You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [1/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 12:37:37 UTC
As a rule, Francis wasn't one to judge his lovers when it came to debauchery. People liked what they liked, much the same as when they enjoyed different foods. He didn't shy away from trying anything at least twice. And it was because of this rule, that Francis held a wide horizon of kinks in the bedroom.
He'd donned lingerie, from the somewhat innocent (though not too much so; his personality didn't allow it), to the downright raunchy. He'd strutted into Arthur's study in a little more than high heeled boots, and he'd brought his expertise in the kitchen to the bedroom, whipping up a delectable storm that he'd served on both himself and his partners. Francis has also played with bondage and toys. His most popular is the royal blue, red and white dildo he'd had created from a mould of his own cock (Arthur especially, seemed to appreciate the fact that he was technically doing himself whenever he used it). He preferred silky holds to rattly handcuffs; it was easier on his wrists and felt more sensual, but he's used many different types of bondage in his years and knew they all had their moments. He was also a big fan of dirty talk, husky words (spoken in both French and English) that stroked Arthur's arousal as he seduced or straddled him. Not to mention the interesting things one could do with simple things like lube and body butter.
Begging, however, made him hesitate.
He supposed it was because the implications changed with each person. Ivan, for instance, would take it at face value - and Francis refused to become one with Russia, no matter how many times he'd opened his curtains to find the larger man kneeling on a branch outside, smiling (creepily) in at him.
Not that he didn't like it when his partners begged - he simply found it difficult to do so himself. He just had to trust his partner undoubtedly. It was one of the things he found hardest to grapple with. Francis, in his long years, had double crossed others (so much so, he sometimes wondered if Feliciano's being as dim as a busted light bulb was a blessing in disguise), and it only caused him to hesitate more when he realised that a supposedly trustworthy partner could slap him in the face with it.
The second and final condition was much simpler to understand: his begging must lead to sex. Which was easier to read in some cicumstances and with different people than most others. Sometimes. Most definitely not that night (or any other night in the near future); Arthur was being diffucult.
Francis considered himself to be a patient, considerate, charming and attractive man. He wore nice clothes, made nice food, he was able to listen and give good advice. This was especially the case when Arthur was concerned - even if they did poke each other with pointy sticks whenever they could.
Which was why, in the beginning, he hadn't been too worried about Arthur's reluctance to act inside the bedroom (or anywhere else that grabbed their fancy). Sometimes one just didn't feel like participating in physical relations (women especially, Francis had noticed) and he understood that. But nearly three weeks was different from seven days (or the usual two in Arthur's case), and he was seriously considering begging for sex.
Arthur passed his first condition with flying colours. The shorter man was special to him, in a way that made Francis feel tingly inside - even when the man was being difficult or obnoxious. Hence why he hadn't sought out anyone else's aid during his crisis (though Matthew had been sending him signals, Francis was sure of it). Francis also trusted Arthur. Despite their disputes, they'd had each other's backs when it counted, ever since Rome had first grabbed a scrawny England by the scruff of the neck and conquered him.
Which brought him to his latest query; would begging work?
Arthur had managed to foil all of Francis' plots thus far (one of which had him in a tasteless 'wench' outfit Francis knew Arthur found extremely appealing), and he didn't appreciate the thought of looking and acting the fool only for Arthur to lock himself inside his study again.
You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [2/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 12:42:17 UTC
He sighed and sipped his wine, letting it sit on his tongue before he swallowed near soundlessly. His cobalt eyes lingered on the darkening, cloud filled sky outside. They were the colour of America's old socks. Francis swept his blonde hair over his shoulder (he'd been growing it; it was now tickling his shoulder blades). Why was it that England's weather fit his emotions so well? He asked himself as a low rumble crept into his ears.
The Frenchman sighed again. He wasn't sure what to do. Supposedly he was the guru of Love and Lust, Lady Love's messenger on Earth - But who was he supposed to go to when he'd been entangled within l'amour's sticky grasp? Who was supposed to console him when he hadn't a clue what to do?
Immediately tan skin, dark hair and tight pants filled his vision. Francis smiled, slipped out of his chair and over to the phone. Antonio was a passionate man with a (very) difficult lover. Perhaps he knew how to approach his dilemma?
Arthur didn't like how much time Francis had been spending at that blasted Spaniard's house. Granted, he hadn't been giving the Frenchman too much attention, but that was beside the point. He glared down into his tea cup. What had happened to all the l'amour that poncy, French git hadn't stopped preach at him before two days ago?!
He growled lowly, his emerald eyes sweeping over the paperwork his boss had decided to pile on top of him (like he did every Friday). The porcelain cup clinked sharply against its saucer when he placed it down, and started to gather the folders, stapled booklets and stationary, packing them into his briefcase. The Englishman supposed it's a good thing this week - he'd been at his wits end avoiding Francis, and showing off the fact that he did, in fact, have a lot of work to do might make the Frenchman leave him be. If Francis was feeling at all merciful and helpful.
Perhaps he shouldn't have made that bet with Ivan? Or - more to the point - perhaps he should start limiting his drinking so that should Ivan appear it wouldn't seem like a grand idea to see who collapsed into a dizzy heap first, whilst making stupid bets about equally crazy things (at least he'd won their last round; the Russian hadn't even managed two minutes in his sister's presence, let alone five!).
Arthur snapped his briefcase shut, ran his hands down it's smooth leather sides, before he caught its handle and lifted it from the desk. Then he was striding out of his office's door, waving good bye to his secretary, rushing down the flight of stairs and hurrying to catch his bus. His face cheeks were flushed pink when he finally arrived, jumped on (the bus before his one - it wasn't nearly so busy) and found a seat. It would be twenty minutes before the bus got anywhere near his stop, Arthur tidied his suit and let his mind wander.
Francis had been sleeping over off and on for the past few weeks, and where at first, he'd seemed quite happy to just cuddle on the couch when Arthur had pushed his hands away during the first week, Francis' had become as touchy-feely as he was before Arthur's self imposed celibacy. Though, since then, Francis had bounded from one extreme to another, driving him nuts despite all the valiant 'no's Arthur had shouted at him, the doors that had been slammed in his face and the hasty retreats Arthur had made.
Arthur scowled out the window, alarming a little girl standing on the sidewalk. It was all because of the stupid conditions Ivan had slurred out with the bet:
1) He wasn't allowed to tell Francis anything (because according to Ivan, Francis actually attempted to make his life easier sometimes - he'd nearly choked on his drink when he'd first heard it). And, 2) He wasn't allowed to be aided in his sexually-frustrated month by anyone or thing other than his own two hands.
You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [3/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 12:46:42 UTC
Which really didn't compare to what Francis would have done, had he been allowed to have his way with him in his study four days ago. He'd quite literally flown out of his seat when the man had all but laid down (nude) all over his work and had made those insanely sinful, hot eyes (that Arthur should really stop thinking about; he was out in public, on a bus)... The point was, that there was no way Arthur was going to subject himself to this ever again.
He cleared his throat, adjusted his briefcase on his lap and wriggled in his seat. He allowed his eyes to wander the bus and its occupants. He took a moment to glare over at the children jumping up and down in their seats, whilst shrieking at the top of their lungs.
He'd never let Alfred or Matthew act like that. They'd have had their bums slapped red raw if they had. What was with parents nowadays? The person sitting next to him stood and got off, letting Arthur stretch out slightly. Surely it wasn't hard to teach your kids how to act in public? If not for the sake of the other passengers and passers by then for their own safety - because it really wasn't safe for children to run up and down the aisle whilst on a moving bus.
"What the hell is wrong with Francis?"
Arthur's eyes shot from where they were admiring the clear, blue sky to inside the bus. The once empty seat beside him was now filled with a lot of angry, annoyed, loud Italian. He grimaced. Shit. Wasn't his self torture enough?
"Nothing." Arthur stand offishly, "He's peachy!"
Lovino glared at him, his face twisted into a scowl to rival his own, "No, he's not! Why the hell is he visiting that idiot, Antonio? You know he can't keep his hands to himself!"
Arthur's generous eyebrows furrowed, "He's still molesting Antonio?"
"He's a perverted bastard! What the hell do you think he's been doing? Sipping wine and chatting whilst watching me work my ass off?!" The brunette was very near bellowing as he threw his hands around in the air. Arthur's already wide eyes widened further when Lovino turned an angry finger at him, stabbing at him wildly with it, "And it's all your fault!"
"My fault?" He asked, "How in the bloody hell is his cheating on me my fault?!"
"Are you blind? He's sexually frustrated! He thinks you don't want him anymore and is hanging off of Antonio because he craves attention - and you know how oblivious that idiot is! That perverted bastard could have his hands stuck down his pants and he wouldn't notice!"
Lovino turned a vivid shade of crimson as he spat out that speck of truth. Not that Arthur could blame him. He knew what both Francis and Antonio were like. It had taken his flinging Antonio over his shoulder and talking very dirtily to him to get him to realise, 'hey, we're both drunk and Arthur's humping my leg - we should do something to remedy that'. And Francis...
Arthur felt his skin burn hotly as his blood boiled. That bastard was going to regret ever stepping into the Spaniard's house. How dare he cheat on him just because he hadn't bloody touched him in three weeks?! That poncy, French asshole! His knuckles were white as he clutched his briefcase and glared down at it.
When he looked back up to ask if Francis was still there or at home, Arthur found himself glaring at an elderly lady (who looked quite put out).
"M-My apologies, ma'am." He stuttered as he stood, cheeks red, noticing there were quite a few other passengers staring at him oddly, "Excuse me."
Francis was home when Arthur arrived. Innocently cooking dinner as though he hadn't just been over at Antonio's house, groping the man and doing other unspeakable acts to him. He supposed it was inevitable that the speech he'd composed on his way from the bus stop was forgotten upon seeing the wavy haired man in his pristine apron (it had been perfect too; filled with enough anger and disappointment and hurt that it would have made Francis feel so guilty he'd beg for forgiveness - not that Arthur was going to give it to him. No. At that point he'd planned to deck him a few times before drop-kicking him out of the house).
You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [4/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 12:51:56 UTC
Francis had been half way through his usual, "Good afternoon, cheri, how was your day? I've made-" when he'd found himself held by the collar and tugged down so Arthur could snarl at him.
"Bad day?" Francis chuckled weakly, his smile shaky.
"It was going well until I heard where you'd been." Arthur spat back, "What the fuck were you thinking? Did you think I wouldn't find out?"
Francis had the nerve to blink back at him with confusion, as he clutched the bowl he'd been stirring to his chest.
"Quoi?"
"You heard me!" Arthur shook him, "How dare you think so little of me! I've only ever been faithful to you!"
This seemed to wake the Frenchmen up, as his eyes narrowed and he stood up as straight as he could with Arthur's grip on his shirt. His stern, cobalt eyes met Arthur's, his hands coming to rest on Arthur's wrists as the bowl was quickly placed on the sink.
"Arthur, I have told you before; I do not cheat on my lovers."
The Englishman growled and shook him again, "Well, what the bloody hell do you call what you've done then? Because the last time I checked, molesting your neighbours whilst in a relationship with someone else is classified as cheating - and it's a criminal offense, you git!"
"Please," Francis tugged at his wrists, "Release me so we may talk about this like gentlemen."
Arthur gritted his teeth. He barely managed it. But after a moment he stood with his arms folded across his chest tightly and his biceps gripped in his own fingers.
Francis nodded, "Merci. Now, I do not know who's been spreading such monstrous lies about moi, but, cheri, they are just that: lies! I have been faithful to you, and always will be - even if you have been difficult as of late."
Arthur fumed, his cheeks flushing pink, "Then what the hell have you been doing over there!?"
"Talking," Francis answered simply.
"About what?"
"Dear Lovino, of course! As it so happens, Lovino's been very cranky these passed few days-" Arthur nearly rolled his eyes, "And Antonio's been at his wit's end."
"That's all?" He asked as he regarded Francis with narrowed, suspicious eyes. He could tell when he was lying. It was a side effect to growing up along side the annoying, lecherous git-face.
The Frenchman nodded.
All was silent in the kitchen as they continued to stare each other down. Arthur's eyes sometimes flickered to other parts of Francis' face - the corners of his mouth, his nostrils, his eyebrows - then Arthur sighed. The anger drained from his body like water off a smooth pebble. He was so relieved. So, so relieved. He hadn't realised how tense he'd been - and his arms were hurting from where he'd gripped too hard. Francis was still his. Just his.
But the pleasant feeling was soon washed cold with a feeling of shame and foolishness that made him go rock rigid again. He felt stupid. As in, stupider than when he'd flirted with Francis in a very public bar, when the man's hair had been longer (though he couldn't be blamed for his mistaking him for a girl - he still had the prettiest hair Arthur's ever seen) and it'd been announced to the entire place that he should "keep your hands to yourself, you dirty, perverted, lecher! Help! He's trying to rape me!" in what had been the most cringe worthy, high-pitched voice Arthur had ever heard. He wished he could sink into the ground, or shrivel up and blow away with the slight breeze blowing through the kitchen's window, or turn into a puddle of goo and slide beneath the fridge or stove and live there until Francis stopped looking at him with that earnest look of appreciation and love...
"S-Sorry," He stuttered, before turning on his heel and heading for his bedroom as fast as he could without running.
The house shook as he slammed the door shut, locked it and headed straight for the bed. He sat down heavily, his cheeks aflame for the umpteenth time that afternoon.
He should have gone to that stupid Spaniard first! Confirmed the information! Everyone knew Lovino had a petty revenge streak several kilometres wide! Oh God, oh God, oh God... Let Francis go home. Let the Frenchman leave him be. He'd locked the door, right? There wasn't anyway he was getting in.
You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [5/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 12:58:04 UTC
Arthur let himself fall back on the bed, his hands over his face. How was he supposed to face Francis now? He felt like swearing. Felt like an idiot and a prat - but it was justifiable right? Francis still flirted with people. He'd seen him! He groaned loudly and rolled onto his right side, forcibly silencing his thoughts as he calmed his raging blood.
A few moments later, the bed sunk down in front of him and a hand rested on one of his knees.
"Are you alright, cheri?"
"M'fine." He said from behind his hands and doing a remarkable impression of Berwald whilst at it, "G'way."
He could practically hear Francis' smile. The taller man laid down in front of him, and pulled himself so close Arthur could feel the Frenchman's voice reverberate in his chest as he spoke.
"Where did you hear what you heard?"
His nose nuzzled against the juncture between Arthur's jaw and neck. His lips tickled. It made the frigid stone in Arthur's gut double in size.
"L'v'no," God, had it truly been long enough that even Francis' breathing all over his ear was turning him on? Arthur cleared his throat, whilst trying his damnedest to ignore the hand that was squeezing his hip. He pushed Francis away, sitting up so he could stare in the opposite direction, "He may have mentioned something."
"Ah," Francis - never one to give up - pressed a chaste kiss to his ear, before continuing in a husky whisper, his hand warm and pressed against his thigh, "Obviously he was jealous of my taking cher Antonio away from him."
Arthur's cheeks burned, amazingly, as he was sure all his blood was gathering in his groin (which was where Francis' hands were very nearly caressing softly). Arthur shivered as Francis' tongue tiptoed around the shell of his ear.
"Were you jealous too, cheri? Jealous that he'd had his hands all over my body?"
Or the other way around, Arthur found himself thinking distractedly as Francis parted his legs and knelt between them. The Englishman's hips were soon framed with two knees, whilst Francis' face was incredibly sincere. The Frenchman's eyes were at half mast, even as his fingers toyed with Arthur's tie, looping it around one of his long fingers before they slid to the knot at the top. The Englishman leant back, his hands splayed behind him as he gripped the doona until his fingers cramped.
"He could have had his way with me, Arthur." Francis whispered, as he withdrew his hands, "He has his moments. We went out once, just Antonio and I, and he'd caught me by surprise..."
Arthur's mind was split in two as he seethed about that bloody Spaniard's touching what was his (even if it was a few decades ago) and being so randy he wasn't sure where on Francis' body to look and touch and taste first, because there was no way he was getting out of this one (and he might as well enjoy it, as Francis had often told him, even if Ivan sent him waltzing through the streets of London nude because of it).
Francis made short work of his white shirt's buttons. He tossed his hair back as he mimicked Arthur's pose, before he lifted his left hand and let it drape itself over his torso. Arthur's mouth dried up faster than water on a hot plate as the Frenchman twirled the tips of his fingers around a dusted pink nipple.
"He caressed me all over. Here," His hand swept up to caress his own throat as his head tipped back teasingly (always bloody teasing), "Here," Then traced his collar bone, "And here." Francis' hands swept down to play with his own belly button. "He kissed me so fiercely - it's no wonder he's known as the country of passion."
Arthur nearly choked on his own breath with anticipation as Francis' hand slid to the button on his pants. They were black and tight enough that Arthur could see that Francis was as horny as he was (which didn't help matters, Arthur found as his once dry mouth grew too moist. He swallowed thickly).
"He wasn't afraid to touch here either, cheri."
The button snapped open. Arthur almost groaned as Francis - instead of pulling down his zipper, like any normal human being - stroked his hand down the zipper and cupped himself through his trousers. He sighed, cobalt eyes closing briefly as he squeezed playfully.
You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [6/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 13:03:16 UTC
"Do you like hearing about his touching me?" Francis asked as he slid back - all elegance and poise. He was like a big cat, prowling around as his slacks slipped off his hips, bearing more pale, tantalising skin.
Arthur shook his head, his voice having run off somewhere with his brain.
It was with a practiced roll, twist, tug and kick, that Francis was nude from the waist down. Then he'd smoothly slipped his shirt off his shoulders and flung it behind him, all whilst sliding off the bed. Arthur had seen him do it before (he seemed so proud of the menuvuer, though he forgoed that annoying smirk that usually accompanied it), but never had he then been grabbed very near violently by the ankles and tugged so his calves were hanging off the side of the bed. Arthur's eyes were wide as Francis knelt in front of him, arms wrapped around his clothe clad torso as he breathed all over Arthur's chin and lips. He could feel his fingers tickling along his belt. They opened and the Englishman hoped with all of his heart that Francis would kiss him soon, because he was quite sure his bones and muscles had turned into straw and jelly.
"Then touch me, Arthur."
His lips grazed Arthur's, no where near hard enough. Francis' fingers wrapped around his left wrist, tugging his hand up so it was directly between their faces as leant back a bit.
"Use your hands. Touch me everywhere."
Arthur felt a shudder rage through him, before he was tingly all over and hot - oh God, he felt hot. Francis lathed the palm of his hand, then his fingers, with licks and opened mouth kisses, nibbling here and there. Arthur's body flushed with each swipe of the Frenchman's pink tongue, his pants growing impossibly tighter.
"Please, Arthur. Je veux sentir tes mains partout sur mon corps."
He sucked two of his fingers into his mouth and stroked them lewdly with his tongue. Oh God, he was going to combust. Just watching, let alone feeling Francis sucking tenderly on the digits was making him dizzy and - Arthur gasped as Francis wrenched his fingers (still in his mouth) apart and stroked his tongue between them. Then he wrenched in a breath as Francis caught the tip of his index finger between his teeth, nipping gently.
"Please, je t'en prie, take me - with your fingers-"
He shook minutely as the Englishman regained the use of his limbs. Arthur's other hand (the one not soaked with spit), flew up to grip the back of Francis' head. He tangled his fingers in what he'd once called gold and gripping tightly. He pulled Francis' head back, sitting him up straighter as Arthur righted his posture. He knew what Francis was going to say. He'd said it a few times before, over the phone...
"Do you want me to fuck you?" He asked roughly, "With my fingers, if not with my cock?"
"Yes, oui, s'il te plaît..."
"And how bad do you need it?"
"Please, Arthur, je brûle de désir pour toi."
Francis had barely finished his last syllable when Arthur crushed his lips against his. They both groaned loudly as their tongues pushed against the other's then delved into each other's mouths. Arthur revelled in it, his mind buzzing as he tugged on Francis' hair, pulling him up even as the Frenchman's hands fumbled with the zipper and buttons on his brown slacks. He was standing when they parted and Arthur quickly bucked his hips up and Francis pulled his pants down by their ankles. Arthur was pushing them over his knees as he wiggled back onto the bed.
Francis' fingers joined his as he fought to remove his jacket and shirt, their lips mashing together again as Francis straddled him. The Frenchman's larger hands slipped under the fabric as Arthur pulled it back. Arthur would have bet his ears were buzzing and he was feeling more than slightly dizzy.
He moaned as Francis tweaked one of his nipples, their lips leaving each other with a loud smack. Then groaned again when Francis pressed his arse back, nestling Arthur's aching cock snugly between his arse cheeks.
You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [7/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 13:11:57 UTC
"We need lube," Arthur panted, as ran his hands down Francis' sides, delighting in the little shivers he felt quake throughout the older man, even as his own body shuddered. Needy, horny or not so much so, Arthur knew better than to continue without it (it was one of the few things he and Francis usually agreed on).
Francis groaned and arched his back, adding more pressure to Arthur's already burning groin and unfastened his lips from Arthur's neck. His burning breath washed over the Arthur's chin, "Arthur, please."
Arthur shook his head, even as his hands slid around Francis' hips. Damned the bastard and his bloody sexual know-how! He gave Francis' rump a squeeze and pinch, "Lube. Now." It was difficult plucking those few words from his fuzzy brain. Almost more so than releasing the taller man.
Francis huffed irritably, but moved off him. Arthur watched as the Frenchman spun on his knees, bunching the duvet under them, and leant over the side of the bed.
Arthur had been sure to keep the lube under his bed, in a conspicuous box marked, "PRIVATE: KEEP OUT". It had been a joined decision by both him and Francis, after one of them had accidentally closed Francis' bedside drawer on the other's fingers. More than ever, Arthur found himself glad he'd come up with the idea; Francis was giving him the most mouth watering, blood boiling view of his bare arse. He could even see the little ring he'd soon be inhabiting...
He hardly noticed as Francis' French cursing came to a sudden halt when Arthur's hands cupped both cheeks and squeezed again, as he knelt behind him. What a lovely rump. He had the unfathomable urge to bite it - so he did.
"If I didn't know better, cheri, I would think you did this on purpose."
He grunted in reply, too busy lathing attention to Francis' back and thighs to care what the arse said. He sat up, pressing himself flat against the Frenchman's back. God, he was just as hot as Arthur felt. He huffed and pressed his now sweating forehead between Francis' shoulder blades. Francis was pressing back against him, wiggling and writhing.
"Have you found it?"
"You're being very distracting..." Francis panted, as Arthur's hands slid up the man's thighs, grazed his cock and flowed up his stomach to pinch at his nipples.
Arthur licked his lips, "That's no excuse," Especially because Francis had been all that and more over the passed three weeks. That day with the ice cream in particular came to mind - Arthur let himself smirk, kissed Francis' back and sat on his heels. His hands slipped down his larger body until they were cupping Francis' hips.
There was a heady scent of musk and roses gracing Francis' entire body. But Arthur discovered that like with every time before, the musk overpowered Francis' soap between his legs. He pressed a long, open-mouthed kiss to the skin just behind his lover's balls, his own arousal spiking at the immediate long, husky moan and hasty scrabble and bang he heard after it. He nipped there, before he slipped his tongue over and around Francis' smooth balls, then back up -
Suddenly Francis was centimetres away again, there was a pop and Arthur was hit in the nose with a tube of lube. His mouth twisted into an angry scowl, but before he could ask what the hell Francis was thinking (and growl several ungentlemanly things), the Frenchman was kneeling at the head of the bed with his arse in the air and his fingers in his arse -
Arthur forgot how to breathe.
Oh God... He thought to himself. Oh fuck, bugger, bloody hell...
Francis' face was tinted pink, his eyes seemingly darker under his half closed lids.
"Je t'en prie, inside me now, Arthur-" He choked, his eyes clenching shut as his back arched and his long, glistening fingers stilled momentarily. Francis shuddered when they moved, "Ah, oh!"
"Fuck, Francis..." Arthur found himself muttering without meaning to.
His cock throbbed between his legs, his hands seemingly swollen big as he grabbed the lube and hastily coated his palm with it. It was frigid against his burning flesh, nearly painfully so as he applied it hastily.
You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [8/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 13:20:05 UTC
Then he was hurriedly placing himself behind Francis. Francis was speaking in French, still begging and - they both cried out when he finally buried himself inside him. Arthur's eyesight did funny things, and continued to do odd things as he set a fast pace - turning black and white and then he wasn't sure what colour he was seeing, or if he was seeing stars.
There wasn't anything elegant about their motions, even as Francis spilt French onto the pillows with every one of Arthur's thrusts. Arthur had given up attempting to translate his words, instead focusing on the way Francis tightened around him, and how much he burned, and how close to the headboard they were becoming...
Francis yelped as Arthur grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged. The Frenchman's larger hands scrabbled against the headboard, his nails scratching against the ancient wood as Arthur pushed him against it.
Arthur growled and pressed his mouth to Francis' neck.
"Shit," He choked out, "Tell me why I didn't do this - oh God - sooner?"
He could have sworn Francis answered between his gasps and groans, "Because you're stubborn."
Arthur's grip tightened on Francis' hip, hardly needing to do more than hold on as the man's bouncing hastened further. His other hand snaked around the Frenchman's waist to grip at his dripping cock. He squeezed it, then began stroking madly. Francis' reaction was instantaneous - a loud cry and more hasty bucking.
God, Francis was so tight, so hot - never again would Arthur put this off for so long! Never never never never never! His hands didn't - couldn't - compare to this!
They barely lasted a few more moments. They pressed together as tightly as they could, whilst Francis screamed and Arthur bit his lip and groaned loudly into Francis' shoulder blade, his eyes clenched shut as tight as he could manage.
They remained as they were for several long minutes. His brain felt like it had entered a sauna, foggy and exhausted. When he found the energy to crack an eye open, Arthur found Francis' long legs splayed on either side on them and his thumb hooked over and under the hand Arthur had bruised Francis' hip with. The other was hanging loosely from the headboard. The Frenchman was leaning heavily back against him, his head tilted back over Arthur's shoulder, giving the Englishman the most scrumptious view of his sweaty neck.
Arthur, regarded swollen lips and Francis' red face with a lazy, emerald gaze. He looked completely satiated, a small smile on his lips and his eyes and blonde brows relaxed and smooth, even as they both panted.
He let his lips brush over the man's shoulder, heaved a sigh and rested his forehead where he'd kissed.
You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [9/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 13:26:53 UTC
"Francis rang this morning. He says thank you and asks that next time you decide to help, to please do so in a way that doesn't require his looking like an ugly, unfaithful monster." Antonio dropped a kiss to the warm skin just below Lovino's ear, smiling as he remarked, "It was so nice of you to help him out."
Lovino huffed as he popped another grape in his mouth, "I didn't do it for that pervert." He rearranged the fruit bowl in his lap. He propped his legs against Antonio's.
Antonio grinned down at him and pulled him closer. They were pressed tightly together on his couch, with Lovino's back against his front and their legs tangled snuggly together.
"Aaaw, Lovi! Thank you!"
"I didn't do it for you either, bastard!"
But Antonio wasn't listening. Rather, he was busy rubbing his cheek against Lovino's very red one and humming happily. Even if the Italian was doing his damnedest to pull out of his affectionate strangle hold.
-----
A great big, THANK YOU to the French beta on the meme~ <3 You are awesome.
I hope I haven't disappointed you, OP (writing smut makes me extremely nervous), and I'm sorry I took so long (this is seconding!anon calling).
Re: You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [9/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 21:56:18 UTC
Aw, this is amazing! I love the way you've characterised the both of them and their relationship. Plus, you've added Spain/S. Italy in it, which I love as well. Brilliant!
Re: You Can't Refuse A Frenchman Forever [1/9]
anonymous
May 30 2009, 15:43:04 UTC
"He supposed it was because the implications changed with each person. Ivan, for instance, would take it at face value - and Francis refused to become one with Russia, no matter how many times he'd opened his curtains to find the larger man kneeling on a branch outside, smiling (creepily) in at him."
He'd donned lingerie, from the somewhat innocent (though not too much so; his personality didn't allow it), to the downright raunchy. He'd strutted into Arthur's study in a little more than high heeled boots, and he'd brought his expertise in the kitchen to the bedroom, whipping up a delectable storm that he'd served on both himself and his partners. Francis has also played with bondage and toys. His most popular is the royal blue, red and white dildo he'd had created from a mould of his own cock (Arthur especially, seemed to appreciate the fact that he was technically doing himself whenever he used it). He preferred silky holds to rattly handcuffs; it was easier on his wrists and felt more sensual, but he's used many different types of bondage in his years and knew they all had their moments. He was also a big fan of dirty talk, husky words (spoken in both French and English) that stroked Arthur's arousal as he seduced or straddled him. Not to mention the interesting things one could do with simple things like lube and body butter.
Begging, however, made him hesitate.
He supposed it was because the implications changed with each person. Ivan, for instance, would take it at face value - and Francis refused to become one with Russia, no matter how many times he'd opened his curtains to find the larger man kneeling on a branch outside, smiling (creepily) in at him.
Not that he didn't like it when his partners begged - he simply found it difficult to do so himself. He just had to trust his partner undoubtedly. It was one of the things he found hardest to grapple with. Francis, in his long years, had double crossed others (so much so, he sometimes wondered if Feliciano's being as dim as a busted light bulb was a blessing in disguise), and it only caused him to hesitate more when he realised that a supposedly trustworthy partner could slap him in the face with it.
The second and final condition was much simpler to understand: his begging must lead to sex. Which was easier to read in some cicumstances and with different people than most others. Sometimes. Most definitely not that night (or any other night in the near future); Arthur was being diffucult.
Francis considered himself to be a patient, considerate, charming and attractive man. He wore nice clothes, made nice food, he was able to listen and give good advice. This was especially the case when Arthur was concerned - even if they did poke each other with pointy sticks whenever they could.
Which was why, in the beginning, he hadn't been too worried about Arthur's reluctance to act inside the bedroom (or anywhere else that grabbed their fancy). Sometimes one just didn't feel like participating in physical relations (women especially, Francis had noticed) and he understood that. But nearly three weeks was different from seven days (or the usual two in Arthur's case), and he was seriously considering begging for sex.
Arthur passed his first condition with flying colours. The shorter man was special to him, in a way that made Francis feel tingly inside - even when the man was being difficult or obnoxious. Hence why he hadn't sought out anyone else's aid during his crisis (though Matthew had been sending him signals, Francis was sure of it). Francis also trusted Arthur. Despite their disputes, they'd had each other's backs when it counted, ever since Rome had first grabbed a scrawny England by the scruff of the neck and conquered him.
Which brought him to his latest query; would begging work?
Arthur had managed to foil all of Francis' plots thus far (one of which had him in a tasteless 'wench' outfit Francis knew Arthur found extremely appealing), and he didn't appreciate the thought of looking and acting the fool only for Arthur to lock himself inside his study again.
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The Frenchman sighed again. He wasn't sure what to do. Supposedly he was the guru of Love and Lust, Lady Love's messenger on Earth - But who was he supposed to go to when he'd been entangled within l'amour's sticky grasp? Who was supposed to console him when he hadn't a clue what to do?
Immediately tan skin, dark hair and tight pants filled his vision. Francis smiled, slipped out of his chair and over to the phone. Antonio was a passionate man with a (very) difficult lover. Perhaps he knew how to approach his dilemma?
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Arthur didn't like how much time Francis had been spending at that blasted Spaniard's house. Granted, he hadn't been giving the Frenchman too much attention, but that was beside the point. He glared down into his tea cup. What had happened to all the l'amour that poncy, French git hadn't stopped preach at him before two days ago?!
He growled lowly, his emerald eyes sweeping over the paperwork his boss had decided to pile on top of him (like he did every Friday). The porcelain cup clinked sharply against its saucer when he placed it down, and started to gather the folders, stapled booklets and stationary, packing them into his briefcase. The Englishman supposed it's a good thing this week - he'd been at his wits end avoiding Francis, and showing off the fact that he did, in fact, have a lot of work to do might make the Frenchman leave him be. If Francis was feeling at all merciful and helpful.
Perhaps he shouldn't have made that bet with Ivan? Or - more to the point - perhaps he should start limiting his drinking so that should Ivan appear it wouldn't seem like a grand idea to see who collapsed into a dizzy heap first, whilst making stupid bets about equally crazy things (at least he'd won their last round; the Russian hadn't even managed two minutes in his sister's presence, let alone five!).
Arthur snapped his briefcase shut, ran his hands down it's smooth leather sides, before he caught its handle and lifted it from the desk. Then he was striding out of his office's door, waving good bye to his secretary, rushing down the flight of stairs and hurrying to catch his bus. His face cheeks were flushed pink when he finally arrived, jumped on (the bus before his one - it wasn't nearly so busy) and found a seat. It would be twenty minutes before the bus got anywhere near his stop, Arthur tidied his suit and let his mind wander.
Francis had been sleeping over off and on for the past few weeks, and where at first, he'd seemed quite happy to just cuddle on the couch when Arthur had pushed his hands away during the first week, Francis' had become as touchy-feely as he was before Arthur's self imposed celibacy. Though, since then, Francis had bounded from one extreme to another, driving him nuts despite all the valiant 'no's Arthur had shouted at him, the doors that had been slammed in his face and the hasty retreats Arthur had made.
Arthur scowled out the window, alarming a little girl standing on the sidewalk. It was all because of the stupid conditions Ivan had slurred out with the bet:
1) He wasn't allowed to tell Francis anything (because according to Ivan, Francis actually attempted to make his life easier sometimes - he'd nearly choked on his drink when he'd first heard it). And,
2) He wasn't allowed to be aided in his sexually-frustrated month by anyone or thing other than his own two hands.
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He cleared his throat, adjusted his briefcase on his lap and wriggled in his seat. He allowed his eyes to wander the bus and its occupants. He took a moment to glare over at the children jumping up and down in their seats, whilst shrieking at the top of their lungs.
He'd never let Alfred or Matthew act like that. They'd have had their bums slapped red raw if they had. What was with parents nowadays? The person sitting next to him stood and got off, letting Arthur stretch out slightly. Surely it wasn't hard to teach your kids how to act in public? If not for the sake of the other passengers and passers by then for their own safety - because it really wasn't safe for children to run up and down the aisle whilst on a moving bus.
"What the hell is wrong with Francis?"
Arthur's eyes shot from where they were admiring the clear, blue sky to inside the bus. The once empty seat beside him was now filled with a lot of angry, annoyed, loud Italian. He grimaced. Shit. Wasn't his self torture enough?
"Nothing." Arthur stand offishly, "He's peachy!"
Lovino glared at him, his face twisted into a scowl to rival his own, "No, he's not! Why the hell is he visiting that idiot, Antonio? You know he can't keep his hands to himself!"
Arthur's generous eyebrows furrowed, "He's still molesting Antonio?"
"He's a perverted bastard! What the hell do you think he's been doing? Sipping wine and chatting whilst watching me work my ass off?!" The brunette was very near bellowing as he threw his hands around in the air. Arthur's already wide eyes widened further when Lovino turned an angry finger at him, stabbing at him wildly with it, "And it's all your fault!"
"My fault?" He asked, "How in the bloody hell is his cheating on me my fault?!"
"Are you blind? He's sexually frustrated! He thinks you don't want him anymore and is hanging off of Antonio because he craves attention - and you know how oblivious that idiot is! That perverted bastard could have his hands stuck down his pants and he wouldn't notice!"
Lovino turned a vivid shade of crimson as he spat out that speck of truth. Not that Arthur could blame him. He knew what both Francis and Antonio were like. It had taken his flinging Antonio over his shoulder and talking very dirtily to him to get him to realise, 'hey, we're both drunk and Arthur's humping my leg - we should do something to remedy that'. And Francis...
Arthur felt his skin burn hotly as his blood boiled. That bastard was going to regret ever stepping into the Spaniard's house. How dare he cheat on him just because he hadn't bloody touched him in three weeks?! That poncy, French asshole! His knuckles were white as he clutched his briefcase and glared down at it.
When he looked back up to ask if Francis was still there or at home, Arthur found himself glaring at an elderly lady (who looked quite put out).
"M-My apologies, ma'am." He stuttered as he stood, cheeks red, noticing there were quite a few other passengers staring at him oddly, "Excuse me."
Francis was going to pay.
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Francis was home when Arthur arrived. Innocently cooking dinner as though he hadn't just been over at Antonio's house, groping the man and doing other unspeakable acts to him. He supposed it was inevitable that the speech he'd composed on his way from the bus stop was forgotten upon seeing the wavy haired man in his pristine apron (it had been perfect too; filled with enough anger and disappointment and hurt that it would have made Francis feel so guilty he'd beg for forgiveness - not that Arthur was going to give it to him. No. At that point he'd planned to deck him a few times before drop-kicking him out of the house).
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"Bad day?" Francis chuckled weakly, his smile shaky.
"It was going well until I heard where you'd been." Arthur spat back, "What the fuck were you thinking? Did you think I wouldn't find out?"
Francis had the nerve to blink back at him with confusion, as he clutched the bowl he'd been stirring to his chest.
"Quoi?"
"You heard me!" Arthur shook him, "How dare you think so little of me! I've only ever been faithful to you!"
This seemed to wake the Frenchmen up, as his eyes narrowed and he stood up as straight as he could with Arthur's grip on his shirt. His stern, cobalt eyes met Arthur's, his hands coming to rest on Arthur's wrists as the bowl was quickly placed on the sink.
"Arthur, I have told you before; I do not cheat on my lovers."
The Englishman growled and shook him again, "Well, what the bloody hell do you call what you've done then? Because the last time I checked, molesting your neighbours whilst in a relationship with someone else is classified as cheating - and it's a criminal offense, you git!"
"Please," Francis tugged at his wrists, "Release me so we may talk about this like gentlemen."
Arthur gritted his teeth. He barely managed it. But after a moment he stood with his arms folded across his chest tightly and his biceps gripped in his own fingers.
Francis nodded, "Merci. Now, I do not know who's been spreading such monstrous lies about moi, but, cheri, they are just that: lies! I have been faithful to you, and always will be - even if you have been difficult as of late."
Arthur fumed, his cheeks flushing pink, "Then what the hell have you been doing over there!?"
"Talking," Francis answered simply.
"About what?"
"Dear Lovino, of course! As it so happens, Lovino's been very cranky these passed few days-" Arthur nearly rolled his eyes, "And Antonio's been at his wit's end."
"That's all?" He asked as he regarded Francis with narrowed, suspicious eyes. He could tell when he was lying. It was a side effect to growing up along side the annoying, lecherous git-face.
The Frenchman nodded.
All was silent in the kitchen as they continued to stare each other down. Arthur's eyes sometimes flickered to other parts of Francis' face - the corners of his mouth, his nostrils, his eyebrows - then Arthur sighed. The anger drained from his body like water off a smooth pebble. He was so relieved. So, so relieved. He hadn't realised how tense he'd been - and his arms were hurting from where he'd gripped too hard. Francis was still his. Just his.
But the pleasant feeling was soon washed cold with a feeling of shame and foolishness that made him go rock rigid again. He felt stupid. As in, stupider than when he'd flirted with Francis in a very public bar, when the man's hair had been longer (though he couldn't be blamed for his mistaking him for a girl - he still had the prettiest hair Arthur's ever seen) and it'd been announced to the entire place that he should "keep your hands to yourself, you dirty, perverted, lecher! Help! He's trying to rape me!" in what had been the most cringe worthy, high-pitched voice Arthur had ever heard. He wished he could sink into the ground, or shrivel up and blow away with the slight breeze blowing through the kitchen's window, or turn into a puddle of goo and slide beneath the fridge or stove and live there until Francis stopped looking at him with that earnest look of appreciation and love...
"S-Sorry," He stuttered, before turning on his heel and heading for his bedroom as fast as he could without running.
The house shook as he slammed the door shut, locked it and headed straight for the bed. He sat down heavily, his cheeks aflame for the umpteenth time that afternoon.
He should have gone to that stupid Spaniard first! Confirmed the information! Everyone knew Lovino had a petty revenge streak several kilometres wide! Oh God, oh God, oh God... Let Francis go home. Let the Frenchman leave him be. He'd locked the door, right? There wasn't anyway he was getting in.
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A few moments later, the bed sunk down in front of him and a hand rested on one of his knees.
"Are you alright, cheri?"
"M'fine." He said from behind his hands and doing a remarkable impression of Berwald whilst at it, "G'way."
He could practically hear Francis' smile. The taller man laid down in front of him, and pulled himself so close Arthur could feel the Frenchman's voice reverberate in his chest as he spoke.
"Where did you hear what you heard?"
His nose nuzzled against the juncture between Arthur's jaw and neck. His lips tickled. It made the frigid stone in Arthur's gut double in size.
"L'v'no," God, had it truly been long enough that even Francis' breathing all over his ear was turning him on? Arthur cleared his throat, whilst trying his damnedest to ignore the hand that was squeezing his hip. He pushed Francis away, sitting up so he could stare in the opposite direction, "He may have mentioned something."
"Ah," Francis - never one to give up - pressed a chaste kiss to his ear, before continuing in a husky whisper, his hand warm and pressed against his thigh, "Obviously he was jealous of my taking cher Antonio away from him."
Arthur's cheeks burned, amazingly, as he was sure all his blood was gathering in his groin (which was where Francis' hands were very nearly caressing softly). Arthur shivered as Francis' tongue tiptoed around the shell of his ear.
"Were you jealous too, cheri? Jealous that he'd had his hands all over my body?"
Or the other way around, Arthur found himself thinking distractedly as Francis parted his legs and knelt between them. The Englishman's hips were soon framed with two knees, whilst Francis' face was incredibly sincere. The Frenchman's eyes were at half mast, even as his fingers toyed with Arthur's tie, looping it around one of his long fingers before they slid to the knot at the top. The Englishman leant back, his hands splayed behind him as he gripped the doona until his fingers cramped.
"He could have had his way with me, Arthur." Francis whispered, as he withdrew his hands, "He has his moments. We went out once, just Antonio and I, and he'd caught me by surprise..."
Arthur's mind was split in two as he seethed about that bloody Spaniard's touching what was his (even if it was a few decades ago) and being so randy he wasn't sure where on Francis' body to look and touch and taste first, because there was no way he was getting out of this one (and he might as well enjoy it, as Francis had often told him, even if Ivan sent him waltzing through the streets of London nude because of it).
Francis made short work of his white shirt's buttons. He tossed his hair back as he mimicked Arthur's pose, before he lifted his left hand and let it drape itself over his torso. Arthur's mouth dried up faster than water on a hot plate as the Frenchman twirled the tips of his fingers around a dusted pink nipple.
"He caressed me all over. Here," His hand swept up to caress his own throat as his head tipped back teasingly (always bloody teasing), "Here," Then traced his collar bone, "And here." Francis' hands swept down to play with his own belly button. "He kissed me so fiercely - it's no wonder he's known as the country of passion."
Arthur nearly choked on his own breath with anticipation as Francis' hand slid to the button on his pants. They were black and tight enough that Arthur could see that Francis was as horny as he was (which didn't help matters, Arthur found as his once dry mouth grew too moist. He swallowed thickly).
"He wasn't afraid to touch here either, cheri."
The button snapped open. Arthur almost groaned as Francis - instead of pulling down his zipper, like any normal human being - stroked his hand down the zipper and cupped himself through his trousers. He sighed, cobalt eyes closing briefly as he squeezed playfully.
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Arthur shook his head, his voice having run off somewhere with his brain.
It was with a practiced roll, twist, tug and kick, that Francis was nude from the waist down. Then he'd smoothly slipped his shirt off his shoulders and flung it behind him, all whilst sliding off the bed. Arthur had seen him do it before (he seemed so proud of the menuvuer, though he forgoed that annoying smirk that usually accompanied it), but never had he then been grabbed very near violently by the ankles and tugged so his calves were hanging off the side of the bed. Arthur's eyes were wide as Francis knelt in front of him, arms wrapped around his clothe clad torso as he breathed all over Arthur's chin and lips. He could feel his fingers tickling along his belt. They opened and the Englishman hoped with all of his heart that Francis would kiss him soon, because he was quite sure his bones and muscles had turned into straw and jelly.
"Then touch me, Arthur."
His lips grazed Arthur's, no where near hard enough. Francis' fingers wrapped around his left wrist, tugging his hand up so it was directly between their faces as leant back a bit.
"Use your hands. Touch me everywhere."
Arthur felt a shudder rage through him, before he was tingly all over and hot - oh God, he felt hot. Francis lathed the palm of his hand, then his fingers, with licks and opened mouth kisses, nibbling here and there. Arthur's body flushed with each swipe of the Frenchman's pink tongue, his pants growing impossibly tighter.
"Please, Arthur. Je veux sentir tes mains partout sur mon corps."
He sucked two of his fingers into his mouth and stroked them lewdly with his tongue. Oh God, he was going to combust. Just watching, let alone feeling Francis sucking tenderly on the digits was making him dizzy and - Arthur gasped as Francis wrenched his fingers (still in his mouth) apart and stroked his tongue between them. Then he wrenched in a breath as Francis caught the tip of his index finger between his teeth, nipping gently.
"Please, je t'en prie, take me - with your fingers-"
He shook minutely as the Englishman regained the use of his limbs. Arthur's other hand (the one not soaked with spit), flew up to grip the back of Francis' head. He tangled his fingers in what he'd once called gold and gripping tightly. He pulled Francis' head back, sitting him up straighter as Arthur righted his posture. He knew what Francis was going to say. He'd said it a few times before, over the phone...
"Do you want me to fuck you?" He asked roughly, "With my fingers, if not with my cock?"
"Yes, oui, s'il te plaît..."
"And how bad do you need it?"
"Please, Arthur, je brûle de désir pour toi."
Francis had barely finished his last syllable when Arthur crushed his lips against his. They both groaned loudly as their tongues pushed against the other's then delved into each other's mouths. Arthur revelled in it, his mind buzzing as he tugged on Francis' hair, pulling him up even as the Frenchman's hands fumbled with the zipper and buttons on his brown slacks. He was standing when they parted and Arthur quickly bucked his hips up and Francis pulled his pants down by their ankles. Arthur was pushing them over his knees as he wiggled back onto the bed.
Francis' fingers joined his as he fought to remove his jacket and shirt, their lips mashing together again as Francis straddled him. The Frenchman's larger hands slipped under the fabric as Arthur pulled it back. Arthur would have bet his ears were buzzing and he was feeling more than slightly dizzy.
He moaned as Francis tweaked one of his nipples, their lips leaving each other with a loud smack. Then groaned again when Francis pressed his arse back, nestling Arthur's aching cock snugly between his arse cheeks.
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Francis groaned and arched his back, adding more pressure to Arthur's already burning groin and unfastened his lips from Arthur's neck. His burning breath washed over the Arthur's chin, "Arthur, please."
Arthur shook his head, even as his hands slid around Francis' hips. Damned the bastard and his bloody sexual know-how! He gave Francis' rump a squeeze and pinch, "Lube. Now." It was difficult plucking those few words from his fuzzy brain. Almost more so than releasing the taller man.
Francis huffed irritably, but moved off him. Arthur watched as the Frenchman spun on his knees, bunching the duvet under them, and leant over the side of the bed.
Arthur had been sure to keep the lube under his bed, in a conspicuous box marked, "PRIVATE: KEEP OUT". It had been a joined decision by both him and Francis, after one of them had accidentally closed Francis' bedside drawer on the other's fingers. More than ever, Arthur found himself glad he'd come up with the idea; Francis was giving him the most mouth watering, blood boiling view of his bare arse. He could even see the little ring he'd soon be inhabiting...
He hardly noticed as Francis' French cursing came to a sudden halt when Arthur's hands cupped both cheeks and squeezed again, as he knelt behind him. What a lovely rump. He had the unfathomable urge to bite it - so he did.
"If I didn't know better, cheri, I would think you did this on purpose."
He grunted in reply, too busy lathing attention to Francis' back and thighs to care what the arse said. He sat up, pressing himself flat against the Frenchman's back. God, he was just as hot as Arthur felt. He huffed and pressed his now sweating forehead between Francis' shoulder blades. Francis was pressing back against him, wiggling and writhing.
"Have you found it?"
"You're being very distracting..." Francis panted, as Arthur's hands slid up the man's thighs, grazed his cock and flowed up his stomach to pinch at his nipples.
Arthur licked his lips, "That's no excuse," Especially because Francis had been all that and more over the passed three weeks. That day with the ice cream in particular came to mind - Arthur let himself smirk, kissed Francis' back and sat on his heels. His hands slipped down his larger body until they were cupping Francis' hips.
There was a heady scent of musk and roses gracing Francis' entire body. But Arthur discovered that like with every time before, the musk overpowered Francis' soap between his legs. He pressed a long, open-mouthed kiss to the skin just behind his lover's balls, his own arousal spiking at the immediate long, husky moan and hasty scrabble and bang he heard after it. He nipped there, before he slipped his tongue over and around Francis' smooth balls, then back up -
Suddenly Francis was centimetres away again, there was a pop and Arthur was hit in the nose with a tube of lube. His mouth twisted into an angry scowl, but before he could ask what the hell Francis was thinking (and growl several ungentlemanly things), the Frenchman was kneeling at the head of the bed with his arse in the air and his fingers in his arse -
Arthur forgot how to breathe.
Oh God... He thought to himself. Oh fuck, bugger, bloody hell...
Francis' face was tinted pink, his eyes seemingly darker under his half closed lids.
"Je t'en prie, inside me now, Arthur-" He choked, his eyes clenching shut as his back arched and his long, glistening fingers stilled momentarily. Francis shuddered when they moved, "Ah, oh!"
"Fuck, Francis..." Arthur found himself muttering without meaning to.
His cock throbbed between his legs, his hands seemingly swollen big as he grabbed the lube and hastily coated his palm with it. It was frigid against his burning flesh, nearly painfully so as he applied it hastily.
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There wasn't anything elegant about their motions, even as Francis spilt French onto the pillows with every one of Arthur's thrusts. Arthur had given up attempting to translate his words, instead focusing on the way Francis tightened around him, and how much he burned, and how close to the headboard they were becoming...
Francis yelped as Arthur grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged. The Frenchman's larger hands scrabbled against the headboard, his nails scratching against the ancient wood as Arthur pushed him against it.
"A-Arthur! Oh, ch-cheri, oh, yes, yes, ple- yes there - please!"
Arthur growled and pressed his mouth to Francis' neck.
"Shit," He choked out, "Tell me why I didn't do this - oh God - sooner?"
He could have sworn Francis answered between his gasps and groans, "Because you're stubborn."
Arthur's grip tightened on Francis' hip, hardly needing to do more than hold on as the man's bouncing hastened further. His other hand snaked around the Frenchman's waist to grip at his dripping cock. He squeezed it, then began stroking madly. Francis' reaction was instantaneous - a loud cry and more hasty bucking.
God, Francis was so tight, so hot - never again would Arthur put this off for so long! Never never never never never! His hands didn't - couldn't - compare to this!
They barely lasted a few more moments. They pressed together as tightly as they could, whilst Francis screamed and Arthur bit his lip and groaned loudly into Francis' shoulder blade, his eyes clenched shut as tight as he could manage.
They remained as they were for several long minutes. His brain felt like it had entered a sauna, foggy and exhausted. When he found the energy to crack an eye open, Arthur found Francis' long legs splayed on either side on them and his thumb hooked over and under the hand Arthur had bruised Francis' hip with. The other was hanging loosely from the headboard. The Frenchman was leaning heavily back against him, his head tilted back over Arthur's shoulder, giving the Englishman the most scrumptious view of his sweaty neck.
Arthur, regarded swollen lips and Francis' red face with a lazy, emerald gaze. He looked completely satiated, a small smile on his lips and his eyes and blonde brows relaxed and smooth, even as they both panted.
He let his lips brush over the man's shoulder, heaved a sigh and rested his forehead where he'd kissed.
Bloody, beautiful bastard...
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Lovino huffed as he popped another grape in his mouth, "I didn't do it for that pervert." He rearranged the fruit bowl in his lap. He propped his legs against Antonio's.
Antonio grinned down at him and pulled him closer. They were pressed tightly together on his couch, with Lovino's back against his front and their legs tangled snuggly together.
"Aaaw, Lovi! Thank you!"
"I didn't do it for you either, bastard!"
But Antonio wasn't listening. Rather, he was busy rubbing his cheek against Lovino's very red one and humming happily. Even if the Italian was doing his damnedest to pull out of his affectionate strangle hold.
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A great big, THANK YOU to the French beta on the meme~ <3 You are awesome.
I hope I haven't disappointed you, OP (writing smut makes me extremely nervous), and I'm sorry I took so long (this is seconding!anon calling).
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*fans self*
Arthur topping was damn sexy and Francis... Oh gosh Francis! I never knew you could be such a freaking hawt bottom! I think I just came...
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*cannot stop laughing*
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