“I - I’m afraid - “ a huff - “ it seems, dear - “ another desperate try for air - “I’m too close.” He tries to laugh, but it is more of a wheeze.
Loud, relieved, breathless laughter from beneath him, and Denmark removes his hand from the two of them - runs it along France’s backside, instead. “Guess I getta top today, huh?”
France lowers his face, noses Denmark’s neck, jaw, ear - indulging in the combined scent of earth, sharp chemical paint, and Denmark’s unique blend of musk and sea - nods. He can’t - a verbal response is too much. He would rather focus on the taut lines of the tendons in Denmark’s neck beneath his teeth.
Denmark presses slick fingers against him - France speeds him on with a sharp bite - and, ah, that does the trick. Denmark jerks and a finger goes in. Funny; as much as Denmark himself enjoyed harsh, fast preparation, he is loathe to do so to France. France leans back on his haunches, braces the dirty hand against Denmark’s chest - still too clean - that should - oh.
He reaches back with the clean hand, linking his fingers in Denmark’s, and presses, pushes. Denmark swears, low and strong - so he is getting into it, France thinks.
“You will last longer,” France belatedly answers.
“I -” Denmark’s speech hitches as France runs his nails down one side of that heaving ribcage - beautiful pink lines flaring, a nice, sharp accompaniment to the smeared darkness on the mirroring side - “Yeah. I -” France does it again. “I got it,” Denmark answers, rushed, all at once.
“And if I keep doing this?” France smiles, the question only interrupted for a moment as Denmark pushes more, further into him, and France pushes back, abrupt - France digs his nails in more before once more returning to the paint.
Lube-slicked fingers within, paint-slicked fingers without - clear and black, France can’t help but think of the contrast as he runs black lines along the rose-hued ones already there - he groans and pulls Denmark’s hand away before pinning it above their heads in one swift motion, crashing their lips together though neither has the breath to manage it. They will manage; they always do.
Between nips and bites and tongue and saliva they do. Hot panted breaths between swollen, damaged skin, between the quick moments when their lips part - France grips the bones, tendons, muscle of Denmark’s wrist in his hand, wants to feel it all move, life under his palm - their torsos slide together with more ease than sweat can provide. Paint. Lube. France moans; Denmark does in response.
Noise. Yes. How could he forget? France mutters under his breath, into Denmark’s inflamed lips, invasive tongue, flat teeth - moves his head to the side and drags his lips along the paint and dirt and sweat along Denmark’s jaw, keeping up the litany of mumbled dirty talk if only to hear Denmark’s keen, feel his body shudder beneath his own, feel a hand claw up his backside.
When Denmark begins issuing gibberish - how easily mere words, ephemeral things that they were, throw him into such a state - France reaches around, grabs him, sinks down onto him. Denmark sucks in a breath as his eyes fly open, spine taut and thrumming beneath France, resisting the urge to move.
---
Hrnnng you two. Also this thing is outlined to the end now whee.
And comments! Just in general: thank you so so much anons, oh man I always squee real heard and end up with this huuuuuge stupid grin for like the next hour. It’s a little silly. Also: I still love crit. Crit is welcome. It is kind of impossible to offend me unless you insult my sister.
OP: Ack I dunno if I would call this “my style” so much as “France’s style” because he just does this thing to my writing when it’s from his POV. Why is everything so pretty-gritty with you, France?
Nordic!anon: Oh definitely! I mean, unless he’s trolling England for the lulz. Ah, nah, I know what you mean about not knowing what to say. Just a “I’m still here and still like it!” is cool though, y’know?
D/F!anon: Pffffft it’s pretty 'cuz it’s entirely from France’s POV. For some reason he’s the easiest character for me to write. If I was writing this from Denmark’s it would be waaaay harder.
Carbonic [7/?]
Denmark freezes, wide-eyed.
“I - I’m afraid - “ a huff - “ it seems, dear - “ another desperate try for air - “I’m too close.” He tries to laugh, but it is more of a wheeze.
Loud, relieved, breathless laughter from beneath him, and Denmark removes his hand from the two of them - runs it along France’s backside, instead. “Guess I getta top today, huh?”
France lowers his face, noses Denmark’s neck, jaw, ear - indulging in the combined scent of earth, sharp chemical paint, and Denmark’s unique blend of musk and sea - nods. He can’t - a verbal response is too much. He would rather focus on the taut lines of the tendons in Denmark’s neck beneath his teeth.
Denmark presses slick fingers against him - France speeds him on with a sharp bite - and, ah, that does the trick. Denmark jerks and a finger goes in. Funny; as much as Denmark himself enjoyed harsh, fast preparation, he is loathe to do so to France. France leans back on his haunches, braces the dirty hand against Denmark’s chest - still too clean - that should - oh.
He reaches back with the clean hand, linking his fingers in Denmark’s, and presses, pushes. Denmark swears, low and strong - so he is getting into it, France thinks.
“You will last longer,” France belatedly answers.
“I -” Denmark’s speech hitches as France runs his nails down one side of that heaving ribcage - beautiful pink lines flaring, a nice, sharp accompaniment to the smeared darkness on the mirroring side - “Yeah. I -” France does it again. “I got it,” Denmark answers, rushed, all at once.
“And if I keep doing this?” France smiles, the question only interrupted for a moment as Denmark pushes more, further into him, and France pushes back, abrupt - France digs his nails in more before once more returning to the paint.
Lube-slicked fingers within, paint-slicked fingers without - clear and black, France can’t help but think of the contrast as he runs black lines along the rose-hued ones already there - he groans and pulls Denmark’s hand away before pinning it above their heads in one swift motion, crashing their lips together though neither has the breath to manage it. They will manage; they always do.
Between nips and bites and tongue and saliva they do. Hot panted breaths between swollen, damaged skin, between the quick moments when their lips part - France grips the bones, tendons, muscle of Denmark’s wrist in his hand, wants to feel it all move, life under his palm - their torsos slide together with more ease than sweat can provide. Paint. Lube. France moans; Denmark does in response.
Noise. Yes. How could he forget? France mutters under his breath, into Denmark’s inflamed lips, invasive tongue, flat teeth - moves his head to the side and drags his lips along the paint and dirt and sweat along Denmark’s jaw, keeping up the litany of mumbled dirty talk if only to hear Denmark’s keen, feel his body shudder beneath his own, feel a hand claw up his backside.
When Denmark begins issuing gibberish - how easily mere words, ephemeral things that they were, throw him into such a state - France reaches around, grabs him, sinks down onto him. Denmark sucks in a breath as his eyes fly open, spine taut and thrumming beneath France, resisting the urge to move.
---
Hrnnng you two. Also this thing is outlined to the end now whee.
And comments! Just in general: thank you so so much anons, oh man I always squee real heard and end up with this huuuuuge stupid grin for like the next hour. It’s a little silly. Also: I still love crit. Crit is welcome. It is kind of impossible to offend me unless you insult my sister.
OP: Ack I dunno if I would call this “my style” so much as “France’s style” because he just does this thing to my writing when it’s from his POV. Why is everything so pretty-gritty with you, France?
Nordic!anon: Oh definitely! I mean, unless he’s trolling England for the lulz. Ah, nah, I know what you mean about not knowing what to say. Just a “I’m still here and still like it!” is cool though, y’know?
D/F!anon: Pffffft it’s pretty 'cuz it’s entirely from France’s POV. For some reason he’s the easiest character for me to write. If I was writing this from Denmark’s it would be waaaay harder.