axis powers hetalia kink meme part 8 STOP! DO NOT REQUEST HERE! NEW REQUESTS GO IN THE MOST RECENT PART! New fills for this part go HERE. Get information HERE.
He walked slowly, one foot in front of the other, until Francis once again attempted to give his cock a gentle kiss. Once to the left, once to the right, then a sloppy, wet kiss full of tongue for the head. He curled his tongue around the mushroom shaped tip and tongued the slit, rewarded by the way those items dropped from Arthur’s hands as he gripped onto Francis’s shoulders and held on. He was breathing heavily through his nose from what Francis could tell.
His hands came up, and he could see, just for a moment, that there were dark bruises on his wrists before they disappeared from sight again to kneed and grasp against Arthur’s ass, fingers teasing along the cleft. He pressed at his lower back like a massage, dipped his hands between his legs to fondle his balls. The choked sounds Arthur made were like audible sweets, the notes dripping from his mouth like fine chocolate, pooling low in Francis’s stomach like the best of desserts.
He pulled back to murmur against Arthur’s cock, still flicking it with his tongue teasingly. “Is this the treat I get for being good, Angleterre?” The Frenchman lapped at the head again, purring at the little sounds escaping Arthur’s mouth. Cobalt eyes glanced heavenward, looking at Arthur’s flushed face, his hair glowing from the light framing his face. “M’ange,” Francis corrected breathlessly. His green eyes were closed in pleasure, his teeth grasping at his lower lip.
“No,” he replied, kneeling in front of Francis, taking his treat away, making the blonde man pout. “You haven’t been behaving at all. This is conditioning, Francis.” His eyes lit up, and Francis felt himself harden against the cool air. That look was never a bad thing. It meant hours of hot, steamy sex and rough play and games, and everything Arthur would deny if asked about.
“Maybe I should make sure you understand. Donnez-moi votre main. Comprendez-vous?”
Francis gulped, determined not to drool all over himself. He nodded, silently praying to this Godlike creature before him, speaking his language and sex incarnate, not to disintegrate as he reached out, palms up, to take whatever he was offered. Arthur’s smile was breathless, perfect, as he reached down and placed one of the object he had retrieved into Francis’s hand.
Francis stared down at the bottle of lube in his hand, melting on the inside. Arthur was smiling devilishly at him. He uncapped the lid and slicked his palm in the cool oil, feeling it warm as he rubbed his hands together. One hand reached down automatically to stroke his erection while the other reached for his lover’s. Arthur moved forward to straddle his still sitting lover, sitting on his thighs so that their cocks brushed together and Francis had no problem grasping them both in the same hand.
His other hand trailed back across Arthur’s pale hip to reach between his cheeks to brush at the puckered opening there, eliciting a growl from the Englishman. Always a good sign. Francis traced his fingers in gentle circles, wondering if the violence had finally left his lover, if he would allow himself to be taken today. As if sensing his train of thought, Arthur’s intense viridian eyes sought out his own and he offered a tentative smile.
“I hope you’re not broken yet,” he said, breath hitching as Francis’s slick hand pumped them together.
“Je suis desolee,” Francis responded, smiling blissfully. “Je ne parle pas Anglais.” A hand abruptly gripped his hair again, short nails scratching at his scalp. He wondered vaguely where Arthur’s nice gloves had disappeared to before his mind was swept away as a hand joined his on their erections, pumping harder, faster, nothing like his slow and seductive pace.
Francis panted, moaned, hissed as the hand in his hair gripped harder, the one touching his cock sped up, squeezing roughly. Arthur had never been a traditionally good lover. He was not gentle and caressing, but Francis could not imagine him that way. Their passion was best served hot, frantic, and painful.
Francis left the stimulation of their lengths to his hasty lover and concentrated on lifting his hips with one arm and probing at his entrance with the other. One finger made its way into the soft temptation of his body, twisting and curling inward. Arthur’s head slammed against his shoulder, hand leaving the long blonde locks in favor of scratching at his back, finding the welts from his earlier use of the crop and tearing at them. Francis licked at his ear, wanting to swallow the sweat sounds issuing from the Englishman’s mouth.
Another finger joined the first, stretching and scissoring in an attempt to make room inside of him for something larger. Arthur hissed, his hips bucking back against the intrusion, eyes closed against the sensations, on display for the Frenchman watching him with lust-filled eyes.
“So greedy for me, Arthur,” he breathed, adding a third finger to his stretching, pumping the slick digits in and out. Arthur leaned forward until their chests where pressed together, hands gripping Francis’s shoulders as he lifted himself into Francis’s lap, until the hand pumping in and out of him was pressed against Francis’s own erection.
“Thought you didn’t speak English,” he replied, gasping as the head of Francis’s cock nudged against his arse cheeks, pushing at the center of him, replacing the slick fingers that slipped away. Francis bit at his shoulder, teeth gripping his skin gently, causing pain in such a gentle manner that Arthur sighed against him.
“Shhh, Angleterre, this doesn’t require words. But you may be as wantonly vocal as you like.” He tried to hold on to Arthur’s hips, to guide him gently onto his waiting cock, but his impatient friend rolled his eyes at his gentle ministrations. Arthur reached behind himself to grasp the waiting length, stroking over the soft skin before taking a firm hold and guiding himself onto it.
Arthur let out a pained moan as he welcomed Francis into his body, forcing his muscles to relax and take the Frenchman deeper, all the way. His face pressed back to its place in the crook of his lover’s neck, breathing deeply through the pain of being filled so suddenly, despite the preparation. It was worth it to hear the way Francis sucked in his breath, held in, then let it all out in a desperate moan. His fingers gripped at Arthur’s hips, and he was far beyond caring if he left bruises.
“Mon amour, please hold still for a moment, or I will hurt you.” Francis swallowed, his throat spontaneously dry, as he felt the tight, hot body convulse around him. Arthur lifted himself until only the head of Francis’s cock was inside of him, and then slid back down to take it back inside. His breath came out in a hiss, rushing out against the Frenchman’s face and rustling his hair.
“Fuck me, Francis. Or I am going to do it for you.” Arthur went to move again, tucking himself onto Francis’s lap to get a better hold.
“Don’t worry, m’ange, I can do it.” Francis laughed, tucking the smaller man against his chest and rolling him gently onto his back, lifting his legs over his own shoulders, hoping that Arthur wasn’t going to get a cramp. The position was strange, and difficult, with Arthur’s pants still around his knees, but Francis was loving the feel of those leather boots in his hands, against his bare shoulders.
“Rip them,” Arthur said, wriggling around, trying to impale himself further onto the Frenchman’s cock, his face and chest flushed. Francis squawked at the suggestion, but Arthur was scowling and he was shifting backwards as if he was actually considering standing up to take them off.
The shreds of fabric lay sad, broken against his thighs as Francis lifted the Englishman’s hips and reseated him against his pelvis, thrusting forward at the same time. Arthur’s body rocked, his head banging against the ground, a moan tearing out of his throat. They moved together, always in sync, in perfect form.
Francis rubbed his face against leather as he thrust forward into his partner, tilting his hips to push himself deeper. It didn’t take long with his superior lovemaking skills to press against Arthur’s prostate, making him scream and curse and scratch fervently at Francis’s skin. They mouths found each other, teeth and tongue fusing them into a single entity. Francis swallowed moans and hisses of pleasure and pain, moving to please the Englishman before he even managed to choke out a request.
Demanding lover that he was, Arthur tugged at his hair, snarled at him to go “Fucking faster, you idiot. You’re not going to hurt me.” He reached between their slick bodied and found Arthur’s weeping erection, stroked it and squeezed. The small body in his embrace shuddered and seized, inner muscles clenching around him as Arthur came over his hand, breath rushing out in something that sounded suspiciously like, “Je t’aime.”
Francis buried himself to the hilt, balls pressed against Arthur’s still sensitive skin, and emptied himself, sighing. They lay on the cold floor, their skin slowly cooling from the heat that had possessed them. Francis pressed a soft kiss into Arthur’s messy blonde hair, hoping he wasn’t overstepping the boundaries that would soon separate them again.
Arthur shifted, pulling away until the softening member slipped out of him and rolled slowly to his knees. He sighed, then turned those soft, sated eyes on Francis, like there was something he wanted to say that he didn’t quite dare utter. He stood, shakily, and Francis couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his semen running down those milky white thighs.
“Come on,” he said, waving at Francis to get up off the floor. He walked away on trembling legs, wobbling over to a door in the wall that, had he not known where it was, Francis would never have seen. He managed to get off the floor and follow Arthur through the doorway into another room, sighing as the warm air settled against his skin and he stepped onto a thick carpet.
He fell onto the bed there, mostly on top of his lover, pulling a thin sheet over his smaller form, giddy with excitement that Arthur had invited him into the cozy room he had previously been denied. He curled up gently against Arthur’s back, hissing as he realized how sore he was.
“You better be gone in the morning.”
“Of course.”
“And you’d better come back.”
“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. As you have.”
“Good. Love you.”
“Je t’aime, Arthur.”
They slept. ----- Okay, it's over. Hope it was okay. I haven't written anything in a long time!
I loved this fill, but I have to admit, I was a tad bit disappointed when it turned out that England was the one to bottom. I know the fill said FrUK, but with the way it was going, it had given me false hope that France would have been uke. I still like it! But I would have liked it even more if France bottomed. *uke!France fan*
*runs away before the bricks start being thrown for complaining*
Authornon sorry! It was going that way, but... I just write whatever happens in my brain, and it happened that way. I'm sure I'll be writing more soon. Hope next time you like it more >__
Alfred would do it. Riiiiiip Oh good lord. I sniggered at that. I could just see France scowling and angry~ I usually hate FrUK But this was Awesomely done~
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Nothing Hurts Like... [6/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-06-19 04:52 am (UTC)(link)His hands came up, and he could see, just for a moment, that there were dark bruises on his wrists before they disappeared from sight again to kneed and grasp against Arthur’s ass, fingers teasing along the cleft. He pressed at his lower back like a massage, dipped his hands between his legs to fondle his balls. The choked sounds Arthur made were like audible sweets, the notes dripping from his mouth like fine chocolate, pooling low in Francis’s stomach like the best of desserts.
He pulled back to murmur against Arthur’s cock, still flicking it with his tongue teasingly. “Is this the treat I get for being good, Angleterre?” The Frenchman lapped at the head again, purring at the little sounds escaping Arthur’s mouth. Cobalt eyes glanced heavenward, looking at Arthur’s flushed face, his hair glowing from the light framing his face. “M’ange,” Francis corrected breathlessly. His green eyes were closed in pleasure, his teeth grasping at his lower lip.
“No,” he replied, kneeling in front of Francis, taking his treat away, making the blonde man pout. “You haven’t been behaving at all. This is conditioning, Francis.” His eyes lit up, and Francis felt himself harden against the cool air. That look was never a bad thing. It meant hours of hot, steamy sex and rough play and games, and everything Arthur would deny if asked about.
“Maybe I should make sure you understand. Donnez-moi votre main. Comprendez-vous?”
Francis gulped, determined not to drool all over himself. He nodded, silently praying to this Godlike creature before him, speaking his language and sex incarnate, not to disintegrate as he reached out, palms up, to take whatever he was offered. Arthur’s smile was breathless, perfect, as he reached down and placed one of the object he had retrieved into Francis’s hand.
Francis stared down at the bottle of lube in his hand, melting on the inside. Arthur was smiling devilishly at him. He uncapped the lid and slicked his palm in the cool oil, feeling it warm as he rubbed his hands together. One hand reached down automatically to stroke his erection while the other reached for his lover’s. Arthur moved forward to straddle his still sitting lover, sitting on his thighs so that their cocks brushed together and Francis had no problem grasping them both in the same hand.
His other hand trailed back across Arthur’s pale hip to reach between his cheeks to brush at the puckered opening there, eliciting a growl from the Englishman. Always a good sign. Francis traced his fingers in gentle circles, wondering if the violence had finally left his lover, if he would allow himself to be taken today. As if sensing his train of thought, Arthur’s intense viridian eyes sought out his own and he offered a tentative smile.
“I hope you’re not broken yet,” he said, breath hitching as Francis’s slick hand pumped them together.
“Je suis desolee,” Francis responded, smiling blissfully. “Je ne parle pas Anglais.” A hand abruptly gripped his hair again, short nails scratching at his scalp. He wondered vaguely where Arthur’s nice gloves had disappeared to before his mind was swept away as a hand joined his on their erections, pumping harder, faster, nothing like his slow and seductive pace.
Francis panted, moaned, hissed as the hand in his hair gripped harder, the one touching his cock sped up, squeezing roughly. Arthur had never been a traditionally good lover. He was not gentle and caressing, but Francis could not imagine him that way. Their passion was best served hot, frantic, and painful.
Nothing Hurts Like... [7/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-06-19 04:54 am (UTC)(link)Another finger joined the first, stretching and scissoring in an attempt to make room inside of him for something larger. Arthur hissed, his hips bucking back against the intrusion, eyes closed against the sensations, on display for the Frenchman watching him with lust-filled eyes.
“So greedy for me, Arthur,” he breathed, adding a third finger to his stretching, pumping the slick digits in and out. Arthur leaned forward until their chests where pressed together, hands gripping Francis’s shoulders as he lifted himself into Francis’s lap, until the hand pumping in and out of him was pressed against Francis’s own erection.
“Thought you didn’t speak English,” he replied, gasping as the head of Francis’s cock nudged against his arse cheeks, pushing at the center of him, replacing the slick fingers that slipped away. Francis bit at his shoulder, teeth gripping his skin gently, causing pain in such a gentle manner that Arthur sighed against him.
“Shhh, Angleterre, this doesn’t require words. But you may be as wantonly vocal as you like.” He tried to hold on to Arthur’s hips, to guide him gently onto his waiting cock, but his impatient friend rolled his eyes at his gentle ministrations. Arthur reached behind himself to grasp the waiting length, stroking over the soft skin before taking a firm hold and guiding himself onto it.
Arthur let out a pained moan as he welcomed Francis into his body, forcing his muscles to relax and take the Frenchman deeper, all the way. His face pressed back to its place in the crook of his lover’s neck, breathing deeply through the pain of being filled so suddenly, despite the preparation. It was worth it to hear the way Francis sucked in his breath, held in, then let it all out in a desperate moan. His fingers gripped at Arthur’s hips, and he was far beyond caring if he left bruises.
“Mon amour, please hold still for a moment, or I will hurt you.” Francis swallowed, his throat spontaneously dry, as he felt the tight, hot body convulse around him. Arthur lifted himself until only the head of Francis’s cock was inside of him, and then slid back down to take it back inside. His breath came out in a hiss, rushing out against the Frenchman’s face and rustling his hair.
“Fuck me, Francis. Or I am going to do it for you.” Arthur went to move again, tucking himself onto Francis’s lap to get a better hold.
“Don’t worry, m’ange, I can do it.” Francis laughed, tucking the smaller man against his chest and rolling him gently onto his back, lifting his legs over his own shoulders, hoping that Arthur wasn’t going to get a cramp. The position was strange, and difficult, with Arthur’s pants still around his knees, but Francis was loving the feel of those leather boots in his hands, against his bare shoulders.
“Rip them,” Arthur said, wriggling around, trying to impale himself further onto the Frenchman’s cock, his face and chest flushed. Francis squawked at the suggestion, but Arthur was scowling and he was shifting backwards as if he was actually considering standing up to take them off.
“Alfred would do it.”
Re: Nothing Hurts Like... [8/8]
(Anonymous) 2010-06-19 04:55 am (UTC)(link)The shreds of fabric lay sad, broken against his thighs as Francis lifted the Englishman’s hips and reseated him against his pelvis, thrusting forward at the same time. Arthur’s body rocked, his head banging against the ground, a moan tearing out of his throat. They moved together, always in sync, in perfect form.
Francis rubbed his face against leather as he thrust forward into his partner, tilting his hips to push himself deeper. It didn’t take long with his superior lovemaking skills to press against Arthur’s prostate, making him scream and curse and scratch fervently at Francis’s skin. They mouths found each other, teeth and tongue fusing them into a single entity. Francis swallowed moans and hisses of pleasure and pain, moving to please the Englishman before he even managed to choke out a request.
Demanding lover that he was, Arthur tugged at his hair, snarled at him to go “Fucking faster, you idiot. You’re not going to hurt me.” He reached between their slick bodied and found Arthur’s weeping erection, stroked it and squeezed. The small body in his embrace shuddered and seized, inner muscles clenching around him as Arthur came over his hand, breath rushing out in something that sounded suspiciously like, “Je t’aime.”
Francis buried himself to the hilt, balls pressed against Arthur’s still sensitive skin, and emptied himself, sighing. They lay on the cold floor, their skin slowly cooling from the heat that had possessed them. Francis pressed a soft kiss into Arthur’s messy blonde hair, hoping he wasn’t overstepping the boundaries that would soon separate them again.
Arthur shifted, pulling away until the softening member slipped out of him and rolled slowly to his knees. He sighed, then turned those soft, sated eyes on Francis, like there was something he wanted to say that he didn’t quite dare utter. He stood, shakily, and Francis couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his semen running down those milky white thighs.
“Come on,” he said, waving at Francis to get up off the floor. He walked away on trembling legs, wobbling over to a door in the wall that, had he not known where it was, Francis would never have seen. He managed to get off the floor and follow Arthur through the doorway into another room, sighing as the warm air settled against his skin and he stepped onto a thick carpet.
He fell onto the bed there, mostly on top of his lover, pulling a thin sheet over his smaller form, giddy with excitement that Arthur had invited him into the cozy room he had previously been denied. He curled up gently against Arthur’s back, hissing as he realized how sore he was.
“You better be gone in the morning.”
“Of course.”
“And you’d better come back.”
“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. As you have.”
“Good. Love you.”
“Je t’aime, Arthur.”
They slept.
-----
Okay, it's over. Hope it was okay. I haven't written anything in a long time!
Re: Nothing Hurts Like... [8/8]
(Anonymous) 2010-06-19 07:56 am (UTC)(link)Re: Nothing Hurts Like... [8/8]
(Anonymous) 2010-06-19 08:09 am (UTC)(link)I loved this fill, but I have to admit, I was a tad bit disappointed when it turned out that England was the one to bottom.
I know the fill said FrUK, but with the way it was going, it had given me false hope that France would have been uke.
I still like it! But I would have liked it even more if France bottomed. *uke!France fan*
*runs away before the bricks start being thrown for complaining*
Re: Nothing Hurts Like... [8/8]
(Anonymous) 2010-06-19 03:24 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Nothing Hurts Like... [8/8]
(Anonymous) 2010-06-20 01:08 am (UTC)(link)Riiiiiip
Oh good lord. I sniggered at that. I could just see France scowling and angry~
I usually hate FrUK
But this was Awesomely done~
OP!
(Anonymous) 2010-06-23 06:44 pm (UTC)(link)Sorry for the late comment, Anon!
Re: Nothing Hurts Like... [8/8]
(Anonymous) 2010-07-03 09:55 am (UTC)(link)...very hot. *squirms uncomfortably.*