fic: Uniform
Jun. 17th, 2010 03:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Uniform
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: France/Canada
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3114
Author's note: kink meme: Napoleonic uniform kink.
Francis' closet was large enough that whole families could live in there. Matthew was pretty sure he could get lost in there for days if he wasn't careful. It didn't just span local fashions – it spanned eras. Francis seemed to have a compulsive packrat nature when it came to clothes, so much so that he could never seem to throw any of them away, even if they had gone out of fashion three centuries ago.
At the moment, Matthew was perusing the closet because Francis gave him an ultimatum: either the flannel goes or I do. Matthew hadn't brought a great variety of clothes with him here, and admittedly the flannel was him being a little passive-aggressive for all the multitude of irritations that any relationship brought. So maybe he might have packed all argyle and his ugliest flannel shirt just to watch Francis' sense of horror. He deserved it, considering the way he'd fought with Arthur and Alfred last Thanksgiving. Not that this didn't happen every gathering, but this had been especially bad.
And yes, Matthew had a long memory. He had the habit of being passive-aggressive for things that had happened quite some time ago. He could become cold and aloof on the mere memory of a slight hundreds of years ago. On the flip side, Matthew was also very forgiving. It was merely the resurfacing, the memories dredged up that would lead him to these passive-aggressive moods.
Still, it wasn't that bad as Francis' clothes tended to fit him fairly well. Matthew supposed that he wouldn't mind wearing tie up white leather pants with a thong, as knowing Francis, Matthew would spend more time out of his clothes than in them.
He could hear Francis rustling with something behind him.
"You're not allowed to burn my clothes, Francis," Matthew said without turning around.
"But Matthew, they're an affront to humanity ," Francis said.
"No, Francis. Put the matches down."
"I don't have matches," Francis said
"Lighter, blowtorch, whatever," Matthew said with a sigh.
He knew that Francis would be pouting. But these things never lasted too long. Francis almost had as short an attention span as Alfred. Francis' interests changed with Paris' fashions. Maybe one day, flannel would even come in style. (Francis refused to acknowledge the grunge.) Maybe, but Matthew wasn't crossing his fingers. Matthew glanced back from the caverns that made up Francis' closet. Francis was on the bed, giving Matthew's flannel and argyle the evil eye.
"Don't even think about it, Francis," Matthew said. There was a hint of warning in his tone. He gave Francis a look.
"I'm not, Matthieu," Francis said petulantly.
Matthew pulled off the black t-shirt which had been under the flannel, and left it crumpled on the floor. All thoughts of Arthur's influence on Matthew's style were erased as he effectively caught Francis' attention.
Matthew smiled to himself as he returned to perusing the closet. He kept his attention fixated on the clothes as if he had never found anything more fascinating. From time to time, he'd drop things from hangers 'accidentally' , and took his time picking them up. Matthew knew how to tease, to seduce and captivate. Even if it wasn't in his nature, he'd learned from the best. He pulled off his jeans and let them pool about his feet, and then stepped out of them as he tried on a particularly tight pair of pants.
Any argument, no matter how slight or how intense ended this way. Perhaps not with teasing outright, perhaps not with seduction, but one way or another, they ended up in bed.
Every couple had their idiosyncrasies, their fights and own secret rituals. He and Francis didn't fight very often, though whatever fights they had were certainly worth it for the makeup sex.
He passed through silk and satin, hemp and cotton in every color imaginable until he came to something unfamiliar. There were white pants, shiny black boots and a blue shirt with wide gold buttons. Beside it was a sword, and the swath of a red cape-like material.
"What's this?" Matthew held the uniform up against him.
Francis rose up, and came to see. He smiled at the sight of it. "Ah....That is my Napoleonic uniform. Angleterre would have kept you hidden away during that time, and we had not formed relations again at that point."
"Can I see you in it?" Matthew smiled up at him, just a little coy.
"Of course, mon chéri."
Francis was quite adept at shedding clothes. He was out of his silk shirt and designer pants in seconds. It took him quite a bit longer to get redressed, for his talent didn't seem to extend to the actual putting on of clothes. Besides, it was a bit intricate with the buttons, the swath, and the sheath. But after a time, Francis was fully dressed, his arms open in a dramatic gesture.
Matthew ran his fingers over the material of the blue shirt. He could feel the firm outline of Francis' body underneath. He'd known it well, mapped it countless times through the years. Francis hand his arm about Matthew's waist, his fingers tapping against his hip.
"You are clinging to me like one of those groupies," Francis murmured. "Are you that fond of this outfit?"
"It's nice...." Matthew said, and eased himself closer.
"I nearly conquered the world like this, dressed just like this," Francis said, a low hoarse sound. Matthew's grip against him tightened and he listened, with bated breath.
Francis began to undo the buttons on his shirt. He did slowly, as if putting on a show for Matthew. As pleasing as this was, one by one Matthew redid the buttons.
"Have I misread, and you're not in the mood?" Francis queried. "Or..."
"I want you to leave the uniform on," Matthew said.
"Oh? And what else do you want?" Francis murmured. His hands were tracing him now. Moving down his back, down the path of his spine. Matthew arched on reflex, feeling a tingle, a shiver.
"I want you to..." Matthew nipped at his ear, and traced over the line of his jaw. "...conquer me."
There was a glint of lust, of anticipation in Francis' eyes.
"Your wish is my command, coeur."
Matthew soon found himself against the wall of the closet, the feel of polyester brushing against his face. He'd wanted Francis to be clothed, but he'd said nothing about keeping his own clothes on. The pants are undone and pushed down in a second, until all he was wearing was a pair of close fitting briefs, because Francis preferred these to boxers. In a moment, his legs were spread wide, and he could feel Francis' thigh between them. He gripped at Francis' shoulders, burying his fingers in the swath of red cloth. Bolstered, he ground his crotch against Francis' thigh, not bothering to hold back the breathy moans that the friction elicited from him. Really, Francis preferred him loud, but when Alfred or Arthur was around, they had to keep it quiet or there was bound to be yet another war.
"I love seeing you in my clothes," Francis murmured.
He'd put on a one of Francis' silk shirts before to make the teasing complete, just before he'd found the uniform. It was a tunic style shirt, which tied at the throat in an almost medieval fashion. The ties were loose now, and revealed a hint of skin at his throat and chest. Francis made no move to remove this. Matthew was pretty sure he wasn't going to. If Francis had any say, Matthew would probably be wearing just this shirt for the remainder of his trip.
Matthew bent and sucked at the bulge, at Francis through the pants. His saliva left a wet spot on the pants. He nuzzled against Francis' groin, and then looked up playfully as he took a long lick all the way up to the waistband..
"Oh, Matthieu–" Francis gasped. .
Matthew might have put in the rule to not take them off, but there was no rule that he couldn't surpass the barrier. He snuck his hands down in and felt the firmness of Francis' arousal in his hands. Francis thrust into his grip, his breaths turning ragged.
"Really, who is doing the conquering here?" Matthew said, a little coy, a little teasing.
He released his grip. In a second, he was against the wall, pinned there by Francis. He angled so that he could catch the mirror – there were many mirrors in Francis' closet. He was fond of mirrors, so much so that most every room had one. He could only see bits of Francis, and somehow that made it all the hotter. Here was a curl of blond hair reflected against leopard print shirt, there the lower half of a face, and a smile. He liked this kaleidoscope put together of pieces of him.
Matthew thought for a moment that he was going to be ravished right there, his face against a polyester shirt, but Francis stopped.
"No, no, that won't do," Francis murmured. And with that, Francis picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. It wasn't entirely a smooth motion, but he wasn't bowed over by the weight of him, either. Everyone made fun of Francis' strength, and while he was no America, he wasn't as much as a pushover as the world made him out to be.
Matthew giggled. Francis hadn't carried him like this since he was young. It was a very giddy feeling, being carried off for a ravishing. It wasn't the bed he got set in, but a thick armchair. Francis balanced him so that Matthew held at the top of the chair with his knees bent and arse in the air. With that, he began to rifle through the drawers looking for just what he wanted.
The armchair Francis had chosen just happened to be under a very large mirror. When Francis returned, he smiled at Matthew through the reflection. He licked his lips, and Matthew felt the material of the shirt being pushed aside to better reveal more skin, to better gain access.
It was alluring to watch Francis like this. He almost felt like a voyeur, like he was watching someone else be ravished.. His skin prickles as Francis kissed the base of his spine. Even when he was being conquered, Francis couldn't resist being sensual. He was no good at the rough, emotionless kind of sex – or at least, not good at it with him. Matthew preferred it, and found it...endearing to be treated so gently.
He let out a contented sigh and arched a bit as Francis began to fill him. It was fingers, for now. Fingers that would move and touch and fill him. Soon, Francis' cock would stretch him even wider and fill him even more. Matthew felt anticipation gnawing at him, eager and impatient.
Francis was thrusting his fingers in and out, loosening him, leaving him him slick and wet with lubricant inside, and finding that spot, that one spot that made his whole body tingle with delight.
From here, he could see the light glint off of the shiny gold buttons, and the ripples in the swath of cloth from Francis' movements. He could see Francis satisfied smile, smug in his own technique as he explored his body. He could even see the other implements Francis had brought with him: the shiny gold rapier and silvery knife at his hip.
"Now, are you going to be good, or will I have to restrain you like the captive you are?" Francis murmurs.
Escaping was the last thing on his mind. The low murmur of Francis' voice only made him harder. He wriggled in Francis' grasp, but it was only to get him in deeper, more.
"I....I think you'll have to tie me up," Matthew said.
Francis put an overstuffed pillow under Matthew's chest before pulling his hands back and locking them with a satisfying click. He drew a blade across Matthew's skin, so delicately that it didn't even break the skin, and did little more than tickle. Matthew knew he wouldn't hurt him, that this was merely the non-verbalized declaration you are mine. He arched his body to the feel of the metal, cool and hard against him.
Francis pulled out, and behind him made some sort of other preparation. More lube of some kind applied to himself, washed hands and scrubbed fingers, that kind of thing. But soon he returned, and to Matthew's relief, soon he was being filled again. He'd gotten used to the first sharp hint of discomfort as his body stretched to accommodate Francis. He'd even started to almost like it, as it reminded him of the feeling when Francis would rake his nails down Matthew's back when he was on top. Francis had cultivated the idea that pain and pleasure were not entirely separate feelings, and Matthew had begun to see what he meant. He wouldn't take it to drastic measures, nothing too Marquis de Sade, but a little added spice.
He felt Francis' manicured fingernails sink into the skin of his hips as he pushed them closer together. He hadn't bothered with a condom this time, as apparently conquerors didn't use them. But Matthew loved the feel of him, free of barrier, hard and hot inside him. He was filled up now, and his mind sloshed with that same delirious feeling sex – or at least sex with Francis – always gave him.
Matthew voiced nothing but quiet gasps, because the captive and the conquered did not talk. He'd played this game with Francis before, though never in an uniform this fine, one which he could feel brushing against him. Just the feel of the uniform against his skin made him that much more turned on. He wriggled until they were tight together. Matthew rolled his hips up, eager to meet Francis' every move.
He thrust hard into Matthew, pushing him harder into the pillow. It had a soft cover, and every thrust pushed his erection against it. Matthew had a feeling that knowing Francis, he'd chosen a soft removable white slip cover for the pillow for a reason. Still, he missed the feel of coming against Francis' abdomen, being stimulated by the press of their two bodies, helped along by Francis' grip against him.
Not that he disliked this position, scenario, what have you. Far from it. Variety was always good. Matthew didn't get bored like Francis. He could use one favorite position constantly and not mind a bit. It was just his gaping longing, the way he starved for intimacy that got in the way of a lot of their kinkier stuff.
But as if he had read his mind, Francis wrapped his left hand about the base of Matthew's cock.
The pace increased, and so did the pressure on his hips. There was going to be bruises there for sure. Hand-shaped bruises that'd change in colors, from deep purple to brown to yellow until they finally faded back into the creamy color of his skin.
He loved when France left marks on him. It was like pilfering Francis' shirt and wearing it to get the scent of him memorized, but even better because it was his body which had been modified, changed by Francis.
He Loved it, loved Francis, loved—
He let out a particularly loud groan. The pressure inside him was rising, as his body neared orgasm. Now the first gentleness was left behind as Francis took him harder, harder harder–
(Oh, he was going to be sore tomorrow. Though, it was a perfect excuse to get Francis to make him breakfast in bed.)
Matthew gasped Francis as he came. The build up, like touching fire and feeling it infuse him until all his body was heated. The last ragged breaths came with the contentment, the feeling of satedness.
Francis kissed down his back, and undid the handcuffs. Matthew rubbed his wrists, and turned around until he was sitting, sticky in the feel of his own come.
Francis kissed his mouth then, and then whispered a well, Matthieu?
Even if Matthew had screamed his name, and he had plenty of evidence Francis always needed a confirmation that the sex had been good. He was really very fragile about such things, and Matthew had a feeling that being disappointing in bed would be a heavy blow to his ego. However, Matthew had never been disappointed, and certainly wouldn't have shown it should he have been so.
"I think I need to get conquered more often...even if it means tons of expensive dry cleaning bills," Matthew said.
"It's well worth the price," Francis said.
And Matthew had to agree, especially as Francis would be the one doing the paying.
Francis kissed his wrists, and inspected to make sure that they weren't too hurt. It hadn't been the harmless purple fuzzy pair this time, and the metal had chafed a bit. But it was nothing too bad, nothing that Matthew wasn't used to and well onto the way to liking, anyways.
"How about a compromise...I keep on this uniform on if you keep my shirt on, yes?"
And what a pair they'd make in that get up. Matthew hoped that this only meant here at his home and didn't extend to actual outings – though Francis had certainly worn stranger things out. Like a rose. And nothing lese. Just a rose placed to ah, hide the goods.
"Sure, I'll stay in this while I'm at your house, but I've got to at least put some pants on if we're going out," Matthew said.
"Oh, Matthieu, you're so cute," Francis said. "You say that like you're going to even make it two steps out of my bed before I drag you back for another round."
"Just making sure," Matthew said, with a grin.
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: France/Canada
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3114
Author's note: kink meme: Napoleonic uniform kink.
Francis' closet was large enough that whole families could live in there. Matthew was pretty sure he could get lost in there for days if he wasn't careful. It didn't just span local fashions – it spanned eras. Francis seemed to have a compulsive packrat nature when it came to clothes, so much so that he could never seem to throw any of them away, even if they had gone out of fashion three centuries ago.
At the moment, Matthew was perusing the closet because Francis gave him an ultimatum: either the flannel goes or I do. Matthew hadn't brought a great variety of clothes with him here, and admittedly the flannel was him being a little passive-aggressive for all the multitude of irritations that any relationship brought. So maybe he might have packed all argyle and his ugliest flannel shirt just to watch Francis' sense of horror. He deserved it, considering the way he'd fought with Arthur and Alfred last Thanksgiving. Not that this didn't happen every gathering, but this had been especially bad.
And yes, Matthew had a long memory. He had the habit of being passive-aggressive for things that had happened quite some time ago. He could become cold and aloof on the mere memory of a slight hundreds of years ago. On the flip side, Matthew was also very forgiving. It was merely the resurfacing, the memories dredged up that would lead him to these passive-aggressive moods.
Still, it wasn't that bad as Francis' clothes tended to fit him fairly well. Matthew supposed that he wouldn't mind wearing tie up white leather pants with a thong, as knowing Francis, Matthew would spend more time out of his clothes than in them.
He could hear Francis rustling with something behind him.
"You're not allowed to burn my clothes, Francis," Matthew said without turning around.
"But Matthew, they're an affront to humanity ," Francis said.
"No, Francis. Put the matches down."
"I don't have matches," Francis said
"Lighter, blowtorch, whatever," Matthew said with a sigh.
He knew that Francis would be pouting. But these things never lasted too long. Francis almost had as short an attention span as Alfred. Francis' interests changed with Paris' fashions. Maybe one day, flannel would even come in style. (Francis refused to acknowledge the grunge.) Maybe, but Matthew wasn't crossing his fingers. Matthew glanced back from the caverns that made up Francis' closet. Francis was on the bed, giving Matthew's flannel and argyle the evil eye.
"Don't even think about it, Francis," Matthew said. There was a hint of warning in his tone. He gave Francis a look.
"I'm not, Matthieu," Francis said petulantly.
Matthew pulled off the black t-shirt which had been under the flannel, and left it crumpled on the floor. All thoughts of Arthur's influence on Matthew's style were erased as he effectively caught Francis' attention.
Matthew smiled to himself as he returned to perusing the closet. He kept his attention fixated on the clothes as if he had never found anything more fascinating. From time to time, he'd drop things from hangers 'accidentally' , and took his time picking them up. Matthew knew how to tease, to seduce and captivate. Even if it wasn't in his nature, he'd learned from the best. He pulled off his jeans and let them pool about his feet, and then stepped out of them as he tried on a particularly tight pair of pants.
Any argument, no matter how slight or how intense ended this way. Perhaps not with teasing outright, perhaps not with seduction, but one way or another, they ended up in bed.
Every couple had their idiosyncrasies, their fights and own secret rituals. He and Francis didn't fight very often, though whatever fights they had were certainly worth it for the makeup sex.
He passed through silk and satin, hemp and cotton in every color imaginable until he came to something unfamiliar. There were white pants, shiny black boots and a blue shirt with wide gold buttons. Beside it was a sword, and the swath of a red cape-like material.
"What's this?" Matthew held the uniform up against him.
Francis rose up, and came to see. He smiled at the sight of it. "Ah....That is my Napoleonic uniform. Angleterre would have kept you hidden away during that time, and we had not formed relations again at that point."
"Can I see you in it?" Matthew smiled up at him, just a little coy.
"Of course, mon chéri."
Francis was quite adept at shedding clothes. He was out of his silk shirt and designer pants in seconds. It took him quite a bit longer to get redressed, for his talent didn't seem to extend to the actual putting on of clothes. Besides, it was a bit intricate with the buttons, the swath, and the sheath. But after a time, Francis was fully dressed, his arms open in a dramatic gesture.
Matthew ran his fingers over the material of the blue shirt. He could feel the firm outline of Francis' body underneath. He'd known it well, mapped it countless times through the years. Francis hand his arm about Matthew's waist, his fingers tapping against his hip.
"You are clinging to me like one of those groupies," Francis murmured. "Are you that fond of this outfit?"
"It's nice...." Matthew said, and eased himself closer.
"I nearly conquered the world like this, dressed just like this," Francis said, a low hoarse sound. Matthew's grip against him tightened and he listened, with bated breath.
Francis began to undo the buttons on his shirt. He did slowly, as if putting on a show for Matthew. As pleasing as this was, one by one Matthew redid the buttons.
"Have I misread, and you're not in the mood?" Francis queried. "Or..."
"I want you to leave the uniform on," Matthew said.
"Oh? And what else do you want?" Francis murmured. His hands were tracing him now. Moving down his back, down the path of his spine. Matthew arched on reflex, feeling a tingle, a shiver.
"I want you to..." Matthew nipped at his ear, and traced over the line of his jaw. "...conquer me."
There was a glint of lust, of anticipation in Francis' eyes.
"Your wish is my command, coeur."
Matthew soon found himself against the wall of the closet, the feel of polyester brushing against his face. He'd wanted Francis to be clothed, but he'd said nothing about keeping his own clothes on. The pants are undone and pushed down in a second, until all he was wearing was a pair of close fitting briefs, because Francis preferred these to boxers. In a moment, his legs were spread wide, and he could feel Francis' thigh between them. He gripped at Francis' shoulders, burying his fingers in the swath of red cloth. Bolstered, he ground his crotch against Francis' thigh, not bothering to hold back the breathy moans that the friction elicited from him. Really, Francis preferred him loud, but when Alfred or Arthur was around, they had to keep it quiet or there was bound to be yet another war.
"I love seeing you in my clothes," Francis murmured.
He'd put on a one of Francis' silk shirts before to make the teasing complete, just before he'd found the uniform. It was a tunic style shirt, which tied at the throat in an almost medieval fashion. The ties were loose now, and revealed a hint of skin at his throat and chest. Francis made no move to remove this. Matthew was pretty sure he wasn't going to. If Francis had any say, Matthew would probably be wearing just this shirt for the remainder of his trip.
Matthew bent and sucked at the bulge, at Francis through the pants. His saliva left a wet spot on the pants. He nuzzled against Francis' groin, and then looked up playfully as he took a long lick all the way up to the waistband..
"Oh, Matthieu–" Francis gasped. .
Matthew might have put in the rule to not take them off, but there was no rule that he couldn't surpass the barrier. He snuck his hands down in and felt the firmness of Francis' arousal in his hands. Francis thrust into his grip, his breaths turning ragged.
"Really, who is doing the conquering here?" Matthew said, a little coy, a little teasing.
He released his grip. In a second, he was against the wall, pinned there by Francis. He angled so that he could catch the mirror – there were many mirrors in Francis' closet. He was fond of mirrors, so much so that most every room had one. He could only see bits of Francis, and somehow that made it all the hotter. Here was a curl of blond hair reflected against leopard print shirt, there the lower half of a face, and a smile. He liked this kaleidoscope put together of pieces of him.
Matthew thought for a moment that he was going to be ravished right there, his face against a polyester shirt, but Francis stopped.
"No, no, that won't do," Francis murmured. And with that, Francis picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. It wasn't entirely a smooth motion, but he wasn't bowed over by the weight of him, either. Everyone made fun of Francis' strength, and while he was no America, he wasn't as much as a pushover as the world made him out to be.
Matthew giggled. Francis hadn't carried him like this since he was young. It was a very giddy feeling, being carried off for a ravishing. It wasn't the bed he got set in, but a thick armchair. Francis balanced him so that Matthew held at the top of the chair with his knees bent and arse in the air. With that, he began to rifle through the drawers looking for just what he wanted.
The armchair Francis had chosen just happened to be under a very large mirror. When Francis returned, he smiled at Matthew through the reflection. He licked his lips, and Matthew felt the material of the shirt being pushed aside to better reveal more skin, to better gain access.
It was alluring to watch Francis like this. He almost felt like a voyeur, like he was watching someone else be ravished.. His skin prickles as Francis kissed the base of his spine. Even when he was being conquered, Francis couldn't resist being sensual. He was no good at the rough, emotionless kind of sex – or at least, not good at it with him. Matthew preferred it, and found it...endearing to be treated so gently.
He let out a contented sigh and arched a bit as Francis began to fill him. It was fingers, for now. Fingers that would move and touch and fill him. Soon, Francis' cock would stretch him even wider and fill him even more. Matthew felt anticipation gnawing at him, eager and impatient.
Francis was thrusting his fingers in and out, loosening him, leaving him him slick and wet with lubricant inside, and finding that spot, that one spot that made his whole body tingle with delight.
From here, he could see the light glint off of the shiny gold buttons, and the ripples in the swath of cloth from Francis' movements. He could see Francis satisfied smile, smug in his own technique as he explored his body. He could even see the other implements Francis had brought with him: the shiny gold rapier and silvery knife at his hip.
"Now, are you going to be good, or will I have to restrain you like the captive you are?" Francis murmurs.
Escaping was the last thing on his mind. The low murmur of Francis' voice only made him harder. He wriggled in Francis' grasp, but it was only to get him in deeper, more.
"I....I think you'll have to tie me up," Matthew said.
Francis put an overstuffed pillow under Matthew's chest before pulling his hands back and locking them with a satisfying click. He drew a blade across Matthew's skin, so delicately that it didn't even break the skin, and did little more than tickle. Matthew knew he wouldn't hurt him, that this was merely the non-verbalized declaration you are mine. He arched his body to the feel of the metal, cool and hard against him.
Francis pulled out, and behind him made some sort of other preparation. More lube of some kind applied to himself, washed hands and scrubbed fingers, that kind of thing. But soon he returned, and to Matthew's relief, soon he was being filled again. He'd gotten used to the first sharp hint of discomfort as his body stretched to accommodate Francis. He'd even started to almost like it, as it reminded him of the feeling when Francis would rake his nails down Matthew's back when he was on top. Francis had cultivated the idea that pain and pleasure were not entirely separate feelings, and Matthew had begun to see what he meant. He wouldn't take it to drastic measures, nothing too Marquis de Sade, but a little added spice.
He felt Francis' manicured fingernails sink into the skin of his hips as he pushed them closer together. He hadn't bothered with a condom this time, as apparently conquerors didn't use them. But Matthew loved the feel of him, free of barrier, hard and hot inside him. He was filled up now, and his mind sloshed with that same delirious feeling sex – or at least sex with Francis – always gave him.
Matthew voiced nothing but quiet gasps, because the captive and the conquered did not talk. He'd played this game with Francis before, though never in an uniform this fine, one which he could feel brushing against him. Just the feel of the uniform against his skin made him that much more turned on. He wriggled until they were tight together. Matthew rolled his hips up, eager to meet Francis' every move.
He thrust hard into Matthew, pushing him harder into the pillow. It had a soft cover, and every thrust pushed his erection against it. Matthew had a feeling that knowing Francis, he'd chosen a soft removable white slip cover for the pillow for a reason. Still, he missed the feel of coming against Francis' abdomen, being stimulated by the press of their two bodies, helped along by Francis' grip against him.
Not that he disliked this position, scenario, what have you. Far from it. Variety was always good. Matthew didn't get bored like Francis. He could use one favorite position constantly and not mind a bit. It was just his gaping longing, the way he starved for intimacy that got in the way of a lot of their kinkier stuff.
But as if he had read his mind, Francis wrapped his left hand about the base of Matthew's cock.
The pace increased, and so did the pressure on his hips. There was going to be bruises there for sure. Hand-shaped bruises that'd change in colors, from deep purple to brown to yellow until they finally faded back into the creamy color of his skin.
He loved when France left marks on him. It was like pilfering Francis' shirt and wearing it to get the scent of him memorized, but even better because it was his body which had been modified, changed by Francis.
He Loved it, loved Francis, loved—
He let out a particularly loud groan. The pressure inside him was rising, as his body neared orgasm. Now the first gentleness was left behind as Francis took him harder, harder harder–
(Oh, he was going to be sore tomorrow. Though, it was a perfect excuse to get Francis to make him breakfast in bed.)
Matthew gasped Francis as he came. The build up, like touching fire and feeling it infuse him until all his body was heated. The last ragged breaths came with the contentment, the feeling of satedness.
Francis kissed down his back, and undid the handcuffs. Matthew rubbed his wrists, and turned around until he was sitting, sticky in the feel of his own come.
Francis kissed his mouth then, and then whispered a well, Matthieu?
Even if Matthew had screamed his name, and he had plenty of evidence Francis always needed a confirmation that the sex had been good. He was really very fragile about such things, and Matthew had a feeling that being disappointing in bed would be a heavy blow to his ego. However, Matthew had never been disappointed, and certainly wouldn't have shown it should he have been so.
"I think I need to get conquered more often...even if it means tons of expensive dry cleaning bills," Matthew said.
"It's well worth the price," Francis said.
And Matthew had to agree, especially as Francis would be the one doing the paying.
Francis kissed his wrists, and inspected to make sure that they weren't too hurt. It hadn't been the harmless purple fuzzy pair this time, and the metal had chafed a bit. But it was nothing too bad, nothing that Matthew wasn't used to and well onto the way to liking, anyways.
"How about a compromise...I keep on this uniform on if you keep my shirt on, yes?"
And what a pair they'd make in that get up. Matthew hoped that this only meant here at his home and didn't extend to actual outings – though Francis had certainly worn stranger things out. Like a rose. And nothing lese. Just a rose placed to ah, hide the goods.
"Sure, I'll stay in this while I'm at your house, but I've got to at least put some pants on if we're going out," Matthew said.
"Oh, Matthieu, you're so cute," Francis said. "You say that like you're going to even make it two steps out of my bed before I drag you back for another round."
"Just making sure," Matthew said, with a grin.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-06-20 09:36 am (UTC)!
!
!
THAT WAS GRREAT!
no subject
Date: 2010-06-22 04:18 am (UTC)