Series: « L'histoire française », 20 historical Francis Bonnefoy drabbles. Written for lj/hetachallenge. Find my table at lj/coeurgryffondor.
L'histoire française
Marriage
Roderich is clearly drunk; Francis is probably drunk too, but the important thing is that Roderich is drunk.
When Roderich is drunk, certain truths come into being, the main one being that a drunk Roderich is an in-love-with-Francis-Bonnefoy Roderich. Other ones include Roderich becoming uncontrollably handsy, Roderich becoming unbearably horny, and Roderich becoming unbelievably impatient.
Francis likes when Roderich is drunk; he likes even more when Roderich is drunk on the very first night of a week-long visit.
Tonight the Austrian had felt dominant and Francis was fine with that, letting his sometimes-enemy take control. Under the sheets the Frenchman lays on Roderich's chest, hand stroking the man's side. The Austrian's eyes are closed, his breathing slow, a lazy hand running over the French back. Francis shifts.
"She is my favorite," the man sighs in French, Austrian accent subtle but there. "I spoiled her." He means Maria Antonia, Marie Antoinette.
"Of course you did," Francis mutters, his lips moving against the smooth skin beneath. He plays with the light splattering of dark hair, fingertips moving up and down over one pink nipple. His reward is a hand in his hair, teasing seductively with little pulls and twists. "Why do you do this?"
"Hmm?" Roderich raises a delicate eyebrow, violet eyes now taking in the canopy over Francis's large bed in Versailles.
"Marriage, why are you married so often?"
"I am, for once, not actually the one being married," Roderich observes.
"A break from being the bride?" the French nation teases. Roderich slaps him gently, pursing his lips and shifting to look at him.
"It is our way."
Francis rolls onto his back, shifting to lay his head on the pillow besides Roderich. Throughout all the time he's known him, Francis has watched Roderich be married and divorced over and over, or wait else for a spouse to die before he can be married again. The Austrian nation has never, as far as he knows, complained though and that is either highly commendable or very suspicious.
"You seem perplexed my dearest adversary," Roderich mutters, settling in under the soft sheets and stroking Francis's arm sweetly.
"I am curious as to this practice of you and your countrymen," the man admits. "While I can admire what love may do to bring two entities together as two lovers might come together, the benefits of such marriages-"
"It is our way," Roderich repeats; with Roderich there tends to be a lot of repetitions. When Francis doesn't reply, simply stares with wide blue eyes, the Austrian sighs, relenting. "We marry instead of waging war. Blood may be thicker than wine but why pick one when you can have both a marriage uniting blood and wine to furnish the banquet table?"
The French kingdom shrugs. "So long as the sex is good." Roderich tuts uncharacteristically, rolling his eyes, and it's a testament to how much wine they've consumed tonight that he honestly replies with,
"You would be surprised how many of my spouses never did fully understand what to do with my penis."
At that the Frenchman laughs, his head thrown back, hair falling over the pillow. He watches the man beside him smile, pulling him close to kiss him deeply. "And me?" Francis asks against his lips, "Will you marry me?"
"No," Roderich replies simply. "The sex is too good."