Versailles
He hadn't come by choice. Only his love for the little princess he had handed over to his once-enemy could have made him enter such a detested place. Her smiles were reluctant, forced; he wished he could take her home. Could take her aside, make her laugh, play piano for her to dance to. Marie had always liked that, had always been his favorite of the children. She was so pretty, so young. Much too young.
Across the room full of people Francis caught his eye, those deep blues twinkling with something sinister behind them.
Roderich needed to get out, get away. He knew they wouldn't let him back near Marie; they had had their goodbyes before crossing into France. Now she had to do this on her own, and he had the empress to report back to.
But Francis, oh that fucking Frenchman, within moments he was walking beside Roderich down the empty corridor, away from the courtiers. His steps were slower, but he took greater strides, his body swinging with an ease Roderich envied, though he'd never admit it. With those steps and that cursed body he steered Roderich off the Austrian's path to one he didn't recognize, though he could have guessed where it was headed.
The bedchamber was, like Francis, completely over the top. Beautiful clothes were thrown over ornate furniture; the windows were wide open, the drapes blowing in with each passing breeze. Roderich took his time making his way around the room, taking in everything. Soft hands and long fingers played with each passing item, drifting over the bumps and around the curves.
From the door Francis watched; he knew it drove the man crazy to see this, to watch him move like this. Roderich's greatest strength was that he never felt a need to rush, no matter the occasion. He didn't "have sex"; he "made love". It was slow and gentle and passionate, never rushed, never forced. That was how he had made himself a legend amongst the French women at court, as they gossiped behind open fans while forgotten husbands leered after younger ladies. He liked the older women, the ones who knew what they wanted, didn't giggle. Oh, he hated the gigglers. Give him a woman who knew what she wanted sexually, that was what Roderich wanted. Give him an able body that was willing to give, in order to take.
As he fingered the last piece of furniture, making sure to pull away slowly, licking his lips, he came to stand beside Francis. The French nation's breathing was deep, controlled, erection already visible through the front of his breeches.
"You've become complacent in my absences," Roderich purred, stepping forward and boldly cupping the erect cock.
Francis's eyes were wide, clouded with passion. "It would seem that I have been lonely, since you last came." He drew each word out slowly, his accent thick, as if to tease Roderich, though whether it was for his Austrian accent on French words, or to try and get a rise from the Austrian power, he wasn't sure.
The unoccupied hand came up to cup Francis's face, framed in the moonlight streaming through the window. Elsewhere candles had been lit, glowing in the windows throughout the castle, but there was no need for the light of candles here. His face moved against Roderich's hands, his eyes closing, his mouth opening to take in the thumb and suck.
That finally stirred something deep within the normally-composed Roderich. While Francis teased his thumb, the other hand stroked the erection before leaving, moving up so that Roderich could wrap both arms around Francis's neck. Stronger arms came around his own waist, pulling him close, their jackets rustling and erections rubbing together. Roderich moaned.
"You missed me." It was an observation before Francis claimed Roderich's mouth, their lips moving slowly before a tongue demanded entrance, swirling inside him. Hands pulled his jacket up so that Francis could knead his ass, pushing their groins together further. Roderich moaned again.
They took slow steps into the room, Roderich guided by Francis's body. As they walked his arms pushed Francis's jacket from broad shoulders until the French hands left his ass to allow the powder blue article to pool on the floor. Francis pulled back to gaze into his eyes, his hands coming to the base of Roderich's neck.
"I missed you." That excited Roderich, and though he tried not to show it in his face, the bulge in his breeches gave it away. Francis stepped back, the breeze hitting Roderich's skin leaving him chilled; he hadn't realized how warm that body had been. Francis circled behind him, prying the violet jacket from him gently before tossing it aside. He pressed into Roderich's back, his erection hard against the Austrian's ass. Fingers worked to remove the cravat, then the waistcoat beneath it. These too were chucked aside as nothing more than inconveniences between where they were now, and what they wanted to be doing.
That was when Francis came back before him, kissing him deeply, before suddenly running his hands down Roderich's front, that wonderful mouth following in their path. A burning filled Roderich when Francis came to his knees, pulling at the white shirt. Those warm hands pushed down his breeches, removing them as Roderich stepped out of his shoes. Francis gathered up the extra fabric of the shirt that hung in the way of his cock, handing it to Roderich with an upward glance. "S'il te plaît," he whispered as Roderich took the offered hinderance. The sight sent shivers down his spine.
He watched him work in the light of the night, his hands, then mouth, coming to envelope Roderich's manhood. Roderich's unoccupied hand ran through Francis's hair, pulling at it, tighter, tighter, as Francis licked up and down the shaft, taking in the full length, taking him deep into his mouth. Roderich began thrusting into the mouth; Francis eagerly met him, one hand steadying the Austrian hips, the other teasing him even further. Too soon he was coming, shouting the French nation's name. Francis kept up his pace all throughout, swallowing greedily, without hesitation or problem.
When his breathing slowed and he opened his eyes, Francis was still kneeling, licking his lips and watching Roderich. Finally he stood, allowed Roderich to remove his own cravat with practiced fingers, then the vest beneath. They stepped towards the bed together, Francis abandoning his shoes, breeches joining them as they moved. Roderich pushed him to the bed, removing his stockings from the lean legs they hid, kissing them down as he went. He watched the other man pull his shirt up over his head, revealing the smooth expanse of chest beneath it.
Completely naked, Francis laid back on the bed, his face framed by moonlight, his hard cock standing before the Austrian. Roderich stood, propping one leg up on the bed and grabbing Francis's cock, making them both moan in anticipation. Feeling overdressed, Roderich crawled forward until he was straddling the erection, removing his shirt much to his lover's delight. Strong hands came down to Roderich's hips, holding them while Francis moved against his ass.
Fingers swept up and down the chest presented before him, playing him like a piano. Roderich kissed his way from navel to jaw, biting the neck harder with each groan that escaped Francis. Finally satisfied with what he had done, he captured the other's lips with his own, readying himself. Within moments he had been rolled onto his back, shoved further up the bed. Francis's legs immediately forced Roderich's up off the mattress as the larger man kneeled over him, taking in the sight.
"You're beautiful." Francis moved back momentarily, pulling something from the table beside him. When he returned, he threw Roderich's legs over his shoulders, uncorking whatever was in his hands. Roderich closed his eyes in anticipation, knowing full well what the bottle contained. He draped his arms over Francis's neck before he felt one slicked finger enter him, twirling and curling within. He gasped at the sensation; Francis was the only one whom he allowed this, the only one he allowed to dominate him in bed. Even when he brought other men to his room, Roderich always topped. Only Francis was different.
A second finger joined the first, scissoring his walls. Francis was beginning to gasp, his breathing having finally become shallow in anticipation. As the third finger entered, Roderich realized he too was breathing quickly.
When had they last done this? It had been years, and nowhere as luxurious as this. The sheets of the bed felt cool to Roderich's back as Francis's bored hand teased one of his nipples. It had been on a battlefield somewhere, hidden away in a tent, Francis behind enemy lines. They had taken their time, but not this much time, the fear of being caught ever present. They shouldn't have been doing this, they were enemy nations, always had been and always would be, regardless of any marriage. Roderich didn't even like Francis, and knew Francis felt the same, as he removed the fingers from his ass.
But they needed each other, like a fish needed water, like the French prince needed an Austrian bride to seal the fragile peace. Francis positioned himself at Roderich's entrance, both hands coming down to grip his hips, legs still thrown over shoulders. Roderich's fingers twisted and tightened in the sheets in expectation as Francis's eyes filled with lust.
"I love you." He swiftly entered, pushing in without remorse. Roderich screamed at the feeling, the sound becoming a low groan as Francis stilled, allowing him to become use to the sensation. He was so tight, he knew it. Francis knew he was special; that was part of why he hated him. How could he say such things so easily? Throw such words about, as if they were nothing?
His thrusts were deep and uncaring, Roderich's body quickly adjusting to the loving abuse. Francis leant down as he continued, making to capture Roderich's lips. But Roderich turned his head, the lips instead finding his exposed neck.
"So feisty." It was his punishment; he shouldn't have said those hated words. "And what did I say wrong?" One of the hands left Roderich's hip to grip his cock, tugging on it, hard. Roderich gasped, not expecting it, his eyes opening at the new sensation. Francis laughed at that, holding his gaze.
"I love you." He repeated the words, and Roderich felt his face contort in a mix of pleasure and detest. Lips found his ear, whispering it over and over.
"I love you.
"Je t'aime.
"Je t'adore.
"Ich liebe dich.
"I love you."
He accented each stop with a thrust, shifting to hit that spot that made Roderich see stars.
"Roderich." He moaned the name, moaned it and it went straight to Roderich's groin. He felt his muscles tightening, felt it all coming to a head. He had wanted it to go on forever, willed it to, but it was no use.
"Fran-" It was his turn to pant, to moan. Francis pulled back from his ear, watched Roderich come undone. "Francis!" He screamed as he came, hard, into his lover's hand. His back arched, his ass tightened around the cock still buried deep inside it. Francis quickened his pace, both hands now firmly planted over Roderich's shoulders. He bucked and thrust and finally threw his head back, his long hair falling from the ribbon that had held it back.
For all this talking, Francis never yelled his name when he came. Roderich supposed as Francis collapsed on top of him, heavy and sweaty on his chest, that perhaps too many people graced this bed to risk it, to risk shouting the wrong name as he came. But the thought made him angry, the thought of others being the one to make Francis cry out. He didn't want Francis to be his, couldn't imagine spending the rest of eternity with him. He had refused the idea of marrying him, it had been simply too distasteful to even consider. But Roderich had never been very good at sharing, and Francis was what he shared the worst.
As their breathing slowed, Francis removed himself from inside Roderich, rolling off of him. He pulled down the sheets, and they shifted to lay beneath them, their heads propped up on pillows to look out over the beautiful garden through the windows. It was exceptionally bright tonight, as daring young lovers darted through the green, stealing kissing and disappearing from view to steal much more. Roderich heard one of the girls giggle; he hated the gigglers.
An arm pulled him to Francis until his head laid on the large chest. He hated when Francis did this, treated him like a woman. But Francis knew it and that was why he did it, to drive him up the wall like only Francis could.
"You will be gone, before I wake." It was another observation; there was no question to the matter. Roderich was always gone before Francis awoke, always up and dressed and thrown fully into the day. He didn't know why he did it, couldn't explain it if he wanted to. Maybe he was scared to wake up in bed with his enemy, to remember the way Francis could make him feel. What if it got under his skin, that feeling, what if he came to care for this bastard French nation? Maybe it was so he wouldn't miss the feel of the warm, strong arm around him, the sleek, muscular chest beneath him. Francis smelled of vanilla, tasted of chocolate. These were things that reminded Roderich of him, always in the back of his mind, a little voice to remind him of stolen nights like this one.
His only response was to kiss Francis, his tongue tracing every line inside the mouth, his lips memorizing every move of those beneath him.
"When will I see you next?" There was a tone of desperation there that neither was willing to recognize. With the wedding settled, Roderich would have no need to come back. Somewhere at home there was a warm bed, a soft body keeping it until he returned. There was a piano to play and servants to instruct. There were balls to be held and an empress to please. And Francis, Francis would find more bodies to spend the night. More courtiers to come through, and then, as time passed, the children would come through as well. It was disgusting, but they had resigned themselves to this life. To watching humans live and die in the blink of an eye; no matter how much they loved them, none of them made it out alive. In the end, they were all buried in the cold, hard earth.
"Hopefully never." In the morning his carriage would leave, and he would pause at the border to meet his sweet lover. He would take her roughly while they continued back to Vienna, would make her miss him next time he left. But he did not want to come back to this place, to this cursed palace which had stolen his love. Because even more than Marie, he loved Francis, though he would never say it, not even if he lived to see the end of days.
Francis pulled him close, kissed his forehead. He inhaled deeply and to that, Roderich fell asleep.