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[edle_gestalt]

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Austria ⬤ Hetalia residential district ⬤ TBD moonblessing ⬤ Iris

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[edle_gestalt]

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.]

Do you remember, now?

[amant]

[ Austria's response makes France hum sympathetically, eyes darting up to catch the sight of his lover, distracted but coping a lot better. ] Moonblessings are very peculiar things, but I'd be lying to you if I told you I took no pleasure from yours. [ His fingers tug with a little more purpose on Austria's pants when the brunet gets over his embarrassment enough to actively assist France's efforts in pushing the man's slacks down enough to free his erection. It's all wonderfully distracting from his own nerves; the possession of which surprises him almost as much as Austria reciprocating his feelings.

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

[edle_gestalt]

[Seeing France losing his composure like this had not ceased to be magical to Austria, and he wondered if it ever would. Certainly, tonight, after having missed him for months, it's a breath of fresh air. And it would almost be tempting to say he didn't realize the need was there, that the longing was there, but he did, and he knew how painful it had gotten. For once, he hadn't tried to deny it. But it has a way of still catching him off guard.

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...