Hetalia kink meme part 23
axis powers
hetalia kink meme
part 23
VIEW THIS PART ON DREAMWIDTH
STOP! DO NOT REQUEST HERE!
NEW REQUESTS GO IN THE MOST RECENT PART!
New fills for this part can go HERE.
Please continue existing fills on this post until it is full.
Get information at the News Post.
Francis wished he had never moved into a duplex. He cursed the day he had decided to move there instead of a normal house. He wished he could go back in time to find his home-shopping self... no. He wished he could go back in time to find his young self, recently graduated from culinary school, and shake him, and tell him that there was no need to move to America to find work, there were plenty of jobs in France!
But he had done so, and he supposed he could move again but moving was expensive and a pain. And so he lived next door to another immigrant, from a country that had often been an enemy of Francis', and with good reason. He was an obnoxious twit.
Francis stepped out of his car, scowling at the sight of his neighbor at the mailbox. He looked so ridiculous; short and hugely eyebrowed, and he had a ridiculous accent. Francis knew his was nicer, and made the Americans around him swoon. So what if it was a country of Anglophiles? Of course they liked the French better. Their obsession with all things English seemed like some sort of bizarre Stockholm Syndrome, anyway, considering their history. The French helped them achieve the freedom they were so fond of...
He could no longer remember how he had gotten onto the topic of history. Francis resumed frowning at his neighbor Arthur.
Arthur turned around, and Francis smiled. “Hello there, buddy. Lend me a hand?”
“Sure thing, pal.” Arthur walked over to Francis' driveway, inspecting the large box in the back seat of his car. Francis flung the door open and grabbed one end.
“This is what you people call a telly,” he said.
“Gee. Thanks.” Arthur helped maneuver the box out of the car. Francis had made sure Arthur had a good view of the 55ʺ emblazoned on the side. “Looks nice.”
“Doesn't it?” Francis grinned. “Maybe the guys should come watch the game at my house next weekend.” They both despised American football, but it was a badge of honor to host the neighborhood viewing.
“You think so? They already agreed to watch it on my 60 inch, but we can ask them...”
Francis seethed, and Arthur looked pleased. They carried the box to Francis' house, and he maneuvered the door open. They carried it into the front hallway and set it down. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome.” Arthur turned to leave.
“Wait! I really appreciate it.” Francis smiled pleasantly. “How about a scone? I just baked them this morning.”
“Oh, no thank you. I just baked some last night, actually.”
“Oh, really?” No kidding. I had to shut the windows. “Are you sure?” He fetched the platter of exquisitely crafted scones, complete with jars of cream and Francis' homemade strawberry jam. He held it out to Arthur, who looked almost lustful as he stared at them.
“Maybe... maybe just one...” Arthur selected a scone, coated it in the offered toppings, and devoured it. “Oh god...”
“Good?”
“Er. Not bad.” Arthur backed away from the tray of scones, then hurried back outside. Chuckling, Francis set the tray aside and followed him. He needed to get his mail, too.
A car was now parked in Arthur's driveway, and its occupant practically bounced out of it. He looked every bit the stereotypical American jock, tall and broad-shouldered, blond, and dumb as a sack of doorknobs. That was the impression Francis got, anyway. He was with Arthur, so he couldn't be too intelligent.
“Heya, Francis!” the newcomer said with a cheerful wave, which Francis returned.
“Good evening, Alfred.”
“Al!” Arthur rushed over to Alfred, practically launching himself at him.
They had returned from their honeymoon only a few weeks ago. If there was anything worse than living right next door to an annoying twit, it was living right next door to newlyweds. They were tightly embraced, Arthur's hands wandering down to Alfred's butt to squeeze, as they kissed. Though not so much kissed, as tried to swallow each other's tongues.
Reply
“Oh, fine.”
“Good.”
Arthur glanced over at Francis, who was definitely not staring, and stepped back from his husband. “So maybe we should - oh!”
“What?” Alarmed, Alfred looked down at himself.
“There's a stain on your good shirt!”
“Where?”
“There!”
“I don't see anything!”
“Here, give it to me. I'm doing a load of laundry soon.”
“Okay.” Alfred shrugged out of his jacket, handed it to Arthur, then unbuttoned his shirt. He slid that off and added it to Arthur's bundle. He stood there, all shirtless and muscley for all the world to see. Arthur took his time inspecting the shirt while Alfred waited, still quite shirtless.
“Come, dear.” Arthur put his free arm around Alfred, and they turned toward their house. Arthur glanced back at Francis and smirked. Francis resisted the urge to stick his tongue out. The couple headed inside and shut the door.
“Idiot,” Francis muttered to himself. He stalked inside, before remembering his mail and hurrying outside to fetch it. Bills... great. With a sigh, Francis returned inside again.
He tossed the bills onto the table and wandered into the kitchen to ponder what he wanted for dinner. There were plenty of leftovers from the restaurant, but those often went to waste because he kept fixing something new at home. Beef in red wine sauce sounded good, or maybe something with duck... He picked up a bottle of fine red wine, considering.
A groan echoed from the walls, and Francis sighed. They were starting early... His younger self would have been listening intently, ear pressed to the wall, but that was then. Now he rolled his eyes as the moans increased. Knowing those two, they were probably just removing their clothes.
Maybe he would stick with leftovers after all. Francis selected a box from the refrigerator as the moans intensified into cries. There was a creaking sound that didn't quite sound like the usual tortured bedframe. With another roll of his eyes, Francis dumped the food onto a plate and stuck it in the microwave. He smirked at the sound of bodies rolling off the table and falling on the floor, but the pained grunts only lasted about two seconds before they became lusty moans again.
While waiting for his food, Francis poured himself a glass of wine. The sharp sound of a hand striking flesh rang through the house, accompanied by a throaty cry. Francis drank down the entire glass and poured himself another, which he placed on the table to save for dinner. There was another smack and a loud cry.
By the time Francis sat down to eat, the moans and cries - bordering on screams by then - had settled into the familiar frenzied rhythm, along with the sound of a creaking table. There was more slapped flesh, and at one point the sound of glass shattering on the floor.
Francis was scrubbing his plate in the sink when the noise reached a crescendo of bliss. Or possibly agony, with them it was sometimes difficult to tell. He paused, waiting patiently for the sound of breaking furniture, but apparently their new table was made of sturdier wood. With one last roll of his eyes, Francis grabbed a scone for dessert. May as well not let them go to waste.
After eating, he finally got his new television out of the box, then retreated to the bathroom to take a nice relaxing bubble bath.
Finally, Francis walked into his bedroom, removing his clothes as he went. He paused, gazing sadly at the big, empty bed, then resumed taking articles of clothing off with a sigh. Nude, he slipped between the satin sheets. He settled his sleeping mask over his eyes and lay back, fumbling for the light.
He was only able to enjoy about five minutes of silence before he was bombarded by the sound of moaning next door, accompanied by the sound of a creaking bedframe, and headboard slamming into the wall.
Reply
Reply
Reply
I hope to see more from this sometime, but no hurry. Everyone's busy, after all ♥
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment