Work Text:
Another noisy, meaningless party. The meeting was held in Paris this time, which made Ivan incredibly excited and eager. It had been a long time since he visited this beautiful land. He took another sip of champagne, gazing thoughtfully at the glittering city streets outside, intending to leave the party for a walk. French wine was truly delicious, but he wasn't interested in drinking right now, so Ivan only slowly sipped the single glass of champagne the waiter had poured for him. He missed this place so much.
But walking alone was boring, having the host lead him around would be much more interesting. Besides, Ivan also wanted to spend some time with him. Thinking so, the Russian glanced toward the already tipsy crowd, who were gathered in the middle of the room and cheering, everyone disheveled with strong-smelling breath. He slowly finished the last bit of champagne in his mouth, observing the man through the expensive crystal glass.
There he was, Francis Bonnefoy.
The host of the party and the chairman of today's meeting, prominent in an elegant, pure white outfit, stood right in the middle of the crowd. The Frenchman had tied his light brown, wavy hair with a white ribbon, he also had a neatly trimmed beard. With that beautiful smile, bright enough to light up the entire room, he successfully captured Ivan's attention. Ivan had long admired Francis's fashion sense, but today, as his eyes devoured every detail of the man, he realized how much he admired the Frenchman's beauty.
Then Ivan thought again (never had he thought this much), if he set his eyes on Francis, would the man also pay any attention to him?
Probably not. Ivan bitterly answered himself inwardly.
It was Francis, the main character of the party in his angelic white attire. Surrounding him were nearby nations who had grown up together, so he must surely be cherished much more than a cold nation from the east. This place had sunshine, laughter and love, which truly didn't suit a tall, bulky Russian, gloomy in appearance and breath heavy with vodka. And Ivan didn't want to sacrifice his vodka for anything, so he accepted his position.
The crowd suddenly stirred up, the sound of clinking glasses mingling with loud cheers. A few other nations had already left, and there weren't many people left in the hall. Ivan looked up at the clock, it was already 10:45 PM. He put down his glass and decided to take a stroll before heading back to the hotel, and then to the airport to return home tomorrow morning. Another business trip completed, boring and tedious.
"Russia!"
Ivan had just finished buttoning his coat when he heard someone call his name. Before he could turn around, the person had already approached.
"Are you leaving? Let me see you out."
It was Francis. Both his ears and cheeks were flushed, his hair was now more disheveled, making him look like he'd just come from a brawl. Ivan frowned at the Frenchman's poor state, he himself had always idolized this gentleman's fashion sense and seductive beauty, so he was somewhat disappointed to see the party host looking so worn out at the end of the day. Not bothering to reply, Ivan calmly adjusted his vest, smoothed out and retied Francis's hair, at which point the furrow on his own brow finally relaxed in satisfaction.
"There, you look good now."
"Oh, thank you. Well..."
Francis didn't get to finish his sentence, he was interrupted by Gilbert's usual shrill roar. The German ran frantically to the window where the two were standing, roughly draped an arm around Francis's neck, and pulled him back to the drinking table in the middle of the room. Francis struggled, his limbs flailing, he was frowning and yelping, but Ivan just stood silently watching.
"Let me go, you brat! I'm not drinking anymore!"
Observing Francis being dragged away, Ivan felt his heart skip a beat, but then he calmly checked his belongings one last time before leaving.
What was he thinking? France had others by his side, why should he pity me? Because I didn't drink with them?
Ivan walked and pondered, his steps becoming faster and faster, he completely forgot his desire to admire the scenery during his walk. But the small joy that made his heart dance for a few short seconds was real, he didn't deny the pleasure of being noticed by Francis. Talking to Francis was truly comfortable because he never interrupted and often told interesting stories that Ivan loved to hear.
If only I could spend a little more time with France. If only I could touch France...
Ivan's chest ached. He unconsciously slowed down, his lips pressed tight, feeling the pain spreading from his left chest, secretly hoping his heart wouldn't suddenly leap out. Earlier, touching Francis's silky hair that he always admired was a rare opportunity, in contrast to his own dry, brittle hair. The weather in Russia was too dry this time of year, and besides, Ivan didn't know how to take care of his hair anyway.
Francis was truly beautiful, he was the only man Ivan had to learn to utter flowery compliments to. He craved to caress that high nose bridge, kiss those eyes that had successfully captivated him, or playfully tease that lightly stubbled chin. Perhaps Francis would let him touch him, eagerly messing with his delicate face like a curious child, only to chuckle and respond with an affectionate gaze.
But Ivan didn't just want to touch Francis, he also wanted to be touched by him.
His heart beat faster as his mind began to imagine the unreal scenario. He wanted to be embraced by Francis, who would surely have to try to wrap his arms around Ivan's broad back and thick winter clothes. Following those tender kisses, scattered from his forehead to his nose, then down to his neck, chest, and further. Thinking so, Ivan bit his lip until it was red, pulled his wool scarf high up to cover his mouth, and hurriedly strode toward the hotel.
Upon reaching his room, he immediately climbed onto the bed, only managing to take off his coat and toss it casually over the back of a chair. Ivan panted, his chest heavy, and his head was spinning.
Am I lusting?
Ivan was stunned as he realized his desire was no longer simply about being close to the man, he craved more intense touches from Francis. Now what? Francis would fondle his fair chest, perhaps he is the type who likes to tease, so he would torment his nipples with a gnawing that made Ivan itch. Francis's hand would slide down his hips, gently pinching the soft layer of fat while bending down to kiss the hidden muscles under his belly skin. And down below, Ivan longed for the man to spank his thick buttocks until his skin turned red, then penetrate the small, greedy hole that was just waiting to devour. He loosened his belt, unzipped the trousers, and curled his legs up, hand reaching down to rub his behind while biting his own lip until it bled.
Right now, if only Francis would appear and hold him on this bed, it would be sheer bliss. Only thinking about waking up tomorrow morning, feeling the emptiness in his soul again, and packing up for the airport, Ivan suddenly felt a profound sense of loss.
"Russia?"
Someone was standing outside the door. Ivan was startled out of his daze. He immediately grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to his neck, pretending to be asleep, unintentionally causing the mattress to squeak loudly.
"Are you still awake? I heard a sound."
Ivan didn't reply. How could he mistake Francis's voice for anyone else, but seeing him now was too embarrassing. Nevertheless, Francis remained stubbornly standing there.
"I was worried something had happened to you. I'll come in, if you don't mind."
Francis opened the door and stepped in, there was only the rustling of clothes echoing in the silent space. He walked to the bed, bent down to check if Ivan was asleep or awake.
"I thought you were still awake. That's too bad, I haven't had a chance to greet you properly today."
He sat down on the bed, causing the mattress to sink, and said nothing more, making the atmosphere indescribably stifling. Ivan's eyes remained tightly shut until the mattress creaked again in fatigue, and he felt a hand gently touch his shoulder, followed by Francis's warm, wine-scented breath. Perhaps even ten years from now, Ivan would still vividly remember Francis's stealthy kiss that night — when he pressed his lips onto the fair skin, deliberately sucking gently and skillfully as if craving his prey. Not stopping there, he tucked Ivan's hair behind his ear, nibbling and biting the earlobe, making Ivan's stomach restless. Until his sensitive nape was also attacked by those stimulating suckles that sent electricity throughout his body, Ivan surrendered in a tremor, letting out a soft sound: "Uh..."
"Russia, are you awake?" Francis sprang up, his voice slightly stunned, "I'm sorry..."
"Hey." Ivan flipped over, aroused to the point of tears and looking bewildered.
Francis truly came as he wished, this was definitely not a dream. Ivan knew his alcohol tolerance well and that he was completely sober.
"Hey."
Without a word, the Russian tossed the blanket aside, unbuttoned his own shirt, revealing his chest heaving with every breath, both nipples already hardened. His deep purple eyes focused intently on the Frenchman, piercing his very core with hidden meaning. While Francis was astonished and flustered by the breathtaking sight, his face grew even redder, not just from the wine but from passion.
Ivan Braginsky was genuinely inviting him.
No more hesitation, Francis vigorously fondled his chest, his grip intensifying, digging into the fair flesh. Ivan's breathing grew heavier, Francis's actions were exactly as he had imagined, perhaps even rougher, which made him even more enthralled.
"Down here too."
Ivan kicked the blanket away, deliberately took the other's hand, and placed it on the bulge below. He had truly lost all reason. Francis smirked, his elegantly lowered eyelashes almost touching Ivan's eyes as he climbed on top of him, then pressed their lips together. In that cramped space, their mouths and tongues intertwined like two eager beasts. As soon as Francis pulled away, Ivan wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled them both into another more intense kiss.
"Wow, Russia, I didn't expect this."
The Frenchman was half-surprised and half-teasing, never imagining Ivan would share the same desire as him, perhaps even wilder. Ivan just narrowed his eyes and smiled, then he lay face down, both his underwear and trousers stripped off, naked and wiggling his hips, causing his large, round buttocks to clap together. The deadly seductive dance truly challenged Francis's patience, but he had surrendered ages ago. The next thing Ivan was aware of was a stinging smack on his buttock, the pleasure of being filled inside, and then a scorching sensation as Francis held him tightly for the next two hours.
.
.
The next morning, Ivan woke up feeling weary with aching hips. He sat up, looking around for the man, but the surrounding space was astonishingly quiet, so he understood that Francis had left earlier. Suddenly, a feeling of overwhelming loneliness quickly consumed his mind. Ivan felt a sting in his nose, as if he were about to cry from a sense of grievance.
He lowered his feet to the floor, slipped on the slippers, and dragged himself toward the bathroom, just as the door opened and Francis stepped in. The two froze, their eyes wide, looking at each other. Francis was holding a breakfast tray with fragrant croissants and a hot cup of tea. Ivan's stomach rumbled, and he hesitated at the bathroom door, wanting to eat breakfast but also wanting to wash up and feel comfortable.
"Can I have that?"
"Go take a shower, Russia, I'll help you." Francis asserted.
The size of the bathtub was just enough for Ivan, even when he stepped in, the water even spilled out a little, forcing him to sit with his legs bent in the tub. Francis rolled up his sleeves, scrubbing and gazing at the scattered kiss marks from his neck down his back, resembling tiny flowers. Ivan seemed not to mind them, he just reached up and rubbed his nape, perhaps finding them strange.
"Next time, I'll need to check the door lock, so you won't sneak in again." Ivan looked up at Francis, chuckling.
"What about the other way? Will you let me in?"
The next second, Ivan, completely unguarded, felt a hand pinch his buttock and deliberately linger, stroking his inner thigh, making him tremble with pleasure. He just chuckled and stood up, water dripping all over his body. He calmly stepped into the standing shower and turned on the tap. Francis thought his task was done, so he tidied up a few items on the shelf and was about to leave when he heard the other's voice.
"France, don't you want to come in?"
He thought Ivan was calling him to shower together, but it was more than that simple request — Ivan still desired him. The Russian, soaking wet and stood on one leg while the other was propped up on the windowsill. His fingers parted the soft flesh obstructing the way, showing off the small opening hole that was twitching, partly because of the running water and partly because he craved for the man. Once again, Francis found it hard to refuse such an alluring invitation from Ivan.
Once he plunged in, he would be immersed in this intoxication and willing to stay forever.