Title: The Dits and Dahs of Love!
Warning: Morse Code...
Original Prompt: http : / / hetalia-kink . livejournal . com / 20236 . html?thread=77828876#t77828876
"America and England send dirty messages to each other via Morse code during WW2. I would like them to start off with short, simple messages but as they continue they get longer and much kinkier.
Bonus: At the end, the Axis discovers them."
This was seriously the hardest thing I've ever written, I don't think I've ever spent so much time researching/writing something that wasn't for school (I even ended up asking one of my professors and was thoroughly embarrassed when he asked, "why the sudden interest in Morse Code?" Cue quick-flustered made up story! I think he believed it).
I did some research, but I previously had no knowledge of the telegraph or Morse code, and had very limited knowledge in regards to WWII. Please correct me if you notice any inaccuracies.
He could faintly hear the crinkling of leaves under his boots as he slowly made his way across the clearing. His ears perked at the sound, remaining cautious as he made his way back to camp with a thick envelope under his left arm. Even though there was no immediate danger, it did not change the fact that he and his soldiers were in enemy territory…not that the Italians were much to be worried about.
Slipping into his tent, he heaved a frustrated sigh. He pulled at his tie, loosening it slightly before setting the envelope that held his documents onto his stiff cot (not that he was complaining, it was far better than the cold ground that many his soldiers were occupying every night two clearings over). Sitting down on the edge of the worn cot, he leaned over to pull a crate, which had been set to the right of cot, in front of him. On top of the crate was an old telegraph (debatable statement really, he supposed. While it was old in comparison to the fancy telephones that many of the humans were using now, to him it was still relatively new. Though, given his own age, there wasn't much that he considered to be old, with the exception of France).
Setting the pair of head phones over his ears, he eyed the envelope. He wasn't looking forward to this, but he had no way of knowing if America knew what the plans were. It'd been awhile since their last meeting (not since America arrived with his troops to assist with "Operation Torch"). It had been several months since then, and while they did communicate every so often, there was far too much going on to explain everything. However, he would need America's help for the next operation and knew that explaining the situation was of the utmost importance.
England grasped the sides of the key button with his thumb and middle finger placing his index finger on top and began flicking his wrist to click his message.
-·-·- "Commencing transmission"
Operation Baytown a success, we'll need Lieutenant General Clark's assistance for our next attack
-.. - -.- - ..- -.-. - .-. -.- ..-.."Do you copy?"
He waited for what seemed to be hours but in reality was likely only a few minutes, his irritation growing with each passing second. He huffed, annoyed, and as he began to tap out another message, the response finally arrived…it was not what he had been expecting.
There was a slight pause before the next part came in,
.- ... .- - .- .-. . -.- - ..- .- . .- .-. .. -. -. -·- "What are you wearing? Over"
England blinked, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping to heaven that he had just heard wrong.
.- .-. . -.- - ..- -.. .-. ..- -. -.- ..-.. .. -.. .. - - "Are you drunk! Idiot!"
-.. .-. ..- -. -.- - -. .-.. - ...- . .-.-.- -·- "Drunk on love. Over"
They were indeed lovers (this was, of course, not public knowledge. If the other nations knew their partnership was more than just a political one, then it could cause problems), however, now he was starting to wonder why he had agreed to the relationship at all.
He grumbled, how the hell did he fall in love with this moron (more importantly, what does the fact that he did say about him)? This certainly was not what these machines were meant for, but he knew that his options were limited; the blue eyed brat was persistent and probably wouldn't drop this needless chatter, no matter how much England wished it. So, he could give up now and just go along with it, or he could lecture and complain until finally being over powered and giving up later…well, he never was one to give up without a fight…Of course, he replied to the American's message with what he hoped sounded like a string of outraged beeps, all the while denying to himself that the declaration of love was the cause of his now heated cheeks or the skip in his heart beat, preferring to blame it on anger.
"We're at war and you're acting like a moron! There are things in regards to the next assault that we need to discuss, you git"
"You're doing it wrong; you have to type over at the end. Over"
"You are incorrigible."
"I have no idea what you just spelled, but it sounded awesome. Have I ever told you that it turns me on when you say smart stuff? Over"
"America, this is not the time. We have to discuss the next assault"
"Don't worry; I'll make sure Clark is there. It's been months since the last time I saw you. The next time I do, I'm going to mess you up all OVER"
…He knew that he wasn't going to win this…oh well; they could discuss the assault on Salerno once they were done.
"Is that so? What exactly would you do?" He grinned as he typed out the message, emerald eyes glimmering in mirth, no use in holding on to his previous frustration now that he had made the decision to go along with his lover's game...he could find better ways to vent that frustration, he was sure.
America listened to the response, a chuckle slipping past his lips as he considered his answer. He knew that there were other things to discuss, Italy's surrender would be a huge step forward in their battle against the Axis…but lets face it, if it's between sex love and war, sex love is always going to win. "First, I'd just look at you. Taking in everything. Then I'd kiss you, like dip you down and everything"
He considered teasing the American for his lack of an "over" since he had made it into such a big deal earlier, but decided against it in favor of a different sort of teasing, "you are terrible when it comes to visual description" England leaned back, slightly, removing his tie and undoing the buttons on his uniform as he waited for the next set of dits and dahs.
America's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to decode the message, -.. "d" . "e" ... "s" -.-. "c" .-. "r" .. "i"
As he went about spelling out the words in his mind his left hand traveled down his already exposed torso, lightly tickling the skin on his chest and then abdomen, .-. "p" - "t" .. "i" - "o" -. "n"He scuffed at the sentence, "am not" he muttered quietly to himself as his fingers continued to absently rub the area just below his navel, tangling a bit in the curls of his happy trail. His right hand stayed on the key and began clicking, "so, what would you do then?" He shivered slightly in anticipation; he knew he could expect a good response from England.
"First, I would slam you up against the wall; so hard, that your back would sting. The pain wouldn't last long. I'd distract you from it by licking your lips before biting and sucking on your tongue. Running my hands over your toned chest and down your abs" America's tongue darted out, sweeping over his lower lip and his hand that had been resting by his navel began moving more roughly against his skin, imitating the description, as he listened to the telegraph.
At the time when he was first undergoing training to use the machine, he thought it was a dumb idea. There were plenty of skilled humans that could do this better than he could, and he had no desire to sit around in a radio room listening for distress alerts when he could be out doing something productive…like kicking Nazi ass, or pounding English ass. But now, while it wasn't as good as either of those two things, he no longer considered it a waste of time, not while he was vividly imagining England doing those things to him.
"Then we'd strip, right?" America interjected, cutting off the next set of the message being sent, something about hair pulling and how he'd moan as England teased his ears…foreplay, something America cared much less about than what his English counterpart did.
... - .-. .. .-. "strip" That was the only part of the message that England had heard, quite frankly, it was all that he needed to hear; he was already unbuckling his belt.
He smirked as he slipped one of his hands inside, letting it rest beneath the fabric, not yet allowing himself the pleasure of gripping his still limp cock, "quick, aren't you?" he quipped before continuing, "So, you have me naked, what do you want me to do to you? Want me to stretch you open, and watch you quiver under me as my fingers play with your arse?"
Oh, how unfortunate it was that he and England both seemed to be in the mood to top. If they had been face to face, they'd have simply battled for dominance, he'd push England back on the bed and do whatever he could to make him feel good, so good that he would be begging to submit (it never worked out that way though, England never begged, he would simply shoot him a smirk and gracefully allow the American the privilege of entering his body or just tie America up and have him however he wanted him). Though, they weren't face to face, he couldn't pleasure England into submission, and while compromising was not one of his strong suits, he would have to try if he was going to get what he wanted.
"I want you above me on the bed, licking my cock like a lollipop"
England cringed at the simile…this was exactly the reason they never had phone sex (despite how convenient the bloody contraptions were), somehow, listening to it being said through beeps made receiving the answer easier. He chose to ignore the choice of words and in his mind replaced them with his own (they were much more eloquent, he would assure you).
"A blow job? I can work with that. Well then, as you lay beneath me, my head between your muscular thighs and yours between mine, I'd take your dripping cock into my mouth, flicking my tongue over the head, and licking up any precum that may have seeped out. I'd suck, focusing at the tip before lowering myself down, taking more of it in, running my tongue over the base and circling it as I start pumping, moving my head up and down, swallowing around you as you buck up into me" He made sure to type out the words more slowly, worrying that America may not understand all of it if he put it out as quickly as he wanted to.
-.- . .- ... -..- ... ..- -.-. -.- .. - "Yeah, suck it"America moved his hand from his chest to jerk at his stiffening member, "moan around my dick like a wanton whore."
Arthur finally began palming his cock, groaning as he felt it slowly coming to life through a mixture of the imagery and the physical stimulation, "I am moaning, and if I were there, you'd be able to feel the vibration of my voice on your skin. I'd use my hands to play with you as I suck you off. I'd run my fingers over your balls, massaging them and, with the fingers on my other hand, I'd fool around with your hole, pushing in and kneading your prostate." He bucked his hips up into his hand, working himself to his full size, sweeping his thumb over the collecting pre-sperm, he ran the dampened digit over the head, circling it around the area just above the corona, all the while imagining that it was really America's tongue on him.
America gasped, his palm frenzying against his length, his hips quivering, he typed out his response, he could tell that his shaking was causing some mistakes, but he was sure that his brilliant boyfriend would be able to understand (would probably lose his hard on from all the spelling mistakes, too, but America wasn't about to concern himself with that particular possibility at the moment).
"Whil, yur doing that Id lic at yoru sac, take one in my mouth n suk it my hands on the back of your hed holding yu down wen I fuck yor mouth"
England put his mind to work decoding garbled message, not stopping his hand; he was too far along to let America's senseless babble deter him. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to swim in delicious imagery, using his over active imagination to his advantage and making the images as vivid as possible. He thought about how the American's wet tongue would feel against his balls, running across the sensitive flesh and tea-bagging him. How it would feel to be sucking him off, the smooth skin of his dick against his tongue, his taste on his lips. He groaned, picking up the pace of his hand, the friction heating him up until he felt like he was boiling, the heat bubbling up and out of him as he spilt his seed over his fingers, the projection reaching the telegraph and staining the metal key with a sticky strip of white. He huffed, catching his breath before he typed out the next message. He knew America probably wasn't done yet, greedy bastard.
"I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd love feeling me as I choke on you, my throat constricting and trembling around your cock as you pump in and out of me. You'd moan out my name as you came, forcing me to drink it all up."
It was at that moment that America did just that, gasping out a guttural bastardization of England's name, he felt a shock wave course through his body and his hand shaking over his member as he released, no longer feeling as though he had full control over his muscles, while hated not being in control, it was something he was more than happy to relent when it came to receiving the sweet sensation of his long over due orgasm. He slumped heavily in his chair, panting and trying to recompose himself enough to let England know that he'd finished. As he went to tap the key, he looked at his hand, covered in his own spend and grimaced, no matter how much time passed, it would always gross him out (England's wasn't so bad, even if it tasted nasty…he supposed that love made it better, not that he didn't love himself, but it was different when it was his own).
He wiped the liquid off onto the edge of the table, making a mental note to clean it up later and responded to England, "That was awesome. You done?"
The Englishman grinned, "I assume you are, then? Too bad, I wanted to put it in you and mess you up all OVER…as you so poetically expressed earlier"
America scoffed, knowing that the wisecrack meant that he was finished, "You're an asshole"
"But you love it, don't you, love? Now back to the assault on Salerno, we're thinking about calling it Operation Avalanche"
Meanwhile, over eight-hundred miles away in Berlin, Germany was tuning the radio with Italy and Japan at his side, listening closely for any messages that could be considered a threat. Normally, this process took hours, and yielded few results, but today they caught a lucky break as a most unusual code made its way to their ears.
-.- . .- ... -..- ... ..- -.-. -.- .. – "Yeah, suck it"
They weren't quite sure why they these individuals were using such provocative language through a telegraph, nor were they sure why they were still listening (perhaps it was a special message encoded in the form of perverse text in order throw them off? Or maybe, Japan just wanted more writing material and Germany wanted to take notes? The answer will likely remain a mystery). However, by the end of the message it was clear who was sending them and as a result, while Germany was not able to stop the invasion on Salerno, he was able to disarm all of the Italian forces (they were Italians after all, of course he was able to foresee that they would surrender)…what he failed to do, was remove Italy along with the weapons.
When the two Allied Powers confronted Italy to discuss the terms of the surrender, Italy immediately congratulated them on their not-so-secret relationship, leaving the two nations flustered and rather bamboozled.
I went to a lot of different place when I was researching, but these were the most helpful:
http : / / morsecode . scphillips . com / translator . html
http : / / terrax . org /comm / morsecode / morsecode . aspx
http : / / rnzncomms . org / 2011 / 03 / 11 / the-best-map-ever-of-world-war-ii /
And here's the timeline I used for the story. Taken from the third link.
-Sept 3rd - British 8th Army (Bernard Montgomery) invaded the 'toe' of Italy as a diversion (Operation Baytown).
-The US 5th Army (Lieutenant General Mark W. Clark) then made the Allied main amphibious assault (Operation Avalanche) at Salerno on September 9th, while the 1st British Airborne Division conducted a supporting amphibious assault (Operation Slapstick) at the 'heel' of Italy. Salerno was a very difficult operation for the allies, but poor German coordination resulted in a successful invasion.
-Just prior to the Salerno invasion, Italy surrendered to the Allies. This was announced during the invasion to create havoc for the Germans. The Germans, however, had anticipated this capitulation and rapidly disarmed the Italian forces.
And I'm not sure if this is allowed (it should be alright?) but I figured I'd pimp my own request.
There seem to be a few anons interested, but the more interest gained the better the chances for a fill are:
http : / / hetalia-kink . livejournal . com / 20236 . html?thread=78120716#t78120716