Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Just another quick update so you have an idea what I mean by 'excerpts and scenes'. This one I actually wrote...oh, a long, long time ago, around the time I posted chapter 10 of Educating America. It was my first try at a 'mature' scene, 'cause I wanted to see if I'd be able to write one, 'cause otherwise I'd have to change my ideas for the story.
This particular story was inspired because I was thinking of all the reasons I don't like slave fics, and was wondering if there was a setting in which I would be more comfortable with it. Turns out yes and no- but that contradiction will be addressed in the story. Set in Ancient Rome. AU.
After dinner, Lovino found himself walking down to the servant's quarters, carrying a plate of fruit and bread for Alfredo. Not that he was worried about the idiot, but...he'd had so much left over when he'd finished, and he hated to waste food. It was...wasteful. It certainly didn't have anything to do with the wounded look that Alfredo had given him after Grandpa Roma had administered his punishment, blue eyes sad and betrayed, which did not make his insides twist with guilt, dammit. Slaves were supposed to obey, that was how it worked. If they didn't, they were punished. The idiot deserved everything he got, even if he had been trying to protect him.
And so, purely to keep from being wasteful, he tread softly down the cold marble corridor on bare feet (not that he was trying not to get caught breaking Grandpa's order; he'd just taken off his sandals 'cause it was late, and he didn't want to wake anyone up with the sound of his footfalls. He was considerate like that).
Finally reaching his destination, he stood silently outside of Alfredo's door, wondering if he should knock or just go in- after all, Al was his slave, right? When a sound inside made him freeze. He leaned closer to the coarse wooden door, listening carefully, and there it was again- a low, pained moan. His heart beat faster, his stomach twisting in guilt and worry, now. Alfred wasn't still in pain, was he? It couldn't still hurt that badly, right? The tall blond had shrugged off worse with a smile, so something like this couldn't possibly be giving him trouble. Unless...Grandpa Roma had been harsher than he'd realized? It would be just like the idiot to hide the extent of his injuries so Lovino wouldn't worry...or...or -he bit his lip, heart aching as he remembered the look the other had given him when he was lead away- maybe...maybe it wasn't just the injuries? Maybe he'd hurt the blond, hurt him when he'd failed to speak up, failed to defend him to his grandfather, even though...even though...
Dammit! Unable to stop himself as another guttural moan came through the door, he cracked it open, peering inside. What he saw stopped him in his tracks, yet again.
There in the window, the red light of a dying sun caressing his form, casting him in sharp relief against the rapidly darkening blue of the evening sky, sat Alfredo. His chin rested against his chest, eyes closed, one arm draped languidly across a raised knee. His lips were parted, panting, and a warm flush dusted the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones. A droplet of sweat trickled down his temple, and Lovino watched its path, mesmerized, as it trailed down golden skin, over the blond's jawline, down his sinuous neck, settling in the dip of his collarbone. His eyes continue down the muscular chest, rapidly rising and falling with the other's breath, the taut stomach, and he realizes that the slave's hand- that strong, warm hand, which has so often shielded him, protected him, comforted him- is moving rapidly, hidden underneath the thin blanket slung low across the other's hips.
His face burns as another whimpering moan reaches his ears. He grips the doorframe tightly, knees suddenly going weak. He shouldn't be watching this, it's wrong, it's private. He should leave the plate on the floor and leave. But then the other's head is thrown back, face enraptured; and his body arches, taut as a bow, a name escaping his lips like a prayer to the heavens. "Lovino."
The plate falls from nerveless fingers, crashing to the floor. Blue eyes open and the blond leaps from the window in one smooth, dangerous movement, alert and ready. His eyes widen as he catches sight of his visitor, flushed and wide-eyed outside the door.
Lovino can't breathe, can't think. The way he'd said his name, voice full of such want, such devotion...has stolen his breath, shaken him to the core. His heart aches with something he can't name. And now this man, his Alfredo (and suddenly those words have taken on a new meaning) is standing there, glistening and golden, hand still dripping with his essence, looking at him with his heart in those beautiful eyes; and Lovino isn't sure how to respond, if he should respond.
So he does the only thing he can think of, and turns and runs.
AN: Yeah, so. Actually, it's interesting to see how little my writing has changed in all this time (hahah yeah, it hasn't even been a year since I started writing, 'all this time' pffft of course I haven't gotten any better yet).
This story is set to start about the same time as the sequel to Educating America. So...it may be a while! But I've been doing the research and have a couple snippets and scenes down for it in the meantime.