Transcendence

(Edited and changed a lot of parts that I was not happy with before. Also fixed some spelling errors.)

It is not love between them as Germania is pressed against the body of the other immortal that is pounding him down into the coarse mattress of the military standard issue bed, and it is not love when Rome brushes the blond's ruined braids out of his face and whispers hints of false, sweet nothings in his ears. Nor is love when lips wander on hot, exposed skin, extracting growls and moans for each touch they give. Lust maybe, but not love. That word was one thing had never seemed to be ever the case for their relationship.

Frustration was the main key that led them to seek each other's company intimate or otherwise. A sickness of the world, and a desire to shed the masks and simply be for once, not the great Empire or the rival in the north. Sometimes this required sentiment- like the half truths and consolidations that often passed from one lying mouth to a willing ear, but most of the time it was something physical, like sex- on messy couches or ruffled sheets, or in Rome's tent when on campaigns like this one- and the mossy growth of the forest floor or deserted places only they knew about. Somewhere in the midst of rough touches and grunts as they fucked- only personifying their exhaustion with the world- they found what some would describe as solace, even if it was only for a while until the delirium wore off from their minds and cold, harsh reality once more settled in. Sometimes though, Germania feels that they had a right to be tired, despite their status as nations- but Rome more than he.

Ever since Caesar died and the internal hostilities started brewing like a pot that threatened to spill over, it was hard not to see the prospect of another civil war just dancing on the horizon just after the last one had happened hardly a few decades ago. The old Republic was falling, crumbling away faster than dead leaves against the heat of a burning fire, and the signs showed on the nation's exterior, as well as his brooding, darker state of mind.

So, impassive and without a trace of emotion, Germania had informed the other that he would help in what ways he could. It was a veiled consent of sorts, and Rome knew as well as the northern country the exact implications behind the words. Even though worlds divided them, worlds still connected them. It was the German's own pity for the southern nation as well as slight devotion to their once one sided friendship that had now evolved to compose of an odd bond between both that had prompted him to make such a proposal, if nothing else.

And now, help in the present tense referred to clinging onto a too-small bed, the Southern nation's calloused hands caressing Germania's bare thighs in almost gentle, feather like touches. It made the blond almost roll his eyes, but he had to admit- the change in pace is an almost welcome one. They've been through this too many times for him to still feel pain at the intrusion, though the meaningless gesture of comfort made pale greens flutter shut in an expression of contentment.

"It's amusing, watching you like this." Rome's voice is a deep growl that breaks the silence of the still night, "I still recall when first saw you that day after Aquae Sextiae... turning down my words so rudely... and then disappearing into that damnable forest. I wondered what you would look like with your legs broken so that I would never have to run after you again."

The words do not disturb the blond, but it did make an eyebrow dip in distaste. He was used to the rants the other would sometimes say out loud in bed to not pay them much heed. Everything was consensual, of course. Despite his needless meddling in the affairs of other nations, rape was not something that Rome did as a hobby- only something out of necessity, like every next country at constant war. Germania scoffed, "Bastard. You were just jealous of the fact that I used to be taller than you before Caesar's conquests in Gaul."

A "perhaps" is all he gets as a response, and a slight hitch in breath as to his relief- Rome started moving again, aside from the touches that they had been exchanging carelessly previous. His body arches into the man on top of him as he meets a particularly hard thrust, but he keeps his face impassive and apathetic- even if his prostate was being hit directly on and it was so hard- so hard to keep the moans and signs in check. That was who Germania was, after all. He might allow his body to be manipulated like that by another, but never does he forget once though, that it is not love between them.

Sometimes he wonders if he is a masochist for thinking that way. It would be so easy to just lie in Rome's arms- tanned from the glare of warm Italian suns- and pretend that for once there was no past and no future. He couldn't. The whims of the world dictated the course of Fate that nations had to follow through, and despite however close they may be- there was always this unseeable, invisible (but existent) boundary that separated the two that could not be overcome. This was not love. They are not lovers. They could never be lovers.

But lovers- even if they were not- there was still available the pleasure. The fingers that dug into his shoulders, sure to bruise the next morning, were joined by a rough pair of lips- arbitrary leaving random bite marks and patches of saliva on its way across the track.

"Germania..." a kiss is laid on his brow, "Just this once, sī placet, Germania- beg for me."

The request is an odd one. Usually, no such things were made in such occasions like this one, let alone from someone like Rome. Not knowing how to respond, he kept the groans that threatened to spill from his throat still tightly straddled in as a hand passed over his length with only the practiced ease expected of someone who knew what to do and where to bestow the most attention on to attain the most reaction out of his partner. He hears another please though- this time in his own language- and maybe that was what undid him as the torrent of held back moans and pleadings and undignified whimpers all at once spilled out of his lips in an odd melody of their own. There is still some defiance remaining though, and as he sees just how visibly affected Rome is by the cacophony, some amusement rose in the dilated green depths.

"Beg," it's no longer a request- but a command, in the same voice a general might address his soldiers. Suddenly, the usual facade is dropped and Rome is snarling along the curve of Germania's neck, threatening to break the skin of his throat. They were both close, and both of them knew it as well as felt it. Movements became much more than just mere movements, but a necessity to the singular purpose of achieving the ecstasy that from the beginning, the both of them had sought to find.

It was too late to regret his loss of self control, and as Rome bit down on the side of his neck, Germania finally cried, "Please, please." and is granted his wish as the other gave a final push upward, resulting in his vision flashing white and the pressure that had been building up in his stomach and abdomen all released at once in a wave of unsullied euphoria. It's the final moan that he is willing to give that brings the Southern nation to his own climax, but Germania barely felt in the clouded aftershocks the fluids that invaded his exhausted body. He let out a grunt of discomfort as Rome collapses on top of him, his own chest heaving with fatigue, but other than that, not much is said between them as both of them take a while to recover from the faraway world of bliss.

Germania is unresponsive as he presses his face to Rome's shoulder, with the Republic's normal carefree, jovial expression nowhere to be seen as he moves himself off the blond and lies next to him, glazed hazel eyes staring at something both of them couldn't see on the ceiling of the worn tent. He lacks the energy to ask though, and eventually, he notices that Rome's eyes had closed and he had lapsed into sleep.

The scene amuses him, but is sobering in its own way. "Schlaf gut." he says, before letting too, the grasp of the unconscious world claim him in its arms.

They are not lovers- or as the other nation would say- amatores. What they are now is something that Germania cannot describe. It was the calm before the storm, the deep breath that always preceded the thunder and lightning. And when the storm did come, and hell breaks loose, then they would be enemies. Perhaps that was the reason why he could never fully accept Rome. Loving the enemy would mean as much as becoming the enemy himself.

And when unions dissolve and confrontations had to be made, he would be ready. But now...

Now was something that the future had no say in. They could still be in the state of limbo that they had hopelessly entangled themselves in. Together, but never together- parting, but yet never parted.

Germania turns his gaze outside and noticed that the stars were ever more brighter than before.


This is what happens when you give someone like me history to read. I tend to write about it in very unothordox ways. *shotshotIregretnothing* This pairing seriously needs like... way more love than it gets on this site.

And holy crap. Something not on the subject of Prussia. Is the world ending?

Definitions/Notes:

Aquae Sextiae: a major defeat of the Teutone tribe against the Roman Legions led by Consul Gaius Marius. In fact, they were almost totally wiped out from exsistence.

(Gaius Julius) Caesar was a great statesmen and general of Rome. Later he was assasinated because his enemies feared that he was trying to make himself king.

sī placet: please

Schlafen gut: Sleep well

Amatores: lovers

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