Scotch is Better Than Vodka
a Hetalia fan fiction
by hitagashi
Summary: You'd think they would know how to keep their hands off of each other.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia and make no money off of these writings.
Been a while huh? Well, I had planned for this to end with just fondling but I decided it needed smut. Enjoy.
There might be a big jump in style change here. Forgot this was still on my computer. ;A;
Update as of 02 December 2010: I have an outline for this story and hope to finish it soon. Sorry for the wait. Going to have a bonus chapter up too with my fan character that represents the Cheslovian Republic.
A blush spread over the Brit's face when he was pulled into the Russian's lap and had the large and tan scarf wrapped around his neck. He looked over his shoulder at the man and sighed with a roll of his eyes. He crossed his arms and settle comfortably against the soviet's broad chest. Strong arms encircled his waist loosely and the larger male's water pipe was draped across his knees.
"Well today we have to talk about the... war with..." America adjusted his glasses when he looked over at the two. His stomach lurched a bit and he lost his self assured grin. Arthur was blushing and Ivan's mouth was directly by his ear, the two seeming to be in their own little world. The illusion was shattered when the blond slammed his foot onto the Russian's under the table.
"Stop touching me there you git!" He twisted his body around a bit to push away the other male's face with his hands before turning completely sideways in his lap. He let out a curse in Gaelic when Russia poked him in his ribs gently and glared at the other man.
"Stop your moving or you will injure yourself further." A blush spread over his face and ears at that and he punched Russia square in the jaw. The man blinked at him in confusion and then raised an eyebrow.
"Whose fault is it that I'm like this?"
"I don't feel sorry about it." His hand lifted one of the Brit's legs and slid down it slowly. A few of the others in the room blushed (including the Brit) while some made to stand (namely Belarus). His hand stopped at the back of the smaller male's knee and his face pressed close to Arthur's.
"Not in front of everyone." His hands pressed firmly to the other man's forehead and mouth and his left foot pushed his arm away. His green eyes seemed soft even though his actions were angry and the look was matched in the soviet's eyes. His fingers danced over the underside of his knee before pulling away and then forcing the blond to face forward again.
"Uh... right." He ignored the way his stomach twisted angrily and how he couldn't help but feel angry towards the Russian. "What was..." He turned his head to the side again in time to see the Russian press a kiss to Arthur's neck. Purple eyes looked up at America, a challenging glare in them. The blond felt his stomach clench when he realized he knew.
"Perhaps we should end the meeting for today, aru. It appears Alfred is not feeling well and that Arthur and Ivan want some alone time." He nodded to himself, easily connecting the two issues. "If we do not I fear Alfred will faint and those two will have at each other on the table, aru." He stood, walking around the table and grabbing America by his wrist. Russia and England looked at each other, the sandy haired male lifting the blond up and carrying him away.
"Why the hell is China so damn smart about things?" He huffed, idly kicking his legs as Russia carried him up the stairs.
"I am thinking it comes from being over four thousand years old." Nodding, the blond pulled his companion closer by his scarf, lips brushing along lips with a smile. Russia was being gentle, being kind with the way he was treating the Brit. He ran soothing lips over the bruise forming on Ivan's chin, over the nearly black mark left by his fist. "You have quite an arm."
"I should. I was the terror of the seas you know." He was proud of that even now, even when he was so much smaller a nation than then. Turkey often compared him to a storm, there was time between the attacks but when the overwhelming calm came everyone went to hide, went to the shelter of their homes.
And then he would strike. He would strike and kill and glorify in the destruction and prosperity that seemed to come from a well timed battle. As horrible as it sounded, he adored being bathed in the blood of his enemies during a battle. It gave him a thrill. And he remembered, vaguely, from so many centuries passed, Russia in his glory.
Dearest and most beloved Russia.
What a sight to behold! Bathed in the blood of his enemies, dancing around their pathetic frames and laughing as if he had no care in the world. He had seen this man, not just him as a country, but as a man, look free and ecstatic while raining crushing blows on his enemies even when they ran and begged for mercy. There was none. Mercy in war was for the weak.
"I quite miss those days. Things were simpler. I was... still myself." Ah, such a sordid topic. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his heart as he remembered those days, he trailed gentle kisses over the bruise on Russia's chin, smirking when the man's steps faltered. Then, just as suddenly as he had started kissing his Ivan's chin, he was dropped onto the large bed he had come to share with the soviet.
"Spread your legs. Raise your hips." Green eyes were on purple when he did as told, settling onto the pillows placed beneath his hips. Fingers were carefully running over his legs before they settled on pulling his pants away from him, sliding on to take off his boxer briefs and then finishing it all by taking his shirt away.
"Ivan?" It was odd, this gentleness, even after last night, Russia hadn't been this gentle. His mouth opened to say something else when all the breath left him. The other nation was stripping, stripping and doing it slowly. It was odd, how graceful such a large man could be, but then, he was beautiful too.
"You are almost healed. Interesting." Nodding, England shifted gently against the nudging head. It was really odd, really confusing to him. He could tell he was in that calm before the metaphorical storm and it was making him impatient. He wanted more. And then Russia was sliding into him, gentle, easing in with small and shallow thrusts. It had England's world reeling, had his eyes closing as he felt oddly comforted at the sensation.
"Ah... deep..." It was a quiet murmur from the usually loud and brash man but it had Russia pushed into him as far as possible, happy Arthur appreciated it. He was in the mood to be gentle. Some of the snow had melted in Russia that day. Not a lot. But enough to where he could feel his smiles becoming sunnier and less biting. Rocking gently in the man, Russia kept his pace slow as he watched the reddened face of his ally.
It would be later, when England had finally fallen asleep, that he would wonder if a country (male or female) could get pregnant.
For now, he was happy with keeping up a teasing pace even when he and England were close to completion. He sped up just enough to make the island nation keen but never enough to make him scream as he was prone to. No, this time he wanted his sweetly furious Arthur to gasp and moan the whole time. He wanted him to be satisfied and to keep the veneer of silence in his home. So when the blond pulled him into a soft kiss, as if trying to force the man into keeping them both quiet, Ivan readily replied. His mouth was moving gently against the blond's, swallowing up his little noises of pleasure. And when he came, the storm was beginning to rage, the blood so dormant, was beginning to boil.
Later, when England was asleep, when he was dreaming, Russia would wonder why the moment he and Russia found their release, England's eyes had flashed the same way Russia's often did when he was creating bloody patterns on his snow.
