Francis couldn't help it if his mouth fell open when Alfred strolled into the meeting room.
As always, his muscular build, sunny hair, and beautiful eyes had his heart beating faster—but today it was even louder than usual, thumping madly against his ribcage as he watched Alfred swagger in, his pearly whites prominently displayed in a wide grin.
He looked so absolutely, positively, horribly, preposterously sexy.
Dieu, Francis had no idea what has possessed Alfred to dress in such a manner, but whatever it was, he thanked it vehemently in his head. His love was dressed to the nines from head to toe.
For shoes, Alfred wore a pair of immaculately clean black and white saddle shoes, stark white socks underneath. For pants he wore smooth navy blue slacks rolled up to the ankle, a silver belt holding them up. A navy blue letterman jacket embellished in red and white with a large 'A' on the front was layered over a plain white t-shirt, and the jacket was rolled up past his wrists. A watch was settled on one of his thick wrists and his glorious golden hair was slicked back—except for Nantucket, which stood defiantly as ever—giving the affect of a mix between an American movie jock stereotype and the typical 50's rockabilly.
"Oh, Alfred~!" Francis sang, abandoning his seat in favor of sidling up beside his American lover.
"Hey, baby!" Alfred greeted him happily, placing a quick kiss on his lips and then pulling back. "Like my new look?" He grinned as he slid an arm around his shoulder.
"Oui, very much." The Frenchman purred. He pulled at the collar of Alfred's letterman jacket, letting his eyelids cast a hood over his eyes.
Alfred's brows shot up, clearly recognizing that look. Sure, Francis loved to go at it, but usually he didn't like to do anything more than tease Alfred during meetings. These were clearly his bedroom eyes.
"These clothes show off exactly how big and strong you are." The Frenchman gave Alfred's bicep a playful squeeze, pulling him closer.
"You're seriously this riled up?" Alfred said in a low tone, a grin of his own working it's way onto his face.
"Mhm... What can I say? You're usually such a fashion dunce, it's refreshing to see you looking so ravishing." He teased.
The American rolled the blue eyes Francis loved so much, laughing a little. "Shuddup. You love all my outfits."
"Perhaps I just like to pull them off." Francis pushed the shoulder of Alfred's jacket back, rubbing his shoulder.
"Dude, we're literally in the meeting room." Alfred chuckled.
"Well, then, what would you say to a little séance photo back at my hotel, hm?"
"I'd say I don't know what that means, but hell yeah." Alfred easily scooped the Frenchman up, throwing him over his shoulder. Ignoring both the stares of the other nations in attendance and England's hollering about inappropriate behavior in the meeting room, Alfred walked out, Francis sticking his tongue out at Arthur as he was carried off.
The ride to Francis' hotel room consisted of the Frenchman explaining, in great detail, what manner of photos they would be taking.
By the time they finally got inside the grand, five-star Austrian hotel, the Frenchman eagerly bounded upstairs. Alfred followed close behind, smirking as he watched the man. He playfully surged forward and slapped the man's ass.
"Alfred!" Francis yelped, looking around to make sure no one had seen. Once he realized no one was around, he let a smile slip onto his face.
"What? You've got an ass that just won't quit." Alfred praised as the door to Francis' hotel room open and himself eagerly pulled in. "Damn, babe, this place is even nicer than your last hotel." Alfred laughed as he appraised the beautiful, extravagant hotel room.
"Come, come, your photos will be taken in the bedroom." Francis said.
"Aren't they always?" Alfred wiggled his eyebrows as he followed the man.
Francis was a photographer. Not professionally, of course; though he very well could be with all the practice he had. He had been fascinated by the art of photography since the first camera had been invented, and once they became common, it was impossible to find the Frenchman without the latest model on him. Francis had always been fascinated with capturing beauty—on more than one occasion he had made Alfred pose for an elaborate portrait before the camera was invented. For as long as they had been together, (and it had been a long, long time) Alfred had been one of Francis' most prized models. He had photos of Alfred dating back to the late 1800's.
Since then, he had filled albums with all the pictures he had taken of Alfred over the years; there must have been thousands. Alfred had never understood why he was so special that Francis felt the need to take pictures of him so often, but he never protested. It was flattering, even if he definitely thought Francis was much more photogenic and would look much better than he ever could.
"Right there." Francis pointed to a spot in front of the navy blue silk drapes, partially covering up a beautiful floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Vienna.
Alfred nodded and did as told, positioning himself how the man told him to. Pictures were taken in various states of undress, but by the time Alfred was dressed only from the waist down, Francis was clearly growing more anxious. They had been doing the psuedo-photoshoot for a half an hour, and Alfred had been in almost every pose imaginable from every angle.
Alfred took off his belt and unzipped his pants, grinning as Francis became even more antsy. He snapped a few more pictures before abruptly setting his camera down and lunging at Alfred, shoving him backward onto the plush bed.
He kissed up and down Alfred's neck, every moan from the American spurring him on. Alfred groped his backside, squeezing it with one of his strong hands, the other kneading itself into Francis' silky blond locks. Knowing exactly what Francis liked, he gave little tugs now and then, and after a moment pulled Francis up a bit more and brought their lips together.
Francis moaned and praised Alfred in his head. He had gotten so good at foreplay over the last century. Alfred knew everything he like; just how rough to be, just how much pressure to put on him, just where to touch... It was exhilarating. Especially after having been apart for the past four months, to be able to touch him and be reminded once again how well attuned to his body Alfred was. Life as a nation was hard work. There was so much to be done and they had both been too busy to pay each other a visit. If it weren't for tri-monthly world meetings to gather all the nations, they'd barely have seen each other at all.
But now, oh... All of that didn't matter. They were together now. Alfred had flipped him over now, his tan hands eagerly roaming across the paler skin of his French lover, earning pants and moans. It didn't matter how long they spent apart. When they were together, everything was perfect. When they were together, Alfred could make him forget all else.
He watched eagerly as Alfred slid a condom on, licking his lips at the sight of his impressive length. He was hyper-aware as Alfred prepped him, making sure to ask him if he was alright, as he always did. Then, finally, Alfred pushed in, and oh, oh... Words escaped him.
Francis was engulfed by the musical sound of breathy moans, panting, the slap of skin and skin as Alfred thrusted... His own gasps and cries for Alfred's name, as well as the American's groans of his name, punctuated the thick air. Francis had no idea how long their song had lasted, but it ended in sweet yells.
Then, Alfred collapsed beside him, pulling the Frenchman into his arms. Francis snatched a thin sheet from the edge of the bed and pulled it over their naked bodies, sighing contentedly.
"Soon, I will take pictures of you like this."
He felt the rumbling of Alfred's chest as he laughed. "You're gonna pull your camera out while we're doin' it?"
"I want to capture every one of your looks." Replied the Frenchman softly.
"Mmm, sure, baby." His hands ran through Francis' hair again.
"You are my favorite model, after all."
"I'm your only model."
"I have never seen another as perfect as you."
"I love you."
"Je t'aime."
With those as their final words, the two drifted into a content sleep.
A/N:
here is a link to the art I used as reference for Alfred's outfit: post/99464993316/allies-vs-subculture-fashions
Soigné: French word meaning carefully or elegantly done, operated, or designed. Or well-groomed.