I wrote this back in 2009 and posted it on one of my LJ accounts. Considering the absurd amount of LJ accounts that I have, I decided to just move all of my old fic to a central spot so it's easier for me to access.
Enjoy!
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Francis was walking down the sidewalk with no destination in mind. It was a lovely day-the sun was shining, birds were chirping, and there was a slight breeze that sent the sweet aroma of flowers to him. He walked up to a fountain in the town square and sat on the ledge, gazing down upon his beautiful complexion.Ah, Francis, tu es le meilleur en le monde...je te veux. He gingerly touched the water with his index finger and watched his reflection ripple away.
Having the sensation that someone was watching him, Francis looked up and saw a familiar figure standing several metres away from him. His eyes instantly widened in recognition. Now it was possible...he didn't know, but he was looking at himself. His other-self sauntered over, moving his hips sensually. Francis swallowed harshly. Mon dieu.
His other-self gently cupped his cheek. "Tu me veux, oui?" The other-self's hand ran down the side of his neck, to his chest and began to deftly unbutton Francis'ss blouse. The Frenchman could only nod lamely in response. The other-self smirked and leaned over, his lips barely grazing Francis'ss earlobe as he whispered huskily in his ear. "Alors...Baise-moi."
"Mais...les gens..." Francis tore his eyes from his other-self to glance at the nearby pedestrians. He was appalled with himself. Since when did he care if people saw him? His other-self must have found this funny, for he laughed with that same throaty laugh that mirrored his own.
"Let them watch," his other-self replied, leaning over to roughly kiss Francis. It was far from the kisses that Francis'ss romantic side like to imagine-slow, tender, loving. Rather, it was a feral, fiery kiss filled with long-repressed lust. Teeth scraped and tongues duelled as Francis fought for dominance with himself.
The other-self straddled Francis, his legs wrapping around the Frenchman, not breaking the kiss until Francis'ss blouse had been removed and tossed onto the ground. Knowing all of his sensitive spots, the other-self kissed and nibbled Francis'ss neck, the underside of his chin, and collarbone while his hands ran down the Frenchman's lean, tone chest, kneading the muscle and scraping his nails over Francis'ss nipples.
Francis moaned as his vision grew hazy with red-hot lust. He could see himself in his mind's eye, on top of himself, fucking his brains out. It would be sweaty and dirty, and his other-self would- "Nnng." His thoughts stopped when his other-self squeezes his hard cock through his trousers.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," the other-self purred, nipping Francis's jaw as his fingers worked on freeing Francis's member.
Francis realised he was letting his other-self control the situation. He didn't mind being dominated sometimes, but he wouldn't be dominated by himself. When his manhood was free from garments and exposed to the cool air, Francis grabbed a fist-full of his other self's hair and brought him to his knees. "Souces-moi, mon amour."
The other-self was more than happy to comply. He eagerly took Francis in his mouth and worked him just the way the Frenchman liked-a mixture of harsh and gentle, teeth lightly scraping, tongue swirling and- oh, god, yes, just like that. Nng.
Abruptly, Francis pulled his other-self off his cock. He leaned over and kissed him before forcing his other-self back to his feet. The other-self pulled his shirt off whilst Francis unbuttoned his pants. Francis snaked an arm around his other-self's waist and kissed his torso. His other hand tugged the pants down and wrapped around the other-self's cock, stroking slowly. (As the other-self neglected to wear undergarments like Francis often did.)
The other-self made a cute mewl that brought a predatory smirk to Francis's face. Letting go of the other-self's waist, Francis slipped two fingers into the other-self's mouth, who sucked them reminiscent to the way he was just working the Frenchman's cock. Mon dieu. When his fingers were nice and slick, Francis removed them, placing them at the other-self's entrance.
Francis slipped a finger in, slowly fucking his other-self, who moaned deliciously. He added the second finger, scissoring him to stretch him out. His other-self gripped Francis'ss shoulders and nuzzled his neck. "Mm, maintenant, Francis."
Who was Francis to deny such a thing? He removed his fingers and pulled his other-self closer again. Immediately, his other-self straddled him. He kissed the Frenchman briefly before lifting his hips up to position himself and slowly ease down. Francis groaned appreciatively and held his other-self's hips. He was still to allow his other-self time to adjust, which wasn't long at all.
The other-self began riding Francis, slow and long. It was insufferable! Pulling himself into a kiss, Francis encouraged the other-self to move faster. Francis pulled away from the kiss to watch his other-self ride him. Cheeks flushed and hair bouncing, Francis found himself craving more and more. He wanted to make his other-self scream.
Francis moved his other-self onto his back and lifted his legs so they went over his shoulders. Francis's thrusts were hard and sharp, angled just right to hit his other-self's 'nice' spot. The scratches on his back from the other-self's finely manicured nails and the way the other-self mewled his name only egged him on.
He felt himself getting close, so he wrapped his hand around his other-self's cock and stroked him. Even in the heat of passion, Francis's code d'amour would not allow himself to come before a lover.
When his other-self reached that, Francis did soon after. He gentle withdrew himself and settled himself beside his other-self on the fountain ledge. He played with his other-self's soft golden locks in silence. There was no need to fill the silence with meaningless romantic words and other formalities like with his other lovers.
Because his other-self was him, his perfect lover.