Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/415517.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hetalia:_Axis_Powers
  Relationship:
      South_Italy_(Hetalia)/Spain_(Hetalia)
  Character:
      South_Italy_(Hetalia:_Axis_Powers), Spain_(Hetalia:_Axis_Powers)
  Additional Tags:
      Religion_Kink, Religious_Imagery_&_Symbolism
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-05-29 Words: 4622
****** On the Wings of Angels ******
by smileinthedark
Summary
     Human AU. - "F-filthy fucking liar," he sputtered, writhing under
     Antonio's steady gaze. "The hell do you know about angels?" -
     Warnings for PWP, blasphemy, and Romano's filthy mouth.
Notes
     A/N: Semi-cross-posted from my FF.net account. 'Semi' being because
     FF.net took it down because of some minor violations, and I won't be
     able to reupload it for a few days.
     Warnings: Sex with a minor, religious imagery/religion kink, I bare
     no resposibility for the fate of your immortal soul as influenced by
     this work.
     Disclaimer: Characters not mine.
On the Wings of Angels
The simple black wooden cross stood out starkly against the white chest of the
boy underneath him, and the way he quivered fearfully under Antonio’s rough
fingertips gave him away as an amateur. He must have been no older than
fifteen, and Antonio couldn’t help but feel a little dirty as he watched the
lithe adolescent wriggle out of his far-too-nice-for-a-prostitute dress shirt
and then let it lie there under him on the bed like a pair of warped, broken
angel’s wings.
Antonio had found the boy loitering in front of a seedy-looking bar tucked away
in a dark Neapolitan alley, one he wouldn’t have even bothered venturing down
if he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for.
‘The gay scene in Napoli is a covert one,’Francis had told him. ‘There are only
a few clubs, but you’ll find them if you know where to look. And,’ the
Frenchman added with a leer and a wink, ‘their whores are some of the best.’
So, following Francis’s advice, Antonio had spent the night wandering the
city’s backstreets with more than a little alcohol rushing through his system,
dodging in and out of bars until he found the one he was looking for.
It wasn’t the bar that had finally caught his attention, though; Antonio had
instead been drawn in by the boy leaning against the window, his fiercely
flashing hazel eyes darting about under furrowed brows as he glanced up and
down the street, looking for something. It didn’t take more than a few seconds
to figure out what he was looking for, dressed as he was in a fitted white
dress shirt and tight black shorts that looked like they could have once
belonged to a boy much younger than he was.
Not entirely drunk, but not entirely sober, Antonio ambled over to where the
boy stood, his frame half-illuminated by the sparse streetlights scattered up
and down the block. As he drew closer, Antonio realized he had no idea what to
say to the tawny-haired beauty; he’d never tried to pick up a whore before and
all he could think of were Francis’s sleazy and overused pick-up lines.
“You look lonely,” Antonio said when he finally came to stand in front of the
boy. (Francis’s sleazy pick-up lines it would be, apparently.) The only
response he got was a slow blink and what he assumed was a practiced,
inquisitive tilt of the head.
“Keep me company, then,” the boy finally answered smoothly, not even looking at
Antonio as he pushed himself off the building, glancing instead over his
shoulder and into the bar’s window. Antonio followed his gaze, squinting into
the dimly lit establishment to find another boy – they must have been brothers,
for they were almost identical– smiling cheerfully and happily clinging to the
broad back of a blond man with slicked back hair and an out-of-place blush
dusting his cheeks. The younger boy waved to them with a smile, and his brother
nodded in acknowledgement before turning to walk past Antonio and into the
street.
“Hotel’s this way,” he muttered, without looking back to check whether or not
Antonio was following. He was, of course; Antonio trailed after the boy as he
strode easily through winding streets and into a cheap hotel. Several prolonged
moments of being glowered at prompted Antonio to fish his wallet out of his
pocket – fingers fumbling with its contents and apologies in two different
languages spilling from his lips – to pay the receptionist at the front desk
eyeing him warily from behind pointed glasses.
Even when they got up to the room and the boy shrugged off his shirt and tugged
Antonio over to the bed by his belt loops, he didn’t talk; he simply pulled
Antonio down on top of him and wrapped his legs around Antonio’s hips with a
breathy sigh that turned into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss.
He still felt dirty, but Antonio couldn’t help but want as he watched the boy
lie there underneath him – still trembling slightly despite his forwardness –
with his shirt off and the rosary that was underneath shining against his
creamy skin.
“What’s your name?” The boy hesitated even as Antonio gripped his waist firmly
and leant down to press lips to the base his throat, caressing the soft skin
underneath with his tongue.
“R-Romano,” the boy answered between surprised gasps, and Antonio laughed.
“Romano? No, lindo,” he answered, his lips curving into a smile against the
boy’s skin, “your real name.” The boy scowled through fluttering lashes at
Antonio’s question.
“None of your fucking business, you bastard.”
Antonio frowned a little, inexplicably hurt by the boy’s words, and pulled away
to look down at him properly, slightly flushed and breathing heavily as he
squirmed underneath the weight of Antonio’s body.
“Why not?” The boy’s lips curled into the beginnings of a sneer as he turned
his eyes on Antonio but, as if suddenly realizing what he was about to do, he
bit back the retort evident on the tip of his tongue and instead simply wrapped
his arms around Antonio’s shoulders and rolled his hips up against the painful,
growing bulge in his pants.
“Hurry,” the boy breathed against the shell of Antonio’s ear as he pulled him
closer. A strangled groan was wrested from Antonio’s lips at the subtle,
seductive tone that rolled off that pink, adolescent tongue, and he pressed his
hips down against the boy’s inner thigh, hands fumbling clumsily over the boy’s
smooth skin as he tried to reconcile his conflicting desires.
“Pants,” Antonio managed to gasp as he detached the boy’s arms from around his
neck, using all of his willpower to roll off of the boy so he could scramble
with the buttons of his slacks. The boy did the same, sliding out of his
sinfully tight shorts much more smoothly than Antonio had even thought
possible, to reveal absolutely nothing underneath. Antonio felt himself harden
at the sight, that supple body lying bare against the dirty should-be-white
sheets, with his shirt wrinkled underneath him like broken wings and his shorts
thrown off to the side somewhere, forgotten and unimportant in light of the
perfect being in front of him, coyly drawing his knees together in the middle
of the bed.
“Eres un ángel.” Antonio murmured, turning to pin the boy to the bed by his
thin wrists, unbuttoned shirt hanging off Antonio’s shoulders a mark of his
lust-driven impatience. The boy knit his brows in confusion.
“Un angelo, Romano,” he repeated in Italian, “sei un angelo.” Antonio looked
down to find the boy’s face flushed a bright, angry red.
“F-filthy fucking liar,” he sputtered, writhing under Antonio’s steady gaze.
“The hell do you know about angels?” Antonio smiled and traced the boy’s lips
with his thumb.
“They’re beautiful,” he whispered, the corners of this mouth twitching upward
for a brief moment. “They’re beautiful servants of God,” Antonio continued,
fingers wandering to map the rest of the contours of boy’s face, from the
delicate bridge of his nose to the shallow dips of his cute, twitching eyelids.
“Stupido,” the boy hissed quietly, motionless and with his eyes still closed as
Antonio’s fingers roamed his face. “Angels are good. They smile and don’t
fucking cur-“ His eyes snapped open and his words were cut off with a gasp as
Antonio palmed his bare erection with an impatient, straying hand. When Antonio
did nothing but hum quietly at the boy’s reaction, he continued.
“Angles don’t fucking curse. Or sell themselves.” His voice was raspy as he
squared his eyes with Antonio’s own. “Come mio fratello.” He said, voice
dropping to a whisper. “Mio fratello è un angelo.”
“The boy in the bar?” Antonio asked.
“Yes,” came the terse reply. Antonio simply smiled.
“I like my angel better,” he said, bending forward to fervently press his lips
to the cross that lay flat beneath the boy’s collarbones, taking it between his
teeth gently as his eyes fixed themselves on the dip of the boy’s neck, right
above his sternum, smooth and white and perfect. He wanted to mark it, to mark
him. Antonio wanted to cover him in bruising red-violet kisses and watch him
tremble and sob with every thrust into his tight, angelic form. He wanted the
boy to cry his name over and over and over, holy exaltations amidst gasps and
heady, erotic moans. God was meant to be worshipped, angels to be loved.
Perhaps Antonio wasn’t always the best Catholic, but he’d always been a good
lover.
“My beautiful, desecrated angel.” The words left his lips before he could stop
them, thrumming through the wood of the cross between his teeth almost
imperceptibly, and the boy’s breathing hitched.
“Sick bastard,” he snarled angrily, fisting a hand in Antonio’s hair and
pulling his head back harshly, freeing the rosary from Antonio’s disobedient,
blasphemous lips. The boy’s other hand reached for the cross – quickly and
clumsily, his hands shaking with some emotion Antonio did not know – to pull it
off his neck. Antonio snapped to attention, though – grabbing the boy’s wrist
with surprising desperation.
“Leave it on,” Antonio whispered, voice harsher then he expected. The grip he
had on the boy’s wrist – too firm, he realized, loosening it guiltily – made
him squirm and look up at Antonio with practiced wide, scared eyes as he tugged
nervously on the cheap hotel’s sheets. Their eyes locked in the silence and
Antonio swallowed.
“Leave it on. Please.” The boy’s hand reached up to grasp at the rosary,
clutching it tightly against his chest as his eyes narrowed and the corners of
his lips twitched into a scowl.
“Don’t touch it.” Though Antonio assumed it was meant to be a demand, it
sounded more like a plea: shaky, desperate and frightened. He could feel
himself harden at the sound of the boy’s voice, and his blood heated up as it
eagerly rushed southward through his veins. All Antonio could comprehend as his
hands firmly gripped that slim waist and his lips found that heartbeat
strumming steadily beneath a bare chest was how much he needed the boy
underneath him, how much he needed and wanted and craved for him.
Antonio caved to that desire, pressing his lips to the boy’s neck in silent
reverence. His tongue found the boy’s pulse and latched onto it mercilessly as
a wandering hand brushed experimentally over a pink, pointed nipple. The sharp
gasp Antonio was rewarded with shot straight to his dick, and he groaned in
response, gripping both their erections firmly in his free hand as he
regrettably tore his mouth away from the bright red mark already blossoming on
the boy’s neck to press his lips to the boy’s chest and flick his tongue over a
sensitive nub. The boy moaned, then, low and needy, arching into Antonio’s
hands as they gripped his erection and wandered down to finger the cleft of his
ass. The feel of the boy’s hot skin against his made Antonio’s cock twitch,
aching.
“Lube?” Antonio inquired into the boy’s skin as he nipped and sucked his way
down his torso, leaving faint marks in his wake. The boy twisted over, fumbling
with the pockets of the dress shirt behind him as Antonio ran his tongue along
a defined, jutting hipbone. He turned back over in silence, handing Antonio an
unmarked vial and then spreading his legs, lusty gaze fixed somewhere out the
hotel room’s darkened window. Annoyed, Antonio tilted the boy’s face toward
him.
“Look this way,” he whispered, popping open the vial in his hand. “Don’t turn
away from me.” The boy didn’t even nod, just kept his face where Antonio had
guided it, and looked right through him, quivering and suddenly and
surprisingly docile. It made an uneasy chill go up Antonio’s spine as he poured
the lube over his fingers and lay a hand on the boy’s tender inner thigh.
Hesitantly, Antonio pressed his slicked fingers to the boy’s entrance, anxious
for a reaction. The boy simply bit back a sigh and sunk, shuddering, into the
pillows. Antonio tried again, encircling the boy’s puckered entrance with a
single, slippery finger, and watched as he swallowed and shut his eyes.
“Are you nervous?” The boy’s eyes snapped up and he propped himself up on his
elbows to glare at Antonio.
“Who’s nervous, bastard? You’re just taking too fucking long.” Antonio smiled
blithely, happy to have the boy’s attention back and ready to ease his nerves
even as his better judgment whispered cruel truths into his ear, that no one
who’d had that many men in him would ever be nervous.
No, he shushed that unpleasant voice and moved his hand away from the boy’s
hole, splaying his fingers instead across the soft skin of the boy’s inner
thighs. It struck him then, as he bent over to lay his lips on those legs, just
how flawless and unblemished they were. For a delusional second, Antonio was
convinced that he really had found an angel, one that had wandered too far off
the heavenly path and had instead stumbled into this Neapolitan hotel and got
caught up in another kind of heavenly whirlwind of sexual gratification.
Antonio banished the thought; he was already painfully hard and his fantasies
only made him more impatient. He settled instead for leaving deep red marks all
over the boy’s inner thighs until his breathless whimpers and choked moans were
too much to take.
“W-what…what are you d-doing?” the boy asked through surprised gasps, trying to
peer at Antonio even as his hips bucked forward wantonly against Antonio’s
tongue and his shoulders shuddered with rolling waves of pleasure. His head
fell back against the pillow and his hands grappled with the sheets, fisting
the worn material in his hands as he moaned loud and long, voice penetrating
Antonio’s skin and bones right to the marrow, making him shiver and ache.
Antonio’s hands slipped and slid against the boy’s thighs as he pushed them
further apart, running his tongue along the boy’s length before once again
pressing it to his entrance, caressing the pink skin there and enjoying the way
the muscles in the boy’s legs clenched and spasmed beneath his fingertips.
“‘T’s s-such a waste of lube,” the boy groaned, surrendering in his war with
the sheets to fist a hand in Antonio’ hair and pull him in closer, legs
straining against his hold. Unable to respond with his mouth pressed against
the boy’s skin, Antonio continued to tease the entrance with his tongue,
probing and thrusting shallowly as the boy above him writhed, curses spilling
from his lips in an unintelligible jumble.
Antonio’s hard-on rubbed against the sheets as he teased the boy in front of
him, and he tried to stifle his own groans of pleasure at the sweet friction
until it was too much to take and he reached down to stroke himself with one
slippery hand, letting the boy’s thigh settle on his shoulder and his heel dig
into his back as he hissed, his hand pulling hard on Antonio’s hair.
“Stupid bastard,” the boy hissed, voice ragged, “fucking hurry up already.”
Antonio obliged, pausing in his ministrations to take the boy’s thigh from his
shoulder and spread him wide, exposing every inch of his body. Antonio got to
his knees and slunk up the bed so he could see the boy properly, the way his
limber body was flushed with desire and tears of pleasure clinging to his long,
dark eyelashes.
“Il mio angelo,” Antonio murmured, falling on top of the boy.
“You’re sick,” the boy said again, reaching up to place his hands on Antonio’s
shoulders with a shudder and a moan. “You are so fucking sick.”
“You wound me,” Antonio said with a small smile, reaching up to brush a stray
curl away from the boy’s face and tuck it behind his ear. The boy’s eyes shot
open and he gasped, fingers digging hard into Antonio’s shoulders as he wrapped
his legs tightly around his hips.
“Hurry,” the boy whimpered, teary eyes meeting Antonio’s. “Hurry…please,
please…I-I want…”
Whatever composure Antonio had left snapped at the sight of the boy underneath
him, begging and crying with need, and he pushed him down firmly into the bed,
pushing apart his legs and easing himself in.
The boy gasped and screwed his eyes shut as Antonio entered him slowly, and
when he was in fully, he slowly opened his eyes, meeting Antonio’s gaze.
“Please…” Grabbing the boy’s hips, Antonio pulled out, and then back in, slowly
building up a rhythm.
“S-so good,” the boy moaned into Antonio’s ear as he wrapped his arms around
his neck, pulling him closer, breath hot and voice quavering with pleasure.
“Harder, faster…more…more…” His voice dissolved into a breathless mantra as he
rolled his hips to match Antonio’s thrusts.
“I bet you say that to everyone who buys you,” Antonio answered against his
better judgment, even as he gripped the boy’s waist tighter and bent to his
will, angling himself to hit the boy’s prostate more directly, eliciting more
and more of those erotic gasps and moans. He just needed to hear it, to hear
‘no, you’re the only one,’ from those angelic lips, those perfect pink lips,
and as he thought about it, suddenly Antonio regretted not asking the boy to
blow him. What he wouldn’t have given to see that boy on his knees as if he
were praying, with his mouth wrapped around Antonio’s cock in complete worship
and his rosary dangling dark against his flawless light skin.
The boy laughed, then, a short, breathy laugh, and unclasped his arms from
around Antonio’s neck, falling back against the white of the pillow to look at
him properly, eyes glistening. Antonio could feel his heart leap to his throat
and his cock twitch inside the boy with painful, sweet longing.
“Say it to everyone? Of course I do,” he said, still laughing, lips quirked
into a smile. “I’m a whore, that’s my job.”
Possessiveness flooded Antonio’s veins at that simple statement. The intense
swooping desire to own that charming little grin and that bell-like laughter
thrummed loudly in his ears and in his chest and suddenly all he saw was red
and haze and dirty, tainted angel’s wings exploding out of the boy’s shoulder
blades.
With a growl that sounded foreign even to him, Antonio pulled out of the boy
and grabbed his wrist, twisting him over so he lay on this stomach, with
Antonio hunched over him. The boy fell on his front, startled, and looked at
Antonio over his shoulder. Then, one corner of his lips quirked up and he got
to his knees, raising his ass to brush against Antonio’s throbbing dick even as
his face remained pressed into the pillow below.
“C’mon,” he coaxed, fingers finding Antonio’s erection and pressing it hard
against his hole. “Give it to me, you bastard. You know you want to.”
Liquid fire pooled in Antonio’s gut, a convoluted blend of anger and desire
churning together inside of him as the boy’s words echoed in his ears and his
touch sparked and sizzled like electricity over his skin. Looking at the boy
laying prone underneath him, offering up his ass with a sly half-smile, Antonio
couldn’t help the images that inundated his mind, images of the boy lying
beneath dozens of other faceless men with his legs spread and his body flushed,
grinning and coaxing and moaning as wings unfurled behind him like he was some
sort of bastard incubus half-breed knocked hard from heaven’s door.
The images disgusted Antonio almost as much as they aroused him, and jealousy
governed him wholly as he slapped the boy’s hand away from where it still
burned electric against his near-painful arousal, taking him up on his
shameless offer and sliding back in with a grunt. When the boy sighed with
satisfaction, Antonio’s blood boiled and he gripped the slender hips harshly,
thrusting into him hard and fast and selfish.
“H-hurts…” came the boy’s voice as he tried to raise himself up onto his
elbows, gripping the sheets as he shuddered. Antonio let the protests go
unanswered as he dug his fingertips into the boy’s tender skin and continued,
drinking in the gasps of pain that sounded so similar to the gasps of pleasure.
“Bare it,” Antonio growled, “you’ve done this before.” Had he been in his right
mind, Antonio would have choked himself, he would have happily swallowed down
his harsh words and taken that rosary from around the boy’s neck and hung
himself by its black cross. He’d never before loved anyone so roughly, and
shame coursed through his veins alongside rage and possessiveness, an
undercurrent racing through his blood even as one hand reached down to press
the boy’s chest into the bed despite his pained cries.
Antonio bent over the boy and bit into his shoulder, reveling in the sharp cry
it let loose from his full lips as he ran his tongue over it in a manner that
was meant to be teasing, but became soothing instead.
“Antonio,” he whispered into the boy’s ear as one hand wrapped around his waist
and the other snaked downward to stroke his weeping erection. “That’s my name.
I want to hear it when you cum, okay?”
The boy’s loud, indistinct moans garbled together in what could have been the
words ‘sick bastard’, but Antonio was too far gone to care, preoccupied as he
was with getting the both of them off. He worked the boy’s arousal with a
skilled hand and felt him tense and shiver underneath him as all his sighs and
moans dissolved down to a single holy exaltation of ‘…god, oh god, oh…’
Antonio could feel himself edging closer to release as well, and when the boy
came with a spasm, Antonio’s name a whisper on his lips, he swore he could see
angel’s wings burst forth from the boy’s skin, shattering his shoulder blades
with their force as they unfurled in front of him. Antonio doubled over,
collapsing on top of the boy as he came, white-hot pleasure searing every inch
of his skin.
Underneath Antonio, the boy groaned into the pillow, squirming uncomfortably
with the weight on top of him, and Antonio rolled onto his back, allowing the
boy to do the same. The minutes stretched silently between them as they lay
panting, attempting to catch their breath in the aftermath of the sex.
When Antonio caught his breath and rolled back over to look at the boy, his own
breathing nearly choked him as the air caught violently in his throat. Long,
thin, finger-shaped bruises curled possessively around the boy’s slender hips
and his torso was reddened with the marks of a dozen desperate kisses. There
was a shallow imprint where Antonio’s teeth had latched onto his shoulder, and
as the boy rolled onto his side with a quiet groan, Antonio could see his own
cum dribbling down from between flushed thighs.
For several seconds, the boy just stared at him from beneath heavy, hooded
eyelids, breathing softly in the silence that had descended over them.
Everything about him, from his rosy cheeks to the way his legs shifted
languidly against the sheets as he turned to sit up on the bed, was beautiful.
“Romano,” Antonio asked, still in a daze as he watched the boy dress, bending
over to retrieve his pants from the floor where they had been thrown, “why are
you doing this?” The boy turned around to look at him as he stepped into his
shorts and tugged them over his knees.
“It’s not like I can walk out of here without clothes,” he answered with a
scowl as he stalked toward the bed to grab his shirt, pulling it out from under
Antonio with a forceful tug.
“No,” Antonio said, turning over onto his side, “why are you selling yourself?”
Whatever spell the post-sex silence cast over the room was instantly broken as
the boy froze in the middle of putting on his shirt. For a moment, he stayed
like that, staring at Antonio with hard, wary eyes. But only for a moment. He
quickly turned his back on the bed, then, and slipped his thin shirt over his
shoulders.
“Mio fratello,” he answered, voice thick with something Antonio couldn’t place,
“is a fucking idiot who smiles at everything and still thinks that the world is
a beautiful fucking place even though his only guardian is dead and doesn’t
even have enough fucking money to live on the fucking streets.” The boy
finished buttoning up his shirt and crossed the room toward Antonio. His cold
eyes remained averted, though, as he swiped the thin vial of lube from the
bedside table and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
“The stupid bastard has never worked a fucking day in his life, and now he
thinks he’s in lo-,” a brief, harsh laugh interrupted him, “in love with some
shitty, potato-eating bastard fresh out of the German military academy with
enough time and money to travel to fucking Italy and waste every night getting
hammered in a different fucking bar.” Finally, the boy turned his eyes on
Antonio and they bore something fierce into his own.
“He can’t do this job. Someone has to.” The answer Antonio was given wasn’t
exactly the one he wanted, nor was it anything like what he’d expected.
Truthfully, he had no idea what, exactly, he was expecting, just that what the
boy had said wasn’t it. Antonio looked up to find that the boy’s palm was
outstretched, and he stared at it in confusion, eyes flicking back and forth
between the hand and the eyes staring intensely through him.
“Pay me, dumbass.” Antonio flushed, stuttering apologies as he slid off the bed
and scanned the floor for his pants, finding and grabbing them, only to fumble
nervously with his wallet as the boy watched him, not amused.
“I…uh… How much do I pay you?” Antonio asked, embarrassed. “I…um… I’ve never b-
bought a whore before…”
With a snarl, the boy grabbed Antonio’s wallet, opening it to inspect the
contents. He carefully pulled out a few bills and then shoved the case back
into Antonio’s hands, clutching the money tightly in one fist and turning
toward the door. Antonio sat back down on the bed and watched the boy with a
frown as he crossed the room and unlocked the door.
“Your real name,” Antonio asked, making the boy pause in the doorway. “Can you
tell it to me?” The boy stared at him, surprised, and for the first time
Antonio noticed just how exhausted he looked, how his shoulders slumped inward
as he leaned against the doorframe between the door and the hallway and his
eyes peered out jadedly from where they’d retreated deep into his sockets. Even
across the room, one lone red mark stood out vibrantly against his pale neck,
and Antonio fought the sudden urge to go over to him and run his fingers over
it.
“Fuck off, bastard,” the boy answered with no venom left in his voice, shutting
the door firmly behind him as he left.
Antonio stared at the door, trying to recall the way the boy looked at him
then, with his tired eyes and his downturned mouth. All he could conjure up,
though, was the image of him clutching his rosary to his chest as if it was
something precious. That would be his first and last experience with a
prostitute, Antonio decided, closing his eyes and falling back onto the bed.
Never had he ever recalled feeling quite so alone.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!