So I got the idea for this when an idiot I knew and worked out with said I was a tease, and it seemed like I was going to kiss him at one point. He made it sound like the weight room could be a romantic place- which it isn't. So my sister put forth a challenge- how about Alfred and Ludwig getting it on in the weight room? I knew- I knew!- no romance could be born of such a place, so here's my stab at passion in a training room.

Obviously, PWP and smut.

I don't own Hetalia. There would be a legit Scotland if I did. (I freakin' love that nation~! ^w^)

Enjoy~!

Exhaling, I set down the dumbbells and wiped the sweat from my forehead. Alright, half-way done. I just had the bench left, and core work.

I lay down on the bench and gripped the bar, sighing. I finally reached 245 lbs, but I wasn't satisfied. I wanted 250, 300 even.

There was the soft sound of sneakers on the weight room floor, and I glanced up.

"Ludwig." He glanced at me, his expression neither warm nor cold, and I looked away, swallowing. God, he was a frosty one.

I pushed his cold shoulder from my mind and focused on the weight. I was gonna do twelve then add ten pounds. Then do six. Add ten pounds. Do three. If I could.

"Hrgh…" I lifted. One. Two. Three. I panted, feeling suddenly weak. Four. Five. Six. Seven. I gritted my teeth, pushing through the evident pain. Eight. Nine. My toes curled in my sneakers, trying to give strength to my arms. Ten. I was probably red-faced right now, but I didn't care. Eleven. Twe-e-e- I groaned and pushed harder than I ever had, beseeching my arms to push more, more- e-elve. I dropped the bar onto its holders and sucked in mouthfuls of air. I heard the other man snort, and I looked back, still panting slightly. He was leaned against the wall, curling the crooked bar. His face was slightly flushed, but he didn't look too stressed from the weight. I scowled.

"Show-off." I turned and grabbed two five pound weights, adding them to the other weights evenly. Then I lay down and gripped the bar. Only six this time.

One. Two. My arms wobbled slightly, but held. Three. I could hear Ludwig grunt from exertion, and my eyes flickered upward, though I couldn't see. Four. Five. I made a harsh sound in the back of my throat as I pushed upward for my last rep.

"Haaaannh…" I exhaled loudly, letting my arms drop after setting the bar in place. I could feel Ludwig's eyes on me. I tilted my head back so I could see him, but he was turned away. All I could see what his legs- and he looks like he's on 'roids, I thought bitterly- and his back. His hair, usually trapped in a prison of hair gel, hung loosely, giving him a more relaxed look than usual. Not that I care, I thought definitely, adding ten more pounds to the bar. I slipped under the bar and gripped it tightly. That Nazi… he was probably getting stronger for his Fuhrer. I lifted up, groaning. God, this was getting hard… one… two-o-o-o… Th-th-thre-e-e-

"Fuck!" My arms gave out, and I prepared for the rib crushing pain, but it never came. I opened my eyes slowly and saw Ludwig over me, holding the bar over my chest. I watched him put it back into place, and slowly, I got up.

"Thanks… you saved my ribs."

"Next time, don't be such a showoff so I don't have to," he said coldly, turning. I stared in shock. Did he just…

"Hey! I said thanks. You don't need to be a dick," I snapped. He glanced over his shoulder. Then he returned to his lifting. I scowled and rubbed my arms. Remember to spit in his water later, I thought angrily.

What next…? Core. I found a clear spot on the floor and lay down, stretching. Crunches first.

As I worked, I watched Ludwig. He was doing lawnmowers now, pulling that weight high, showing flashes of sweat-glistening shoulders and biceps…

I stopped, shook my head, and continued. I was being a ditz. The blood was getting to my head.

I felt him watching me again, but I didn't look up at him. I finished my set of sixty and rocked to my feet. Next was medicine ball. While I searched, I snuck a peek at Ludwig. He was watching me too, and I spun around to catch him.

"Aha! Why the hell are you watching me, ya gawddamn Nazi?" I said, pointing at him accusingly. He stared at me angrily.

"My people are not 'Nazis'," he said slowly, "And I am not 'watching you'. You're obviously watching me, however. Now tell me why."

"I'm not watching anyone! You're the one who keeps staring at me!" I snapped, turning to pick up the medicine ball (and hide my indignant blush). He snorted.

"You're pathetic. You rile too easily. No wonder everyone hates Americans." I had turned to face him, medicine ball in hand, but at the last comment, I threw the weighted ball to the floor and surged forward.

"What was that, fucker?" I made to grab his shirt, but he dodged.

"You want to fight? I have no problem with that!" He swung, but I dodged. This was going to get bloody, fast.

We were both laid up on benches, beaten and bloodied. My eye was swelling shut, and he clutched his bruised jaw.

"I kicked your ass, Nazi."

"If how I improved your face is any indication, I think I won."

"I'll go for round two if you're not too much a pussy!" I hissed, getting up. I could barely see through my eye, but I could still win. He rose as well, cracking his bruising knuckles.

"What, you're not going to back out?" he asked, advancing slowly. I kicked away the weight disks we knocked loose with our earlier fight and wiped the blood from my hands.

"I'm shocked you're not," I shot back. He lashed out and I moved, barely avoiding his fist. Then I struck.

My hand caught the supple fabric of his shirt and I yanked him forward. He, however, did not follow his shirt, and I came away with a long shred of his shirt. I looked back in shock, seeing only a long stretch of hardened muscle before his fist connect with my face. I fell back, swearing, and glared at him.

"Fucker!"

"Too slow," he said slowly, but I could imagine his tone was mocking, if not monotone. I wiped my mouth and rose, my fists up.

"Why don't you come closer, Nazi?" I snarled, "Too afraid?"

"I'm not a Nazi."

"Prove me wrong then," I replied, "NAZI." He bared his teeth and narrowed his eyes. I attacked- but he caught my by the throat. The battle was done- the Nazi had triumphed this time.

"Take that back," he growled slowly. His hand tightened around my neck, but I shook my head.

"Uncle Sam taught me never to lie." He squeezed even tighter, and I gasped in a wheezing breath of air.

"Take. It. Back."

"N-never…!"

"Take it back, goddamnit!" I had never seen Ludwig so angry. Even on the field, he was stoic and composed, almost serene. I had never seen his eyes so wild, his face so flushed.

"W-won't-" I felt my consciousness begin to flicker, but he dropped me. I toppled, landing on my back, and my head smashed against a bench. I gasped, moving to touch the tender spot on my head, but everything went dark before I could move my arms.

"Wake up." I felt a hand connect with my cheek and my eyes shot open.

"Ngh!" Ludwig was crouched over me, looking… concerned. "Mnngh… where am I?"

"Still in the weight room," he said, leaning back on his haunches. I looked around.

"What happened…?"

"You hit your head on the weight bench and passed out," he said, folding his arms, "I've been trying to wake you up for a half-hour. I thought you'd died, and Coach would be upset with me." I groaned and got up, touching the back of my head. I felt something sticky, and I assumed it was drying blood.

"I was unconscious for a half-hour," I began, turning to him, "and you didn't find a fucking medic?" When he shrugged, I grunted in pain and pulled my hand from my wound.

"You really do hate me, don't you."

"It's only reciprocated odium." I stared at him blankly.

"…What?" He sighed.

"You really are a moron." I tried to move, to sit up straighter and respond, but the rapid movement made me swoon, and I clutched the weight bench. So I settled on a weak 'fuck you' and leaned heavily on the bench, trying to compose myself. He was watching me, I could feel it.

"Stop looking at me."

"Stop looking so pathetic then."

"I can't help it," I said exasperatedly, looking up. I stared at him weakly through narrowed eyes because I was afraid of too much exertion. "I could've concussed myself, and you just let my lay there."

"You're acting like a girl," he replied, standing up, "In my country-"

"Yeah, well we're not all drunken barflies like your type, now are we!" I snapped, wobbling to my feet. He glared at me.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I hissed, clutching the support column to hold myself on my feet, "I said 'we're not all drunken barflies like your type', Nazi." He lit up like a forest fire.

"I guess you didn't learn your lesson from earlier."

"I don't take lessons from my enemy." I realized his shirt was completely gone, pulled from his body, and he was solid muscle and no fat from shoulder to hip.

"You're just lucky I don't hit cripples," he snarled, grabbing my by the shirt. With an agility I really didn't possess at that time, I wrestled myself free from my shirt, leaving him standing with a fistful of cotton.

I regret moving that fast. The blood rushed to my head and I swooned, falling forward. He caught me, by the wrist and just under my ribs, and stars exploded across my line of vision.

"W-whoa… fuck…" I looked up, and the German's face was outlined with worry. "Don't look at me like that!" I forced myself up and away, but had to lean against the pole until I felt stable.

"If you had any sense," he growled, folding his arms, "You'd go to a medical officer."

"If you had any sense," I shot back, "I would have already been there a half-hour ago! I'm fucking fine. Just a little woozy." My eyes began to lose focus, and when I forced them back into lucidity, all I saw was Ludwig's lips, slightly parted and moist.

"Uhh…."

"What is it?" he asked impatiently. I snapped to attention, feeling the tendrils of a flush creep over my cheeks.

"Nothing, asshole."

"Then stop staring at me."

"I'm not staring."

"Yes you- you know what? Never mind." I scowled at him.

"You're awfully fixated on me."

"What the fuck are you talking about."

"You're probably a fag, right?" I asked coldly, trying to strike a cool and/or tough pose. He looked furious, but remained composed.

"No. Why'd'ya ask? Looking for a boyfriend?" I turned scarlet.

"I'm not bent, fucker!"

"The way you're denying it- I think you are."

"You're just looking for a reason to jump on this, aren't'cha?" I asked furiously, "You're just trying to find a way to fuck me, right!"

"Not even the biggest flamer would want to put it in you."

"So you admit you're gay!"

"No, I just said that no one thinks you're attractive."

"I'm fucking sexy and you know it."

"No. You're not. I don't know who's been feeding you these useless lies, but someone ought to tell you the truth," he said coldly. I scowled.

"You're just denying the fact that you think I'm a god." He snorted.

"Talking with you is similar to talking with a wall- I don't know why I bother."

"So you talk to walls? I guess you really don't have any friends." He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me forward, looking about to hit me. So I played my hand.

I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in for a rough kiss. His lips tasted like salt- probably from sweat- and I felt his lips part, but I pulled away before his tongue could invade my mouth.

"I knew it! You're bent!" I crowed, pointing. I would never admit that I had secretly enjoyed that too- that would be enough to get me kicked from the IFL- and I wiped my mouth on my arm. He was flushed and indignant, but instead of attacking me like I thought he was going to, he grabbed my arms and pushed me to the column.

"You initiated the kiss, you bastard," he hissed, pinning me against the cold metal. I tried to push him away, but I couldn't. His lips found a place on mine, forceful, rough, and when I cried out, his tongue pushed its way into my mouth.

"F-fuck…" I cursed as he pulled away, and he leaned in for another brutal kiss, groaning softly as he eased into my mouth again. He grabbed my wrist when I tried to push him back, and his tongue tried to coax mine into my movement. It tasted of Gatorade and Quench Gum, and slowly, my tongue disobeyed the orders of my mind and joined his in a clandestine dance. And slowly, he released my wrist and held my hips. My arms curled around his neck and pulled him closer. This is so wrong, this is so wrong… but it feels so good…

He finally pulled away when neither of us could breathe. I was panting, barely an inch from his lips so he could feel my ragged breath.

"I knew you were bent," he whispered, nipping my lower lip again.

"You made me… ngh… kiss you… hannh… you bastard…" I groaned as he sucked at my lower lip.

"I didn't make you do anything," he purred through his teeth, and his hands guided my hips to interact with his. I moaned at the intimate touch, at the sensation of his half-hardened member rubbing against mine and bringing it to life, at the feel of his silky shorts sliding over mine. Involuntarily I bucked up against him, and he gasped and groaned.

"D-damn… Fuck you… Alfred…"

"You too… fuck…! N-Nazi…" He pulled me from the bar, and I cried out when he slammed me on the bench.

"I'm not a Nazi," he snarled, grabbing me by the throat. I grabbed at his shirt, but upon remembering it was gone, I grabbed him by the shoulders and jerked him downward into a fierce kiss. He moaned and released me while I forced my tongue deep into his mouth. He knelt over me, grabbing my hair and yanking me upward while his tongue had a field day in my mouth. He was way too good at this to not be practiced.

"Fuck… this…" I hissed, and I flipped us. He cried out when his back connected with the flimsy bench padding, and I silenced his cries with my tongue again.

"We do this my way," I growled, "Whether you like it or not." He tried to grab me, to shove me back, but I pinned his wrists.

"Ah, ah, ah." I began to move from his bruised lips to torment the junction of his neck and jaw, "I run this show now, Nazi." He snarled and swore at me in German, but I changed that harsh noise to something more breathy and melodic as I found that spot that left him squirming.

"Damnit…"

"You're such a little bitch," I purred, biting down and earning a keening wail. "I bet you'd love to take it up the ass." He shook his head and I grazed my teeth over that spot to win that breathy sound again.

"Nein… Nein…" he groaned, and I moved lower, drinking in the sight of his long neck and creamy skin. I nearly laughed; his nipples were already hard, and I hadn't even touched him all that much.

"Wow… you really are a flamer," I said, and before he could formulate a reply, I bit down on his clavicle and made him cry out. He tasted like sweat and beer.

"Do you Germans bathe in that shit?" I asked no one in particular. He didn't respond, and I traveled down to taste one of his nipples.

"Ngh… Oh fuck," he moaned breathily, "S-stop…"

"But you seem to like it…" I said sweetly, suckling at the pert bud. He made a wanton noise in response, and I played with that delectable nub for a bit longer before moving to the other and savoring the flavor of that one. He was reduced to a squirming mass beneath me, unable to fight because he was too enraptured. (In my opinion, of course.)

His hands began to map out my chest, and I started at the sudden touch. And suddenly, my back connected with the pole, and he was kissing and sucking at my chest, leaving red bruises all over my skin.

"F-fuck… you're not… ngh! Gonna win this…" I hissed as he began to drop to his knees.

"Just to show you what a kind person I am," he said, unbuttoning my pants, "I'll relieve you of this 'problem'." I groaned as he sprung me free from my boxers. My clothes hit the floor and I kicked my way from them before he began to touch me.

"Fuck… fuck you," I murmured, as his fingers danced over my flesh. I leaned back against the pole and he gripped my hips, leaning forward.

"Unngh…" I tilted my head back and let out a breathy moan as he took me in. This was the first time I had gotten a blowjob since I got accepted into the IFL, and I had forgotten how mind-blowing it was. And he was pretty good- he must'a' practiced on his Nazi boyfriend. His tongue danced over my head and slipped its way down the shaft as he took me deeper and deeper.

"Ngh… f… fuck…" I stopped being able to form words once I bumped the back of his throat and he didn't stop. He looked up at me, and I actually saw what looked like pain in his frigid eyes. That look-! A breathy whimper tore itself from my throat and I thrust my hips shallowly. He cried out, and those blunt fingers were biting into my hips harder, holding me still.

I need to compose myself, I thought, groaning loudly when his tongue curled around my shaft, I need to be the man- He swallowed around me, half-gagged, and I arched my back and wailed. Everything went blank- for me at least. I hope the Nazi didn't semi-black out like me; he might be choking when he came back around.

"Ngh! Haanh… Stt…Unnn…" I slumped against the wall with a sigh, feeling the strength go from my legs. I felt him lap up everything, and I felt the chill of the air as he pulled away.

"Fag," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of her arm, "Can't even hold up for a minute." I scowled.

"Yeah, well I'm not sucking off every hot blonde I meet, unlike you it seems." That sentence sounded pretty freakin' intelligent, and I was proud for a moment.

"If I was, I wouldn't be here with you," he replied, and I was at a loss.

"Fuck you," I finally said. He chuckled and got up, creeping up my body.

"I'd love to," he purred, nipping at my lower lip hungrily.

"You would, wouldn't you?" I whispered as he worshipped my mouth, "But I won't let you." I snaked my hands down to grip his waistband, and with one swift motion, I disposed of them. He gasped softly.

"I'm no one's bitch," I hissed, and I 'guided' him to the weight bench, none too gently. He cried out, and I began to assault the junction of his throat and shoulder with renewed fervor.

"Then I'll make you submit…" he breathed, and his fingers tangled themselves in my hair. With a sharp tug, he pulled me up to his lips. When I jerked away, he stared at me.

"I'm not kissing the mouth that just swallowed my cum," I said obstinately. He chuckled.

"Fine." But he pulled me up further, and suddenly, he was molesting my throat with tongue and teeth. I tried to move back down, but he yanked my hair roughly and made me cry out.

"Fucker!" He chuckled again and bit to break skin. I felt his teeth sink in, and I yelped as he drew blood.

"Sadistic fuck!" He began to lap up the crimson liquid that was inevitably running down my throat now.

"Mm… but you love it," he said, humming softly as he cleaned up his handiwork.

"When did I say that?" I growled, and he began leaving a trail of hickeys down my throat.

"You don't have to… I can tell…" he murmured, and I gasped when his free hand (I had forgotten that he had two hands until now) brushed against my already erect shaft. He laughed softly.

"Virgin?"

"Yeah fucking right," I snarled, but it lost its bite when he began to rub and fondle my sac.

"Fuck…" I groaned softly as he squeezed. He wore the smile of a preying tiger.

"You know…" I murmured as his fingers flitted up the shaft, "This is my first time with a man… obviously not yours…"

"I'm not afraid to admit it any longer…" he purred, "Because I'm not a lying bastard like you, American…" His fingers eased their way up my body.

"I… ngh… not lying…" I hissed, as he tweaked my nipples before continuing his ascent. I could feel blood running down my throat, nearly dripping on the bench. But I didn't notice him lubing up his fingers with his saliva; if I had, I would have been wary.

"If you so adamant on claiming you've never been with a man," he said slowly, lapping up the running blood, "Then I'm going to have to take control… because I don't want a novice hurting himself." I scowled.

"It's sex, not rocket science." Suddenly there were two blunt objects pressing between my buttocks, and I gasped.

"What the fu-annh!" I wailed as he pushed one through the tight ring of muscle.

"If you relax, it won't hurt as bad," he said, pushing the digit in deeper. I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut.

"Y-yeah right," I gasped out, feeling that finger force its way through me, "I-fuck!- bet it'l-aaaaah!- feel like- Anngh!- flying, rii-aaah!" my sentence was punctuated with grunts and moans of pain. He shook his head.

"Relax."

"Try-Annnh!- ing!" I cried out. Another finger joined the first, and I felt tears well up in my eyes and fall.

"Fuck…"

"Hurts, doesn't it," he said matter-of-factly. I scowled at him, staring at him through squinted eyes.

"Suck my dick- wait, you… Ngh!… already did… Ohh! Aaaaannnnnnnhh…!" his fingers brushed something inside of me that sent a jolt of pleasure up my spine. He studied my face and rubbed it again, and I arched my back and groaned.

"Ohhhhhh…. That… what is… Oooohhhh….." He jabbed it, and I nearly screamed at the sensation racing up my spine.

"That would be your prostate," he mused, rubbing it until I was a senseless mess of whimpers. Another finger entered me, and I yelped. But his fingers began to massage that spot again, and the pain ebbed, replaced with an unexplainable pleasure.

"You know…" he whispered, as I watched him study me through half-lidded eyes, "That face you're making… is fucking sexy…" I tried to formulate a reply but couldn't while he was playing inside of me.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly, and I could barely nod.

"Fuck…" He took one of my hands and guided it to his manhood, and I gasped. Was he really that big…?

"Think about your answer," he said mockingly, groaning softly as I felt up and down the length of it. He was so thick, so long…

"So fucking… beautiful…" I groaned aloud, and he chuckled breathily.

"Ready?" he asked, bucking up into my hand. I drew it away and nodded.

"Make it quick." He laughed huskily and I watched as he spat into his hand and reached down.

"I really… didn't expect a lay in the weight room…" he admitted, cerulean eyes narrowed with lust, "I would…'ve brought lubricant…" Suddenly, he was shifting me, and I felt the pressure of his cockhead against that little pucker between my legs, and I bit my lower lip nervously.

"You're an American," he chuckled darkly, "I know your type like cowboy style. So I'll be generous." I looked down in shock and anger.

"Jackass, not like thi-!" He pulled me down and I screamed at the sudden breach. Oh, God, I'd never done anything that hurt this badly before! With every breath I swore and cursed, certain that he tore something and I was bleeding. I looked down, and he was panting, flushed with pleasure.

"Damn…" he breathed, "You're so… fucking… tight…" The pain began to ebb slightly, enough for me to think coherently, and I looked down at him.

"So am I doing all the work?" I panted, trying to find purchase on the floor with my toes. When he offered that dark smile, I cursed.

"Fucking… lazy… bastard…" I lifted myself up and dropped, trying to remember how all the girls did it, and he groaned.

"Fuck…" he looked at me through half-lidded eyes. "You better be… worth it, 'merican…" I scowled down at him and began to rock my hips slowly, getting assaulted by a potent mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Oh… damn…" He began to roll his hips up with the rhythm of mine, and by chance, he hit that one spot again. I let out a long, keening wail.

"Oh, fuck… ohhh…" Ludwig groaned too.

"There…?" he asked, and when I nodded, he thrust up again, nailing it point-blank. I howled, arching my back.

"Fuck… oh, harder! Ha-arder!" I slammed my hips down, and he cried out and swore in German.

It kept up like this for a while because neither of us wanted to come before the other. He began to guide my hips, his fingers digging into my skin and leaving future bruises as I rode his jerking hips. My glasses began to slide down the bridge of my nose from sweat and I couldn't see Ludwig's expression; though the way he was groaning and driving himself into me explained enough.

"Unnngh…. F-fuck…" I groaned, and he slammed into my prostate a final time before I lost it. My back arched and my nails bit into his biceps as I rode out my climax. I could barely hear his cry of pleasure over my pounding pulse. But I could feel the thick cream he spilt flooding my passage as he came, and I slumped, feeling it begin to move down to dribble out.

I was panting, but somehow, I lifted myself from his softening cock and let myself fall onto the floor, exhausted. Ludwig propped himself wearily.

"What, already done?" he asked softly. I pushed my glasses up on my face to see his expression, and I smirked.

"Round two?" I offered. He raised his brows suggestively, and I found my way to my feet.

"I'm not the girl this time- whether you like it or not."

After two more rounds of mind-blowing sex, we called it quits and forced ourselves to clean up the cum and blood all over the weight room. Our shirts made excellent rags, and we threw the dirty garments into the trash before exiting. The next day, coach asked about some blood we had forgotten, and the 'hickey' Ludwig left on me was obvious. However, it no longer looked like teeth-marks, and I said that I broke a bottle in the weight room.

"I cleaned up the glass," I offered, and the coach rolled his eyes.

"Jones, you're an idiot."

"I know, sir. I know." He turned to the rest of the team.

"Let's try and keep this place nice, alright? People like to use it" Ludwig and I exchanged a look "And it can't look like a shithole. What about the other teams? They don't need'ta be cleaning up our blood." Francis, the only Frenchman on the team (with good reason!), looked toward us, and suddenly began to grin. I swallowed audibly. Ohshit.

After the meeting, he approached Ludwig and I, wearing the 'cat that got the cream' smile.

"Next time, don't be so pathetically obvious, mes chers," he purred, patting us on the shoulders. We were both crimson, and he chuckled. "And I want to join, too."

Le Fin~!

I just successfully proved that romance cannot be spawned in the weight room- it smells too terrible. I would know- I'm a thrower for my track team. I go in the weight room often, and I've endured the blood, sweat, and other terrible things of that room. It exists for the use of power-hungry, muscle-bound athletes craving glory and strength, and the only feelings that can be conjured up in that masculine space are feelings of revulsion, anger, and fatigue. But R&R. Prove me wrong. Shoot me down, and kick my theories until they bleed. After all, we Americans love a good fight.

I think I made up the IFL, which I deemed the International Football League. I needed an excuse for a bunch of nationalities to be using the same room, you know?