[fic] Falling For the First Time [France/Spain]

[etre_sans_age]

Title: Falling For the First Time
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: NC-17
Characters: France/Spain/France, Ancient Rome
Warnings: underage consensual sex, oral
Wordcount: 4, 914
Summary: for the prompt - Little Spain and Little France discover sex. TOGETHER. It’d be really awesome if they were really young, I mean younger than the usual fifteen age seen on fics or something; this is medieval times we’re talking about, people!

[I am writing these two at about the age of thirteen to fourteen, which is still pretty damn young in my view, but thirteen is the age of consent in Spain these days, so apparently someone is okay with it. FYI: France = Gallia (Roman province) = Francia (15th century), Spain = Hispania (Roman province) = Iberia (still under the rule of the Moors).]



[prologue]

They went by different names back then, Hispania and Gallia, both newly made provinces added to the western edge of Rome’s empire. Little Hispania had more or less cooperated when the legions arrived on his shores, but young Gallia had to be brought screaming and kicking into the fold. When the two first met, Hispania made the mistake of trying to pet Gallia’s dandelion-fluff hair, white-gold, paler and softer than he had ever seen before, and received an energetic shove off for his trouble. Too surprised to respond, Hispania stared wide-eyed at the other child, and chuckling, Rome knelt and pulled them close.

“Gallia, that is no way to treat a fellow Roman! Apologize to Hispania.”

Gallia protested loudly in some barbaric dialect, but Rome would have none of it. “You are Romans now, and brothers as well. Brothers should get along.” He planted a kiss on both of their cheeks, which caused Gallia to scowl and Hispania to giggle, and then he urged them to become acquainted while he attended to the resupplying of the troops for their journey home.

“But didn’t you just say you were going to visit the ladies, Roma? How can you do both at the same time?” Hispania piped up, and next to him, Gallia smothered a laugh, unsuccessfully.

Caught in the lie, Rome grinned and explained, “I can do both because I am very experienced at accomplishing many things at the same time. That’s how I managed to get the two of you, right?”

As soon as Rome left for the brothels, Gallia turned to Hispania and declared in a haughty voice, “I don’t care what he says, I won’t have anything to do with a Roman pet!”

“But… you are a pet, too.”

“I won’t stay one for long, not like you,” Gallia retorted, blue eyes sparkling fiercely. “I’ll keep fighting, no matter how long it takes!”

Undeterred by such hostility, Hispania held out his hand, smiling. “Well, while we are still his pets, we can be friends.”

“You can’t be serious! Us, friends?” Gallia stared at the boy, grinning so sunnily, looking so earnest and so welcoming, and hesitated for a moment before reluctantly taking the offered hand. “I don’t know… I’ve never really had a friend before…”

“Me neither!” Hispania confessed with a laugh, dragging Gallia after him as they headed towards the city gates. Encouraged by Gallia’s shy smile, Hispania blurted out, “Come on, I know a great place to play, it’s got lakes for swimming and trees for climbing, and lots of horses! You like horses, don’t you, Gallia?” Gallia nodded vigorously, and Hispania quickened his steps, darting nimbly between the adults going about on their business of being adults. “Let’s go, before Rome changes his mind!”

Later, Rome came to retrieve his latest territory from where they had been playing, and no amount of screeching from Gallia or pleading from Hispania would persuade him to let them stay together. They would not understand why he could not, for it was not proper for two provinces to form too close of bonds, lest they begin to plan a rebellion against the empire. He didn’t believe sweet Hispania would be capable of treachery, but there was no telling with the ferocious heir to Gaul.

“Perhaps another time,” Rome told them, hauling the still complaining Gallia over his shoulder, “but for now I need Gallia to defend the border against the barbarians.” With his free hand, he patted Hispania’s brown curls fondly. “Be good, Hispania, and I shall return soon.”

Hispania was very good, and he waited and waited ever so patiently, but when Rome returned, he did not bring Gallia with him. Eventually, Rome stopped visiting, and it was only years later, when news of the barbarian’s sack of Rome reached his home at last, that Hispania knew he was finally free, no longer a province. He could not help himself, he wept for Rome in secret, missing the old man who had been like a father to him. But afterwards, Hispania dried his tears and readied himself for the invasions still to come.

“Please be safe, Gallia,” he prayed to whichever god would listen. “Fight for your life.”

The green-eyed boy holding the horses’ reins was staring at him, Francia realized. This was nothing new, he was used to be stared at by boys, men as well, yet this one’s gaze disconcerted him more than usual. Francia would have ignored him and returned to brushing his hair, but the horse boy was cute, if scruffy, and looked like he would provide much better company than bratty little England would. Setting the wooden brush down, Francia smoothed the skirts of his blue silk gown and flounced out to meet the strange boy.

“Hey! Horse boy!” Francia strode over to where the boy was lounging in the back of the cart, which had been recently emptied of its wine barrels. It seemed he was daydreaming and not paying any attention to his surroundings, so Francia reached up and touched his grubby hand. The boy started out of his musing, and Francia quickly drew back as well, his fingertips tingling oddly.

“Who are you?” the two of them asked at the same time.

“My name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo,” the horse boy said first, flushing a little even under his tan. “But… you can call me Iberia. What’s your name?”

“I’m Francis Bonnefoy,” Francia answered, feeling his heart flutter excitedly in his chest. Iberia… that would mean this boy must be his neighbor to the south… “Francia, if you wish.”

“Francia…” There was a flash of disappointment in Iberia’s eyes, as if he had been expecting something else, but was swiftly replaced by a grin that lit up his whole face as he jumped off the cart and bowed deeply. “That’s a pretty name, it fits someone as pretty as you!”

Giggling, Francia curtsied in reply. “Thank you, Iberia. I am very pleased to meet you at last.”

“Me, too.” Then Iberia took his hand, clasping it warmly in his own, and to Francia, it felt somehow familiar, though he did not know exactly how.

Hand in hand, they wandered through the palace, Francia proudly showing off everything he could think of, from the brilliant stained glass windows to the elegant painted frescos, while Iberia gazed at him, and nowhere else, smiling a silly, starstruck smile.

“What do you think, Iberia? Isn’t it beautiful? I bet my palace is just as lovely as your palace at Al-hambra, if not lovelier.” To be perfectly honest, Francia had never seen the famed gardens of Al-hambra in person, but was told their beauty had no parallel in all of Europe, which rankled at his pride far more than he would ever admit aloud.

“Huh?” Iberia blinked out of his trance, then seeing that Francia was apparently expecting agreement, nodded. “Oh, yes, you’re right!”

“Ah, so you admit that the works of Christians surpasses the works of Moslems?!”

Iberia shook his head, still smiling. “I don’t know about that, but I do know that the God we both worship created you, and you are far prettier than either place, Francia.”

“So you are saying it is a tie?” Francia frowned, as if he did not like such a weak answer, but his blushing cheeks said otherwise. “Very well, I shall accept that. But once you’ve tasted my food, I think you will see what I mean!”

Iberia seemed happy to take him up on that challenge, judging by the growling of his stomach. “Will there be candy, too?” he asked hopefully, and Francia snorted.

“Why, there will be so many sweets, you won’t be able to eat them all!”

“We’ll see about that!”

The hours of the day melted into evening, and Iberia and Francia were still together, chattering as if they had been friends all their lives. At least Francia was talking, Iberia was content to sit and stare and agree with everything he said, which only encouraged him to brag even more. But in Iberia’s eyes, Francia had plenty of things to be proud of, and he liked that.

“What are you doing?” Francia asked suddenly, and Iberia froze, flushing in guilt. So enchanted by his charming neighbor, he did not realize how close he had gotten to Francia, close enough to smell the fragrance that lingered on Francia’s skin, the scent of dewy roses in the morning.

“I was just… I was just admiring your hair!” he admitted, eyes screwing shut in distress. “It looked so soft, I wanted to touch it. I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”

“What do you mean, again?” Francia gave him an odd look, but he was smiling, too. “You are very strange, Iberia. But I like you. So… you can touch my hair if you want. I won’t mind!”

“Really?” There was nothing he wanted more, it was all he could think about, running his fingers through those strands of bright spun gold. Nervously, Iberia wiped his sweaty hand on his tunic, then reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind Francia’s ear. Francia shivered slightly, but did not object when he continued petting his hair. When he stopped, Francia turned to look at him, blue eyes shimmering in the light of the candles.

“You… can kiss me, too… if you want.”

Iberia swallowed the dry lump in his throat and licked his lips. His heart was hammering in his ears, and his vision going hazy at the edges, but he leaned in and managed to kiss Francia on the lips without bumping their noses too much.

“Sorry,” he mumbled shyly when they both opened their eyes. “I’ve never kissed a girl before.”

“Neither have I,” Francia said, giggling. “But it wasn’t bad for a first time. Shall we try it again?”

This time, before Iberia started, Francia took his left hand and placed it at his own waist. “You have to hold me when you kiss me, silly. Haven’t you seen grownups kiss before?”

He had, he had watched Rome with his ladies long ago, in what felt like another lifetime, and after that, he had been an occasional witness to less than discreet activities between men and women when they thought no one was looking. But for some reason, it never occurred to Iberia that he would be doing the same thing later. He hoped fervently he wouldn’t mess up and look foolish in front of Francia.

“Are you ready?” Francia murmured, and for answer, Iberia gathered him in his arms, pressed his lips to the other’s mouth, this time without bumping their noses at all. Gently, he brushed the tip of his tongue against Francia’s lips, and they parted for him eagerly. Their front teeth did hit a little more sharply than intended, but they took their time letting their tongues and lips caress, learning each other through taste and touch and scent.

By the time Iberia drew back, Francia was flushed and panting for breath, his long hair tousled. He could practically see his own reflection in those deep blue eyes, and he looked just as disheveled, just as amazed.

“That… was very nice,” Francia said at last, once he had caught his breath. Cheeks still tinged with scarlet, Francia lowered his eyes coquettishly. “Would you like to kiss me again, Iberia? To say good night?”

They did not get very far in this kiss before a manservant lighting the torches found them and shooed them away to bed, giving Iberia a particularly suspicious glare that threatened much if he should be caught in Francia’s bed.

Groaning in frustration, Iberia then bade Francia good night, promising to come back and visit as soon as possible. With great reluctance, he turned his footsteps away, hoping that the wine merchant’s men, or at least the horses, would be easy to find.

Listening to the sounds of the horses breathing below, Iberia tossed and turned in his little nest of hay in the stables, his thoughts filled with visions of golden hair and blue eyes and creamy skin. He could not seem to relax, his lips still felt warm and tingly from the kisses, and there seemed to be a matching hot feeling centered underneath his bellybutton that would not go away. After a restless few hours, he finally drifted off to sleep.

When dawn arrived, he was shaken rudely out of his slumber by one of the wine merchant’s men. As soon as he got his bearings, Iberia asked if he could say goodbye to someone before they left, which caused the group of men to laugh.

“You must’ve found yourself a pretty French girl, is that it?”

“Yes, I did!”

“Forget about her, boy, she isn’t worth your time. These French girls will forget about you in a blink of an eye, trust me, and you should, too.”

“B-but… I can’t…” Iberia couldn’t really tell them that both he and Francia were nations and forgetting each other would be quite difficult, but just that thought brought up a nasty doubt in his heart that had been bothering him for a long time.

Noticing the boy’s look of disappointment, one of the men patted him on the back comfortingly. “Tell you what, since you’ve been so good with the horses, I’ll make a recommendation to the merchant and he will bring you this way next time. The French always appreciate a fine vintage, so it shouldn’t be too long. Perhaps she’ll even remember you, eh?”

His sweet Iberia had left without saying goodbye, and for the rest of the day, Francia sulked in his room, too upset to even brush his hair. But then it occurred to him that Iberia would not leave his company willingly, so he assumed he had no choice and must have been dragged away by force. If Francia were truly the young maiden everyone seemed to think he was, he would languish and weep into his handkerchief, bemoaning his fate, but he was a boy, and a rising power among nations at that - at least, after one disregarded England’s claims to certain French territories. With a determined frown, Francia sat down at his little desk and penned a dramatically worded letter, begging his young beau to return to him as soon as possible, or else he would be obliged to make an excursion across the Pyrenees Mountains and find him. He did not know exactly where in the Moorish region of Al-Andalus could Iberia be found, but after some thought, he addressed the note to Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and tied it to the leg of a messenger bird, setting the bird free to fly south to the city of its choice. It would work out somehow, he was certain. But if Iberia did not answer him within the month, Francia will make preparations to go forth and find him.

For the next month, he checked the dovecote every morning, until the master grew cross with him and told him to wait for his messages like everyone else did. Fretting, Francia went to bother the seamstresses next, requesting that they let down the hem of his best silk gown which had become too short since he last wore it. He needed to look his best for Iberia, after all. But the seamstresses determined he needed an entirely new set of clothes and shoes, as he had outgrown all of his current clothing, and for a little while, the prospect of a brand new wardrobe of silks and velvets and fine linens completely occupied his attention.

He was working on the embroidery of his latest tunic when a serving girl rapped on his door, calling him to receive his guest. Heart pounding, Francia threw on an old but serviceable gown, tying a sash around his waist, then dashed out of his room and down the stairs.

There in the courtyard, standing next to a tall white stallion, Iberia was smiling at him, green eyes sparkling merrily.

Forgetting that he was supposed to be mad at him, Francia ran into his outstretched arms. “I thought you would never come! I’m so, so glad you’re here!”

“You’ve gotten taller,” Iberia told him, lightly resting his forehead against Francia’s. “I think you’re almost taller than me now.”

“And you… you have grown more handsome.”

They kissed, a little gingerly at first, and then Francia pulled back impatiently. “Come to my room, we shall talk there!”

“Wait, wait,” Iberia said, laughing. “Look, I got your message, and I even brought your bird back.” True enough, he retrieved a small wooden cage hanging from the stallion’s saddle, which housed the very same bird Francia had sent to deliver his message.

Delighted, Francia took the cage and led Iberia to the dovecote, where he tenderly replaced the bird in its home cage. “I will call this sweet little bird Pierre,” he announced happily. “He will bring my messages to you from now on, and his children, too.”

“But how can I answer you, Francia?” Iberia asked, voice full of concern. “I don’t have any birds that know how to fly to you, so I had to come visit you myself. I don’t know if I can do that all the time!”

“Well, you should take one of my birds home with you when you leave,” Francia suggested sensibly. “Then if you need to answer me, you give him the message, and he will always fly back home, to me.”

“What a wonderful idea!”

Francia smiled at him, flattered as always. “I’m very glad you want to keep in touch with me, Iberia.”

“It’s even better when I am here, touching you,” he confessed, and Francia had to giggle at his earnestness.

They actually did not make it back to Francia’s room for some hours, having too much to do catching up. Iberia had invited Francia to go horseback riding with him, but Francia declined.

“Why not? I thought you liked horses?” Iberia blurted out, before remembering this really wasn’t the same person.

“No, no, I do like horses! Or I did, anyway… But my horse got scared and threw me off when I was younger, and I was hurt very badly, and they thought I was going to die. They won’t let me ride my own horse anymore.”

“That’s terrible! But… you can ride with me on my horse, I won’t let you fall, I promise.”

“I don’t know…” He had been thrown off his horse during a pitched battle with the English, nearly trampled to death in the slaughter, and by the time he woke up from his coma, he had lost half of his territory and a significant number of his men to the Black Prince of England. The loss of both land and citizens had resulted in a fever that could not be leeched out, and for years, he suffered in miserable silence. Even if they did let him ride his own horse now, he could not, too traumatized to even sit in a saddle for more than a few minutes. But he would not feel comfortable explaining this to Iberia, who might even laugh at his weakness and cowardice.

Despite Francia’s obvious reluctance, Iberia patiently managed to coax him to pet his stallion, letting Francia get accustomed to the big animal as much as possible.

“See? Amado is very gentle and brave, he won’t be scared by anything.”

Then it was time to help Francia into the saddle, but after Iberia jumped up behind him, he realized the other boy was still terrified.

“You need to relax, Francia. Your back is too stiff, you will get all sore by the time we finish riding.”

“I know that!” Francia snapped, but he was trembling now, and whimpering softly, too.

“Look, I’m right behind you, I will hold on to you like this,” Iberia told him. “You won’t fall, trust me.”

He wrapped his arms about Francia’s slender waist, whispering soft encouragements into his ear, until he relaxed enough for Amado to start a slow walk. Francia tensed noticeably when they began moving, but a gentle hand at his hip took care of that, and he was able to ease into the swinging motion of the horse beneath them. They had gone around the pasture once twice without further incident, and then Iberia nudged his stallion to take a faster pace.

With the breeze blowing through his hair, and Iberia’s comforting, solid warmth at his back, Francia let out a nervous laugh of relief. It was liberating, overcoming this fear, and memories of a somewhat happier childhood flooded his mind. He was still a little scared, but Iberia was holding onto him tightly, and after a few minutes, he leaned back into his embrace with a contented sigh.

Behind him, Iberia shifted a little in the saddle, feeling that strange heat in between his legs again, which was definitely not helped by Francia sitting in front of him, so closely. He wondered if he should say something, but he did not want to disturb him either, not when he seemed to have finally adjusted to riding a horse again. Finally, he was given a respite when Francia turned a little to talk to him, and noticed his expression.

“Oh! Are you feeling well?” Francia asked, gazing at him searchingly.

“I’m fine!” Iberia reassured him, feeling his cheeks heat.

“Maybe we should stop for now and rest for a little bit.”

“O-only if you want.”

“Well, don’t you want to take a nap? You must be tired after such a long journey, a nap will make you feel better.”

Iberia couldn’t possibly say no to a nap, and he exhaled, thankful for a little bit of privacy. The strange feeling dissipated a little bit after they dismounted and led Amado back to the stables, and Iberia was starting to feel much better already.

Unfortunately for him, Francia showed Iberia to his own boudoir, after bundling his strewn about clothes and stuffing them into a chest.

“You can sleep with me, Iberia! Won’t that be fun?”

“B-but… that’s not very proper.”

“Why not? My bed is big enough for the two of us, and it’s very comfortable.” Francia flopped into the mattress, kicking his legs up into the air just to show how comfortable.

“It’s only that I am a boy and you are a girl… err, right?”

Francia had burst into gales of laughter before he finished his question, and Iberia glanced at him in confusion.

“Silly, I am a boy, too! Just like you!”

“Oh, that’s what I thought!” Iberia exclaimed, feeling disappointed and thrilled at the same time. “But I wasn’t sure. You are the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, so I couldn’t believe it. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not!”

Despite Francia’s reassurance that he was as male as he was, Iberia could not help looking about awkwardly as Francia took off his sash and gown. With fumbling fingers, he removed his doublet and hose until he was clad only in a linen shirt. Then he snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye to see Francia smiling back at him, stripped down to a lacy white chemise, its collar loosened to bare one shoulder.

“Come into bed with me,” Francia murmured, and Iberia had to wonder why he never noticed how low his voice was, not like a girl’s at all.

For a few minutes, they lay in bed together, staring at the ceiling, and then Francia turned to face him, eyes glinting mischievously.

“I know what you’re thinking, Iberia.”

“What I’m thinking?” he echoed.

“You are thinking about kissing me. Like an adult. And you will, won’t you?”

He did just that, putting his arms about Francia, pulling their bodies close until their bare legs tangled together. As they kissed, that strange feeling from before returned, jolting him like a lightning bolt, and Iberia could not hide his surprise this time.

“What’s wrong, Iberia?”

“N-nothing!” Frantically, he pulled his shirt down, but Francia’s knee was resting between his legs, he must have surely noticed something weird was going on.

“Does your stomach hurt? Here, let me see-“ Francia began, but before he could do anything, Iberia grabbed his wrists, making a noise of protest.

“It’s fine! It will be fine,” he said breathlessly. Iberia paused, realizing that he had somehow pushed Francia flat on his back and was sitting on top of him now, but instead of feeling embarrassed, he felt strangely encouraged, emboldened. Leaning down, he claimed Francia’s lips in a passionate kiss, fingers curling tightly into his hair. When they parted for breath, Iberia saw that the other boy was staring back at him, expression caught between surprise and delight. He kissed Francia again, and unable to get enough of his taste, he moved to kiss his cheeks and chin and throat. Squirming under him, Francia laughed and tried to push him away, until Iberia finally gave in and let him go.

“Let me… let me take off my shirt first.”

Mouth gaping open, Iberia stared as Francia sat up and slipped off his chemise, tossing it to the ground.

“Well? Take off your shirt, silly. It’s what adults do!”

Before he could even think, Francia had already pulled his shirt up over his head and threw it aside. Kneeling on the bed, both of them naked, Iberia found his gaze drawn inexplicably towards the covers.

“Look, you feel the same as I do!” he exclaimed, pointing down at his erection and at Francia’s.

“Of course,” Francia replied, as if this were quite obvious. “It’s because you were kissing me so well, I couldn’t help myself.” He crawled towards Iberia, still purring softly in that low, sensual voice. “No one has ever kissed me like you did, like we were both grownups. That’s why I wanted you to come back. I didn’t kiss anyone else the whole time I was waiting for you. I wanted you, Iberia, only you. I wanted you so much.”

Francia tilted his chin up, brushed his lips over Iberia’s mouth, pale fingers skating slowly down the line of his back, sending shivers up his spine.

“You do know what adults do when they like each other, don’t you?” he murmured, eyes dark, contrasting against the pale gold of his long eyelashes.

“A… a little bit,” Iberia answered with some difficulty.

“Shall I show you, then? How to make love?”

“Y-yes. Please,” he stuttered, almost whimpering from desire.

He could sense Francia’s fingertips dancing over his chest, flicking at his nipples which had grown so sensitive, but that was nothing compared to what it felt like when Francia touched his cock. Iberia bit his lip to keep from yelping, but it felt so good, what Francia was doing, moving his fingers up and down his erection, and he was trembling now from the effort of holding back.

“That feels good, doesn’t it? But I know how to make you feel even better, Iberia,” Francia whispered, and his warm breath fluttered over Iberia’s stomach, making him shiver even more.

“Please, please, Francia, please do it! Hurry!”

Then Francia bent down and gently licked the tip of his cock, and Iberia gasped, his erection twitching from the incredible sensation, like nothing he had ever felt before. Watching Iberia’s reaction curiously, Francia repeated the gesture, his soft tongue swiping over the moist head, again and again, until Iberia was wriggling in place, whimpering loudly, fingers clutching tightly at Francia’s hair. It seemed Iberia wanted more from him, and so Francia took the entirety of Iberia’s hard cock into his mouth and began sucking, bobbing his head back and forth as the other boy began to moan and gasp in his own language. It wasn’t long before Iberia came, groaning in pleasure as white cum spurted out from his cock onto Francia’s waiting tongue. Utterly drained, he desperately gulped down air while Francia continued licking his softening penis clean with slow strokes. When he finished, he looked up to see Iberia smiling dazedly at him.

Without a word, Iberia laid him onto his back and began kissing him, slowly, lazily. Francia purred in approval as Iberia made his way down his body, lavishing the smooth, ivory skin with soft kisses. As inexperienced as he was, as they both were, it still felt nice, and he could get used to it.

“I want to taste you, too,” Iberia murmured. That was what he wanted all along, he knew now. Patiently, he nibbled at Francia’s inner thigh before turning his attention to his erection. Just as Francia did with him, he sucked at Francia’s cock, humming with pleasure to taste that hint of salt beading on the tip. Perhaps it took a little longer, but at last Francia arched under his hands with a cry as he reached his peak, coming into Iberia’s mouth. He drank down that thick hot liquid, marveled at its bitter, salty, faintly sweet tang, and thought he would never taste anything more unique, more special.

Sobbing breathlessly, Francia reached for him, wanting to be held, and Iberia snuggled into the damp sheets next to him, arms wrapped about him tightly. They were close enough to feel each other’s heartbeat, the gentle thudding beneath their breastbones, and as they drifted off to sleep, they whispered to each other, I love you, I love you, too, I love you more, I love you most…