Adam
Title: Adam
Author: wenchman
Series: Hetalia World Series
Characters: Northern Italy, Germany, Southern Italy, Spain
Pairings: Gerita, Spamano
Rating: M for Sexual Content
Summary: Commission. Prompt was Gerita as a sequel to Eve. 3000 words.
Word count: 1222
--
People often tell me that I’m quite different from my brother, as if I’m not aware. He is especially adamant about condemning me and my lifestyle. I love openly, freely; I do not mind who sees and who knows. After all, I have spent that past century with Ludwig. Perhaps even for all of my life as a nation-state; we unified almost at the same time. I have no concern for what other people may perceive in my affections for him. I am not the most devout anymore, I must admit, for it was easier to be so focused on theology when it was constantly surrounding me. I am no longer surrounded by it, but that by all means does not mean my commitment to God has faltered.
My brother differs from me in how he displays his piety. He prefers physical expressions of faith, such as attending mass, confessions, and other habitual practices. He stuffs away any deviation from good, throwing sin under the bed and hissing at it as if to tame it. He has always been one to prefer to pretend that his own sin doesn’t exist-there have been very few times where he has repeated to me exactly what he has to a priest. I listen, I always do and will, but I worry about my dear brother. Where as he stifles his wrongdoings and allows himself to be manipulated and abused by ancient practices, I prefer to express my faith in thought and logic. I attribute this to the scholars of my teen years, who have heavily influenced me. I could never give up my religion-no, that is not a possibility at all. Certainly God has other ways of appreciating our good faith rather than damning us for our wrongs, for the latter simply doesn’t make sense. I instead prefer to appreciate what God has created for us, enjoying everything he has crafted while I am still alive to do so.
“God is going to punish you,” Lovino says, only to crawl into Big Brother Antonio’s bed later that night and partake in sinful indulgence.
At this point, my own bubbling affections are something I’ve accepted. I cannot compare it to the seven-hundred year struggle my brother suffers-no, not like that. I was far more willing to accept that I have sinful interests. I honestly wish he would understand, as well. Does he earnestly believe he is any different than I? I know I’m going to lay in the flames of purgatory, blistering and crackling to melt the sin from my skin and soul. I know he will be there with me. There’s no point lying about it to myself. Whether I hide it or not, God knows. He knows that I caress Ludwig’s collarbone and admire the muscular body that must have been sculpted by the artists of my Grandfather’s age. Every time I dive in for a kiss, there is a brief moment of contemplation. I know that as soon as my hands settle around his hardened cock, that’s another year to char. Oh, but how I love it when those blue eyes flicker in slight confusion, part pleasure, all in desire as I roll my thumbs over his pert nipples. He’s foolish enough to call it innocent.
Much less than you think, my dear Ludwig.
You say that you see everything, but you miss the momentary pause and subtle recoil in desperate fear of damnation. For this, I am glad. I wouldn’t want you to struggle with the kind of guilt I did, brief yet tumulus like the taunting demons reaching their grimy hands up my legs. I wouldn’t want them to lay a filthy hair upon you, for you have done nothing like I. They have no reason to guilt you-you have never dedicated your life to God, then suddenly drew aback as you decided that God was more rational than people make Him out to be. They have no reason to try and make you gnaw at your guilt, hoping you actually sin in the process. I would never want that for someone I care about so much.
I simply love you too much.
Not God, not my brother, not even my religious conscience can take from that. It will not change, and it will not suddenly disperse into a nonexistent state. You are my love, Ludwig, and God cannot change that. As much as I love God, a part of me is certain that I will be forgiven for it eventually. Did Christ not die for this very purpose? I will burn for the years my people have existed; that is fine. I am not going to live the life I may lose at any moment with my want lingering. This is not fair to me, or to you.
I enjoy this too much. I hide my smirk in your neck as you moan softly-how easy it is to awaken the attention of your arousal. Something as simple as placing myself between your legs and teasing your head with my tongue turns your face a colour of red that would be found in only the most valuable of red Renaissance tempura. If God thought that any of this was enough to burn in Hell for, he'd stop me from sliding your dick down my throat and humming gently to elicit an unrestrained moan. I can revel smugly as I watch your impulsive reactions-thighs tensing, stifling any bucking, fingers twitching, and toes curling.
Only when you beg for me to continue is when I'll teasingly decide to stop.
Not because of God. Certainly not because of God. If God forbade things like this, Big Brother Antonio would be a walking serpent. God is not like that, though-I learnt that God is forgiving and compassionate. I have killed men, I have slandered, laundered, and cuckolded, only sometimes unintentionally doing the latter. God is sure to know that I am but a nation-state, subject to the desire, will, and decisions of my people. I am essentially just as human as they, but I carry on to live in anguish with the mistakes they have made.
Despite this, I feel like I am in a paradise. A paradise where I can love you, touch you, enjoy you. Where I can spend endless nights with you, grinding our hips achingly, pushing our tongues against one another, moaning, running our hands hungrily over the curves of each other's bodies. I can bring you close to climax, then stop you, then push you again until you can't contain yourself anymore, so you fall over the edge as your face turns pink in bashfulness. Only in a paradise could I have someone I find so attractive, so adorable, so genuine in expression and unashamed to allow me to love you. God would never make a paradise so rewarding, just with the intent of taking it away from me.
That is what you are, Ludwig. A gift, The reward for suffering with my people and all the mistakes I’ve made. The prize for remaining faithful, even if indirect, even though I’ve fought in bloody wars and mindlessly destroyed thousands of men just for His honour. He has given me a Heaven on earth, since I may live forever.
I pray that such a forever is spent with you, Ludwig.--
Author: wenchman
Series: Hetalia World Series
Characters: Northern Italy, Germany, Southern Italy, Spain
Pairings: Gerita, Spamano
Rating: M for Sexual Content
Summary: Commission. Prompt was Gerita as a sequel to Eve. 3000 words.
Word count: 1222
--
People often tell me that I’m quite different from my brother, as if I’m not aware. He is especially adamant about condemning me and my lifestyle. I love openly, freely; I do not mind who sees and who knows. After all, I have spent that past century with Ludwig. Perhaps even for all of my life as a nation-state; we unified almost at the same time. I have no concern for what other people may perceive in my affections for him. I am not the most devout anymore, I must admit, for it was easier to be so focused on theology when it was constantly surrounding me. I am no longer surrounded by it, but that by all means does not mean my commitment to God has faltered.
My brother differs from me in how he displays his piety. He prefers physical expressions of faith, such as attending mass, confessions, and other habitual practices. He stuffs away any deviation from good, throwing sin under the bed and hissing at it as if to tame it. He has always been one to prefer to pretend that his own sin doesn’t exist-there have been very few times where he has repeated to me exactly what he has to a priest. I listen, I always do and will, but I worry about my dear brother. Where as he stifles his wrongdoings and allows himself to be manipulated and abused by ancient practices, I prefer to express my faith in thought and logic. I attribute this to the scholars of my teen years, who have heavily influenced me. I could never give up my religion-no, that is not a possibility at all. Certainly God has other ways of appreciating our good faith rather than damning us for our wrongs, for the latter simply doesn’t make sense. I instead prefer to appreciate what God has created for us, enjoying everything he has crafted while I am still alive to do so.
“God is going to punish you,” Lovino says, only to crawl into Big Brother Antonio’s bed later that night and partake in sinful indulgence.
At this point, my own bubbling affections are something I’ve accepted. I cannot compare it to the seven-hundred year struggle my brother suffers-no, not like that. I was far more willing to accept that I have sinful interests. I honestly wish he would understand, as well. Does he earnestly believe he is any different than I? I know I’m going to lay in the flames of purgatory, blistering and crackling to melt the sin from my skin and soul. I know he will be there with me. There’s no point lying about it to myself. Whether I hide it or not, God knows. He knows that I caress Ludwig’s collarbone and admire the muscular body that must have been sculpted by the artists of my Grandfather’s age. Every time I dive in for a kiss, there is a brief moment of contemplation. I know that as soon as my hands settle around his hardened cock, that’s another year to char. Oh, but how I love it when those blue eyes flicker in slight confusion, part pleasure, all in desire as I roll my thumbs over his pert nipples. He’s foolish enough to call it innocent.
Much less than you think, my dear Ludwig.
You say that you see everything, but you miss the momentary pause and subtle recoil in desperate fear of damnation. For this, I am glad. I wouldn’t want you to struggle with the kind of guilt I did, brief yet tumulus like the taunting demons reaching their grimy hands up my legs. I wouldn’t want them to lay a filthy hair upon you, for you have done nothing like I. They have no reason to guilt you-you have never dedicated your life to God, then suddenly drew aback as you decided that God was more rational than people make Him out to be. They have no reason to try and make you gnaw at your guilt, hoping you actually sin in the process. I would never want that for someone I care about so much.
I simply love you too much.
Not God, not my brother, not even my religious conscience can take from that. It will not change, and it will not suddenly disperse into a nonexistent state. You are my love, Ludwig, and God cannot change that. As much as I love God, a part of me is certain that I will be forgiven for it eventually. Did Christ not die for this very purpose? I will burn for the years my people have existed; that is fine. I am not going to live the life I may lose at any moment with my want lingering. This is not fair to me, or to you.
I enjoy this too much. I hide my smirk in your neck as you moan softly-how easy it is to awaken the attention of your arousal. Something as simple as placing myself between your legs and teasing your head with my tongue turns your face a colour of red that would be found in only the most valuable of red Renaissance tempura. If God thought that any of this was enough to burn in Hell for, he'd stop me from sliding your dick down my throat and humming gently to elicit an unrestrained moan. I can revel smugly as I watch your impulsive reactions-thighs tensing, stifling any bucking, fingers twitching, and toes curling.
Only when you beg for me to continue is when I'll teasingly decide to stop.
Not because of God. Certainly not because of God. If God forbade things like this, Big Brother Antonio would be a walking serpent. God is not like that, though-I learnt that God is forgiving and compassionate. I have killed men, I have slandered, laundered, and cuckolded, only sometimes unintentionally doing the latter. God is sure to know that I am but a nation-state, subject to the desire, will, and decisions of my people. I am essentially just as human as they, but I carry on to live in anguish with the mistakes they have made.
Despite this, I feel like I am in a paradise. A paradise where I can love you, touch you, enjoy you. Where I can spend endless nights with you, grinding our hips achingly, pushing our tongues against one another, moaning, running our hands hungrily over the curves of each other's bodies. I can bring you close to climax, then stop you, then push you again until you can't contain yourself anymore, so you fall over the edge as your face turns pink in bashfulness. Only in a paradise could I have someone I find so attractive, so adorable, so genuine in expression and unashamed to allow me to love you. God would never make a paradise so rewarding, just with the intent of taking it away from me.
That is what you are, Ludwig. A gift, The reward for suffering with my people and all the mistakes I’ve made. The prize for remaining faithful, even if indirect, even though I’ve fought in bloody wars and mindlessly destroyed thousands of men just for His honour. He has given me a Heaven on earth, since I may live forever.
I pray that such a forever is spent with you, Ludwig.--