Closer (NC-17 warning)

So I've been really bad about posting here recently, although I have been writing...

Although most of that writing consists of fills for the Hetalia Kink Meme on LJ. ^^; Here is one such fill; the link to the prompt is in the title.

Warnings: Saucy content including rough sex and objects, France being himself.

(Recommended soundtrack and named after: Closer by Nine Inch Nails. BECAUSE IT JUST WORKS, OKAY? It came to mind while I was writing. XD)

Closer

.~.~.~.~.

England sighed, loosening his tie as he slid his key into the lock, the familiar click as it unlocked a welcome sound to his ears. The day had been an absolute nightmare, with America calling him every five seconds to ask him inane questions (or just to irritate him) and mountains of paperwork that just never seemed to lessen. His frustration had just mounted through the entire day until he had snapped at his bosses' secretary (she'd chastised him for knocking over one of the piles in anger) and been sent home early by said boss in a flurry of colorful words and gestures. He knew he'd have to apologize later, and he did feel guilty for it now that he'd had the ride home to calm down, but at the moment all he wanted was a nice cup of tea and a book to absorb all his irritation.

Sliding in through the door and closing it behind him, England tossed his keys and briefcase on the table by the door and toed off his shoes, heading up the stairs with the intention of changing into more comfortable clothes. Once in his room he went straight for the closet, not paying attention to anything around him as he pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, turning momentarily to toss them on the bed.

"Bonjour~"

"Ahhhhhh!" England shrieked, dropping the clothes and jumping back in surprise, head cracking against the closet door with a bang. France merely chuckled, an alluring smirk playing on his lips as he shifted on the bed, the sheet—the only thing covering him, however slightly—sliding down his leg. He was reclined lazily, head propped up on an elbow and one knee bent, facing England as he twirled a thorn-less rose between his fingers, half its petals plucked and scattered around him on the bed.

"Ah, finally, you have arrived. I must say, being in this bed all alone for so long has given me quite the chill, could you be so kind as to help me warm up, Angleterre?" France crooned, licking his lips seductively, and England just gaped at him like his brain had short-circuited.

"What— you— ...Frog! W-What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" England stammered once he managed to get over his initial shock, ignoring the dull throbbing his head now sported, clenching a fist at his side.

"What am I doing? Why, isn't it obvious, mon cher? I have been waiting eagerly in your bed for you to get home, it has been rather lonely… won't you join me?" The smirk playing on France's lips only grew as England's face colored a rather becoming shade of red, his hands shaking slightly.

"W-What? No! Get out of my bed and put some clothes on this instant, you dirty frog!" England shot back, blush darkening even further when France ignored him in favor of dragging the mutilated rose down his chest, letting out a pleased noise when the soft petals touched his skin, blue eyes watching England's reaction intently.

"Make me," he purred as England's eyes followed the rose on its path down his body until it passed over the jut of his pelvis, the stem catching on the sheet draped over them and exposing him.

Bloody hell, he was burning those sheets. He'd never be able to look at them again without thinking of this. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at France with all his might, but the damned frog didn't seem perturbed in the least. He rolled over so that he was sprawled out on his back, shamelessly bringing the flower across his abdomen until the petals were brushing against his exposed genitals, his eyes never leaving the now trembling England as he sucked in a breath at the sensation.

"You've had a bad day, non? Come; let me ease your stress…" France whispered alluringly, curling the fingers of his free hand in a beckoning motion as he continued to brush the flower against him with a small 'oooh'.

England stood teetering in his place, legs and other parts screaming at him to walk over there and teach France a lesson by pounding him into the mattress while the rational part of his mind screamed at him not to. He wasn't going to jump France. He wasn't going to jump France. He wasn't going to… oh, fuck it.

He was on the bed in a nanosecond, straddling his hips as he crashed their lips together with a feral growl. He bit and sucked and nipped at the Frenchman's lips, hand quickly fisting in his long blond locks and pulling on them roughly. France gasped, and England took the opportunity to plunder his mouth with his tongue, leaving no part untouched. France moaned into the kiss, which was swallowed eagerly by England as France tugged at his shirt roughly, pulling it out of his pants to snake his hands underneath. England hissed when France dragged his nails across his ribs, breaking the kiss to bite down on France's neck.

"Ah!" France shouted, wiggling and digging his nails into his flesh again. "Ow! Mon cher, is that really necessar—aaaah!" he cried out when England pulled on his hair again, yanking his head so he had better access to his neck.

"You… have the audacity… to break into my house… and lay naked in my bed…" England hissed as he bit a line down his neck and along his collarbone, leaving a trail of angry red and purple marks in his wake, "that deserves some sort of punishment, so I'm going to fuck you into the mattress like the whore that you are. Capiche?" He looked up at France, daring him to say anything to the contrary with a glare that had in the past sent many nations running for their lives. He felt him suck in a breath at his words, just barely detecting the twitch of France's manhood under him. France sat up suddenly so that England was now sitting in his lap, crashing their mouths together as he gripped his hips with a bruising strength.

"Punish me, then," France growled into his mouth, teeth nipping painfully at his lips as daring hands quickly pulled open England's pants with the snap of a button and the ripping of the zipper. "I want to see and feel the animal you are, dear Angleterre."

England shoved France back to the sheets with a snarl, pulling his shirt over his head before standing on the bed to pull his pants down, feet on either side of Francis' hips, smirking while he watched France enjoy the view. He pulled them down and shook them off with a twitch of his hips before stepping out of them, kicking them off to the side. He then leaned forward at the waist, crossing his arms with a leer. "Then you'd best be ready."

France grabbed his leg and pulled it forward, making England's knees buckle under him so he fell to his knees on top of him. "Whenever you are."

England delved for his nipples first, latching onto one with a hard suck while he pinched the other, biting down and twisting them roughly. France cried out, arching up as his arms flew around England, digging his fingers into the Englishman's shoulders. England grunted against the heaving chest in pain, biting and licking and teasing the nipples and the skin around them until they were hard and angry red. He traveled down, leaving marks as he went, hissing as France scratched at his back and pulled at his hair, the pain like electricity in his veins.

Without warning, he grabbed France by the shoulders and flipped him over, forcing his head into the sheets. France squeaked in surprise before dissolving into a moan as England grasped at his butt, fondling and pinching it, sampling its firmness.

"Such a nice arse…" England whispered, looming over France to pepper kisses and bites along the line of his backbone. As he did, something caught his eye, and he looked over, finding the rose relatively uncrushed on the bed near them. Grinning sinisterly as an idea came to mind, he snatched it up, sitting back on his haunches to give it a good appraisal before glancing back at France, still panting and sitting prone on his knees with his butt in the air.

Without a second thought he spread those cheeks and shoved it stem first into him.

"Ahhh! W-What are you doing, what did you just shove in me?" France demanded, trying to sit up so he could reach back and see what was, but England shoved him back down, pulling the flower out and pressing it back in. France hissed in discomfort, ass wiggling as his hips twitched.

"The rose," England responded nonchalantly, hungrily drinking in the sight of the stem disappearing inside of him, watching as the ring of muscle around it quivered and contracted around the stem as it slipped in and out at his discretion. He pressed it in all the way to the petals, groaning at how far into his body it went.

"Mon dieu…" France groaned, now very glad he had thought to strip it of its thorns. He shook as the hard stem was moved inside of him, each bump and twist scratching at his insides in a way that was both painful and exhilarating, moaning loudly as the end of it brushed against his prostate. England shivered, his own erection twitching at the sounds he was making, quickening the pace he was thrusting the flower inside. France gasped and writhed, and England couldn't resist returning to marking his back and shoulders with red marks and hickeys. He pressed a finger in along with the rose, and then another, scissoring them as he continued to thrust it between them. France hissed painfully in response, only encouraging England further, who inserted a third finger and spread them wide. France whimpered, clutching the bedsheets until his knuckles turned white.

Deeming him stretched enough, England withdrew his fingers and spit into his hand, using it to slick himself down a little before pressing himself inside, leaving the rose where it was. France shouted, clawing at the bedsheets at the intrusion, and England groaned as he was clenched down upon, hard. The rose slipped out a little, rolling so that it was underneath England's cock, the petals brushing his balls and making him moan with delight.

Without waiting for any kind of signal from France, he pulled out and thrust back in, hands clawing at France's hips and leaving red marks in the shape of his fingers. France yelled out, clutching at the sheets with a grunt as England pounded into him, leaving him no room to do anything but let his mind be wiped blank by the pain and pleasure.

Then England shifted, his hand slipping as he lost his grip momentarily, and France screamed as his prostate was struck. England groaned when his muscles clamped down on him, so hard he thought he might break him in half, but then France relaxed a bit again and he thrust himself back in, the rose somehow still intact and brushing his balls with the softness of the petals with every movement. The pain starting to ebb away, France started pressing back to meet England's movements, whimpering at the feeling of being filled so fully as his sweet spot was struck over and over, washing his vision with white.

Feeling himself nearing completion, England reached around to roughly grab France's length, stroking it in time with each plunge, and France cried out again, his voice rising in a crescendo as the pleasure built. He came with one final cry, spurting into England's hand and the sheets, and England leaned into him, biting down as hard as he could onto the juncture of his neck and shoulder as he filled him to the brim. France slumped into the sheets, panting hard, and England just managed to hold himself up long enough to pull himself out with a small squelch, the rose coming out with him, covered in milky fluid. Tossing it off the bed with disgust, he himself collapsed into the sheets on his back, trying to regain his breath.

He gasped in surprise when he was suddenly shifted, France pulling him to him and ensnaring him in his arms. He struggled weakly, but France's arms were surprisingly resilient to his protests, and he gave up, enduring the cuddle. He looked up, and scowled when he found France's eyes closed, his breathing even in his sleep. Grumbling, he let his own eyes slide shut, exhaustion taking over and lulling him to sleep.

.~.~.~.~.

Smell the Roses (NC-17 warning)

Warnings: Hetalia kink meme prompt that wasn't actually filled on LJ because I fail at understanding how to use it. This is pretty much PWP smut. I couldn't be arsed to come up with any sort of plot to get these guys in the right position. So MORE PWP FrUK from me! Yay?

Smell the Roses

.~.~.~.~.

It was just a light touch, one of many and a mere gentle, teasing stroke along his lower back, treacherously low while still being high enough to be considered mostly innocent. He must've just caught England in the right mood at the right time, he supposed; a little high on the surprisingly pleasant conversation they had been having about foreign politics and their bosses (or, to be truthful, making fun of them rather than actual discussion) over coffee and tea in France's spacious kitchen after a meeting. Because instead of being slapped and/or verbally abused like he normally would have, he almost immediately was pressed against the back of his seat and received England's tongue thrust down his throat. Not that he was complaining. No, he would never, ever complain about England's kisses, given how rare and downright thrilling they actually were. Fast-paced, hot, and wet, he was nearly overwhelmed in a passion the nation only seemed to release in fits of anger these days. Such a shame, really; he was a marvelous kisser—not that France would actually admit thinking that to anyone. And from the quick, angry fucks they'd had in the past, France could guess that he was a pretty good lover when he actually tried. Not as great as himself, of course, being la nation de l'amour, but the Englishman was a surprising delight and he had long learned to savor the moments when England actually reciprocated anything sexual, especially in instances when his well-being wasn't at stake.

France wrapped his arms around England's slim waist; smirking slightly into the kiss when he ran his hand along the place he had previously touched and received a low growl in return. So he liked being touched there, huh? Filing away the spot to be used against the Englishman for later, he quickly delved his hands into England's shirt, running them softly over each bump of his spine and the slope of his shoulders. England broke the kiss with a gasp for air, hands fisting in France's hair to pull his head to the side so he could have access to his neck.

And my, did that feel good. England slowed his pace down, matching the slow, drawn-out touches France was tracing along his back, lips soft and supple along his neck with just the slightest hint of teeth; just enough to make him shiver in delight. He moaned breathily when he came upon a sweet spot, just behind his earlobe, and Arthur quickly attached himself to it with a suck that had him quaking with bliss in his powder blue house slippers. Fingers threaded through his long blond locks, massaging and scraping at his scalp in a way that he was positively adoring at the moment, and he sighed when England ran his tongue over the spot before moving on down his neck in search of more sensitive places.

"In a gentle mood, are we?" France murmured, soft and low, pressing his fingers tenderly between the vertebrae of England's middle back, where his spine began to curve inward. England noticeably relaxed further in his hold, sighing silently into his neck—he wouldn't have known he had done so if he hadn't felt the slight heave of his chest and the rush of hot breath over his skin.

"Maybe," England responded, a sensual lit dripped into his voice as he pulled back to plant kisses along the underside of France's chin, a tone that France found mirrored in those enchanting green eyes of his when he leaned up for another kiss, deep and enticing. "Bed?" he downright purred against his lips, and France was only eager to oblige. England, one of the most repressed people he knew, was seducing him for once. As laughable the idea would be normally, he definitely wasn't going to give a no as his answer.

"Bed." The trip upstairs was, unfortunately, rather inelegant—hands never strayed far from each other's bodies and more than once they found their ankles locked as they tried to both walk up the stairs and stay as close to each other as possible, undoing buttons and buckles and kicking off slippers and socks as they went. England was in the room first, pushed backwards through the doorway by France's hands at his hips, their lips locked in another breathtaking kiss. Maneuvering the two of them through the room more by feel than by sight—his eyes closed as he savored the feeling of the Englishman, his Anglais, against him—he slowly pressed England down onto the four-poster, climbing on top of him. He pulled apart the buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness, drinking in the slow exposure of pale skin, half-lidded emerald eyes and parted lips pointed up to watch him, inviting more. He'd probably never get another moment like this, at least not any time soon, and he was going to draw it out for all it was worth while he could.

His mouth attacked the skin as it was exposed to him, sucking and nipping and licking along his collarbone, pausing and remembering each sensitive patch he came across—one near his right shoulder, another just under the deepest curve of his left clavicle, another further down his chest he had nearly missed if not only for his beard brushing against it, each drawing an appealing gasp or moan from England's lips. He trailed his mouth along the lines of his abs, laying open-mouthed kisses as he went to every sensitive place, hands trailing down his sides to dip in every bump and curve of England's body, leaving no space untouched. England's breath hitched and his stomach fluttered when his fingers traced down his ribs, a reaction France knew he would use against him later, but for now let be to devote his full attention to the man beneath him.

Hands wove through his hair again, England reciprocating the attention he was being given by running his hands through his hair to massage his scalp, drawing a leg up to drag it intimately against the back of Francis'. It was a gesture that left the Frenchman more turned on that it probably should have, but it worked nonetheless, prompting him to move on to decidedly more exciting areas. England's belt having been discarded on the landing, France quickly unfastened his trousers, England lifting up his hips so that they and his boxers could be pulled down to his ankles and then off. After some prompting from England—he refused to be naked when France was not, the idea was just absurd—France also shucked off his shirt and pants, deciding to start again from the bottom up.

Running a finger feather-lightly against the bottom of his foot from his heel around to his toes, France chuckled when England cursed at him for teasing him as the toes curled around the appendage on reflex. "I want you to touch me, not fucking tickle me, for god's sake Francis," England growled, looking down at him darkly. France just grinned.

"Patience, mon cher, I am getting to that," he hummed, pressing a kiss to the inside of his right ankle, slowly moving up the leg with both his mouth and hands—drawing more breathy gasps and keening noises from England, which to France's joy he did not try to hide at all—until he was teasing the skin over the jut of his pelvis, pointedly avoiding touching the arousal standing flush to England's stomach by his ear, much to England's frustration.

While he was admittedly enjoying the slow pace France had started and the attention he was getting, the heat that had been slowly curling in his abdomen was getting to be a little much, even if it was surprising that he had been turned on so much by the Frenchman's ministrations without him actually touching him in the most obvious places. "Francis…" he whined softly, squirming as he tried to push Francis toward his engorged cock, needing him to touch him there and now before he started to go crazy.

"Patience, mon amour," Francis purred against his skin, the vibrations from his throat sending a delicious sensation through England's body, "take the time to smell the roses, as they say."

England snorted in a mix of amusement and disapproval, not missing the double entendre. "You've destroyed the proper meaning of my flower."

"Well, I know you are well aware that I do enjoy collecting them." France looked up to grin at him mischievously, sapphire blue eyes twinkling with suggestion and mirth, a look that made England simultaneously want to roll his eyes and kick him and so hot he wanted to kiss him senseless as they fucked right now.

He decided on the former, rolling his eyes and knocking a foot against his thigh with a 'well then get on with it already'. France obliged with a chuckle, deciding he'd had his fun and now it was time to get to the, well, meat of the situation. He curled his hands under England to grip his buttocks, England voicing his approval with a low moan when he nuzzled his cheek against his erection, beard scratching in a way that England decided he liked very much. Fingers and knuckles kneading into his ass cheeks, France took his time showering England's manhood with attention with slow licks and soft sucks, not wanting to push England too far too soon. England gasped and sighed in pleasure at the slow-burning sensation fanning the heat spreading through his body, until it felt like all his nerves were being gently caressed at once—a decidedly wonderful sensation much unlike the quick, raw, blast-burning fire of his normal sexual escapades. France's hands and mouth left him then, and it was only a last lingering thread of pride that hadn't been dissolved in pleasure that prevented him from whining again, cracking open his eyes when Francis shifted in the bed. He leaned directly over him, them both gasping when their bodies rubbed right up against each other as France reached into the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lubricant. Setting it on the bed next to them, France decided he would rather not move, instead leaning back down to press his lips to England's as he slowly rocked against him, England's prick hot and hard against his own, reveling in the delicious friction their bodies created as they rutted against each other, soft and slow. England wrapped his arms around him, hands stroking up and down his back, blunt nails occasionally scraping against his skin in a way that made him shudder.

"Oh, Arthur…" France moaned fervently against the Englishman's lips, mouth open and inviting as their tongues curled and wrapped around each other, their pace quickening despite themselves. French hands found the bottle on the bed, and he broke the kiss to sit up, pulling English hips up as he went. He coated his fingers liberally with the lube, a smirk playing on his lips when he remembered that the substance was scented—stopping to smell the roses indeed. England sniffed, looking down at him with a disbelieving but vaguely amused gaze.

"Roses. Of course. Why am I not surprised?" he muttered, shaking his head when France laughed, leaning back up for a quick peck on the lips before running a slicked finger between his ass cheeks, leaving a wet trail as they went. Deciding that England would probably need a distraction, he set about teasing a nipple while he inserted a finger past the tight muscle of his anus. England arched into the sensation, forgetting any discomfort as the finger moved within him, taking its time stretching him before a second was added at the same pace as before. It wasn't until the third was pressed inside and France had long moved on to his other nipple that he felt any real discomfort, but it was a bearable burning sensation that quickly was cast away when France found his sweet spot. Sparks danced across his vision as he gasped a strangled gasp, choking out a rushed, "ohhh, there, Francis, do that again!"

France was only happy to do it again, taking pleasure in the way England clenched around his fingers and the sounds he was making. He inserted a fourth finger, thrusting them inside; the movement gentle but still so singularly pointed at where he knew England's prostate was that it sent England into a fit of ecstasy.

Fingers gone, France was quick to replace them with the head of his cock, reaching to pull England's legs so they were spread and out of the way. England pressed down on it insistently, eager to feel him inside him, spreading him open and filling him in the way he so desperately needed at the moment. France eased into him slowly, savoring the feel of England's muscles contracting around him, so tight and hot and wonderful. England grunted in mild pain despite being prepared so thoroughly, but it was quickly banished when France started to move. In and out at a slow, sensual pace, they rutted against one another, England meeting each of France's thrusts with an angling of his hips. With ease they fell into the rhythm of their bodies, in and out, back and forth, up and down, moans and slurred words of bliss and encouragement passing through both their throats, hands roaming wherever they could reach.

England came first, with a low, drawn out moan, his body arching and tensing like a bow before slumping boneless to the sheets, his orgasm coming over him like a Caribbean wave, leaving warmth in its wake. France followed soon after with murmur of England's name like birdsong on a spring day, beautiful to be heard, before slumping beside him. Tired but content, France curled around England, who wrapped his arms around him as well.

"Mmm…" Francis mumbled softly as England pressed his lips against his, basking in his warmth and the pleasant afterglow, "we should do this more often, don't you agree, Angleterre?"

England chuckled quietly, a devious smirk playing on his lips as emerald green met with sapphire blue, "only if it's my turn next."

.~.~.~.~.

A/N: This was born from a prompt from the hetalia kink meme; a pretty old one that never got filled. But I found it and liked it, so here this is. XD I'm full of failure and cannot use LJ for the life of me (it's a miracle I found it in the first place, 4srs), so I'm afraid to post it there and screw up (I understand how to respond to the prompt, but I have no idea how to link fills to the fills section), so it's here now! I'm not sure if it's completely what the requesting anon was looking for, but… I tried! Prompt: Francis and Arthur actually taking the time in learning where exactly their partners like to be touched and what turns them on.
And if anyone is willing to walk this LJ-impaired little author through how to use the kink meme that would be much appreciated. ^^; This is the reason my writing blog is on blogspot and not LJ, lol. XD; I CAN'T FIGURE IT OUT OTL

Link to prompt is in the title if wanted.