsion. He tilted his head back into the wall, shuddering.

After Sadık had his fun and came all over his face, the man would always laugh. Sometimes, it would even lack the childish cruelty Herakles had become so familiar with. "Good boy," Sadık would croon as cum dribbled down Herakles' eyelids, cheeks, nose, and it was then that Sadık would pat Herakles' matted hair, an action that was something akin to happiness… or affection…

Herakles tightened his grip on his cock. There was no reason to use such recollections. Adjusting his imagination, he now filled his mind with vivid pictures of the sweat soaked blankets that his face had been forced against so many times as Sadık enjoyed himself. In this fantasy, Sadık was pissed off; he wanted blood, wanted to fuck Herakles to the point where the bed creaked with every thrust and slap. Those rhythmic creaks would carry on in perfect time until Herakles finally broke, reduced to a shaking mess begging for permission to cum from his master. The thought made Herakles stiffen in bitter memory. He was alone, but he still remembered how Sadık had reacted that one time he came without asking, because he had been so lost in pleasure. Their sex had stopped so abruptly, and Sadık's voice had dropped low, a habit he had whenever he didn't get what he wanted: "Thought I had trained my Janissary whores to be better." Herakles felt a chill run up his spine. The burn marks from that incident still caused his inner thighs to be stupidly sensitive.

"Does this make you want to cum too? I bet everything does," Sadık murmured, holding the lit candle closer until the flame was basically pressed against Herakles' skin. A familiar searing sensation clawed at his inner thighs and it travelled up in a straight line until it was near the base of his cock. Definitely a burn. The ropes tying Herakles' hands together were strained as he dug his nails into his wrists to resist the urge to hiss. He couldn't tell if his reaction was because the heat was making him hard again, or if it was because he was being mutilated. He was too afraid to move - partially due to the fact that he didn't want to seem fazed, but it mostly because he was a little scared of what else Sadık had in store.

"I hate you so fucking much," Herakles gasped. The last word cracked in his throat as he came for what felt like no reason. Cum dripped onto his shaking hands as the remaining pieces of his fantasy fell away. Almost immediately, his hunger came back full force, and with it, his anger. Here he was, starving and half dead, and his first instinct had been to jack off like he was some filthy animal. The memory of the creaking bed still rang loudly in Herakles' head as he struggled to catch his breath.

A filthy animal. That's all he really was now, wasn't he? He clenched his fists and let out a long sigh. Something pricked at his eyes and he could feel them get watery. This would've been the first time he had cried in years, the first time he had ever cried while being here. The creaking noise became a scream of sorts, deafening his ears as he sat in his self pity. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the creaks whispering to him, telling him to apologise to Sadık and run back into his arms like a bitch.

But there was no reason for him to cry. He was stronger than Sadık, Herakles told himself. This wouldn't be how he died, after years of existence and war. He wouldn't give Sadık the goddamn pleasure.

It was then that the creaking suddenly subsided. The world inside of Herakles' mind melted away, replaced by a slow, deliberate clap coming from his right.

Herakles froze up for a moment before forcing himself to muster a neutral face, devoid of the disdain that threatened to overwhelm him then and there. There was no embarrassment or anger left inside of him. Only bitterness.

"Nice show." Sadık's amused voice floated through the humid air of the tiny room, and Herakles heard footsteps approach him. The new smell of spices and sweet oils felt oddly out of place in a room that reeked of sweat and sex.

For the first time in half an hour or so, Herakles opened his eyes to the reality around him, only to see the face he despised most smiling -that childish, cruel smile- down at his current state of misery. Out of habit, Herakles bared his teeth to show the Turk he wasn't interested. All that achieved was that it invited Sadık to come closer, until his lips could kiss Herakles' dirty face.

"You shouldn't frown so much. It doesn't suit you." Rough stubble brushed against Herakles' cheek as Sadık spoke in an almost kindly manner. The next time he opened his mouth, however, his tone had changed to one that Herakles was all too familiar with. "Could be using that pretty mouth for something else."

"Fuck off," came Herakles' disjointed reply as he cooly met Sadık's eyes, trying for what felt like the hundredth time to figure out how he should react in situations like this. For this specific scenario, Herakles quickly concluded that if there had been no threat of repercussions, he should've spat in Sadık's face. His rage however, had died with the high from his orgasm.

"Mhm, I'll consider it. Open your mouth first." Here, Sadık looked at him expectantly, bearing a wicked grin. Herakles hated him for that. He hated him so much, not just because he knew how smug Sadık was about all this, but because he knew that his own body would betray him and obey.

His mouth ended up opening, just a bit hesitant, tongue pushed against his bottom teeth as he struggled onto his knees to await the inevitable. Three days was just three days too long. Herakles kept his eyes on Sadık as the other man loosened his pants and guided his half-erect cock to Herakles' face.

"Were you thinking about me?" Sadık asked in a honeyed voice. He let out a sharp intake of breath when Herakles' mouth closed around his dick - much to the surprise of both men - and started to compliantly suck. Herakles nodded in response of the question, feeling his throat expand as he did. It wasn't as if he could've answered otherwise, unless he wanted to take a knee to the face. He lifted his chin so he could continue to look at Sadık and express how he felt through a series of half-hearted glares. Sadık wasn't even paying attention to him.

"That's a good boy…" Sadık moaned, grabbing at his hair and forcing Herakles' face further onto his dick. Between dehydration and the having a cock stuffed in his throat, Herakles felt as if he would pass out. Beginning to tremble, he continued to suck sloppily, moving his tongue for added effects every so often as Sadık's approving face flickered in and out of focus. Saliva was running down Herakles' throat and onto his knees, but had he tried to swallow any of it, he probably would've died right there from cock asphyxiation. If that was even a fucking thing.

To his own disgust, he realised he was getting hard again. Already.

"Mhm, you have beautiful lips. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Herakles shook his head in response, his rhythm faltering as he did so. The question was one of the many strange ones that Sadık liked to ask at the worst times possible. Absurdity was just something Sadık liked to occasionally toy with during sex.

As if in reply to Herakles' mental complaints, Sadık began to rock back and forth, fucking his mouth slowly. Herakles could feel his teeth scrape along the sides of Sadık's cock, and his mouth struggled to stay open. All that prevented him from relaxing his jaws was the simple fact that if a bite happened, he knew there'd be hell to pay.

"Good. No one's allowed to tell you that but me."

Herakles raised his eyebrows at the words. That was a new one. Again, at a terrible time. At this point, Sadık's shoulders were hunched up, his entire body tense as he got closer and closer to coming. For the love of God and all the gods out there, Herakles couldn't understand what went on in that man's head.

So instead of expending effort on that, Herakles simply stuck to doing what he did understand - he lifted his left hand -the cum streaks of his own between his fingers barely dried- and grabbed at Sadık's balls, trying to stimulate the other man more. It wasn't for Sadık's pleasure, though. Herakles just hoped that that would distract Sadık from the truth that Herakles was pulling at his own cock now too. He wanted to cum as well, even though he knew he wouldn't in time. It just felt so good, to be so needy once again.

And so they continued like this, Sadık indulging himself and Herakles doing the same, until Sadık suddenly came in his mouth with a stifled groan. Herakles really wanted to choke then. He pulled away, gag reflex going off, and leaned back down against the stone wall for support. He was so lightheaded. If he tried to think, all he could feel was the cum that was mixing with his own spit, and since he didn't want any of that crap going down his throat, it leaked out of his mouth and trickled down his chest. He closed his eyes, exhausted for the second time that day. Surprisingly enough, Sadık didn't reprimand him for not swallowing. In fact, Sadık had been relatively silent the entire time. The only noises in the room were that of Herakles' heavy breathing, and the rustle of clothes as Sadık probably put his pants back on and got ready to carry on with his day. Like nothing had happened between them.

A vague feeling of dread settled in Herakles' chest. How long would it be now, before he was needed again? Probably a few more days, when he ended up being this desperate once more. Sadık had other boys to fuck anyways. And it wasn't as if he wanted Sadık to be here. There was no point of lying to himself, but he had kept up this facade for so many years. A few more years of lies wouldn't hurt. If he didn't lie, he might've gone crazy.

In Herakles' world, he wasn't Sadık's goddamn pet, he wasn't a traitor to his people, not a man that actually enjoyed the degrading treatment he received - he was righteously angry and bitter over what he had become, the only way anyone should've reacted.

But every part of him knew that nothing could be farther from the truth.

"You've been good today. I suppose you've earned this." The sound of footsteps away, back, and then a series of clinks as Sadık placed something down next to Herakles. It only could've been a clay cup of water and a plate of whatever leftovers the Turk saw fit to spare for him. Herakles refused to acknowledge the gift. He was back to normal now, in his right mind and not polluted by lust or need. He remembered now, he hated this man. He hated everything about him. He hated his food too, even if his stomach was rumbling and his throat was sore from dick and thirst.

"Not even a 'thank you', brat?"

Don't act like you deserve one, Herakles snapped in his head. Sadık should've just left already. He had gotten everything he wanted from the visit, and it was just annoying that he continued to linger around - Herakles had to recollect himself and also fix that pesky erection he had gotten. If Sadık wasn't going to help, Herakles didn't want him around. By being present, he only reminded Herakles of what he didn't want to think about.

The less he thinked about these things, the less real it seemed to become.

There was a long silence as Herakles refused to give Sadık the pleasure of a vocal answer. Like at the end of every other visit, Sadık stood there, probably watching and waiting for Herakles to show some sign of remorse. And like every time before, there came a time where Sadık couldn't take the quiet anymore, and he knelt back down next to Herakles. He was so close that his nauseating smell of richness and luxury blocked out every other rancid odor in the room.

As per routine, Sadık spoke in hushed undertones for a few seconds about how he would miss Herakles, primarily composed of the meaningless "I'll be thinking of you" that really meant "I'll be thinking of you while I'm getting off". He'd finger Herakles' collarbones, neck, and finally the studded leather collar itself. After seemingly contemplating for a moment, he would get up and leave at last. Gone for a couple more days, in which Herakles would always grow angry again; angry at the collar, the life he lived now, the feelings he had, the man that imprisoned him like so; and especially, angry at how long he dwelt on the feeling of the fingers that traced his purpling bruises, as if they could provide a pitiful comfort to what had done themselves.

As if those fingers could've been warm, maybe even loving, like the soft praises Herakles had grown to live for.

(A/N): Recently, I've sparked an interest in TurGre, so I decided to try out some stuff. It's been a while since I uploaded, but here I am. Been busy with school, interest wandered away from the Hetalia fandom, lots of stuff happened. This may or may not be a one-shot, I've been entertaining the idea of writing a series for some time. Perhaps this will end up being a series of miscellaneous Hetalia smut fics. Who knows?

Not a lot of people read my stuff but thank you to the people who do! You guys are cool and I always love your feedback!

(Totally not ironic I'm writing a fanfic about Turkey around Thanksgiving. Happy Thanksgiving, folks!)

And yes, I'm going back through this story constantly to fix things about it. Don't mind me. I make a lot of mistakes and I don't edit a ton before I post, because I find it makes me lose motivation. So it will generally take a week or so until the story you read is the final one.

-cyon