" What..?" France watched England's eyebrows scrunch together the second before he pounced. Acting so quick England had no time to escape, France flipped him onto his back and threw his weight down on his chest. Unable to budge, England opened his mouth to protest, so France quickly threw his hand over it. With his other, he reached for the cloth rags on his belt.
" Shh." He hushed England's angrily protests. With an expert's grace, he quickly tied Arthur's hands to the steel bed frame, both together. Briefly both his hands were needed for the knot, and England spat out, " BLOODY GIT, GET OFF!" With a fury that shook his whole frame. France's hands were quickly done, and then he took a rag to England's mouth as well, silencing his infuriated rage into muffled grunts and swearing.
" I zink not, mon Arthur." France breathed into his ear. " And let me explain why." France straddled England again, and England eyes grew wide as he felt how hard France was beneath those breeches. England's eyes narrowed in on the growing bulge, and France noted, with a great deal of satisfaction, that England couldn't help but respond by growing hard himself. To add to his misery France rolled his hips, and England's muted breathing became louder, more ragged. " I told you, I will not release you until you've lost." France glared at England, whose half clouded green eyes narrowed angrily.
" You seem like you want to say 'That'll never happen!', right mon Angleterre?" France said as he ripped the blanket off of England, revealing him to be wearing a dangerously short tunic. He restraddled him. " Well, as much as you zink zat is true.." He reached behind him to remove a small knife from his belt. Slowly he pulled it out from behind him, and watched as England's face went pale. " You are wrong." He smiled as he lowered it, cutting from the bottom of the tunic, all the way up to the collar. He watched England's nervous breathing making his pale, smooth chest quiver under the blade that never touched skin. France would never hurt England. Not like this.
France quickly ripped the tunic apart, revealing to him a sight that aroused him unbearably; England's naked form, spread out beneath him. France's will seemed to leave him then, overwhelmed as he was by the sight.
He loved this man. It was a simple, consuming truth. He loved this man so much he couldn't stand it. He loved him to the point of losing all reason. He loved him so much that he didn't know up from down or left from right, loved him so much his every waking and unwaking thought for the past three months had been filled to the cusp with him, thoughts of him, fantasies and phantasmagoric images of him! He wanted nothing more than to be with him always, to wake and find his sleeping face nestled against his own chest, to feel the rise and fall of his innocent breath, to hold this body which he loved so dearly against his own, so that nothing, no person nor space would ever separate them again!
But England wouldn't let him! He never felt the same as France, he never felt the butterflies or the heart pounding responses. Whenever France caught him, he seemed angry, always angry, always hating every moment he was in his presence, always cool and indifferent and totally unaffected. Those times when France let himself be caught England seemed to only be happy for the triumph of conquering, not for seeing France. France knew England loved him. That he could see plainly in the nation's blushes and avoidances of eye contact. But England didn't love him the way he loved England. France rarely thought of anything because his mind was always full, always obsessively overwhelmed by Arthur! He loved him so much he hurt!
" Why don't you see zat!?" France yelled, slamming his weight on England in a rough embrace. France bit his tongue to restrain from whimpering as he whispered, " Why don't you love me a fraction of what I love you?" England's green eyes grew wide at this, and he spoke into the gag cloth in an intelligible mumbling, but France wouldn't hear it. " Stop talking. Before you make me really angry." He snapped, and England, almost docilely, grew quiet as he watch France with wide, anticipation filled eyes.
France realized he must look like a fool, reacting the way he was. He took a deep breath through his nose, filling his lungs with Arthur's scent, the scent he missed everyday when alone at sea. He moved his fingertips to England's soft neck, touching the silken skin gently, kissing beneath his jaw. England gave an unexpected sigh, shivering as he did so, and France felt his need for England heighten. He kissed his lips again, but so differently than before. He kissed him tenderly, trying to show England how deeply he loved him with every soft nudge of lip and smooth lick of tongue.
Then he remembered. " I nearly forgot, Arthur." France smacked himself on the forehead, grinning evilly down at England's flushed form. " I'm not to be sweet to you until you scream surrender." England's eyes narrowed and he mumbled something that sounded like 'You're better at that than me!', which France ignored.
" One moment, s'il vous plaît." France muttered, his long fingers slipping around England's hips. He flipped England onto his stomach with ease, and England's face grew tomato red as his rear was exposed. The anticipation in his gut only grew with every passing second that France did nothing but admire the view.
France took his time. His every movement, every stroke was unbearably slow. Every touch and twist and tease was hot and tantalizing. England couldn't believed the sensations that coursed through him. He couldn't think straight. His face rested on his bicep, but he couldn't feel anything but France's lips as they steamily murmured his name, his tongue that left warm, tickling trails on the sensitive parts of his body, those long, elegant fingers as they fondled him, held him, bruised him. Each hot touch sent him higher into ecstasy. He couldn't see or feel or hear anything that wasn't France. Such an overwhelmingly burning ache penetrated his very being, and, England thought with a blush, France wasn't even inside him yet.
France pulled England hips upward, leading his rear into the air, and England did nothing to protest. He was beyond caring for appearances. England yelped when he felt France lick the tip. His tongue danced in well practiced strokes, and his blonde locks bobbed in time with his head, sucking and licking and extracting sounds from England England didn't know he could make.
France watched his lover's reactions with a mood of barely withheld, but withheld nonetheless, desire. He was determined to keep control until England couldn't. Thor himself could knock on his door and demand he take port, and France wouldn't so much as blink. He didn't care how long this took. He couldn't stand another round of months at sea without this man by his side. If he gave into his desire now, his need to plunge into England and pound into him until he cried out his name, then the next time he'd get this chance... mon dieu... probably wouldn't be for another year.
At that thought, France ferociously increased his tempo, bobbing his head like a madman. " France..!" England moaned into the pillow. He couldn't take much more. He needed France. He needed him now. His whole body, every nerve ached desperately for France's touch. " P-Please..!" He tried to speak around the cloth gag.
France wanted to kiss him. Those desperate lust filled eyes, teary with need wasn't something he saw everyday. He wanted to love him. He wanted to show England exactly how much he meant to him. He wanted to slowly fill him, to rock him gently, to kiss him and hold him and not let go. He almost tore the cloth gag out of his mouth before he regained his composure. So instead, he raised his fingers and shoved them past the gag into England's mouth. He met the surprised green eyes and gave a single command. " Suck."
England's pride almost flared at that. Almost. But he was past the point of no return, so he obliged, wetting France's fingers as much as he could before France took them out. He licked the fingers himself before placing them and England's entrance. He hesitated, just for a moment, and watched his lover writhe and tremble with need. Need for him, for France, before he slowly inserted a finger.
England's head snapped up and he gasped as he was probed over and over again by those hot fingers. France slowly adding a second, and England felt his frame quiver. He was sick of these games. He wanted to be untied, immediately. The cloth gag was already soaked with his saliva, and his wrists had been rubbed raw from his struggling. But more so than for his discomfort, he wanted the restraints gone so he could pull France to him. So he could run his fingers through that luscious blonde hair and kiss those perfect lips. He wanted to urge France to be inside him, and he wanted to hold onto his shoulders as he took him. He wanted to love France, and godammit he couldn't tied up like this!
But telling France to take the gag off... he might as well tell him he surrendered. Ugh, he refused!
" France..! Fuck!" England moaned loudly, his ragged breathing loud even to himself. " Just.. put it in!" He was close. so close, but without France... it was impossible! He needed France! Now! How could he be so calm about this? " How are you.. not excited!?" England practically shouted. Then, so quickly England didn't know what was happening, France flipped him onto his back and tore off the soaked gag, tossing it to the ground. England eye's fluttered close as France placed his member, full and ready, at England entrance and slowly lowered his body on top of England's, wrapping his arms around England's head, stopping when his lips hovered a hair's breadth from his own. Then he did nothing. England opened his eyes and saw those beautiful blue ones staring into his own.
England's entire body shook. He could feel France's hot tip, poised right there, waiting. He wanted it so badly. " France.." He moaned, an unspoken question to why he stopped. He wanted it so badly, so why did he stop?
France's mouth pressed together in a hard, unforgiving line before he opened those pretty lips to speak in a commanding whisper.
" Surrender."
Time seemed to stop then, the entire earth halted on its slow rotation for the space of an entire breath. A whole moment of absolute stillness.
England couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He couldn't believe that now, now of all times, France would do this! " You sleazy little arsehole!" England recoiled from the cruelty, his hands still bound above his head. " Now? Now! France, please!" He couldn't believe how much he needed France, he couldn't believe he was begging him. This wasn't England. He was a mighty nation, he did not beg! Yet here he was, so plainly begging, pleading for France. France just shook his head, his blue eyes hard. " Surrender."
" France! Stop this nonsense! Now is not the time!" England couldn't think of a worse time, actually. He tried to adjust his body, rubbing his entrance against France's hard tip, to tempt him to enter, but France just pulled away each time. " But it is the time, mon amour." France whispered, brushing his hot lips over England's sensually. " I will drive you further into madness should you refuse, mon cher. Great, delicious agony awaits you there, and I.." He slowly licked England's bottom lip, " won't..." and lay air light kisses along his jaw, in a slow, cruel game of cat and mouse, always teasing, never giving England what he wanted, " grant you release." As if to emphasize his promise, France pressed his hips forwards, almost with enough pressure to press himself into England. England moaned, his erection throbbed so painfully he couldn't bear it.
But oh god, was this how he'd end? There was no other way! The bastard had put him in the one position where he had no choice but to submit!
" Shit!" England grit his teeth, his ragged breathing turning into dog-like pants with need. The hot coils of aching flesh had risen to the point of pain, of agony. He couldn't think of any other way out! Except maybe...
" UGHHAHHH!" England screamed in defeat. " Fine! I'll do as you wish!"
France couldn't believe his ears. His blue eyes grew wide and he gasped as England's words hit him in a strong, resounding wave. The game was over. England was his. Finally, sweet finally, his little Englishman was his! He threw his hips forward and England cried out when France entered him. He finally kissed England, softly, lovingly, hungrily still. " Arthur.. mon Arthur!" France smashed his lips against England's and pulled him as close as he could as he rocked his hips in long, strong motions. England hungrily returned his kisses, lost in the dizzying pleasure. France filled him, rocked him, plunged into him, every thrust so intense and always, always hitting the spot. Their loud gasps and moans and groans filled the room, a sweet symphony of love making. England arched his back as much as he could gasping and panting, letting his tight heat envelope France, bringing them both higher and higher. The heat in the room, wrought by their steamy passion, fogged the windows and raised the indoor temperature. Sweat ran off their bodies, making them slippery and lubricating their bodies as their slid and ground against each other. Each kiss was salty with sweat, and, England thought dimly, he couldn't care whose it was.
" France!" England gasped, his head thrown back. " The binds! Remove them, quickly!" England couldn't stand this a second longer. He need to pull France's body against his, to grab him and hold him! France did as he asked, and not breaking pace, untied England's hands. Freed, England grabbed tightly onto France's shoulders, holding him closely and tightly. His fingertips tingled; he hadn't touched France in months, hadn't had a chance to before he was bound. His hands now were insatiable, touching every parts of France he could. Gripping his taunt shoulders, sliding down his slick back to push on his firm buttocks, driving him further inside, then back up to his head, his fingertips tangling in his think golden locks, bringing his mouth down hard against his own. He tasted him, bit his lips and kissed him, sometimes rough, sometimes soft. He just needed France's touch, to hold him, and England was in ecstasy.
And France's heart soared with every kiss, every returned thrust, every matched need to touch. For once, England craved him as much he craved England. " Arthur.." France brought his lips against England's neck, and sucked the soft skin into his mouth, extracted a gasp of pleasure from England. When he pulled away, a dark purple bruise was shining with saliva, and France kissed the hickey softly.
" F-France! I'm.. almost.." England panted heavily, unable to finish his sentence. France knew though, as he always seemed to. He increased his tempo, angling himself in a way he hit England's sweet spot each time, and England came undone, exclaiming as he released onto their chests. Seeing England's face, oh so erotic in its expression of blissful release, sent France over the edge, and he wrapped his arms around England as he kissed him, spilling himself inside with some few, final thrusts.
France collapsed on top of England, their sweat soaked bodies reeking of passion. England loved this man, loved feeling his weight pressing down on him as they laid there, enjoying the afterglow as their heavy panting and racing heartbeats calmed down into quiet peace. Slowly, France pulled out, and lay down beside England, draping both an arm and a leg over his body.
France turned his head and kissed England's cheek softly, his still hot breath making England shiver with chill. England looked over and his green eyes widened when he saw France's expression. His radiating smile and joyous eyes emanated loved, and England blushed.
" Arthur.." France kissed him on the cheek softly, " My Arthur.." and England's blush grew deeper and deeper as France continued to kiss him and breathe his name over and over again against his cheek. His gentle " Arthur.. Arthur.."s grew softer and softer until they stopped altogether. France was asleep.
England breathed deeply, tired. He could so easily let go and fall asleep in this man's arms. He wouldn't mind dozing off breathing in his smell and feeling the warmth of his body next to his. Except he couldn't. He couldn't stay here. He had to leave. He'd lied.
He couldn't lose, he just couldn't! England slowly slinked out of France's embrace, careful not to wake him. His sleeping face was so peaceful, so innocent, England couldn't bear to see it. He'd betrayed this man. He didn't deserve his love, and he was going to make sure they never had to be together again. He couldn't be with this man.
He couldn't.
He couldn't.