Hetalia kink meme part 24
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hetalia kink meme
part 24
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He stood outside the door, wondering if Rhys was inside and knowing, of course, that he was. It was silly to think that he might try an escape, when there was no safe refuge for slaves for miles around; the nearest abolitionist monastery was another couple of counties over.
Maybe Rhys would be enthused about having sex, and that would at least make it sort of okay. Francis sort of doubted it; he knew he dreaded having sex with Arthur when they got married. He shuddered, putting off that thought for now.
He grabbed the knob in his hand, feeling the bumpy metal for a moment before twisting it. The door came open with a creak, and he poked his head in. “Rhys? Are you in here?”
He was met with a half-naked Rhys, standing there in his knickers and staring at his feet. His arms were tucked behind his back. “I’m here,” he murmured, and was he this pale in the party room?
Francis wasn’t sure. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. What was he supposed to say now? He gestured towards the bottle of wine on the stand. “Would you like something to drink?”
Rhys’s face was slowly turning redder and redder, and he shook his head. His bare toes seemed to clench against the carpet.
“All right. Well…” Francis couldn’t think of much else to say. It wouldn’t be true to say he’d never had sex with anyone; no, he was too charming for that. However, this would be the first time he’d ever had to have sex with someone against both his and their wills.
Francis took a step forward, and he could see Rhys flinch. He couldn’t do this… how could he be expected to do this? But he loosened his pea green jacket, and laid it on the end of the bed.
Rhys said nothing.
So Francis walked up to him, and took his face in his hand. “Look at me.”
He was met with bluish-gray eyes that were all too easy to read: fear. Wistfulness. Worry for what would happen.
“It’s going to be all right,” Francis promised, letting go of his chin. He wasn’t sure how it was going to be all right; it wasn’t as though he could just skip the sex.
Social expectations were high when it came to slaves, and though there was no written rule that said one had to have sex with a newly acquired slave, the master of said slave would have a stigma attached to them if it were found out that they hadn’t followed through and shown the slave who was boss.
More importantly, a slave could be accused of something and punished far more easily and more harshly than a freeman. If, for example, Francis didn’t sleep with Rhys, all it would take was Arthur and his cronies filing a charge that Rhys attacked one of them, and Francis would be legally bound to whip Rhys, or worse.
Rhys looked like he was going to balk; he probably knew nothing of Francis, and had no idea what kind of a person he really was behind closed doors.
Francis took his hand, and led him to the bed. Better to get it over with than to stretch it out.
But Rhys hesitated, stopping rather suddenly inches away from the bed. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Please, no.”
“You know I can’t do that,” Francis said, wanting to plead with Rhys to make this easier on them both and just submit, though he knew it was a little bit selfish. He sat on the bed, patting the place next to him. “Just sit, for now.”
Rhys sat slowly, keeping his legs tightly together and putting his hands in his lap uselessly. The blush was spreading to his neck and ears, and Francis wondered if he’d ever had sex before.
“Have you… pardon me, but have you done this before?” Francis hoped he had, and that it would make things just a little easier on both of them. He couldn’t imagine deflowering someone against their will, though it wasn’t as though Rhys having had sex would make the act less despicable.
Rhys nodded, head ducked down. Francis didn’t think he would speak, but he did. “With… with Arthur. I mean, Mr. Kirkland. I was his before he gave me to you.”
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Another nod from Rhys. His hands gripped each other tightly. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”
“It never is,” Francis said consolingly, considering that Rhys was probably made a slave more recently. He wondered what he’d done to deserve it; he didn’t seem like the criminal type. He reached out and took his hands, which were soft. “It will be all right. After this, I will free you as soon as is appropriate.”
Because freeing him immediately after receiving him would be an affront to Arthur, and he didn’t need Arthur hating him more than he already did.
Rhys took a deep breath, and said shakily, “Okay.”
Francis leaned forward and kissed Rhys softly, still holding his hands. Rhys kissed back, but it was clear he didn’t have much experience in this department.
He tasted like tea and a hint of sugar; Francis gently probed against his lips with his tongue, and was relieved when he was granted access. Perhaps Rhys knew it would make things easier if he went along; in any case, Francis was an expert at kissing, and Rhys seemed to be melting just a little bit underneath him.
Francis gently pushed him back, still kissing, so he was leaning against the pillows. Rhys seemed to flounder for a moment, freezing up, but then he relaxed. Francis inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.
He vaguely wondered if he would even be able to get it up for this. Rhys was good-looking, there was no doubt about that, but Francis found forcing someone to have sex with him extremely distasteful.
He began working on unbuttoning his pants, still expertly frenching Rhys. The man suddenly seemed to turn desperate, kissing back hard, to the point where Francis was sure he would get bruises on his lips.
But he couldn’t deny him, could he? He suspected Rhys was thinking of someone else, or else trying very hard to ignore the reality of what was going to happen to him. So he let him.
Francis had been freed of his knickers pretty quickly, and he gently hooked his fingers into Rhys’s. He was relieved when Rhys lifted himself to make it easier to take them off, because if he wasn’t fighting, that would make it that much easier on both of them.
Francis had lube, and so he set to work getting Rhys ready. The second he stuck a finger in his asshole, however, Rhys clenched up, freezing in his kissing.
Breaking off the kiss, Francis murmured soothingly, “It’s all right, I’m going to be gentle…” He reached up, using his other hand to stroke Rhys’s unruly hair. “It will be over soon…”
Rhys took a deep breath, relaxed. He looked unhappy, but he shut his eyes and went back to kissing Francis as if kissing enough times would take away the reality.
Francis slicked up his asshole, then began stretching and scissoring, using his free hand to stroke himself. It was more difficult to get hard than usual, he noted. He hoped he would never have to do this again.
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“It’s okay,” he murmured between kisses, “it’s all right.” The bedsheets were soft and silken beneath them, and was grateful for that; at least this wasn’t some dirty back alley, and he wasn’t driving Rhys into an uncomfortable, rough wall.
He moved quicker now, hoping to finish in a short amount of time. Rhys was twitching beneath him, as if fighting clenching up again; Francis realized he’d better do something to relax him.
So he began to stroke him, where he had previously been limp. Rhys seemed a little startled at first, jerking his head up as if to look and see what was going on, but then he just kissed Francis harder, holding it longer. Francis was unsure if he was trying to ignore it, or else enjoy it. He was pretty sure it was the latter.
He stroked faster, and Rhys whimpered beneath him, all sorts of red and breathy. Francis figured this was a good sign; he shouldn’t be the only one who got something out this. That wasn’t how lovemaking was supposed to be.
The rhythm was smooth, not jerking, and he could feel himself getting nearer and nearer the climax; he only hoped Rhys was too, though his vision was starting to become more and more taken over by the absolutely lovely feeling in his groin; he felt only mildly guilty, in the face of such pleasure.
He tried to imagine it was that handsome Spaniard he’d had a summer fling with; his dark brown locks, his beautiful, soul-searching eyes, his sensual hands…
But then Rhys cried out, already brought over the edge, and the fantasy was broken.
Never mind, Francis told himself, just focus on finishing. It wasn’t hard; it felt good. Rhys’s asshole was fairly tight, and the heat was glorious, and he felt himself going over the edge as well, as white invaded his vision and pleasure overrode all his senses…
He came back to himself, drawing out of Rhys, and sitting back. Rhys was still panting, looking a little overwhelmed; Francis got the feeling he hadn’t gotten much sexual attention before Arthur.
“You can clean up in my water closet,” Francis said, taking care to keep his voice soft despite being still feeling the after waves of pleasure.
Rhys nodded, and stood, wobbling just a little, before shuffling off to the water closet. The door shut, and Francis could hear water splashing.
At least it was over.
Now, what exactly was he going to do with a personal slave?
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I have no words for how much I love this fill, anon! Everything about this is perfect!
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