MOAR smut~

Warning: Lemon, Prumano, RusAme, angst, paranoia, fluff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

What Cannot Be Said

"Ficken, Lovino!" Gilbert moaned. The Italian was lying on top of him, moving on his cock.

Lovino dug his nails into Gilbert's skin. "Don't be so loud, dammit! Do you want everyone to hear us fucking?"

"Maybe if you kiss me I will be a little quieter," Gilbert quipped. Lovino rolled his eyes, but brought their lips together, tongues sliding past each other. When they parted, Gilbert lifted his hips up to meet Lovino's onslaught. "Would it be too much to ask you to go a little faster? Mein awesome five meters needs a little more attention than that."

"Shut up, bastard," Lovino growled, nipping the pale skin on his lover's neck. "I'm the one in control."

"Only because you insisted."

"I like riding, dammit. I thought we already discussed this."

"Ja, ja, it satisfies your need for 'dominance.'" Then a bit quieter Gilbert added, "However that works with my awesome dick in your ass…"

"What was that, bastard?"

"I said move a little faster, or I will roll us over and fuck you that way."

"You'd better not, bastard."

"Your nickname for me is so loving. I can tell you really care about me when you say it."

"All right, all right, dammit! I'll go faster. Che, whatever gets you to shut your fucking annoying mouth." And so he sped things along, though he would never admit that he would be content just to ride Gilbert's thick cock all night.

Gilbert's cock twitched and swelled inside of Lovino. "Mm, ja, that's more like it."

"You will never fucking shut up, will you?"

"Hey, it comes with my awesome cock. Deal with it, kesese!"

Despite his annoyance and Gilbert's incessant, idiotic talking, Lovino was getting very close. Hell, he'd been close just a few minutes into them starting. He'd just been trying to get as much out of it as he could. He fucking deserved a good hour of dicking after that exorcism he did!

But Gilbert, ever the impatient one, had been nagging him throughout and he was getting tired of it. He loved Gilbert—even though it still seemed absurd for him to think it—but the Prussian seriously needed a muzzle. A big one to match his big mouth of which he knew none big enough to fit.

Lovino was close, though he needed one last push to get him over. There really was only one way to do it; in the position Lovino was in—with him laying nearly chest-to-chest with Gilbert—there wasn't much he could do about movement. Plus, it was just awkward. But it was damn cold outside their sleeping bag and he and Gilbert had accumulated a considerable amount of sweat between them. Still, he needed that push.

So he said fuck it to the cold and sat up. Both he and Gilbert moaned when Lovino sunk all the way down on his cock.

"Oh, Lovino," Gilbert moaned and moved his hips up into him.

Lovino shivered. Not from the cold, but from the way his name rolled sensually off Gilbert's tongue. He began to move, and Gilbert's hands came up to hold his hips and guide him.

"Mm, fuck, so close," Lovino groaned and sped up his movements. "Gilbert… Gilbert!"

He threw his head back when he came, moaning out his release. Warm cum covered Gilbert's stomach and chest, and Lovino's insides clamped possessively around the cock spearing him.

Lovino had stopped moving, so Gilbert took over for him. He held Lovino's hips down as he drilled deep into him, making Lovino yelp with the rough pounds to his oversensitive prostate. With a growl, Gilbert shot his load into Lovino's ass.

His orgasm passed, Lovino felt immediately the sharpness of the cold on his slick skin. Without minding the sticky mess he had created between them, Lovino lay on top of him, breathless and sated.

They kissed a few times before Gilbert said, "We should probably clean up a bit."

Tired as they were, they tended to the mess. As their skin was bare and moist with sweat, they were more than eager to be inside the sleeping bag again. They lay close together, legs tangled and facing each other.

"Days are getting colder," Gilbert muttered, his grip on Lovino increasing. "The question is are we prepared for it?"

Lovino huffed. "Che, stop being all pessimistic. Winters have been worse for us before and we have survived them."

"Ja, but not as humans. Humans die from the cold all the time."

Lovino didn't know how to counter that, so he just remained silent. How would they survive the winter? Nothing in nature could; trees shed their leaves, plants died, animals hibernated or headed south to warmer places… oh sure, there were pines and other living things that weathered the cold, but they were adapted for that. Humans were not. Humans followed a food source to more favorable environments or stayed in one place because they were used to the harsh conditions—what they were doing now was playing with fire. Arthur had played with it once and it had not turned out well for him. But that had only been a spark. What would happen when the blizzards rolled in, when they were trudging through snow several feet thick? They had left their homes in a hurry, unprepared for anything more than mild, snowy forecasts. There were so many 'what if's about the whole affair that it made Lovino's head hurt just thinking about it.

"Don't think about that," Lovino told himself more than he told Gilbert. But he knew no matter how much he didn't think about it, he would still be subconsciously aware of it. The matter would be a low drone in the back of his mind, reminding him at every turn and instance that this whole plan could be the death of them.

"It's hard not to," Gilbert murmured, echoing Lovino's thoughts, and he went silent again. Then he said, "You can count on the awesome me to keep you warm, kesese!"

Lovino scoffed. "Easy, bastard. Only in the tent."

Gilbert chuckled and intertwined his fingers with Lovino's. "Would it be too unawesome if I said you have been the best thing I've had in a long while?"

Lovino's heart began to pound and he knew the Prussian could feel it against his chest. He couldn't believe he was reacting this way to those words coming from Gilbert of all people and his stupid voice. He looked up at him and tried to calm himself. "Are you just saying that because the fucking Uprising has kept you isolated for a 'long while'?"

Gilbert kissed Lovino's forehead. "Nein, the Uprising has kept me busy. I never thought how much I went without until you came into the picture."

Lovino stiffened. "Without what?" Please say sex, please say sex. Lovino didn't think he could handle Gilbert saying anything other than that without being… oversensitive.

Gilbert frowned at him in confusion. "You, of course. Ich liebe dich."

It was different from when Toni said it to him, but the impact was the same. Lovino had not outright told Gilbert that he loved him; that subject seemed too sensitive to breach before. But now it only seemed right that he should say it—no matter how corny and soap opera-ish it sounded.

Lovino continued to look at Gilbert's red eyes which he had come to adore, very aware that tears were pushing at his own. He didn't think he could do it… after Toni died, he thought he would be alone forever. He always had been until Toni, why not after? He had long accepted that he was a difficult person to deal with and it took a special someone to be his lover. When he'd found that someone in Toni, after so many years of running away from him and denying it to himself, he was sure that they would be in love forever. Then the Uprising happened, and Lovino's world fell apart, just like everything good always fell apart for him. He should have known.

And then Gilbert came along. It was an unlikely match and Lovino had been sure it would fail on a few occasions, but it had worked out better than he had dreamed. Him and a potato bastard. Go figure. It had taken him so long to find love that he was sure he would never find it again once Toni had passed. Now he had Gilbert, and he couldn't be more grateful.

Not that Gilbert had to know all this.

Lovino wet his lips and began, "Gilbert, you're a stupid bastard, but I—"

"AAAAAOOOOOOOOOOO."

They both tensed and Lovino nearly yelped with how tight Gilbert suddenly held him. "They sound close," the Prussian muttered.

Lovino was too stricken to say anything, his heart pounding against his ribcage. What if Ivan's wall had melted? What if the wolves had broken through? Who knew how long the pack had been starving? Who knew if they would be desperate enough to go for human flesh?

Lovino hated it, but he couldn't do anything but cling to Gilbert and bury his face in the Prussian's chest. He couldn't run, so holding onto whatever safe thing was nearby was his only alternative.

"They will not get in," Gilbert assured him. "The Russian bastard has a way with maintaining walls, I should know."

"'Perhaps the day may come when we shall remember these sufferings with joy.'"

Gilbert looked at him strangely. "What?"

"I'm quoting Virgil."

Gilbert's gaze went vacant and Lovino frowned. "The Roman poet."

"Oh, ja," Gilbert said, though it was obvious he was faking realization. "That guy. I remember him."

How can you, dumbass? You weren't alive! But Lovino went on, "It's something I always say to myself when I don't know what's going to happen. And I just thought that maybe, if we do manage to survive this shit that… at least I got you out of it."

Gilbert's eyes lost their vacant look and he smiled. Lovino blushed and looked away. "But d-d-don't let it go to your head, bastard!"

Gilbert just kept smiling that annoying, stupid smile—the one that made Lovino's heart flutter. The Prussian just held him and suddenly the wolves outside didn't matter anymore.

Gilbert placed a kiss on Lovino's forehead. "You blush as red as a tomato."

"Sh-shut up!"

Alfred listened to the wolves howl close by, shivering where he lay. He was pressed up against Ivan who was laying beside him.

"Go to sleep, Alfred," Ivan mumbled, his back to him, trying to get some rest after a long day of travel and regain the energy lost by constructing the ice wall. "They are just animals. And there is a wall up around us."

"Easy for you to say," Alfred snapped, though his voice was tremulous. "You were probably raised by them. Like in that story."

"That story is Roman. And a myth (1)."

"So you're not denying that you were raised by wolves?"

Ivan sighed deeply. "Alfred, would you prefer to go to sleep by yourself or for me to knock you out with my pipe?"

"… by myself…"

"Then go to sleep."

But Alfred couldn't sleep. As much of a hero as he was, wolves prowling just outside a camp would scare the shit out of anyone.

Except, apparently, Russia. But he didn't count.

He wriggled deeper into the sleeping bag until only his nose up was exposed to the air and then scooted further into Ivan. The howls had stopped, but Alfred knew they were out there, knew they were probably looking for a way to get to them and tear out their throats during the night—

Alfred couldn't stand it. "Vanya?"

Ivan sighed again, keeping his eyes closed. "Da, Alfred?"

"What you said about the winter wolves being the hungriest or whatever… is that true?"

"Da. Winter is a time of perpetual hunger for every animal. Of course they would be hungry."

That didn't make Alfred feel better at all.

He rolled over and hugged Ivan from behind.

"Let's have sex." At least sex would distract from the horrors that lurked outside…

Ivan's eyes came open. "What? Now? It is late, Alfred, and both of us are tired—"

"No," Alfred said firmly. "I wanna have sex. C'mon, turn over."

"Nyet. I am comfortable."

"C'mon."

"No, Alfred."

"Really, please? I can ride. I'll do all the work. You can just lay there."

"No,"

"Please?"

"Nyet, I said."

Alfred huffed in defeat and turned over so that his back was to Ivan. "You don't love me, you liar," he pouted.

Ivan shifted until he had his bare chest pressed against Alfred's back and had an arm looped around his middle. Alfred gave a surprised yelp as Ivan pulled his lover close to him. "Do not be so melodramatic. We both know that we're tired. Apparently you need someone to watch over you like a puppy to make sure you perform basic biological functions—like sleeping."

"Nuh uh. After Artie left me, I was perfectly fine!"

"Alfred, I do not want to start this argument. I know that you want to be held, so now that I am holding you will you shut up and go to sleep?"

Alfred didn't know how to reply, so he just huffed again, though he pressed further back into Ivan and placed his hand over the Russian's, which was holding him around the belly.

"Am I really that easy to read?"

"You are transparent," Ivan told him wearily. His nose was in the nape of Alfred's neck, ensconcing it in warmth. "Now sleep."

And Alfred did.

Translations:

Ficken-Fuck

Ich liebe dich-I love you

References:

(1) Refers to the Roman myth of the twin brothers Romulus and Remus who were born to Rhea Silvia, daughter to the king of Alba Longa. Before their birth, the throne was usurped by the king's brother Amulius, who then kills all of his male heirs and forces Rhea Silvia into a life of chastity as a Vestal Virgin. However, the war god Mars visits her and she conceives. When Amulius discovers her pregnancy, he awaits the twins' birth and then orders one of his servants to drown them. But the servant cannot bring himself to, and instead puts the twins in a basket and lets them float downstream. Tiberinus, a river god, discovers the basket and allows it to catch on foliage. A she-wolf visiting the river sees the infants and carries them off, suckling them while a woodpecker fed them. Eventually a shepherd and his wife find the boys and raise them as their own. When the boys are grown, they become shepherds themselves and Remus encounters some of Amulius's shepherds, getting into conflict with them. They capture him and take him before Amulius who discovers his identity but is smote down by Romulus who brought a band of friends to rescue his brother. In return, they were both offered the throne, but they refused and restored the previous king to it. Then they head off to found a city of their own but could not agree on a location. Romulus wanted to build it on Palatine Hill, but Remus preferred Aventine Hill. They asked the gods for their opinion and they favored Romulus, but Remus built his city on his chosen hill anyway. They both began construction, and Remus began to make fun of Romulus's wall. He leaps over it to show that it is not nearly high enough to keep invaders out, but is promptly killed by his brother. Romulus states that whoever leaps the wall of his city will suffer the same fate, and with regret he buries his brother. And thus the city of Rome was born under Romulus's rule.

A Word From the Writer: D'awww, cute. Russia is a little passive-aggressive with fluff when he's tired. And then you got a nice little Prumano lemon going on. I kinda got caught up in writing lemon around this point, people. I just had to purge it out of my system before the actual sad and killing and violence stuffs. By the way, I should have said this before but I totally predicted Prince George's gender a million chapters ago. I think it was in the chapter 'Scars.' I know it's not really impressive (honestly it was just a lucky guess), but I had a feeling. His christening reminded me, lol.

Anywho, chaos is coming. And so is death. SOON.