fic: Overboard
Jun. 16th, 2012 06:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Overboard
Series: Hetalia
Character/pairing: France/Canada, vague implication of USUK
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2867
Author's note: ambie on tumblr wanted Franada. I wrote it.
Schulyer = Netherlands.
Kink bingo: historical roleplay.
--
Alfred had been talking on about robots and something about Wonder Woman, and Matthew was only half listening. His Double Double was growing cold in front of him, the chatter of the Tim Hortons blending into Alfred's very own geeky chatter. His cell phone buzzed for the third time, and Matthew brought it up to eye level to survey the readout. His mouth was a thin, grim line as he pushed the ignore button and set it aside. Alfred was leaning back in his chair, aimlessly looking around the Tim Hortons. When Matthew set his phone on the table, Alfred gave him the bro what gives eyebrow raise.
"It's nothing," Matthew said.
"Nothing except that you look like you're going to choke a bitch," Alfred said. "What, is Harper being a douche again?"
"Harper is always being a douche," Matthew said dismissively. "It's just....It's nothing–"
"Broooo—"
Matthew rolled his eyes and sighed.
"It's just that Francis and I are fighting, okay? You and Arthur fight enough, you should know what it's like."
Alfred peered at him, his elbows on the table, his chin balanced on the backs of his hands. "What happened?"
Matthew shook his head. "I told him if he liked other people so much he could be dating all of them instead."
"...so, basically you're angry at Francis for being Francis," Alfred said. "That makes total sense."
Matthew rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, well you try dating him and having to sit ignored while he hits on every waitress, bartender, receptionist and busboy in existence."
"I did!" Alfred said brightly.
Matthew was silent. Alfred looked on with that usual cluelessness where he didn't even realize he just committed the faux pas of mentioning the ex factor. Matthew thought the world would be far less volatile place if they'd just ban mentioning the part of history that revolved around gay–and not so gay–sex between the countries. It'd mean a lot less awkward moments in summits and world meetings where Matthrew would realize that the only people who hadn't been in Francis's bed were Vash's little sister and Peter.
"Anyways, Arthur tells me Francis has been bad lately," Alfred said carelessly.
"Bad?" Matthew said. And all he could think was what, was he having an endless orgy to celebrate not being with the old ball and chain of boring old me now?
"Bad like sitting around getting drunk and cranky and sobby in a way to make a bid for Arthur's world champion reign of the world's sobbiest, crankiest drunk?"Alfred said.
"Oh..." Matthew said.
His stomach was in knots. Matthew had this habit of keeping everything in for a few centuries or so and then unleashing it all on said person or country. And there had been quite a few centuries of angsty daddy issues to unleash on Francis, so he may have gone a bit...overboard. He knew Francis was flirty when he came into the relationship, of course. He'd known Francis was flirty for some four-hundred years and loved him anyways. It was even part of his charm, but Matthew was more than a little clingy and just as monogamous as Francis was flirty, and prone to bouts of jealousy when his limit was reached...especially when Francis was choosing to spend whatever little time they had together hitting on everyone but him.
His daddy issues tended to rear their head in the most inopportune of times.
But he wasn't a complete unforgiving dick, either. Actually, he pretty much forgave pretty soon after they started looking sad about his whole tearing into them like a passive aggresshole.
"I'll...."
"I'll be going now," Alfred said brightly.
"Huh?" Matthew said.
"Last time I stuck around when you and Francis were fighting, you guys almost had make up sex right in front of me," Alfred said. "And it was like, ten times more awkward because Arthur was there, and about ready to kill Francis."
Matthew gave an abashed smile. "Sorry about that. The eggnog always gets to us all."
Alfred shrugged. "Used to it. Man, I could tell you stories. Since I'm bros with everybody, I am becoming an expert on the signs of imminent make up sex. I wish Vash was seeing someone, I bet he'd yodel before his make up sex."
Matthew didn't even try and figure out Alfred's logic. "Right. Uh, see you later."
"Yep!" Alfred said.
Matthew took his coffee out with him as he left, and pulled out his phone and scanned through the messages. There were twenty text messages, and ten voice messages. Though it wasn't as bad as he thought when he found out that ten of the text messages were from Schuyler, who was stoned twittering again.
You have ten unheard messages.
"Matthieu, je suis désolé, je suis désolé. Mon amour—"
it broke off into slurred sobs, and the sound of something crashing.
The voicemail gave the usual instructions, and he skipped to the next one.
Matthieu, please, we need to talk about this. It's nothing, just a mere flirtation. I wasn't sleeping with any of them, I promise. Now if you'd only just call me. Come on, chéri. Call me.
Matthew bit his lip. He didn't need to run through the eight other ones to know what they'd say. He closed his voicemail and chose Francis's number from his contacts. There was a tightness in his chest as he dialed.
Pick up the phone, Francis, pick up....
Technically, Francis couldn't die permanently from some little thing, but that didn't keep Matthew from feeling icy fingers of worry clenching around his heart.
I'm 'busy' at the moment, but I'll be sure to call you when I'm done, gorgeous. Leave me a message and I'm be more than happy to get back to you. Francis laughed at the end. Matthew stared at the phone, his mouth going back into the same grim line. Suddenly, he felt the urge to set his phone to ignore again.
Calm down, Matthew, he thought.
Francis forgot to change his voicemail from before, Matthew kept telling himself. It wasn't like he found a profile on OkCupid with 'taken but still looking.'
He put his phone back in his pocket. If Francis was nearly as drunk as his voicemails implied, it would be best to let him sleep it off. By then, maybe Matthew would be cooled off, and they could have a decent conversation.
Irritation, regret, worry and really good coffee churned in his stomach as he made his way home.
*
Matthew set his coat on the coatrack which sort of looked more than a little phallic. Al had gotten him it from some awful little thrift shop they'd both been browsing when they were positively smashed. It never failed to bring up happy memories. Matthew walked in, feeling a strange...disarray. He couldn't quite tell, but something was definitely off.
"Kumajirou?"
Matthew stepped in, carefully looking around him as he went. Nothing was out of place, and yet—
"You're finally home."
Matthew jerked around. In his living room was his intruder, Francis sitting on his beige couch with his dark leather boots up on the ottoman.
His breeches were white and skin tight, his loose blouse unbuttoned down halfway down his chest revealing blond chest hair, with a long elegant blue coat with an edging of gold. He wore a large black pirate's hat with a feather in it. Matthew felt his knees buckle a little just at the sight of him.
"...you look like a gay pirate who might start stripping at any moment," Matthew said.
"Well, that was the point," Francis said.
Matthew sighed. "I didn't expect to see you this soon...or this sober. What do you want?"
"Isn't it obvious? I want you," Francis said. "Also, I'm less sober than I look."
He reached out and pulled on Matthew's arm, pulling him closer, until Matthew was toppling down to sit with him. Francis smelled thickly of wine and white musk, cigarettes and roses. Matthew hadn't realized just how much he'd missed that scent until now. It took every bit of restraint to not bury his face in Francis's chest.
It had only been a week, a stupid spat. And yet Matthew felt so many conflicting emotions. He wanted to not let Francis off quite so easily just yet, he wanted to bury himself against Francis and never let go, he wanted to be fucked into the nearest mattress, though the couch would do in a pinch.
"Let me make it up to you, mon chéri."
Francis looked slightly unkempt. His hair was pulled back with a navy blue ribbon, the ponytail loose and messy. He obviously hadn't shaved recently, and had at least a day's worth of stubble rough over his cheeks. Somehow, it only added to the rugged sexiness.
"I've been very miserable and very lonely, coeur," Francis said. "All week long I've been thinking about what I'd do to you."
It'd been a very lonely week for both of them. Matthew had been so upset that he'd not even jacked off. Even having Francis this close ate away at his resolve to be as Al would put it "a passive aggressive little bitch."
"Tell me—tell me what you want to do to me," Matthew said, his voice breathless.
"First I'd strip you down to nothing," Francis said. His voice was low as he began to work on the buttons of Matthew's flannel shirt.
"You do this just to taunt me, don't you?" He murmured.
"Maybe," Matthew said.
"Ah, always with that passive-aggressiveness," Francis said. He began to push up Matthew's white shirt, exposing his chest. He was slow, rubbing his thumbs in a circular motion as the shirt went up. It was taking everything within Matthew not to listen to his inner slut, which was screaming oh God, Francis, just take me already!
Matthew had a two second mental conversation with himself, using every bit of the remaining blood in his head. On one hand, he could be a little bitch and...he forgot the reasoning, Francis's touch was making him forget all the reasons. If it got any better, he'd probably forget his name and national anthem and half his history in the process.
Needless to say, Matthew's inner slut won over his inner bitch.
"I'd take you slowly," Francis said.
"Too slowly," Matthew said. He tried to grind against Francis, but Francis pushed him down in a surprisingly forceful move.
"Slowly," Francis said again.
For all people mocked Francis about military strength and weak surrendering Frenchmen in general, they didn't take into account the kind of raw power Francis could draw on when he was determined to. And by people, he meant Arthur and Al, of course. It was no surprise that it'd take dirty sex to unleash Francis's full power.
He was held down, completely hard as Francis still disrobed him. There went his shirt. Maybe he could've fought for power like that, the minute Francis slackened his grip enough to let the shirt pass over his head, but honestly? Matthew was liking this whole captive thing. He was liking it a lot.
"And I thought I'd let you see a side of me that you've never seen before."
Matthew's breath caught. Francis was above him, looking so smug and confident. He had the roguish thing down.
"...Pirate?" Matthew said, hopefulness creeping into his voice.
"Yes, Matthieu," Francis said.
"Welcome onboard," Francis said.
It was like he was part porn star and bodice ripper all in one. And fuck if Francis couldn't make corny lines into the hottest thing he's ever heard.
"You're quite a pretty treasure," Francis said. His voice was low, yet held a force to it. "Whatever shall I do to you?"
"Take me harder," Matthew said.
"Harder? Hmmm. I don't think so."
Francis leaned down to lick his chest, and Matthew shuddered. It was just a faint touch, a warm, wet brush against his skin. Matthew tried to arch his back for more contact, but Francis kept him down.
"Beg for it," Francis said. His voice was harder now, haughty and forceful.
"Please..." Matthew said.
"Please, what?" Francis said.
"Please f-fuck me," Matthew said.
Francis leaned down just enough to kiss him. It was a rough kiss, full of teeth and power and force. Matthew writhed against him, and felt like he could just cream his pants right there.
"Remember, you're my little prize," Francis said. He licked Matthew's neck slowly, slowly.
"...I get to say what happens to you."
"Franciiss—"
"Captiain Francis," he said.
"Captain," Matthew pleaded.
"I suppose, since you're being such a good boy," Francis said.
He lessened his grip only enough to shift his weight fully onto Matthew. And then he kissed Matthew again, tongue and teeth and passion. His hands were on him, so in control that it made Matthew dizzy with just how much he wanted Francis.
Francis began to peel off the rest of his clothes, rough enough to rip them. Matthew suspected that this was a secret divergent plan to make Matthew finally throw out his flannel and grungy jeans that made him look like he worshiped at the altar of Kurt Cobain, but it was still hot as hell.
Francis leaned up, and Matthew literally felt bereft at the lack of his touch. But all too soon, Francis was back. Perfectly lubed latex condoms was a bit of a break from the roleplay, but hey, whatever got him fucked faster. Finally free, Matthew clasped his hands behind Francis's back and tried to push Francis deep, deep into him. Matthew dug his nails in deeper to Francis, and let out a muffled moan into Francis's shoulder. Fuck he'd missed this. The scent of Francis was so nostalgic, so alluring and fucking hot, bitter and sweet and musky. His slut side was out in full force, and Francis seemed to be enjoying the effect, if his look was any indication.
He wrapped his legs about Francis's hips, forced him in deeper, harder. Fuck, he'd be sore tomorrow. Wouldn't even be able to sit without squirming.
It'd be glorious.
The mattress creaked beneath them as Francis thrust harder into him with—dare he say wild abandon?–sounded like a romance novel cliche, but honestly? Francis was better than Fabio any day. And he could be his romance hero any time.
His skin was hot, so sensitive and trickling with beads of sweat. He could feel the pressure inside him, coming more quickly from the pace and the glaring lack of sex.
Matthew didn't expect the intensity of that final thrust, or how he'd clench around Francis, who was still hard inside him. It was a cliche, but he'd honestly seen stars behind his eyes, his head cramped against the side of the couch. The heat started under his skin and went outwards, moving all the way to his fingertips. With it came a perfect calm that came with a good fuck.
Oh, yeah. He missed that. He really missed that.
Francis was half tangled in him, limbs splayed together, sweaty and dripping with some of his come.
"So, is this a good enough apology?" Francis said.
Matthew was well-fucked to the point where the soreness was nostalgic, and his whole body felt like smiling. It was certainly some of the more unique make up sex they'd had.
"Hmmm," Matthew said. "I'm thinking."
Francis kissed his cheek. "Then I'll keep wooing you until you give in. I'll fill the room with roses, cook you breakfast in bed, make you come again and again, until you hurt in the best ways.'
"One, it already hurts, so mission accomplished, two...second, you had me at 'I'm less sober than I look.'"
Francis chuckled. "You're such a lush, I love it."
"It was kind of inevitable between you and Arthur," Matthew said.
"When tomorrow comes, we'll have a big meal and do...something," Francis said. He stifled a yawn. Being emotional and dramatic and going through spats were pretty draining. Especially when you counted in the desperate make up sex.
"And then we'll do this again?"
"If I'd know you liked the pirate outfit, I'd have put it into regular use," Francis mused.
"I thought that was the whole point?" Matthew said.
"Yes...no. Well, it made sense on the alcohol," Francis said.
Matthew leaned up to kiss his cheek. "This is one of your better drunk plans."
"In vinos veritas," Francis said, a bit smugly.
Now they just needed to add the addendum of in wine there's stupid plans, ridiculous plans, and great make up sex to the list.
Series: Hetalia
Character/pairing: France/Canada, vague implication of USUK
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2867
Author's note: ambie on tumblr wanted Franada. I wrote it.
Schulyer = Netherlands.
Kink bingo: historical roleplay.
--
Alfred had been talking on about robots and something about Wonder Woman, and Matthew was only half listening. His Double Double was growing cold in front of him, the chatter of the Tim Hortons blending into Alfred's very own geeky chatter. His cell phone buzzed for the third time, and Matthew brought it up to eye level to survey the readout. His mouth was a thin, grim line as he pushed the ignore button and set it aside. Alfred was leaning back in his chair, aimlessly looking around the Tim Hortons. When Matthew set his phone on the table, Alfred gave him the bro what gives eyebrow raise.
"It's nothing," Matthew said.
"Nothing except that you look like you're going to choke a bitch," Alfred said. "What, is Harper being a douche again?"
"Harper is always being a douche," Matthew said dismissively. "It's just....It's nothing–"
"Broooo—"
Matthew rolled his eyes and sighed.
"It's just that Francis and I are fighting, okay? You and Arthur fight enough, you should know what it's like."
Alfred peered at him, his elbows on the table, his chin balanced on the backs of his hands. "What happened?"
Matthew shook his head. "I told him if he liked other people so much he could be dating all of them instead."
"...so, basically you're angry at Francis for being Francis," Alfred said. "That makes total sense."
Matthew rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, well you try dating him and having to sit ignored while he hits on every waitress, bartender, receptionist and busboy in existence."
"I did!" Alfred said brightly.
Matthew was silent. Alfred looked on with that usual cluelessness where he didn't even realize he just committed the faux pas of mentioning the ex factor. Matthew thought the world would be far less volatile place if they'd just ban mentioning the part of history that revolved around gay–and not so gay–sex between the countries. It'd mean a lot less awkward moments in summits and world meetings where Matthrew would realize that the only people who hadn't been in Francis's bed were Vash's little sister and Peter.
"Anyways, Arthur tells me Francis has been bad lately," Alfred said carelessly.
"Bad?" Matthew said. And all he could think was what, was he having an endless orgy to celebrate not being with the old ball and chain of boring old me now?
"Bad like sitting around getting drunk and cranky and sobby in a way to make a bid for Arthur's world champion reign of the world's sobbiest, crankiest drunk?"Alfred said.
"Oh..." Matthew said.
His stomach was in knots. Matthew had this habit of keeping everything in for a few centuries or so and then unleashing it all on said person or country. And there had been quite a few centuries of angsty daddy issues to unleash on Francis, so he may have gone a bit...overboard. He knew Francis was flirty when he came into the relationship, of course. He'd known Francis was flirty for some four-hundred years and loved him anyways. It was even part of his charm, but Matthew was more than a little clingy and just as monogamous as Francis was flirty, and prone to bouts of jealousy when his limit was reached...especially when Francis was choosing to spend whatever little time they had together hitting on everyone but him.
His daddy issues tended to rear their head in the most inopportune of times.
But he wasn't a complete unforgiving dick, either. Actually, he pretty much forgave pretty soon after they started looking sad about his whole tearing into them like a passive aggresshole.
"I'll...."
"I'll be going now," Alfred said brightly.
"Huh?" Matthew said.
"Last time I stuck around when you and Francis were fighting, you guys almost had make up sex right in front of me," Alfred said. "And it was like, ten times more awkward because Arthur was there, and about ready to kill Francis."
Matthew gave an abashed smile. "Sorry about that. The eggnog always gets to us all."
Alfred shrugged. "Used to it. Man, I could tell you stories. Since I'm bros with everybody, I am becoming an expert on the signs of imminent make up sex. I wish Vash was seeing someone, I bet he'd yodel before his make up sex."
Matthew didn't even try and figure out Alfred's logic. "Right. Uh, see you later."
"Yep!" Alfred said.
Matthew took his coffee out with him as he left, and pulled out his phone and scanned through the messages. There were twenty text messages, and ten voice messages. Though it wasn't as bad as he thought when he found out that ten of the text messages were from Schuyler, who was stoned twittering again.
You have ten unheard messages.
"Matthieu, je suis désolé, je suis désolé. Mon amour—"
it broke off into slurred sobs, and the sound of something crashing.
The voicemail gave the usual instructions, and he skipped to the next one.
Matthieu, please, we need to talk about this. It's nothing, just a mere flirtation. I wasn't sleeping with any of them, I promise. Now if you'd only just call me. Come on, chéri. Call me.
Matthew bit his lip. He didn't need to run through the eight other ones to know what they'd say. He closed his voicemail and chose Francis's number from his contacts. There was a tightness in his chest as he dialed.
Pick up the phone, Francis, pick up....
Technically, Francis couldn't die permanently from some little thing, but that didn't keep Matthew from feeling icy fingers of worry clenching around his heart.
I'm 'busy' at the moment, but I'll be sure to call you when I'm done, gorgeous. Leave me a message and I'm be more than happy to get back to you. Francis laughed at the end. Matthew stared at the phone, his mouth going back into the same grim line. Suddenly, he felt the urge to set his phone to ignore again.
Calm down, Matthew, he thought.
Francis forgot to change his voicemail from before, Matthew kept telling himself. It wasn't like he found a profile on OkCupid with 'taken but still looking.'
He put his phone back in his pocket. If Francis was nearly as drunk as his voicemails implied, it would be best to let him sleep it off. By then, maybe Matthew would be cooled off, and they could have a decent conversation.
Irritation, regret, worry and really good coffee churned in his stomach as he made his way home.
*
Matthew set his coat on the coatrack which sort of looked more than a little phallic. Al had gotten him it from some awful little thrift shop they'd both been browsing when they were positively smashed. It never failed to bring up happy memories. Matthew walked in, feeling a strange...disarray. He couldn't quite tell, but something was definitely off.
"Kumajirou?"
Matthew stepped in, carefully looking around him as he went. Nothing was out of place, and yet—
"You're finally home."
Matthew jerked around. In his living room was his intruder, Francis sitting on his beige couch with his dark leather boots up on the ottoman.
His breeches were white and skin tight, his loose blouse unbuttoned down halfway down his chest revealing blond chest hair, with a long elegant blue coat with an edging of gold. He wore a large black pirate's hat with a feather in it. Matthew felt his knees buckle a little just at the sight of him.
"...you look like a gay pirate who might start stripping at any moment," Matthew said.
"Well, that was the point," Francis said.
Matthew sighed. "I didn't expect to see you this soon...or this sober. What do you want?"
"Isn't it obvious? I want you," Francis said. "Also, I'm less sober than I look."
He reached out and pulled on Matthew's arm, pulling him closer, until Matthew was toppling down to sit with him. Francis smelled thickly of wine and white musk, cigarettes and roses. Matthew hadn't realized just how much he'd missed that scent until now. It took every bit of restraint to not bury his face in Francis's chest.
It had only been a week, a stupid spat. And yet Matthew felt so many conflicting emotions. He wanted to not let Francis off quite so easily just yet, he wanted to bury himself against Francis and never let go, he wanted to be fucked into the nearest mattress, though the couch would do in a pinch.
"Let me make it up to you, mon chéri."
Francis looked slightly unkempt. His hair was pulled back with a navy blue ribbon, the ponytail loose and messy. He obviously hadn't shaved recently, and had at least a day's worth of stubble rough over his cheeks. Somehow, it only added to the rugged sexiness.
"I've been very miserable and very lonely, coeur," Francis said. "All week long I've been thinking about what I'd do to you."
It'd been a very lonely week for both of them. Matthew had been so upset that he'd not even jacked off. Even having Francis this close ate away at his resolve to be as Al would put it "a passive aggressive little bitch."
"Tell me—tell me what you want to do to me," Matthew said, his voice breathless.
"First I'd strip you down to nothing," Francis said. His voice was low as he began to work on the buttons of Matthew's flannel shirt.
"You do this just to taunt me, don't you?" He murmured.
"Maybe," Matthew said.
"Ah, always with that passive-aggressiveness," Francis said. He began to push up Matthew's white shirt, exposing his chest. He was slow, rubbing his thumbs in a circular motion as the shirt went up. It was taking everything within Matthew not to listen to his inner slut, which was screaming oh God, Francis, just take me already!
Matthew had a two second mental conversation with himself, using every bit of the remaining blood in his head. On one hand, he could be a little bitch and...he forgot the reasoning, Francis's touch was making him forget all the reasons. If it got any better, he'd probably forget his name and national anthem and half his history in the process.
Needless to say, Matthew's inner slut won over his inner bitch.
"I'd take you slowly," Francis said.
"Too slowly," Matthew said. He tried to grind against Francis, but Francis pushed him down in a surprisingly forceful move.
"Slowly," Francis said again.
For all people mocked Francis about military strength and weak surrendering Frenchmen in general, they didn't take into account the kind of raw power Francis could draw on when he was determined to. And by people, he meant Arthur and Al, of course. It was no surprise that it'd take dirty sex to unleash Francis's full power.
He was held down, completely hard as Francis still disrobed him. There went his shirt. Maybe he could've fought for power like that, the minute Francis slackened his grip enough to let the shirt pass over his head, but honestly? Matthew was liking this whole captive thing. He was liking it a lot.
"And I thought I'd let you see a side of me that you've never seen before."
Matthew's breath caught. Francis was above him, looking so smug and confident. He had the roguish thing down.
"...Pirate?" Matthew said, hopefulness creeping into his voice.
"Yes, Matthieu," Francis said.
"Welcome onboard," Francis said.
It was like he was part porn star and bodice ripper all in one. And fuck if Francis couldn't make corny lines into the hottest thing he's ever heard.
"You're quite a pretty treasure," Francis said. His voice was low, yet held a force to it. "Whatever shall I do to you?"
"Take me harder," Matthew said.
"Harder? Hmmm. I don't think so."
Francis leaned down to lick his chest, and Matthew shuddered. It was just a faint touch, a warm, wet brush against his skin. Matthew tried to arch his back for more contact, but Francis kept him down.
"Beg for it," Francis said. His voice was harder now, haughty and forceful.
"Please..." Matthew said.
"Please, what?" Francis said.
"Please f-fuck me," Matthew said.
Francis leaned down just enough to kiss him. It was a rough kiss, full of teeth and power and force. Matthew writhed against him, and felt like he could just cream his pants right there.
"Remember, you're my little prize," Francis said. He licked Matthew's neck slowly, slowly.
"...I get to say what happens to you."
"Franciiss—"
"Captiain Francis," he said.
"Captain," Matthew pleaded.
"I suppose, since you're being such a good boy," Francis said.
He lessened his grip only enough to shift his weight fully onto Matthew. And then he kissed Matthew again, tongue and teeth and passion. His hands were on him, so in control that it made Matthew dizzy with just how much he wanted Francis.
Francis began to peel off the rest of his clothes, rough enough to rip them. Matthew suspected that this was a secret divergent plan to make Matthew finally throw out his flannel and grungy jeans that made him look like he worshiped at the altar of Kurt Cobain, but it was still hot as hell.
Francis leaned up, and Matthew literally felt bereft at the lack of his touch. But all too soon, Francis was back. Perfectly lubed latex condoms was a bit of a break from the roleplay, but hey, whatever got him fucked faster. Finally free, Matthew clasped his hands behind Francis's back and tried to push Francis deep, deep into him. Matthew dug his nails in deeper to Francis, and let out a muffled moan into Francis's shoulder. Fuck he'd missed this. The scent of Francis was so nostalgic, so alluring and fucking hot, bitter and sweet and musky. His slut side was out in full force, and Francis seemed to be enjoying the effect, if his look was any indication.
He wrapped his legs about Francis's hips, forced him in deeper, harder. Fuck, he'd be sore tomorrow. Wouldn't even be able to sit without squirming.
It'd be glorious.
The mattress creaked beneath them as Francis thrust harder into him with—dare he say wild abandon?–sounded like a romance novel cliche, but honestly? Francis was better than Fabio any day. And he could be his romance hero any time.
His skin was hot, so sensitive and trickling with beads of sweat. He could feel the pressure inside him, coming more quickly from the pace and the glaring lack of sex.
Matthew didn't expect the intensity of that final thrust, or how he'd clench around Francis, who was still hard inside him. It was a cliche, but he'd honestly seen stars behind his eyes, his head cramped against the side of the couch. The heat started under his skin and went outwards, moving all the way to his fingertips. With it came a perfect calm that came with a good fuck.
Oh, yeah. He missed that. He really missed that.
Francis was half tangled in him, limbs splayed together, sweaty and dripping with some of his come.
"So, is this a good enough apology?" Francis said.
Matthew was well-fucked to the point where the soreness was nostalgic, and his whole body felt like smiling. It was certainly some of the more unique make up sex they'd had.
"Hmmm," Matthew said. "I'm thinking."
Francis kissed his cheek. "Then I'll keep wooing you until you give in. I'll fill the room with roses, cook you breakfast in bed, make you come again and again, until you hurt in the best ways.'
"One, it already hurts, so mission accomplished, two...second, you had me at 'I'm less sober than I look.'"
Francis chuckled. "You're such a lush, I love it."
"It was kind of inevitable between you and Arthur," Matthew said.
"When tomorrow comes, we'll have a big meal and do...something," Francis said. He stifled a yawn. Being emotional and dramatic and going through spats were pretty draining. Especially when you counted in the desperate make up sex.
"And then we'll do this again?"
"If I'd know you liked the pirate outfit, I'd have put it into regular use," Francis mused.
"I thought that was the whole point?" Matthew said.
"Yes...no. Well, it made sense on the alcohol," Francis said.
Matthew leaned up to kiss his cheek. "This is one of your better drunk plans."
"In vinos veritas," Francis said, a bit smugly.
Now they just needed to add the addendum of in wine there's stupid plans, ridiculous plans, and great make up sex to the list.
