Re: In Flight Self Service 3/?
anonymous
March 11 2010, 23:20:54 UTC
There was no way the bastard couldn’t have noticed. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but France turned away.
“Pardon moi, but I really do need to relieve myself,” He said shortly, unzipping his pants.
England couldn’t help but glance at the other nation’s vital regions as he pressed his back against the wall. France’s hand gripped firmly but gently around his shaft aiming downward…
England’s chest tightened and he felt a little dizzy. He shouldn’t, oh he knew he shouldn’t; it was unforgivable, but he felt himself trembling at the thought of France’s hand maybe gripping him firmly but gently. Stroking, stroking…
England’s fingers found themselves shaking as he tried to resist the urge to pleasure himself in front of France. It was becoming unbearable and the thoughts didn’t stop entering his mind. So many positions. So many places to touch. The excitement of doing it in this god forsaken piece of flying aluminum.
England pushed against the wall, muscles tense and his eyes clenched shut as he tried not to think. His hand crept ever so slowly toward his wet, quivering length and all he wanted to do was stroke himself into bliss.
Suddenly, he felt delicate, well manicured fingers teasing the base of his member. Startled, England’s eyes shot open and he met France’s amused gaze. The other nation had obviously finished relieving himself and was all too kindly assisting in England’s pursuit of happiness. England involuntarily stiffened; he still didn’t trust Francis any farther than he could throw the bastard. And due to height and weight differences, that wasn’t very far.
“Oh, non non non… This will not do, Iggy,” France purred, a wicked smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Monsieur is much too tense…” He pressed in closer and England gasped as France took hold of his shaft and gently stroked. But the wine-freak’s hand never went to the tip and he didn’t apply any more pressure, nor did he even attempt to move any faster.
One of England’s arms wrapped around France’s neck for support, the other hand lie on top of France’s, trying to force a tighter grip. His hands were surprisingly strong and did not buckle despite England’s many attempts.
Why won’t he go any faster? Why doesn’t he touch the rest? Why won’t he press more firmly?
England’s breath started to come faster and he felt the tears of frustration welling up in his eyes again. He was horny as all hell and this wine-drinking bastard was just going to - to play cock-tease with him! He whimpered as a surge of pleasure caused his back to arch.
France chuckled as England’s hips thrust awkwardly. “Ah, you are rushing, Arthur. You must tell me what the problem is first, mon ami.”
England grit his teeth. The froggy bastard was doing this on purpose. Like hell he was going to tell Francis what was wrong! He squirmed, but France only laughed.
“Mon, ami! S'il vous plait! Please, you must tell me.”
“I- I don’t…I have…“ England panted, far too focused on his erect member to think very clearly. “I can’t…can’t…come. I keep trying and trying, but…I can’t!” His voice became more desperate and he choked back the lump in his throat. “No matter h-how-how hard I try I d-don’t get anything!” Tears ran down his face and he stared up at France.
Who decided this was the appropriate moment to burst out laughing.
Disgusted, England shoved him out of the way and moved over to the toilet. He should never have expected anything from that froggy, wine-drinking bastard in the first place. He knew France was just messing with him. He bit back a frustrated cry and clenched his eyes shut.
Re: In Flight Self Service 4/4
anonymous
March 11 2010, 23:23:30 UTC
England leaned over the toilet, his forearm pressing against the wall to support him as he gripped himself firmly. He didn’t need Francis to get off. Except that he felt nothing now that he was touching himself. He tried for a few minutes, but the most he got was a throbbing, quivering member that was beginning to hurt.
Warm, smooth skin caressed his inner thigh and England felt his knees weaken. France pressed against the man’s back, tickling his neck with his soft, hot breath. England shivered and felt his length throb as France ran his tongue around his ear.
The nation let out a contented grunt and France slid his hand down England’s stomach, eventually reaching England’s fingers. He ran his hand up to the tip of England’s member and gently kneaded it between his middle and index fingers and his thumb.
Ecstasy flooded over England and he felt his hips move involuntarily. France removed his hand from England’s length, instead inserting his fingers gently into England’s anal cavity. Moaning, England pushed into France’s hand, still stroking himself. France laughed merrily and shook his head as he played with England’s hardened nipples.
“Monsieur, you are very naughty. I would never have taken you for an Acrophiliac.”
“Sh-shut up, I c-can’t conc-c-centrate!”
“Oui, mon ami.” France pushed in a third finger and England squealed, his pulse racing and his mind clouding over. He felt it, the climax he’d so desperately wanted. France thrust his fingers deeper, England rocked his hips back and forth, moaning something intelligible about Tea and Stamps. The elated nation ran his fingers over the tip of his quivering member and as France’s fingers worked as only a frenchman’s fingers could, England felt himself orgasm.
“Francis! I-”
The flood of warm, sticky liquid squirted out over his fingers and all over the toilet seat. He felt his knees buckle as he sighed blissfully. France supported England as the nation caught his breath and attempted to stand straight.
“Better, Mon Cherie?” France cooed gently as he leaned England against the sink. He smiled at England’s dazed nod and grabbed some tissue, cleaning up both England and the mess that England left all over the wall. He washed his hands, then pulled up, fastened and belted England’s pants, straightened the now contented nation’s shirt and tie, and gently patted his cheek.
“I trust you will forgive me, Mon ami?” France asked softly. England stared at him, confused. What was he talking about?
“Forgive you for what?” he asked curiously.
“Ah, Mon Cherie,” France said with a guilty smile, “Pardon, but there are TWO bathrooms on the plane.”
It was almost a year before all of France’s hair grew back.
Not OP, but ...
anonymous
March 12 2010, 00:30:59 UTC
... best ending ever! I enjoyed the whole fill, but that ending was the icing on the cake. ... I just hope no one asks why I'm laughing crazily. <3
I'll have more intelligent words later, because this had some surprisingly good wording, but for now? This was the best use of alliteration I've ever seen: He rubbed himself red. He stroked his member sticky. He fingered himself frantically.
Re: In Flight Self Service 4/4
anonymous
March 12 2010, 01:37:47 UTC
Oh, Authornon. O__O
I can't decide whether to laugh or moan. They are SO in-character, I love it! Iggy's frustration, France being an insufferable, sneaky, horny, devious bastard. ILU SO MUCH, ANON. (God willing, you shall write more for this meme! ...Please? Pretty please?)
captcha: available Nonzero. That's a pretty accurate description of France "lending a hand", captchizzle.
And stunned reader anon is stunned...
anonymous
April 13 2010, 04:55:57 UTC
By author!anon's jaw-dropping skillz.
Totally second the anon above me: 1) I have no idea whether to snicker or nosebleed all over my keyboard. Mayhap both? and 2) PLEASE WRITE MORE FOR THIS MEME, especially FrUK (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE *stalks you*). This fill is so ridiculously IC and utterly hawt, and making me fan myself as I lean back, panting, in my seat.
Iggy is so fucking adorable, here; maybe I'm just a sadist, but his tears of frustration somehow made me laugh upped the sensuality in this--Francis, too, was amazing. God, fills like these somehow make me love Dover more than ever--and that's an incredible feat, I'll say ;)
“Pardon moi, but I really do need to relieve myself,” He said shortly, unzipping his pants.
England couldn’t help but glance at the other nation’s vital regions as he pressed his back against the wall. France’s hand gripped firmly but gently around his shaft aiming downward…
England’s chest tightened and he felt a little dizzy. He shouldn’t, oh he knew he shouldn’t; it was unforgivable, but he felt himself trembling at the thought of France’s hand maybe gripping him firmly but gently. Stroking, stroking…
England’s fingers found themselves shaking as he tried to resist the urge to pleasure himself in front of France. It was becoming unbearable and the thoughts didn’t stop entering his mind. So many positions. So many places to touch. The excitement of doing it in this god forsaken piece of flying aluminum.
England pushed against the wall, muscles tense and his eyes clenched shut as he tried not to think. His hand crept ever so slowly toward his wet, quivering length and all he wanted to do was stroke himself into bliss.
Suddenly, he felt delicate, well manicured fingers teasing the base of his member. Startled, England’s eyes shot open and he met France’s amused gaze. The other nation had obviously finished relieving himself and was all too kindly assisting in England’s pursuit of happiness. England involuntarily stiffened; he still didn’t trust Francis any farther than he could throw the bastard. And due to height and weight differences, that wasn’t very far.
“Oh, non non non… This will not do, Iggy,” France purred, a wicked smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Monsieur is much too tense…” He pressed in closer and England gasped as France took hold of his shaft and gently stroked. But the wine-freak’s hand never went to the tip and he didn’t apply any more pressure, nor did he even attempt to move any faster.
One of England’s arms wrapped around France’s neck for support, the other hand lie on top of France’s, trying to force a tighter grip. His hands were surprisingly strong and did not buckle despite England’s many attempts.
Why won’t he go any faster? Why doesn’t he touch the rest? Why won’t he press more firmly?
England’s breath started to come faster and he felt the tears of frustration welling up in his eyes again. He was horny as all hell and this wine-drinking bastard was just going to - to play cock-tease with him!
He whimpered as a surge of pleasure caused his back to arch.
France chuckled as England’s hips thrust awkwardly. “Ah, you are rushing, Arthur. You must tell me what the problem is first, mon ami.”
England grit his teeth. The froggy bastard was doing this on purpose. Like hell he was going to tell Francis what was wrong! He squirmed, but France only laughed.
“Mon, ami! S'il vous plait! Please, you must tell me.”
“I- I don’t…I have…“ England panted, far too focused on his erect member to think very clearly. “I can’t…can’t…come. I keep trying and trying, but…I can’t!” His voice became more desperate and he choked back the lump in his throat. “No matter h-how-how hard I try I d-don’t get anything!” Tears ran down his face and he stared up at France.
Who decided this was the appropriate moment to burst out laughing.
Disgusted, England shoved him out of the way and moved over to the toilet. He should never have expected anything from that froggy, wine-drinking bastard in the first place. He knew France was just messing with him. He bit back a frustrated cry and clenched his eyes shut.
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Warm, smooth skin caressed his inner thigh and England felt his knees weaken. France pressed against the man’s back, tickling his neck with his soft, hot breath. England shivered and felt his length throb as France ran his tongue around his ear.
The nation let out a contented grunt and France slid his hand down England’s stomach, eventually reaching England’s fingers. He ran his hand up to the tip of England’s member and gently kneaded it between his middle and index fingers and his thumb.
Ecstasy flooded over England and he felt his hips move involuntarily. France removed his hand from England’s length, instead inserting his fingers gently into England’s anal cavity. Moaning, England pushed into France’s hand, still stroking himself. France laughed merrily and shook his head as he played with England’s hardened nipples.
“Monsieur, you are very naughty. I would never have taken you for an Acrophiliac.”
“Sh-shut up, I c-can’t conc-c-centrate!”
“Oui, mon ami.” France pushed in a third finger and England squealed, his pulse racing and his mind clouding over. He felt it, the climax he’d so desperately wanted. France thrust his fingers deeper, England rocked his hips back and forth, moaning something intelligible about Tea and Stamps.
The elated nation ran his fingers over the tip of his quivering member and as France’s fingers worked as only a frenchman’s fingers could, England felt himself orgasm.
“Francis! I-”
The flood of warm, sticky liquid squirted out over his fingers and all over the toilet seat. He felt his knees buckle as he sighed blissfully. France supported England as the nation caught his breath and attempted to stand straight.
“Better, Mon Cherie?” France cooed gently as he leaned England against the sink. He smiled at England’s dazed nod and grabbed some tissue, cleaning up both England and the mess that England left all over the wall. He washed his hands, then pulled up, fastened and belted England’s pants, straightened the now contented nation’s shirt and tie, and gently patted his cheek.
“I trust you will forgive me, Mon ami?” France asked softly. England stared at him, confused. What was he talking about?
“Forgive you for what?” he asked curiously.
“Ah, Mon Cherie,” France said with a guilty smile, “Pardon, but there are TWO bathrooms on the plane.”
It was almost a year before all of France’s hair grew back.
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Oh Anon, you are no where near a N00b. I loved this fill to bits! Poor Arthur just can't get a day off can he? XD
And that last liner killed me XD *adds to memories*
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I'll have more intelligent words later, because this had some surprisingly good wording, but for now? This was the best use of alliteration I've ever seen: He rubbed himself red. He stroked his member sticky. He fingered himself frantically.
Reply
I can't decide whether to laugh or moan. They are SO in-character, I love it! Iggy's frustration, France being an insufferable, sneaky, horny, devious bastard. ILU SO MUCH, ANON. (God willing, you shall write more for this meme! ...Please? Pretty please?)
captcha: available Nonzero. That's a pretty accurate description of France "lending a hand", captchizzle.
Reply
She is glad that it was enjoyed! Thank you for the kind comments. :)
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Totally second the anon above me: 1) I have no idea whether to snicker or nosebleed all over my keyboard. Mayhap both? and 2) PLEASE WRITE MORE FOR THIS MEME, especially FrUK (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE *stalks you*). This fill is so ridiculously IC and utterly hawt, and making me fan myself as I lean back, panting, in my seat.
Iggy is so fucking adorable, here; maybe I'm just a sadist, but his tears of frustration somehow made me laugh upped the sensuality in this--Francis, too, was amazing. God, fills like these somehow make me love Dover more than ever--and that's an incredible feat, I'll say ;)
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