Voulez-vous Vous Coucher avec Moi (ce Soir)?
folder
+G to L › Hetalia: Axis Powers
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
2,738
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+G to L › Hetalia: Axis Powers
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
2,738
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers, and I do not make any money from these writings. Honestly, do I look like a Japanese male to you?
Chapter 3
To Spyke, who's demands are met as soon as possible
Author's Note: Double up "D
WARNING: Um, possible pedophile alert. Mentioning of lots and lots of sex, most of which is dubcon. Read at your own risk, I guess? Nothing too graphic, it's just... There....
Also, big blocks of text ^_^;;; It's Francis' POV, and he can be long winded, ne?
This is the chapter that most of my warnings are about xD
Title: Voulez-Vous Vous Coucher avec Moi (ce Soir)?
Series: Hetalia: Axis Power
Characters: Germany, France, UK, Mentions of the rest of the world
Pairings: FrancexGermany (main), UKxUSxUK (side), FrancexWorld
Spoilers: None really... Ah, maybe a bit of the Valentine's Day or Christmas Specials. General knowledge of the end of WWII might be helpful.
Warnings: Yaoi goodness, Harem-eque things, fantasies, mentioning of shouta, dubious consent, the misuse of food to be used as aphrodisiacs, sex, sex, sex, (mis)use of foreign languages, switching POV, switching between nation and human names, lack of contractions due to NaNoWriMo
Note: Text that is bolded will be SPEAKING. Because, dammit, there is a lot of useless text that I'm too lazy to take out
Chapter Trois
An hour or so later, France had effectively disarmed the invading Englishman (“Give me my bloody chair, fuckin’ pansy assed wanker!”) and sent him packing (“Au revoir, mon ami! Tell Alfred and.. And... um... um... oh! Matthieu! Tell Matthieu and Alfred both I love them and they are welcome any time for... ‘special treats,’ he he he.” “Shut up you bloody freak.”). He looked at his abode - still so classy from the times of the Sun King, his beloved Louis the Fourteenth - and decided what he was going to do to his most delectable house guest. Oh, he could have had more than a little taste back then in the restaurant during the war, but he was much too infuriated with what the damned young man did to those potatoes. Mashing them, mon dieu! That was just about as bad as America calling those things “French Fries” - ah, like his pomme de terres frites (frites, pomme frites, fine, whatever he was calling them now) were that unhealthy. And frites were not even his idea originally, either! It was all that Spain (Antonio, ah, Antonio) and Belgium’s fault, not his! Hell, it was definetly Antonio’s fault - he was spreading those New World disasters first!
Francis shook his head, going into the kitchen to start cooking the evening meal, allowing his thoughts to wander and drift. His young visiteur was delectable but a bit too old for his tastes. Ah, but Francis did not have a choice in the manner - no new nations were being born now and “Nécessité fait loi,” right? Sure there was Latvia, but he was behind the line and inaccessible to his urges now (ah, back then, however, it was all right. Francis much preferred his eldest bother though) and then he also had Sealand, who sort-of kind-of lived with England and England knew him and would never let Francis near the child (it made Francis wonder why England would trust Germany with him, but, ah, À cheval donné on ne regarde pas les dents and all that jazz). Ah, yes, England knew him well; knew him so, so well. France still remembered those times when the ruffian’s little child cock fit perfectly in his mouth, releasing tasteless cum (just like England’s cooking); the young child never understanding why such cute little mewls and cries just turned him on more. And France got away with it for a while, playing games with young England’s heart and body, playing his young, sweet frame like a fine-tuned piano (even though, really, he detested that instrument - let Austria keep it for all he cared), all the way until dear ol’ Scotland (that damned traitor) and Northern Ireland (and, at that time, Ireland too) decided to finally take their roles as ‘big brother’ seriously. Absently, France wondered if mon petit amour still recalled those time just as perfectly as he did. No, he did not need need to wonder - he knew that England still remembered his prowess in bed. France made it a point to be the world’s best lover, after all, and the world’s best lover is always unforgettable, no?
After that, England would not look him in the eye, or even try and be nice with him, for the next hundred years or so. Oh, how he missed that sweet England the most, but he had others, many others, even if England would always seemed to be the pinnacle of brash, boundless youth for a time. Only for a time, of course.
Spain may have been his first, but he never did measure up, even though there were many a time than he wished to immortalize the image of the tomato-freak’s white cum against his dark skin for all to see. Spain’s body was one that France indulged in often during his youth, even after Old Man Rome fell and went away, leaving no one to “curb his enthusiasm” and allowing France to find some younger prey to indulge in.
Little Romano was easy to ‘care for’ after that - just had to get Spain a bit tipsy (or a lot tipsy, those Spaniards and their alcohol and their “Spanish Inquisition”) and then promise to look after the small baby nation from ‘unforeseen attacks by that bastard Turkey (who, at the time had gotten around to calling himself the Ottoman Empire - pfft, like his empires could ever reach the heights that France’s did).’ He had a whole night with the whiny, sniveling brat - not as good as Veneziano would be, but still so amusing. And Spain never noticed, did he? The fool was still congratulating him for his ‘help‘ in ridding South Italy’s bed-wetting problem. Ha! Good thing the little one learned quickly that Big Brother France did not appreciate being awakened in that manner - France would have been displeased after tenth or eleventh time it happened.
Switzerland had always promise to be a good lay (all blonds were fun and the reserved type always seemed to be a bundle of sexual ferocity when properly encouraged), especially with his child-like face despite his age. But he never had him, did he? Well, there was that certain incident involving Switzerland’s revolver; Francis could not look at his own guns for days after that, images of the sort of pleasure such a weapon could bring when in the right mindset flashing through his mind. Whenever he tried to initiate more sexual encounters, France was quickly reminded that the Swiss has a personality that was worse than England’s and he never could bring it up again...
Luxembourg was probably the oldest person he’s ever taken (bar his times in the East, they were all old there, but they looked so good with their tiny, childish faces), but the look of horrified pleasure as he rode the normally calm and composed nation always made a shiver crawl up his spine, taking delight in the brunet’s mutterings of ‘no, I’m engaged,’ ‘God, so good’s in the many little languages Luxembourg knew. It was best when those little cries came in French and Francis fucked him harder in hopes of hearing his words come out of that blasphemous mouth even more. And he was always the complaints about being a married man. Hadn’t there been that occasion when France had taken both Luxembourg and his wife, Belgium, at the same time? Yes, he could remember it now, fucking her golden cunt while her husband had no choice but to watch on, horrified and terribly, terribly aroused. The sound of his balls hitting her flesh drowning out the ferocity of Luxembourg’s fwapping, even when France himself ordered him to go faster was intoxicating. He would empty his balls in her and then push Belgium away with one hand and beckon Luxembourg to him with another. And he would come towards him, slinking across the hardwood floor on his knees (just like he had been instructed so long ago - his punishment and reward for trying to touch his property without France’s consent) and follow his instructions. Yes, Luxembourg, suck your wife’s juices from my cock, oh, and Belgium be a dear and prep your dear hubby with your fingers; yes, fist him all the way, hear his beautiful cries. Oh, yes, they listened very well, didn’t they? Doing whatever degrading things he said because of the ‘love’ they had for one another and a desire to keep their sickly best friend Holland from his clutches. (Oh, poor dears, they never knew that the Netherlands was behind that wall, watching her two best friends be violated, dress hiked up around her waist, hand busy masturbating to their cries and look of shameful passion on their faces) The irony still makes him smile.
Most of his encounters with Roderich were due to their similar tastes in art - and their taste in Italy. Although some of his fist encounters with the pianist and his young charges individually were hazy, France distinctly remembered the first time he had coerced Austria into sharing Veneziano between the two of them. The morning after, Austria was so amusing, spouting about how France “corrupted” his morals and hurt little Northern Italy. France had merely smiled, touching and licking at Chibitalia’s body, making a pleasured little whimper escape the child that went back straight to the two older nations‘ groins. After that, Roderich stopped complaining so much. Austria’s whole house was amusing as well and, although he did not particularly like his bosses, France would dutifully come to listen to whatever new piece one of Austria’s geniuses has created and then talk to the different nations who worked there. He often had Poland over a desk (“Like, don’t stop, okay? Keep pounding me like that!”) and Prussia behind the servant’s quarters (the smell of blood and iron at one point was enough to turn France on with how often he had Prussia). Perhaps he should have gotten more than a blow job from Hungary at that time - might have saved Prussia, Austria, and herself from embarrassment when she suddenly grew boobs. But she was, eventually, a very good lay once he instructed her how to use them correctly - another reason for Austria to never complain.
The best fucks with Prussia were when the albino was already grown, working against Austria for his independence. France supported that in a vague sense, because he knew a divided Austria would be more likely to come running back to him (or maybe Switzerland, which would have given a great excuse to harass the gun freak again) and the prospect of taking Italy under his wing again (ah, but he has grown into a young man! At least the baby fat gracing his slim body still clung in all the right places, and mon dieu, he still acted like a child in every sense of the word) were reason enough for his bosses. Often times, after a frustrating night, France would simply open his arms and Prussia would fall in them, or he would pull the man down and tell him to suck and Prussia did it too. Prussia did nearly everything he told him, so long as France tacked on ‘for the good of Germany’ to the command. Prussia and his silly brother complex.
Russia was... Russia was interesting to say the least. The teen had traveled all the way to his house just to ask. And, oh, how pretty the large nation looked, pleading for his knowledge and expertise. And how was France to say ‘no’ to such a request - ask, and ye shall receive, says the book that no one really cares about anymore. And Russia enjoyed ‘receiving’ it, again and again and again. That was long before those events in the early 1900s, where Russia’s mind was not so cracked entirely and, at that time, he seemed... cute, for lack of a better word. Since his first encounter with the man-child, he had made a few trips over to his cold winter and mild spring mansions (until Russia’s bosses came up with that wonderful USSR - there, France’s boss put his foot down then), and was given the chance to sample Russia’s little friends who all were coerced (or forced) to live in the large blond’s house. Ukraine was such a pretty doll, a pleasure to taste, and he treated her how one should treat a lady, and she is always willing to show her thanks for that. Latvia was cute, with the way he always shook throughout their encounters - the proverbial “Lativibrator” (although vibrators would not be coming for many years yet) as it were. Estonia was cool and collected whenever it came to sex, always stating it was a ‘business transaction,’ although one with many pleasurable benefits on both sides, just no full out penetration. France would always smirk before reaching over the bed (or table, or chair, or Latvia) to pull Estonia up and over to place a demanding kiss before pushing him down to take his throbbing length into his cocky little mouth. Get the poor glasses-wearing boy to plead for his cock in other places was easy to do, only to smirk and remind Estonia of their little ‘contract’ was always amusing. Of Russia’s servants though, Lithuania was probably his favorite - so broken by Russia’s “affections,” France found the boy to be a fountain of entertainment. By giving the child even a fraction of kindness had broken green eyes looking at him lovingly and then treating him cruelly had Lithuania submitting to him easily, moaning in delight with every harsh hit and rough thrust. France didn’t even mind the fact that Lithuania often forgot who was fucking him, yelling “Poland” or “Russia” just as often as “France” - it was all the same to the boy so long as someone was hurting him or telling him what a good boy he was or just plain fucking him. Belarus probably was the only person he had never coerced into his bed at least once (Vash non-withstanding, as he was a special case. And France did get his treat in the end) - if she was so psychotic that Russia did not want to be around her, France had reason to be weary. And he liked his boy bits attached to his body, kthnxbai. He had no desire to know what the crazy woman would do if she found out he fucked her “beloved older brother” - he heard from Poland how she broke Lithuania’s hands in her irrational jealously. And, sadly enough, that little masochist still ‘loves’ her. (Oh, poor Lithuania - you have been so abused that you think it is how one is normally supposed to show his love to another. France will show you the error of your ways, soon enough. France will show the whole world how to love correctly, and then every nation will be at his feet as his harem, personal fuck toys to use and abuse as he sees fit in his all knowing love)
He was everywhere in Europe and he had his way in the end, no matter what for his country was everywhere, his language was that of the elite no matter where one was on the Continent. He had his pick and a different lover everyday, a lover for him to use whatever which way he wanted, and they could do nothing but moan and writhe under him as he played them for his own enjoyment whether it was to fuck or to pitt them against one another. (And soon, the whole world will be his)
A pity he never met Prussia’s little protege until right before the World Wars. France was sure that Allemagne (Germany, Deutschland, whatever) would have been delightful as a child, perhaps a bit similar to that Holy Roman Empire. Ah, the Holy Roman Empire... Such a wondrous little one, one that France truly wished he did not have to kill. The poor dear tipped both his and his boss’ hands and, now, France would never again get the chance to taste his sweet boy flesh and never will he watch him do the nasty with his oh so beloved Chibitalia who, by the time France got around to telling the boy he offed his wannabe-love, was already in the horrid midst of awkward adolescence. He would have to find his sick kicks elsewhere.
And so he did, across the ocean and to the New World and oh! There he found such wonderful gems to play with. São Luís (and sometimes France Equinoxiale, if he was feeling romantic) was such a little darling until she was taken away by Portugal, and Saint-Christophe was cute too until he started dating Krevis. Guyane is still with him today, and she is as beautiful as ever, her cayenne red hair always bringing a beautiful contrast against wherever he bedded her. Perhaps he should not have been so hasty, but Saint-Domingue had demanded her independence and the revolts! Oh, he just let her go and watched the poor girl suffer. It was her fault that most of his possessions in the New World collapsed. But he still had others, he would always have others to lay in his bed. His precious Matthieu - such a quiet child, with his animals, but so wicked with his tongue and mouth. Francis was so sure he did not teach the boy to talk dirty like that - no matter, it was enjoyed all that much more. And Alfred! Oh, how he wanted to snatch that child away right out from beneath Arthur’s nose and thick eyebrows. How he wanted to have the two twins perform just for him, to fuck and love each other for his amusement until he was ready to love and fuck them himself. Francis’ loins quivered just day-dreaming about such things. That little colony just had to choose England, but, France consoled himself with thoughts of his little pirate (and England was still that pirate-minded hick at that point... In fact, he always would be a child pirate in his eyes) taking them, stealing America’s innocence the way he wanted to, with Canada looking on, encouraging him with his innocent looks and seductive words, smiling wickedly as his elder brother was reamed and -
Francis was not sure when he has placed his ‘missile’ out, but he found himself jacking off over the quiche he was about to bake and suddenly, with thoughts of the naughty things that Arthur could (and should) have done to Matthieu and Alfred running through his mind, he cummed, his seed mixing with the milk in the runny, uncooked dish.
Licking his lips, France stuck his cum-stained hand in his mouth while his other maneuvered the quiche into the oven so it could cook. Oh, he knew exactly what he was going to cook Germany.
And what a delightful dinner this will be.
End Notes:
To make up for "chapter" 2, I decided to up the next portion too...
Gratuitous French because I took French in highschool and, oddly enough, still remember it xD Most of it is easy to tell what it is, but I added translations here for the phrases. Might have missed some formatting things, but it's hard reading this xD
Well :::
Check out (http://yuu-tan.insanejournal.com/3339.html#cutid1) for the actual A/N. It's long, rofl. Sorry, sorry. But it will amuse me a lot and will help you understand what the hell is going on in some portions.
Author's Note: Double up "D
WARNING: Um, possible pedophile alert. Mentioning of lots and lots of sex, most of which is dubcon. Read at your own risk, I guess? Nothing too graphic, it's just... There....
Also, big blocks of text ^_^;;; It's Francis' POV, and he can be long winded, ne?
This is the chapter that most of my warnings are about xD
Title: Voulez-Vous Vous Coucher avec Moi (ce Soir)?
Series: Hetalia: Axis Power
Characters: Germany, France, UK, Mentions of the rest of the world
Pairings: FrancexGermany (main), UKxUSxUK (side), FrancexWorld
Spoilers: None really... Ah, maybe a bit of the Valentine's Day or Christmas Specials. General knowledge of the end of WWII might be helpful.
Warnings: Yaoi goodness, Harem-eque things, fantasies, mentioning of shouta, dubious consent, the misuse of food to be used as aphrodisiacs, sex, sex, sex, (mis)use of foreign languages, switching POV, switching between nation and human names, lack of contractions due to NaNoWriMo
Note: Text that is bolded will be SPEAKING. Because, dammit, there is a lot of useless text that I'm too lazy to take out
Chapter Trois
An hour or so later, France had effectively disarmed the invading Englishman (“Give me my bloody chair, fuckin’ pansy assed wanker!”) and sent him packing (“Au revoir, mon ami! Tell Alfred and.. And... um... um... oh! Matthieu! Tell Matthieu and Alfred both I love them and they are welcome any time for... ‘special treats,’ he he he.” “Shut up you bloody freak.”). He looked at his abode - still so classy from the times of the Sun King, his beloved Louis the Fourteenth - and decided what he was going to do to his most delectable house guest. Oh, he could have had more than a little taste back then in the restaurant during the war, but he was much too infuriated with what the damned young man did to those potatoes. Mashing them, mon dieu! That was just about as bad as America calling those things “French Fries” - ah, like his pomme de terres frites (frites, pomme frites, fine, whatever he was calling them now) were that unhealthy. And frites were not even his idea originally, either! It was all that Spain (Antonio, ah, Antonio) and Belgium’s fault, not his! Hell, it was definetly Antonio’s fault - he was spreading those New World disasters first!
Francis shook his head, going into the kitchen to start cooking the evening meal, allowing his thoughts to wander and drift. His young visiteur was delectable but a bit too old for his tastes. Ah, but Francis did not have a choice in the manner - no new nations were being born now and “Nécessité fait loi,” right? Sure there was Latvia, but he was behind the line and inaccessible to his urges now (ah, back then, however, it was all right. Francis much preferred his eldest bother though) and then he also had Sealand, who sort-of kind-of lived with England and England knew him and would never let Francis near the child (it made Francis wonder why England would trust Germany with him, but, ah, À cheval donné on ne regarde pas les dents and all that jazz). Ah, yes, England knew him well; knew him so, so well. France still remembered those times when the ruffian’s little child cock fit perfectly in his mouth, releasing tasteless cum (just like England’s cooking); the young child never understanding why such cute little mewls and cries just turned him on more. And France got away with it for a while, playing games with young England’s heart and body, playing his young, sweet frame like a fine-tuned piano (even though, really, he detested that instrument - let Austria keep it for all he cared), all the way until dear ol’ Scotland (that damned traitor) and Northern Ireland (and, at that time, Ireland too) decided to finally take their roles as ‘big brother’ seriously. Absently, France wondered if mon petit amour still recalled those time just as perfectly as he did. No, he did not need need to wonder - he knew that England still remembered his prowess in bed. France made it a point to be the world’s best lover, after all, and the world’s best lover is always unforgettable, no?
After that, England would not look him in the eye, or even try and be nice with him, for the next hundred years or so. Oh, how he missed that sweet England the most, but he had others, many others, even if England would always seemed to be the pinnacle of brash, boundless youth for a time. Only for a time, of course.
Spain may have been his first, but he never did measure up, even though there were many a time than he wished to immortalize the image of the tomato-freak’s white cum against his dark skin for all to see. Spain’s body was one that France indulged in often during his youth, even after Old Man Rome fell and went away, leaving no one to “curb his enthusiasm” and allowing France to find some younger prey to indulge in.
Little Romano was easy to ‘care for’ after that - just had to get Spain a bit tipsy (or a lot tipsy, those Spaniards and their alcohol and their “Spanish Inquisition”) and then promise to look after the small baby nation from ‘unforeseen attacks by that bastard Turkey (who, at the time had gotten around to calling himself the Ottoman Empire - pfft, like his empires could ever reach the heights that France’s did).’ He had a whole night with the whiny, sniveling brat - not as good as Veneziano would be, but still so amusing. And Spain never noticed, did he? The fool was still congratulating him for his ‘help‘ in ridding South Italy’s bed-wetting problem. Ha! Good thing the little one learned quickly that Big Brother France did not appreciate being awakened in that manner - France would have been displeased after tenth or eleventh time it happened.
Switzerland had always promise to be a good lay (all blonds were fun and the reserved type always seemed to be a bundle of sexual ferocity when properly encouraged), especially with his child-like face despite his age. But he never had him, did he? Well, there was that certain incident involving Switzerland’s revolver; Francis could not look at his own guns for days after that, images of the sort of pleasure such a weapon could bring when in the right mindset flashing through his mind. Whenever he tried to initiate more sexual encounters, France was quickly reminded that the Swiss has a personality that was worse than England’s and he never could bring it up again...
Luxembourg was probably the oldest person he’s ever taken (bar his times in the East, they were all old there, but they looked so good with their tiny, childish faces), but the look of horrified pleasure as he rode the normally calm and composed nation always made a shiver crawl up his spine, taking delight in the brunet’s mutterings of ‘no, I’m engaged,’ ‘God, so good’s in the many little languages Luxembourg knew. It was best when those little cries came in French and Francis fucked him harder in hopes of hearing his words come out of that blasphemous mouth even more. And he was always the complaints about being a married man. Hadn’t there been that occasion when France had taken both Luxembourg and his wife, Belgium, at the same time? Yes, he could remember it now, fucking her golden cunt while her husband had no choice but to watch on, horrified and terribly, terribly aroused. The sound of his balls hitting her flesh drowning out the ferocity of Luxembourg’s fwapping, even when France himself ordered him to go faster was intoxicating. He would empty his balls in her and then push Belgium away with one hand and beckon Luxembourg to him with another. And he would come towards him, slinking across the hardwood floor on his knees (just like he had been instructed so long ago - his punishment and reward for trying to touch his property without France’s consent) and follow his instructions. Yes, Luxembourg, suck your wife’s juices from my cock, oh, and Belgium be a dear and prep your dear hubby with your fingers; yes, fist him all the way, hear his beautiful cries. Oh, yes, they listened very well, didn’t they? Doing whatever degrading things he said because of the ‘love’ they had for one another and a desire to keep their sickly best friend Holland from his clutches. (Oh, poor dears, they never knew that the Netherlands was behind that wall, watching her two best friends be violated, dress hiked up around her waist, hand busy masturbating to their cries and look of shameful passion on their faces) The irony still makes him smile.
Most of his encounters with Roderich were due to their similar tastes in art - and their taste in Italy. Although some of his fist encounters with the pianist and his young charges individually were hazy, France distinctly remembered the first time he had coerced Austria into sharing Veneziano between the two of them. The morning after, Austria was so amusing, spouting about how France “corrupted” his morals and hurt little Northern Italy. France had merely smiled, touching and licking at Chibitalia’s body, making a pleasured little whimper escape the child that went back straight to the two older nations‘ groins. After that, Roderich stopped complaining so much. Austria’s whole house was amusing as well and, although he did not particularly like his bosses, France would dutifully come to listen to whatever new piece one of Austria’s geniuses has created and then talk to the different nations who worked there. He often had Poland over a desk (“Like, don’t stop, okay? Keep pounding me like that!”) and Prussia behind the servant’s quarters (the smell of blood and iron at one point was enough to turn France on with how often he had Prussia). Perhaps he should have gotten more than a blow job from Hungary at that time - might have saved Prussia, Austria, and herself from embarrassment when she suddenly grew boobs. But she was, eventually, a very good lay once he instructed her how to use them correctly - another reason for Austria to never complain.
The best fucks with Prussia were when the albino was already grown, working against Austria for his independence. France supported that in a vague sense, because he knew a divided Austria would be more likely to come running back to him (or maybe Switzerland, which would have given a great excuse to harass the gun freak again) and the prospect of taking Italy under his wing again (ah, but he has grown into a young man! At least the baby fat gracing his slim body still clung in all the right places, and mon dieu, he still acted like a child in every sense of the word) were reason enough for his bosses. Often times, after a frustrating night, France would simply open his arms and Prussia would fall in them, or he would pull the man down and tell him to suck and Prussia did it too. Prussia did nearly everything he told him, so long as France tacked on ‘for the good of Germany’ to the command. Prussia and his silly brother complex.
Russia was... Russia was interesting to say the least. The teen had traveled all the way to his house just to ask. And, oh, how pretty the large nation looked, pleading for his knowledge and expertise. And how was France to say ‘no’ to such a request - ask, and ye shall receive, says the book that no one really cares about anymore. And Russia enjoyed ‘receiving’ it, again and again and again. That was long before those events in the early 1900s, where Russia’s mind was not so cracked entirely and, at that time, he seemed... cute, for lack of a better word. Since his first encounter with the man-child, he had made a few trips over to his cold winter and mild spring mansions (until Russia’s bosses came up with that wonderful USSR - there, France’s boss put his foot down then), and was given the chance to sample Russia’s little friends who all were coerced (or forced) to live in the large blond’s house. Ukraine was such a pretty doll, a pleasure to taste, and he treated her how one should treat a lady, and she is always willing to show her thanks for that. Latvia was cute, with the way he always shook throughout their encounters - the proverbial “Lativibrator” (although vibrators would not be coming for many years yet) as it were. Estonia was cool and collected whenever it came to sex, always stating it was a ‘business transaction,’ although one with many pleasurable benefits on both sides, just no full out penetration. France would always smirk before reaching over the bed (or table, or chair, or Latvia) to pull Estonia up and over to place a demanding kiss before pushing him down to take his throbbing length into his cocky little mouth. Get the poor glasses-wearing boy to plead for his cock in other places was easy to do, only to smirk and remind Estonia of their little ‘contract’ was always amusing. Of Russia’s servants though, Lithuania was probably his favorite - so broken by Russia’s “affections,” France found the boy to be a fountain of entertainment. By giving the child even a fraction of kindness had broken green eyes looking at him lovingly and then treating him cruelly had Lithuania submitting to him easily, moaning in delight with every harsh hit and rough thrust. France didn’t even mind the fact that Lithuania often forgot who was fucking him, yelling “Poland” or “Russia” just as often as “France” - it was all the same to the boy so long as someone was hurting him or telling him what a good boy he was or just plain fucking him. Belarus probably was the only person he had never coerced into his bed at least once (Vash non-withstanding, as he was a special case. And France did get his treat in the end) - if she was so psychotic that Russia did not want to be around her, France had reason to be weary. And he liked his boy bits attached to his body, kthnxbai. He had no desire to know what the crazy woman would do if she found out he fucked her “beloved older brother” - he heard from Poland how she broke Lithuania’s hands in her irrational jealously. And, sadly enough, that little masochist still ‘loves’ her. (Oh, poor Lithuania - you have been so abused that you think it is how one is normally supposed to show his love to another. France will show you the error of your ways, soon enough. France will show the whole world how to love correctly, and then every nation will be at his feet as his harem, personal fuck toys to use and abuse as he sees fit in his all knowing love)
He was everywhere in Europe and he had his way in the end, no matter what for his country was everywhere, his language was that of the elite no matter where one was on the Continent. He had his pick and a different lover everyday, a lover for him to use whatever which way he wanted, and they could do nothing but moan and writhe under him as he played them for his own enjoyment whether it was to fuck or to pitt them against one another. (And soon, the whole world will be his)
A pity he never met Prussia’s little protege until right before the World Wars. France was sure that Allemagne (Germany, Deutschland, whatever) would have been delightful as a child, perhaps a bit similar to that Holy Roman Empire. Ah, the Holy Roman Empire... Such a wondrous little one, one that France truly wished he did not have to kill. The poor dear tipped both his and his boss’ hands and, now, France would never again get the chance to taste his sweet boy flesh and never will he watch him do the nasty with his oh so beloved Chibitalia who, by the time France got around to telling the boy he offed his wannabe-love, was already in the horrid midst of awkward adolescence. He would have to find his sick kicks elsewhere.
And so he did, across the ocean and to the New World and oh! There he found such wonderful gems to play with. São Luís (and sometimes France Equinoxiale, if he was feeling romantic) was such a little darling until she was taken away by Portugal, and Saint-Christophe was cute too until he started dating Krevis. Guyane is still with him today, and she is as beautiful as ever, her cayenne red hair always bringing a beautiful contrast against wherever he bedded her. Perhaps he should not have been so hasty, but Saint-Domingue had demanded her independence and the revolts! Oh, he just let her go and watched the poor girl suffer. It was her fault that most of his possessions in the New World collapsed. But he still had others, he would always have others to lay in his bed. His precious Matthieu - such a quiet child, with his animals, but so wicked with his tongue and mouth. Francis was so sure he did not teach the boy to talk dirty like that - no matter, it was enjoyed all that much more. And Alfred! Oh, how he wanted to snatch that child away right out from beneath Arthur’s nose and thick eyebrows. How he wanted to have the two twins perform just for him, to fuck and love each other for his amusement until he was ready to love and fuck them himself. Francis’ loins quivered just day-dreaming about such things. That little colony just had to choose England, but, France consoled himself with thoughts of his little pirate (and England was still that pirate-minded hick at that point... In fact, he always would be a child pirate in his eyes) taking them, stealing America’s innocence the way he wanted to, with Canada looking on, encouraging him with his innocent looks and seductive words, smiling wickedly as his elder brother was reamed and -
Francis was not sure when he has placed his ‘missile’ out, but he found himself jacking off over the quiche he was about to bake and suddenly, with thoughts of the naughty things that Arthur could (and should) have done to Matthieu and Alfred running through his mind, he cummed, his seed mixing with the milk in the runny, uncooked dish.
Licking his lips, France stuck his cum-stained hand in his mouth while his other maneuvered the quiche into the oven so it could cook. Oh, he knew exactly what he was going to cook Germany.
And what a delightful dinner this will be.
End Notes:
To make up for "chapter" 2, I decided to up the next portion too...
Gratuitous French because I took French in highschool and, oddly enough, still remember it xD Most of it is easy to tell what it is, but I added translations here for the phrases. Might have missed some formatting things, but it's hard reading this xD
Well :::
Check out (http://yuu-tan.insanejournal.com/3339.html#cutid1) for the actual A/N. It's long, rofl. Sorry, sorry. But it will amuse me a lot and will help you understand what the hell is going on in some portions.