Roderich Edelstein || Republik Österreich (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
edle_gestalt) wrote2019-03-21 04:07 pm
edle_gestalt) wrote2019-03-21 04:07 pm
PRISMATICA: Inbox
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Austria ⬤ Hetalia
residential district ⬤ TBD
moonblessing ⬤ Iris
no subject
The blond's mouth snaps shut, lips pressing tight when the bearer of bad news is thrown to the ground. He half expects the man to grind his foot into the pages, even more so when the lantern is plucked up and Austria stands. It feels like a bizarre out of body experience, watching Austria handle the lantern as if it was going to explode in his grasp. He doesn't even try to stop him when it seems a goal has been found, watching Austria's back as he advances on a very perturbed goat lady.
Blue light illuminates the space between Austria and his unwitting test subject and even from on the bench, France can make out what the man is saying to her. Any other evening, France would have dissolved into a fit of laughter at how utterly ridiculous this was. How deep the denial was. Tonight he was struggling to ignore the charm of brushing it off, making it simple. Whatever staring he was doing is interrupted when Austria twists and leaves the lady and France leans back against the bench to look up at his dinner date when he's near enough.
Oh... that was anticlimactic.
A hand goes to his face and rubs as if he's trying to hide the unintended smirk that Austria's failed toss caused. He fails miserably in hiding all emotion. Swears that this man is going to be the one responsible for any wrinkles he receives. There is a silence that trails after Austria's rather passionate claim in not wanting a moment. He knows that it's meant for him to offer his own, to engage in the back and forth, but for once he isn't sure what route to take. He settles instead on clearing his throat and letting his hands go back to his lap, frowning to himself. This wasn't, particularly how France had envisioned this whole thing going. ]
If you do not want a moment, what do you want? Was the lantern incorrect, then?
[ RIP. ]
no subject
[The word comes out before France could even finish the second question and he falters when that second question registers.] I. ... Oh please, this isn't a measure of my feelings alone, you could answer that question just as much as I could! [Unable to have his liquor, he reaches for the wine again and pours another glass for himself, wanting to down it but not wanting to look like a heathen in France's eyes.
France's eyes, incidentally, are the next subject of his attentions. That's the moment.] My answer wouldn't be different from yours, if that thing is correct.
[He finally moves to sit down, resting his elbows on his own thighs as he sips more.] You realize when my empress sent that vulgar letter to you under my name I stopped breathing. I had to be revived. I don't know about you but that's the level of cognitive dissonance I'm dealing with right now. [Another gulp.]
But it was... so very long ago. I'm angry. Bitter, rather, that circumstances back home never allowed us... there were too many outside forces working against even considering...
[That word.
There's a small sigh and Austria sits back and carefully leans his head towards France; he'd nuzzle close if there weren't antlers in the way. His wing stretches out more deliberately than before, brushing France's shoulders.] But I never forgot that night in the garden. How you read my desires like a book and understood, and of course it couldn't last but I never forgot it, we were so young...
[His pulse is quickening thinking of it, and he glances at the moon and re-centers himself. He can't afford to lose this conversation to a spell of lust, and he calls on the other facets within himself that the Iris moon draws forth from him: affection, protectiveness.]
I missed having you. I don't want to let go of that.
I DO NOT HAVE AN ICON SUITABLE FOR THIS
France is good at superficial follies. He enjoyed the hunt. If Austria was wrong, if the lantern was a lie, he could try to detach and save both of them the hurt that would inevitably come from attachment. The entire time they'd slept together (but it wasn't just sex; they'd gone on dates, spent time together without all that much of agenda on occasion, hadn't they?), whatever feelings that were developing could be set aside. He hadn't been prepared for feeling loss when Austria back home hadn't recalled a single thing.
Austria sits beside him again and France is reminded that he'd contemplated trying again, back home, if only to get to the point where he could be companionably close without feeling like a burden. His words sink in, and for a second they validate his belief that at least on some level Austria had considered France's presence to be troublesome. That's not the point of why Austria is saying it, though, and he can appreciate that too. ]
As far as match-making went, at least she aimed high. [ While he didn't seem to be bragging about himself, there is enough ability to see where pride may be assumed and he continues, ] It wasn't her fault that she didn't know me to be the insufferable brat I was back then.
[ Is, now, sometimes. He likes to think that he's better now if age and the changing times have calmed him. That doesn't stop him from letting his hand stray, winding behind Austria, ever mindful of the feathers, to grasp the bottle of wine on the other side. Something in him keeps France from downing the rest of its contents, perhaps the faint surprise at the man ever feeling bitter that they'd never attempted a lasting relationship back home. ]
We do not have the pleasure of acting on our own accord back home. Any feelings I may have for someone does not void me of duty... I-- [ He trails off, distracted by the memories of every failed venture he'd actually been foolish enough to pursue despite what he was, and what that kept him from... and really, there is a reason he puts a stop to things before feelings are allowed to blossom for a reason. Wetting his lips, he shifts closer when Austria leans back. He hadn't anticipated being reminded of that night in particular. It could have been a painful reminder but instead, it makes him smile fondly and reach out, fingers stroking slowly over the man's clothed knee. It's not flirtation, but it certainly could double down on more than being a comforting gesture. ]
I was very fond of those gardens. Still am. [ When France had been younger, he'd been caught up in romanticizing alliances, and he and Austria had been so new to theirs that it really was inevitable. He'd taken to duty but he wanted to make it his. A trip to Versailles had ended up with France offering to take Austria out one evening for an impromptu tour of the gardens. In the present, France's attention strays to Austria's profile and lingers on how the moon lights his skin. For a few seconds, he's stuck reliving that night. ] It's funny, how even now, we gravitate to scenery such as this, on nights like these.
[ The battle to keep his hand from slowly creeping upward is barely won, but he'll be damned if he's the one that ruins the mood. It's so, so rare that he hears Austria speak so freely that he wouldn't let himself live it down. France exhales and leans into the other, looking up as well. If he focuses on the moon he doesn't have to focus on the terrible ache of longing and nostalgia building in him. It seems as if he is unknowingly rewarded for his self-control when Austria finally speaks again. ]
Hm. Having me? [ For a moment, France sounds playful. Coy, even, but it drops away. A tired act employed to hide the soft underbelly. ] I have been plagued for the entirety of my existence by people insisting they had me. I am a very, very desirable trophy you see. [ He motions with the bottle, a little toast to his bosses and every formal alliance he's had. To Austria, as well. As it was rude to toast without following it with a drink, he does as such. Contrary to the weight of his reminiscing, he doesn't appear bitter. Austria's words had levied some of that. ] I remember though, that night in particular clarity. I pined over the notion of you wanting me without being told to. [ It's not a shot fired. Truly. ] I am fairly sure you had me then. It's bittersweet that you are only aware of having me now.
[ France stops, unsure. ]
My liver could not tolerate you letting go, I think. It can barely tolerate this.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oqgn9MNRw2A
[He listens, letting him trail off; he knows just as well what it is to be suffocated by duty, but that duty didn't include every manner in which they treated each other over the years. Where did it start? He couldn't say, but he knows there was no real effort to ever end it. The disdain was comfortable, one of the few things Austria was able to hold onto from his golden age, but like many other things from then, what was comfortable was not without harm. What a fool Austria had been, he muses, and when the subject shifts to the gardens, he speaks up again.] Our rivalry often made me feel young again. With so many things that changed for me, I had clung to that last remnant... I remembered the gardens, too, but never sought solace in that memory the same way, it was always easier to bicker. The calmer times were brief and already spoken for, I thought, they were too idealistic to cling to like that, but with the way I've fallen, I...
[He stops, scared of himself, just taking in the sensation of having his knee stroked like that. It's simple, and soothing, and invigorating. Looking around the park, seeing pedestrians scattered here and there in casual clothing, seeing the way even the both of them were dressed, a trembled laugh escapes him, and if it weren't for the smile it may have been mistaken for tears.] Scenery like this... some Versailles this is.
[But it's green, there's moonlight, and they're ever so close, and perhaps a little bit tipsy. The coyness of France's words are familiar from even the times he did dislike, but that wasn't present at all now. The tone warms him fully, and Austria looks straight ahead, beaming from ear to ear without his stoic inhibitions to stop him.] It's so strange to hear someone other than myself talking about being the trophy... we're both spoiled, aren't we? [He takes the toast, and it forces him to look at France directly again and when he does it feels electric.] If I'd been told to want you again after all that at least I'd have had an excuse. An excuse that wasn't Marie-Louise, all due respect to her, but an excuse that allowed me to maintain some of my pride and didn't involve making me a sniveling harlot to offer my men to a military that was beating the hell out of me--
[He's giddy. His heart is pounding, he's warm all over from either the wine or the mood between them and it only gets more intense when France suggests Austria has had him all along. There's a wave of possessiveness that washes over him from it that aches. Barely tolerating the present? That makes two of them, and Austria can't stand it anymore and kisses the man, the way he'd wanted their first kiss to be after being reunited. No polite pecks out of consideration of daylight and the sidewalk; it's night, now, and Austria clings with need. His breath had been shallow from nerves before and it caused him to pull away sooner than he'd wanted, but he sighs another helpless laugh, tears welling up.] It's always been easier to make love than to speak of it. [He leans in again, screwing his eyes shut as he resumes the kiss, and the words bubbling up inside him hurt. The arrow he'd been struck with centuries earlier had never been taken out of him, he'd healed around it and it only served as a thorn in his side; now, it's being pushed further, straining to create an exit wound. And it finds it, tears now trickling from him as soon as he manages to open his eyes.]
Je t'aime. Je t'aime beaucoup.
[It's whispered weakly, like a terrified animal, against France's lips, as if quietness might alleviate the feeling of his entire past being upturned upon speaking it. It doesn't. He clings tighter, and keeps kissing him.]
shh i'm not awake
The wine keeps him planted to the bench, but it's what Austria offers next that pries a smile out of France. He remembers those years, trying to make sense of an alliance with another that had more often than not been fighting opposite of him. ] My men were just as confused, I promise you. [ The vast majority were. He had given credit to those he'd worked with closest in those days for seeing the situation for what it was. Knowing glances and courteous silence. ]
I never thought you a harlot...
[ It's a consolation prize if anything from one spoiled man to another. He's stuck watching Austria's expression shift in the evening light. It feels like he's back in the gardens, even if this park was a far cry from the manicured lawns and topiary. There's a difference, however; he isn't the one leading the charge. It's only after Austria closes in that he reacts, leaning in to eagerly kiss him in return. His fingers find the fabric of the brunet's jacket. He doesn't realize he'd needed air until the kiss is broken, leaving him to take a few deep breaths. He abandons the jacket to cradle the other's face, soaking in the sound of his voice from so close, adoring the quiet laugh.
He's always been an affectionate man, but it's different when actual emotions and attachments come into play. He doesn't think he can ever get close enough, and when Austria returns for another kiss he buries his fingers deep against the hair at his nape. Iris leaves his companion in a more vulnerable state, emotionally; something France has come to terms with. Even anticipated. He doesn't have the excuse of being a sympathetic crier, but he can feel the urge to let it get the better of him when the other pulls away just enough to speak.
He'd never anticipated those words coming from Austria, and most certainly not in regard to loving him, but from the way his arms wrap around the man's shoulders, it's well-received. He allows the kiss to continue, needing it to be an offering of his own returned feelings in lieu of speaking and ruining the nonverbal part of their exchange. He's just as scared to admit it. What if he did and the next day he woke up in his own bed back home again? It'd ruin him.
He does pull away eventually, lips tingling from the kiss. He feels unsteady but wonderful, and it's awful. ]
You must think me a fraud; needing a third party to tell someone that I love them...
[ He's admitting that he's no good at this, or not in the way he wants to be. The way he wanted being centuries ago. He'll take this moment though and hold it dear. ]He slips a hand from around Austria's shoulders to grab for one of his, bring it to his lips to kiss the knuckles. For a second they sit there, but France eventually offers up another idea. ]
This is no Versailles, but I've only just arrived. Perhaps you could walk with me and show me the sights?
[ We both know those sights are going to be a bush...]
nor am i.
The silence after his own confession would be deafening if he weren't being smothered with kisses and pulled close. The warmth envelops him and it's almost too much. But it isn't; perhaps in some ways it does feel as if he's drowning, but what he's feeling is closer to addiction. He understands perfectly. Wordless exchanges were what he normally felt most comfortable with. And normally, it had been someone else offering those first words of affection, not Austria. This was the second time in his life that he'd confessed first, both times happening since he arrived at this place. But it's the first time he hasn't felt cornered into giving an answer, and the first time he's certain it isn't unrequited. Not with the clinging that it evoked in France, and not from the words that came from him once he pulled back.
Austria shakes his head, brushing France's hair away from his face. Though they aren't the three words, he feels them deeply regardless.] Not at all. It's just about all I've ever known how to do. And... without it, I'd be afraid my own feelings were some sort of repeated, chronic impulse, if there were such a thing, brought on by this place. [There is no such thing as a chronic impulse, and he knows it. But it still is sinking in.
His breath leaves him when France's lips touch his fingers. It isn't the first time by any means but it is so chaste, it is a moment he supposes feels as if it were made of crystal and mustn't be disturbed or taken down from its pedestal in any way. It's at odds with what the moon is bringing out in him, and the urge to straddle France's lap for an even closer kiss is certainly there, but brushed aside.
And he's glad he did. His ears perk up at the thought of giving him a tour, regardless of whether or not France had been to this park before when he was here last. He takes the hand that had stolen his own for a kiss, and stands. Wordlessly, for now. Packing away what hadn't been finished yet, he picks up the cooler. It is enough to breathe in the evening.
From the park they can see various places they've visited in the past, and he's able to point gently or even just tilt his head towards them for the two of them to share a memory. The antique shop from their first date. The concert hall, whose memory has Austria staving off more fire within himself. When he finally does speak again, he remains somewhat reserved.]
Everything is very vivid, right now. I feel very... present, in the moment. [Alive?] That's an advantage to this week and the next one, this moon being out. ... I can see wonderfully at night. [The pause is as he realizes it may have sounded like a suggestion before he clarified. It hadn't been, at least not consciously. He remains cautious.] You understand what I mean, I hope. Any other interpretation would risk ruining the atmosphere, don't you think?
[It's France. Somehow he's worried about being too sexual for France and he's not sure when that happened. Seeing the man genuinely unsure of himself, after sex had been an escape from reality for the both of them... it feels as if anything adjacent to it would escape a reality that Austria, for once, doesn't want to let go of.
...Never mind that it's what finally caused them to be honest with each other here. Never mind that it did anything but ruin the atmosphere those years ago in the palace gardens.
He looks at his own feet, and as they continue to walk, his palms noticeably begin to sweat. Without thinking, he clasps France's hand more tightly, and his pace slows. Wine had a way of doing that.]
weeeelp
Admitting to himself that he loved the other nation had been drawn out over the months they'd kindled whatever sort of relationship they had here. He may not have repeated in so many words that he loved the brunet, but he did what he could. There were worse ways to let a man know you cared and far worse scenarios. France will be content with a dimly lit park at night, even if they are far from home.
It's difficult to not feel dazed when Austria grabs his hand and helps him up from the bench. Part of the last ten minutes doesn't feel quite real but the fingers wrapped around his are warm and solid to the touch – and while he wouldn't have minded the split decision to straddle him and kiss him properly, he is happy to have that tour.
France lets him be the one that does the majority of the talking as they walk through the quiet park, smiling in acknowledgment to a few of the spots. The concert hall has a similar effect on France's train of thought and he has to bite his tongue. The night is cool but he feels a wave of heat crawl along his neck. He'd reeled from the aftermath of that evening for days and from the subtle spike in his pulse that appeal clearly hasn't outstayed its welcome. The charm of Austria attempting to clarify that he hadn't intended it to be sexual reels the blond's libido a bit and draws a grin from him. He chooses to momentarily go with that narrative, looking up. ]
Can you decipher which one of those lights above is ours?
[ His eyes go from the sky to Austria's profile, faintly curious. For the record, he didn't expect him to, but he's feeling exceptionally soft around the edges and the idea is sentimental enough to fit the mood. Curiosity gets to him when he notices that the other nation has slowed. France's fingers feel like they're being clung to rather than simply held and he squeezes back, pulling just enough to suggest they stop. They'd wandered far enough into the park that the few people had thinned out altogether. ]
Can you see anyone else around us? I'm afraid that I want to risk ruining the atmosphere.
[ France means with a kiss, but he's more than eager to endanger it by dragging him to somewhere a little more private, just as he'd done so long ago back home. He keeps his hand clasped in Austria's but his free one settles on the back of his neck. His lips quirk slightly. ]
I remember the first time we kissed here. You were so angry. [ And handsome. How far they've come though, that he's not in the least bit concerned about whether or not Austria will recoil when he leans in for a kiss here with no prying eyes. As there was nobody around (rhetorical questions be damned), he doesn't bother to pull away, instead doing just the opposite. ] Why don't you hide that basket, hm?
no subject
Just as he instinctively tried to find the lantern, he skims their surroundings as if it were a reflex to France's words, before those words sink in.] I don't see any... [He trails off, and his pulse quickens.]
You're... you're...!! I don't believe you! [It's a hushed scolding, and Austria's attention is everywhere and nowhere all at once as the back of his neck grows cold.] I've been going out of my mind trying to keep things nice, because I care about this, I missed you, and here you're asking me to ruin it-- [The word ruin sticks in his mind and his thoughts fly to that one October night and he exhales, flustered.
And as France continues speaking, Austria can't help but feel challenged. Angry... is it that he wanted Austria angry? Is he laughing at the thought of it now that Austria is openly needy for France's affection? He doesn't have time to process it because France's lips are on him again, and with the words France has been choosing to express himself, Austria is beginning to wonder...] D...do you think we can make it back to our flat? [It's said weakly, almost as a formality.] It doesn't matter how... poetic it might be if I returned the favor from that night so many years ago, this isn't a private garden, it's a public park, how classless could we possibly--
[He's kissing France's neck, and he's hard. All the words coming out of his own mouth haven't exactly convinced the rest of him, and his eyes are scanning the area for a secluded spot. The concept of shame is skewed in a place like this, he knows, and he's rationalizing more and more by the second, grasping at him hungrily and walking (stumbling?) them both over to a curved row of trees. Knowing this place, there's a good chance they were arranged that way intentionally. It feels like a clumsy dance in a ballroom, basket hanging from Austria's wrist as he clasps France's hand.]
God, I thought I was done with this level of severity. [He takes a moment to collect himself, but he's face to face with his lover, pressed as tightly as he can be to him, hands not-so-gently tugging at the fabric of France's jacket.]
I want to take you the way you took me.
[The basket is softly dropped, and Austria grasps France's wrist, less softly. The other slides to France's chest to work on buttons. The need to see at least some of France's body in all this is only thing that's going to peel him off at this point.]
no subject
Austria isn't the only one needy for a little bit of affection. He hadn't intended to lure his lover off but now that he's in the moment it's hard to just pull away. Scolding or not. Luckily, Austria is the one that speaks up and he can't stop the tiny smile at his feeble attempt to save face. For a moment he wants to suggest that they could try to make it back to theirs, but the fine balance of disbelief and arousal had been thrown to one end. It's good they're both particularly fond and France is particularly weak to a mouth on his neck. ]
Classless...? [ He sounds happily distracted but pulls it together to cluck at his lover, gripping his shoulder. To keep him close? Was that really a fight? ] We aren't doing it in an effort to be caught. [ Tonight, at least. ] I missed you, and I need you.
[ France doesn't have the time to whine over Austria putting space between them because he's being pulled, at first stumbling, then getting his baring with a surprised titter that has more to do with being dragged off by the man he loves than being dragged off to do horribly taboo PDA. Damned if it doesn't look like he's living his best life though, beaming at the poor brunet when they've made in into the trees. He can feel his arousal pressing firm between them and he shivers, wanting to pull Austria's hips even tighter against his own but that'd be impossible.
He smiles when his jacket is attacked, raising his arms briefly to help rid himself of the garment and his ears burn hearing Austria go on about Iris' influence. ]
Is it as bad as the first time?
[ Such a simple question; innocent to an unknowing third party, but France still remembers him pleading to be made love to. Funny how the longer they stand in a state of partial undress that France feels his patience crumbling. The mood doesn't make him appreciate what Austria says next any less, and he can hear the basket drop and the smile is warm like the fingers holding his wrist in place while Austria goes to unbuttoning his shirt. He wonders if the man's even cognizant of the mildly possessive hold, but France is. ]
Taking implies that I'm not already yours. [ His free hand works carefully between them, fingers tugging impatiently at the belt at Austria's waist, watching his lover for signs of disapproval. He's struck, not for the first time, at how much he cares for the other and he rudely interrupts Austria's efforts with another kiss, draping his arm around Austria's shoulders. He sighs against his lips when he pulls back but he doesn't pull away. ] You have everything. I love you and I don't know what to do with myself.
[ It's scary saying it to full effect because admitting it opened up opportunities for it to all go to hell, and he's incredibly protective of his finer feelings. It would be in poor taste to discredit the trust he has in the other man now that everything has been realized. His fingers aren't as steady as he goes for Austria's shirt, but where nerves have chipped away, stubbornness prevails. ]
It's been too long. Perhaps you could remind me?
[ He's torn on the double-meaning, but there's the smallest hint of a grin on his lips. ]
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?
no subject
He still feels as if he's floating on the edge of something that could build him up or devastate him but Austria's mouth is on his, forceful as it was fast but it's enough that he can feel the relief. It sinks in, making him sigh and brush his fingertips over the skin he's bared. His restraint is tested when the pads of his fingers brush past the man's navel and he's mere inches from his leaking cock. God, he loved Iris. Maybe it's the way his fingers hesitate that wears down Austria's resolve, whatever of it that remained. Maybe he's just as needy as the blond. His assistance is far more rushed and France makes a soft sound of surprise that sounds faintly amused, thighs and arousal bared to the night air.
This isn't like the first time. Not the first time with Iris, when they'd been new to their friendly affair where France had slipped into Austria's bed with no judgment and stayed long after he'd exhausted himself. That night slips into his thoughts more than it should and he'd been shamed when he'd been more excited with the way he'd begged to be made love to than one of many rounds where he'd fisted his new partner. He'd been doomed even then, the blond had come to realize. This isn't their first time in the garden, either, but his pulse skips around like it is. It's the first time they'll have one another without the pretense and that's good enough to be remarkable. The soft laugh warms him and there is no resistance at the guidance to the grass.
He doesn't remember the last time (beyond the obvious) that he's made love in the grass at night but he doesn't dwell on it. His body moves on autopilot, stilling just enough to let Austria remove his shoes before bending his legs just enough to ease his pants down his calves and completely off at last. He understands that this is an homage of sorts to that night but his eyes widen slightly when Austria lifts a leg up and kisses the sensitive patch of skin over his ankle. It made his chest ache terribly, but he can distract himself in how good Austria looks in the moonlight, half-dressed and settled between his bared thighs.
He finds himself hanging onto every word, his breathing shallow before Austria's hand even clamps over his mouth. The brief pressure awakens that familiar flirtation with danger that melts away with the kiss. He wants to tease Austria for spoiling him but he wouldn't dare because on the flip side he's experiencing a sense of fragility that he's inexperienced with, even with the games they play and all of the lovers he's taken in the past. Hearing how that night had given Austria what he didn't know he'd needed makes his aching chest twist further and he inhales sharply when the hand is gone and Austria is asking him a question.
He may have even responded with a quiet 'Yes' before he's watching Austria rummage in the bag for the small bottle of lube. There's little shame in how he lifts his legs and offers the brunet room to settle between with freshly slicked fingers and an agenda. France could listen to Austria go on like that at length but his focus is redirected to the fingers filling him and coaxing a rather undignified whine from France's lips. It's so good that he's pliant, thighs spreading to accommodate and silently beckon him deeper.
What he gets instead is the warmth of Austria's body as he leans over France, breath hitting his ear as he whispered lovely things to him. It's hardly the first time that the other man has slipped and called him beautiful, especially when Iris loosened some of his inhibitions. It is the first time he's promised to conquer him, fingers punctuating 'over and over' in a way that makes his toes curl and his hands flutter to any part of his lover that he can reach. ]
Then take me – [ There's a hint of a tremor in his voice when he speaks, and it's not as if he's impatient for Austria to take him. It felt right to make a small demand before he can't say anything at all because he knows what will happen. France had been everything Austria had said, harsh with his pace and the way he'd muffled the younger brunet's cries and it had been glorious. His heart is pounding by the time his lover removes his fingers to adjust above him and the thrust is swift, enough to make him cry out. Discretion was far from his coherent thoughts; all he can focus on is the man's facial expressions hovering above.
Good thing France knows about how many times Austria can lose himself and still perform, or he would have cried in frustration. His eyes do prickle stubbornly when his legs are pinned up by Austria's arms, but when he moves it's dizzying. The angle is just right, the force hard enough that he probably couldn't force himself to be quiet if he tried. A hand comes to clasp firmly over France's mouth and takes care of that problem. His breathing had been shallow before it became restricted and he instinctively arches but there's nowhere to go. He isn't panicked; France is more than aware that the man above him would never cause him serious harm, but it is very overwhelming in its own right.
It's the question that is what tips him over, emotionally and physically and he's unapologetic to the tears idly cutting their way along his temples. He makes a sound, sharp and pleading as he does all he can do, fingers tangling in the shirt he hadn't managed to completely remove, none too gentle with how he winds and tugs. The smallest bit of tenderness has France needy, but now the blond has been given far too much for his own good. ]
uh, surprise
More than the power, more than the forbidden feeling of it all, it's the trust. That tremor, that hint of vulnerability in France's voice leaves him torn between the prospects of ruthlessly kissing him and of watching him. And when France does cry out like that, he can't bear to stifle it with his lips, not yet. Only to respond with a similar sound of his own.
He'd worry about who heard later. He'd worry too much, probably, but it doesn't matter now.
It's only when he knows he's going to go harder that he covers France's mouth. Then, perhaps, it is a little bit about the power, as he favors the sound of muffled pleading according to that particular whim. The mere fact no matter what Austria does, France is clinging to it all, both in the literal sense and otherwise, is enough to make him curse under his breath. He's gasping and tears are coming from his eyes too, which isn't new to them, but perhaps it's new in this arrangement. It's confirmation that when he has cried in the past, it hasn't always been about the beauty of the pain, or the sensation of being penetrated. It's the feeling of being torn open emotionally, of forcefully having his most guarded self suddenly exposed, and the feeling of that being perfect.
He's using his whole weight now; a few more incoherent comments about being buried in the other man and he comes again. His back will surely ache tomorrow. There are feathers everywhere.
He isn't done, but this time it does take a moment for his eyes to come back into focus. He's still twitching inside of him, and his eyes zero in hungrily on France's cock, and the mess it's leaving on his abdomen, and he whispers.] You have to tell me when you can't bear it anymore, before I touch you... I couldn't bear to end it too soon. God what I wouldn't give for you to have just an ounce of this affliction, I want to see what it would do to you, being in such a constant state of mindless need that it doesn't matter when or how many times, what I could do with you then-- [and as if to accentuate the point his hand gropes around for France's wrist on his back, guiding them down to coax him towards slipping his fingers inside while he continues the next round. He's soaked. Completely.
What comes from his next is a combination of a moan and dissolving into laughter at what he's about to say. The irony, that he wasn't even intending to continue the power trip when he searched for the words, but that it's what feels right, is another beautiful assurance that this is perfect for them, and he's beaming.]
I think you'll just have to beg for it...