Ave Maria (Poland, Estonia)
Title: Ave Maria
Warnings: Sex, God, neither too explicitly explored
Summary: The world is full of contradictions; we do our best with what we have.
Characters: (Duchy of) Estonia, Poland
Year: 1582
Originally written for a prompt on the kink meme, which I now can't find. Oops.
No matter what they told themselves-what they told each other, three drinks in, hands under shirts and legs between legs-they were men, and when they were in bed, they were disobeying God. Most of them didn’t think about it; Lithuania would blush, and equivocate. Denmark would shrug it off-just another harmless vice. Livonia would give him a disdainful sniff, and tell him that God’s purpose for them was different than His for humans. But Poland knew, just like Estonia did. Poland knew it was a sin, and if there was a hell for them, they were going to it.
That’s why, that first night they spent together-all those centuries ago, during the brief time he spent at his house-he wasn’t surprised when Poland abruptly left.
He was surprised when he came back.
The kirtle was green, with fitted tailoring that would have been opulent two centuries ago, but now looked plain and conservative. The gown fell straight to the floor, free of the complicated buttons and lacings of the French and Spanish bodices. His head was covered, hair pinned up to create an illusion of length. Estonia felt a shameful jolt of arousal, and had to look away.
The gait was different, as Poland came to stand diffidently before him. Inexperienced and confused, Estonia waited for a cue.
“Well, let’s go to bed, then,” said the man, voice low and eyes intense.
In a later century, they would make love laughing, Poland in short skirts and makeup. That first night, they were nearly silent: the tiny crackle of the candle blown out, the sound of cloth and skin when Estonia lifted the perfectly white smock, the bed creaking quietly as he shuddered his orgasm between his sovereign’s thighs. In the dark, he waited-waited to be told to go, to service; neither order came.
The man turned on his side, brow furrowed as if he were in pain, breathing quietly and slowly. Estonia didn’t understand, until he saw the hardness of him through the white cloth of his smock. He reached out, but fast as a cat, Poland had caught his wrist, eyes open in the dark. He was still for a moment; then he turned over, to escape from the expression on the man’s face. Fear, shame-want.
Warnings: Sex, God, neither too explicitly explored
Summary: The world is full of contradictions; we do our best with what we have.
Characters: (Duchy of) Estonia, Poland
Year: 1582
Originally written for a prompt on the kink meme, which I now can't find. Oops.
No matter what they told themselves-what they told each other, three drinks in, hands under shirts and legs between legs-they were men, and when they were in bed, they were disobeying God. Most of them didn’t think about it; Lithuania would blush, and equivocate. Denmark would shrug it off-just another harmless vice. Livonia would give him a disdainful sniff, and tell him that God’s purpose for them was different than His for humans. But Poland knew, just like Estonia did. Poland knew it was a sin, and if there was a hell for them, they were going to it.
That’s why, that first night they spent together-all those centuries ago, during the brief time he spent at his house-he wasn’t surprised when Poland abruptly left.
He was surprised when he came back.
The kirtle was green, with fitted tailoring that would have been opulent two centuries ago, but now looked plain and conservative. The gown fell straight to the floor, free of the complicated buttons and lacings of the French and Spanish bodices. His head was covered, hair pinned up to create an illusion of length. Estonia felt a shameful jolt of arousal, and had to look away.
The gait was different, as Poland came to stand diffidently before him. Inexperienced and confused, Estonia waited for a cue.
“Well, let’s go to bed, then,” said the man, voice low and eyes intense.
In a later century, they would make love laughing, Poland in short skirts and makeup. That first night, they were nearly silent: the tiny crackle of the candle blown out, the sound of cloth and skin when Estonia lifted the perfectly white smock, the bed creaking quietly as he shuddered his orgasm between his sovereign’s thighs. In the dark, he waited-waited to be told to go, to service; neither order came.
The man turned on his side, brow furrowed as if he were in pain, breathing quietly and slowly. Estonia didn’t understand, until he saw the hardness of him through the white cloth of his smock. He reached out, but fast as a cat, Poland had caught his wrist, eyes open in the dark. He was still for a moment; then he turned over, to escape from the expression on the man’s face. Fear, shame-want.