APH: Born and Grown
Title: Born and Grown
Author: grosse_averse
Characters: Canada, France, England; France/Canada/England
Rating: R
Summary: For prompt #7 "opposite"; Matthew knows he is being used, but he does not have the heart to stop it.
Arthur starts out gentle, but Matthew knows it is not for long. Arthur is upset - the meeting ran long, his points were not discussed, Alfred was giving him grief. Matthew pours him a cup of tea, and as he is passing his chair Arthur puts a gentle hand on his hip and pulls him down onto his lap.
"I haven't seen you in such a long time." Arthur hums, nuzzling his hair. "I can't believe how you've grown!" Arthur's voice is soft and husky - his hand dips down to stroke softly across Matthew's crotch. Matthew wriggles in his lap.
"It - it's been a while." he agrees.
Arthur is always gentle at first. Leaving his teacup untouched, the older nation leads the way to Matthew's bedroom, waits for Matthew to lie down, then covers him with his body, all soft mouth and searching hands.
But as they progress a franticness is unearthed in Arthur. It only happens when he argues with Alfred, only happens when Alfred makes a comment that hits something in the older man. And then Arthur goes to Matthew, coaxes him into bed, and something inside him lets go, and Matthew lets him let it go.
Matthew rides him, legs on either side of his former caretaker's torso, scrunching his toes and screwing up his face, not wanting to see the heat in his emerald eyes, the absolute possession. Arthur wants to possess Matthew, to make up for letting his brother slip through his fingers, and sometimes Matthew wants to let him.
"Say it." Arthur growls, and grips Matthew's cock in his hand, so tight that Matthew cries out.
"I ca - I - " Matthew pants and squirms and Arthur grips tighter.
"You always wanted to speak French when you were younger." Arthur is sneering now, causing heat to rush to Matthew's face. "So speak it."
"No...non, je...je veux..." Matthew cries out, but Arthur squeezes the base of his cock so he whines in frustration.
"Say it." Arthur repeats, and Matthew digs his fingers into Arthur's shoulders.
"Je me souviens," he exclaims. "Que né sous le lys, je croîs sous la rose!"
"Good boy." Arthur nods approvingly, lets go of his cock and punches his hips upwards. Matthew comes with a cry and a great jerk of his body.
Arthur rolls him over, covers him again. The all-enveloping Empire. He whispers to him as Matthew floats down from his high.
"You grew under the rose." he hisses. "I own you, I made you."
"Arthur..." Matthew mumbles as the sandy haired nation nips at his jawbone. "I'm - I'm a country now..." I don't want to be your "do over". he thinks
"Mine." Arthur says once more. Matthew falls asleep in the hot, possessive embrace of his former father.
In the morning, Arthur apologizes profusely, ducks his head in embarrassment when he wakes up with his nose shoved into Matthew's shoulder. Matthew laughs it off, forgives him.
Two weeks later he is writhing under Francis. Just a few touches from the other blonde and Matthew is undone.
"Mon petit." Francis purrs. "How are you getting along? How is your brother treating you? Your foreign relations?"
"Mm. I'm fine, fine, everything's...oh God please touch me there again..." Matthew moans. Francis chuckles and moves again. Matthew tosses his head to the side.
"Tell me. Has Arthur come to visit you recently?" Francis asks a few minutes later. Matthew whimpers in frustration.
"Hm?" Francis catches a nipple in between his fingers, tugs. "Yes or no?"
"Ye-yes." Matthew breathes, trying to reach up and kiss Francis. The Frenchman allows one brush of the lips before he asks again, "And what did you two talk about?"
"No-nothing of importance, please Francis."
They are so alike and so different at the same time, Matthew thinks as Francis spreads his legs and enters him gently, pushing at all the right angles.
At Matthew's very peak Francis leans down and murmurs, "Tu te souviens...?"
Something clenches in Matthew's gut, and it is not just his approaching orgasm. "...Que né sous le lys, je croîs sous la rose!" he recites obediently, and Francis laughs triumphantly (like he has won something), and bites down on Matthew's shoulder as he fills him with warmth.
When they have sufficiently cooled, Francis nudges him with his nose, showering him with chaste kisses.
"Never let that Englishman make you forget," he orders. "That you belonged to me, first."
How can I forget? Matthew thinks as he curls up in Francis's arms. When you make me repeat it every time you come over?
Arthur comes to him when he wants to remember that he did one thing right. Francis comes to him when he wants to assure himself that Arthur has not won. Matthew knows he is being used, but he does not have the heart to stop it.
He wants to be noticed, but not in this way.
Je me souviens
Que né sous le lys
Je croîs sous la rose.
I remember
That born under the lily
I grow under the rose.
Author: grosse_averse
Characters: Canada, France, England; France/Canada/England
Rating: R
Summary: For prompt #7 "opposite"; Matthew knows he is being used, but he does not have the heart to stop it.
Arthur starts out gentle, but Matthew knows it is not for long. Arthur is upset - the meeting ran long, his points were not discussed, Alfred was giving him grief. Matthew pours him a cup of tea, and as he is passing his chair Arthur puts a gentle hand on his hip and pulls him down onto his lap.
"I haven't seen you in such a long time." Arthur hums, nuzzling his hair. "I can't believe how you've grown!" Arthur's voice is soft and husky - his hand dips down to stroke softly across Matthew's crotch. Matthew wriggles in his lap.
"It - it's been a while." he agrees.
Arthur is always gentle at first. Leaving his teacup untouched, the older nation leads the way to Matthew's bedroom, waits for Matthew to lie down, then covers him with his body, all soft mouth and searching hands.
But as they progress a franticness is unearthed in Arthur. It only happens when he argues with Alfred, only happens when Alfred makes a comment that hits something in the older man. And then Arthur goes to Matthew, coaxes him into bed, and something inside him lets go, and Matthew lets him let it go.
Matthew rides him, legs on either side of his former caretaker's torso, scrunching his toes and screwing up his face, not wanting to see the heat in his emerald eyes, the absolute possession. Arthur wants to possess Matthew, to make up for letting his brother slip through his fingers, and sometimes Matthew wants to let him.
"Say it." Arthur growls, and grips Matthew's cock in his hand, so tight that Matthew cries out.
"I ca - I - " Matthew pants and squirms and Arthur grips tighter.
"You always wanted to speak French when you were younger." Arthur is sneering now, causing heat to rush to Matthew's face. "So speak it."
"No...non, je...je veux..." Matthew cries out, but Arthur squeezes the base of his cock so he whines in frustration.
"Say it." Arthur repeats, and Matthew digs his fingers into Arthur's shoulders.
"Je me souviens," he exclaims. "Que né sous le lys, je croîs sous la rose!"
"Good boy." Arthur nods approvingly, lets go of his cock and punches his hips upwards. Matthew comes with a cry and a great jerk of his body.
Arthur rolls him over, covers him again. The all-enveloping Empire. He whispers to him as Matthew floats down from his high.
"You grew under the rose." he hisses. "I own you, I made you."
"Arthur..." Matthew mumbles as the sandy haired nation nips at his jawbone. "I'm - I'm a country now..." I don't want to be your "do over". he thinks
"Mine." Arthur says once more. Matthew falls asleep in the hot, possessive embrace of his former father.
In the morning, Arthur apologizes profusely, ducks his head in embarrassment when he wakes up with his nose shoved into Matthew's shoulder. Matthew laughs it off, forgives him.
Two weeks later he is writhing under Francis. Just a few touches from the other blonde and Matthew is undone.
"Mon petit." Francis purrs. "How are you getting along? How is your brother treating you? Your foreign relations?"
"Mm. I'm fine, fine, everything's...oh God please touch me there again..." Matthew moans. Francis chuckles and moves again. Matthew tosses his head to the side.
"Tell me. Has Arthur come to visit you recently?" Francis asks a few minutes later. Matthew whimpers in frustration.
"Hm?" Francis catches a nipple in between his fingers, tugs. "Yes or no?"
"Ye-yes." Matthew breathes, trying to reach up and kiss Francis. The Frenchman allows one brush of the lips before he asks again, "And what did you two talk about?"
"No-nothing of importance, please Francis."
They are so alike and so different at the same time, Matthew thinks as Francis spreads his legs and enters him gently, pushing at all the right angles.
At Matthew's very peak Francis leans down and murmurs, "Tu te souviens...?"
Something clenches in Matthew's gut, and it is not just his approaching orgasm. "...Que né sous le lys, je croîs sous la rose!" he recites obediently, and Francis laughs triumphantly (like he has won something), and bites down on Matthew's shoulder as he fills him with warmth.
When they have sufficiently cooled, Francis nudges him with his nose, showering him with chaste kisses.
"Never let that Englishman make you forget," he orders. "That you belonged to me, first."
How can I forget? Matthew thinks as he curls up in Francis's arms. When you make me repeat it every time you come over?
Arthur comes to him when he wants to remember that he did one thing right. Francis comes to him when he wants to assure himself that Arthur has not won. Matthew knows he is being used, but he does not have the heart to stop it.
He wants to be noticed, but not in this way.
Je me souviens
Que né sous le lys
Je croîs sous la rose.
I remember
That born under the lily
I grow under the rose.