Fanfiction → Infinite {Turkey/Greece}
» A short little glimpse into the lives of Turkey and Greece and their strange relationship. Written as a Christmas gift for a wonderful dear, m_nemonica. Merry Christmas!
» One-shot
» Turkey ; Greece ; Turkey/Greece
» PG-13
The room is airy and cool and dark, and Heracles wants nothing more than to just curl up and sleep, next to the fluffy warmth of his cats.
But he can't, for at this moment there is a tall, heavy Turkish man who has him against the wall, slowly moving one hand up his shirt; a delightful yet unwanted sensation.
“Sadık,” he grits between clenched teeth, “you are the biggest bastard I ever knew.”
He has to admit, the Turk is exceptionally good with his hands. However, there still remains the fact that he is Greece and the other is Turkey and if anyone found them like this there would be a hell of a lot of explaining to do.
Not to mention that he hates Sadık entirely.
He just likes his hands.
Sadık hates Heracles. He hates him like cat hates dog and if he could just take his hands and place them around that neck and squeeze and feel the life drain out, he would be happy.
But he does like it when Heracles squirms underneath him, so he won't kill him. Yet.
Heracles grabs Sadık's shoulders and pulls him in for a crushing kiss; lips bruising and teeth clashing. He wants nothing more than to throw him to the ground and rip him to shreds and feel warm Turkish blood under his nails.
But he does like the smell of coffee on his breath and the way his fist curls in his hair, so he won't do that.
Not yet.
They fall to the ground, a bitter struggle for dominance. Sadık bites Greece and Heracles kicks Turkey and it seems like this battle never ends, that they are destined to fight for eternity and beyond; two gods with histories written in blood.
But they like it this way, so they won't kill each other.
Not yet anyway.
» This is weird also.
» One-shot
» Turkey ; Greece ; Turkey/Greece
» PG-13
The room is airy and cool and dark, and Heracles wants nothing more than to just curl up and sleep, next to the fluffy warmth of his cats.
But he can't, for at this moment there is a tall, heavy Turkish man who has him against the wall, slowly moving one hand up his shirt; a delightful yet unwanted sensation.
“Sadık,” he grits between clenched teeth, “you are the biggest bastard I ever knew.”
He has to admit, the Turk is exceptionally good with his hands. However, there still remains the fact that he is Greece and the other is Turkey and if anyone found them like this there would be a hell of a lot of explaining to do.
Not to mention that he hates Sadık entirely.
He just likes his hands.
Sadık hates Heracles. He hates him like cat hates dog and if he could just take his hands and place them around that neck and squeeze and feel the life drain out, he would be happy.
But he does like it when Heracles squirms underneath him, so he won't kill him. Yet.
Heracles grabs Sadık's shoulders and pulls him in for a crushing kiss; lips bruising and teeth clashing. He wants nothing more than to throw him to the ground and rip him to shreds and feel warm Turkish blood under his nails.
But he does like the smell of coffee on his breath and the way his fist curls in his hair, so he won't do that.
Not yet.
They fall to the ground, a bitter struggle for dominance. Sadık bites Greece and Heracles kicks Turkey and it seems like this battle never ends, that they are destined to fight for eternity and beyond; two gods with histories written in blood.
But they like it this way, so they won't kill each other.
Not yet anyway.
» This is weird also.