Quiet Mornings (1/3)
anonymous
October 17 2010, 13:35:13 UTC
Just a little bit of a thing I whipped up. Not a fail?
It was a quiet moment, on a quiet day. One that would never go on the history books.
“Allemagne … what would you like for lunch tomorrow?” There was a soft smile in Francis’ voice as he turned to the counter.
Ludwig did not reply, but he did look up from his paper, through his slim reading glasses, and blush. It had been … going on a couple of years, now, but he was still unused to the sight of Francis (long-limbed, slender Francis) in his kitchen and in his life.
It had taken them so long - so much shattered pride and so many scars - to get to this point. To this quiet kitchen at breakfast time, with Francis in a sensible apron and hair tied back making his lunch. Ludwig put down his coffee and newspaper quietly, giving into this dangerous, smothering urge that was making his heart beat faster.
“Alle-” The rest of Francis’ statement disappeared into the air as he felt Ludwig’s arms snake around his waist and a shy kiss pressed to the back of his neck. Even to Francis, who had loved and lost so many times, this felt like … bliss, enough so to bring an embarrassingly besotted smile to his face. “Allemagne, do you have a thing for my tied hair?” Francis chided gently.
“I just…I…” Ludwig stammered, resting his forehead against the soft curve of Francis’ neck.
All these years, Francis shook his head ruefully, leaning back into that warm embrace, And Allemagne was still so scared. So tentative, every touch gentle. So hesitant to make an affectionate move. But he was learning, Francis thought, smiling, learning that his beloved husband liked to be held and touched and petted, and would return the favor quite nicely.
Ah, and the hair thing. Whenever Francis swept up his hair in a brisk ponytail, Ludwig would come around like a cat towards milk.
The kitchen was warm, with a muted brightness that encouraged lounging about and savoring the slide of skin against skin. Their home, their home, was all honeyed wood and dark green, Francis’ flamboyant boots nestling comfortably against Ludwig’s sensible loafers. Outside came the ardent barks and yips of Ludwig’s German Shepherds as they frolicked in the yard.
The sun was sliding towards noon, but really, they had all day. Although Ludwig was normally an early riser, on their free days they usually slept in quite late. For good reason, Francis thought, with a quirk of his lips dangerously reminiscent of his lecherous past. His hands continued to slice tomatoes.
Ludwig seemed content to stay there all day, softening into the curve of Francis’ back, his breathing slow and fond. He loved the scent of Francis - roses wet with rainwater. “Frankreich,” He mumbled, unthinkingly, his brain flooding with words his mouth didn’t seem able to form. Dangerous words. Ludwig blushed hot, glad that Francis couldn’t see him.
Quiet Mornings (2/3)
anonymous
October 17 2010, 13:39:28 UTC
As a country, Ludwig was so … young. Francis was his first. But Francis had had so many. How would he react if Ludwig unthinkingly spoke these words? Would he be skittish, awkward, backing away with a strained smile? Or would he laugh, because, after all, he had said the same many, many times and not meant a syllable? Ludwig thought that his heart (although this was both scientifically impossible and overdramatic) might crack if Francis did, and so he swallowed his urge to speak, made up for it with a soft kiss pressed to the nape of Francis’ neck that somehow still didn’t feel like enough.
A soft click as France put down the knife and twisted in Ludwig’s grasp. For a fearful second, Ludwig anticipated that his lover might pull away, but all Francis did was turn to hook his arms around Ludwig’s neck and lean back to look at the German with an expression of clear adoration. “Careful, soldier,” Francis’ voice was husky as he leaned close enough for their breaths to mingle. “I’m a married man.”
Ludwig’s heart gave a lurch as he gazed into those bright blue eyes. “Is your husband the jealous type?” He answered gruffly, almost hesitant to be drawn into Francis’ game.
“Oui, very,” Francis purred, pressing them closer together and setting up a slow grind. “He won’t let me even look at another man and I’ve been…so very lonely…”
Not trusting his next words, Ludwig instead, bent to put his lips and teeth to work on Francis’ neck, licking and sucking at the soft skin there, even as his hands rapidly untied the apron strings from his lover’s slim waist. Francis’ soft moans of appreciation sounded like music in the sunshine and warmth.
Off came the apron. Shirt opened to reveal pinched-pink nipples, still gleaming with saliva. Francis’ fashionably slim slacks were unzipped and unbuttoned, pulled down to his ankles. With a last, lingering glance at the long-haired blonde (Francis was flushed, panting lightly, eyes alit with need you now), Ludwig bent his head to take Francis’ throbbing, leaking erection into his mouth.
The strangled moan Francis made, so low in his throat it sounded like an endearment, was all the encouragement Ludwig needed to keep going. He bobbed his head, sucking in as much of Francis as his mouth and throat would allow, then pulling back with an obscene slurp. It was in Ludwig’s nature to do things efficiently. But love, he learned, should not be the same. Francis had been showing him how, and, while normally he would have been far too embarrassed to put these techniques into practice, today, with the warmth and the sun and the smell of breakfast still lingering in the air, Ludwig blushingly decided that he would … try.
Like Francis had showed him (deliciously demonstrated), Ludwig hesitantly brought his hand up to palm his lover's balls, feeling the velvety skin under his fingers as he stroked and squeezed gently. Francis gave an encouraging whimper, and Ludwig continued, pulling back his mouth until he only held the head of Francis’ cock. He tongued the leaking slit and felt the Frenchman's hands in his hair.
Quiet Mornings (3/3)
anonymous
October 17 2010, 13:41:28 UTC
Ludwig breathed through his nose and gave a particularly hard suck. Anyone else would have been undone at that point, but Francis just gave a dry shiver and another hard tug on Ludwig’s hair.
Panting, Ludwig let the cock fall out of his mouth with a wet pop. Just as immediately, he began pressing sloppy kisses all along Francis’ length, moving to tongue the underside of his erection and suck at his balls. Meanwhile his fingers were pressing against Francis’ twitching pucker, but without lube, all Ludwig could do was to rub against the sensitive skin there, stretching it with slow circles.
He wasn’t Francis’ first. Not even close. Francis had had many other lovers, many who gave head with far more technique and a bit less teeth, but when Ludwig looked up, Francis’ cock sucked deep, his face sweaty and flushed and still wearing those damnable glasses, the blonde Frenchman felt his heart seize with this desperate emotion he had been trying to chase away for so long, but it caught him-
“Alle-…mon Dieu, oh…agnnnn…”
Caught him in the curve of Ludwig’s rare smile. Caught him in the way his hair sprung upwards - shaggy and so deliciously out of place - in the mornings. Caught him in every touch and look and unspoken word and beat of his heart which Francis knew matched his own.
“ Je t'aime, l'Allemagne, Je t'aime,” It came out as almost a whisper, given in a voice so raw it hurt to listen to it.
Ludwig startled, almost choked, but at the last minute remembered to open his throat as cum spurted into his mouth, flooding him with the scent, the taste of Francis. Ludwig sucked softly until his blonde lover was dry, and then gently cleaned the softening cock with his tongue.
Francis was trembling, gripping on the counter for purchase, a hard blush on his face, his eyes closed. When Ludwig arose shakily, wiping his mouth with his fingers, Francis turned to look at him.
They just stared for a moment, quiet.
“You said my name,”
“I meant it.” Francis gave a small, sad twitch of his lips. “Désolé, does this unsettle you?”
Ludwig didn’t speak, didn’t want to believe in case it wasn’t true after all, so all he did was move to take Francis in his arms, mouth too jumbled to make sense of what his brain was screaming-
“Ich…” A soft exhale. “Ich liebe dich.” A sharp inhale, uncertain. “Frankreich.”
And there it was. After all the treaties and the wars, the paperwork and the partnerships, moving in together, sharing a bed and a home and a life …
In a quiet moment on a quiet day.
Later, as they were tangled in bedsheets and cooling sweat:
“Je t'aime, ma charmante épouse.” Francis murmured sleepily, pressing a kiss to Ludwig's temple.
“Wife?!” Ludwig shot out of the covers, much to Francis’ amusement. “But you’re the one who wears the … the apron!” He sputtered unconvincingly.
“I assert my duties in bed, non?” France leered, drawing lazy circles on the side of Ludwig’s thigh. “Or don’t you remember why I had to make breakfast this morning…perhaps because you couldn’t stand straight…”
Ludwig merely groaned and sank back into the bedcovers beside Francis’ warmth. That was only true some of the time. Other times he stood just fine thank you very much.
Not OP but <333
anonymous
October 17 2010, 16:47:33 UTC
Oh my god, authoranon, THANK YOU so much for this. I have been craving some France/Germany fluff so much lately I can't even tell you, and this is just delightful. A little smut, a little UST, a delightful affirmation and a little fond humor at the end. Just what I needed. <3
eee authoranon this is just what I was looking for! I love the twist, I do. And Germany wearing his glasses and with his hair out of place was just such an image /squeals
There were mentions of everything in here, and jsut the right balance of fluff! Thank you so much!
Re: Quiet Mornings (3/3)
anonymous
October 18 2010, 00:07:04 UTC
I will never have enough of this pairing. And you wrote it wonderfully, author anon, France's intensity and affectionate nature all in the open to see, but also Germany's quieter, less assured but fierce adoration too. I actually loved the fact that this was from his pov, so we got a full blast of his love for Francis, and seeing Ludwig giving head is rare enough, never seen it for this pairing...and god, I think I love it. I also totally buy into his kink for ponytail!France, yum
There's something extremely romantic and intimate about seeing them confess in their own language ♥
Re: Quiet Mornings (3/3)
anonymous
October 18 2010, 21:11:19 UTC
<333
I don't even know why I like France/Germany so much. It's one of those pairings that just snuck up on me (like surprise buttsecks C:), and now i'm in love with it.
Historical basis, I guess? I can see them like this, or as really good friends.
Re: Quiet Mornings (3/3)
anonymous
November 19 2010, 01:43:49 UTC
Oh mai.... -extremely ear-piercing fangirl squeal- Thank you so much for writing this! My first Germany/Fance fic..and Ahhh I'm in love with this pairing now :D
It was a quiet moment, on a quiet day. One that would never go on the history books.
“Allemagne … what would you like for lunch tomorrow?” There was a soft smile in Francis’ voice as he turned to the counter.
Ludwig did not reply, but he did look up from his paper, through his slim reading glasses, and blush. It had been … going on a couple of years, now, but he was still unused to the sight of Francis (long-limbed, slender Francis) in his kitchen and in his life.
It had taken them so long - so much shattered pride and so many scars - to get to this point. To this quiet kitchen at breakfast time, with Francis in a sensible apron and hair tied back making his lunch. Ludwig put down his coffee and newspaper quietly, giving into this dangerous, smothering urge that was making his heart beat faster.
“Alle-” The rest of Francis’ statement disappeared into the air as he felt Ludwig’s arms snake around his waist and a shy kiss pressed to the back of his neck. Even to Francis, who had loved and lost so many times, this felt like … bliss, enough so to bring an embarrassingly besotted smile to his face. “Allemagne, do you have a thing for my tied hair?” Francis chided gently.
“I just…I…” Ludwig stammered, resting his forehead against the soft curve of Francis’ neck.
All these years, Francis shook his head ruefully, leaning back into that warm embrace, And Allemagne was still so scared. So tentative, every touch gentle. So hesitant to make an affectionate move. But he was learning, Francis thought, smiling, learning that his beloved husband liked to be held and touched and petted, and would return the favor quite nicely.
Ah, and the hair thing. Whenever Francis swept up his hair in a brisk ponytail, Ludwig would come around like a cat towards milk.
The kitchen was warm, with a muted brightness that encouraged lounging about and savoring the slide of skin against skin. Their home, their home, was all honeyed wood and dark green, Francis’ flamboyant boots nestling comfortably against Ludwig’s sensible loafers. Outside came the ardent barks and yips of Ludwig’s German Shepherds as they frolicked in the yard.
The sun was sliding towards noon, but really, they had all day. Although Ludwig was normally an early riser, on their free days they usually slept in quite late. For good reason, Francis thought, with a quirk of his lips dangerously reminiscent of his lecherous past. His hands continued to slice tomatoes.
Ludwig seemed content to stay there all day, softening into the curve of Francis’ back, his breathing slow and fond. He loved the scent of Francis - roses wet with rainwater. “Frankreich,” He mumbled, unthinkingly, his brain flooding with words his mouth didn’t seem able to form. Dangerous words. Ludwig blushed hot, glad that Francis couldn’t see him.
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As a country, Ludwig was so … young. Francis was his first. But Francis had had so many. How would he react if Ludwig unthinkingly spoke these words? Would he be skittish, awkward, backing away with a strained smile? Or would he laugh, because, after all, he had said the same many, many times and not meant a syllable? Ludwig thought that his heart (although this was both scientifically impossible and overdramatic) might crack if Francis did, and so he swallowed his urge to speak, made up for it with a soft kiss pressed to the nape of Francis’ neck that somehow still didn’t feel like enough.
A soft click as France put down the knife and twisted in Ludwig’s grasp. For a fearful second, Ludwig anticipated that his lover might pull away, but all Francis did was turn to hook his arms around Ludwig’s neck and lean back to look at the German with an expression of clear adoration. “Careful, soldier,” Francis’ voice was husky as he leaned close enough for their breaths to mingle. “I’m a married man.”
Ludwig’s heart gave a lurch as he gazed into those bright blue eyes. “Is your husband the jealous type?” He answered gruffly, almost hesitant to be drawn into Francis’ game.
“Oui, very,” Francis purred, pressing them closer together and setting up a slow grind. “He won’t let me even look at another man and I’ve been…so very lonely…”
Not trusting his next words, Ludwig instead, bent to put his lips and teeth to work on Francis’ neck, licking and sucking at the soft skin there, even as his hands rapidly untied the apron strings from his lover’s slim waist. Francis’ soft moans of appreciation sounded like music in the sunshine and warmth.
Off came the apron. Shirt opened to reveal pinched-pink nipples, still gleaming with saliva. Francis’ fashionably slim slacks were unzipped and unbuttoned, pulled down to his ankles. With a last, lingering glance at the long-haired blonde (Francis was flushed, panting lightly, eyes alit with need you now), Ludwig bent his head to take Francis’ throbbing, leaking erection into his mouth.
The strangled moan Francis made, so low in his throat it sounded like an endearment, was all the encouragement Ludwig needed to keep going. He bobbed his head, sucking in as much of Francis as his mouth and throat would allow, then pulling back with an obscene slurp. It was in Ludwig’s nature to do things efficiently. But love, he learned, should not be the same. Francis had been showing him how, and, while normally he would have been far too embarrassed to put these techniques into practice, today, with the warmth and the sun and the smell of breakfast still lingering in the air, Ludwig blushingly decided that he would … try.
Like Francis had showed him (deliciously demonstrated), Ludwig hesitantly brought his hand up to palm his lover's balls, feeling the velvety skin under his fingers as he stroked and squeezed gently. Francis gave an encouraging whimper, and Ludwig continued, pulling back his mouth until he only held the head of Francis’ cock. He tongued the leaking slit and felt the Frenchman's hands in his hair.
“Ahnnn…oh, Allemagne, I…I…”
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Ludwig breathed through his nose and gave a particularly hard suck. Anyone else would have been undone at that point, but Francis just gave a dry shiver and another hard tug on Ludwig’s hair.
Panting, Ludwig let the cock fall out of his mouth with a wet pop. Just as immediately, he began pressing sloppy kisses all along Francis’ length, moving to tongue the underside of his erection and suck at his balls. Meanwhile his fingers were pressing against Francis’ twitching pucker, but without lube, all Ludwig could do was to rub against the sensitive skin there, stretching it with slow circles.
He wasn’t Francis’ first. Not even close. Francis had had many other lovers, many who gave head with far more technique and a bit less teeth, but when Ludwig looked up, Francis’ cock sucked deep, his face sweaty and flushed and still wearing those damnable glasses, the blonde Frenchman felt his heart seize with this desperate emotion he had been trying to chase away for so long, but it caught him-
“Alle-…mon Dieu, oh…agnnnn…”
Caught him in the curve of Ludwig’s rare smile. Caught him in the way his hair sprung upwards - shaggy and so deliciously out of place - in the mornings. Caught him in every touch and look and unspoken word and beat of his heart which Francis knew matched his own.
“ Je t'aime, l'Allemagne, Je t'aime,” It came out as almost a whisper, given in a voice so raw it hurt to listen to it.
Ludwig startled, almost choked, but at the last minute remembered to open his throat as cum spurted into his mouth, flooding him with the scent, the taste of Francis. Ludwig sucked softly until his blonde lover was dry, and then gently cleaned the softening cock with his tongue.
Francis was trembling, gripping on the counter for purchase, a hard blush on his face, his eyes closed. When Ludwig arose shakily, wiping his mouth with his fingers, Francis turned to look at him.
They just stared for a moment, quiet.
“You said my name,”
“I meant it.” Francis gave a small, sad twitch of his lips. “Désolé, does this unsettle you?”
Ludwig didn’t speak, didn’t want to believe in case it wasn’t true after all, so all he did was move to take Francis in his arms, mouth too jumbled to make sense of what his brain was screaming-
“Ich…” A soft exhale. “Ich liebe dich.” A sharp inhale, uncertain. “Frankreich.”
And there it was. After all the treaties and the wars, the paperwork and the partnerships, moving in together, sharing a bed and a home and a life …
In a quiet moment on a quiet day.
Later, as they were tangled in bedsheets and cooling sweat:
“Je t'aime, ma charmante épouse.” Francis murmured sleepily, pressing a kiss to Ludwig's temple.
“Wife?!” Ludwig shot out of the covers, much to Francis’ amusement. “But you’re the one who wears the … the apron!” He sputtered unconvincingly.
“I assert my duties in bed, non?” France leered, drawing lazy circles on the side of Ludwig’s thigh. “Or don’t you remember why I had to make breakfast this morning…perhaps because you couldn’t stand straight…”
Ludwig merely groaned and sank back into the bedcovers beside Francis’ warmth. That was only true some of the time. Other times he stood just fine thank you very much.
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Love this fluffy couple, this meme needs more of them!
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There were mentions of everything in here, and jsut the right balance of fluff! Thank you so much!
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this was just so sweet--gah. lovelovelove.
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There's something extremely romantic and intimate about seeing them confess in their own language ♥
and yes, France tops :D
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Thank you for cheering me up, making me smile, and understand love just a tiny bit better. <3
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<33333 thank you
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I don't even know why I like France/Germany so much. It's one of those pairings that just snuck up on me (like surprise buttsecks C:), and now i'm in love with it.
Historical basis, I guess? I can see them like this, or as really good friends.
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it's so... perfect adslkfjdsalkgj i don't even...
/still squealing
^^
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-extremely ear-piercing fangirl squeal-
Thank you so much for writing this!
My first Germany/Fance fic..and Ahhh I'm in love with this pairing now :D
Awesome job!
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