New Strategy
Germany/France
Why he is even here, he cannot say.
In order for the EU not to lose power, he needs to have some kind of connection with France. Germany feels like he's in constant control of everything, and with Italy being so useless, England and France not getting along, Prussia finding everything crudely funny, and Poland being Poland, the weight that shouldn't be on his shoulders is heavier.
And as long as he's German and alive, he will carry that weight proudly, until he can find an acceptable way to lessen the load.
And it starts here. In Paris. At the door of Francis Bonnefoy.
Germany hates France. A lot. He is irritating and immature and perverted, and he does not do Europe, with it's sour history and marring stereotypes, any justice.
But this is not about that in particular. This is about Germany's new strategy.
France seems immune to punishment. It almost seems like he likes it when Germany yells at him, or gives him harsh orders as a punishment. He seems to like being hit and smacked by Germany's hand (and a few times his forehead), and Germany doesn't even dare fetch a whip. Christ knows what kind of twisted ecstasy the Frenchman will get from that.
So about that new strategy.
If Germany can't use all he knows to get things in order, he has to (attempt) to use all he does not know. Like, making nice. Ugh. Just the thought of that makes the German want to turn back and head home, cringing the whole way.
How long has he been standing here? He feels ridiculous as it is, he doesn't need to look like it. He presses his knuckles to the door in a firm knock, and not even five seconds go by before he hears France practically sing.
"Allemange! Is that you~?"
By what witchcraft does France know who's behind his door without asking? Cringing, Germany responds.
"Yes. Are you busy, France? A word is in order."
"Busy? Now? No."
"Then would you be as kind as to allow me to come in?"
"Of course," The door opens and there is France, smiling so friendly that it creeps Germany out in every way. France moves aside to let Germany come in, and gently, he closes the door behind his guest. "So what did I do now?"
Alright. It's time to test out this new strategy. Germany sucks in his breath and asks, "How was your day?"
France looks like someone shot him. Stunned, confused, and a little bit of pain. Where the pain factor worked itself in, Germany could not know. But, he had his guesses. And he did not wish to think about them.
"My day? It was bon," He says, smiling, "I would love to tell you every detail, but I doubt you actually care," He chuckled, "Why you even asked is beside me, Allemange. Whenever you come here it's to set me straight for how intolerable I've been-"
"Alright, listen to me," Nope. This new strategy was not for him. This was something he concluded as he practically smashed France into the wall, the other nearly dropped his cup of tea and looked fairly frightened. If there was one thing France knew from experience; the last thing a human being wants to do is get a German mad. But...honestly, what did he do?
"Allemange-"
"I said listen," France nodded as Germany began to speak again, "Since the first day we became the EU there have been problems, and when a large group of people come together it is expected to have problems, this I know, but when I'm the only one who gives a damn and everyone else is sitting on their asses and clashing with each other, it's hard to focus on what's important because of petty little problems that grown men should be able to handle and whenever I try to root out whatever the hell is going on I am always led back to you."
France waits a few moments for two reasons. One, to make sure Germany's done and not violent. Two, he actually has to take in and understand what the other was saying. He speaks so fast and that sexy accent melts the words into France's ear so rapidly, he feels as though he was to absorb them before they evaporate and he's just left there, baffled and enamored with the other.
"Calm down, Allemange, sil vous plait." France begs of the man, "I am truly sorry if I cause this many problems..." France had to hide his shivers. To be fully honest, he wanted Germany to yell at him some more. Oh hell, he just wanted Germany. The German man is just trés beau with his hard features and toned body, his stuck-up attitude...damn. France has never had one like Germany before, and he wanted one. He wanted a strongly opinionated, tell-it-like-it-is, hard-headed German. And this was the direction.
"Allemange," France smiles, "I...don't want to cause any more problems for you...you should stay here tonight. It's the least I could for you—you came all the way from Germany because I make your life harder."
Germany is hesitant. He was going to say no, he is uncomfortable now, being under the same roof as France at night. But...as for the new strategy...
As a German, he is not okay with failure. Partial failure, he will accept, because that implies partial victory. If he stays here with France, that would be giving the Frenchman what he wants, which is making nice, which is one step closer to the new strategy. "Okay. I will stay here with you. But if you lay a finger on me, I will murder you in cold blood. Understood?"
France shivers, with delight, and nods. "Of course."
Of course he had plans of sleeping with the man.
After a few pleas and whines, Germany agrees to take France's bed while the other sleeps on the couch. That is fine, they are many rooms away, it is one night, that's that.
It had not been an hour when Germany feels a second weight on the bed.
"What are you doing up here?" Germany asks tiredly.
"I want to be up here with you," France whines, "It's cold down there."
"That's why you have a blanket."
"But this one is so much warmer...please Germany? I promise I won't try anything!"
One trial after another. He's half awake, it's France's house...fine. Germany patiently awaits the end of this night.
France, on the other hand, grins deviously. He said he wouldn't try anything. He never said he wouldn't do anything.
He's sure it's a pleasureful dream when soft hands encounter the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. The hand is rubbing, moving upward, and something moist meets his neck. He sets free a soft moan, wondering who the hand belongs to.
Who the hand belongs to...
Shit.
A larger hand grasps the one that was delivering those pleasured touches, and it squeezes, hard, angrily. "What the hell are you doing?" The question slips through clenched teeth.
"Something you like," France whispers back, he feels the bones in his hand suffering.
Germany flinched. "What?"
"You mewled." France smiles despite the pain, "You liked it."
"I..." Germany cracks. "I don't...you...said..."
"Shhh, mon cher," Germany lets France take his hand out of the death grip and the sore instrument pushes Germany's loose fringe aside, running a careful finger down his cheek. "It's okay to admit, I'll give you what you desire," the other hand slips under Germany's side and traces the shape of the covered bulge.
Germany's reaction is not what France was expecting.
A strong arm bends and pushes down France's shoulder. As France is now on his back, the pressure is released, but not for long. He finds himself pinned down, Germany on top of him, their hips smashed together and daring blue eyes stare into shocked ones.
"You are not going to humiliate me," Germany speaks, his voice darkened with lust and want, no, need.
"Whatever you wish," France replies, painfully hard and dying for sex, "you are the guest."
In the short time that is provided between France's last word and the space-time continuum making its next move, Germany forces his French ally into a heated kiss. France does not wait to respond to this move, he pushes his tongue against Germany's, the latter takes further control of the situation by torturing France's tongue, licking it, sucking it, he even bit it once.
This is why France had wanted him. He knows Germany doesn't play around, well, he does, but not like others do. He's rough and unbelievably harsh, but he's so passionate it's painful. France is convinced Germany does not know how to be gentle, and that's fine by him.
Germany finishes his assault on France's tongue, for now, and claws the waistband of France's boxers. Hot damn, this man is impatient. France can't count the milliseconds it takes Germany to get him naked, he couldn't have even if he could muster a thought that wasn't about Germany's cock.
Still, France can't let Germany have all the fun. His hands are at the other's boxers, forcing them down those strong hips and toned thighs, and France doesn't care that Germany finishes the job himself. He's s busy staring at the other's hardened cock. It was a very, very nice size...France has had plenty of men, and none of them compare to this. He's always imagined Germany being large, but imagining and seeing...good Lord Christ almighty, there's a difference.
"Turn over." It's a harsh order that's breathed into the Frenchman's ear, it sends a shiver of slutty desire down France's spine. If Germany asks him to jump off a bridge in that tone, he'd do it. Good lord, he'd do it.
Germany sits up to allow France the room, and the other complies with what was asked of him.
Germany has to keep from stroking himself at the sight that blesses his vision. Biting back moans, he studies the beauteous body of the Frenchman.
A toned back curves into a round, but firm ass, which meets tight thighs and the rest is too much for Germany to take in at one time.
On his knees, France grows excited of the event he's anticipating, his cock was at attention and dying, begging to be touched. He moans gladly as a finger enters him. He's done this before, many times, but when it is Germany, it is a new experience.
France's warmth welcomes Germany's finger as the digit is sliding in and out. Truthfully, both men are experienced, but it's been a while since either of them had enjoyed another like this. For France, it had been three months. For Germany...about a year.
Hence, both men are crying out in pleasure and want, lust burns in their cores and now Germany has three fingers in France, and France is pushing himself back onto those fingers, angling himself, crying for Germany to just plain fuck him.
"Ahn...Monsieur," France cries out, "I need you inside, sil vous plait..."
Germany removes his fingers and within no time at all, is inside of France. He knows France is no virgin, so he doesn't suppress his desires of pounding into the man, a fact of which, France is glad.
"Allemange, allez allez, allez rapide!" France screams as Germany delivers, going faster. Germany didn't quite understand what France had said, but he knew rapide meant fast.
France practically melts as a strong hand wraps around his neglected cock and pumps, at the same speed France's insides are being slammed into.
"Ahn, France..." Germany groans, "You're so tight."
"Non...Non it is that you are so big," He moans out that last word as he feels his release creeping up on him. "Ah...I'm about to..."
"Nien," Germany orders, "Hold it longer, just a little longer."
"But...Allemange..." France moans, "I don't think I can! You're so sexy, Allemange, I'm about to explode!"
It isn't much more of a problem as Germany feels himself over the edge, "I'm...almost...there..."
"Do it inside, please, Allemange," France pushes himself furhter onto Germany, tightening around him as they both hit their climax head on.
The world stops as they scream for each other, and then collapse.