Good Things Come in Threes

Title: Good Things Come in Threes
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: NC-17
Pairing Foursome: France/America/Canada/England
Warnings: A little bondage
Notes: Written for the saying_yes_2010, sex positive challenge!

Summary: Not really sure how to put this, except England tied up and blindfolded with France, America and Canada having their wicked way with him. They all very much enjoy it ^^


Knuckles brush the back of his neck as Francis ties the blindfold with deft practiced motions, the soft cloth pressing against his eyes. He can feel it when he blinks, his eyelashes brushing against the material. Hands cup the back of his neck, fingers running through the hair at his nape gently as other fingers, gentle and light, rubbing around ankles and arms, checking restraints and Arthur can imagine the grins on the faces of all three of them; Francis gently smug and teasing, Alfred's gleeful, enjoying every second, and Matthew's softer but no less desirous.

The roaming hands pull away, giving him a moment to adjust, to find his bearings; on his knees, legs spread wide by the bar between them and he can feel the way the mattress dips as the others shift their weight, can practically feel their eyes on him. It makes him tremble slightly to be the centre of attention like this and yet unable to see it, to influence it.

Warm hands stroke his flank, a solid touch, reassuring, curling over the curve of his ass and against his thigh. "Are you alright, Arthur?" Matthew's voice next to his ear and it makes him start because he hadn't realised he was there, so close and the hands are still running down his thighs, never too close to his cock but enough to make him sensitive.

Arthur nods jerkily, giving his agreement, and Matthew kisses just beneath his ear, the little curl of hair tickling his face until he wrinkles his nose. There's warm laughter and he feels breath against his shoulder, stubble, Francis is there too. Then Alfred is behind him?

The hands on his thighs move higher, brushing between the cheeks of his ass and Arthur gasps, hips rocking away from it and the warmth – Matthew - moves away from his face. "Alfred! You're going too fast." The gentle scolding makes Arthur smile because it's so normal, something from over the dinner table not over the body of a bound man.

"Hey!" Alfred protests and the hands move to Arthur's hips so it must be Alfred at his back. "He'll say if it's too much."

"That's not- you're so impatient!"

Warm breath puffs along the line of his jaw and lips brush his lightly, calloused fingers cupping his face, holding it and Arthur stares up blindly. "Ah, there's nothing quite like the dulcet voices of children, is there?" Arthur barely hears the sounds of protest from behind him as Francis kisses him again, lips smoothing together almost chastely before dipping his tongue into Arthur’s mouth, tasting him, stealing his breath like a cat-sprite and the image makes him laugh against Francis’s mouth.

The kiss is broken, a thumb smoothing along his cheekbone, down his spine, between his buttocks, slick and promising, hands all over his body and his eyes widen behind the blindfold at the sudden rush of sensation, limbs tensing. Fingers run though his hair, holding his head still with gentle pressure. “Relax,” Francis whispers, rubbing a smooth circle against his temple with the barest graze of his fingernails. He hums something that Arthur doesn’t recognise as he rubs their cheeks together, running a finger against his lips. Arthur draws it into his mouth, hissing around it as another finger slides into him, broad and calloused and a little uncomfortable, but oh, then there are hands all over him; over the curve of his ass, teasing and playful, lighter but more solid touches beneath him, over his belly, soothing trembling muscles and Francis’s fingers against his cheek, in his mouth as he suckles, the smooth slide of skin beneath his tongue, the grazes and bumps of fingerprints and old calluses matching the slickness between his buttocks.

The finger stretching him crooks and Arthur gasps, sucking with renewed vigour at Francis’s digit, feeling Francis’s breath hitch as the finger is drawn out, leaving a smear of saliva against Arthur’s lips. A hand clasps against the dip between hip and ribs, ticklish and another fingers probes at his entrance. He hears a laugh, Matthew’s he thinks; it is a little higher than Alfred’s, rippling like snow drifts, and a third finger joins the other two but from above, twisting and spreading, parting the cheeks of his ass as digits curl inside him, thrusting shallowly then deeper, stroking and…

Lips catch his again and he almost jumps when the lips are softer than Francis’s, sweet and generous, fingers smoothing beneath his eyes. “Matthew?” he gasps into the mouth and he feels the hum of agreement reverberating against his tongue. He cries out softly when the fingers brush that spot inside him that makes his cock jerk and his breath come in a harsh gasp. Matthew swallows it down, holds his head as his hips press back against the touches inside him.

He tries to spread his legs further when the fingers leave him, smiling blindly up at Matthew who’s hands are splayed against his cheeks, the bar bringing his legs up short. “Hey, easy old man,” Alfred says, patting his ass lightly, sliding slick fingers forward to brush against Arthur’s balls, making him squirm pleasantly. “You like that?” Alfred murmurs, lips pressed against the small of his back as he cups him, from behind, and another hand, longer fingered, palms his cock, stroking him, teasing the head and smearing pre-come across it.

The hands fall away from him too soon and he makes a bereft little noise before hands descend upon him again, all at once, stroking over every bit of skin they can find, caressing, petting, chest and stomach, his back and the backs of his thighs, shifting and moving until he loses track of who is where. Fingers roam down his legs, over the curve of his foot, over his shoulders, pausing to rub at perked nipples, drowning him in sensation and he can’t rub against them all at once, but he can try and does try, rolling his head every time he feels warmth nearby, rocking against the touches. Soon he finds that he can discern between them if he cares to. One pair of hands larger than the others, harder and a little clumsy. One pair with fingers elegantly long, seeming to know every little secret spot that makes him groan. One pair which touch more lightly, exploring gently.

Arthur wonders how he’d never been able to distinguish between them before; they’ve touched him enough before now, every inch of skin, lips and cock and the backs of his knees, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet and he’s never been able to pick out the differences before, but now he trembles with it, wants to explore in turn and smell-taste-touch what else he’s missed all those times.

Lips graze his cock and Arthur gasps harshly, hips jerking at the sudden sensation and in the quiet after his gasp dies away he can hear their soft breathing startlingly clearly, can hear a soft hum of thought and knows that it is Alfred, can hear the sheets rustle and the clink of the restraints that do not seem quite so daunting now, not when he feels so cherished. Fingers touch his cheeks again, tracing cheekbones and jaw. He hears a gasp, a low sound of pleasure that can only be Francis and something nudges at his entrance, rubbing between the cheeks of his arse before beginning to slide in. Hands rub light circles against his hips and he tries to spread his legs further only to be brought up short by the bar. Alfred laughs against his lips, kissing him deeply, tongue delving into his mouth as he is penetrated and it’s uncomfortable a little, to be taken like this, but lovely as well, being surrounded by them, pressed between them like he’s the centre of their world.

Heat and wetness surrounds his cock, driving thought from him for a moment, a strangled cry escaping him as lips wrap around him, sucking lightly, tongue swirling over the head and it’s almost too much, almost too hot, too sweet, hard cock taking him from behind, his cock sliding being sucked and lips and tongue and teeth against his mouth. He breathes deeply when his lips are released, and they’re all still except for the pulse of skin against skin and sweat slicked bodies against his and vision seems so overrated when it’s like this, when he can feel them so intensely.

A hand cups his hip and there’s a teasing thrust. “Do you like this, Arthur?” France purrs, rocking against him, leaving Arthur wanting to squirm and press back against him, see how his body changes when Arthur is reliant on touch and taste and scent, like the hills and valleys of France after nightfall.

“Yes…” he hisses in the second that Alfred gives him to breathe before lips cover his again, and then all he can do is rub backwards, begging Francis with his body, begging Matthew, begging all of them to god please don’t stop touching me.Matthew chuckles and Arthur can feel the vibrations of the sound right down his cock, making him shudder and squirm and fuck he wants this, wants it so badly.

Francis begins to move again, slick thrusts which rock him forwards until fingers (Matthew’s, he thinks) close around his hips, holding him still as he sucks wetly at Arthur’s cock, his tongue slow and searching as it curls around him and he drowns in the sensations, caught between them, breathing his pleasure against Alfred’s lips. Alfred licks the corner of his lips, a damp trail down his jaw before reaching his lips again, drinking him down and down and down.

Arthur flicks his tongue out, tasting sweat, the hollow of Alfred’s throat and the soft noise that drags out of him makes Arthur grin, sucking there until he feels Alfred match Arthur’s squirms with his own.

“Let me suck you,” Arthur says, staring blindly at where he can feel Alfred, where he believes his face to be, more demand than request and Alfred’s chest shudders next to his cheek. “I want to taste you,” he says insistently, wishing that he could grab America without sending himself face first into the mattress, a most undignified position and a rough thrust from Francis nudges him hard against Alfred’s chest.

Matthew’s tongue trails down the underside of his cock and Arthur moans as Alfred guides his head down to his lap where Arthur can feel heat, can smell his arousal. He nuzzles there, coarse hairs and Alfred’s hardness against his cheek and when Matthew pulls away, lets Arthur’s cock slip from his mouth, Arthur takes Alfred in, lips wrapping around the head of his cock and sucking lightly, tonguing the slit and groaning to match Alfred when Alfred’s fingers wrap in his hair, tugging lightly.

”God…” a breathy sigh of arousal against his stomach, Matthews lips so close to his skin and Arthur imagines the way his eyelids must be fluttering as he dips up again, catching Arthur inexorably between the three of them, between the heat wrapping around him. He lets Alfred’s hands push him lower, his cock sliding against the roof of his mouth, musky taste against his tongue.

“Ah, you have no idea how I like seeing you like this.” Francis’s voice is husky and low, punctuated with staccato pauses as he moved, more quickly now, forcing Arthur to feel every movement, every tremble, Alfred beneath him, Matthew up against him and Francis behind, all moving with him, around him, fucking him and pleasuring him, letting him pleasure them, helpless and adoring every second of it.

They move slickly against each other, sucking and fucking and rutting until it breaks down into desperate thrusts and sucks and moans, a velvet world of heat and sensation and darkness which curls around Arthur, cradling him, loving him.

Alfred comes first, crying out unrestrained and shameless as his seed spatters against Arthur’s throat and he drinks it down, sucking and licking to drag more of those pretty cries from Alfred, his own cock twitching eagerly in Matthew’s mouth before he too is drawn over the edge, crying out as he comes, burying his face against Alfred’s lap and panting harshly, limbs trembling and the feel of France’s cock inside him, fucking him with sure strained strokes feels so much more intense, forcing him further, higher, deeper.

Alfred’s fingers run through his hair and they’re trembling a little, Arthur thinks absently, although he’s distracted quickly by France shuddering against him, Matthew’s dick pressed against his thigh, rubbing and rutting against his leg and the sounds from both of them, the slick feeling of skin on skin brings to mind more delicious images than can ever be reality; Matthew with his expression drawn in ecstatic concentration, Francis’s face slack and eyes tight shut in pleasure.

Weight against his back, arms wrapping around his stomach as Francis peppers his skin with switchblade kisses and Matthew gasps and shudders against him, dampness trickling down Arthur’s sweaty skin.

There is stillness then, so fine that Arthur is afraid to move in case it shatters to glass dust, but Alfred yawns, petting Arthur’s hair with lazy fingers, and Matthew grumbles at him ruining the moment you dope and Francis pulls out of him and undoes the blindfold and wrenches Arthur’s head around for a kiss, tastes mingling and even when light seeps through his eyelids, he can’t quite bring himself to open his eyes, content just to bask in what he feels, what they make him feel.