Daddy Issues (3/?)
anonymous
May 7 2009, 13:52:18 UTC
Arthur's hands reach up to rest on the younger nation's shoulders, then slide down to grip at his lapels. "Of course you are. You're still in your good clothes. Come on, then. Let's get these off of you, shall we?" Matthew wants to help him, but he is frozen and limp like a rag doll. Moisture has begun to gather beneath his dress shirt and soak through the fabric, causing Arthur's touch to sear his flesh as he removes Matthew's jacket and sets it aside. As Arthur works nimbly at the buttons of his shirt, his fingers brush against the skin around Matthew's collarbone, sending an electric-like jolt straight to his cock. Matthew licks at his dry lips and begins to hiss softly from behind his clenched teeth.
Towering above him, he can feel Francis, who has set his glass aside to peel the shirt Arthur is unbuttoning away from Matthew's damp skin. He bends down to brush Matthew's blond hair aside, and he gently presses his lips against the lobe of his ear. Matthew can feel that little bit of stubble against his chin. "Petit chou," Francis murmurs, "if you needed help, all you had to do was ask."
Matthew groans softly, and his hips thrust upward involuntarily.
Arthur's fingers slide down his torso in a path towards his waist, the combination of the contact and the cool air on his skin causing his nipples to become erect. Arthur has a grip on Matthew's hipbone with one hand and is trying to unwork the latch of his belt with the other, and Matthew wills the throbbing hardness between his legs to go down before Arthur notices and becomes horrified, but oh, oh, Francis has grabbed him by the chin and is nibbling delicately on his ear, and it only makes him harder.
"Honestly, Francis," Arthur mutters. "The child is sick. Just because he hasn't got a shirt on doesn't give you an excuse to molest him."
Something inside Matthew is both repulsed and aroused by Arthur's reference to his age. He wants to tell him the same thing he told Francis - that he's not a child - but Francis is laughing in that smarmy way of his, asks, "I don't think that's quite the case, is it, mon fils?" And the way he says mon fils suddenly makes Matthew's whole body tremble with ache and need, even though Francis has called him that for as long as he can remember.
Belt loose, Arthur begins to work Matthew's legs from his trousers. The younger nation blushes and bites his lip when Arthur's hands trail along the skin of the backs of his thighs and come to rest on his ankles, gripping each one loosely as he slips the slacks off one leg at a time. Matthew's eyes flutter closed. He feels as though he is on fire. Francis pulls him closer and begins to pepper kisses up and down his chin and neck, whispering to Matthew sweetly and curling his hair about his fingers.
Below him, Arthur makes a quiet little gasp in the back of his throat, and Matthew knows why, because he can only imagine how scandalous he and Francis must look. But when he feels Arthur gripping him at the hips, he peers down and sees the older nation staring intently at the furious erection tenting his briefs. Matthew blushes an even deeper red, and suddenly, as Arthur reaches out to trace along the outline, fingers smearing into the wetness gathering at the tip, his chest feels heavy, and all he can hear in his ears is the pound of his heart and the rush of blood through his veins.
"Matthew?" Arthur whispers.
Matthew squeaks or groans or something equally as mortifying, and, oh, God. Oh, God. He buries his face into Francis' shoulder, because he can't bear to look Arthur in the face right now.
Francis shushes him with a mirthful chuckle and strokes his hair. "Does that feel good, petit chou? Do you like it when England touches you there?"
Matthew nods miserably.
"Do you want him to touch you again?" Francis asks.
Tears of frustration gather at the corners of his eyes as he nods once again.
"Now, Mathieu. You're a big boy, aren't you? You said so yourself." Francis licks at the shell of his ear, and Matthew shudders. "What do you say?"
Lifting his head, Matthew meets Arthur's intense gaze, and suddenly he realizes that Arthur is very aware of how the stakes have shifted. "Please," he croaks out.
OP Re: Daddy Issues (3/?)
anonymous
May 10 2009, 20:11:50 UTC
I think I just spontaneously combusted. Well, it wasn't entirely spontaneous because your writing caused it - but still! I think I caught fire for a moment this is so hot. "Now, Mathieu. You're a big boy, aren't you? You said so yourself." Francis licks at the shell of his ear, and Matthew shudders. "What do you say?"
^sexxxxy as hell. Authoranon, I think I love you. JUST GUH!!!!!!
I never dreamed if I was so lucky as to have my prompt filled (for which I am eternally in your debt) that it would be as absolutely purely hot-awesomeness-of-amazingness that is this fic.
Towering above him, he can feel Francis, who has set his glass aside to peel the shirt Arthur is unbuttoning away from Matthew's damp skin. He bends down to brush Matthew's blond hair aside, and he gently presses his lips against the lobe of his ear. Matthew can feel that little bit of stubble against his chin. "Petit chou," Francis murmurs, "if you needed help, all you had to do was ask."
Matthew groans softly, and his hips thrust upward involuntarily.
Arthur's fingers slide down his torso in a path towards his waist, the combination of the contact and the cool air on his skin causing his nipples to become erect. Arthur has a grip on Matthew's hipbone with one hand and is trying to unwork the latch of his belt with the other, and Matthew wills the throbbing hardness between his legs to go down before Arthur notices and becomes horrified, but oh, oh, Francis has grabbed him by the chin and is nibbling delicately on his ear, and it only makes him harder.
"Honestly, Francis," Arthur mutters. "The child is sick. Just because he hasn't got a shirt on doesn't give you an excuse to molest him."
Something inside Matthew is both repulsed and aroused by Arthur's reference to his age. He wants to tell him the same thing he told Francis - that he's not a child - but Francis is laughing in that smarmy way of his, asks, "I don't think that's quite the case, is it, mon fils?" And the way he says mon fils suddenly makes Matthew's whole body tremble with ache and need, even though Francis has called him that for as long as he can remember.
Belt loose, Arthur begins to work Matthew's legs from his trousers. The younger nation blushes and bites his lip when Arthur's hands trail along the skin of the backs of his thighs and come to rest on his ankles, gripping each one loosely as he slips the slacks off one leg at a time. Matthew's eyes flutter closed. He feels as though he is on fire. Francis pulls him closer and begins to pepper kisses up and down his chin and neck, whispering to Matthew sweetly and curling his hair about his fingers.
Below him, Arthur makes a quiet little gasp in the back of his throat, and Matthew knows why, because he can only imagine how scandalous he and Francis must look. But when he feels Arthur gripping him at the hips, he peers down and sees the older nation staring intently at the furious erection tenting his briefs. Matthew blushes an even deeper red, and suddenly, as Arthur reaches out to trace along the outline, fingers smearing into the wetness gathering at the tip, his chest feels heavy, and all he can hear in his ears is the pound of his heart and the rush of blood through his veins.
"Matthew?" Arthur whispers.
Matthew squeaks or groans or something equally as mortifying, and, oh, God. Oh, God. He buries his face into Francis' shoulder, because he can't bear to look Arthur in the face right now.
Francis shushes him with a mirthful chuckle and strokes his hair. "Does that feel good, petit chou? Do you like it when England touches you there?"
Matthew nods miserably.
"Do you want him to touch you again?" Francis asks.
Tears of frustration gather at the corners of his eyes as he nods once again.
"Now, Mathieu. You're a big boy, aren't you? You said so yourself." Francis licks at the shell of his ear, and Matthew shudders. "What do you say?"
Lifting his head, Matthew meets Arthur's intense gaze, and suddenly he realizes that Arthur is very aware of how the stakes have shifted. "Please," he croaks out.
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(hey, if I had hot daddies like France and England, I'll be pretty turned on, too)
reCAPTCHA says: skill yes.
...I love reCAPTCHA.
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reCaptcha: rosaries Alabama
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*fans self*
It's getting a bit hot in here, I think. So, uhm, MOAR PLEASE?
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f5f5f5f5f5f5f5f5
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^sexxxxy as hell. Authoranon, I think I love you. JUST GUH!!!!!!
I never dreamed if I was so lucky as to have my prompt filled (for which I am eternally in your debt) that it would be as absolutely purely hot-awesomeness-of-amazingness that is this fic.
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