And you Reap What You Sow (Francis/Arthur) 7
anonymous
April 2 2009, 23:17:52 UTC
Oh bloody hell, England thought, he's going to tear me in half. He bit even more fiercely on his lips. Gnawing on already torn and bloody skin. Francis entered him in one go - his cock was fully sheathed within him. And it hurt - it was the scorching pain of something hard and big being thrusted maliciously into a tight channel. It was a disgusting metaphor; however, he couldn't think of anything else to explain that sensation. After all, France was pretty big, bigger than he'd remembered him to be. England swore that there was blood running down his thighs. The bastard - that berk - had not even bothered to ease his way into him.
And yet, Arthur's cock was leaking with pre-cum. And yet, sweat was soaking his body while his heart was beating feverishly in his chest. And yet, his body, flamed up like a furnace, wanted more. What was more - France had never noticed it - but England's hands had freed themselves from the leather strips. He was no longer bound. Any time, and he could punch his way out of this situation.
But before that, Arthur decided to play along. Just for a bit.
“You're so tight, cheri,” France uttered admiringly, sounding hoarse. It wasn't only tight but hot. Francis' grip on Arthur's hips grew even tighter. He'd forgotten how wonderful this felt.
“Will you start moving or are we to remain like this till the end of time?” Arthur suddenly spoke out, voice coming out firm. Firmer than France had expected it to. But he shook his head. He should have remembered. This was England - and he'd always been strong. In some way, even impenetrable.
“You English are so -”
“Insufferable?” Arthur helpfully added. And then - much to Francis surprise - tore himself away from France. He winced a bit as he felt the other's man cock, which had still been deeply seated within him this, leave his anus. His eyes could see Francis' reddened penis now, red and throbbing. England thought it nearly pitiable. He felt pride swell within him. After all, he'd done this. Made Francis lower himself like this. Yes, he could see that France was half mad with want. He smiled. Then, Arthur, using his hands as support, sat down on the desk. Then, his eyes met France's. This was an open challenge.
“Do it now - or I'll pummel you to death.”
“Wicked.” France licked his lips. But he wasn't pleased. When England had pushed him away, France nearly felt like one of those flighty poets, and he'd have used the phrase “banished from paradise”, only that he hadn't even had the chance to taste sanctuary. England had pushed him away before that. Feeling angry, he spanked Arthur's ass and entered him even more ruthlessly than he'd done before.
Arthur hissed out - the intrusion was more forceful than he'd expected. If he'd not been relaxed, it would have felt like being-England preferred not think about it. Because it wasn't worth it. Instead, he focused on shifting his hips and forcing France to move. And move he did.
“It's funny how I -”
Arthur looked up at him with a hateful look and Francis' words died down his throat. So yes, he'd had America. America had begged him, pleaded him to take him with all his skill (Francis had enough of that skill that made men groan and women scream wantonly).
“Don't talk about Alfred-” England hissed out, anger flaring up in him. His fingernails scraped down Francis' back and he spat on his face. “You don't own him.”
France, still pounding in and out of England's body, only smirked. He wiped the spit out of his face with his hand, smirk never leaving his face. “No. He's not mine.”
England's green eyes clouded with distrust. He could already sense it on France's lips - he'd bring out another slap on his ego. He'd not have it. He'd not have it. Arthur prayed that something akin to a miracle would happen. Like Francis suddenly becoming mute. Or him developing something like compassion. Sadly, and much to England's chagrin, that never occurred.
Then again, it wasn't like Arthur had ever showed compassion towards him. At least, France would have said so. Therefore, he didn't shut up, didn't hold his tongue. Even if he knew that this was hurting Arthur.
And you Reap What You Sow (Francis/Arthur) 8
anonymous
April 2 2009, 23:25:29 UTC
England remained silent. Even if he felt like a spike had been pierced through his heart. He felt cold all over. Numbness was taking over his soul, even though he was currently being fucked. His body was hot, his stomach was filled with - not butterflies, maybe - but something he couldn't decipher. Something that made him feel fluttery.
“No,” France said, pulling his manhood out of Arthur's twitching hole before slamming back in with cruel swiftness,” and you were never his either. You ... belong ... to ... “
Me, he wanted to say. You belong to me, me..
But that would have been baring his soul and heart to Arthur. And Arthur, even if his heart was breaking into pieces for another, would have not shown him any mercy. Even if Arthur was under him now - legs wrapped around his waist and body arching upwards - he would never be his. France could have this. He could pound into him over and over again until they both came undone.
And yet, he'd never have what he really wanted. Because he only had England temporarily. Worst thing was Arthur didn't even know how much Francis needed - craved - for his attention. Because if he had, he would never allowed Francis to take him like this. So yes, Arthur allowed himself to be fucked- allowed him all this, but that was all.
I'm nothing to Arthur
The sickening realisation poured over Francis like hot candle-wax, seeping into his skin with poisonous venom. He shuddered. If it hadn't been for the pleasure - the mind-numbing heat and tightness of Arthur - he would have cried. He wasn't going to last long. He could feel England's walls clenching around his cock. Arthur was moaning as well, and it was not beautiful. They were more grunts than moans too, but it was at least a reaction.
Arthur's toes curled. The desk was shaking underneath him. France pulled out, then entered him again. In and out. The vicious cycle continued. All Arthur could do was gasp. Sickening - to him, this was utterly sickening - pleasure filled his body, starting somewhere in his stomach and spreading over his body like a fever.
This wasn't about Alfred anymore. Maybe it was, but another part of it was about -
England didn't really know what it was. Maybe, this made him feel better about himself. After all, it wasn't lost on him that France desired him in one way or the other. He doubted that the man felt anything like love for him. Yet, it wasn't like he didn't know that Francis wanted to possess him. So, he gave him just that, gave him a taste of what it meant to own him. Only to mock him about it later (he'd spit in his face, tear his lungs out later on. Oh yes, he would).
Because England would pay him back for it. For humiliating him like this.
Even it was flattering. Flattering to have this being done to him. As much as it was sickening. Arthur knew that, once the haze passed by, he'd hate himself for this. He knew that he would spend hours repenting this. Then, this was what Arthur wanted. A reason to hate Francis even more. A reason to hate himself even more. It was with that on his mind that Arthur came, screaming all the while. During that time, he didn't even notice that tears were streaming down his face.
Oh, Alfred.
Francis did. An impulse made him want to kiss the tears away, but then he understood. Or better, he heard Arthur mouth those two words. Of course, Francis thought. Of course.
It's not as if I could break him that easily.
It was over. Francis pulled out, leaving part of his semen inside of Arthur. His stomach was covered with the fruit of his labour - England had come all over him. France wiped the cum away with a napkin, which he'd gotten as present from one of the women he'd wooed at court once.
He didn't even bother to look up at Arthur. Arthur wasn't looking at him, anyway. He heard the shuffle of clothes and an awkward cough. Evidently, the other man was dressing up, trying to forget what had just happened. Francis swallowed. His throat felt awfully dry. When his eyes met Arthur's - briefly, he saw with perfect clarity how things stood between them.
And you Reap What You Sow (Francis/Arthur) 9 - final
anonymous
April 2 2009, 23:28:37 UTC
Francis didn't say anything, and Arthur never stopped him from leaving. So, he shut the door with a bang, leaving everything as it had been before. Even if it was a lie. Already the world was changing around them. America was a new country with new ideals. France knew that those ideals were dangerous, spreading around like a wildfire. He knew that - sooner or later - things that had been taken for granted once would crush under the weight of their sins.
And yet, he knew that Arthur - obstinate Arthur - wouldn't change.
In the end, Francis knew he'd not gained anything.
--
I'll have to apologise for any remaining errors as well as the goofs I made posting this here. I'm dead-tired. I thank the person who looked this over for me! Anything she missed is solely my fault since it solely means I suck at proofreading =_=. I don't know what to say about this. It's my longest fill and I'm nervous about this?
Re: And you Reap What You Sow (Francis/Arthur) 9 - final
anonymous
April 7 2009, 23:50:00 UTC
Anon, I love you for saying that you didn't like this - this kind of honesty really makes me respect you. Because this is bleak and depressing. I could see why you wouldn't like it. I tend to dislike bleak and depressing stories myself, which is why writing this was hard. I think the intensity stems from the fact that I very involved in this fic.
Re: And you Reap What You Sow (Francis/Arthur) 9 - final
anonymous
April 7 2009, 23:55:24 UTC
T-thank you, anon! I'm glad you felt the hatred, bitterness and anguish in this. I couldn't have hoped for more (I was hoping to portray these emotions!). And yes, it is a cruel triangle. I couldn't have written Arthur's feeling for Alfred out of this, no matter how hard I tried.
Re: And you Reap What You Sow (Francis/Arthur) 9 - final
anonymous
April 3 2009, 12:26:36 UTC
Daaaaaamn, writer!anon, this is AMAZING. I've never really liked this pairing but after reading this--now I really love the dynamic they have. You wrote it so intensely I was pretty much sitting on the edge of my seat.
Re: And you Reap What You Sow (Francis/Arthur) 9 - final
anonymous
April 8 2009, 00:02:53 UTC
Thank you, anon! I do like this pairing - since they have so much history between them - but I really think it's hard to write Arthur without mentioning Alfred in some way. Still, I think the Francis/Arthur dynamic, so I wanted to explore it. I kept imaging how hard it would be for Francis to see how Arthur was pining for Alfred - that's why this ended up as intense as it is.
Re: And you Reap What You Sow (Francis/Arthur) 9 - final
anonymous
April 8 2009, 00:05:07 UTC
It is horrible, but sometimes angst is intriguing. I'm glad you liked this. I have to admit I liked exploring England's devastation, even if it broke me a little bit.
And yet, Arthur's cock was leaking with pre-cum. And yet, sweat was soaking his body while his heart was beating feverishly in his chest. And yet, his body, flamed up like a furnace, wanted more. What was more - France had never noticed it - but England's hands had freed themselves from the leather strips. He was no longer bound. Any time, and he could punch his way out of this situation.
But before that, Arthur decided to play along. Just for a bit.
“You're so tight, cheri,” France uttered admiringly, sounding hoarse. It wasn't only tight but hot. Francis' grip on Arthur's hips grew even tighter. He'd forgotten how wonderful this felt.
“Will you start moving or are we to remain like this till the end of time?” Arthur suddenly spoke out, voice coming out firm. Firmer than France had expected it to. But he shook his head. He should have remembered. This was England - and he'd always been strong. In some way, even impenetrable.
“You English are so -”
“Insufferable?” Arthur helpfully added. And then - much to Francis surprise - tore himself away from France. He winced a bit as he felt the other's man cock, which had still been deeply seated within him this, leave his anus. His eyes could see Francis' reddened penis now, red and throbbing. England thought it nearly pitiable. He felt pride swell within him. After all, he'd done this. Made Francis lower himself like this. Yes, he could see that France was half mad with want. He smiled. Then, Arthur, using his hands as support, sat down on the desk. Then, his eyes met France's. This was an open challenge.
“Do it now - or I'll pummel you to death.”
“Wicked.” France licked his lips. But he wasn't pleased. When England had pushed him away, France nearly felt like one of those flighty poets, and he'd have used the phrase “banished from paradise”, only that he hadn't even had the chance to taste sanctuary. England had pushed him away before that. Feeling angry, he spanked Arthur's ass and entered him even more ruthlessly than he'd done before.
Arthur hissed out - the intrusion was more forceful than he'd expected. If he'd not been relaxed, it would have felt like being-England preferred not think about it. Because it wasn't worth it. Instead, he focused on shifting his hips and forcing France to move. And move he did.
“It's funny how I -”
Arthur looked up at him with a hateful look and Francis' words died down his throat. So yes, he'd had America. America had begged him, pleaded him to take him with all his skill (Francis had enough of that skill that made men groan and women scream wantonly).
“Don't talk about Alfred-” England hissed out, anger flaring up in him. His fingernails scraped down Francis' back and he spat on his face. “You don't own him.”
France, still pounding in and out of England's body, only smirked. He wiped the spit out of his face with his hand, smirk never leaving his face. “No. He's not mine.”
England's green eyes clouded with distrust. He could already sense it on France's lips - he'd bring out another slap on his ego. He'd not have it. He'd not have it. Arthur prayed that something akin to a miracle would happen. Like Francis suddenly becoming mute. Or him developing something like compassion. Sadly, and much to England's chagrin, that never occurred.
Then again, it wasn't like Arthur had ever showed compassion towards him. At least, France would have said so. Therefore, he didn't shut up, didn't hold his tongue. Even if he knew that this was hurting Arthur.
“But he was never yours, either.”
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“No,” France said, pulling his manhood out of Arthur's twitching hole before slamming back in with cruel swiftness,” and you were never his either. You ... belong ... to ... “
Me, he wanted to say. You belong to me, me..
But that would have been baring his soul and heart to Arthur. And Arthur, even if his heart was breaking into pieces for another, would have not shown him any mercy. Even if Arthur was under him now - legs wrapped around his waist and body arching upwards - he would never be his. France could have this. He could pound into him over and over again until they both came undone.
And yet, he'd never have what he really wanted. Because he only had England temporarily. Worst thing was Arthur didn't even know how much Francis needed - craved - for his attention. Because if he had, he would never allowed Francis to take him like this. So yes, Arthur allowed himself to be fucked- allowed him all this, but that was all.
I'm nothing to Arthur
The sickening realisation poured over Francis like hot candle-wax, seeping into his skin with poisonous venom. He shuddered. If it hadn't been for the pleasure - the mind-numbing heat and tightness of Arthur - he would have cried. He wasn't going to last long. He could feel England's walls clenching around his cock. Arthur was moaning as well, and it was not beautiful. They were more grunts than moans too, but it was at least a reaction.
Arthur's toes curled. The desk was shaking underneath him. France pulled out, then entered him again. In and out. The vicious cycle continued. All Arthur could do was gasp. Sickening - to him, this was utterly sickening - pleasure filled his body, starting somewhere in his stomach and spreading over his body like a fever.
This wasn't about Alfred anymore. Maybe it was, but another part of it was about -
England didn't really know what it was. Maybe, this made him feel better about himself. After all, it wasn't lost on him that France desired him in one way or the other. He doubted that the man felt anything like love for him. Yet, it wasn't like he didn't know that Francis wanted to possess him. So, he gave him just that, gave him a taste of what it meant to own him. Only to mock him about it later (he'd spit in his face, tear his lungs out later on. Oh yes, he would).
Because England would pay him back for it. For humiliating him like this.
Even it was flattering. Flattering to have this being done to him. As much as it was sickening. Arthur knew that, once the haze passed by, he'd hate himself for this. He knew that he would spend hours repenting this. Then, this was what Arthur wanted. A reason to hate Francis even more. A reason to hate himself even more. It was with that on his mind that Arthur came, screaming all the while. During that time, he didn't even notice that tears were streaming down his face.
Oh, Alfred.
Francis did. An impulse made him want to kiss the tears away, but then he understood. Or better, he heard Arthur mouth those two words. Of course, Francis thought. Of course.
It's not as if I could break him that easily.
It was over. Francis pulled out, leaving part of his semen inside of Arthur. His stomach was covered with the fruit of his labour - England had come all over him. France wiped the cum away with a napkin, which he'd gotten as present from one of the women he'd wooed at court once.
He didn't even bother to look up at Arthur. Arthur wasn't looking at him, anyway. He heard the shuffle of clothes and an awkward cough. Evidently, the other man was dressing up, trying to forget what had just happened. Francis swallowed. His throat felt awfully dry. When his eyes met Arthur's - briefly, he saw with perfect clarity how things stood between them.
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And yet, he knew that Arthur - obstinate Arthur - wouldn't change.
In the end, Francis knew he'd not gained anything.
--
I'll have to apologise for any remaining errors as well as the goofs I made posting this here. I'm dead-tired. I thank the person who looked this over for me! Anything she missed is solely my fault since it solely means I suck at proofreading =_=. I don't know what to say about this. It's my longest fill and I'm nervous about this?
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DAAAAAAAMN
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XDDD
Thank you for commenting!
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Believe it or not, I woke up this morning and I thought, "Maybe I'll see my request filled today, who knows?" and then THIS.
Word can't express how I love you ANON. I love every bit of this, the sex, the emotions, their reactions OH MY GOD.
*worships*
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Sorry for the fangirl-like reaction, but you are the one I have to thank for coming up with this prompt!
I had to fill this. And I really love you for making this piece possible! And I'm so happy you like this - I was so worried you wouldn't.
Thank you! Truly thank you!
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Good job~
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