Title: In my midnight confessions
Author: Keitorin (Chou ni Natte)
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: France x Canada
Rating: M
Summary: France is known to be ready and willing to have sex with anybody. Only, someone seems to be left out, as always.
Author's notes: Title from the song 'Midnight Confessions' by Grass Roots. Thank you to my lovely friend Tomato Graffiti (BakaChan003 here) for helping me with some last edits! 3
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own Axis Powers Hetalia. I write for fun, not profit.
Terms:
Désolé = Sorry
Mon petit chou = My little cabbage
Embrasse-moi = Kiss me
Mon chéri = My dear
Did I miss any? :p
Matthew was slowly buttoning up the silk blue shirt, enjoying the feel of it on his skin. Cool and smooth. He wanted to bring the material up to his face and engulf himself in the smell of parfum, wine and fine cooking.
The door creaked open, and he froze.
"Mathieu."
He slowly turned at the sound of his name being said in a flat tone that sent shivers down his spine. In the past, it had purred and caused the same reaction.
"P-papa," Matthew stuttered nervously, standing embarrassed in the middle of the other's room wearing one of his expensive (not to mention unwashed) shirts.
"May I ask what you are doing in my room, going through my things and trying them on without permission?" As he spoke, the Frenchman was slowly advancing across the room.
"D-désolé papa, I just. I just wanted to try it on." The lame excuse stuttered its way past his trembling lips. He fidgeted with the cuff of the shirt in question. It was a bit too big on his slender form.
Because he'd been looking down, he missed the man's approach and let out a startled sound as France suddenly cupped his chin.
"Mon chéri, all you had to do was ask." He said in a tender voice that contrasted with the odd glint in his eyes. Matthew started to unbutton the shirt a lot faster than he'd buttoned it up.
"I truly am sorry, I'll just-" He was cut off by France's fingers over his own, halting his progress. At the feel of those warm fingers sliding over his own, Matthew's cheeks warmed.
"Leave it on. It looks good on you."
Matthew tried to stutter out either a polite refusal or maybe a thanks, but in one sudden swift move, France pushed him so hard that he fell right back onto the bed, knocking the breath right out of him.
Then France straddled him and all of his senses fled.
France leaned over him, his face so close that for a heartstopping instant, Matthew thought he was going to kiss him.
Instead, he pressed his lips against his ear and whispered in a low, seductive voice.
"Did you know that you can't look me in the eyes when you lie?"
Matthew's face got impossibly redder - for being called out on the lie, because of what France was doing to him. Hot breath ghosted over his neck and he shuddered.
"Everyone thinks you're so innocent, mon chéri, but I know the truth. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I can't see. I know you touch yourself and think of me." As the Frenchman whispered the last words, he bit Matthew's ear, and he jerked and gasped. The words were obviously having an effect on him – his pants were tented and too tight.
He spared a moment to be completely and utterly embarrassed before France continued.
"I bet you imagine yourself begging to be fucked. That's right, you just a want a cock filling your tight little hole. Or maybe your mouth?" France asked slyly, pulling back to stare at a glaze-eyed Matthew who was by now panting with a fine sheen of sweat over his face.
France took advantage of the parted lips and slipped two fingers inside. Matthew eagerly took them in, sucking on them and imagining they were France's cock, which he could see outlined through the man's pants.
"Just like a slut. So eager. And for your own papa, too. Angleterre would never believe it." France chuckled huskily and removed his fingers with a wet pop. Matthew made a disappointed sound.
"Don't worry, mon chéri. You will get another chance. But right now…you are just begging to be fucked like the little slut you are."
Without warning, France grabbed Matthew and flipped him over. He was still trying to recover when he was grabbed by the hair and forced into a kneeling position.
"This is the way bitches get fucked." France said suddenly, like he was stating everyday news. It didn't take Matthew long to understand what the other man meant, and his face went up in flames.
Then a hand was pushing him down and his legs were being spread apart, completely exposing him. He wondered where their clothes had disappeared to so fast, because France was suddenly completely naked, and Matthew was left with only the silk shirt on.
"P-papa, isn't this a bit too-ah!" He yelped as his ass was suddenly smacked. To his embarrassment, he was harder than ever.
"Such a slut, mon petit chou. And such a tease. Look, your body wants it so badly, too." Matthew gasped as France trailed a finger down his cock. It twitched.
"Let me take care of you." The Frenchman practically cooed. Matthew buried his face into his arms and focused on not coming.
He should have been paying attention. Without warning or lube, a finger was suddenly pressed against his hole. He automatically tensed up and the finger didn't get far.
"Relax. I know you did this yourself when you were alone, so you can't be completely unprepared."
"You, you saw?" Matthew choked on his words as the finger was pressed the rest of the way in. It wasn't particularly pleasant feeling. Matthew had done it without lube before but never so abruptly.
France was making soothing noises. Matthew forced himself to relax. He wanted this to be good for the other man.
"Good boy, always so obedient for your papa. No one else can see this side of you." Matthew flushed, pleased at the words.
A second finger was inserted and the discomfort was more noticeable. Still, Matthew persevered. The third finger didn't stay in long, but it brushed against something that made him gasp and arch off the bed.
Matthew whined at the loss and France chuckled low in his throat. He lined himself up, and just before he entered him he whispered in his ear, "you were born to be used."
"A, ahhh!" He gasped, at both the words and the intrusion. For a few moments, that's all there was – extreme discomfort.
France didn't take his time at all. His pace was steady and sure.
Strangely, Matthew found a kind of pleasure in the initial pain. It helped that France was hitting his prostate every other thrust.
"E, embrasse-moi." He begged after a while, looking over his shoulder. Not slowing, France looked down at him and smirked.
"I don't kiss whores."
Matthew let out a frustrated cry and reached down to touch himself.
"Non." France said sharply, swatting his hand away. "That is for me to decide."
That only made Matthew even more aroused to the point that he almost disobeyed the implied order. He whimpered and moved his hips to join France's thrusts.
The shirt slid down into his face and he immediately breathed in the scents mixed into the fabric.
"That's it, let your lovely voice out. You like my cock in you, don't you?"
Matthew was so aroused at that point that he would have said anything.
"Yes, oui, oh papa, harder!"
"Such a good boy, oh-"
"Papa!" Frustrated tears leaked out of his eyes. He wanted to touch himself so badly. "Papa, please!"
"Please what?"
"Please let me come!"
"Then come." France growled, and at that precise moment he hit Matthew's prostate.
He saw a starburst of white, and then…
He was coming all over his stomach (and pajamas) as he woke in bed in his room in Ontario. Alone.
For several minutes the silence was interrupted only by Matthew catching his breath. Finally, he sat up and made a distasteful expression at his soiled pajamas. He was beginning to think North Italy had the right idea, sleeping in the nude.
Matthew was getting used to doing the laundry though. He'd been having the dreams for a while now.
In the beginning ones, France had been seductive and sweet, but as time passed, Matthew had gotten tired of that.
France was that way in real life, and nothing had ever happened between them.
He would flirt, talk sweetly and even grope him, but it seemed that despite what some thought, France did drawn the line somewhere. At Matthew.
Maybe he didn't see him that way; only as a son, even though it had been a long time since they'd had that connection.
More than anything, Matthew wanted all of France for himself.
It was ridiculous, he knew. France could never be tied down.
It could never be.
Still, he couldn't help but to keep on dreaming of the day that would never come.