Breakfast, Baby
Title: Breakfast (because I couldn't care to think of something better)
Pairing(s): France/Canada, onesided.
Rating: M COS IT HAS SEXINGS
Fandom: What the hell you know what fandom it is.
Word Count: 1,067 words
Breakfast at Matthew’s house was a generally pleasant affair. Francis had been visiting every Sunday morning for decades. And Matthew was always making the most delicious pancakes (he still preferred crepes, but anyone in their right mind would). He had become more comfortable with this tradition of late, and had lost some of the presumptuous air and manner he would hold in his son’s house. It had been better for the both of them anyway. But Francis had never stopped hating the feeling of getting maple syrup on his hands. So much so that he could not help but use multiple napkins in one sitting (when his son had stopped using cloth napkins, and started using the barely-permitting paper sort, he would not want to know) and one morning, after a particularly messy breakfast, Francis realized that there was nothing to wipe his hands on, save the tablecloth - something he would not like to think about - or his clothes - which made him almost physically wince - so he would have to deal with sticky fingers; but then, he realized, he was Francis Bonnefoy, who would not deal with mediocre anything. So he ruled to act disgruntled until Matthew noticed and brought him more napkins. Passive-aggressive, but foolproof. It did not take long.
“Uh, Francis? What’s the problem?” Matthew looked at his father figure inquisitively, until he saw him tentatively pick up his fork and understood the problem. Francis had syrup on his fingers. Abruptly grabbing the Frenchman’s hand, Francis could not have expected the next action for the life of him, nor could he have hoped for anything better. Matthew Willliams, who France had previously accused of prudishness, had put Francis’ index finger into his mouth. He sucked on the digit slowly, thoroughly, and Francis could not help but watch in amazement. What was this new Matthew? This flirting, seductive Matthew he had never seen before? He loved it.
Matthew was not seducing Francis, nor was he trying to flirt with him or display sexual interest of any sort (not that Francis wasn’t attractive he just wouldn’t do that) but in fact, he was only trying to clean his guest’s fingers off. It was polite host behavior. He looked up at Francis then, whose eyebrows were arched up and was blushing…maybe he didn’t think it was appropriate. But they were out of napkins, Matthew reasoned, so he would have to suck it up and deal. And from the way he was squirming and biting his lip, he sure wasn’t handling it well. Matthew tried to hurry then, he didn’t want him to stop coming over. He took Francis’ finger out of his mouth with a soft, wet ‘pop’ and slipped his mouth over the middle digit, licking the underside of his finger, rubbing a little harshly to get a spot of syrup off. He sucked at the tip, trying to get some out from under his fingernails - how did that happen, anyway - and smiled up at his father (figure) who was looking shocked. He would understand, surely, as he pulled his mouth off that finger and moved on to the pinky.
Francis was aroused as hell. Francis could not have been more aroused if he had tried. Watching his beloved Matthew sucking at his fingers was like a show he thought he wasn’t supposed to see but was so glad he did. And his mouth was so wonderfully hot. He stood up suddenly, looking at Matthew with what he hoped was not desire and was instead apathy or disgruntlement. Matt just stared up at him with those beautiful blue eyes and he cleared his throat, dreadfully pleased at the height of the table in accordance with his groin.
“Mathieu, excusez moi,” he managed to say semi-firmly before fleeing to the bathroom.
He clicked the door shut and slumped against it, sighing and staring at his pants. He could have asked Matthew to take care of this problem for him, who knows what he would have said. But he had chosen to run. He refused to acknowledge that as French instinct as he unzipped his jeans and ran a hand over his arousal, shivering. His hand was not as hot as Matthew’s mouth, but it would do the trick until he could get home and prey on some innocent creature at the local bar. He thought of Matthew, sitting there, innocent as could be as he sucked his fingers, and he thought of how good that mouth would feel on his manhood, and Francis let out a soft moan. He stroked softly, enjoying the sensation far too greatly considering the fact he was on the floor of Matthew’s bathroom, thinking of all the ways he could be sucking him off. That tongue!
“Mon dieu,” he murmured, arching a little off the floor, his fingers warm and inviting, telling him to keep going. He swirled his thumb across the tip of his erection, swiping the precum off and wishing Matthew was as keen to lick it off as he was to suckle syrup off him. He thrust into his hand as he imagined Matthew, taking him in his mouth all the way, looking at him with those icy cobalt eyes, using that tongue for such naughty things, letting him ravish his mouth and how much he wanted to cum all over his pretty face. He would help him wipe it off the same way Matt had helped him with his fingers.
“Oh, Canada!” He whimpered softly, bucking into his hand one final time before coming hot and hard into his hand, coating his fingers in his sticky white fluid. He mused in his head whether Matthew would be as likely to help him with that but instead, took a page from his sort-of-son’s book and licked it off his hand. He saw no shame in that, although it was a tad salty.
“Uh, Francis?” He heard a quiet knock on the bathroom door. Sighing, he stood up, pulled up his pants and answered as levelly as he could, considering what he had just done.
“Mathieu?” A pause. Was he that obvious?
“Are you…okay? I mean, if I offended you that badly, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, it was just…” Francis opened the door.
“Mathieu. I was only washing my hands, I did not want you to trouble yourself. But I don’t think I did a thorough enough job…perhaps you finish could?”
Pairing(s): France/Canada, onesided.
Rating: M COS IT HAS SEXINGS
Fandom: What the hell you know what fandom it is.
Word Count: 1,067 words
Breakfast at Matthew’s house was a generally pleasant affair. Francis had been visiting every Sunday morning for decades. And Matthew was always making the most delicious pancakes (he still preferred crepes, but anyone in their right mind would). He had become more comfortable with this tradition of late, and had lost some of the presumptuous air and manner he would hold in his son’s house. It had been better for the both of them anyway. But Francis had never stopped hating the feeling of getting maple syrup on his hands. So much so that he could not help but use multiple napkins in one sitting (when his son had stopped using cloth napkins, and started using the barely-permitting paper sort, he would not want to know) and one morning, after a particularly messy breakfast, Francis realized that there was nothing to wipe his hands on, save the tablecloth - something he would not like to think about - or his clothes - which made him almost physically wince - so he would have to deal with sticky fingers; but then, he realized, he was Francis Bonnefoy, who would not deal with mediocre anything. So he ruled to act disgruntled until Matthew noticed and brought him more napkins. Passive-aggressive, but foolproof. It did not take long.
“Uh, Francis? What’s the problem?” Matthew looked at his father figure inquisitively, until he saw him tentatively pick up his fork and understood the problem. Francis had syrup on his fingers. Abruptly grabbing the Frenchman’s hand, Francis could not have expected the next action for the life of him, nor could he have hoped for anything better. Matthew Willliams, who France had previously accused of prudishness, had put Francis’ index finger into his mouth. He sucked on the digit slowly, thoroughly, and Francis could not help but watch in amazement. What was this new Matthew? This flirting, seductive Matthew he had never seen before? He loved it.
Matthew was not seducing Francis, nor was he trying to flirt with him or display sexual interest of any sort (not that Francis wasn’t attractive he just wouldn’t do that) but in fact, he was only trying to clean his guest’s fingers off. It was polite host behavior. He looked up at Francis then, whose eyebrows were arched up and was blushing…maybe he didn’t think it was appropriate. But they were out of napkins, Matthew reasoned, so he would have to suck it up and deal. And from the way he was squirming and biting his lip, he sure wasn’t handling it well. Matthew tried to hurry then, he didn’t want him to stop coming over. He took Francis’ finger out of his mouth with a soft, wet ‘pop’ and slipped his mouth over the middle digit, licking the underside of his finger, rubbing a little harshly to get a spot of syrup off. He sucked at the tip, trying to get some out from under his fingernails - how did that happen, anyway - and smiled up at his father (figure) who was looking shocked. He would understand, surely, as he pulled his mouth off that finger and moved on to the pinky.
Francis was aroused as hell. Francis could not have been more aroused if he had tried. Watching his beloved Matthew sucking at his fingers was like a show he thought he wasn’t supposed to see but was so glad he did. And his mouth was so wonderfully hot. He stood up suddenly, looking at Matthew with what he hoped was not desire and was instead apathy or disgruntlement. Matt just stared up at him with those beautiful blue eyes and he cleared his throat, dreadfully pleased at the height of the table in accordance with his groin.
“Mathieu, excusez moi,” he managed to say semi-firmly before fleeing to the bathroom.
He clicked the door shut and slumped against it, sighing and staring at his pants. He could have asked Matthew to take care of this problem for him, who knows what he would have said. But he had chosen to run. He refused to acknowledge that as French instinct as he unzipped his jeans and ran a hand over his arousal, shivering. His hand was not as hot as Matthew’s mouth, but it would do the trick until he could get home and prey on some innocent creature at the local bar. He thought of Matthew, sitting there, innocent as could be as he sucked his fingers, and he thought of how good that mouth would feel on his manhood, and Francis let out a soft moan. He stroked softly, enjoying the sensation far too greatly considering the fact he was on the floor of Matthew’s bathroom, thinking of all the ways he could be sucking him off. That tongue!
“Mon dieu,” he murmured, arching a little off the floor, his fingers warm and inviting, telling him to keep going. He swirled his thumb across the tip of his erection, swiping the precum off and wishing Matthew was as keen to lick it off as he was to suckle syrup off him. He thrust into his hand as he imagined Matthew, taking him in his mouth all the way, looking at him with those icy cobalt eyes, using that tongue for such naughty things, letting him ravish his mouth and how much he wanted to cum all over his pretty face. He would help him wipe it off the same way Matt had helped him with his fingers.
“Oh, Canada!” He whimpered softly, bucking into his hand one final time before coming hot and hard into his hand, coating his fingers in his sticky white fluid. He mused in his head whether Matthew would be as likely to help him with that but instead, took a page from his sort-of-son’s book and licked it off his hand. He saw no shame in that, although it was a tad salty.
“Uh, Francis?” He heard a quiet knock on the bathroom door. Sighing, he stood up, pulled up his pants and answered as levelly as he could, considering what he had just done.
“Mathieu?” A pause. Was he that obvious?
“Are you…okay? I mean, if I offended you that badly, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, it was just…” Francis opened the door.
“Mathieu. I was only washing my hands, I did not want you to trouble yourself. But I don’t think I did a thorough enough job…perhaps you finish could?”