A Present is You!
I've been writing FRussia.
You see, I know that Russia is a strong character for me to write, and I've always wanted to try my hand at France. So, a friend of mine has a birthday today and I decided to dedicate the fic I had an idea of to him for his birthday. Happy Birthday, Ajisu!
Title: Prayers
Author: ampfox_ang/kleptowerewolf/me
Characters: Russia (Ivan), France (Francis), preist
Pairings: FRussia
Rating: MATURE/R
Warnings: sex in a church, France being proud of it, silliness at the end (but not too silly), human names
Summary: France goes to confession on his free time, although he doesn't really feel too bad about what he's done. Winter sometime
Today, the church was empty save for the priest. It was a shame, really, that the man hadn't attended the day before, but Francis wouldn't have been there today had he not some to the empty cathedral the previous afternoon. As always, the priest was in the confessional, awaiting anyone with a sin upon his person. France shrugged off his trench coat, leaving it on a pew, and tightened the scarf about his neck before going inside the little box.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Ah, Francis, it hasn't been very long since we last spoke, but knowing you there must be a lot on your mind.”
“I am aware.” His sly and dirty smile fell into place, almost a sin of it's own.
“Confess, my son.”
“I slept with a man yesterday.” Francis leaned back. “I'd invited him over to stay at my place for a while. It's rather cold where he lives.”
“Is he a nation as well?”
“The same as I, only much farther east. He's charming, shy at times, but charming. He's also quite a handsome man, tall and able, that sort.”
“Francis, you don't seem too concerned about the sin you have committed.” That dirty smirk was back, the Frenchman stroking his beard and lightly chuckling.
“I suppose I don't.” He could practically feel the clergyman frown and shake his head.
“I'd like you to do some serious praying, alright? And Francis, please clean up your act. You're an old nation, older than my great grandfather's father. Try to act like it.”
“Yes, Father Ames.” After performing a small prayer, he exited the little box and grabbed his coat, slipping it on and staring at the pew across from him. It was there that brought about the little sinful smile on his lips, that very spot from the day before. Yesterday had been a chilly day, a little snow here and there, but nothing a nice coat and scarf couldn't handle. Ivan had just flown in from his home to visit a warmer bit of Europe for a while, and who better to board with than the ever welcoming Francis? Now he was curious to know if it was still soiled, moving to it to sit in a very specific spot. On the very end of the pew, there was a bit of white staining on the red cushion. Now, he laughed.
“It's very cushy, da?” However nearly impossible it seemed, Ivan had managed to lie upon the pew, his torso and a good section of his thighs taking up the entire bench. Cathedrals weren't a new experience to the Russian, but it had been a good while since he'd been into one in France. They were his favourite place in the world, a place of endless refuge with a sense of hope all about the structure. False hope, he now believed, but it was a little less hard to believe in angels with the blonde nation kneeling at the altar further down in his sights.
“For the hours spent sitting on them, they have to be. Especially there where the little old ladies reside, praying and knitting.” Swiftly, he made his way to his feet and approached Russia. “Aren't you a little too old to be lying on the pews in a church?” He walked out of the taller's limited view. A weight settled on Ivan's hips.
“Aren't you too Catholic to be doing this sort of thing in a church?” One hand slowly slid under Ivan's beige sweater in an attempt to peel it off, the other hand already at his belt buckle. France was quick.
“Since when has that stopped anyone?” Gently, he leaned over to press a kiss to his lover's lips.
“Almost always.” Despite his words, Ivan's arms wrapped around the other's waist and his lips parted slightly, inviting Francis' tongue in and groping him. There was something about that little purr the Frenchman did that made him chuckle and lick deeper.
“Well, I'm not anyone. You should know that by now, Vanya.” He started to grind on the other's clothed groin as he was relieved of his shirt, moist and wet kisses trailing his neck and collarbone. Deft fingers worked at their zippers and boxers, drawing out their shafts and stroking them together. Russia growled, offering two fingers to the other's unoccupied mouth. France took them in, suckling and staring him down as he continued to stroke and grind.
“You know we're going to burn in the deepest level of hell for this according to your religion, yes?” With a sexy, lusty smirk, Francis popped the digits from his mouth and led them down his spine, burying them deep within himself.
“It's a risk I'm willing to take.” Light moans escaped him as the other nation swiftly scissored, focusing on finding every little spot he could remember turned France on. Each time he jumped just a bit, Ivan's eyes would flash with a sort of wild excitement, urging him to explore a little deeper and thrust into the man's grip. After a little more foreplay, the blonde lifted his hips to pull off of his long fingers. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the waiting member, trembling with that smile still about his lips and a little gasp. “Mon dieu!”
“Praying already, Fransis?” His accent rolled off his tongue as the watched a blushing nation ride him, the stained glass pouring coloured rays onto his back with what little sun the bleak day held. He really did look like a type of angel in mid song, enough to make Ivan almost believe in the writings of the black bound books about the place were it not for the fact that this sin alone damned them. In his mind, he shrugged it off with a couple of firm thrusts and the satisfaction of the man's pleasured cries ringing in such a holy place like a hymn.
“Ivan, vite!” Their movements became rougher and more intense, so much that the Russian could even feel the wooden bench under the plush cushion bracing his back with each ram down. The blonde crushed their lips together, suffocating him with heat and passion. “Ha...ahnn...Vanya...”
“Fransis...h-!” Ivan's vision flashed white with orgasm, stroking at Francis' prostate in a blind panic and on setting his release. Both jolted, moaned as loud as their vocal chords allowed, then collapsed into hair pets and panting. France, dazed, looked to the pale haired man before gently placing a chaste kiss on his lips and mumbling some words in French. “What's that about?”
“Just a little prayer is all.”
Father Ames noticed the man smiling at the pew, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “I know this isn't my place to say, but what are you still doing here? He's waiting for you at home. Wouldn't you rather be there than here, even if you have committed a sin willingly?” He looked to the man, his smile now genuine and soft.
“Praying that heaven will still let me in when I arrive. I seem to have made the mistake of not buying enough vodka for my personal angel.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-It has been a VERY long time since I seriously wrote smut for anything, but I gave this my best. Hopefully it's alright...
You see, I know that Russia is a strong character for me to write, and I've always wanted to try my hand at France. So, a friend of mine has a birthday today and I decided to dedicate the fic I had an idea of to him for his birthday. Happy Birthday, Ajisu!
Title: Prayers
Author: ampfox_ang/kleptowerewolf/me
Characters: Russia (Ivan), France (Francis), preist
Pairings: FRussia
Rating: MATURE/R
Warnings: sex in a church, France being proud of it, silliness at the end (but not too silly), human names
Summary: France goes to confession on his free time, although he doesn't really feel too bad about what he's done. Winter sometime
Today, the church was empty save for the priest. It was a shame, really, that the man hadn't attended the day before, but Francis wouldn't have been there today had he not some to the empty cathedral the previous afternoon. As always, the priest was in the confessional, awaiting anyone with a sin upon his person. France shrugged off his trench coat, leaving it on a pew, and tightened the scarf about his neck before going inside the little box.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Ah, Francis, it hasn't been very long since we last spoke, but knowing you there must be a lot on your mind.”
“I am aware.” His sly and dirty smile fell into place, almost a sin of it's own.
“Confess, my son.”
“I slept with a man yesterday.” Francis leaned back. “I'd invited him over to stay at my place for a while. It's rather cold where he lives.”
“Is he a nation as well?”
“The same as I, only much farther east. He's charming, shy at times, but charming. He's also quite a handsome man, tall and able, that sort.”
“Francis, you don't seem too concerned about the sin you have committed.” That dirty smirk was back, the Frenchman stroking his beard and lightly chuckling.
“I suppose I don't.” He could practically feel the clergyman frown and shake his head.
“I'd like you to do some serious praying, alright? And Francis, please clean up your act. You're an old nation, older than my great grandfather's father. Try to act like it.”
“Yes, Father Ames.” After performing a small prayer, he exited the little box and grabbed his coat, slipping it on and staring at the pew across from him. It was there that brought about the little sinful smile on his lips, that very spot from the day before. Yesterday had been a chilly day, a little snow here and there, but nothing a nice coat and scarf couldn't handle. Ivan had just flown in from his home to visit a warmer bit of Europe for a while, and who better to board with than the ever welcoming Francis? Now he was curious to know if it was still soiled, moving to it to sit in a very specific spot. On the very end of the pew, there was a bit of white staining on the red cushion. Now, he laughed.
“It's very cushy, da?” However nearly impossible it seemed, Ivan had managed to lie upon the pew, his torso and a good section of his thighs taking up the entire bench. Cathedrals weren't a new experience to the Russian, but it had been a good while since he'd been into one in France. They were his favourite place in the world, a place of endless refuge with a sense of hope all about the structure. False hope, he now believed, but it was a little less hard to believe in angels with the blonde nation kneeling at the altar further down in his sights.
“For the hours spent sitting on them, they have to be. Especially there where the little old ladies reside, praying and knitting.” Swiftly, he made his way to his feet and approached Russia. “Aren't you a little too old to be lying on the pews in a church?” He walked out of the taller's limited view. A weight settled on Ivan's hips.
“Aren't you too Catholic to be doing this sort of thing in a church?” One hand slowly slid under Ivan's beige sweater in an attempt to peel it off, the other hand already at his belt buckle. France was quick.
“Since when has that stopped anyone?” Gently, he leaned over to press a kiss to his lover's lips.
“Almost always.” Despite his words, Ivan's arms wrapped around the other's waist and his lips parted slightly, inviting Francis' tongue in and groping him. There was something about that little purr the Frenchman did that made him chuckle and lick deeper.
“Well, I'm not anyone. You should know that by now, Vanya.” He started to grind on the other's clothed groin as he was relieved of his shirt, moist and wet kisses trailing his neck and collarbone. Deft fingers worked at their zippers and boxers, drawing out their shafts and stroking them together. Russia growled, offering two fingers to the other's unoccupied mouth. France took them in, suckling and staring him down as he continued to stroke and grind.
“You know we're going to burn in the deepest level of hell for this according to your religion, yes?” With a sexy, lusty smirk, Francis popped the digits from his mouth and led them down his spine, burying them deep within himself.
“It's a risk I'm willing to take.” Light moans escaped him as the other nation swiftly scissored, focusing on finding every little spot he could remember turned France on. Each time he jumped just a bit, Ivan's eyes would flash with a sort of wild excitement, urging him to explore a little deeper and thrust into the man's grip. After a little more foreplay, the blonde lifted his hips to pull off of his long fingers. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the waiting member, trembling with that smile still about his lips and a little gasp. “Mon dieu!”
“Praying already, Fransis?” His accent rolled off his tongue as the watched a blushing nation ride him, the stained glass pouring coloured rays onto his back with what little sun the bleak day held. He really did look like a type of angel in mid song, enough to make Ivan almost believe in the writings of the black bound books about the place were it not for the fact that this sin alone damned them. In his mind, he shrugged it off with a couple of firm thrusts and the satisfaction of the man's pleasured cries ringing in such a holy place like a hymn.
“Ivan, vite!” Their movements became rougher and more intense, so much that the Russian could even feel the wooden bench under the plush cushion bracing his back with each ram down. The blonde crushed their lips together, suffocating him with heat and passion. “Ha...ahnn...Vanya...”
“Fransis...h-!” Ivan's vision flashed white with orgasm, stroking at Francis' prostate in a blind panic and on setting his release. Both jolted, moaned as loud as their vocal chords allowed, then collapsed into hair pets and panting. France, dazed, looked to the pale haired man before gently placing a chaste kiss on his lips and mumbling some words in French. “What's that about?”
“Just a little prayer is all.”
Father Ames noticed the man smiling at the pew, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “I know this isn't my place to say, but what are you still doing here? He's waiting for you at home. Wouldn't you rather be there than here, even if you have committed a sin willingly?” He looked to the man, his smile now genuine and soft.
“Praying that heaven will still let me in when I arrive. I seem to have made the mistake of not buying enough vodka for my personal angel.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-It has been a VERY long time since I seriously wrote smut for anything, but I gave this my best. Hopefully it's alright...