Sin (Finished) (Hetalia)

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Wow I don't even know 12 AM story wooooooo really short have fun

Spain was a man of flesh, a man of carnal desires, craving the prize of his pillage and the blood from the veins of the slaughter. It was a heated need for a touch, a brush of skin against skin, lips against tongue, eyes dark and hooded with lust. He craved it so; his want so vile, so absolutely despicable he would do anything to get it. The God above could not save him from his mindless want, He more so spat at the thought of this - being - bowing at his feet. Spain was set on a mission of need;

And he would not settle for anything less.

The touch he craved was so out of reach, so deliriously marred he couldn't stop. He knew it was wrong in as many ways as he had fingers, maybe more; but he didn't care. He could just feel the soft pads of his slender, pure hands on his body, so pure from the slaughter, so pure from these wicked acts; it just fueled the inferno in the pit of his stomach. His golden eyes hooded and meeting his, those soft, young lips dragging with a wet sound over his jaw, at the way his body was so pliant in his worn, sinning hands.

But oh, was he such a heavenly sin; so ironic it is, though he is damnable too. Making Spain feel like this, making him want like this, the cross around his neck burning as he tried to banish the feeling of arousal from his swimming belly. It didn't help that he saw his hand on him, not his own; those slim, fragile fingers stained with his essence -

Of course it only grew when he saw him at the doorway; Romano, the adult who was once a child, once his own son, some would have said, was standing their, watching his childhood caretaker sigh and groan out his name like the devil himself had entered his body. Spain had let out another absolutely atrocious noise as he gripped his thigh, no longer hiding shameless want that was all for him. And Romano knew it, his hips pressed to Spain's and those same lips lightly caressed the vein on Spain's neck. Oh, those lips were finally on his skin and he growled into the flesh, oh Dios -

"Spain... I want you. I need you." He pushed closer, humming, their bodies so close, so intimate Spain let out a sound as he brushed his hands down those slim, Italian sides. "I want you, Spain. Please, take me." And they shared slow, sloppy kisses, Romano sighing against Spain's cheek with a "oh, Spain..." And a deep sound in his throat when Spain touched him. Spain swore that night when they had become one, his skin finally on Romano's and hands laced, the way Romano sighed and cried out was the voices of the angels above. Romano was his, and his only beautiful, damnable sin.

And there wasn't a God that could tell him different.

Afterward:

I got the urge to write something smutty (oops) and I kinda got the idea from the fic Condenado by user Domomomo. I loved that fic (the religious guilt, yes we all love some in some point in our lives~) But I just wanted to give her credit for giving me an idea! It's a great story, check it out~

(It's better than mine so screech you better go read it ^.^ ~)