Title: Indigo [1/1]
Author: Melly
Rating: MA/NC-17
Characters/Pairings: France/Canada
Warnings: Sex. Lots and lots of sex.
Summary: Francis misplaces his shirt, and when he goes looking for it, finds something rather unexpected.
A/N: De-anon from the kink meme. Original prompt: here. Y’know, I may be going to hell for this, but I’ll be smiling the whole way down. Hope y’all enjoy the ride too!



Francis knew something was a bit amiss the second he walked back into the guest room. He’d stepped outside for just a moment, planning on taking a short walk around the city (their city, beautiful Montreal), before he decided the weather was too disagreeable and he came back indoors. In his absence, however, it seemed someone had gone through his things. Nothing was conspicuously out of place, and, in fact, he wouldn’t have noticed had it not been for the very obvious disappearance of a certain article of clothing. His favorite shirt was missing.

Frowning, Francis wondered for just a moment if he had merely misplaced it, but no, he remembered seeing it when he left, on the same chair he draped it over the night before when he’d gotten undressed for bed. It wasn’t an easy shirt to miss, either, considering the color of it was a deep, vibrant indigo. It was his favorite shirt for that very reason; the shade of it reminded him of the color of Matt’s eyes—Mathieu

Francis found it a little strange when Matt denied his offer to join him on his walk, the boy saying he had a few chores around the house to take care of. Despite feeling slighted by that, Francis left him to whatever he had to do. But this meant Matt was the only one in the house, and what sort of chore involved Francis’s shirt? Frown deepening, Francis exited the guest room and shuffled quietly down the hall to Matt’s room.

Another oddity presented itself when Francis noted the door was only slightly ajar, as if Matt had been hasty and hadn’t bothered to check if it shut properly. That was unlike him; his door was always wide open or shut completely. Mildly concerned now, Francis gently pushed the door open wider and glanced into the room, thoughts coming to a tumbling, grinding halt when he finally took sight of everything.

Matt was lying back on the bed, wearing Francis’s missing shirt while he stroked himself, head tossed back against the pillows. Judging by the completely unabashed way he was touching himself, Matt was unaware of his audience, and Francis thought he could just slip out of the room and Matt would never know, but dieu he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight. The curve of Matt’s body as he arched off the bed, the way his cheeks were flushed and his hair was tousled, the way he was moaning—

“F-Francis.” His eyes widened. Did Matt just…? “Oh, God, Francis.” Matt’s free hand was clenched in the collar of the shirt he was wearing, and he pulled the bunch of fabric up to his face, taking a deep shuddering breath and groaning.

Francis barely bit back a moan himself, hands clenching into fists so tight he was sure his nails would break the skin of his palm. He felt his breathing go shallow, heat starting to pool in his stomach. Merde, Matt was his…ex-colony, his son, his brother, his something, something that wasn’t—this. No matter how much he wished it different, the nights he lay awake and did the same thing, imagining the way Matt would feel under him, how Matt would moan and gasp and whimper and look up at him with those beautiful, beautiful eyes.

And so Francis could hardly believe Matt was actually lying there, wearing his shirt, moaning his name, touching himself to the thought of…well, Francis, yes, but there was something beyond that. Matt could be his again, his in the way he always wanted. Beyond the base desire…did this mean he could be forgiven?

“Oh, yes, Francis please.” Matt still had his face pressed in the fabric of the shirt, breathing in whatever scents clung to the collar, the pace of his strokes speeding up as he gasped. “M-mon coeur, Francis, Francis—”

Stepping fully inside the room, Francis shut and locked the door behind him with an audible click, the noise causing Matt to freeze, lifting his head slowly. His eyes locked with Francis’s (that gorgeous, perfect color) and he merely stared, cheeks flushed with both arousal and embarrassment, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

“I—” He swallowed, hard, biting his lip. “I—I’m so sorry, Francis, I just—”

“Sorry? Why would you be sorry?”

“Because I…I shouldn’t be doing this, should I?” Matt dropped his gaze to the sheets. “B-but I can’t stop feeling this—this way about y-you. I just…I have dreams, about you, and I…” His voice went quiet, so soft and low and sincere it sent a shiver of delight down Francis’s spine. “…I can’t stop thinking about you. Ever.”

Francis stepped towards the bed hesitantly, but Matt didn’t look up, voice and body starting to tremble. “E-even when you were gone, I-I missed you, so much, and I still—I still…”

“And the shirt?” Francis took another cautious step forward, wondering if he should give in to the desire to kiss Matt breathless and utterly ravish him or the desire to bolt from the room, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Matt. No, not again. Not ever again.

“You…you wear it a lot.” Matt was tugging at the sleeves of it nervously. “It reminds me of you, and it smells like you, so when I wear it and I do—I do this...” He flushed about two shades darker. “I can picture you better.” Francis couldn’t help moaning at that, and Matt glanced up finally, eyes wide and wondering.

“The things you do to me, Mathieu,” Francis confessed, voice low and filled with more desire than he intended to convey, but he saw Matt shudder at the words, fingers twisting in the sheets. “But I am supposed to take care of you. And if you simply want me, you don’t forgive me—”

“No!” Immediately after the outburst, Matt ducked his head down, hair falling over his face. “I-I mean, I want you, but I forgive you too.” He forced his head up again, the look in his eyes so warm and adoring Francis felt his heart skip a beat. “I do Francis. So I know you’ll take care of me. I know…” Francis exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“All right,” he relented. “All right.” Matt’s eyes brightened in disbelief and elation, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“What, um, what now?” He blushed again, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. Despite the interruption and onslaught of embarrassment, Matt was still hard, and achingly so, if the tinge of desperation creeping into his tone was any indication.

“I never told you to stop.” Francis was met with a look of confusion at first, but something burning and arousing in his gaze must have given him away, because a moment later Matt gave a quiet little gasp, loosening the grip his right hand had in the sheets.

“Is there…” He made a sound halfway between a groan and an intake of breath when he started to pump himself again. “…is there something specific you want me to do?”

“Oh, non, non, mon ange,” Francis whispered, reveling in the quiet, appreciative whimper Matt made at the use of the pet name. “You do not have to change a thing. Just do not hold back now that you know I am here.”

Matt nodded a bit in response, moaning as he let his head fall back against the pillows again. Francis just watched and memorized every plane and curve of Matt’s body, taking in the smooth arch of his back, how slender his hands really were, the beautiful lines of his face.

“Oh. O-oh. Francis. Francis, please.” Dieu the way Matt said his name. The different ways. When it would taper off into a breathless gasp or a moan, or when he broke it into three syllables and there was a distinct ah in the middle. And right then Francis wanted to make Matt so delirious with pleasure he would be screaming it.

“Are you close?” The question sounded more like a groan, and a desperate one at that, but Francis was beyond caring. Matt made an incoherent, questioning sort of sound before the words processed.

“Y-yes,” he finally gasped out. “I-I’m really close…”

“Come for me, then. Let me see you.” Almost right after the words left Francis’s mouth, a visible shudder ran through Matt’s body and his hips jerked up sharply, moan catching in his throat as he came all over his hand and stomach. Panting, sagging back onto the mattress and pillows, he turned his head to look at Francis. His eyes were pleasure-filled and hazy, but there was still something so heated about his gaze, Francis felt his knees go weak.

“D-do you…” Matt was now looking pointedly (if rather embarrassedly) at Francis’s obvious erection. “Do you need me to—to take, um, care of that?”

“Shh, let me clean you up first.” Francis moved onto the bed finally, kneeling by Matt’s feet as he reached forward to take Matt’s hand. Deliberately and methodically, he began wiping away the come with his tongue, eyes sliding half-closed as he sucked on Matt’s fingers. He heard Matt making a bunch of soft, pleasured noises that quickly turned into gasps as Francis moved over to his stomach. Once he was done licking the mess off, he started peppering butterfly kisses along Matt’s hips and down to his thighs. Matt moved his hands down to stroke through Francis’s hair, moaning when the kisses became openmouthed and wet.

Nuzzling his face against the skin of Matt’s inner thigh earned him a breathy moan that trailed off into a whimper. Francis grinned when he repeated the gesture and noticed Matt was quickly getting aroused again.

“You like that, hm?”

“G-god, yes, Francis.” Matt reached down and ran his hand over Francis’s cheek and jaw, touching his stubble lightly. “The feel—” Flushed, he spread his legs slightly. “Please.” Francis thought he might just come from the sight of Matt offering himself like that.

“Mathieu, you are so stunning.” He moaned, leaning up to kiss Matt’s neck and cheek and jaw. “…so beautiful.”

Francis felt Matt sigh when he finally pressed a kiss to his lips, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. Without prompting, Matt opened his mouth to deepen it and Francis hummed in appreciation, dovetailing their lips together. He stroked his tongue languidly and thoroughly along the inside of Matt’s mouth, moaning encouragingly when Matt copied the motion. Sucking gently on Matt’s bottom lip, Francis felt Matt start to tug on the waistband of pants, hands fumbling and hasty. Chuckling, Francis leaned back, grabbing both of Matt’s hands by the wrist and paused to press a kiss to both of his palms. Matt made a soft noise of protest, leaning up a bit to try and catch Francis’s lips again.

“Patience, mon cheri, patience,” Francis soothed, smiling as he dropped Matt’s hands and slipped out of his shirt. “I need to go get something, but I will be right back, all right?” Matt looked a bit confused, but he nodded, letting Francis get off the bed with minimal reluctance. Francis left him with a few soft kisses to his lips and the bits of skin within reach before he headed out into the hallway.

After a moment of rummaging through his bags in the guest room, Francis returned with a small bottle of oil. Setting it on the bedside table briefly, he slipped out of his pants and underwear.

“Spread your legs a little more…” Matt complied with a slight smile, reaching out to run his hands along Francis’s torso the moment he was within reach. Francis grabbed the bottle before moving back onto the bed, leaning into Matt’s touch with a soft sigh. “…you kept the shirt on.”

“Mm.” Biting his lip, Matt nodded, still brushing his fingers across Francis’s chest and sides.

“Not that I mind in the least.” Grinning, Francis poured a good amount of the oil into his palm. “In fact, I rather like it.” Matt blushed, but he smiled back, eyes bright. “Now…just relax.” Slowly, Francis slid his index finger into Matt, watching for his reaction. He made a soft, surprised noise at the intrusion, but there was no sign of discomfort on his face, and Francis added a second finger, pressing a bit deeper.

“I am not hurting you, am I?”

“No.” Matt shook his head, blinking up at Francis with a small, reassuring smile. “You’re not. You’re—” Francis suddenly twisted his wrist, fingers curling, and Matt let out a loud gasp, his eyes going wide. “O-oh.”

“Ah.” Francis pressed and rubbed against the same spot harder, leaning over to kiss and suck his way down Matt’s throat, not caring if he left marks. Matt’s gasps were becoming unrestrained, his hips pushing back against Francis’s hand.

“F-Francis.” Matt’s voice was breathless, words occasionally tapering off into groans. “O-oh, God, Francis, that feels good…”

“Do you want more?” Francis nipped gently at Matt’s pulse point, feeling the reverberation of Matt’s moan under his lips.

“Yes.” He pressed Francis closer against his neck, fingers threaded through Francis’s hair. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

“Not unless you ask me to.” Slicking up his own erection, Francis shifted, hands running across Matt’s chest before settling on his hips. “Keep relaxed.” Francis kissed Matt, slow and deep before pushing into him with a shuddering sigh. Matt’s breath hitched, and he tensed for a moment before exhaling shakily.

“I-I’m all right.” His arms moved up to wrap around Francis’s neck, eyes never leaving his face. “You can—you can move.” With a soft moan, Francis started thrusting shallowly, hands moving up along Matt’s sides. After a moment, Matt brought his legs up to wrap around Francis’s waist, pushing his own hips up to match the rhythm.

“Dieu…” Francis groaned, the jerk of his hips becoming more forceful. He was absolutely fixated on every heated moan Matt made, the sheen of sweat on his skin, his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes, heady and pleasure-filled and looking at Francis like he was everything. “Mon coeur, mon Mathieu…”

Matt was gasping and moaning a stream of unintelligible French and English, occasionally managing to sob out Francis’s name. The nails of one hand were digging into Francis’s back, while his other hand moved between them to wrap around his own cock. Shuddering, Francis skimmed his own hand down to wrap around Matt’s and move with it.

“Francis.” Matt practically mewled at that, hips jerking up wildly into his touch. Francis continued to pump him, feeling Matt’s nails dig into his skin a little harder. “I—oh, Francis.” He moaned, breathy and desperate, rolling his hips up harder.

“My sweet…oh dieu, mon Matheiu.” Francis was gasping, voice barely above a whisper, his free hand tracing a line down Matt’s cheek and neck.

“Oh—” A few more strokes, and Matt was completely undone, hips snapping up as he half-screamed Francis’s name, head thrown back against the pillows. The sight of Matt spread out in front of him, flushed and panting and sated, was enough to make Francis come so hard he was seeing white. He didn’t look away from Matt’s face, his eyes, even in the aftermath, body boneless and mind still hazy.

Sliding out of Matt gently, Francis collapsed next to him on the bed, murmuring little nothings in French as he caught his breath. Matt curled up next to him, a little hesitantly, pressing his forehead against Francis’s shoulder.

“I…uh…I think I made a mess of the shirt,” he muttered, glancing down briefly.

“Do not worry about that.” Francis kissed Matt’s temple, licking away a trail of sweat. “Can always clean it, non?”

“Right.” Matt shifted a bit closer and Francis wrapped an arm around him, fingertips absently brushing along his skin. “Francis?”

“Oui, mon beau ange?”

“Don’t say anything, but…” Matt tucked his head under Francis’s chin, kissing a spot right over his heart. “…I love you. More than I should, obviously.” Francis was silent for a moment, feeling something warm in his chest suddenly expand, arms moving to hold Matt tighter.

“Mathieu—”

“Don’t.” Matt shook his head, pressing closer. “I don’t want to hear—you don’t have to say anything. Just…stay ‘til morning. Please.”

“Of course.” Francis sighed, relented, nuzzling his face into Matt’s hair. “Of course I will.”

“Thank you,” Matt murmured, eyes sliding closed as the exhaustion caught up with him. Francis lay still and silent, stroking Matt’s back gently until he drifted off to sleep.

“As if I could say no to anything you ask of me, mon amour.”

A/N: I saw this on the meme and had to. This happens in the mid 1800’s, I think, so Matt is about 17 or 18 years old. Francis is just visiting, whether Arthur knows about this visit or not, is up to you.