Smut 69 :: #45 :: FrUK :: Hetalia [Canonverse]
#45: Propositions
Author: Auto-Alchemechanicist
Pairing/Fandom: FrUK/Hetalia
Hima-papa owns Hetalia.
Challenge: Smut_69 http://smut-69.livejournal.com/400818.html
A/N: This was probably my first smut fic. I think I did alright considering all the gay.
Things to know: Sadly, this does not take place in the Nurse Arthur AU that I love with all my heart, but it is canonverse, so it is still chill. Basically, it’s England and France being angry with one another (when aren’t they?) and they get a little carried away. So enjoy. :3
England struggled with keeping his breath steady. He wanted to bring in air, but it seemed to be impossible with France kissing him. They were not drunk this time. On their very first night, they had been drinking in England’s home to get rid of a few sorrows they had bothering them. In the heat of the moment, they got carried away and ended up having sex on the living room floor. But this time, it was completely different.
One minute, they were angry with one another, and the next, France was pushing England against the wall, looking into his eyes with confused emotions. England wanted to punch him (they had been arguing over the usual political conflicts between their countries), but he didn’t know if that was wise. He did regret not putting his fist through the Frenchman’s face when he started kissing him. He wanted his lips off, his hands away, his body in another city. But as France kept kissing him, the Brit began to let go of his thoughts and his body began to take over. His body was telling him he needed to be touched, but his mind was screaming to reject the idea. He could survive without such touches or kisses. But he succumbed, nonetheless. It was rather useless; France knew how to control his hands, and he knew when and where to place them. He caressed England’s face delicately, running his fingers through the soft skin and sending shivers down his back. That caused England to press his body to France’s, wrapping his arms around his neck to support himself. France’s hands strayed to his hips, teasingly groping a bit of skin and making England’s body jerk.
“Stop that, you…twat…” he mumbled against his lips, opening his eyes and glaring at him. But France was concentrating at the moment, tasting his lips, opening them wider so he could have better access. But with that, came resistance from the Brit, and he felt his tongue against his, fighting for dominance of the situation. France took control, however, by sliding his hand under the back of England’s shirt, feeling up the skin that was beginning to tremble under his touch.
England gasped. “Fran…cis….”
France didn’t stop kissing him, but he did open his eyes in surprise at that. They never addressed each other by names, except if it was a serious matter. And apparently, this was part of those moments.
“I…can’t….,” England panted out.
Francis closed his eyes again after hearing that and kissed him harder. He couldn’t what? Go on with this?
He moved his mouth to England’s jaw line, kissing the sensitive skin as the Brit stood against France.
“Not…here…” he continued to mumble.
Once France heard that, he wrapped an arm around England’s waist and carried him over his shoulder, trying to balance himself with the weight of his lover.
“Put me down, you git!” England yelled as he pounded his fists onto France’s back, but he didn’t seem to faze him as he walked and kicked open England’s bedroom door.
He lied him down on the mattress before he crawled above him, placing his arms on either side of England’s face. He leaned down to kiss him and his hands went to work on that shirt of his.
“Angleterre…,” France whispered, “what if I said I love you?”
England panted as he felt him touch his chest. “What?” he asked shakily.
France began working on his neck, nipping and sucking as gently as he could, but also making England moan loudly as he gave his skin a deep suck. That felt good and he knew it.
He ran his lips against England’s chest and he felt him shudder a little more roughly, and heard him moan in a very pleasurable way.
“Francis, ohh, that feels so ohhhh.”
The Frenchman smirked. If his kisses made him do that, how would he react to his tongue?
He tried it and he seemed to elicit louder cries and made England rock his hips, causing France’s pants to tighten.
He felt very hot and had only noticed he was still fully dressed when he was pulling down England’s trousers.
“Take off your bloody clothes, wanker,” England whispered, his eyes shut from how wonderful he felt. But as France took off his shirt, he felt England help him, almost ripping it off from him due to impatience. England sat up and kissed him hungrily, as if he didn’t want for them to part at all, no space in between their lips. He dragged him down and France stroked his hair with one hand as the other trailed down his side.
“Mmm,” he moaned, his face relaxing with the touches he felt.
France panted as he removed his lips from England’s, making his way down his body and prompting the Brit to spread his legs with his fingers.
“Arthur?” France asked, keeping his voice steady.
England was too high up in the clouds to want to talk, only responding to him because he gathered enough energy through the bliss.
“What if I said I love you?” he asked again, massaging England’s legs slowly.
“I’d say you’re lying,” England answered, becoming frustrated with his voice and the way his legs were being handled. He groaned.
“But what if I spoke the truth, hm?” France tried again, his lips contorting into a smile.
His hand had trailed to England’s crotch, moving his fingers in a circular motion along the crook of his leg, making him squirm and arch his back. God, that felt good, and he didn’t hesitate to let out a small squeak.
He wasn’t giving him a chance to think here. France asked him something, but he couldn’t concentrate with so much pleasure. He was just so excited, so ecstatic, and he didn’t care what was happening at the moment as long as he kept feeling the pleasure.
“Then, I’d say fuck you,” he mumbled. “Or fuck me, I don’t know…”
France pouted. “What if I showed you I love you?”
England didn’t like these questions. He didn’t like talking during sex. It was something he had discovered in the past. To him, talking was a waste of time; if he was going to fuck, or get fucked, he wanted to feel the sensation during that time. There was no time for talking for him. He couldn’t formulate decent words for a conversation, anyway, so what was the point?
“What if I killed you right now?” England asked, thrashing his head from side to side as he felt France’s breath around his groin.
“Hm, well, that wouldn’t be fair, now would it?” France questioned as his fingers caressed the skin along England’s cock. England gasped, rolling his head and gripping the sheets around him.
“You’re not being fair with me!” he panted out, almost yelling at France. “What do you want from me?” he whined, feeling the need to complain during such a time.
“Let me love you,” France proposed. “Let me show you how much I love you.”
England didn’t know what to do. He felt heat everywhere, and in his most sensitive area, there was a Frenchman hovering over with his breath.
“Then, love me, you idiot,” he gave in, not being able to put up much of a fight.
But he felt like ripping apart the mattress when he felt France take his dick in his mouth, sucking on it and nipping lightly against the tip. He spread his legs a little more and adjusted his position as he brought a hand to his mouth to cover his cries.
He was going to destroy something from so much pleasure.
“Oh, God, Francis!”
He kept groaning and began to cry out when he felt close to climaxing.
“Ahh, Franci…oh, yes, ohhh!”
France felt him come and had to remove himself when he felt like gagging. He wiped his mouth with his hand, having a little bit of England’s seed running down his chin.
“I told you I loved you,” France said as he grinned, looking at him with impish eyes.
England just panted, trying to recollect as much air as he could, and clearing his vision by blinking away a few of his tears. When was the last time he felt that good?
“Do you want me…to congratulate you?” he asked, finding enough breath to speak.
“The least you can do is say ‘thank you’,” France said, still grinning.
England chuckled. “Thank you?” he asked as he sat up, looking at him through clouded eyes. “I thought love was all about ‘unconditional things’,” he said before he crawled towards France.
“So if the least I can do is thank you, then, maybe I should show you the most I can do, hm?”
France blinked in confusion. “What are you talking ab-”
The Brit didn’t allow him to finish as he pushed him onto the bed. “What if I said I love you?” England repeated France’s question, smirking and pressing his body against his.
“What are you going to offer me?” France asked, liking what England was doing. Who was he to reject affection?
“I guess,” England looked him up and down, “the most I can do is love you back.”
France liked the idea very much.
“But, I’m going to do this my way,” England began.
France didn’t know what to think with that.
“Although I appreciate you leaving my hands be, I’m not so generous,” England began kissing him and tracing France’s arms with his hands until he reached his palms and slowly brought them above his head. He removed one of his hands and let it dig around his pillow, searching for something until he pulled it out. France felt him tie his wrists together with something that felt rough, yet smooth.
England chuckled darkly as France realized he had tied his hands to the bed rest.
“What is this?”
“I love you, Francis,” England said as he began to kiss his body. “Now, I’m going to show you just how much I love you.”
---
A/N: I want to write a part II for this someday.
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Author: Auto-Alchemechanicist
Pairing/Fandom: FrUK/Hetalia
Hima-papa owns Hetalia.
Challenge: Smut_69 http://smut-69.livejournal.com/400818.html
A/N: This was probably my first smut fic. I think I did alright considering all the gay.
Things to know: Sadly, this does not take place in the Nurse Arthur AU that I love with all my heart, but it is canonverse, so it is still chill. Basically, it’s England and France being angry with one another (when aren’t they?) and they get a little carried away. So enjoy. :3
England struggled with keeping his breath steady. He wanted to bring in air, but it seemed to be impossible with France kissing him. They were not drunk this time. On their very first night, they had been drinking in England’s home to get rid of a few sorrows they had bothering them. In the heat of the moment, they got carried away and ended up having sex on the living room floor. But this time, it was completely different.
One minute, they were angry with one another, and the next, France was pushing England against the wall, looking into his eyes with confused emotions. England wanted to punch him (they had been arguing over the usual political conflicts between their countries), but he didn’t know if that was wise. He did regret not putting his fist through the Frenchman’s face when he started kissing him. He wanted his lips off, his hands away, his body in another city. But as France kept kissing him, the Brit began to let go of his thoughts and his body began to take over. His body was telling him he needed to be touched, but his mind was screaming to reject the idea. He could survive without such touches or kisses. But he succumbed, nonetheless. It was rather useless; France knew how to control his hands, and he knew when and where to place them. He caressed England’s face delicately, running his fingers through the soft skin and sending shivers down his back. That caused England to press his body to France’s, wrapping his arms around his neck to support himself. France’s hands strayed to his hips, teasingly groping a bit of skin and making England’s body jerk.
“Stop that, you…twat…” he mumbled against his lips, opening his eyes and glaring at him. But France was concentrating at the moment, tasting his lips, opening them wider so he could have better access. But with that, came resistance from the Brit, and he felt his tongue against his, fighting for dominance of the situation. France took control, however, by sliding his hand under the back of England’s shirt, feeling up the skin that was beginning to tremble under his touch.
England gasped. “Fran…cis….”
France didn’t stop kissing him, but he did open his eyes in surprise at that. They never addressed each other by names, except if it was a serious matter. And apparently, this was part of those moments.
“I…can’t….,” England panted out.
Francis closed his eyes again after hearing that and kissed him harder. He couldn’t what? Go on with this?
He moved his mouth to England’s jaw line, kissing the sensitive skin as the Brit stood against France.
“Not…here…” he continued to mumble.
Once France heard that, he wrapped an arm around England’s waist and carried him over his shoulder, trying to balance himself with the weight of his lover.
“Put me down, you git!” England yelled as he pounded his fists onto France’s back, but he didn’t seem to faze him as he walked and kicked open England’s bedroom door.
He lied him down on the mattress before he crawled above him, placing his arms on either side of England’s face. He leaned down to kiss him and his hands went to work on that shirt of his.
“Angleterre…,” France whispered, “what if I said I love you?”
England panted as he felt him touch his chest. “What?” he asked shakily.
France began working on his neck, nipping and sucking as gently as he could, but also making England moan loudly as he gave his skin a deep suck. That felt good and he knew it.
He ran his lips against England’s chest and he felt him shudder a little more roughly, and heard him moan in a very pleasurable way.
“Francis, ohh, that feels so ohhhh.”
The Frenchman smirked. If his kisses made him do that, how would he react to his tongue?
He tried it and he seemed to elicit louder cries and made England rock his hips, causing France’s pants to tighten.
He felt very hot and had only noticed he was still fully dressed when he was pulling down England’s trousers.
“Take off your bloody clothes, wanker,” England whispered, his eyes shut from how wonderful he felt. But as France took off his shirt, he felt England help him, almost ripping it off from him due to impatience. England sat up and kissed him hungrily, as if he didn’t want for them to part at all, no space in between their lips. He dragged him down and France stroked his hair with one hand as the other trailed down his side.
“Mmm,” he moaned, his face relaxing with the touches he felt.
France panted as he removed his lips from England’s, making his way down his body and prompting the Brit to spread his legs with his fingers.
“Arthur?” France asked, keeping his voice steady.
England was too high up in the clouds to want to talk, only responding to him because he gathered enough energy through the bliss.
“What if I said I love you?” he asked again, massaging England’s legs slowly.
“I’d say you’re lying,” England answered, becoming frustrated with his voice and the way his legs were being handled. He groaned.
“But what if I spoke the truth, hm?” France tried again, his lips contorting into a smile.
His hand had trailed to England’s crotch, moving his fingers in a circular motion along the crook of his leg, making him squirm and arch his back. God, that felt good, and he didn’t hesitate to let out a small squeak.
He wasn’t giving him a chance to think here. France asked him something, but he couldn’t concentrate with so much pleasure. He was just so excited, so ecstatic, and he didn’t care what was happening at the moment as long as he kept feeling the pleasure.
“Then, I’d say fuck you,” he mumbled. “Or fuck me, I don’t know…”
France pouted. “What if I showed you I love you?”
England didn’t like these questions. He didn’t like talking during sex. It was something he had discovered in the past. To him, talking was a waste of time; if he was going to fuck, or get fucked, he wanted to feel the sensation during that time. There was no time for talking for him. He couldn’t formulate decent words for a conversation, anyway, so what was the point?
“What if I killed you right now?” England asked, thrashing his head from side to side as he felt France’s breath around his groin.
“Hm, well, that wouldn’t be fair, now would it?” France questioned as his fingers caressed the skin along England’s cock. England gasped, rolling his head and gripping the sheets around him.
“You’re not being fair with me!” he panted out, almost yelling at France. “What do you want from me?” he whined, feeling the need to complain during such a time.
“Let me love you,” France proposed. “Let me show you how much I love you.”
England didn’t know what to do. He felt heat everywhere, and in his most sensitive area, there was a Frenchman hovering over with his breath.
“Then, love me, you idiot,” he gave in, not being able to put up much of a fight.
But he felt like ripping apart the mattress when he felt France take his dick in his mouth, sucking on it and nipping lightly against the tip. He spread his legs a little more and adjusted his position as he brought a hand to his mouth to cover his cries.
He was going to destroy something from so much pleasure.
“Oh, God, Francis!”
He kept groaning and began to cry out when he felt close to climaxing.
“Ahh, Franci…oh, yes, ohhh!”
France felt him come and had to remove himself when he felt like gagging. He wiped his mouth with his hand, having a little bit of England’s seed running down his chin.
“I told you I loved you,” France said as he grinned, looking at him with impish eyes.
England just panted, trying to recollect as much air as he could, and clearing his vision by blinking away a few of his tears. When was the last time he felt that good?
“Do you want me…to congratulate you?” he asked, finding enough breath to speak.
“The least you can do is say ‘thank you’,” France said, still grinning.
England chuckled. “Thank you?” he asked as he sat up, looking at him through clouded eyes. “I thought love was all about ‘unconditional things’,” he said before he crawled towards France.
“So if the least I can do is thank you, then, maybe I should show you the most I can do, hm?”
France blinked in confusion. “What are you talking ab-”
The Brit didn’t allow him to finish as he pushed him onto the bed. “What if I said I love you?” England repeated France’s question, smirking and pressing his body against his.
“What are you going to offer me?” France asked, liking what England was doing. Who was he to reject affection?
“I guess,” England looked him up and down, “the most I can do is love you back.”
France liked the idea very much.
“But, I’m going to do this my way,” England began.
France didn’t know what to think with that.
“Although I appreciate you leaving my hands be, I’m not so generous,” England began kissing him and tracing France’s arms with his hands until he reached his palms and slowly brought them above his head. He removed one of his hands and let it dig around his pillow, searching for something until he pulled it out. France felt him tie his wrists together with something that felt rough, yet smooth.
England chuckled darkly as France realized he had tied his hands to the bed rest.
“What is this?”
“I love you, Francis,” England said as he began to kiss his body. “Now, I’m going to show you just how much I love you.”
---
A/N: I want to write a part II for this someday.
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