Tel pére, tel fils pt. 8/?
Title: Tel pére, tel fils pt. 8/?
Author: Sai
Character(s) or Pairing(s): France/Canada
Rating: NC17
Status: In Progress
Warnings: Smut!
Notes: Oh man, I am so sorry it's taken me this long to pick this up again. I just unearthed this from the Past Part fills place, after forgetting to bookmark where I posted it. It's short, but on its way once again.
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=20123088#t20123088
Flash back to when Matthew was still small, to France and England watching America and Canada make cautious acquaintances. Matthew was hesitant, clutching his small polar bear cub so tightly its eyes bugged out a little. Alfred kept trying to offer one of his toys, a big first for the typically self-centered nation.
Matthew wanted none of it - he came straight back to Francis, slipped his hand into the elder’s and politely requested they leave for home, s'il te plaît, bright eyes half-lidded and serious, too serious for a nation his age. His expression just didn’t fit his tiny features...it was too adult in its nature.
The way he looked now, well, that expression fit even less. Francis wasn’t sure he knew what to call it. Curiosity, perhaps, but it was better defined as lust, written plain in parted lips, half-lidded eyes and the heave of his chest as Francis popped the button on his shorts.
“Are you sure you want to-, “he began, but stopped short, silenced by Matthew’s hips twitching up towards his hand, encouraging. Francis drew a moaning breath and traced the outline of Matthew’s cock through the denim constraining it.
Matthew knew exactly what he was doing with those breathy sounds and hip shifts; he was showing Francis how much he wanted this, expressing need without words and driving the older nation a bit mad with desire at the same time.
The buzz of his zipper dropping sounded so loud in the afternoon calm drawn down over the room. It was nothing compared to the first gasping cry the younger nation gave when Francis’ fingers dove into the gap of his fly and stroked his cock through the flimsy fabric of his shorts.
His thighs were trembling; Francis felt the tiny movements under the hand that came to rest on Matthew’s leg. The other explored further, fingers nudging cotton aside in search of the sensitive length straining against fabric.
And oh, the noises Canada made when those questing fingers found purchase and squeezed gently. He rocked back on Francis’ lap, nails digging in where they gripped Francis’ knees for support, and whined for it, begged for more with that single noise and a half-lidded glance. And Francis complied, wrapping him in a loose fist and stroking while he leaned forward to catch that pretty mouth in another kiss.
Author: Sai
Character(s) or Pairing(s): France/Canada
Rating: NC17
Status: In Progress
Warnings: Smut!
Notes: Oh man, I am so sorry it's taken me this long to pick this up again. I just unearthed this from the Past Part fills place, after forgetting to bookmark where I posted it. It's short, but on its way once again.
Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=20123088#t20123088
Flash back to when Matthew was still small, to France and England watching America and Canada make cautious acquaintances. Matthew was hesitant, clutching his small polar bear cub so tightly its eyes bugged out a little. Alfred kept trying to offer one of his toys, a big first for the typically self-centered nation.
Matthew wanted none of it - he came straight back to Francis, slipped his hand into the elder’s and politely requested they leave for home, s'il te plaît, bright eyes half-lidded and serious, too serious for a nation his age. His expression just didn’t fit his tiny features...it was too adult in its nature.
The way he looked now, well, that expression fit even less. Francis wasn’t sure he knew what to call it. Curiosity, perhaps, but it was better defined as lust, written plain in parted lips, half-lidded eyes and the heave of his chest as Francis popped the button on his shorts.
“Are you sure you want to-, “he began, but stopped short, silenced by Matthew’s hips twitching up towards his hand, encouraging. Francis drew a moaning breath and traced the outline of Matthew’s cock through the denim constraining it.
Matthew knew exactly what he was doing with those breathy sounds and hip shifts; he was showing Francis how much he wanted this, expressing need without words and driving the older nation a bit mad with desire at the same time.
The buzz of his zipper dropping sounded so loud in the afternoon calm drawn down over the room. It was nothing compared to the first gasping cry the younger nation gave when Francis’ fingers dove into the gap of his fly and stroked his cock through the flimsy fabric of his shorts.
His thighs were trembling; Francis felt the tiny movements under the hand that came to rest on Matthew’s leg. The other explored further, fingers nudging cotton aside in search of the sensitive length straining against fabric.
And oh, the noises Canada made when those questing fingers found purchase and squeezed gently. He rocked back on Francis’ lap, nails digging in where they gripped Francis’ knees for support, and whined for it, begged for more with that single noise and a half-lidded glance. And Francis complied, wrapping him in a loose fist and stroking while he leaned forward to catch that pretty mouth in another kiss.