fic: my little cat
Oct. 7th, 2010 02:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: my little cat
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: France/Canada*-
Rating:PG-13
Word count: 1165
Author's note: kink meme: snuggly USUK or France/Canada. Trying to de-meh Melly, and like, birthday gift! For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miyuki_mina! Because this is the only thing I've written as of late that I didn't deem too au, too porny, too historical and so on....
Matthew never had told anyone, but when he got sleepy, he pictured himself curled up like a cat, falling fast asleep with Kumajirou at his back and several pillows. Two to sleep on, one to cling against, and probably a scented French throwpillow close enough where he could catch its perfume as he drifted off. It'd smell like Francis, like burnt cinnamon and opium, a mix of aromas which reminded him of the way Francis used to smell when he was still his colonizer, and still under the rule of kings. His last waking thoughts then would be a memory of a golden haired man, poised and cultured bending down with his hands outstretched. It would put a warm glow through him, like he'd been drinking, and he would nod off, an old French lullaby stuck in his head.
This time it wasn't Kumajirou at his back, but Francis. Kumajirou took to his feet, like the faithful dog he wasn't, probably cockblocking Francis for any sleepy groping he was bound to do. Matthew was too tired for sex, anyways. Too tired for awake sex at least, because Matthew had mostly given Francis carte blanche with some exceptions, and 'giving him nice dreams' wasn't one of them.
When you were little, you mioued as you went off to sleep. I used to call you mon chaton, just for that.
Matthew smiled, too tired to even feel embarrassed at old tales. Like Oh, I remember the time you bit Arthur's hand! and Canada didn't mention that it's Arthur and not Rosbif.
Francis stroked along his back. "A long day, mon chatte?"
Very long. Matthew groaned. Francis was rubbing out a knot in his back with careful strokes of his fingers. Francis was always talented with his fingers, from playing a piano (which might not rival Roderich's mastry, always sounded beautiful to Matthew's ears) to the graceful way he would gesture and talk with his hands when he was having an especially lively conversation. His slim fingers would fill in the spaces between his own and sometimes they'd just hold hands under the table like new lovers, or while watching a program – either his television shows or some film Francis brought over. Francis would lay his head on Matthew's shoulder and they'd be tired together, until Francis got frisky — he always got frisky – then they'd be sleepy and horny and Matthew would remind himself to go check online for his shows later when Francis had gone back to his native land.
It was the usual. Stupid people, long hours, and called every 'M' name but Matthew, it'd been such a grueling day. He was glad for more than just the scented pillow, but the warmth and comfort of Francis at his back.
You were so cute back then. "Miou, miou, papa tell me a story, papa get me a drink, papa sing me a song, miou, miou' Francis chuckled. You'd push your bedtime later in such a cute manner I could never bring myself to be stern with you.
I just wanted you to stay longer, Matthew admitted.
But of course, Francis said, with pride in his voice. Who wouldn't? Besides– A kiss at his neck, the moisture of soft lips to his skin– You're still very cute.
Francis ran his fingers up under Matthew's flannel pajama top, up his chest. Matthew shivered. Francis was going so slow, so very, very slow, and yet it was wonderful as he began to feel tingly.
Perhaps it is your turn to tell me a story, Francis said. His voice was silky, suggestive.
Like? I'm afraid my day was dreary and dull, not an interesting story at all, Matthew said.
Hmmm. I'm sure you can think of something, he said playfully. He was tracing about Matthew's navel now, and Matthew's eyes were half-closed in sheer bliss.
When I meowed, it was I wanted to be a cat, I guess, Matthew admitted as he felt Francis nuzzle his back.
Quoi? Francis murmured.
It–it's stupid, but I wanted to curl up like a cat does...I think it'd hurt if I tried. Like I said...it's stupid.
Non, Francis murmured. He pushed up Matthew's hair and kissed the back of his neck. Nothing about you is stupid.
Except maybe my food? Matthew teased.
You cannot help it. Arthur poisoned you for so very long. Oh, my poor boy... He pulled Matthew a bit tighter to him. You had to suffer through his food for so very long...it is tragic. Here, let papa comfort you for such a experience.
Matthew giggled. I-It wasn't that bad, really.
Hush. You missed your papa so much you could barely eat – and because Arthur's cooking was just so very bad— Francis' tone took a melodramatic, mocking air and it took a lot of self control just not to fall over in a fit of giggles again.
Oui. I missed you terribly, Matthew said.
Francis rested his head against him, in a soft tender moment. Me too, mon amour. Me too.
He slipped his hand into Matthew's and they just laid close, quiet, almost solemn as they were tightly entwined together. Francis' legs between his. Three buttons were undone, but for that moment Francis stopped in his stripping of Matthew just to stay near. And Matthew knew they'd have sex later, or tomorrow, but for that moment they were just close, remembering and being glad that all those unfortunate things that had come between them – wars lost and won, years and betrayals had lead to here, just this. Hand in hand, half-stripped and telling stories with more tenderness to come later on.
*
The next time Francis visited, he brought a pair of little black cat ears gotten from Kiku. You'll always be mon chatte, you know this, right? He took up a lock of Matthew's hair between his fingers and kissed it.
It was this that kept him through the worst days when nobody remembered him and Al was being a jerk and everyone was fighting again. Instead he said I know.
(There was also a rather interesting tail which was quite surprising – especially the manner in making it stay – but that was another thing entirely.)
--
Francis is calling him all sorts of cat nicknames...they seem to have Another Connotation Entirely (http://www.lexiophiles.com/english/top-5-mistakes-by-french-learners well, about the same as English, no?) but I kept it as I felt it would be in-character for Francis. Also, it amused me.
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: France/Canada*-
Rating:PG-13
Word count: 1165
Author's note: kink meme: snuggly USUK or France/Canada. Trying to de-meh Melly, and like, birthday gift! For
miyuki_mina! Because this is the only thing I've written as of late that I didn't deem too au, too porny, too historical and so on....Matthew never had told anyone, but when he got sleepy, he pictured himself curled up like a cat, falling fast asleep with Kumajirou at his back and several pillows. Two to sleep on, one to cling against, and probably a scented French throwpillow close enough where he could catch its perfume as he drifted off. It'd smell like Francis, like burnt cinnamon and opium, a mix of aromas which reminded him of the way Francis used to smell when he was still his colonizer, and still under the rule of kings. His last waking thoughts then would be a memory of a golden haired man, poised and cultured bending down with his hands outstretched. It would put a warm glow through him, like he'd been drinking, and he would nod off, an old French lullaby stuck in his head.
This time it wasn't Kumajirou at his back, but Francis. Kumajirou took to his feet, like the faithful dog he wasn't, probably cockblocking Francis for any sleepy groping he was bound to do. Matthew was too tired for sex, anyways. Too tired for awake sex at least, because Matthew had mostly given Francis carte blanche with some exceptions, and 'giving him nice dreams' wasn't one of them.
When you were little, you mioued as you went off to sleep. I used to call you mon chaton, just for that.
Matthew smiled, too tired to even feel embarrassed at old tales. Like Oh, I remember the time you bit Arthur's hand! and Canada didn't mention that it's Arthur and not Rosbif.
Francis stroked along his back. "A long day, mon chatte?"
Very long. Matthew groaned. Francis was rubbing out a knot in his back with careful strokes of his fingers. Francis was always talented with his fingers, from playing a piano (which might not rival Roderich's mastry, always sounded beautiful to Matthew's ears) to the graceful way he would gesture and talk with his hands when he was having an especially lively conversation. His slim fingers would fill in the spaces between his own and sometimes they'd just hold hands under the table like new lovers, or while watching a program – either his television shows or some film Francis brought over. Francis would lay his head on Matthew's shoulder and they'd be tired together, until Francis got frisky — he always got frisky – then they'd be sleepy and horny and Matthew would remind himself to go check online for his shows later when Francis had gone back to his native land.
It was the usual. Stupid people, long hours, and called every 'M' name but Matthew, it'd been such a grueling day. He was glad for more than just the scented pillow, but the warmth and comfort of Francis at his back.
You were so cute back then. "Miou, miou, papa tell me a story, papa get me a drink, papa sing me a song, miou, miou' Francis chuckled. You'd push your bedtime later in such a cute manner I could never bring myself to be stern with you.
I just wanted you to stay longer, Matthew admitted.
But of course, Francis said, with pride in his voice. Who wouldn't? Besides– A kiss at his neck, the moisture of soft lips to his skin– You're still very cute.
Francis ran his fingers up under Matthew's flannel pajama top, up his chest. Matthew shivered. Francis was going so slow, so very, very slow, and yet it was wonderful as he began to feel tingly.
Perhaps it is your turn to tell me a story, Francis said. His voice was silky, suggestive.
Like? I'm afraid my day was dreary and dull, not an interesting story at all, Matthew said.
Hmmm. I'm sure you can think of something, he said playfully. He was tracing about Matthew's navel now, and Matthew's eyes were half-closed in sheer bliss.
When I meowed, it was I wanted to be a cat, I guess, Matthew admitted as he felt Francis nuzzle his back.
Quoi? Francis murmured.
It–it's stupid, but I wanted to curl up like a cat does...I think it'd hurt if I tried. Like I said...it's stupid.
Non, Francis murmured. He pushed up Matthew's hair and kissed the back of his neck. Nothing about you is stupid.
Except maybe my food? Matthew teased.
You cannot help it. Arthur poisoned you for so very long. Oh, my poor boy... He pulled Matthew a bit tighter to him. You had to suffer through his food for so very long...it is tragic. Here, let papa comfort you for such a experience.
Matthew giggled. I-It wasn't that bad, really.
Hush. You missed your papa so much you could barely eat – and because Arthur's cooking was just so very bad— Francis' tone took a melodramatic, mocking air and it took a lot of self control just not to fall over in a fit of giggles again.
Oui. I missed you terribly, Matthew said.
Francis rested his head against him, in a soft tender moment. Me too, mon amour. Me too.
He slipped his hand into Matthew's and they just laid close, quiet, almost solemn as they were tightly entwined together. Francis' legs between his. Three buttons were undone, but for that moment Francis stopped in his stripping of Matthew just to stay near. And Matthew knew they'd have sex later, or tomorrow, but for that moment they were just close, remembering and being glad that all those unfortunate things that had come between them – wars lost and won, years and betrayals had lead to here, just this. Hand in hand, half-stripped and telling stories with more tenderness to come later on.
*
The next time Francis visited, he brought a pair of little black cat ears gotten from Kiku. You'll always be mon chatte, you know this, right? He took up a lock of Matthew's hair between his fingers and kissed it.
It was this that kept him through the worst days when nobody remembered him and Al was being a jerk and everyone was fighting again. Instead he said I know.
(There was also a rather interesting tail which was quite surprising – especially the manner in making it stay – but that was another thing entirely.)
--
Francis is calling him all sorts of cat nicknames...they seem to have Another Connotation Entirely (http://www.lexiophiles.com/english/top-5-mistakes-by-french-learners well, about the same as English, no?) but I kept it as I felt it would be in-character for Francis. Also, it amused me.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-10-07 11:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-10-07 03:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: