France/Prussia 1
Title: Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing: France/Prussia
Rating: M
Warning: Mansex.
Summary: Unattached and occasionally lonely, Francis and Gilbert turn to each other to satisfy their sexual urges. But of course, as friends who always have to find a way to be victorious over the other, it's never as simple as just having sex. When one of them loses this bet, he's going to be anything but happy about it.
Though nobody could say that these nights happened with any sort of regularity, truth be told they were not all that infrequent either. They were always friends, no matter what, but when they were not romantically involved with one lover or another Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio spent more time together than they did apart. There was nothing more than a brotherly sort of love between them and they were more than happy to keep it that way, but being as close as they were, there were certain… things they could help each other with.
Though Francis was the sort who would find his pleasure in pretty much any willing and warm body, and Antonio had a few other lovers, for Gilbert the two of them were it. It probably stemmed from his roots as a priest, but even centuries later the albino could not fathom the thought of having any sort of sexual relationship with someone he did not already know intimately. It had taken Francis and Antonio two hundred years, for example, to finally get him in bed. The only reason it had even happened then was because they got him rather drunk, first, and then proceeded to give him one hell of a show.
“You need to loosen up, Gil,” Francis had trilled from his position atop Antonio’s lap, hands buried beneath the white fabric of the Spaniard’s shirt. For his part, the darker skinned man just let his head loll back, a half silly yet still somehow all sexy grin covering his face as Francis drew little purrs and groans from that devilish mouth. The next thing he remembered fully was waking up naked in a tangle of limbs on the bed, but the flashes of what happened before that were all kinds of awesome.
Needless to say, it became somewhat of a tradition. A tradition that carried the three of them through the rough and lonely patches and helped heal them from the breakups, at least a little. They always had each other’s backs, were always there to support one another, no matter what. That’s not to say they didn’t necessarily make a competition out of it once in a while - being them, or rather, being Francis and Gilbert, meant that happened more than once.
And that is where our story begins…
-
At this point in time, on nights like these, it was just the two of them. They both knew Antonio was making himself [i]known[/i] in Belgium and couldn’t be happier for him. Gilbert would easily admit the woman was nice on the eyes and Francis would extol the sweet nature of his little cousin for a good ten minutes if you let him - they were both pleased that their friend had found someone to love.
But, on the other hand, that meant everything was going to be a competition. Antonio had always been the mediator between the two of them, the one who calmed things down when one of the group got a little testy. Though it’s true that they care deeply for one another and are, without a doubt, best friends, Gilbert and Francis were arguing about something more often than they weren’t. What was better, beer or wine? Who was hotter, me or you? Who’s dick was longer, let’s get out the ruler.
That last one Antonio had to ALWAYS make sure he nipped in the bud, before whoever truly was longer got their tip nipped off in revenge. But Antonio wasn’t here now and, as it always eventually did, somehow their odd relationship became a competition. The weight of Francis’ head on his shoulder wasn’t unwelcome and the warmth of his body along his side was comforting - their romp in the sheets had been refreshing and exhausting all at once; just what he needed after a troublesome day.
Running a lethargic hand through the mess blond hair resting against him, a smirk tinged his words as Gilbert spoke, “You play the woman so well.” Knowing the other man would have a fit at that statement, he grabbed both of Francis’ wrists and held them away from his body - good thing, too, as he was narrowly able to avoid what would have been a very solid punch to the gut. A smirk touched his lips then and traveled to his voice, “Aww, don’t get mad Frog, it’s true.”
“You are a barbarian,” was the quick retort, “and a dimwitted and uncultured one at that.” Slender wrists twisted out of the grip on them with ease and Francis pushed himself upward, sitting up slightly and hovering over the other man, “Not to mention quite the misogynist.” He paused then, to let a little smirk cover his lips, “I wonder what Eliza would think of that.”
The corner of one eye twitched at that last sentence - he’d kill the frog fucker if he told her anything of the sort; he got hit with frying pans enough as it was. But still, he couldn’t let one little veiled threat give Francis the victory here. The smirk that crossed his face was at least three times the size of Francis’ and far more dirty, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what a sissy you really are.” Twirling a finger in the air, he then placed his hand on Francis’ chest and pushed lightly, “Go ahead, get on your back again, I’ll make y’feel better about it.”
He truly cared for his friend, he did, but Gilbert certainly knew how to push his buttons, “You think so highly of yourself, but you are wrong in this.” This time he was the one to grab wrists as he spoke, pressing them both down into the bed beside Gilbert’s head, “I am on top more often than not, I only allow you the position so often because to do otherwise would wound your fragile pride.” The semi-feral growl and snarl of disagreement from the Prussian was both expected and, therefore, amusing, “I could have you in two seconds if I so chose.”
“Pfft, bullshit,” was the challenging response, “you couldn’t have a wet paper bag without its permission.” If Antonio were here, he would have sighed - there is was, challenge and response laid down with barely a preamble. They were both so childish, sometimes. As though to prove his point, Gilbert sat up himself and shoved at his friend, pushing him slightly off balance, “You couldn’t take me if your life depended on it.”
Fire flamed to life in Francis’ eyes at that comment; he was a passionate man by nature and he did not take such wayward remarks well. In an instant his hand was on the back of Gilbert’s neck, gripping just enough to hinder his escape, “We shall see about that.” Yanking backwards, he managed to pull Gilbert back down onto the bed and straddle his hips all in one fluid moment, pinning the other man down with the weight of his body, “You will not be so cocky in a moment, my friend.”
A chuckle greeted that statement and there was still one hell of a cocky grin pasted on Gilbert’s face, “On top of me already?” A shrug rolled across his shoulders, the man still so completely at ease, “Figures you’d give up before we started, but I do know how much you like to ride my cock.” The grin on his face was positively wicked, goading Francis on with every word, “What can I say, I know it’s awesome.”
A scoff quickly escaped Francis at that, though he kept the sound quiet - how he had managed to befriend someone so utterly ridiculous at times escaped him, but then they went through a crisis together and he remembered - Gilbert was genuinely a good person. That did not mean he did not need to be taken down a peg or two every so often, though. So, without bothering to respond, he leaned forward and grabbed the other’s wrists again, enclosing them in an iron grip. He had been inside Gilbert twice before now, so clearly the Prussian was already just running his mouth, but he would gladly do it again if need be.
“Ignoring me now, Frog?” Bucking his hips up, Gilbert made sure to drag his crotch against the other man’s as firmly as he could, “That’s a bitch move.” When even that did not get a rise out of Francis, he decided to up the stakes, “Fine, y’wine bastard.” Lifting one leg, he managed to press it firmly between Francis’, grinding against him as he spoke, “Let’s bet on it, then. Whoever loses has to do what the other says, so when you get ass fucked again you have to be my slave for the next twenty four hours.”
Holding in a sigh, Francis once again lamented the impending death of romance. Even in a game like this, the partners could still engage in the dance, but clearly Gilbert was both too inebriated and not near cultured enough to play. But still, he would accept the terms because, honestly, Gilbert having to obey his every beck and call for an entire day was certainly a welcome prospect, “Fine. I will accept your challenge.” Now it was his turn to laugh as he spoke, already imagining all the fun he would have, “You will be cute, cleaning my kitchen in nothing but an apron.”
It was Gilbert’s turn to huff, this time at the very audacity of that suggestion, “No way, Frog. I ain’t gonna be the one who loses.” Still grinding his leg against the other man, he was at least pleased to realize that his ministrations were starting to work, “You’ll be the one cleaning my messes. I’ll make sure to make plenty, just for you.” And with that, the game was on. They never formally announced when a competition started - there was no bang of a gun, no wave of a flag, no “Ready, Set, Go!” There was just them, as always, playing the games that their friendship had developed over centuries. Losing was not an option, to either of them.
The fight that ensued between them was vicious. They pulled no punches when it came to the other, spared no opportunity to knock each other around. This was a fight for bragging rights to sexual prowess. Bragging rights that Francis did not need because he was content in his sexual ability and bragging rights that Gilbert did not need because he’d brag about something whether or not he had support for it, but still - it was competition and neither of them would give up.
Ten minutes had passed before, finally, one of them gained the upper hand. It had been rather accidental, but when Francis managed to slam Gilbert’s head against his metal scrollwork headboard hard enough to stun him, the Frenchman didn’t waste even a second looking a gift horse in the mouth. He was on top of Gilbert in about point three seconds flat and then proceeded to yank both his hands upward, toward the cuffs he always left chained and tucked behind the bed. Honestly, when he was single, there was a new lover in his bedroom at least three times a week, so there was no sense in putting the toys away - it would just take up precious play time to have to fetch them.
So even though Gilbert had only been out of it for seven seconds, tops, it was long enough. Realizing Francis was on top of him, Gilbert yanked it hand back to punch him as hard in the gut as he could - yet, when his hand moved but two inches from the headboard before getting yanked back, he almost yelped, “What the fuck!? FROG!” The struggle that set in then was almost beautiful in how savage it was; Francis literally had to wrap his arms under the other man’s shoulders and grip his hips with his knees to stop himself from getting thrown clear off the bed, “Get off of me, you cheap slut! Unchain me right now!” The protests kept coming, but Francis only smiled at how unthreatening and therefore adorable the whole thing was.
Gilbert could keep this intense burst of energy up for a while, but not forever. So he would ride it out and then take his pleasure inside his friend, not only cinching his victory but claiming Gilbert as his pretty little slave for the next day; absolutely perfect, in his book. He loved the other man dearly, but sometimes he needed to be cruel to be kind. This was a perfect way to do just that. “It looks as though I am going to win, Gil,” he purred, voice low and seductive, “it will be more pleasurable for you if you stop bucking so.”
His words only served to inflame the albino more, which was, of course, the true point. The way Gilbert growled and flashed his teeth in a snarl of anger was nothing if not erotic and made him want to take the man in as many ways as possible. Yet, he was the nation of love and to him sex, in one form or another, was always about love. You either loved the personality of the person you were with, the physical perfection of their body, or the way it made you feel, but every time you had sex with someone, it involved love. At least, that was the way Francis felt about it and that had yet to fail him.
So he would not rush it with his frustrated lover, not too much anyway. They were both already fully aroused - the fighting was just as sexual as it had been vicious - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a little time for a bit more foreplay. Besides, he did want Gilbert to enjoy it as well. And, of course, he would… Francis just had to ease him into it, as always. So when he leaned down to kiss the other man it was firm and demanding, but not painful - no, that honor would be reserved for Gilbert, as he did his best to bite the offered lips and tongue.
Yet Francis rode it out, a chuckle in his throat as he stole kisses from his lover, stealing his breath in the process. When he pulled back, the other man looked a bit starry-eyed, but only for a moment. Gilbert was NOT pleased to be in this situation - it was supposed to be Francis flat on his back, ready to be taken, dammit! He may be down, but he was not out, and he wasn’t giving in just yet; he still had fight left in him. Spitting to the side, he made a face of disgust and tried to throw Francis off him one more time as he snarled out the worst insult he could think of, “You kiss like an Englishman!”
Oh. Anger inflamed Francis’ eyes then and this time it was genuine. He had shared a lot with Arthur, but his lack of finesse was certainly not one of those things. As a matter of fact, Francis was so damn good at kissing he had developed an entire technique by himself - it wasn’t called a “French Kiss” for nothing, after all. When he spoke, the tone of his voice had changed; where it had been light and airy it was now dark and vicious, “That’s enough out of your mouth, Gilbert.”
Reaching to the side table, he yanked open a drawer and pulled something out. He moved easily but still managed to keep the new object out of Gilbert’s line of sight. Not that the other man was paying enough attention to even realize that Francis had just grabbed something - on the contrary, he was too busy running his mouth again and trying to kick and headbutt Francis to pay attention to what he was doing. So, when Francis waited until just the right moment (Gilbert screaming obscenities at him, his mouth wide open) and then shoved the ball gag into Gilbert’s open mouth, the albino had no defense against it but to sputter and widen his eyes in absolute rage as Francis quickly and easily secured the buckle behind his head.
When the sounds coming from Gilbert were now muffled beyond comprehension Francis let a small smile turn up the corner of his lips, “That is much better, no?” As much as he struggled and pushed with his tongue Gilbert couldn’t unseat the gag from its firm position behind his teeth; that pleased Francis just as much as it enraged Gilbert. Even though he couldn’t make out the words, in his heart he knew Gilbert was cussing him out in at least four different languages, his own probably included - it was delightful, really, to get him so riled up.
But, if Gilbert didn’t want to accept his overtures at foreplay, then so be it. He wouldn’t be so kind again. With an additional struggle Francis managed to slip between Gilbert’s legs, trapping the other man’s appendages under the crooks of his arms to avoid an altogether unpleasant kick to the face. Luckily he kept lube within easy reach just like everything else and he easily leaned up and snagged it off the table, popping it open in clear view of Gilbert, “Even when you are angry and cruel to me, I am ever so kind to you.”
Setting to his work with a will now, Francis ignored the garbled rage coming from his partner, lubing his fingers instead and without ceremony slipping one then, after a few exploratory probes, two past Gilbert’s tense ring of muscle and then inside him. “The first person penetrated loses…” he smirked, intoning the words of their bet aloud, “so that means I have a pretty new slave for the next twenty four hours.” He clucked his tongue softly when Gilbert flipped him off, shaking his head in response, “I suppose you are trying to tell me that what you really meant when you said that was that the first person penetrated by a cock would lose?”
He laughed then, slicking his own with lube as he worked Gilbert open, his movements slow and methodical, “It is of no matter. That will come soon enough.” Really, the man would do anything to escape a sticky situation - especially one that he was only caught in due to his own bravado. He clearly needed this lesson, “As will you.” With that, Francis promptly turned his attention downward, working on opening him with as little pain involved as necessary. It would be another punishment all together to make Gilbert enjoy this and he intended on doing just that.
Though the angered growls and struggles persisted for a few more minutes and the transition was slow, eventually Gilbert found himself writhing against his restraints, but for a whole different reason this time. Francis’ fingers in him were driving him crazy; the burn was intense but the pleasure working its way through him was undeniable. Every time Francis nudged his prostate - which was often, he was pretty sure the Frog was doing it on purpose - he could barely stop his hips from arching off the bed in desperate search of more. It was maddening, the way his body was so clearly disobeying his own wishes - he did NOT want to give Francis the satisfaction, but by now it was pretty much too late for that.
Yet, he had been so lost in the pleasure that when Francis’ cock finally rubbed up against his entrance he could do nothing but moan, the sound low and throaty, begging wordlessly for it. His hips moved of their own accord, pressing down against the girth of the Frenchman eagerly. Even gagged, he still tried to hiss out a warning. It was meant to be, “Hurry up, Frog!” but came out sounding far more garbled and unintelligible; no matter, he was sure Francis at least got his drift. Even though it felt extraordinary, he was by no means going to turn into some weepy little sissy man about it - first thing after his orgasm and a little nap, he was going to physically hand Francis’ ass to him.
Not bothering to smother a chuckle at his friend’s attempted words - Gilbert would always be Gilbert: even with a gag in his mouth, his hands tied, and a cock starting to press into him he would try to seem like he was the one in control - Francis reached down and gave his cock a quick jerk, just to remind the other man that he could give him pleasure if he pleased him. “Calm down, Gil,” he trilled, a thrilled smirk covering his face, “you will have me inside you in just a minute.”
With that, feeling so very satisfied with himself, Francis finally pushed forward and sunk himself inside the other man inch by inch. The way Gilbert arched against him was so clearly inviting, clearly so perfect. The Frenchman moaned his own pleasure as he watched his friend’s hands twist in the sheets as his body struggled somewhat to admit him into it, but he knew the pain would be fleeting and easily forgettable.
So, without pausing to let Gilbert focus on that pain, he started to move. The deep, powerful thrusts he began quickly escalated in pace until Francis was pounding the man beneath him with everything he had. The way Gilbert moved underneath him did nothing but encourage the movements and within a few minutes they were in pure sync, Gilbert pressing his hips up at the same moment Francis thrust down.
The sounds leaving Gilbert were unfiltered, what Francis assumed to be a mix of curse words and groans, moans and breathy orders. Though part of him wanted to free the other man from his gag just to hear it all, the rest of him wasn’t so sure on that idea - everything was going so well right now, why risk messing it up by changing something?
After that thought filtered through his mind, Francis smiled and just let it all go. In seconds his mouth found one of Gilbert’s nipples as one hand moved to his cock, stroking it in time with their matching thrusts. The pace was frenetic but both of them welcomed it and soon enough they were rocketing toward the finish, Gilbert grunting and Francis moaning the pleasure they both felt.
When the friction against him and inside him finally became too much and when Francis’ mouth against his chest drove him to the brink of desperation, Gilbert came with a cry so sharp it almost stung Francis’ ears. Though the albino was still hell bent on castrating Francis for this little stunt, he definitely needed a nap first.
Yet, of course, such a thing was not within reach just yet - Francis had apparently taken his cries of orgasm as a sign to pound him even harder and faster than before. He could already feel the ache emanating from his body starting to consume him and so the added stimulation of Francis moving like that was viciously over stimulating. But he was tough and he could take it, so he just gritted his teeth against the gag and rode it out until, finally, Francis came as well.
The hot rush of fluid entering him was unsettling to say the least, but Gilbert couldn’t bring himself to do much about it. He was so damn tired… sated, achy, angry, and hungry as well, but mainly tired right now. He needed sleep. So, as Francis pulled out of him and smirked, Gilbert just ignored him, eyes drifting closed as Francis unbuckled the gag from around his lips. He would kick his ass after this, he swore it.
A soft smile touched Francis’ lips as he freed Gilbert from his bondage, his hands gentle and careful as they pulled the straps of the gag away from his mouth. It was clear that his temperamental and fiery friend was already out cold and honestly that was probably for the best. Damn, but that little romp in the hay was fucking wonderful and he didn’t want an irate Gil ruining his high just yet.
Sinking into the soft sheets, the blond smiled again and pressed a soft kiss to Gilbert’s temple before settling in for a nap of his own, “If you are nice to me when you wake, I will gladly return the favor and take your position…” A smirk followed that statement then as he draped a suddenly possessive arm over the other man’s waist, “After your twenty four hours as mine, of course.”
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing: France/Prussia
Rating: M
Warning: Mansex.
Summary: Unattached and occasionally lonely, Francis and Gilbert turn to each other to satisfy their sexual urges. But of course, as friends who always have to find a way to be victorious over the other, it's never as simple as just having sex. When one of them loses this bet, he's going to be anything but happy about it.
Though nobody could say that these nights happened with any sort of regularity, truth be told they were not all that infrequent either. They were always friends, no matter what, but when they were not romantically involved with one lover or another Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio spent more time together than they did apart. There was nothing more than a brotherly sort of love between them and they were more than happy to keep it that way, but being as close as they were, there were certain… things they could help each other with.
Though Francis was the sort who would find his pleasure in pretty much any willing and warm body, and Antonio had a few other lovers, for Gilbert the two of them were it. It probably stemmed from his roots as a priest, but even centuries later the albino could not fathom the thought of having any sort of sexual relationship with someone he did not already know intimately. It had taken Francis and Antonio two hundred years, for example, to finally get him in bed. The only reason it had even happened then was because they got him rather drunk, first, and then proceeded to give him one hell of a show.
“You need to loosen up, Gil,” Francis had trilled from his position atop Antonio’s lap, hands buried beneath the white fabric of the Spaniard’s shirt. For his part, the darker skinned man just let his head loll back, a half silly yet still somehow all sexy grin covering his face as Francis drew little purrs and groans from that devilish mouth. The next thing he remembered fully was waking up naked in a tangle of limbs on the bed, but the flashes of what happened before that were all kinds of awesome.
Needless to say, it became somewhat of a tradition. A tradition that carried the three of them through the rough and lonely patches and helped heal them from the breakups, at least a little. They always had each other’s backs, were always there to support one another, no matter what. That’s not to say they didn’t necessarily make a competition out of it once in a while - being them, or rather, being Francis and Gilbert, meant that happened more than once.
And that is where our story begins…
-
At this point in time, on nights like these, it was just the two of them. They both knew Antonio was making himself [i]known[/i] in Belgium and couldn’t be happier for him. Gilbert would easily admit the woman was nice on the eyes and Francis would extol the sweet nature of his little cousin for a good ten minutes if you let him - they were both pleased that their friend had found someone to love.
But, on the other hand, that meant everything was going to be a competition. Antonio had always been the mediator between the two of them, the one who calmed things down when one of the group got a little testy. Though it’s true that they care deeply for one another and are, without a doubt, best friends, Gilbert and Francis were arguing about something more often than they weren’t. What was better, beer or wine? Who was hotter, me or you? Who’s dick was longer, let’s get out the ruler.
That last one Antonio had to ALWAYS make sure he nipped in the bud, before whoever truly was longer got their tip nipped off in revenge. But Antonio wasn’t here now and, as it always eventually did, somehow their odd relationship became a competition. The weight of Francis’ head on his shoulder wasn’t unwelcome and the warmth of his body along his side was comforting - their romp in the sheets had been refreshing and exhausting all at once; just what he needed after a troublesome day.
Running a lethargic hand through the mess blond hair resting against him, a smirk tinged his words as Gilbert spoke, “You play the woman so well.” Knowing the other man would have a fit at that statement, he grabbed both of Francis’ wrists and held them away from his body - good thing, too, as he was narrowly able to avoid what would have been a very solid punch to the gut. A smirk touched his lips then and traveled to his voice, “Aww, don’t get mad Frog, it’s true.”
“You are a barbarian,” was the quick retort, “and a dimwitted and uncultured one at that.” Slender wrists twisted out of the grip on them with ease and Francis pushed himself upward, sitting up slightly and hovering over the other man, “Not to mention quite the misogynist.” He paused then, to let a little smirk cover his lips, “I wonder what Eliza would think of that.”
The corner of one eye twitched at that last sentence - he’d kill the frog fucker if he told her anything of the sort; he got hit with frying pans enough as it was. But still, he couldn’t let one little veiled threat give Francis the victory here. The smirk that crossed his face was at least three times the size of Francis’ and far more dirty, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what a sissy you really are.” Twirling a finger in the air, he then placed his hand on Francis’ chest and pushed lightly, “Go ahead, get on your back again, I’ll make y’feel better about it.”
He truly cared for his friend, he did, but Gilbert certainly knew how to push his buttons, “You think so highly of yourself, but you are wrong in this.” This time he was the one to grab wrists as he spoke, pressing them both down into the bed beside Gilbert’s head, “I am on top more often than not, I only allow you the position so often because to do otherwise would wound your fragile pride.” The semi-feral growl and snarl of disagreement from the Prussian was both expected and, therefore, amusing, “I could have you in two seconds if I so chose.”
“Pfft, bullshit,” was the challenging response, “you couldn’t have a wet paper bag without its permission.” If Antonio were here, he would have sighed - there is was, challenge and response laid down with barely a preamble. They were both so childish, sometimes. As though to prove his point, Gilbert sat up himself and shoved at his friend, pushing him slightly off balance, “You couldn’t take me if your life depended on it.”
Fire flamed to life in Francis’ eyes at that comment; he was a passionate man by nature and he did not take such wayward remarks well. In an instant his hand was on the back of Gilbert’s neck, gripping just enough to hinder his escape, “We shall see about that.” Yanking backwards, he managed to pull Gilbert back down onto the bed and straddle his hips all in one fluid moment, pinning the other man down with the weight of his body, “You will not be so cocky in a moment, my friend.”
A chuckle greeted that statement and there was still one hell of a cocky grin pasted on Gilbert’s face, “On top of me already?” A shrug rolled across his shoulders, the man still so completely at ease, “Figures you’d give up before we started, but I do know how much you like to ride my cock.” The grin on his face was positively wicked, goading Francis on with every word, “What can I say, I know it’s awesome.”
A scoff quickly escaped Francis at that, though he kept the sound quiet - how he had managed to befriend someone so utterly ridiculous at times escaped him, but then they went through a crisis together and he remembered - Gilbert was genuinely a good person. That did not mean he did not need to be taken down a peg or two every so often, though. So, without bothering to respond, he leaned forward and grabbed the other’s wrists again, enclosing them in an iron grip. He had been inside Gilbert twice before now, so clearly the Prussian was already just running his mouth, but he would gladly do it again if need be.
“Ignoring me now, Frog?” Bucking his hips up, Gilbert made sure to drag his crotch against the other man’s as firmly as he could, “That’s a bitch move.” When even that did not get a rise out of Francis, he decided to up the stakes, “Fine, y’wine bastard.” Lifting one leg, he managed to press it firmly between Francis’, grinding against him as he spoke, “Let’s bet on it, then. Whoever loses has to do what the other says, so when you get ass fucked again you have to be my slave for the next twenty four hours.”
Holding in a sigh, Francis once again lamented the impending death of romance. Even in a game like this, the partners could still engage in the dance, but clearly Gilbert was both too inebriated and not near cultured enough to play. But still, he would accept the terms because, honestly, Gilbert having to obey his every beck and call for an entire day was certainly a welcome prospect, “Fine. I will accept your challenge.” Now it was his turn to laugh as he spoke, already imagining all the fun he would have, “You will be cute, cleaning my kitchen in nothing but an apron.”
It was Gilbert’s turn to huff, this time at the very audacity of that suggestion, “No way, Frog. I ain’t gonna be the one who loses.” Still grinding his leg against the other man, he was at least pleased to realize that his ministrations were starting to work, “You’ll be the one cleaning my messes. I’ll make sure to make plenty, just for you.” And with that, the game was on. They never formally announced when a competition started - there was no bang of a gun, no wave of a flag, no “Ready, Set, Go!” There was just them, as always, playing the games that their friendship had developed over centuries. Losing was not an option, to either of them.
The fight that ensued between them was vicious. They pulled no punches when it came to the other, spared no opportunity to knock each other around. This was a fight for bragging rights to sexual prowess. Bragging rights that Francis did not need because he was content in his sexual ability and bragging rights that Gilbert did not need because he’d brag about something whether or not he had support for it, but still - it was competition and neither of them would give up.
Ten minutes had passed before, finally, one of them gained the upper hand. It had been rather accidental, but when Francis managed to slam Gilbert’s head against his metal scrollwork headboard hard enough to stun him, the Frenchman didn’t waste even a second looking a gift horse in the mouth. He was on top of Gilbert in about point three seconds flat and then proceeded to yank both his hands upward, toward the cuffs he always left chained and tucked behind the bed. Honestly, when he was single, there was a new lover in his bedroom at least three times a week, so there was no sense in putting the toys away - it would just take up precious play time to have to fetch them.
So even though Gilbert had only been out of it for seven seconds, tops, it was long enough. Realizing Francis was on top of him, Gilbert yanked it hand back to punch him as hard in the gut as he could - yet, when his hand moved but two inches from the headboard before getting yanked back, he almost yelped, “What the fuck!? FROG!” The struggle that set in then was almost beautiful in how savage it was; Francis literally had to wrap his arms under the other man’s shoulders and grip his hips with his knees to stop himself from getting thrown clear off the bed, “Get off of me, you cheap slut! Unchain me right now!” The protests kept coming, but Francis only smiled at how unthreatening and therefore adorable the whole thing was.
Gilbert could keep this intense burst of energy up for a while, but not forever. So he would ride it out and then take his pleasure inside his friend, not only cinching his victory but claiming Gilbert as his pretty little slave for the next day; absolutely perfect, in his book. He loved the other man dearly, but sometimes he needed to be cruel to be kind. This was a perfect way to do just that. “It looks as though I am going to win, Gil,” he purred, voice low and seductive, “it will be more pleasurable for you if you stop bucking so.”
His words only served to inflame the albino more, which was, of course, the true point. The way Gilbert growled and flashed his teeth in a snarl of anger was nothing if not erotic and made him want to take the man in as many ways as possible. Yet, he was the nation of love and to him sex, in one form or another, was always about love. You either loved the personality of the person you were with, the physical perfection of their body, or the way it made you feel, but every time you had sex with someone, it involved love. At least, that was the way Francis felt about it and that had yet to fail him.
So he would not rush it with his frustrated lover, not too much anyway. They were both already fully aroused - the fighting was just as sexual as it had been vicious - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a little time for a bit more foreplay. Besides, he did want Gilbert to enjoy it as well. And, of course, he would… Francis just had to ease him into it, as always. So when he leaned down to kiss the other man it was firm and demanding, but not painful - no, that honor would be reserved for Gilbert, as he did his best to bite the offered lips and tongue.
Yet Francis rode it out, a chuckle in his throat as he stole kisses from his lover, stealing his breath in the process. When he pulled back, the other man looked a bit starry-eyed, but only for a moment. Gilbert was NOT pleased to be in this situation - it was supposed to be Francis flat on his back, ready to be taken, dammit! He may be down, but he was not out, and he wasn’t giving in just yet; he still had fight left in him. Spitting to the side, he made a face of disgust and tried to throw Francis off him one more time as he snarled out the worst insult he could think of, “You kiss like an Englishman!”
Oh. Anger inflamed Francis’ eyes then and this time it was genuine. He had shared a lot with Arthur, but his lack of finesse was certainly not one of those things. As a matter of fact, Francis was so damn good at kissing he had developed an entire technique by himself - it wasn’t called a “French Kiss” for nothing, after all. When he spoke, the tone of his voice had changed; where it had been light and airy it was now dark and vicious, “That’s enough out of your mouth, Gilbert.”
Reaching to the side table, he yanked open a drawer and pulled something out. He moved easily but still managed to keep the new object out of Gilbert’s line of sight. Not that the other man was paying enough attention to even realize that Francis had just grabbed something - on the contrary, he was too busy running his mouth again and trying to kick and headbutt Francis to pay attention to what he was doing. So, when Francis waited until just the right moment (Gilbert screaming obscenities at him, his mouth wide open) and then shoved the ball gag into Gilbert’s open mouth, the albino had no defense against it but to sputter and widen his eyes in absolute rage as Francis quickly and easily secured the buckle behind his head.
When the sounds coming from Gilbert were now muffled beyond comprehension Francis let a small smile turn up the corner of his lips, “That is much better, no?” As much as he struggled and pushed with his tongue Gilbert couldn’t unseat the gag from its firm position behind his teeth; that pleased Francis just as much as it enraged Gilbert. Even though he couldn’t make out the words, in his heart he knew Gilbert was cussing him out in at least four different languages, his own probably included - it was delightful, really, to get him so riled up.
But, if Gilbert didn’t want to accept his overtures at foreplay, then so be it. He wouldn’t be so kind again. With an additional struggle Francis managed to slip between Gilbert’s legs, trapping the other man’s appendages under the crooks of his arms to avoid an altogether unpleasant kick to the face. Luckily he kept lube within easy reach just like everything else and he easily leaned up and snagged it off the table, popping it open in clear view of Gilbert, “Even when you are angry and cruel to me, I am ever so kind to you.”
Setting to his work with a will now, Francis ignored the garbled rage coming from his partner, lubing his fingers instead and without ceremony slipping one then, after a few exploratory probes, two past Gilbert’s tense ring of muscle and then inside him. “The first person penetrated loses…” he smirked, intoning the words of their bet aloud, “so that means I have a pretty new slave for the next twenty four hours.” He clucked his tongue softly when Gilbert flipped him off, shaking his head in response, “I suppose you are trying to tell me that what you really meant when you said that was that the first person penetrated by a cock would lose?”
He laughed then, slicking his own with lube as he worked Gilbert open, his movements slow and methodical, “It is of no matter. That will come soon enough.” Really, the man would do anything to escape a sticky situation - especially one that he was only caught in due to his own bravado. He clearly needed this lesson, “As will you.” With that, Francis promptly turned his attention downward, working on opening him with as little pain involved as necessary. It would be another punishment all together to make Gilbert enjoy this and he intended on doing just that.
Though the angered growls and struggles persisted for a few more minutes and the transition was slow, eventually Gilbert found himself writhing against his restraints, but for a whole different reason this time. Francis’ fingers in him were driving him crazy; the burn was intense but the pleasure working its way through him was undeniable. Every time Francis nudged his prostate - which was often, he was pretty sure the Frog was doing it on purpose - he could barely stop his hips from arching off the bed in desperate search of more. It was maddening, the way his body was so clearly disobeying his own wishes - he did NOT want to give Francis the satisfaction, but by now it was pretty much too late for that.
Yet, he had been so lost in the pleasure that when Francis’ cock finally rubbed up against his entrance he could do nothing but moan, the sound low and throaty, begging wordlessly for it. His hips moved of their own accord, pressing down against the girth of the Frenchman eagerly. Even gagged, he still tried to hiss out a warning. It was meant to be, “Hurry up, Frog!” but came out sounding far more garbled and unintelligible; no matter, he was sure Francis at least got his drift. Even though it felt extraordinary, he was by no means going to turn into some weepy little sissy man about it - first thing after his orgasm and a little nap, he was going to physically hand Francis’ ass to him.
Not bothering to smother a chuckle at his friend’s attempted words - Gilbert would always be Gilbert: even with a gag in his mouth, his hands tied, and a cock starting to press into him he would try to seem like he was the one in control - Francis reached down and gave his cock a quick jerk, just to remind the other man that he could give him pleasure if he pleased him. “Calm down, Gil,” he trilled, a thrilled smirk covering his face, “you will have me inside you in just a minute.”
With that, feeling so very satisfied with himself, Francis finally pushed forward and sunk himself inside the other man inch by inch. The way Gilbert arched against him was so clearly inviting, clearly so perfect. The Frenchman moaned his own pleasure as he watched his friend’s hands twist in the sheets as his body struggled somewhat to admit him into it, but he knew the pain would be fleeting and easily forgettable.
So, without pausing to let Gilbert focus on that pain, he started to move. The deep, powerful thrusts he began quickly escalated in pace until Francis was pounding the man beneath him with everything he had. The way Gilbert moved underneath him did nothing but encourage the movements and within a few minutes they were in pure sync, Gilbert pressing his hips up at the same moment Francis thrust down.
The sounds leaving Gilbert were unfiltered, what Francis assumed to be a mix of curse words and groans, moans and breathy orders. Though part of him wanted to free the other man from his gag just to hear it all, the rest of him wasn’t so sure on that idea - everything was going so well right now, why risk messing it up by changing something?
After that thought filtered through his mind, Francis smiled and just let it all go. In seconds his mouth found one of Gilbert’s nipples as one hand moved to his cock, stroking it in time with their matching thrusts. The pace was frenetic but both of them welcomed it and soon enough they were rocketing toward the finish, Gilbert grunting and Francis moaning the pleasure they both felt.
When the friction against him and inside him finally became too much and when Francis’ mouth against his chest drove him to the brink of desperation, Gilbert came with a cry so sharp it almost stung Francis’ ears. Though the albino was still hell bent on castrating Francis for this little stunt, he definitely needed a nap first.
Yet, of course, such a thing was not within reach just yet - Francis had apparently taken his cries of orgasm as a sign to pound him even harder and faster than before. He could already feel the ache emanating from his body starting to consume him and so the added stimulation of Francis moving like that was viciously over stimulating. But he was tough and he could take it, so he just gritted his teeth against the gag and rode it out until, finally, Francis came as well.
The hot rush of fluid entering him was unsettling to say the least, but Gilbert couldn’t bring himself to do much about it. He was so damn tired… sated, achy, angry, and hungry as well, but mainly tired right now. He needed sleep. So, as Francis pulled out of him and smirked, Gilbert just ignored him, eyes drifting closed as Francis unbuckled the gag from around his lips. He would kick his ass after this, he swore it.
A soft smile touched Francis’ lips as he freed Gilbert from his bondage, his hands gentle and careful as they pulled the straps of the gag away from his mouth. It was clear that his temperamental and fiery friend was already out cold and honestly that was probably for the best. Damn, but that little romp in the hay was fucking wonderful and he didn’t want an irate Gil ruining his high just yet.
Sinking into the soft sheets, the blond smiled again and pressed a soft kiss to Gilbert’s temple before settling in for a nap of his own, “If you are nice to me when you wake, I will gladly return the favor and take your position…” A smirk followed that statement then as he draped a suddenly possessive arm over the other man’s waist, “After your twenty four hours as mine, of course.”