Of course it's classless... [It's mumbled, it's partly his conscience trying to keep up appearances and partly the voice in the back of his mind begging him to indulge in classlessness. But he can feel his insides tingle at the reminder that he's needed. He reciprocates those same words, hushed.
The question is met with Austria closing his eyes into a frown, a little embarrassed at the memory, and he swallows.] At least I know what the hell is going on this time. [It's not a yes, it's not a no, and he'll maybe be in a better frame of mind to compare the two when he's calmed from all this. He's barely keeping his thoughts straight, though, and it's obvious. He groans weakly at having his clothing pulled at, and the words accompanying the deed. There's no sign of disapproval whatsoever, he's helping the blond undo his slacks and his hips may even crane forward in need and at the thought of possessing the man. Again, and fully, this time, without qualifications, without any part of them clinging to the antiquated veneer of their rivalry. While France was gone he regretted nothing more than being too stubborn to fully let that go. Hearing France's confession he rejoins that kiss, rough and quick and relieved to hear it out loud, and when he pulls back to allow his shirt to be undone he mumbles France's name idly, again and again, arousal slick and pulsing.
With a sudden shudder Austria's eyes look as if he's starved and they zero in on France's belt, all but tearing it undone and the waistband down to the middle of France's thighs. Was it as bad as the first time? The first time, he had no idea what was happening to him, and he'd ignored every urge and lied to himself, convincing himself it wasn't even there. He had been desperate, and humiliated, and humbled that France would help him without mockery. Now, he knows exactly what is happening, and has a far better idea of how to navigate it. But now is also a reunion he'd long thought unlikely, now they've confessed and finalized their feelings, now is a joyful sort of closure and he wants nothing more than to consummate it.
Reminding. He can't help the small laugh, doubting that he could have forgotten -- even if he had thought that for a time when France wasn't well, he doesn't think it now. He grips France's shoulders to lower them both to the ground. He takes France's shoes off to remove his pants the rest of the way, reveling in the sight of the man's lower half entirely bare and vulnerable. Ripe. Austria's glasses are tossed on top of the basket, and he takes one of France's legs to kiss his ankle.]
You caught on to a need I had. Don't know what tipped you off. Might have been the way I finally felt like I could breathe, ironically, when you did this to me... [He clasps his hand over France's mouth, leaning down to kiss his forehead.] Even though you kept me from saying any words you knew I was pleading for more every time you were rough with me... [His hand returns to France's wrist and it tightens, short nails digging in.] You were rough, France; I'd say you were treating me poorly but you kept whispering such lovely things in my ear and it was everything I needed. Everything I thought I was strange for wanting, but you knew.
Now I see it's because it's what you would have wanted, isn't it... [Austria's hand slips away from France's mouth only to reach over to the bag and get that little bottle France had insisted on picking up -- thank God -- and he wets the fingers of his right hand, which slithers between France's legs.] There are no guessing games now. I know what you want. [His fingers slip in, hooking immediately to press mercilessly on the spot he'd found many times before, and he leans in to whisper just as he remembers France doing.]
You're beautiful. Your hair is glowing like fire under these lanterns. All of you, your body, laid out for me like this. I can't stop looking at you. If I cannot take you, I will claim you. Over, and over, France, I'll conquer you, you're beautiful and you belong to me...
[Austria doesn't have time to dwell on the fleeting curiosity of whether he'd be so unhindered with his words if it weren't for the moon. The only thing he can manage to think is that he's grateful to express himself so easily, and if it came with the side effect of being too desperate to get home, so be it. He looks down at himself and determines he doesn't need that bottle for his own length; he strokes himself slick from the desperation he's already covered with and his wings spread. Moaning, he presses himself inside, and those wings flap slightly in an instinctive effort to steady himself. Eyes wide and hungry and fixed on his lover, teeth clenched, he grunts, and comes. It's small and he's unfazed, knowing the moon will allow him many more; perhaps he's proud, even territorial. This is his, and he's marked him. He begins thrusting again, bending France's legs back with his forearm against his calves, slamming himself inside with the full force of his weight. He's harsh with his body and his hand is clasped tightly enough over France's mouth to make breathing difficult but not impossible, wanting him to have the same breathlessness he was given that night, wanting him to feel the sweet balance of romance and pain and danger that he'd been shown. So it is that his actions are rough but his gaze is tender. He licks his lips to speak again.]
no subject
The question is met with Austria closing his eyes into a frown, a little embarrassed at the memory, and he swallows.] At least I know what the hell is going on this time. [It's not a yes, it's not a no, and he'll maybe be in a better frame of mind to compare the two when he's calmed from all this. He's barely keeping his thoughts straight, though, and it's obvious. He groans weakly at having his clothing pulled at, and the words accompanying the deed. There's no sign of disapproval whatsoever, he's helping the blond undo his slacks and his hips may even crane forward in need and at the thought of possessing the man. Again, and fully, this time, without qualifications, without any part of them clinging to the antiquated veneer of their rivalry. While France was gone he regretted nothing more than being too stubborn to fully let that go. Hearing France's confession he rejoins that kiss, rough and quick and relieved to hear it out loud, and when he pulls back to allow his shirt to be undone he mumbles France's name idly, again and again, arousal slick and pulsing.
With a sudden shudder Austria's eyes look as if he's starved and they zero in on France's belt, all but tearing it undone and the waistband down to the middle of France's thighs. Was it as bad as the first time? The first time, he had no idea what was happening to him, and he'd ignored every urge and lied to himself, convincing himself it wasn't even there. He had been desperate, and humiliated, and humbled that France would help him without mockery. Now, he knows exactly what is happening, and has a far better idea of how to navigate it. But now is also a reunion he'd long thought unlikely, now they've confessed and finalized their feelings, now is a joyful sort of closure and he wants nothing more than to consummate it.
Reminding. He can't help the small laugh, doubting that he could have forgotten -- even if he had thought that for a time when France wasn't well, he doesn't think it now. He grips France's shoulders to lower them both to the ground. He takes France's shoes off to remove his pants the rest of the way, reveling in the sight of the man's lower half entirely bare and vulnerable. Ripe. Austria's glasses are tossed on top of the basket, and he takes one of France's legs to kiss his ankle.]
You caught on to a need I had. Don't know what tipped you off. Might have been the way I finally felt like I could breathe, ironically, when you did this to me... [He clasps his hand over France's mouth, leaning down to kiss his forehead.] Even though you kept me from saying any words you knew I was pleading for more every time you were rough with me... [His hand returns to France's wrist and it tightens, short nails digging in.] You were rough, France; I'd say you were treating me poorly but you kept whispering such lovely things in my ear and it was everything I needed. Everything I thought I was strange for wanting, but you knew.
Now I see it's because it's what you would have wanted, isn't it... [Austria's hand slips away from France's mouth only to reach over to the bag and get that little bottle France had insisted on picking up -- thank God -- and he wets the fingers of his right hand, which slithers between France's legs.] There are no guessing games now. I know what you want. [His fingers slip in, hooking immediately to press mercilessly on the spot he'd found many times before, and he leans in to whisper just as he remembers France doing.]
You're beautiful. Your hair is glowing like fire under these lanterns. All of you, your body, laid out for me like this. I can't stop looking at you. If I cannot take you, I will claim you. Over, and over, France, I'll conquer you, you're beautiful and you belong to me...
[Austria doesn't have time to dwell on the fleeting curiosity of whether he'd be so unhindered with his words if it weren't for the moon. The only thing he can manage to think is that he's grateful to express himself so easily, and if it came with the side effect of being too desperate to get home, so be it. He looks down at himself and determines he doesn't need that bottle for his own length; he strokes himself slick from the desperation he's already covered with and his wings spread. Moaning, he presses himself inside, and those wings flap slightly in an instinctive effort to steady himself. Eyes wide and hungry and fixed on his lover, teeth clenched, he grunts, and comes. It's small and he's unfazed, knowing the moon will allow him many more; perhaps he's proud, even territorial. This is his, and he's marked him. He begins thrusting again, bending France's legs back with his forearm against his calves, slamming himself inside with the full force of his weight. He's harsh with his body and his hand is clasped tightly enough over France's mouth to make breathing difficult but not impossible, wanting him to have the same breathlessness he was given that night, wanting him to feel the sweet balance of romance and pain and danger that he'd been shown. So it is that his actions are rough but his gaze is tender. He licks his lips to speak again.]
Do you remember, now?