Re: Trigger [2/?]
anonymous
May 3 2009, 04:02:12 UTC
“I’m…sorry?” Francis says, but shuts his eyes and leans into Arthur’s touch with a sigh.
“You were crying. And shaking. Like you were going to shatter into pieces.” Arthur’s voice sounds thin, frightened. “You started flailing when I tried to shake you awake.”
“Did I hurt you?” Francis pulls back a bit, looks over Arthur’s body for bruises.
“No, no, I’m all right. It’s just…you sounded so frightened.” Arthur threads his fingers into Francis’ hair.
Francis feels his face split into a grin. “Ah, were you worried, mon Angleterre?”
It’s always amusing to watch Arthur blush so red. “N - no! It’s just that you woke me up!” Arthur frowns at Francis, glaring at his grin. “And I was having a perfectly good dream, too, one that didn’t have you in it -”
Francis shuts him up with a quick peck on the lips. “What time is it?”
Arthur lifts his head, looking over Francis to his portable alarm clock on the bedside table. “About 9:10.”
“And the UN meeting about the Georgia incident is at 11, oui?” He puts a purr into his voice, knocking one of his feet into Arthur’s.
“You are insatiable,” Arthur mutters, but presses back when Francis leans in to kiss his mouth.
It’s not long until Arthur has Francis pressed into the mattress, their lips and tongues sliding together. “Really,” Arthur says. “Such a slut.” His tone is hot and lust-filled and approving.
But Francis still freezes and his eyes travel far away. Things whisper and dance along the side of his memory, gray, just beyond reach.
Hands all over his body, pulling at him.
Something being poured down his throat, mingling with the wine.
Becoming too hot and aroused, begging, not wanting to but not being able to help it.
“Francis?”
Francis blinks and comes back to himself; Arthur is staring down at him, brows furrowed and lips frowning.
“Ah…I…mes excuses.” He looks away and shuts his eyes. He realizes he is trembling, tense and slight.
Arthur rolls off of him and huffs, one hand running through that sandy hair in frustration. “Bloody hell, Francis, stop sending me mixed signals.”
Francis doesn’t reply, instead opting to steal Arthur’s pillow and wrap his arms around it while he hides his face.
“I’m going to go shower.” Arthur stands and walks around the bed, grabbing a towel off the armchair as he makes his way to the bathroom. “Do you want to join me?”
Francis only shifts deeper down into the bed and hugs the pillow tighter.
“…All right, then. I’ll let you know when I’m done.” The bathroom door shuts, and then Francis is alone, save for the muted sound of running water.
Francis presses his face into the pillow and gives himself over to shaking, to the raw feeling in his throat. “Mon Dieu,” he whispers in a trembling voice. “Why? Why?”
He hasn’t thought about that in years. He’s been happy and stable. He’s been working things out between himself and Arthur, and they’ve tangling together their snark and their lust and their jabs to a point where they might actually have something. They’ve been allies since before World War I, and Arthur helped save him from the blood of Nazi Germany during World War II.
And then Ivan had to go and ruin things by invading Georgia and dredging up these memories.
“I’m fine,” he tells the pillow, squeezing its downy softness and relishing the give. “I’m fine. Go away, go away.”
But of course they don’t. They settle like bile into the fissures and cracks of his mind. They haunt him and make him sick and make him tremble.
He refocuses this by thinking of Georgia - of Russia, moving in with his tanks and weapons and saccharine smile. And then his terror turns into anger, raw and sharp. This is good. This is what he needs. This is the weapon that will keep him sane as he and the rest of the Nations confront Ivan on his actions later.
He takes hold of that fury and bottles it up. When Arthur comes out of the bathroom, he looks over his shoulder and leers as he combs the kinks out of his hair.
Re: Trigger [2/?]
anonymous
May 3 2009, 04:11:51 UTC
Yes. This... this is pretty much exactly what I wanted out of this prompt. *shaking a little herself* Raw and vicious, and Nazi occupation and Georgia. I'll definitely be around to see how this one turns out. *mashes F5*
Re: Trigger [2/?]
anonymous
May 3 2009, 04:29:39 UTC
Let the F5-fest begin!
Author anon, how I love your Francis and Arthur and their interaction. Please continue ASAP! (And your angst is so delicious! More non-con descriptions would also be so very appreciated *is shot)
Re: Trigger [2/?]
anonymous
May 3 2009, 10:07:16 UTC
omg o____o YES.
I somehow hate Pétain even more, now... And I also really love how this talks about long after the facts; it's rather rare in rapefics. Change is nice ^o^
Re: Trigger [2/?]
anonymous
May 3 2009, 17:47:14 UTC
This is exactly why I still bother with the kink meme. And I'm not even OP.
Your writing, Anon! Descriptive but not over the top. The characterization is believable, and the fall of France~ I'm a sucker for historical references.
I'm... speechless! I think "...D: ♥" describes how I feel perfectly right now.
Re: Trigger [2/?]
anonymous
May 3 2009, 21:34:09 UTC
I love this for a number of reasons, the first probably being my love of serious!France and the tenderness between him and England here. Also for the setting of this within real historical events, and Germany's not-quite-direct involvement with it. Ow ow ow, but I badly want to see more~
“You were crying. And shaking. Like you were going to shatter into pieces.” Arthur’s voice sounds thin, frightened. “You started flailing when I tried to shake you awake.”
“Did I hurt you?” Francis pulls back a bit, looks over Arthur’s body for bruises.
“No, no, I’m all right. It’s just…you sounded so frightened.” Arthur threads his fingers into Francis’ hair.
Francis feels his face split into a grin. “Ah, were you worried, mon Angleterre?”
It’s always amusing to watch Arthur blush so red. “N - no! It’s just that you woke me up!” Arthur frowns at Francis, glaring at his grin. “And I was having a perfectly good dream, too, one that didn’t have you in it -”
Francis shuts him up with a quick peck on the lips. “What time is it?”
Arthur lifts his head, looking over Francis to his portable alarm clock on the bedside table. “About 9:10.”
“And the UN meeting about the Georgia incident is at 11, oui?” He puts a purr into his voice, knocking one of his feet into Arthur’s.
“You are insatiable,” Arthur mutters, but presses back when Francis leans in to kiss his mouth.
It’s not long until Arthur has Francis pressed into the mattress, their lips and tongues sliding together. “Really,” Arthur says. “Such a slut.” His tone is hot and lust-filled and approving.
But Francis still freezes and his eyes travel far away. Things whisper and dance along the side of his memory, gray, just beyond reach.
Hands all over his body, pulling at him.
Something being poured down his throat, mingling with the wine.
Becoming too hot and aroused, begging, not wanting to but not being able to help it.
“Francis?”
Francis blinks and comes back to himself; Arthur is staring down at him, brows furrowed and lips frowning.
“Ah…I…mes excuses.” He looks away and shuts his eyes. He realizes he is trembling, tense and slight.
Arthur rolls off of him and huffs, one hand running through that sandy hair in frustration. “Bloody hell, Francis, stop sending me mixed signals.”
Francis doesn’t reply, instead opting to steal Arthur’s pillow and wrap his arms around it while he hides his face.
“I’m going to go shower.” Arthur stands and walks around the bed, grabbing a towel off the armchair as he makes his way to the bathroom. “Do you want to join me?”
Francis only shifts deeper down into the bed and hugs the pillow tighter.
“…All right, then. I’ll let you know when I’m done.” The bathroom door shuts, and then Francis is alone, save for the muted sound of running water.
Francis presses his face into the pillow and gives himself over to shaking, to the raw feeling in his throat. “Mon Dieu,” he whispers in a trembling voice. “Why? Why?”
He hasn’t thought about that in years. He’s been happy and stable. He’s been working things out between himself and Arthur, and they’ve tangling together their snark and their lust and their jabs to a point where they might actually have something. They’ve been allies since before World War I, and Arthur helped save him from the blood of Nazi Germany during World War II.
And then Ivan had to go and ruin things by invading Georgia and dredging up these memories.
“I’m fine,” he tells the pillow, squeezing its downy softness and relishing the give. “I’m fine. Go away, go away.”
But of course they don’t. They settle like bile into the fissures and cracks of his mind. They haunt him and make him sick and make him tremble.
He refocuses this by thinking of Georgia - of Russia, moving in with his tanks and weapons and saccharine smile. And then his terror turns into anger, raw and sharp. This is good. This is what he needs. This is the weapon that will keep him sane as he and the rest of the Nations confront Ivan on his actions later.
He takes hold of that fury and bottles it up. When Arthur comes out of the bathroom, he looks over his shoulder and leers as he combs the kinks out of his hair.
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Author anon, how I love your Francis and Arthur and their interaction. Please continue ASAP! (And your angst is so delicious! More non-con descriptions would also be so very appreciated *is shot)
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I somehow hate Pétain even more, now... And I also really love how this talks about long after the facts; it's rather rare in rapefics. Change is nice ^o^
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And I'm not even OP.
Your writing, Anon! Descriptive but not over the top. The characterization is believable, and the fall of France~ I'm a sucker for historical references.
I'm... speechless! I think "...D: ♥" describes how I feel perfectly right now.
Looking forward to more!
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