Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
Thanks to anon's suggestions we are now enforcing a past-part fills post
Fresh past-part fills post HERE
Comments and Suggestions go here
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill index over here.
Remember though that you need not post your updates unless you posted in a new part
Keep yourself up to date -- check out the NEWS HERE
“Monsieur Bonnefoy, would you like some café this morning?” she asked, careful to stay just beyond the reach of his hands.
“Actually, today I think I would like a cappuccino chiaro, with extra milk, s’il vous plait.”
“Certainly.” She bobbed a small curtsy and then left the mostly empty conference room, giving France only a few seconds to admire her retreating figure. Now that she had left, France was able to focus on his true purpose in getting here before anyone else did. Slipping out a folded paper packet from a pocket, he surreptitiously dumped its powdery contents into the milky tea, and then stirred it thoroughly. The powder did not dissolve very well and gave the liquid an odd tint, but he had ground up a double dose in preparation, in case England should notice the odd texture and spit it out.
Now to wait for his prey to take the bait…
“What the hell are you doing?” England asked, seemingly out of nowhere, and France almost jumped in guilty surprise, except for the fact that he rarely ever felt guilty.
“Why, nothing, Angleterre!” he replied smoothly, giving the other nation a dazzling and mostly innocent smile. “I was merely enjoying the delicate and unmatchable scent of your Earl Grey tea.”
“Well, I asked for breakfast tea, not Earl Grey.” France shrugged his ignorance, and England stared at him suspiciously, but said nothing else as he set his papers down and took his seat.
The other nations began trickling into the conference room in twos and threes, and finally Germany arrived, five minutes early instead of fifteen, dragging a whining North Italy with him. The maid returned with various refreshments for the nations, setting France’s cup of cappuccino down in front of him and scurrying away before he could grope her. Not that he wanted to right at the moment, his mind was preoccupied with a much more amusing situation.
Sitting a few seats away, France looked over just in time to see England take a sip of his tea. He did make a face, but swallowed it, probably attributing the taste to the inferior tea-preparing skills of the kitchen staff. Confident that England got a suitable dose, France looked down at his cappuccino, admiring the rose that had been swirled into the foam by an artistic soul on breakfast duty. Somewhere in the front of the room, Germany’s voice droned on, and he could sense England’s attention wandering as the drug worked its magic. A grin dancing on his lips, France blew gently on the foam, then took a small spoon to scoop up some of the frothed milk, putting it into his mouth, making a soft noise of pleasure, and then very very slowly pulling it out, licking it once more for good measure. He thought England might have glanced his way at that gesture, and he certainly caught the attention of other nations, who were looking at him with equal parts of worry and morbid interest, as they always did whenever he was particularly quiet.
Using one hand to gather his hair out of the way, France bent forward to suck in the foam as elegantly as possible. Now England was watching France open-mouthed, unable to look away from him licking away the foam still clinging to his lips.
Across the table, Canada grimaced, thoroughly mortified, and pointed to his nose once he caught France’s gaze. France blotted at the offending blob of foam with a napkin, then smiled back at the younger nation, who put his face into his hands in exasperation.
Reply
That British pride could only last for so long under the influence of a pharmaceutical produced in the homeland (by an American company, no less), and eventually England gave into the desire to look in France’s direction. Happily, France seemed to be paying attention to America’s nonsensical contribution to the meeting, so England could watch him out of the corner of his eyes without getting caught. He was only keeping an eye on his hated enemy after all, not admiring his shiny golden hair, or the mischievous sparkle in his blue eyes, or those graceful, well-manicured hands that knew just where to touch him to make him scream in pleasure.
“I think England has something to add,” France interrupted while America paused to take a breath.
“Really? England, you think my awesome plan will work, right?” the young nation asked cheerfully.
England blushed hotly and glared at France before mumbling his usual disagreement, which America ignored as always. Then England gathered his papers into the manila folder and excused himself to make an important call to the Prime Minister. Germany nodded curtly, and so he got to his feet, wobbling only a little bit.
“Are you certain you are all right, Angleterre? Perhaps I should accompany you, hmm?” France murmured, nothing but friendly concern written on his face.
He was about to refuse, but the tenderness in France’s tone made something in chest lurch, and as England took a step towards the door, he could feel his treacherous knees about to give way.
“Yes, yes, whatever,” he grumbled, gripping the back of his chair tightly for support. France was at his side in a flash, one arm gripping his elbow. With a sigh, Germany decided to call a break even though it was an hour earlier than he had scheduled, to the sound of a few cheers.
Leaning heavily onto France’s arm, England quickly led them out of the meeting room and down a lonely hallway, cursing his body for its bloody single-mindedness. At his side, France’s smile grew ever warmer, until it felt like the sun.
Finally, the two nations reached the suite of offices, all empty today because of the world conference. England wrenched the door of an office open, pulling France in much more violently than necessary.
“Ah, may I ask what this is all about?” France asked as England locked the door and glared back at him, breathing heavily.
“You know exactly what is it about! It’s your fault, it always is.”
“What is it this time? I will not know unless you tell me,” the other purred softly, stepping into England’s personal space as if he belonged there, one hand already reaching out to touch the side of his face.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Wonderingly, England placed his fingers on France’s outstretched hand, touching the cool skin of his fingers as the other nation moved in closer to stroke his cheek.
“What you did back there was utterly depraved,” England replied, though his eyes were locked onto France’s, a mouse hypnotized by an adder. “Slurping your coffee and making out with your spoon? That was damn filthy, even for you.” But the worst part was that he was actually turned on by the whole lascivious display, and his blush, already scarlet, was now fluorescing red.
Suddenly, England’s eyes narrowed as he realized something, and if France’s arms and legs had not been trapping him against the door, he would have stomped away in righteous anger, and instead settled for slapping France’s hand away. “You - did you put something in my tea, France?! I-I can’t believe you!”
Not bothering to deny the accusation, France grabbed England’s wrists and held him in place. “Yes, Angleterre, I did put something in your drink, but you of all people should know that drugs have no place in my methods. What you feel is not the effect of an aphrodisiac, nothing to make you lose your inhibitions or memories, but to only enhance what is already there.” He leaned forward and whispered breathily into England’s ear, lips barely brushing the hot skin there. “Face the truth, mon cher… you have always loved me, and I you.”
England could not come up with a sarcastic reply and just shut his eyes, sniffing quietly.
“Are you actually crying, dear Angleterre? Perhaps overcome with emotion at my deeply romantic confession?”
“Fuck no, my nose is just runny for some reason.”
“Oh my, I think that is a side effect of the drug. You did take a double dose~.”
“I WHAT?!” England tore his arms out of France’s grip and tried to strangle him, but the abrupt burst of adrenaline nearly caused him to pass out into the other nation’s arms.
“Do not fret, mon chou,” France laughed, clasping England closer to him and ignoring his feeble protests. “I have the perfect cure for a runny nose. Inexpensive, effective, with no side effects.”
“Wh-what is it?”
“Sex.”
“That’s your cure for everything!” England spluttered, outraged and extremely afraid for his rapidly dwindling sense of propriety.
“I would not suggest it if it did not work. Besides, it would relieve this other problem you have as well,” France said, helpfully rubbing the front of England’s trousers and causing him to gasp sharply. “You and America never seem to trust me about this matter, but if you would simply indulge me for now, I will have you feeling 100% better.”
“France?”
“Oui?”
“Just shut up and fuck me.”
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
That's a line that's keeping this tab up until this gets filled. No joke.
Reply
England glowered at him frostily. “Brilliant, now their suspicions will be confirmed! Thank you so very much, you shit-for-brains.”
“…I guess someone does not need my assistance after all,” France replied haughtily, stalking towards the door. “If you will excuse me, I have a meeting to return to.”
“You will not!” At that moment, England truly hated himself for sounding so desperate, hated how France always managed to manipulate him so. He was doomed from the moment he believed that wine-bastard’s lie this morning, but like hell he was going to let France leave him hanging. “You, sir, will stay right here a-and…”
“And what?” France asked, voice dripping poisonous sweetness as he turned to face England.
“What do you mean ‘what’? I already said it once!”
“You do realize that I went through all of this deception for your benefit. So tell me exactly what you want me to do, Angleterre.” France was nearing him now, the scent of his cologne heavy in the air, and England swallowed nervously, his wits muddled enough to not discern the egotistical lack of logic in France’s statement, his heart pounding faster than should be healthy for a nation of his maturity.
“Touch me,” he finally whispered, closing his eyes, and France did, running long fingers through his hair, stroking the side of his face, his chin, then his lips, leaning forward until their noses almost touched.
“What else?” France breathed, so soft his voice was felt more than heard.
“Kiss me.”
He did, and England gladly gave into it, throwing his arms about the other’s shoulders, and for once the bittersweet taste of coffee did not seem so revolting. France ran his hands slowly down his sides, and England broke away so that he could take off his suit jacket. Stealing breathless kisses whenever they could, France soon had England’s shirt and vest and tie tossed haphazardly onto the carpet, and he pushed the other nation to rest against the mahogany desk. He will need that support, France thought wryly, since he was planning to go all out and make England experience, first-hand, the true extent of his skills as a lover.
England leaned back on his hands as France pressed open-mouthed kisses down his throat, across his collarbone and down his chest, nibbling lightly at a nipple, taking his time to explore, feeling no rush. He left warm saliva trails, red bruising bite marks, and England did not even care, completely under the heady influence of that near-miraculous drug, surrendering to this luxurious pace.
“Oh God, F-France. Stroke me.”
“Certainement,” France murmured, lips still flush against England’s stomach, and the vibrations of his low voice only added to the pleasure sparking through his nerves. Undoing his pants with frustrating slowness, France soon had England in hand, skilled fingers clasping his aching arousal and stroking firmly and steadily.
Every motion from the other nation seemed to light him on fire, and he thought several times that he was going to reach the peak, only to have it flit out of reach, until he could swear that his body would break from the unbelievable tension.
“Faster, dammit, I’m going to-”
“No, you are not. Not yet,” the other nation assured him in dark velvety tones, and England had no choice but to trust him.
Reply
“Fuck you, France, just fucking fuck me now.”
Then England felt France’s irresistible tongue leave him, and he moaned in impatience, wondering just how much longer this foreplay could last. He would never ever admit to being possibly, occasionally, a little bit… premature… but on the other hand, he did not think it was good for his heart to be strung out for so long like this. Just when he was about to get up on his elbows and give France another tongue-lashing, he felt something hot and wet engulf the entirety of his cock, drinking in the moisture collecting on the tip, and the back of his head hit the wood of the desk with a loud thud.
“Give me a little warning next time, bastard!” England hissed, wincing, but of course, France was not in a position to answer, too preoccupied with giving head as only he could accomplish, with sliding his slick fingers up between spread legs, pushing confidently in through the initial tight resistance, reaching for that spot he knew would achieve maximum pleasure. And he soon had England thrashing and moaning under his expert ministrations, taut body arcing upward in an effort to seek relief.
Desperately, England wound his fingers into France’s long hair, practically sobbing from the growing scorching tightness in his vital regions, begging France to take him now, or he’ll brain him with this paperweight. But France ignored him as always, making pleased humming noises as he continued working England up into a frenzy with his lips and tongue and throat and much too clever fingers. England’s threats soon dissolved into shuddering wordless gasps as he thrust into France’s mouth, completely under his former enemy’s mercy.
Finally, France backed off, freeing his fingers with a slippery noise, and he got to his feet with a smirk, looking down at the ravished creature panting below him.
“Desole, mon chaton… Have I hurt you?”
“I’m… going to hurt you… if you don’t get that cock in me now.”
“Ah, but you admit this was worth the wait, hmm?”
England managed to coordinate his bones and muscles and nerves enough to kick France in the stomach, and France decided it would be best to oblige the other nation at once.
[damn, writing this sex scene is like running a marathon, not sure if I can make it.]
Reply
anon.
anon.
If writing this is like running a marathon, consider me the equivalent of TEN MILLION PEOPLE CHEERING YOU ON.
YOU CAN DO ITTTT~
huffhuffhuffhuff
Reply
To expand on the marathon metaphor, you're practically in the home stretch at this point. And the ending will be glorious, I can already tell.
Holy christ I'm glad I kept this tab up.
Reply
THAT MAKES 20 MILLION PEOPLE CHEERING YOU ON! YOU CAN DO IT, ANON, GO³!!*cheers*
Reply
this is so perfect and in character and sajhfksjdhfkjlc I love them and I love you
Reply
“What the hell are you doing? Get over here!” England demanded imperiously, pointing between his legs. France laughed from where he was stepping out of his trousers, a low golden ripple of sound that made England shiver in want despite himself.
“Now, now, I told you to be patient,” France murmured, one hand moving down to work his own erection into fullness. “Boys who can not behave themselves will have to be punished.”
England snorted out of habit. “And what makes you think I don’t want to be punished?”
“Oh, how naughty!” But France had returned to his former position, and England surged forward to meet that body warmth, eager to continue. He reached out with one hand to touch the other’s flushed cock, grinning to hear that sharp hiss of pleasure.
“A-ah! Mon chou, if you do not mind…”
It was but the work of a moment to place both hands around France, pulling and stroking and becoming familiar with heat and feel of his arousal. England could not help but stare open-mouthed as he rubbed the head with his thumb, smearing the pearly liquid that seeped out from the tip, until France gently pulled his hands away to thoroughly cover himself with the last bit of lube. Not knowing what else to do, he looked up into France’s face, and breath caught in his throat, had to quickly look away again before he said something stupid. Instead, England concentrated on the glint of fluorescent light off of long blond hair, the faint sheen of perspiration on his collarbone, the cut and dip of muscle on his abdomen, the curl of the light brown hair at the base of his cock.
“Are you fucking ready yet?” he stammered, catching himself before he started to beg.
France did not answer, just kissed him, long and slow and sweet, stealing his breath away and rekindling the lust in his body that had almost ebbed away in the past few minutes. Before England even realized it, he was on his back, legs spread, France’s cock touching him, rubbing at the tender skin there in preparation.
“Je t’aime, mon Angleterre,” France whispered softly, meaninglessly.
He was in no danger of crying, but England closed his eyes anyway when France pushed in one smooth confident motion, concentrating on the sudden unbelievable rush of pleasure that was the sensation of being filled so perfectly. They had done this so many times before, but every time it felt new, and he moved along with France’s hips to help him hit that spot. Not that he needed much help, not by now.
With each thrust from the other nation, England tried to muffle his ecstatic cries, but it was getting exceedingly difficult now that he had been in a state of arousal for so long. At one point, he decided to forget about being discreet; no one was probably going to hear them anyway.
Panting and moaning shamelessly, England blindly reached up to grab the edge of the desk as France continued fucking him, trying to find some leverage so that he could push back. The other’s heavy breathing suddenly turned much more erratic, and he laughed like a maniac as he drove them inexorably closer to orgasm.
“Admit it… you are… grateful that I drugged you?” France asked once, one hand gripping at England’s ankle and dragging it up to his shoulder.
“Shut up,” England gasped in reply, but he was grinning, and he did not care if France saw just how much he enjoyed this.
It seemed as if seconds had turned into minutes and minutes into hours before France slammed into him one last time, groaning as he came. Just hearing him was enough to tip England over the edge, and with a broken sob, he arced upward, sweaty back clearing the desk, shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure overcame his senses.
[...anon is almost done.]
Reply
Leave a comment