GILBOOBS:THE MOTION PICTURE
A Hetalia Axis Powers Fanfiction * Presented by FanSlewFantasy 2011
CRACK~PETTING~BREAST-PLAY~YAOI~FETISH~CRACK. UNBELIEVEABLE QUATITIES OF CRACK
SO IN THIS FIC conveniently for convenient purposes I have selected to group Austria, Prussia and Germany as all sharing the same house. DO NOT QUESTION ME! I! AM! PHONE!
That is all.
Gilbert Belishmidt rolled over, scratching his ass, stretching a bit and sighing contentedly between tangled sheets and blankets. The clock by his bedside read 11.15 am. He had nothing particularly interesting to do that day, and if asked he would probably reply that hence, he would remain in bed until five, or until his brother came in to wake him.
Whichever happened to come first.
He had had a big day yesterday, what with all the being awesome he was doing. England's boring old meeting had been a great success thanks to his input. And West thought 'he should stay well enough away from G8 meetings now he was no longer a nation'. Pffft… tell that to the couple of million Brits he just saved from drought this year by 'accidently' tipping a glass of water down Arthur's shirt.
You are all welcome.
Relaxed and drowsy. Gilbert felt around for his other pillow (he had six or seven dotted around his bed, amongst a tornado of throws and down filled coverlets) and found it pressed against his thigh.
It was pulled up, without opening his eyes he crammed it under his head and went to roll over again, so he would be lying face buried in the thing and unable to breathe without inhaling feathers.
But unusually, he found some resistance.
A subtle frown line pinched silvery eyebrows together; Gilbert tried heaving his arm around, so as to throw himself over face first.
And fuck. It hurt. A wide yawn flexed his face as he tugged down the hem of his baggy black sleeping tee. He glanced briefly to his side, to see what was lying in his bed obstructing him from rolling over, but saw nothing. Just a empty patch of bed and-
Hang on. What's this? Something large and black floating in his peripheral vision.
Gilbert's eyes slid across, from his side to his chest. And entirely without warning, unexpectedly and sure as all hell not pleasantly, he found himself gazing down the chasm between two of the biggest breasts he had ever seen.
And he had been to Ukraines.
The hand rubbing his ribcage shifted dumbly, to cup the left breast and lift it ever so slightly. It was heavy, and had a firm, but pleasantly jiggly consistency. Globelike, much too big for one hand to hold fully, and described by a stretch of black cotton.
And it was attached to his chest.
Just like its partner, it was firmly attached to the skin of his chest.
Gilbert had Tits.
"Holy shit!" he leapt out if bed quick smart, immediately regretting it when his newly acquired bosom heaved accordingly. Wincing, rubbing the twinge at the small of his back, Prussia hobbled completely off balance to the large mirror attached to his door, tugging off his shirt on the way.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
True, he couldn't.
And he was genuinely confused, as to whether or not to be disgusted or aroused.
Gilbert's breasts were full and pert, pale as snow and tipped with lush dark nipples hardening in the cool air. A faint patter of freckles, similar to the ones on his shoulders he was really conscious about, embellished his swelling bust.
"Holy shit." Repeating himself, Gilbert ghosted his hands over the top of his boobs, giving them a brief squeeze and jumping at the sensation. They were pretty fucking sensitive, he decided, not missing the flush that hued his rosy nipples considerably darker. He turned to the left and to the right, glancing at his profile. He stood with his back to the glass, peeking over his shoulder at the overflow of tit still visible either side. They made his waist look smaller, he noticed, and his neck longer. To test that theory, he turned around once more, at a three-quarter angle, and lifted his chin.
Yes, definitely longer. And not exactly unpleasant either.
A startling and not altogether pleasant thought occurred to him.
Have I always been female, and just not noticed?
A quick peek down the front of his knickers assured him that no, he had not. The metaphorical shuttle was in the hanger, and understandably, this left Gilbert quite perplexed.
It must be a dream, he decided numbly, jiggling his shoulders so as to watch his cleavage ripple. The weirdest ass dream he had ever had. He would just dash back to bed now then, go to sleep, and wake up refreshed and flat chested.
Tugging his tee back on, grumbling under his breath (the things I put up with! By God… I should just do away with dreaming all together. More trouble than its worth, just like those goddamned crusades…) Gilbert padded back to his bed and pulled the blankets back, making ready to get in.
He groaned, the bubbly bright voice cantered heavily down the hall to his bedroom on a pair of crookedly booted feet.
"What is it Italia." He cast a quick look over his shoulder, to check that the door was shut. Dream or not, he didn't want Italy seeing his new acquisitions. He'd probably want to touch them or something. Which in Gilbert's slightly warped paradigm, still counted as gay.
He didn't want to catch 'the gay', because he knew that as soon as he did he would be like his brother, all soft and moony over some skinny little Italian wisp or another, and drinking wine with his dinner instead of beer.
If Gilbert had been dead, he would be spinning in his grave.
"Ludwig asked me to wake you. He needs your help moving Austria's piano."
A heavy groan, the endowed man standing by the bed sat down on the edge for a moment (it wasn't easy to stand with these things you know) and carded his fingers through rumpled silvery hair.
"Why cant Austria do it? Or you even?"
"Because neither of us are as strong as you. Ve~ Gilbert, I'm coming in."
And Gilbert jumped, as though he had just been given a rather large electric shock.
"No! Don't Italy!" he scrambled for his sheet and pulled it up to hide what needed to be hidden. Dream Italy sure was annoying… almost more so than normal Italy!
"Why not Gilbert? Do you have France in here again?"
"No! Feli that was one time! It was an accident I- CLOSE THE GODDAMNED DOOR!" he clutched the sheet as tight as he could to his chest, defeating the purpose of holding it up at all actually when his bosom popped into definition either side of his tensed forearms. "HOLY SHIT KID! DO YOU HAVE NO RESPECT FOR PRIVACY?"
Italy, however, wasn't listening.
Being Italian, having hence been acquainted with his fair share of fine Italian madams in his time (although none of them, miserably, would ever let him touch…) Feliciano had seen some big chests in his day.
Being a nation, he had also met Ukraine.
Truth of the matter was though, that although he found the picture of Gilbert, face pink with embarrassment and shock and bearing a set of tits, beyond unusual, he could not under pain of torture and execution deny that they were by far the largest and most luscious pair he had ever seen.
"Wow! Gosh Gilbert. You have… uh…" he blushed and made cupping gestures with his hands. "Really big um…"
"Yes, yes I know I know!" face burning thermo-nuclear red now, he waved the Italian away. "Now go away! I'm trying to get to sleep!"
But alas, Feli was lost.
To enchanted by those jelly jiggling mountains, he edged forward. Was that a nipple he could see, perking the cloth of the sheet and tee Gilbert wore beneath? With each soft breath the ex-nation took, they moved a little. Cute freckles peaked shyly over the top hem of gilberts neckline.¨
"Wow Gilbert. They are really pretty." He opened his eyes wide, sparkling with excitement and innocence. "Can I touch them?"
Ludwig Belischmidt was no doctor.
That being said, he had been in plenty of wars and subsequently, had seen some pretty interesting things.
That guy who had been shot in the stomach, for example, and lived for twenty succeeding years with a large hole in his torso. Last time he heard, they were using him in experiments which involved looking into the hole and watching him digest food. Or how about that solider who grew a tooth on his foot. That was unpleasant for all involved.
But no. this was definitely something else.
All the same, he knew the diagnosis as sure as he knew his own name. He removed his stethoscope from his brothers bust, and cleared his throat.
"It is as I suspected. Those are definitely breasts."
"No shit doctor obvious! And oh my God, guess what? This is a FINGER!" Gilbert made a rude gesture, jamming it roughly in Ludwig's face. "I fucking know what they are you idiot. I'm asking you to explain how they got there!"
Now that one… Ludwig was at a bit of a loss.
He shrugged and removed the first of his budget brand size six all purpose surgical gloves, casting it onto the top of Roderich's piano. It lay there, limply, like a sheath of pealed skin. Gilbert sulked and stood up.
"Actually, I don't care. I'm going back upstairs to sleep, and when I wake up they will be gone again I'm sure."
"This isn't a dream Gilbert…"
"Oh yeah, prove it?"
Ludwig thought for a moment, Gilbert folded his arms under his breasts, lower lip thrust out in a bratty pout.
"Well… if this was a dream of yours, Roderich wouldn't exist right?"
Ruby eyes narrowed. "Yes…"
"Hey Roderich! Get in here!"
"What?" a clatter and bang from the kitchen next door, gilberts eyes widened in horror and he leapt behind Ludwig, in order to hide his breasts. Being the good little brother, Ludwig ignored the press of bosom against his back, and trued not to wince at the weird sensation. "I'm trying to make a tart. Have you moved my piano yet?"
"No. but I was just checking, you exist, right?"
Roderich gave the man and his older brother (who for some inexplicable reason was crouching behind him as though he was afraid of Roderich and his almighty batter coated spatula,) a very odd look.
"There, he exists, not a dream." Arms folded in triumph, Ludwig sighed. Gilbert hissed softly.
"kesese… it's a nightmare then. Duh."
"Ve~ if it was a nightmare, wouldn't mister Roderich have seen them Gilbert?"
Italy, bearing one of Hungary's old bras and bad news, clopped into the room in his mis-tied boots.
"They are so pretty Austria. You should come have a look."
"No!" if he didn't think Germany would deck him, Prussia could have happily beaten the small auburn haired man to a pulp using nothing but Ludwigs's discarded glove. "Roderich don't you DARE come near me! I swear to god you take one step I will kill you to death."
Thoroughly confused, Austria raised his spatula.
"All I wanted to do was make a cake." He stated simply, before disappearing back into the kitchen.
He really, really didn't want to know.
I do not own hetalia axis powers. Fortunately. Because if I did, this would be hard to explain to the fandom.