It starts in Vegas [1/3]
anonymous
March 17 2009, 13:10:45 UTC
This bed was not his bed. The sheets were too coarse and the blanket not nearly thick enough. He was cold, even with the warm body pressed tightly to his. He didn't want to wake up, because he vaguely remembered a whole variety of brightly coloured cocktails making their way down his throat, and if he was any more awake, he'd have to acknowledge the inevitable hangover. So he pressed himself closer to the warm body beside him, burying his face into the crook of the fellow's neck and feeling a pair of arms wrapping around him in reply.
Half a minute later, he was at the other side of the room, unsure of how he even got there, considering the throbbing pain in his lower back and the way his legs refused to hold him up. All he knew was that he didn't want to be in that bed (the nice, relatively warm bed with the wet spot that he just knew he had something to do with) with that person"Francis! What the FUCK? I didn't think it was even possible for you to sink any lower, but, God, HOW COULD YOU
( ... )
It starts in Vegas [2/3]
anonymous
March 17 2009, 13:11:58 UTC
He'd found France being fucked against a sink. He'd found France (who'd always been so fucking loud that he could hear him across the Channel) quietly taking it, eyes glazed from whatever the fuck was put into his drink. He'd put the rapist's head in a toilet bowl and held it there until the bastard stopped moving. Because even if it was France (only France, the pervert France, whom he hated), it was still rape and it was so wrong. So wrong when the drugged man hugged him from behind, whimpering (whimpering!) in want and begging in French. So wrong that Francis felt incredible against that sink, even with (especially with, oh God, what was wrong with him) someone else having been in there first.
"You're so angry, Angleterre, when you were so happy before..."
It's all your fault, you bastard.
"It's always my fault? Why is it always my fault?"
Because you ('re mine. MINE, MINE, MINE, MINE, MINE) can never defend yourself, you spineless twit! And then I always have to come to the rescue!
It starts in Vegas [3/3]
anonymous
March 17 2009, 13:12:49 UTC
"Did you realise that we got married?" asked the Frenchman laughingly. He held his left hand in front of Arthur's face. "Look, we even managed to get matching rings."
"You find this funny?" asked Arthur, dumbfounded and feeling the beginning of extreme outrage.
"Oui, very. Don't you? Remember that time in the 50's when I tried to propose
( ... )
Re: It starts in Vegas [3/3]
anonymous
March 17 2009, 14:36:16 UTC
Fabulous, fabulous work anon. Rarely have I seen such a perfectly characterized account of a 'morning after the night before' ♥ I'm especially glad it didn't get too angsty or too mushy at the end.
The repeated references to the French strikes had me LOLing.
It starts in Vegas [4/3]
anonymous
March 17 2009, 15:17:59 UTC
He had fully expected to be denied, pushed away and/or verbally abused, as was usual in their relationship, but he had to admit that this was much better. Stranger and a little confusing, but in a good way, and he sure as hell wasn't going to look this gift horse in the mouth.
For some reason, he was still feeling a little groggy and unbalanced, and, for that reason, he was glad that England was cooperating in moving them both over to the bed. It was slightly warmer there, due to their combined bodyheat seeping into the mattress over the night (or the past few hours; he couldn't be sure), and they were going to make it smoking hot.
England had seemed a little worried about what went on last night, and that worried him a little in turn, but if he was willing to just drop it for this, it couldn't have been too important. Sure, he'd probably been drugged and large chunks of his memory were missing, but he'd spent the entire night in England's company and he knew, in spite of their consistant and often violent rivalry, that England
( ... )
Re: writer!anon
anonymous
March 17 2009, 16:59:09 UTC
AND THE PEASANTS REJOICE!
God, this is so dirty and messup and hurty and the ramification are going to be so much more of all of it and guh DO WANT I am so happy you're writing more that I have lost all coherency.
then they do the newlywed thing [1/2]
anonymous
March 17 2009, 17:56:58 UTC
This. This was blackmail. He didn't care what the other country wanted to call it: this was definitely blackmail. If enjoyable rape was still called rape, enjoyable blackmail could still be called blackmail. Not that he was enjoying this, not at all. How could anyone enjoy something like that? They were in public, for crying out loud! In an enclosed space! With plenty of people around! (He wasn't nearly drunk enough!) And he wouldn't even have been here in the first place if it hadn't been for blackmail. (And he wouldn't even have been in a position to be blackmailed in the first place if he'd just learnt to cut back on the drinking. Huh, imagine that.)
France insisted on a honeymoon.
He told France to get intimate with a shovel.
France pointed out that he was holding on to their marriage certificate, and that he would gladly announce to the world that they were officially married.
After two hours of searching and a several impotent attempts to beat it out of France (which turned out to be extremely potent foreplay for the both
( ... )
then they do the newlywed thing [2/2]
anonymous
March 17 2009, 17:57:53 UTC
"How long do you intend on doing this?" he hissed finally, bopping France on the head with his own head while making it appear that he was merely falling asleep 'as well'. Hopefully, anyone looking would just ascribe his red face to the bit of wine he'd consumered earlier.
Francis was obviously displeased at being disturbed and showed it by drastically increasing his speed, drawing out a startled mewl and bringing Arthur right to the edge before clamping down tightly on the base to keep him from climaxing.
It took every last shred of willpower to keep from screaming in sheer frustration (and shit, it fucking hurt, ok?!).
"Bas..."
"You know, if you dirty the blanket, they'll find out anyway, right?" said Francis very quietly.
Arthur froze, stunned speechless. There were so many things he wanted to say, like, 'THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU START TOUCHING ME, FUCKWIT?!" but this was France and the only languages he understood were sex and extreme violence, with only a basic understanding in the latter. Then France ducked his head under
( ... )
Half a minute later, he was at the other side of the room, unsure of how he even got there, considering the throbbing pain in his lower back and the way his legs refused to hold him up. All he knew was that he didn't want to be in that bed (the nice, relatively warm bed with the wet spot that he just knew he had something to do with) with that person"Francis! What the FUCK? I didn't think it was even possible for you to sink any lower, but, God, HOW COULD YOU ( ... )
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"You're so angry, Angleterre, when you were so happy before..."
It's all your fault, you bastard.
"It's always my fault? Why is it always my fault?"
Because you ('re mine. MINE, MINE, MINE, MINE, MINE) can never defend yourself, you spineless twit! And then I always have to come to the rescue!
"If you hate it so much, why do you do it ( ... )
Reply
"You find this funny?" asked Arthur, dumbfounded and feeling the beginning of extreme outrage.
"Oui, very. Don't you? Remember that time in the 50's when I tried to propose ( ... )
Reply
The repeated references to the French strikes had me LOLing.
Reply
For some reason, he was still feeling a little groggy and unbalanced, and, for that reason, he was glad that England was cooperating in moving them both over to the bed. It was slightly warmer there, due to their combined bodyheat seeping into the mattress over the night (or the past few hours; he couldn't be sure), and they were going to make it smoking hot.
England had seemed a little worried about what went on last night, and that worried him a little in turn, but if he was willing to just drop it for this, it couldn't have been too important. Sure, he'd probably been drugged and large chunks of his memory were missing, but he'd spent the entire night in England's company and he knew, in spite of their consistant and often violent rivalry, that England ( ... )
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God, this is so dirty and messup and hurty and the ramification are going to be so much more of all of it and guh DO WANT I am so happy you're writing more that I have lost all coherency.
\o/
appropriate captcha: Spare jubiliant
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reCaptcha: Economy Colo-
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recaptcha: I'm fantastic <--- LMAO no you're fantastic
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You made me LOL. XD This is fun to read at work while trying not to snicker.
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France insisted on a honeymoon.
He told France to get intimate with a shovel.
France pointed out that he was holding on to their marriage certificate, and that he would gladly announce to the world that they were officially married.
After two hours of searching and a several impotent attempts to beat it out of France (which turned out to be extremely potent foreplay for the both ( ... )
Reply
Francis was obviously displeased at being disturbed and showed it by drastically increasing his speed, drawing out a startled mewl and bringing Arthur right to the edge before clamping down tightly on the base to keep him from climaxing.
It took every last shred of willpower to keep from screaming in sheer frustration (and shit, it fucking hurt, ok?!).
"Bas..."
"You know, if you dirty the blanket, they'll find out anyway, right?" said Francis very quietly.
Arthur froze, stunned speechless. There were so many things he wanted to say, like, 'THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU START TOUCHING ME, FUCKWIT?!" but this was France and the only languages he understood were sex and extreme violence, with only a basic understanding in the latter. Then France ducked his head under ( ... )
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