A/N: The muse showed me some pic on Facebook with Ludwig and Heracles in it. We had a minor discussion as to what the caption could be saying, and I came up with an interpretation based on their expressions and body language. Do I know anything about Greece's character? No. The muse sent me a couple of paragraphs dealing with him, and that's what I had to go on. That muse, I swear to God...she's lucky she's on the other side of the country. I felt compelled to write this and it's all her fucking fault. DAMN YOU, MUSE-CHAN!

As I was saying, since I know next to nothing about Greece, this may seem OOC to any die hard Hetalia fans out there.

Took me 38 minutes.

Beta: None.

When In Greece

Ludwig swung his legs off the bed and hastily crossed the room. His trousers were where he'd tossed them in his unseemly rush, and his dress shoes were on opposite sides of the room. He stood in his dark socks, sock suspenders, and boxers as he quickly tried to button his shirt.

Heracles slid off the bed behind him and strolled over casually. Ludwig studiously ignored his approach, until one strong hand dropped on his shoulder. He felt himself break out in a sweat, but focused on the buttons. His hands were shaking badly.

"What's your hurry?" Heracles's voice was calm. Amused even, and most certainly at ease. He saw nothing wrong with what they'd done.

"I should get back. Scheisse!" One of the buttons had come off in his hand. He threw it at the far wall.

The hand on Ludwig's shoulder squeezed. "Come…round two," the pleasant voice coaxed.

"No, damn you! This was a mistake." He turned to face Heracles, intent on making him see the error of their actions. "Feliciano will be crushed."

"Feliciano," the green-eyed man crooned, "is not here. I am here." He stepped closer. "And you had no thoughts on him when you were-"

Ludwig stopped the hand that was sliding over his privates. "It was a mistake. I'm not in the habit of practicing loose morals."

Heracles freed his hand and boldly closed it around Ludwig's flaccid member. "Do you know what I say to that? I say, when in Greece, do as Greeks do." He performed a complicated rolling massage on the flesh in his hand and was rewarded with it becoming engorged within seconds. He leaned closer to Ludwig's face, and brushed his lips with his own. "You were certainly in Greece an hour ago…"

Both lips and tone were questioning. Ludwig could smell his cum on the breath that fanned his lips, and suddenly his mouth was watering. He snatched a handful of the shaggy brown hair and succumbed to the invitation with a cry of disgust and anger, both of which were liberally mixed with desire.


The kiss was brutal. Perhaps the reason he found himself in this room in the first place was because he'd known the Greek would be perverse enough to enjoy the kind of sex he could never engage in with Feliciano. Yes, he'd known. And he'd come here knowing what would happen.

He threw Heracles bodily toward the bed, not even pretending that this was anything other than base fucking. The brunet was quite sturdy enough to withstand such treatment, and did nothing more than spread his legs wide. Heracles sucked three fingers of his hand as Ludwig advanced toward the bed, and cupped them eagerly into his own ass.

Ludwig watched this a moment, eyes narrowed. The sight had his heart racing. It was almost too exciting to look at. He'd never known anyone so uninhibited, with a willingness to get dirty and violent that matched his own. Love wasn't in it. This was lust, the rutting of two animals, and Ludwig deeply appreciated both the lack of complicating emotions, and the perversity of Heracles's mind. "Spread your hole for me, boy lover."

Heracles didn't mind the slur. He moistened the fingers of both hands and spread his rectum as wide as he could, which was enough for Ludwig to see the pink interior clearly. His cock twitched powerfully, filling with blood until he thought the desire to fuck would blind him in its intensity. As before, he sank to the bed with most of his clothes on, and fully sheathed himself in a savage thrust to that warm, muscular orifice that had the Greek murmuring harshly in need.

Feliciano was sweet. Willing and generous with his body, but too sweet. He would never understand that sometimes a man just needed a real man. One whose strong legs were a death trap around the waist, whose solid fingers left bloody welts on the skin, and whose wild, wordless grunts of pleasure were just that…sounds of pleasure. No strings. No declarations. Nothing but pure…hot…need, and the need fulfilled.