Thursday, October 17, 2013

A France Lemon -- Sea and Sky

Character: France

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: Alice Trice, food critique, outwardly stoic but actually very childish

Inspiration: Chef!France~  Oh, and as always, lay on those language corrections.  Google translate sucks.  :3

It was a lovely night.  Clear, beautiful, with bright stars that seemed to twinkle through the sky.  It was the perfect night to eat out, which was exactly what Alice was doing.  In the most expensive, 5 star restaurant in town.
She got paid to do this.  Got paid to dress up in her fine dresses and fur coats and head out to eat exotic food.  She got paid more when she was bossy about it, when she went about and criticized any number of things.  The establishment itself, the food, the service, even the atmosphere.  But there was nothing, nothing at all that she found unlikeable about this particular restaurant.  Except, perhaps, for the two mischievous, knowing blue eyes that blinked at her through the crowd of tables and waiters.
The fact that he was watching every move Alice made didn't surprise her.  Francis was very proud of his restaurant, and the fact that she was here to critique his business would make any man nervous.  But when she boldly caught his gaze from across the room, she realized that there wasn't anything really nervous about the way he was standing.  In fact, he looked more amused than anything else.  She could think of several reasons why.
They had met nearly two years ago when she was in a lower position in her company.  She had come to this very same restaurant to inspect his kitchens and he had given her quite a bit of trouble.  His very nature made her want to be the person she forcefully shied away from.  The childish, fun loving woman she used to be, and sometimes still was, had been carefully layered over with the strictness that she needed in order to maintain her status.  Being around Francis made her feel youthful again, like she still had a chance at being truly happy, truly accepted for who she was.  And it was for that reason alone, and all the turbulent emotions that came with it, that Alice found Francis to be so troubling.
A waiter exited the kitchens and France grabbed his arm, sharp blue eyes glancing over the food that Alice knew instinctively was hers.  She watched him as he checked for flaws, and, when he found none, patted the waiter on the back and let him go.  Then he looked back at Alice and sent her a secretive sort of wink that nearly made her look away.  Her cheeks rose up into the very slightest pink and she raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, 'who cares if your food is good, I still have the power to make it awful in the public's eye.'  Then she smirked, just a little, just enough to make Francis's eyes flash in interest, and she raised her wine glass just a little bit before taking a dainty sip.
The waiter slipped up to her table and said in a suave, charming voice, "Your Chicken au Poivre, madam, with dressed asparagus and lemon."  He set the intricate platter down before her and took a step back, appraising the table with a critical eye for a moment before saying, "Might I inquire into your choice of dessert to follow the main course?"
Alice looked up at him, taking a long sip.  Her thoughts flitted between the list of desserts she had seen on the menu, but then she hummed and looked over the top of her glass.  France was still watching her, his dashing blue eyes taking in her every movement, every breath, and the amusement he had garnered from seeing her in her fancy clothes and wearing her strict, cold smile made her want to laugh.  If he thought she would let him be subtly entertained by her, he would soon think differently.  So without looking away from those bright eyes, she told the waiter, "Tell your head chef that I'll leave that detail up to him."  Her eyes slanted back to the waiter, and she finished with a surprisingly coy, "Surprise me."
The waiter nodded and turned, back straight as he shot off to the kitchens.  Alice watched carefully when the waiter got to the swinging doors and leaned in towards France, whose eyes flickered between her and his waiter.  The amusement in his shimmering, glassy eyes seemed to increase tenfold.  He sent her a flirty smile and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her to pretend as though her heart wasn't on fire, beating a thousand miles a minute against her chest.

An hour later, Alice was waiting at the coat room door for her furs.  She was full from the delicious meal and ready to go home and collapse into bed.  It was with that sort of resigned, relieved feeling that Alice took her coat and began to lift it onto her slim form.  But it was intercepted by two strong, large hands as Francis appeared behind her.  He smiled charmingly at her when she looked over her shoulder, and helped her into the coat.
"Thank you," she told him, voice as stiff as her posture, which had been perfectly straight all night.  She glanced over his attire, noting that he had taken off his chef's apron and now wore black trousers, dress shoes, and a black button up shirt.  His hair was tied back into its usual style and his eyes glittered at her through thick lashes.  He smiled down at her and offered up his arm, which she reluctantly took.  They began to walk toward the front doors of the fancy establishment.
"Did you like the dessert?" he wondered idly, but there was a lacing of something dark beneath his breath which put her on edge.  It wasn't anger, just the sort of undetermined emotion that she often associated France with.  He seemed eager to hear her response, because he turned to watch her. 
Instead of giving him the satisfaction of hearing that she actually loved it, Alice just shrugged delicately and held her head up in an almost haughty manner.  "It was fine," she told him, slanting her eyes over his for a split second before looking away.  His lips pulled upward into a knowing smirk and he held the door open for her, walking her outside onto the pavement.  The beautiful nightlife of Paris and the cold atmosphere drove her closer to him, just a little.  Just enough for him to notice and for her to pretend not to.
"So you liked it then," he mused, walking them to the edge of the sidewalk and stretching out his hand to hail a cab.  The first two passed them by.  The third pulled over with the sort of scrabbling finesse only a city taxi driver could master.  Francis chuckles and opened the door, "Since you love chocolate, I thought it would suit your fancy."
She gave him a hard look and then sighed, accepting his offered hand as he helped her into the taxi.  He seemed to be really increasing his charm tonight, probably because he knew she'd be writing her critique for the morning paper.  She anticipated that he shut the door and let her on her way, but to her surprise, he instead slipped into the seat beside her and shut the taxi door.  "34 Rue Monge, sil vous plait," [1] he told the driver, and the car started forward before Alice could even put in a smart response.
"Francis."  He glanced at her, eyes twinkling in mirth, and she said in a low, dangerous voice, "What are you doing?"
He chuckled, breaking the ice that had quickly built a barrier between them, and told her cheekily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world, "I'm bringing you home, mademoiselle."  His eyes shot her warmly through the darkness of the cab.
"I don’t need you to bring me home," she said flatly, but he merely shrugged.  "Well, it's too late now.  Let's just enjoy the ride, hmm?" and he smiled at her in that amused, suave way he'd been doing all night. 
Silence cascaded between them for a short moment, before Francis asked, "You're not cold?"  She glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow and told him 'no'.  He hummed and nodded, reaching an arm over the back of her seat in that too-casual way.  Then he asked, "Are you sure you're not cold?  You could sit over here you know.  Closer," he leaned in, and she turned away to look out the window.  "I'm fine.  And don't you dare try to grope me, France," she told him, and he sighed out in a half-whine that almost made her laugh. 
More silence.  Then… "Just admit that you liked the dessert, Alice."  And the way he said her name, the low emphasis he gave it, made her shiver.  She glanced at him, her eyes cutting even through the darkness, and watched him cross his legs and rest his chin on his hand.  He was the image of casual charm and it made her want to melt again him.  But that would be going against the nature she was trying to exude.  She frowned.  "I told you it was fine," she said, and to her surprise, he groaned. 
The sound was so erotic that she stared at him in surprise.  Surprise by the way he looked, like he wanted to promote dirty thoughts, and surprised by the way her body had reacted to that little, delicious sound.  She sat straighter and watched warily and he fisted a hand in his lap and rubbed his eyes with his other one.  "I love it," she heard him murmur, and then blushed when he finished with an intensely sexy, "I love it when you act like that."  His voice purred with low desire that burned a flame right through her heart.
His eyes suddenly careened into hers and Alice was taken aback at the passion searing within them.  He growled out, "It makes me want to pin you down and fuck you."  And he watched as her cheeks blushed into a powerful red that he could see even in the dim light.  She jerked her head away from him, trying to set her thoughts in order, trying to ignore the lust that he had just shot into her veins, trying to ignore him.  But it was impossible.  Impossible to ignore him when he was sitting so close, when his shoulder was nearly touching hers and when she could feel his body heat wave over her like a comforting sheath.  She swallowed and breathed out shakily, loud enough for him to hear.  He groaned again because he knew, knew what she was feeling.  He was an expert in these sorts of things and he just knew.
And that was why he didn't hesitate to touch her.  The moment his fingers brushed over the fabric of her leg, the barriers shattered like glass, and she turned to him with an eagerness that would have normally made him amused.  By this time, he was just as eager, and far too fervent in his passion to bother with such a silly emotion.
But when his hand slid firmly around her thigh, fingers brushing over silk and wishing it was skin, Alice came to her senses.  She caught his hand, clamping his fingers shut around hers and holding desperately onto the sudden onslaught of lust as it invaded her entire body.  It was the atmosphere, she was sure of it.  The darkness of the taxi, the way they were semi in public.  She hissed out a sharp, "Francis-" but never got to finish, because then his body was converging on hers, his hand flipping out of her grasp to curl around her thigh and drag her against him.  He shoved her heavy fur coat off of one shoulder and replaced it with his lips, which pressed a firm, heated kiss to her bare skin.  Then he admired the way she clung to him, desperately holding onto his shoulders and throwing her head back against the seat as she threw herself into the fray of her emotions.
"Mmm, mon ange, [2] don't give into me yet.  I want you to fight back."  He nibbled on her skin and she inhaled sharply, gasping breathlessly and gripping his hair hard.  He flitted his tongue over the captured skin and she made a strangled noise which made the blood rush directly to between his legs.  "Fight me," he whispered against her, inhaling the sweet perfume that lingered on her skin.
She didn't want to.  She never really did, even when she was putting on airs and pretending.  But fighting him back now was more tempting an offer than she could allow to pass by.  She shoved him back when he tried to pull her closer, jerking his head back and looking at him through the flash of moonlight which pattered through the car window.  He swallowed thickly and she watched his Adam's apple bob.  Then she pressed him back into the seat, swinging one leg over the both of his but not quite straddling him.  Her mouth she pressed against his neck, softly at first but with an increasing, dire need.  When she dragged her lips up to his face, he was staring at her with a mixture of intense desire and awe. 
They stared at each other for a long moment, and then rushed forward into a heady, passionate kiss that was both haphazard and ridiculously controlled.  Controlled by the tight grasp she had on his hair.  Controlled by the grip of his hands on her hips as he pulled her into his lap and down, down to grind against the hardened bulge that was tempering within his pants.
"Oh!" she gasped, surprised and more than a little turned on by the fact that he was already so hard.  He chuckled a little into their kiss and she kissed him harder, very turned on by the way he didn't even seem to care.  That he had an erection and that they were in a taxi, and that the driver probably knew exactly what was going on in his cab.  His nonchalance about the entire situation made her feel bolder, powerful, and she started rocking her hips into his and grinding against his member.
"Do you like it when I act dominant?" she asked against his needy mouth.  He groaned a little, hands flexing over her butt as he gripped her.  His legs shifted farther apart and his head rested back against the seat.  Her fingers were still tangled into his hair and she desperately wanted to release it from the binding he had it in.  But even in the darkness, she could see telltale landmarks that they were close to her apartment.
"Oui," he whispered, voice cascading into his beautiful accent.  "C'est bon." [3]  He kissed her again, firmly, skimming his mouth over her skin and down her neck.  His fingers reached up to shake the pins from her hair and she breathed out fast when he tugged her head forcefully to the side to kiss her neck.  "Je suis tellement suscité. Je peux difficilement supporter." [4]  She breathed out a whispered moan and cupped his face, watching him kiss her and wondering what he would look like when he was kissing other parts of her body.
She rolled her core over the hardness in his pants and breathed out hard when he moaned into her neck, making her skin wet and tingling.  She knew they didn't have much time left and yet Alice didn't want to stop.  The world was perfect in that moment, in the back seat of that taxi, whispers of lust tossing through their harried forms.  But it wasn't enough.  She wanted to feel him.  Wanted to see him begging for her.  Wanted to bring him to the cusp of a powerful orgasm and watch it unravel him in the most delicious ways.  And that was what prompted her to shimmy her hand in between their lower bodies and rub his hard member through his pants. 
"Oh, oui…oui oui, touchez-moi plus," [5] he begged, panting against her neck, fingers digging into her fancy dress and wishing she was bare, bare and glorious atop his mattress.  She pressed her mouth against his and acquiesced to his obvious wish, unbuttoning his pants and pulling out his erection, which curled up in arousal and was a stark contrast against the darkness of his clothes.  He watched her study his most intimate organ, his eyes half lidded and bordering on that amused lust which made her frustrated and excited at the same time.  Then he smirked, tilting her chin up so that it was level with his, and whispered out a very low, very aroused, "I want you to suck it."
She shivered violently, closing her eyes for a moment while she took in the extent of his words.  He smiled and kissed her cheek, all the while watching her, feeling the shaky way she was grasping at his shirt, and wishing that he could lay her out beneath him properly.
She was about to respond.  She was opening her mouth to reply when suddenly the world stopped.  The taxi shot up onto the side of the street and the man behind the wheel, who they had blatantly ignored up until then, said loudly, "8.30 Euros, Monsieur."
Francis gritted his teeth and looked over at Alice, who was blushing vividly and looking anywhere but at him.  He cleared his throat and she eased herself off his lap, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment and trying not to watch Francis fix himself up.  Then he fished out his wallet and gave the taxi driver a ten Euro note, reached across the seat for the fur coat that had long slipped past Alice's shoulders, and opened the door.  Together, they stepped into the clear air of the busy Paris streets, watching as the taxi they'd just vacated dove back into the ever present traffic.
A long minute was spent staring at each other, wondering what would happen next.  He seemed to be letting her make the final decision, and as he pressed her coat into her arms, she pulled him in, too, pressing a kiss to his lips.  He grinned and kissed her back, huddling against her body as they loitered outside the apartment complex.  Then, when someone called out derogatively to them, Francis pulled back and watched her struggle to find her key, which lay at the bottommost of her purse.
They made it inside in record time.  Up the stairs, through the hallways, until finally they reached the door that must have been hers, because Alice skidded to a stop and peered up at him with a coy smile.  She turned the key in the lock, paused, and glanced up at him.  "It's a bit of a mess," she warned lightly, and he smiled.  His hands slipped around her slim waist and he pressed her delicately to the door, breathing into her hair, "I'm not here to judge you on your neatness, mon amour."  And she shivered, because the thought of why he was here, and what they would be doing, made her more aroused then she thought possible.
She swung open the door and they stumbled inside.  She searched blindly for the light and flicked it on just as Francis was throwing the door closed.  Then they turned back to each other, and for yet another time that evening, the moment was bathed with awkwardness.  Awkwardness which was soon shattered when Alice reached up to unclip the necklace at her throat.  The dazzling crystal masterpiece hit the floor.  Then she tossed her cloak over the edge of a nearby chair, stepped out of her shoes, and turned away from him.  Francis watched with hungry, needy eyes as she flicked the zipper of her dress down and stepped out of it on her way to the bedroom.  Her pale, creamy, naked hips swung back and forth like a pendulum against his heart.
And he lost it.  Stepped forward, struggling with his shoes, kicking them off to join hers.  Ripped at the buttons of his shirt as though they were real restraints that kept him from what he wanted most in the world.  By the time he got to the doorway of her room, he was trying to pull his pants off and failing, his fingers fumbling as his eyes searched for her.  She was watching him through wide, pouty eyes that had the potential to break him as well as make him live a thousand times over.  It was a few minutes still before he managed to wrestle out of his pants.  And by then, she was approaching him with arms wide open.
He grabbed her waist and heaved her against him, nearly sighing out when her skin finally met his.  Her dress hadn't allowed her the restraints of a bra, so her naked breasts were also pushed up against him and it felt wonderful.  Wonderful to be this close to the woman he had been pining over for so long.  She eagerly rose to kiss him, magnificently drawing her body along his and feeling him shiver at the tantalizing contact of skin siding along skin.  Then she slipped her hands into his and pulled him toward the bed. 
He watched her crawl onto the mattress with heady eyes, fingers pulling off his boxer briefs and releasing his erection for the second, and final, time that night.  His actions prompted her to reach down to deal with her panties as well, but he stopped her, gripping her hands gently when she went to hook her fingers around the fabric.  She raised her eyes to meet his in silent question, and he murmured out a low, "I want to do that."  Then, when she blushed a little, he chuckled and slid onto the mattress, slowly folding her body out beneath his.  He sighed and kissed her lips, nestling himself between her legs and enjoying the way her body heat enveloped over him in waves.
His lips tickled over her skin as he pressed open mouthed kisses wherever he could.  Her shoulders, arms, breasts, stomach.  Until he was crouched by her hips, head ducked against the warmth of her thigh as he inhaled the musk of her arousal.  She squirmed and watched with wide, lustful eyes as he kissed her core, delving his lips just above the fabric that separated them.  His fingers hooked beneath the ties and slowly pulled them down, and the bareness of her made him hum out darkly and press a different sort of kiss to her core.
It was hot, his tongue dipping gently against her folds, his breath wavering out in waves of heat.  His lips knew instinctively how to kiss her, where to press down a little harder, where to suck.  His tongue zigzagged over the entirety of her and then thrust inside, just a little, just enough to make her back arch up into a magnificent display of her pleasure.
Her fingers reached down for him, tangling into his hair and puling him closer because it felt so good.  So good having his hands pin her down like that.  So good having him taste her like fine cuisine, like he couldn't get enough.  She felt like she was melting, drowning against those sheets and it was delicious.  "Fr-Francis…!  Ah~" 
He moaned against her and she grasped at his hair harder, mesmerized by the wild vibrations that shattered over her skin.  Then he was suddenly pulling away, his eyes as dark as a sea miles deep.  And he shifted up over her, never once looking away from her eyes, which were as different from his as an open sky.  His lips dragged a deep kiss over hers and for a single moment, she forgot everything.  Forgot that they were bare and laying on a mattress, in a room that would soon witness the creation of love. 
But everything crashed back into reality, and then suddenly Alice was overcome by the stark physicality of him.  The way his body was pressing hers down, waved in heat, arousal.  The way he was kissing her, his lips a silken barrier that walked along the very edge of defined romance.  The way his skin brushed against hers, delicately yet firmly, and the way his fingertips created a sort of lingering passion which exploded throughout the entirety of her and made her gasp, tremble.
He breathed out, lips brushing over her cheek, and shifted his lower body.  His hard length pushed against her thigh and she gasped again, slightly taken aback by the raw feel of him.  It shouldn't have surprised her but it did, the emotions that drowned her, and even as she pulled away to study the shards of lust in his eyes, Alice couldn't help but want more of that drowning.  The sea of his gaze pulled her under, and with one last kiss he broke through the final barrier that kept them from being one, and the true drowning began.
"Oh!" she gasped, arching into that lovely semi circle again.  France grunted, his hips molding against hers as he began to get the feel of their lovemaking.  The first few thrusts were shaky at best, unsure but still delicious as they quelled their initial, superficial needs.  But then the deeper desires hit them like bricks, and soon Francis was stepping up the pace, rushing toward something that they both knew had the potential to utterly shake them down.
He slipped into her like he belonged there, like it wasn't their first time acting as lovers.  Like he knew exactly what he was doing.  His thrusts were seasoned with experience and it intimidated her a little, but the time for those silly feelings were long gone.  Other, stronger emotions were sparking through her and so she pushed that confusion away, settling instead on immersing herself in the wild, sporadic way he pinned her down and took her.
They were flying fast through the act and it almost seemed as though there was nothing, nothing that could stop them from crashing into their orgasms.  Francis grunted, a desperate sort of moan spilling from his lips as he careened forward.  He blinked down at her and she nearly gasped aloud at the bright romance in his eyes.  She was also aware of other things, too.  Like the way he was gritting his teeth, as though he was trying very hard not to come.  Like the way his fingers were gripping her hard, the way his hips were controlled but caustic, almost violent as he thrust into her.  And it was these signs that made Alice give into her own end.  She gripped him hard, arms circling his shoulders, and moaned.  Her head was thrown back and her back was arching up again and Francis thought she looked lovely like that, in that delightful position.  But then he was feeling her coming, the muscles of her womanhood pulsating deliciously against his, and he was moaning out as well and following.
Their hips snapped fitfully, bruising and haphazard and then slower, gentler, like they were trying to drag out the zinging passion, the delicious shivers that ghosted over their skin.  He lazily moved his hips, his thrusts not quite pinning her down any longer.  And so with the newfound freedom she rose up, meeting him halfway as she blinked up at him and smirked.  Her lips formed a secretive sort of smile that made him chuckle.
His hands drifted over her, down her thighs to tickle over her knees.  Then she was pulling him in, dragging him against and shivering when the movement shifted his softened cock, which was still deep inside of her.  She pressed her mouth to his cheek and he hummed, hand splaying out over her back and bringing her close to his chest.  Their legs formed a mass of tangled limbs and perfection settled on the air between them, like silenced weights which dragged them far, far beneath the surface of the sea.

Extended Ending

Francis leaned against the building that was his restaurant, cigarette handing from his lips as he looked up at the sky.  He took a long drag and remembered.  Remembered the night that had brought him more pleasure than the entirety of his youth combined.  And he smiled a secretive smile that made the very deepest part of his eyes shine like twin suns.
The back door to the kitchens suddenly opened up and his peace was shattered, momentarily.  His head waiter came rushing out, clutching a newspaper tightly in his hand.  When he saw France, he walked toward him, thrust the newspaper into his hands, and said breathlessly, "It is out, Monsieur.  The critique."
Francis' eyes flashed as he read eagerly through the paper.  He leaned in, crushing his cigarette against the brick wall with his free hand and his eyes moved quickly through the text.  Then, when he was through, he smirked and hummed, pleased.  "Not a bad critique.  She must have liked the dessert I made for her."  And he smiled his signature slightly perverted smile that made his waiter wonder if they were thinking about the same dessert.  The man cleared his throat and nodded, and Francis waved him off as he reached for his phone.  He sent a short text a minute later, smirked, and then turned back towards his restaurant. 
Across the city of Paris, a woman glanced at her phone, opened the text, and rolled her eyes with a smile.
'I knew chocolate was your favorite.  Tell me you're not busy tonight.'
She couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.


[1] Sil vous plait: Please

[2] mon Ange: my angel

[3] Cela me rend heureux: That's good

[4] Je suis tellement suscité. Je peux difficilement supporter: I'm so aroused.  I can hardly stand it.

[5] oui…oui oui, touchez-moi plus: Yes…yes, yes, touch me more.


  1. I've read most all of the fantastic lemons here, and I somehow think that this one may be the best.

  2. So beautiful~ I love your lemon. The plot was so intricate and detailed and you could've written a whole book on this. I can't believe that there's only one comment, because this story is so amazing - but I agree with Elise J-I. This could easily be one of your best lemons.

  3. This is truely amazing. Your details are perfect. This really could be one of your best.