Ah, another request fill from LJ. This one is based on the Greco-Turkish war that followed right on the heels of WWI. Unlike the first one Saya posted, this one isn't nearly so work-safe....aheh... Beware.

Rating: MMMM a thousand times M. Saya's no good at porn, so it's a bit vague.

Warning: Hatesex. Some light bondage. Random knife is random. Turkey without his mask on D:

Greece thinks it is definitely the migraine that got him to where he is now. The floor is not a particularly comfortable place to be, especially not since his ex-conqueror is looking down at him like he is something to eat, and his arms are bound behind him tightly, prickling uncomfortably. He is most surprised by the fact that Turkey isn’t wearing his signature mask, but then maybe he threw the thing away when he changed his name and became a republic. Maybe, Greece wouldn’t know, he’s been a tad preoccupied.

As Sadiq’s booted foot worms its way under his chin and forces him to look up, Heracles curses his government because he had known from the moment that his king was abdicated and he was made to go to war that he would not win. Because really, how could he possibly win against an outside enemy—against Turkey—when his own people are divided? He couldn’t, so now here he is under the older nation’s foot. He feels small, as small as he used to be, looking up at the other from this angle.

The lights in this room (and really, where are they anyway?) are far too bright and Greece’s head still feels like it’s splitting and looking directly into the lights above Turkey’s head is doing nothing for his headache. He can hardly even see Sadiq’s unmasked face; in comparison to the light that halos him the darkness of his shadowed countenance is actually a nice reprieve but Heracle’s still glares at him nonetheless.

“Go to hell and get your damn foot off of me!”

“Now, now, I taught you better than that, Heracles,” Turkey says, his grin wolfish as he looks down at the rebellious youth. “So let’s pretend everything’s the way it was before, and I’m trying to teach ya manners. How are you to speak to me?”

“With as much disdain as possible.”

Turkey’s foot moves down the column of Greece’s neck and presses down hard enough to make breathing a cumbersome chore. “I guess you’re a slow study kid, but I’m a nice guy so I’ll teach you again, how to speak to your superiors.”

Greece, he knows what’s coming next, because they’ve played this game before and he knows there’s no way he can win, he can do nothing but glare barbed wire and hate at the other man. He has to settle with showing his displeasure at being pleased, but he supposes it could be worse.

Then again, maybe it’s about to get worse, Greece thinks with a startled expression as he realizes there’s a knife hovering around the area of his neck and he is more than a little uncomfortable with that. It comes closer to his flesh and he’s sure he’ll be split open in just seconds, and is relieved to hear the ripping of cotton rather than the rendering of flesh a moment later.

At least, he’s relieved until he realizes that Turkey just needlessly ruined a perfectly good shirt. But that knife could be put to a more dangerous use, Greece reminds himself, before comprehensible thought is temporarily cut off by callous hands running over his now bare chest, mapping out the once perfect, now scarred flesh that has been laid bare. Yeah, Turkey thinks in an almost dismissive way, years of war does this to their kind. He lavishes attention on the tanned skin anyway, because even damaged it’s beautiful and tastes like the sweetest sort of sin. Turkey smirks against the younger one’s chest as the other squirms at the feeling of being marked.

Heracles tries, tries and succeeds but just barely, to keep all the little noises from pushing past his lips. Sadiq is determined to get him to speak or make some sort of sound, and he can’t help but think that though the war is over with officially, there is still time for one personal victory. He can’t stop his back from arching as Turkey moves lower, nibbling at hardened flesh as his hands wander lower, coming ever nearer to the evidence of Greece’s unbidden desire. He can, however, bite his lip in an effort to not make a sound.

“So quiet,” Turkey comments as he moves back up the body under him, “I’ll definitely have to change that.” He places a kiss on those full lips, drawn into a thin line of concentration as the Greek tries not to vocally react to the feeling of being palmed through the worn material of his uniform. He pulls away from the other just as quickly, as Greece promises vengeance with his teeth.

There’s a sudden loss of sensation and Heracles almost, almost breaks and groans in disappointment, but he doesn’t and is thankful for that. He can feel the belt around his hips being tugged away in jerky motions, can tell that there’s another hand fiddling away with the button on his waistband. He knows when Sadiq is finished with his trousers for soon after everything is pulled right down to the tops of his boots, which the older nation is too lazy to bother fighting off. Heracles would kick him if he moves away from his position between the younger man’s legs, anyway.

Free from his woven confines now, Greece can feel every movement that happens between them; every brush of cloth against bare, sensitive flesh is so vivid on his skin that he can practically see it behind his eyes. He’s aware of the other’s sex pressed against him as fingers are suddenly forced into his mouth. His first instinct is to bite, but Turkey is aware of this and grabs his jaw, tutting away at him.

“I wouldn’t try it. This is all the lube you get kid, unless you wanna do it completely raw.”

Greece is more inclined to obey now and dutifully coats Turkey’s fingers with his saliva. The other is moving against him now; creating delicious friction that makes Greece hate the fingers in his mouth because they make it so hard to be quiet. The struggle is worth it though, as he can see just how angry his silence makes the other man. It is that anger that makes Turkey suddenly relocate his now wet fingers to an entirely different orifice. The unexpected change catches Greece off guard and he gasps, much to his own chagrin. Turkey’s victorious grin has something wild to it; if Greece could think beyond the fingers in his entrance he’d be indignant as all hell, but he can’t quite string his thoughts together anymore.

The floodgates are open now, as Heracles doesn’t see the sense in keeping silent after slipping up. Instead slander and curses roll freely off of his tongue, because he hatehatehates Sadiq and there is no way to make that fact clear enough but Heracles will sure as hell try—

As he chokes on his breath Heracles decides that it really is about time he start paying more attention because now he is full, completely stretched and it burns white hot through his muscles, a pain whose edges are tainted with pleasure. For a moment Turkey doesn’t move because the point here isn’t to cause (too much) physical harm, it’s to humiliate Heracles by making him enjoy himself. If the shame and pleasure and pain mixing in those green eyes is anything to go by, then he’s doing a splendid job of this.

“Is it all coming back to you, Heracles? Remember how I taught you to behave when you’re around me? You bow and kiss the damn ground I walk on because you are mine to possess.”

There is motion and Greece can’t form even the simplest of words, but he can shake his head in denial and glare with all the power of the gods. He is no one’s, just his own and losing this war hasn’t changed that! Greece wants to scream this at the other but his mind must not be connected to his mouth anymore because he can’t get the words out. The initial pain of penetration is but a distant nightmare now and Turkey’s deep thrusts are making him feel an ecstasy he hasn’t felt I so damn long—

“I’ve proved it to you before and I’ll do it again. Know who your better is.”

Turkey’s hand comes between them to fist Greece’s straining member and that’s the end of him. With just a few strokes he comes and that perhaps is the most mortifying part of this entire exchange. It might be his muscles tightening over Sadiq’s length, or it might be the “Damnit… I hate you!” That Heracles finally manages to get out that pushes the other man over the edge soon after him; he’s not sure which it is and he doesn’t care to know.

A moment later, after their breathing slows to something close to normal, Turkey moves out of the Greek man and stands, righting his clothes and smirking down at the glaring, blushing, angry and worn man at his feet. Turkey uses his foot to roll Greece onto his stomach then kneels down again to cut through the ropes that bind the younger nation. Immediately Greece swings his arm back, hoping his elbow might collide with Turkey’s face, but his movements are a bit too slow and the other dodges before standing up once again.

“Here’s your second chance, Heracles. When I address you, how are you to speak to me?” Sadiq asks his voice full of superiority as he once again kicks the Greek over. Heracles glowers up at him, but knows that if he answers incorrectly this time he’ll get much worse than a humiliating bout of (admittedly good) sex.

Exhausted, angry and shamed Heracles mumbles his answer just loud enough to be heard.

“With… respect.” Just because he’s told to speak that way, doesn’t mean he will though and Turkey knows that, thinks that’s half the fun, really. Satisfied for the time being Sadiq turns his back to Heracles and moves to leave the room.

“Damn straight. I’m glad you know where you stand.”

Notes:

Greece's migraine is a reference to the National Schism that was going on in Greece at the time. It started with a conflict between King Constantine and Venizelos over whether or not Greece should enter WWI, a conflict which eventually affected their followers. Greece became politically divided, Constantine was forced to abdicate, and Greece joined WWI. This schism weakened Greece considerably and is one of the main reasons Greece lost against Turkey, along with the fact that the Allies suddenly turned tail and left Greece to fight Turkey alone in Asia Minor, and the Greek military's strategies were lacking, as were their supplies.

The Greco-Turkish War. Basically the Allies said "Beat up Turkey and we'll give you land." Greece tried, but Turkey had this guy, Mustafa kemal, on their side, and he did wonders for their military and motivation. But Greece is no push-over, so the two ended up fighting real dirty (aka, genocides and a nasty scorched-earth policy). Greece lost the campaign in Asia minor, and the war ended in Turkey forcing the Allies to abandon The Treaty of Sèvres in favor of the Treaty of Lausanne.

Um, not much history made it into this fic...but hopefully you enjoyed it anyway~!