Fanfic (Hetalia): The View is better from the Bedroom
Title: The View is better from the Bedroom
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: France/Canada
Disclaimer: Hetalia definitely doesn't belong to me. There'd be more "claiming of vital regions" otherwise. ^^x
Warnings: use of human names, pwp, rather vanilla
Summary: Matthew's in Paris for a conference and Francis visits him in his hotel room. That's the "plot" in its entirety, in case you were wondering.
Note: Birthday fic for the cutest Canada cosplayer there is: Kiara! Happy Birthday! Hope you like it. U///Ux (Please note that I don't speak French.)
Quote:
Anita: “What the hell have you been teaching him, Edward?“
Edward: “What any father teaches his son.”
Anita: “Which is?”
Edward: “What he knows.”
(From 'The Harlequin' by Laurell K. Hamilton)
Alfred always blushed when they watched porn together; Matthew assumed that his cheeks would be the same flaming red if he were alone with no one observing his reaction. As it was, said reaction was almost more interesting than the actions taking place on the screen, tame as American porn tended to be.
He reminded himself not to chuckle - Alfred would never forgive him - and to be fair, Matthew used to blush just as bad. Back when his Papa had first introduced him to the wonderful world of pornography.
“You're of an age where these things could come in handy.”, a smile and a wink to go with the light words, “You can even make your own.”
People forgot that about him all the time, that Francis had had a prominent hand in raising him. Oh, Arthur had made sure to install a good portion of shame in him after taking over, he couldn't deny that.
“No, Matthew, you can absolutely not run around naked, I don't care what 'ton papa' told you!”, furiously red up to his ears, “He's not here now, is he? And good riddance.”
But it wasn't like Francis had stopped coming around altogether after 1763. He hadn't been around as much as Matthew would have liked, but he'd been glad to have him at all. Countries did go through puberty after all, and Arthur hadn't been of much help in that department.
The mental scarring he got from answers to questions like “Papa, where do micronations come from?” were a fair price, he thought, because no country on earth outdid France where matters of the bedroom were concerned.
*
Matthew liked conferences in Europe. So many of its countries were like a part of his own history, like the tree he'd been taken from to then grow on his own. Oh, but there was no comparison, he definitely liked France best.
He enjoyed the view from his hotel room, a breath taking panorama of Paris at night. The city really only started to live after the sun had gone down and you could watch its heartbeat like a thousand different lights pulsing through its streets.
A good view indeed, best savored with a glass of red wine. He took another sip; Francis claimed that nothing compaired to true Burgundy where red wine was concerned, but then, they all tended to be proud like that of their children's products and accomplishments.
It was a fine wine though.
He only stiffened for a moment when arms slid around his shoulders from behind and familiar blond strands tickled his cheek, then he leaned back against Francis' chest, relishing in the warmth and the feeling of being held. Lips brushed his ear in a not-quite-kiss, “La vue est meilleure de la chambre...”, Francis breathed, the smile audible in his voice.
Matthew couldn't help but smile as well. As if he'd get to take one look out the window once they were in the bed room. He set down the glass nevertheless and turned around without breaking the embrace. He was kissed before he could formulate a reply, which was just as well. The chaste kisses of his childhood were long gone, replaced by the play of a wicked tongue along his lips, clearly demanding entrance he would not deny.
Francis wasted no time in directing them towards the bed room, continuing to steal Matthew's breath as they walked. It might have been a stumble, had he not been so very willing to go along with his seducer.
He still felt his cheeks warm ever so slightly as nimble fingers opened the buttons of his shirt and proceded to push it from his shoulders to fall where it may. But oh, he loved the feeling of Francis' hands on the bare skin of his chest, even as they stopped to tease his nipples, making him gasp unwittingly.
“Déshabille-moi aussi...?”, Francis breathed against Matthew's lips, still smiling and so very inviting, that he could do nothing but nod and begin to undress him, too, as he had requested.
Francis was, of course, cooperative and helpful, not having buttoned his shirt all the way up from the start and now slipping out of it as soon as Matthew so much as hinted at the required movement. He could be so obvious, playing all calm one moment and showing his impatience the next.
“Continue.”, he urged when Matthew's hands hesitated at his pants.
So he did, trying not to get distracted by bold hands on his ass, teasing him through the fabric of his own trousers, or by Francis' erection that he could already see and, more importantly, feel, because Francis pushed his hips forward, sighing with joy at the contact. Matthew told himself he wasn't surprised by the lack of underwear and simply pushed the pants down over Francis' hips to let them puddle at his feet.
“Ah...”, he sounded relieved to be free of the restraints his clothing had put on him, “Merci, Matthieu.”, he said before he went on to do the same for Matthew, who couldn't help but blush in earnest at his own hardening cock being out in the open.
Francis however clearly approved, his hand there to stroke and fondle him and draw the most embarrassing sounds from his throat. His lips were on his neck, all tongue and teeth and the faint tickle of his beard and Matthew really had no choice but to cling tightly to the man in front of him, in fear of his legs giving out before they reached the bed.
He moaned and only just bit back the word 'please', because he wouldn't beg - at least not yet.
Matthew was glad when his legs hit the bed and he let himelf fall back into the soft pillows when Francis pushed. He smiled up at the older blonde, not minding at all when his legs were parted by determined hands and Francis slid between them.
He looked up at Matthew, one hand lazily petting his thigh, dangerously close to his cock, but not quite touching it. “Où est...?”
He didn't have to finish. Matthew gestured in the generel direction of the nightstand. “I got some... earlier.”, he added softly, his face never losing the rosy color it had acquired when Francis had undressed him.
Francis smiled, kissed his stomach as he leaned over it, then reached out to retrieve the requested item, a bottle of lubricant. “Bon garçon.”, he praised, thuogh Matthew probably shouldn't be as pleased as he was because of something that simple.
Francis took his time placing several cishions under Matthew's hips, raising them up, before he spilled a generous amount of lube on his hand and gently proded his entrance with his long fingers.
Matthew reminded himself to breath and relax, nodding when Francis glanced up at him once more. “Relâche.”, Francis said, possibly because he knew how much Matthew liked to hear his voice like that and less because he really needed to be told.
He pushed inside carefully, taking his time, making sure Matthew was still breathing regularly before adding a second and going deeper. Matthew watched him until he found his sweet spot and he had to close his eyes and moan loudly, pleasure running through his body and making his cock leak with pre-cum.
Oh, and Francis knew, of course he did, and Matthew opened his eyes to see him moisten his lips and then lean down to lick along his length, lavishing it with attention.
“Francis!”, he threw his head back, digging his hands into the sheets to prevent himself from entangling them in Francis' blond locks to keep his mouth where it was. He didn't even feel the third finger entering him, but when Francis withdrew them a sound of loss escapted him.
He was breathing heavily at this point, and he wanted- he needed-
Francis face was close to his and he just had to reach out to pull him in and kiss him, wet, open mouthed, needy. Francis' lips continued along his cheek and chin, to his ear, kissing and tingling and overall driving him crazy.
“Tu me veux?”, he asked, arousal clear in his voice and yet he took the time to ask such a redundant question, all the while sounding audaciously amused.
“Yes! Yes, I do!”, Matthew replied, pushing his hips upwards in search for friction, showing Francis just what it was he wanted, but the man withdrew, chuckling.
“Ah, non, Matthieu.”, he chided softly, “En Français?”
Matthew thought he might be going insane, and Francis' hand around his cock really didn't help.
“Bien sûr, Papa, je te veux!”, he managed, and was rewarded with another kiss and finally, oh, finally Francis began to push inside of him, streching him further and it felt good, so very good. He looked up at Francis, his face all pleasure and bliss, a mirror of his own feelings.
He cried out and arched his back when Francis was at last burried to the hilt inside of him, making him feel so full and loved. Francis thrust into him, over and over, and Matthew met him time and again, the tension rising within them.
Threading his fingers through Francis' hair he whispered, “Embrasse-moi, Francis.”, and he smiled warily, eyes clouded with pleasure, and complied, kissing Matthew and practically drinking his moans right from his lips.
But those were the last words uttered between them for a while, until their movements became faster, more frantic, and Matthew found himself switching between French and English, begging Francis to “please, please”, do something - faster, deeper, more - then an adept hand was warpped around his cock and he felt himself pushed over the edge and his vision went white for a moment.
Matthew blinked.
It was still dark outside, not a hint of dawn as far as he could tell.
Fingers trailed down his chest to his stomach, circling his navel.
Recovering from his momentary spell Matthew leaned into that tender contact, enjoying the tingling on his slowly cooling skin.
Francis, peacefully lieing next to him, looked down at him with an expression that was both lover and parent, satisfaction and pride, and most of all: love.
Truly, Matthew loved conferences in Europe, and Paris most of all.
~The End.
Translations: (In case the meaning wasn't obvious.)
La vue est meilleure de la chambre. = The view is better from the bedroom.
Déshabille-moi aussi? = Undress me, too?
Continue. = Continue. (d'uh)
Merci, Matthieu. = Thank you, Matthew.
Où est...? = Where is...?
Bon garçon. = Good boy.
Relâche. = Relax.
Tu me veux? = Do you want me?
Ah, non, Matthieu. En Français? = Ah, no, Matthew. In French?
Bien sûr, Papa, je te veux! = Of course, Papa, I want you!
Embrasse-moi. = Kiss me.
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: France/Canada
Disclaimer: Hetalia definitely doesn't belong to me. There'd be more "claiming of vital regions" otherwise. ^^x
Warnings: use of human names, pwp, rather vanilla
Summary: Matthew's in Paris for a conference and Francis visits him in his hotel room. That's the "plot" in its entirety, in case you were wondering.
Note: Birthday fic for the cutest Canada cosplayer there is: Kiara! Happy Birthday! Hope you like it. U///Ux (Please note that I don't speak French.)
Quote:
Anita: “What the hell have you been teaching him, Edward?“
Edward: “What any father teaches his son.”
Anita: “Which is?”
Edward: “What he knows.”
(From 'The Harlequin' by Laurell K. Hamilton)
Alfred always blushed when they watched porn together; Matthew assumed that his cheeks would be the same flaming red if he were alone with no one observing his reaction. As it was, said reaction was almost more interesting than the actions taking place on the screen, tame as American porn tended to be.
He reminded himself not to chuckle - Alfred would never forgive him - and to be fair, Matthew used to blush just as bad. Back when his Papa had first introduced him to the wonderful world of pornography.
“You're of an age where these things could come in handy.”, a smile and a wink to go with the light words, “You can even make your own.”
People forgot that about him all the time, that Francis had had a prominent hand in raising him. Oh, Arthur had made sure to install a good portion of shame in him after taking over, he couldn't deny that.
“No, Matthew, you can absolutely not run around naked, I don't care what 'ton papa' told you!”, furiously red up to his ears, “He's not here now, is he? And good riddance.”
But it wasn't like Francis had stopped coming around altogether after 1763. He hadn't been around as much as Matthew would have liked, but he'd been glad to have him at all. Countries did go through puberty after all, and Arthur hadn't been of much help in that department.
The mental scarring he got from answers to questions like “Papa, where do micronations come from?” were a fair price, he thought, because no country on earth outdid France where matters of the bedroom were concerned.
*
Matthew liked conferences in Europe. So many of its countries were like a part of his own history, like the tree he'd been taken from to then grow on his own. Oh, but there was no comparison, he definitely liked France best.
He enjoyed the view from his hotel room, a breath taking panorama of Paris at night. The city really only started to live after the sun had gone down and you could watch its heartbeat like a thousand different lights pulsing through its streets.
A good view indeed, best savored with a glass of red wine. He took another sip; Francis claimed that nothing compaired to true Burgundy where red wine was concerned, but then, they all tended to be proud like that of their children's products and accomplishments.
It was a fine wine though.
He only stiffened for a moment when arms slid around his shoulders from behind and familiar blond strands tickled his cheek, then he leaned back against Francis' chest, relishing in the warmth and the feeling of being held. Lips brushed his ear in a not-quite-kiss, “La vue est meilleure de la chambre...”, Francis breathed, the smile audible in his voice.
Matthew couldn't help but smile as well. As if he'd get to take one look out the window once they were in the bed room. He set down the glass nevertheless and turned around without breaking the embrace. He was kissed before he could formulate a reply, which was just as well. The chaste kisses of his childhood were long gone, replaced by the play of a wicked tongue along his lips, clearly demanding entrance he would not deny.
Francis wasted no time in directing them towards the bed room, continuing to steal Matthew's breath as they walked. It might have been a stumble, had he not been so very willing to go along with his seducer.
He still felt his cheeks warm ever so slightly as nimble fingers opened the buttons of his shirt and proceded to push it from his shoulders to fall where it may. But oh, he loved the feeling of Francis' hands on the bare skin of his chest, even as they stopped to tease his nipples, making him gasp unwittingly.
“Déshabille-moi aussi...?”, Francis breathed against Matthew's lips, still smiling and so very inviting, that he could do nothing but nod and begin to undress him, too, as he had requested.
Francis was, of course, cooperative and helpful, not having buttoned his shirt all the way up from the start and now slipping out of it as soon as Matthew so much as hinted at the required movement. He could be so obvious, playing all calm one moment and showing his impatience the next.
“Continue.”, he urged when Matthew's hands hesitated at his pants.
So he did, trying not to get distracted by bold hands on his ass, teasing him through the fabric of his own trousers, or by Francis' erection that he could already see and, more importantly, feel, because Francis pushed his hips forward, sighing with joy at the contact. Matthew told himself he wasn't surprised by the lack of underwear and simply pushed the pants down over Francis' hips to let them puddle at his feet.
“Ah...”, he sounded relieved to be free of the restraints his clothing had put on him, “Merci, Matthieu.”, he said before he went on to do the same for Matthew, who couldn't help but blush in earnest at his own hardening cock being out in the open.
Francis however clearly approved, his hand there to stroke and fondle him and draw the most embarrassing sounds from his throat. His lips were on his neck, all tongue and teeth and the faint tickle of his beard and Matthew really had no choice but to cling tightly to the man in front of him, in fear of his legs giving out before they reached the bed.
He moaned and only just bit back the word 'please', because he wouldn't beg - at least not yet.
Matthew was glad when his legs hit the bed and he let himelf fall back into the soft pillows when Francis pushed. He smiled up at the older blonde, not minding at all when his legs were parted by determined hands and Francis slid between them.
He looked up at Matthew, one hand lazily petting his thigh, dangerously close to his cock, but not quite touching it. “Où est...?”
He didn't have to finish. Matthew gestured in the generel direction of the nightstand. “I got some... earlier.”, he added softly, his face never losing the rosy color it had acquired when Francis had undressed him.
Francis smiled, kissed his stomach as he leaned over it, then reached out to retrieve the requested item, a bottle of lubricant. “Bon garçon.”, he praised, thuogh Matthew probably shouldn't be as pleased as he was because of something that simple.
Francis took his time placing several cishions under Matthew's hips, raising them up, before he spilled a generous amount of lube on his hand and gently proded his entrance with his long fingers.
Matthew reminded himself to breath and relax, nodding when Francis glanced up at him once more. “Relâche.”, Francis said, possibly because he knew how much Matthew liked to hear his voice like that and less because he really needed to be told.
He pushed inside carefully, taking his time, making sure Matthew was still breathing regularly before adding a second and going deeper. Matthew watched him until he found his sweet spot and he had to close his eyes and moan loudly, pleasure running through his body and making his cock leak with pre-cum.
Oh, and Francis knew, of course he did, and Matthew opened his eyes to see him moisten his lips and then lean down to lick along his length, lavishing it with attention.
“Francis!”, he threw his head back, digging his hands into the sheets to prevent himself from entangling them in Francis' blond locks to keep his mouth where it was. He didn't even feel the third finger entering him, but when Francis withdrew them a sound of loss escapted him.
He was breathing heavily at this point, and he wanted- he needed-
Francis face was close to his and he just had to reach out to pull him in and kiss him, wet, open mouthed, needy. Francis' lips continued along his cheek and chin, to his ear, kissing and tingling and overall driving him crazy.
“Tu me veux?”, he asked, arousal clear in his voice and yet he took the time to ask such a redundant question, all the while sounding audaciously amused.
“Yes! Yes, I do!”, Matthew replied, pushing his hips upwards in search for friction, showing Francis just what it was he wanted, but the man withdrew, chuckling.
“Ah, non, Matthieu.”, he chided softly, “En Français?”
Matthew thought he might be going insane, and Francis' hand around his cock really didn't help.
“Bien sûr, Papa, je te veux!”, he managed, and was rewarded with another kiss and finally, oh, finally Francis began to push inside of him, streching him further and it felt good, so very good. He looked up at Francis, his face all pleasure and bliss, a mirror of his own feelings.
He cried out and arched his back when Francis was at last burried to the hilt inside of him, making him feel so full and loved. Francis thrust into him, over and over, and Matthew met him time and again, the tension rising within them.
Threading his fingers through Francis' hair he whispered, “Embrasse-moi, Francis.”, and he smiled warily, eyes clouded with pleasure, and complied, kissing Matthew and practically drinking his moans right from his lips.
But those were the last words uttered between them for a while, until their movements became faster, more frantic, and Matthew found himself switching between French and English, begging Francis to “please, please”, do something - faster, deeper, more - then an adept hand was warpped around his cock and he felt himself pushed over the edge and his vision went white for a moment.
Matthew blinked.
It was still dark outside, not a hint of dawn as far as he could tell.
Fingers trailed down his chest to his stomach, circling his navel.
Recovering from his momentary spell Matthew leaned into that tender contact, enjoying the tingling on his slowly cooling skin.
Francis, peacefully lieing next to him, looked down at him with an expression that was both lover and parent, satisfaction and pride, and most of all: love.
Truly, Matthew loved conferences in Europe, and Paris most of all.
~The End.
Translations: (In case the meaning wasn't obvious.)
La vue est meilleure de la chambre. = The view is better from the bedroom.
Déshabille-moi aussi? = Undress me, too?
Continue. = Continue. (d'uh)
Merci, Matthieu. = Thank you, Matthew.
Où est...? = Where is...?
Bon garçon. = Good boy.
Relâche. = Relax.
Tu me veux? = Do you want me?
Ah, non, Matthieu. En Français? = Ah, no, Matthew. In French?
Bien sûr, Papa, je te veux! = Of course, Papa, I want you!
Embrasse-moi. = Kiss me.