with glowing hearts [1/?]
anonymous
March 1 2010, 22:46:23 UTC
Anon doesn't understand the fuss either, and definitely would love to see some more France/Canada! Here you go op, hope this is something like you wanted.
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Francis never sees it coming.
He is fighting his way through Whistler Village one moment, and the next he has been pulled into arms with a hold strong enough to break him. Never one to deny a person in need, Francis relaxes into the position and smiles at the scene before him. The crowd is trembling, one unified roar lifting their voices high into the night air. And for a moment Francis can imagine the way it sweeps across the land - soaring over mountains and plains, settling down into the coastal regions; the name of their hero on every set of lips.
“We did it,” Matthew yells in his ear, and if possible his hold on Francis increases. He is laughing, understandably exuberant.
“Mathieu,” replies Francis, equally delighted, “this is not the first time you have won a gold medal.”
“But this,” interjects Matthew, finally relaxing his hold so Francis can lean back and see his face. “This is- is amazing.”
Francis watches the way Matthew’s eyes never settle on any one person, scanning the crowd repeatedly as he takes in their energy. He is distracted - rightly so - his own body trembling from the outpouring of national pride.
“It’s amazing,” he repeats then turns to look at Francis. And for a minute Matthew grows serious, clapping Francis’ back with one mitten-clad hand. “Yours were amazing too,” comes the acknowledgement and although he doesn’t say it, Francis can hear but not as amazing as mine. It’s reflected in the way Matthew struggles to hold the apologetic expression, face breaking into another grin as his eyes dart back to the crowd.
Francis smiles, knowing he is witnessing something special.
with glowing hearts [2/?]
anonymous
March 1 2010, 22:49:08 UTC
The majority of the time Francis spends tucked snug in Whistler. He enjoys it there, up among the mountains and his own victorious athletes. And so it is not until his sojourn into Vancouver-proper a week later that Francis sees Matthew again.
It is obvious something has changed. There is still that nervous energy humming under Matthew’s skin, still that bursting of pride hijacking his system, but his eyes aren’t as bright and his smiles weak. “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to happen,” Matthew laughs, giving his feet a stamp as he shuffles about awkwardly. “I’m not suppose to be like this, you know. They’re cracking under the pressure.”
“You need to calm down,” sympathizes Francis, for he has seen patriotic fervor consume many nations. Then he cautiously adds, “You have been crying, non?”
Immediately Matthew is wiping furiously at his eyes. “It’s just hockey,” he says irritably. “It doesn’t automatically undo all the accomplishes we’ve achieved.”
“Of course not.”
“I mean,” Matthew says, frowning, “just because we’re good at it doesn’t mean we’re the best. We’ve lost before. It’s not a big deal.”
“You need to calm down,” Francis repeats, laying a hand on Matthew’s shoulder and trying to catch his eyes (which are still skirting around nervously, looking every which way). “I would buy you a drink but I think you are … spirited enough.”
The joke doesn’t deter Matthew. “I hate America,” he confesses suddenly. But Francis notes that his anger is weak, expression more dejected than furious. “I just want to be better at something! He’s already beaten my juniors, and his team was suppose to be weak.”
“I’m sure.” Francis is trying not to sound bored, but that proves difficult whenever Matthew succumbs to rehashing the intricate details of his game. For a minute Francis lets him talk, lets him pour it all out right there on a Vancouver sidewalk. Then he catches Matthew’s hands, holding them steady as he captures that wayward mouth.
Matthew is trembling for a different reason when Francis pulls back from kissing him. More importantly, for once he is looking at Francis, attention focused entirely on the nation at hand.
“I-is that allowed?” Matthew finally asks, the words coming out in one nervous breath.
Francis laughs. “Why would it not be?”
“But we’re rivals,” points out Matthew, tongue darting out to nervously lick his lips. His eyes skirt back to the street around him, and then he tugs Francis forward, maneuvering them between two buildings. “Someone might accuse me of favouring your athletes.”
“I rather think this is in the spirit of the games,” says Francis solemnly. “You have not forgotten the games are about bringing the world together for friendly competition.”
Matthew blinks. Face growing hot, he stutters about for an answer before ultimately pulling Francis into a kiss of his own. When they break Matthew says, “Our first gold medallist was from Quebec. How’s that for national unity, eh?” And he laughs softly, enveloping Francis into a warm but strong hug.
Re: with glowing hearts [2/?]
anonymous
March 2 2010, 00:31:51 UTC
I'm not OP, but I saw the request and this is definitely better than what I thought it could have been.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I like how you're starting from the beginning of the Olympics. I also like how it's still entirely focused on France and Canada. :D :D :D
Love how jittery Matthew is. Love how Matthew was trying to reassure himself that it's okay I lost, even though, I invented the game but... (ah~ It's so Canadian me, anon.) :D :D
with glowing hearts [3/4]
anonymous
March 3 2010, 02:55:18 UTC
Francis is packing the last of his belongings when the knock sounds on the door. Having already received an extraordinarily illogical text message from Matthew, Francis isn’t surprised to see the other standing outside his room.
Matthew is positively giddy, and maybe a bit drunk.
“Victory beer,” explains Matthew when Francis asks, laughing and pulling them close together. “Or maybe two, I can’t really recall. They won,” he says suddenly, interrupting himself. “Crosby doesn’t know how he sunk the shot, but he sunk it and they won and oh god, oh god it feels so good …”
“I can tell,” Francis laughs when he feels a hand sliding down to grope his ass. Matthew’s eagerness makes Francis smile. “I’m surprised you can still stand,” he admits, tugging playfully at that lone curl tickling his cheek. “You’re been on a high all week.”
“Never want it to end. I- I’m awesome, eh?”
“Your poise is remarkable. Not cocky at all, shall we say.” And to round out the joke Francis let’s his hand slide down, settling on the obvious erection Matthew is now sporting under his touch. Francis decides he should feel honoured Matthew even made it to the hotel, not sidetracked by one of his own ecstatic citizens. And it is remarkable really, what a little confidence has done to the usually quiet and even-tempered nation. Grinning like this, wild and self-assured, Matthew looks painfully like his brother - a thought Francis knows better than to state aloud.
“You know what I feel like?” asks Matthew between a short, sloppy set of kisses. “I feel like I could give you the best fuck of your life.”
“Do you,” returns Francis with a quirky grin of his own, feeling Matthew’s giddiness rub off. “Then it’s a good thing I sleep around. I’ll have ample experience to judge you with.”
“Yeah?” Matthew has a hand at Francis’ waist, pulling out the tails of his shirt and tackling the belt buckle. “And who last had you?”
“Mmm, a very drunk German only a few nights ago,” confesses Francis, laughing at the memory. “And you?” he asks in return, genuinely curious to know.
“Alfred and I met some girls down in Robson. Twins,” he adds mischievously, “or so we thought. They did look it though.”
“Yours or his?”
“That’s the best part!” exclaims Matthew, remembrance making him pause. “We argued about it afterward. Because they’re duals, though Alfred will never admit it. And I think,” Matthew adds as an afterthought, voice dropping to a low conspiring tone, “I think she left him halfway in. He was boasting about it afterward, but he still couldn’t remember her name. Wouldn’t you leave if someone couldn’t remember your name?”
Francis can only wonder if it’s a rhetorical question, for Matthew doesn’t give him proper time to answer, his fingers finally conquering Francis’ belt. Francis kicks off the pants Matthew leaves pooled at his ankles, leaning over to swipe the bottle of lube buried in his suitcase. When he’s found it Matthew too is rid of his pants, the expression on his face one of open anticipation.
“You’re absolutely glowing,” Francis murmurs with a shake of the head. He guides Matthew to bed but settles himself on the floor; fingers curling around Matthew’s cock as he sends a sly, flirtatious look upward. Yet his teasing touches are short-lived, for Matthew has already grabbed one of the condoms Francis deposited with the lube, ripping it open and passing it down. Francis obliges the unvoiced request with another headshake.
“Sorry,” Matthew says when he sees it. “There’s still the closing ceremonies tonight so I haven’t quite-”
“Got the time, I know,” finishes Francis. Not that Matthew could sit still in such an excited state, he acknowledges silently. “Next time,” Francis concedes with a kiss to Matthew’s thigh. And then he’s pulled up onto the bed, sprawled amongst the sheets he had not bothered to makeup that morning.
with glowing hearts [4/4]
anonymous
March 3 2010, 03:01:59 UTC
As expected, the sex is not the slow careful pace Francis associates with Matthew. Although he knows the other is trying to calm the jittery lurches, apologizing as he wraps himself around Francis, kissing wherever he can reach. It is Francis who makes that awkward stretch, anchoring himself on Matthew’s shoulders as he draws them together for a kiss. “Go on,” Francis says when they part for breath, “let’s see that golden touch, hm?” And barely have the words come out when Matthew let’s his last inhibitions go, giving a thrust forward.
It is not the best fuck of Francis’ life, but it is certainly one of the more memorable if only for the way Matthew is able be so unrestrained. And he likes the way the younger nation is groaning his name, how Matthew settles so deeply within despite the quick rapid movements. Francis finds himself responding, compensating for Matthew’s unsteadiness. And when pleasure overcomes pain, when Matthew’s name is the only word Francis can form, he finally comes.
Matthew is close behind. He rides it out while their bodies are still one, then pulls out and flops next to Francis on the bed. The heaving pants soon turn to laughter and Matthew reaches out and kisses Francis - a sound, steady gesture that underscores the way his fingers tremble against Francis’ cheek.
“Thank you,” Matthew says then kisses Francis again. And if he was giddy before, well, Francis doesn’t know how to describe it now. But he accepts the kisses easily, letting his own hands tangle in Matthew’s hair.
And maybe they would have stayed like that forever, the way Matthew persists.
“You have a ceremony to attend and yet you’ve completely lost it.” Francis finally breaks away some moments later, twisting so Matthew can no longer reach him. “What are you thanking me for?”
“Just for being here,” confesses Matthew, the corners of his mouth twitching happily. “For keeping me sane maybe,” he adds with another laugh, wiping at the tears gathering around his eyes. “Tomorrow is … everything returns to normal, you know? But I think I just experienced the best two weeks I’ve had in a long time.” Then quieter, sobering, Matthew says, “Change your plane. You’ve stayed this long, you have to attend the closing ceremonies with me tonight. I’ll put you up.”
“You don’t need me to watch over you,” Francis says as a smile tugs at his lips. “I’ll catch it on the television before going to bed.”
“No,” insists Matthew, sitting now and trying to drag Francis up with him. “Come on, we’ll shower and make it in no time. You must,” he insists again.
And Francis wonders if Matthew knows how his hugs destroy Francis’ resistance, because when Matthew’s arms wrap around him, Francis can’t say no.
---
Thank you to all the kind anons who commented. Sorry this isn't as smutty as the request asked for, anon is still pretty new to the smut-writing thing and is obviously more attuned to fluff. But I hope you liked it op <3
recaptcha: "ursuline hast" ... recaptcha, are you reading the history of New France atm? How fitting! Though I don't know how the Ursuline nuns would feel about this particular context.
-------------------------------------------------
Francis never sees it coming.
He is fighting his way through Whistler Village one moment, and the next he has been pulled into arms with a hold strong enough to break him. Never one to deny a person in need, Francis relaxes into the position and smiles at the scene before him. The crowd is trembling, one unified roar lifting their voices high into the night air. And for a moment Francis can imagine the way it sweeps across the land - soaring over mountains and plains, settling down into the coastal regions; the name of their hero on every set of lips.
“We did it,” Matthew yells in his ear, and if possible his hold on Francis increases. He is laughing, understandably exuberant.
“Mathieu,” replies Francis, equally delighted, “this is not the first time you have won a gold medal.”
“But this,” interjects Matthew, finally relaxing his hold so Francis can lean back and see his face. “This is- is amazing.”
Francis watches the way Matthew’s eyes never settle on any one person, scanning the crowd repeatedly as he takes in their energy. He is distracted - rightly so - his own body trembling from the outpouring of national pride.
“It’s amazing,” he repeats then turns to look at Francis. And for a minute Matthew grows serious, clapping Francis’ back with one mitten-clad hand. “Yours were amazing too,” comes the acknowledgement and although he doesn’t say it, Francis can hear but not as amazing as mine. It’s reflected in the way Matthew struggles to hold the apologetic expression, face breaking into another grin as his eyes dart back to the crowd.
Francis smiles, knowing he is witnessing something special.
“Amazing indeed.”
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It is obvious something has changed. There is still that nervous energy humming under Matthew’s skin, still that bursting of pride hijacking his system, but his eyes aren’t as bright and his smiles weak. “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to happen,” Matthew laughs, giving his feet a stamp as he shuffles about awkwardly. “I’m not suppose to be like this, you know. They’re cracking under the pressure.”
“You need to calm down,” sympathizes Francis, for he has seen patriotic fervor consume many nations. Then he cautiously adds, “You have been crying, non?”
Immediately Matthew is wiping furiously at his eyes. “It’s just hockey,” he says irritably. “It doesn’t automatically undo all the accomplishes we’ve achieved.”
“Of course not.”
“I mean,” Matthew says, frowning, “just because we’re good at it doesn’t mean we’re the best. We’ve lost before. It’s not a big deal.”
“You need to calm down,” Francis repeats, laying a hand on Matthew’s shoulder and trying to catch his eyes (which are still skirting around nervously, looking every which way). “I would buy you a drink but I think you are … spirited enough.”
The joke doesn’t deter Matthew. “I hate America,” he confesses suddenly. But Francis notes that his anger is weak, expression more dejected than furious. “I just want to be better at something! He’s already beaten my juniors, and his team was suppose to be weak.”
“I’m sure.” Francis is trying not to sound bored, but that proves difficult whenever Matthew succumbs to rehashing the intricate details of his game. For a minute Francis lets him talk, lets him pour it all out right there on a Vancouver sidewalk. Then he catches Matthew’s hands, holding them steady as he captures that wayward mouth.
Matthew is trembling for a different reason when Francis pulls back from kissing him. More importantly, for once he is looking at Francis, attention focused entirely on the nation at hand.
“I-is that allowed?” Matthew finally asks, the words coming out in one nervous breath.
Francis laughs. “Why would it not be?”
“But we’re rivals,” points out Matthew, tongue darting out to nervously lick his lips. His eyes skirt back to the street around him, and then he tugs Francis forward, maneuvering them between two buildings. “Someone might accuse me of favouring your athletes.”
“I rather think this is in the spirit of the games,” says Francis solemnly. “You have not forgotten the games are about bringing the world together for friendly competition.”
Matthew blinks. Face growing hot, he stutters about for an answer before ultimately pulling Francis into a kiss of his own. When they break Matthew says, “Our first gold medallist was from Quebec. How’s that for national unity, eh?” And he laughs softly, enveloping Francis into a warm but strong hug.
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reCaptcha: "minicams continue" Hahaha! I'll bet, if they're filming Francis and Matthew! XD
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Correct me if I'm wrong, but I like how you're starting from the beginning of the Olympics. I also like how it's still entirely focused on France and Canada. :D :D :D
Love how jittery Matthew is. Love how Matthew was trying to reassure himself that it's okay I lost, even though, I invented the game but... (ah~ It's so Canadian me, anon.)
:D :D
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Matthew is positively giddy, and maybe a bit drunk.
“Victory beer,” explains Matthew when Francis asks, laughing and pulling them close together. “Or maybe two, I can’t really recall. They won,” he says suddenly, interrupting himself. “Crosby doesn’t know how he sunk the shot, but he sunk it and they won and oh god, oh god it feels so good …”
“I can tell,” Francis laughs when he feels a hand sliding down to grope his ass. Matthew’s eagerness makes Francis smile. “I’m surprised you can still stand,” he admits, tugging playfully at that lone curl tickling his cheek. “You’re been on a high all week.”
“Never want it to end. I- I’m awesome, eh?”
“Your poise is remarkable. Not cocky at all, shall we say.” And to round out the joke Francis let’s his hand slide down, settling on the obvious erection Matthew is now sporting under his touch. Francis decides he should feel honoured Matthew even made it to the hotel, not sidetracked by one of his own ecstatic citizens. And it is remarkable really, what a little confidence has done to the usually quiet and even-tempered nation. Grinning like this, wild and self-assured, Matthew looks painfully like his brother - a thought Francis knows better than to state aloud.
“You know what I feel like?” asks Matthew between a short, sloppy set of kisses. “I feel like I could give you the best fuck of your life.”
“Do you,” returns Francis with a quirky grin of his own, feeling Matthew’s giddiness rub off. “Then it’s a good thing I sleep around. I’ll have ample experience to judge you with.”
“Yeah?” Matthew has a hand at Francis’ waist, pulling out the tails of his shirt and tackling the belt buckle. “And who last had you?”
“Mmm, a very drunk German only a few nights ago,” confesses Francis, laughing at the memory. “And you?” he asks in return, genuinely curious to know.
“Alfred and I met some girls down in Robson. Twins,” he adds mischievously, “or so we thought. They did look it though.”
“Yours or his?”
“That’s the best part!” exclaims Matthew, remembrance making him pause. “We argued about it afterward. Because they’re duals, though Alfred will never admit it. And I think,” Matthew adds as an afterthought, voice dropping to a low conspiring tone, “I think she left him halfway in. He was boasting about it afterward, but he still couldn’t remember her name. Wouldn’t you leave if someone couldn’t remember your name?”
Francis can only wonder if it’s a rhetorical question, for Matthew doesn’t give him proper time to answer, his fingers finally conquering Francis’ belt. Francis kicks off the pants Matthew leaves pooled at his ankles, leaning over to swipe the bottle of lube buried in his suitcase. When he’s found it Matthew too is rid of his pants, the expression on his face one of open anticipation.
“You’re absolutely glowing,” Francis murmurs with a shake of the head. He guides Matthew to bed but settles himself on the floor; fingers curling around Matthew’s cock as he sends a sly, flirtatious look upward. Yet his teasing touches are short-lived, for Matthew has already grabbed one of the condoms Francis deposited with the lube, ripping it open and passing it down. Francis obliges the unvoiced request with another headshake.
“Sorry,” Matthew says when he sees it. “There’s still the closing ceremonies tonight so I haven’t quite-”
“Got the time, I know,” finishes Francis. Not that Matthew could sit still in such an excited state, he acknowledges silently. “Next time,” Francis concedes with a kiss to Matthew’s thigh. And then he’s pulled up onto the bed, sprawled amongst the sheets he had not bothered to makeup that morning.
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It is not the best fuck of Francis’ life, but it is certainly one of the more memorable if only for the way Matthew is able be so unrestrained. And he likes the way the younger nation is groaning his name, how Matthew settles so deeply within despite the quick rapid movements. Francis finds himself responding, compensating for Matthew’s unsteadiness. And when pleasure overcomes pain, when Matthew’s name is the only word Francis can form, he finally comes.
Matthew is close behind. He rides it out while their bodies are still one, then pulls out and flops next to Francis on the bed. The heaving pants soon turn to laughter and Matthew reaches out and kisses Francis - a sound, steady gesture that underscores the way his fingers tremble against Francis’ cheek.
“Thank you,” Matthew says then kisses Francis again. And if he was giddy before, well, Francis doesn’t know how to describe it now. But he accepts the kisses easily, letting his own hands tangle in Matthew’s hair.
And maybe they would have stayed like that forever, the way Matthew persists.
“You have a ceremony to attend and yet you’ve completely lost it.” Francis finally breaks away some moments later, twisting so Matthew can no longer reach him. “What are you thanking me for?”
“Just for being here,” confesses Matthew, the corners of his mouth twitching happily. “For keeping me sane maybe,” he adds with another laugh, wiping at the tears gathering around his eyes. “Tomorrow is … everything returns to normal, you know? But I think I just experienced the best two weeks I’ve had in a long time.” Then quieter, sobering, Matthew says, “Change your plane. You’ve stayed this long, you have to attend the closing ceremonies with me tonight. I’ll put you up.”
“You don’t need me to watch over you,” Francis says as a smile tugs at his lips. “I’ll catch it on the television before going to bed.”
“No,” insists Matthew, sitting now and trying to drag Francis up with him. “Come on, we’ll shower and make it in no time. You must,” he insists again.
And Francis wonders if Matthew knows how his hugs destroy Francis’ resistance, because when Matthew’s arms wrap around him, Francis can’t say no.
---
Thank you to all the kind anons who commented. Sorry this isn't as smutty as the request asked for, anon is still pretty new to the smut-writing thing and is obviously more attuned to fluff. But I hope you liked it op <3
recaptcha: "ursuline hast" ... recaptcha, are you reading the history of New France atm? How fitting! Though I don't know how the Ursuline nuns would feel about this particular context.
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Thank you! 8D
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Recaptcha: excite those
Apparently recaptcha liked it too!
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