[Fanfic] Porn
Author: ab_jaded
Recipient: kanilla_maxwell
Characters/Pairing: FrUK
Rating: T
Summary: Francis finds out what kind of books Arthur really likes.
Warnings: Uh, some... kisses and "hands".
Some notes: Since English is not my mother language, I got some hard time finding out what “kink” meant. Hope I got the right meaning of it (and actually made it work) .
Sorry for any grammar mistakes and ooc-ness. And I somehow feel sorry for the way it turned out: no matter how hard I tried, this just does not feels good English for me. I hope to improve writing in English in the future (and my htlm skills, since I messed it all up)
Hope kanilla_maxwell enjoy o/
Porn
A light rain was still falling from the gray English skies and, although the setting sun still tried to show its light, the heavy mass of dark clouds promised a deluge during the night.
But, for now, the rain was nothing but a drizzle, falling so softly that it did not prevent the Frenchman from walking in a steady pace without an umbrella in the streets of London.
The cold wind blowing has made his hair a little messy as he stopped in front of that house, unceremoniously entering the front yard and making his way to the wooden door. The wind blew in his hair again, and he shivered before stopping at the door. He lifted a finger to ring the bell, but stopped himself at the memory of the last time he tried it.
He could still feel the electricity running trough his arm. Damn Brit.
The French scratched his beard, studying other possible ways of getting into the building. Every now or then Francis would come to this house, just to “pester” the Brit, as the other put the thing. That’s why Arthur always made sure to protect every entrance of the place.
But every time, Francis would find a way to get into.
Just this time, he did not have to struggle too much to enter. As soon as he touched the door knob and tentatively twisted it, the door opened softly, revealing and empty and dark hall. Walking cautiously, he went searching for Arthur. It was inexplicably easy to enter the house, and Francis was sure that the other nation was up to something. Arthur always had something ready to harm the French.
While wandering through the house, he imagined what was it that time. Maybe he was casting a spell, using magic rituals and stabbing little dolls that looked like Francis, or summoning that evil black dog of his¹…
It was a pain, but it was worth…
Passing in front of an open door, he saw the small silhouette of a man rising a cup to his lips, while reading some old book.
“Typical.” He concluded, as he stopped leaning one shoulder against the door, scanning the room with his eyes.
There were tons of books disposed in wooden bookshelves all over the room. There was also a couch and, near the window, two armchairs, one from where the Englishman was, too absorbed in his book to have noticed the French, a table with a tea set and some baked goods in front of him.
“Getting soft with the age?” Francis mocked, looking to the Brit with a grin in his face. “I was able to get here unharmed, cherrie.”
The other finally lifted his eyes from the book, just to glare at him for a minute before returning to the reading.
“And if you want to remain like this, I suggest that you go away right now, frog.” was his simple answer. He wasn’t in the mood for Francis’ soliciting. He had better things to do, like reading.
The cold emerald eyes just glinted with arrogance. It was almost impossible to resist the urge to tackle him to the ground and make naughty things to him, just to prove how spurious that composed manners of his was.
The French did not felt discouraged by Arthur’s “display of affection” towards him. Instead, he made his way through the room, feeling an indistinct smell of tobacco - was Arthur smoking again? - and plopped himself in the armchair across the other man.
He noticed an ashtray in front of the Brinton, full of ashes.
So, he was smoking.
Or was it just his scones?
“And here I thought that you were finally becoming civilized…” Francis joked, smiling while looking to the Brit’s face, ignoring the frown and the little twitch in Arthur’s left eye.
Arthur finally allowed himself to look at the other, forgetting the book on his lap.
Even with his hair messy by the wind and his growing beard - Dear Lord, did he even know what a razor was? - Francis still looked refined, Arthur noted. Thinking of it, the messy appearance made him look even more handsome. He just had the ability to be elegant, it was in his essence.
“Kindly fuck you, stupid frog.”
“That’s a tempting suggestion, Angleterre” teased the other, noticing the tinge of red in the points of the Englishman’s ear, and reaching an arm to grab an innocent looking chocolate from a box, biting it. “But you know, I’d prefer you to roughly fuck me, mon cher.”
“Wanker.” was all the answer Arthur could think of, without lifting his eyes from his book to hide his blush.
What an awful mistake. It prevented him from seeing the other rising from his place to stand behind him, body leaning against Arthur’s, and warm breath against his ear.
“Reading porn again, mon cher?” asked Francis, grinning mischievously at the blush in the face of the Briton and taking the book from his hands. “I knew you were naughty, but not to this point, Angleterre.”
The other yelped before getting up from the armchair and throwing a tantrum at the Frenchman, pointing a butter knife at him and waving it at his face like a sword.
“Give it back, now!” He yelled at the French, all red, trying to cut him.
“The Great British Empire, having to easy himself with porn.” He continued teasing, avoiding the knife. “How decadent of you, cher.”
Arthur answered with a paperweight thrown at Francis, barely avoiding his head. The French did not seemed to mind the other’s bad temper, and kept flipping the pages of the book, amused and interested, just dodging the attacks while running through the room.
“Wow, this girl here is quite acrobatic. Wanna try this one, Anglais?”
It was a peculiar sight. Two nations playing tag around the couch of the room, one of them furious with a butter knife in his hand (such a menacing weapon), while the other one just laughed and threw teasing words at his chaser.
Jumping over the couch, Arthur finally managed to catch Francis, tackling him to the ground, rolling in the carpet and finally stopping with Arthur sitting on Francis stomach, taking the book from the French’s hands with a victorious smirk.
The beardy man smirked nastily back.
“Non, non. You need to sit a little lower for this position to work, mon cher. And actually have the clothes off.” He teased, holding the Brit’s hip with one hand and positioning him just on his crotch, rubbing slightly. “Here, let me help you.”
One could think that the helping hand was the one holding the Brit’s hips. But, as the other hand slid to the zipper of the Englishman’s pants, Arthur knew just what kind of help Francis was talking about.
He just widened his green eyes, turning crimson red and struggling to break free from the hold on his hip.
“Let go, you bloody moron!” He cursed, blushing all shades of red Francis knew and some more, weakly trying to get up, but being held by French hands that decided to make themselves at home in Arthur’s thighs.
“There are better uses for a tongue than cursing, mon Anglais.” Francis said lustfully, licking Arthur’s ear lob. “I can teach you better than that book of yours.” The profane tongue tracing his way to the hot neck. Francis smiled as he felt a bulge growing in Arthur’s pants against his own crotch.
“That’s why you came here, isn’t it Frog?” The breathless question came with his hands grabbing Francis’ hair to force him to look to the frowning British. “To drag me down the path of depravity again”.
“Moi?” the other asked, “I think it’s the other way around, Arthur. It was your cute English butt that dragged me down the “path of depravity”. As to confirm his sentence, his hands went further to grab said part and squeezed.
Arthur frowned again. Francis just smiled, bucking his hips.
And Arthur moaned, feeling himself grow hotter with the contact.
Damn French.
They stared for less than a moment before Arthur claimed Francis’ mouth with his own, in a breathtaking kiss.
Such reaction was not expected by Francis. A display of affection like that was not something new between them, but sure wasn’t something usual. It usually would take more than a few words of teasing to get Arthur to actually cooperate with the fun.
So, it sure was a surprise when Francis felt the Brit’s hands impatiently fumbling with the buttons of his shirt before ripping it all open, teeth grazing on the sensible skin of the neck, leaving as many red marks the Frenchman left before, sucking hard on the spots he already knew very well that would make his partner moan loudly.
And so did Francis. Damn, Arthur sure knew very well how to perform the acts in those books.
And even tough Francis could have made the British moan even louder, this time he didn’t. He just let Arthur do as he pleased.
“Oui…” he sang, biting back the skin of Arthur’s neck, shifting his hips.
The English smirked against the skin of Francis shoulder as he felt a bite in his neck, followed by a rough moan and a slight thrust of hips.
Arthur was making his way into the French’s vital regions just painfully slow.
And, just as Francis started to moan slightly, Arthur changed their positions, abruptly flipping Francis on his back, getting a hold of Francis’ hair to lift his head and have better access to the French’s neck and ear, where he licked and nibbled shamelessly.
“You came here with one goal in mind, Frog…”
Now his hands were everywhere in Francis body, playing teasingly with the pink nipples before moving further down, until finding the fabric of the pants, teeth grazing over the sensible skin of the French’s shoulders and neck.
“And I must say… you’re going to get what you wanted.”
Undoing the zipper of Francis’ pants with cruel slowness, the Briton got a hold of the clothed crotch of Francis’ as he heard a husky moan from his partner. Pulling a little more at the blond locks, Arthur bit hard at the now sore neck of Francis’ and grinded his hips against the other’s butt, letting him feel the arousal against his thighs.
“I’m going to roughly fuck you…”
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¹ Reference to this article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_dog_(ghost) - And also from Sherlock Holmes’ book. Thought that it would be interesting for England to actually have a black dog, so, I’m just inserting the idea a little.
That’s all, folks o/