Look what I found lying around in my folders – an old kink meme fill. :) I like it, so why not de-anon?

Hooking his index finger with Francis' thumb, Arthur pulled delicately the Frenchman along to the front door, not quite conveying the full desperation that four days of stressful meetings and evenings interrupted by come on Art, you have to have a drink with me and Matt! and Mr. Kirkland, we require your presence for dinner this evening.

Even if Francis didn't see it, he followed as smoothly as was expected by him, until they were only three more paces away from reaching the door, only three more paces before Arthur could put hands on the Frenchman in privacy, three more seconds of excruciating need to feel taut muscles, slick and sweaty against him, to hear muffled, French curses hissed in his ear, to see Francis sprawled beneath him, ready and eager.

Only three paces away from heaven, Francis tugged on his hand, causing him to turn violently around, green eyes glued to Francis – whose sweater was falling even further down on his shoulder. He was expecting an explanation. All he got was a soft peck on the lips, a small, innocent kiss.

Then again, anyone who thought Francis was innocent was a fool. Arthur had many times been forced to experience this first hand.

So did he this time, when Francis' hand slipped down his side, into his pocket – to squeeze his cock in a manner that was as innocent as squeezing someone's cock could ever get.

And that was kind of it.

Grabbing Francis' wrist this time, Arthur pulled the Frenchman forcibly through the door – after having fumbled just a little bit with the keys – slammed it shut, and pressed Francis up against it with a sound feral enough to be classified as a growl. Hands held above his head, hips trapped between the door and Arthur, Francis purred into the kiss that the Englishman pressed to his lips.

Letting go of Francis' wrists for only a moment, Arthur pulled the distracting sweater over the Frenchman's head. He pinned Francis' hands again as soon as the sweater hit the floor, this time by intertwining their fingers. Francis' skin was so very soft that Arthur always felt like he could break it without even trying. But that was sort of one of the things that pulled him to Francis – how he seemed so delicate and still could kick just about anyone's ass.

Not tonight though. Tonight it was Francis who was getting his ass kicked. Or fucked, rather. Arthur grinned at his own thoughts as he pulled his mouth away from Francis', keeping the Frenchman's lower lip between his teeth for just a moment, before letting it go with a soft pop.

"I am going to fuck you so hard tonight," he breathed against Francis' jaw, lips rubbing against the Frenchman's stubble, hands dragging slowly down the his forearms, feeling goose bumps raise on Francis' skin as the Brit's fingernails rasped down the inside of his arms. Pressing light kisses over Francis' jaw, he felt the Frenchman's biceps tighten when his fingers reached them, before strong arms were slung around his shoulders and a soft voice answered him;

"Oh, really now?"

"Yes, really," Arthur growled as he grabbed Francis by the hips, forcing their hips to meets, half-erect cocks pressing tightly against each other through thick fabric. A faint moan escaped Francis' lips, turning into a breathless chuckle as he brought Arthur's lips back to his own to share another wet kiss.

"I'm not complaining," he mumbled, plump lips brushing against Arthur's.

"Good." With that ending the conversation, Arthur pulled Francis away from the door, keeping their hips tightly together, not letting the Frenchman slip away for even a second. With this burning need in the pit of his stomach, this unquenchable desire set aflame in his soul, there was no way in hell he was letting the deviously sensual Frenchman slip into his teasing habits of driving Arthur insane.

While Francis pinning him down, kissing every inch of his skin, teasing him until it hurt – and then a bit more – was nice, this night called for a little something else, and Arthur wanted to keep from exploding.

They stumbled their way into the bedroom, but Arthur didn't have time to throw Francis down on the bed. As he bent Francis over the low dresser, he decided that would have to suffice. There were other times for that intimacy that Arthur hated to admit that he loved, other times for tender touches and caresses, other times for rose petals, other times for that special kind of affection.

His hands stroked Francis' sides and hips and he moved down to massage the bulge in the Frenchman's pants before undoing the buttons and swiftly pulling both pants and underwear down.

While Francis stepped out of his pants, Arthur pressed kisses over Francis' back, murmuring filthy words in a soft voice, telling him all the ways he could pick him apart and put him back together, all the ways he would drive him crazy and screaming for mercy, as his hands played with the Frenchman's cock and balls, drawing satin-soft moans from kiss-reddened lips.

Reaching into a drawer, Arthur fished out the tube of lube he knew laid there, between the condoms and his underwear. Francis let another moan, this time laced with words in French that Arthur probably could understand but wouldn't, that answered to the wet kisses and licks that Arthur trailed down his back, until he gave Francis' right buttock a playful bite.

"Kinky, are we?" Francis murmurs with just a hint of hidden laughter laced in his voice.

"Oh please," Arthur retorted, "You're into way more kinky stuff than that."

Now actually breaking out into a breathless chuckle, Francis admitted: "Yes, I suppose you're right. But that's besides the- ahh- Arthuuur,"

He was rudely interrupted and whatever he was going to say was somehow turned into a needy whine as Arthur's lubed up index finger probed at his entrance, slipping in easily.

"You were saying?"

"Hnng- More, Arthur."

A wry smirk sneaked its way onto Arthur's face as he pressed two fingers into Francis this time, curling and scissoring them as he watched Francis' golden back twist in pleasure, muscles tensing as Arthur's fingers touched him in all the right ways.

"Arthur, Arthur," Francis panted, that delicious accent extra thick when he was hot and bothered like this.

Smirking, Arthur retracted his fingers, lubed up his cock and slowly, excruciatingly slowly pressed into Francis. The Frenchman's heat was all around him, swallowing him up, and before even checking if Francis was okay, he pulled out and pushed in again. The moan ripping from Francis' throat implied that he didn't mind one bit.

Then, as if through a haze, a melody called out. A very familiar melody. Arthur would recognize it anywhere.

La Marseillaise.

"Shit," Francis gasped and scrambled away from the dresser, pushing Arthur away, to reach down to his pants, where his phone was conveniently placed.

"Let it go," Arthur grunted and made an effort to push Francis forward again.

"I can't. It might be- ahh. Mm..." The argument turned into a pleased moan when Arthur thrust forward before pulling back completely, allowing Francis to pick up his phone. He flashed the screen to Arthur, probably to signal that it was important, like Arthur should care about Francis' boss calling. If Francis thought that, then he just didn't know Arthur as well as he thought.

Just as Francis brought up his phone to his ear, Arthur grabbed his hips and bent him over the dresser once more.

"Arthur, please, I-" Francis tried to argue, covering the mouthpiece of his phone as his voice cracked into a surprised moan once again when Arthur's dick sunk into him once more. "It's my boss!"

"I fail to see how that's my problem," Arthur murmured into Francis' hair as he leaned down, reaching around to stroke his cock languidly. France breathed irregularly and began speaking into the phone in rapid French.

Arthur should really understand what they were saying, having known Francis for long enough to know his language too, but right now his mind was to numb with pleasure to even begin to decipher the graceful words that spilled from Francis' mouth. All it was to him now was a sensual stream of sounds, the language of love, Francis used to boast.

But, whatever he was talking about, he seemed to be doing fine.

And they couldn't have that, could they?

With another thrust of his hips, Arthur sent Francis forward over the dresser, pressing him hard against it, squeezing his dick at the same time. Francis moaned then, before quickly explaining it away to his boss.

Well, that was just not good enough.

Letting go of Francis' cock, Arthur let his fingers rest on both sides of his hips instead, grabbing on tightly, not caring if he bruised the soft skin under his fingers. Then, without warning he began to thrust into Francis hard enough for him to moan out loudly each time he slammed into that willing body. With a smirk, every badly muffled sound going directly to his core, the Brit gave Francis' ass a hard slap.

The reaction was exactly what Arthur had been wanting, and expecting; a moan interrupting Francis' conversation and the man pushing back against Arthur with vigor.

Arthur leaned down against Francis, continuing to slam into him, arms wrapping around the Frenchman's waist, one coming down to stroke his cock in time with his thrusts.

"Attends une minute. Je te rapelle," France gasped into the phone at last. "Oui, je vais bien. Au revoir."

"Glad you finally came around," Arthur whispered into Francis' hair as the phone was thrown elsewhere and Francis moaned without holding back each time the Brit hit the right spot inside of him, each time he tugged on his dick, each time he nipped at the skin of his back and shoulders. When Francis finally let his voice go, there weren't many things as sexy and that very familiar heat coiled in Arthur's loins in no time as Francis' fingers scrambled over the surface of the dresser, his knees wobbling and his voice breaking.

Arthur held him tight as he thrust harder, stroking his cock with one hand as the other grabbed Francis' hand where it rested on the wooden surface. Their hands squeezed each other as Arthur's thrusts and Francis' moans brought them to the edge.

As Francis' body stopped shaking, his knees gave out, sending him to the floor. Arthur sunk down beside him resting his sweaty forehead against Francis' shoulder.

When he caught his breath, Francis chuckled, "You are a real bastard, cher."

"I didn't hear you complain a minute ago," the Brit murmured in between the chaste kisses he pressed to Francis' skin.

"That phone call was important, mind you." Francis leaned back, coming face to face with Arthur.

"Obviously not important enough," Arthur shrugged and gave Francis a quick peck on the lips.

"True. But I have to call him back. Now, preferably."

Arthur couldn't even deny that he enjoyed the sight of Francis getting on his feet and – buck naked, semen running down his leg – dial his boss, once again beginning to speak in that flowing, sensual language.

Arthur couldn't help smiling.

Translation (My French is extremely rusty, but I tried to find good sources for the phrases. If it's incorrect, please tell me and I will fix it.):

Attends une minute. Je te rapelle. Oui, je vais bien. Au revoir. = Hold on a minute. I'll have to call you back. Yes, I'm fine. Goodbye.

La Marseillaise = France's National Anthem