There is literally NOTHING of this pairing.
Hello, this is WishfullyThinking, coming in with a batch of WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS.
Anyways, I kinda wanted to do this ship when I saw that little wrestling scene between Capone and Napoleon.
Felt really weird to write this. ANYWAYS;
I know this has a really shitty sex scene in it. Whatever.
Enjoy!
In the great halls of the Smithsonian, a scream could be heard.
Multiple French soldiers began to scatter, the monochromatic Italian gangsters appearing out of know where from the darkness, firing their machine-guns wildly, the sound of shattering glass accompanying the screams.
Napoleon hissed in anger, nursing a cut on his palm, attempting not to make a sound as the gangsters slowly passed. He wished he did not get himself into such situations.
At this point, Napoleon had no idea why he was still awake. He, and many other museum attractions had been moved to the Museum of Natural History for whatever reason, most likely the fact that they had found their attractions to have moved and changed expression. The only thing Napoleon had known that he had woken up, still tangled into a wrestling match with the Italian gangster. There was the slight taste of blood in his mouth, most likely from getting sucker-punched when he awoke. He cursed silently in French, peering out slightly from the crates. Tip-toeing across the polished floors, he managed to make two steps before something slammed into his neck, successfully causing him to lose consciousness. Napoleon was able to make out a few words through his delirium, the Italian insults lost on him, however he knew Corsican, which was quite similar but not the same.
"The boss… love this…"
"Fuckin'… French stronzo…"
Napoleon knew that this might be his end. Or maybe not. Could he die again? He could certainly feel pain as something wrapped around his arms and legs, most likely coarse rope. But he indeed relaxed when he felt a bed underneath him. Maybe he would be able to relax before he died. Again.
He was faintly aware that there was shouting from across the room as his petticoat was unbuttoned, which caused a subtle revulsion to go through his body.
"Congedo lui, lasciare noi essere!" He heard from a particularly familiar voice. "Get out before I bust yer' chops, fuckin' book yah, s'what'll do…." There was a faint rustle, the sounds of the gangsters leaving the room. There was a sigh, the shutting of a door.
Napoleon was aware that the Italian was coming closer, the fact that he sat down on the bed beside him almost made him jump. He had to remain quiet, that's what.
"Yer' no call-girl, I'll give you that." Capone murmured, brushing the short bangs from Napoleon's eyes, receiving an involuntary twitch of fear. Napoleon could hear the slight chuckle of amusement from the man above him, fear rising in his stomach. He opened his eyes, attempting to free himself, finding that his bindings were quite secure indeed. The Italian mobster above him seemed to be amused, expecting this reaction.
"Lâche-moi vous bâtard italien!" Napoleon cursed, struggling quite a few more minutes before relaxing back into the bed, exhausted by his efforts. He felt a cool palm on his forehead, the Italian looking him in the eye with an expression the Frenchman could not identify.
"You're welcome, y'know." Said Capone, taking off his monochromatic fedora, setting it on a nearby nightstand. Napoleon was confused. Was this another exhibit at the museum? Was there a bit of storage underground holding this? He shook his head, glaring at the Italian.
"For what?! Tying me up to a bed? Punching me in the face?!" He screeched in anger, his voice going up in pitch. Capone seemed insulted, leaning over the Frenchman in a menacing fashion.
"I. Saved. Your. Life. Dolly, I could've let my boys drop yah, but I didn't." He hissed, resisting the urge to throttle the man under him. Napoleon shrinked under that gaze, but his temper was still as high as ever.
"So what? Crétin!" He hissed, "Perhaps your mother should be called in to spank the idiocy out of you!"
The Italian paused, a smirk slowly appearing on his face.
"Y'know, that sounds like a kickin' idea!" He snorted, flipping the Frenchman over painfully, startling him as he pulled down his trousers, chucking at the undergarments he had on.
"W-what are you doing?! Get off!" Napoleon shouted, struggling once more against his bonds, his face slowly going pink.
"Just followin' your advice, brainchild." He whispered in the Frenchman's ear, and with a sudden jerk, spanked Napoleon's rear end. Napoleon jumped underneath him, squirming more than ever, his face slowly turning red.
Another spank.
"Ach! Stop!"
Spank!
"Get off me! N-"
Spank!
"S-S'il vous plait!"
"I dunno what that means. Nope."
Spank! Spank! Spank!
"Nooon!"
The spanking stopped abruptly when the Italian mobster found that the man he had been punishing had begun to sweat, his face a cherry-red, biting his lip.
"Guess I gave it to you, didn't I?" He snorted, allowing the Frenchman to flip over on his back.
"Imbécile," He grunted, Capone finally noticing the Frenchman's tented trousers, "You did indeed 'gave it to me.'"
The Mobster paused, not sure how to continue with this. Okay, so he accidentally made the Frenchman's Johnson kick, eh? Well, maybe he meant to excite him a little, but in anger, not in… this. An idea hatched before his eyes, smirking down at the Frenchman below.
"…. You want me to take care of that?"