conjure_lass: (Hetalia: England Dirty Dancing)
[personal profile] conjure_lass
Title: Traffic part Deux: The Tailback from Hell
Author/Artist: [ profile] conjure_lass
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Fr/UK
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Oral sexings, PWPings, Human Namings, Purple Prosing, Self-Betaing.
Summary: After surviving the Place de l'Étoile, now Arthur is faced with an even more pressing danger. The infamous M25 traffic...and French pop music.
Author's Note: If you'd like to read the first one it's here.

They were getting nowhere fast.

To be more precise, they were getting nowhere fast somewhere between Slough and Chorleywood, locked in a bumper-to-bumper tailback on the M25 motorway. All around them cars were at a standstill. The random sound of screeching horns rose up amongst the droning traffic, probably due to some idiot thinking he could get a few centimeters ahead even though the tailback went on for seemingly endless kilometers. People peered out their windows hopelessly, faces blanching when they saw the absolute horrific mess that lay before and behind them. Some were even going so far as to turn their vehicles off altogether and wait for the traffic flow to get moving again.

Typical M25 nonsense. Arthur inwardly cursed (and not for the first time) whomever had thought that this road was a good idea.

Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, he turned to his companion with a defeated sigh. Francis…Francis was never bothered by this sort of thing. There he sat, eyes closed, foot propped up on the dashboard, blond hair fanned out against the seat as he crooned along with some French singer he’d put in after they’d exhausted all Arthur’s albums. The picture of relaxed ease. Completely calm despite the raging chaos all around them.

It made Arthur sick.

“Get your bloody feet off the dash,” he hissed, reaching out to slap at Francis’ Dior-clad leg. “Aren’t you frogs supposed to be mannerly?”

Without opening his eyes, Francis reached out and snatched Arthur’s fingers, giving them a tiny, affectionate squeeze. “As true as that might be, what need have I of such things when I am with you, hmm?”

“Sod off!” Arthur tugged away, absolutely not pouting out the windshield. Cars…endless cars! This was it. He was going to rot here, in his Bentley, in a tailback, listening to Christophe Maé singing in a language he didn’t understand. Francis was going to bury him in a shallow grave on the side of the road, sell his car for scrap, and use the money to buy a bottle of vintage champagne. Yes, this is how he was going to go. How humiliating.

He shifted uncomfortably and sighed…again…for at least the twelfth time.

Arthur was considering beating his forehead against the steering wheel when soft fingertips grazed along his jaw line to draw his attention. Pursing his lips, he rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to bite the fleshy digits near his mouth. “What is it now wino?! Get back to your impromptu concert.”

“Calm down, mon chenille!” Perfect blond eyebrows came together as Francis sat up straight, leaning towards Arthur with an expression that could have been worry. Or the beginnings of some veiled insult. Or constipation. Arthur couldn’t really tell which. “You are unusually high-strung today even for your naturally unpleasant disposition…what is the matter?”

Veiled insult it was. Resolutely ignoring it, Arthur felt his bottom lip protrude as he gestured outwards at what looked to be a parking garage. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve not moved for the better part of a half hour!”


“And I’m going mad sitting here doing nothing!” Arthur winced at the whine in his own voice but couldn’t help himself. He dropped his hands with a huff. “I want to go! That’s why motorways were invented, so that people could go!”

“Is that all?” Laughter bubbled up from between Francis’ lips, warm and thick and a little wicked. Like really good dark chocolate mixed with fresh cream. It was that edge of sensuality that set off Arthur’s inner warning bells, caused him to edge towards his door even as Francis stalked closer. “If you were bored you need only to have said so.”

“You will maintain your distance, sir,” Arthur whispered, trying without success to keep a smile from creasing the corners of his lips as Francis’ nose tickled against his cheek and brushed towards his ear. Nor did he quite manage to keep in the soft moan as the lobe was swathed in velvety warmth, gentle teeth digging pleasantly into the rounded flesh. And he completely failed to realize that Francis’ fingers had danced down his stomach and were mere inches away from groping his…wait…what the hell…they were in public!

“Stop it!” He shoved, half-hearted at best, against Francis’ chest, finding it difficult to swallow around the dizzying mix of embarrassment and arousal. His humiliation increased tenfold when he glanced over at the next car to find a pair teenage girls giggling and pointing wildly in his direction. Good lord was that a camera phone?! “People can see us you dolt!”

Francis inched back and looked around, shrugging elegantly before taking Arthur’s hand and kissing each one of his fingertips. A playful smile. “So they can. Try not to make a scene and perhaps they will not notice.”

“Notice? Notice what?” Arthur echoed, confused, before suddenly finding his lap full of cascading locks, Francis’ teeth tugging determinedly at the zipper of his trousers. Feeling that he might implode of mortification, Arthur made a feeble attempt to push Francis away, finding he couldn’t quite muster up the level of righteous indignation that he undoubtably should have had in that sort of situation. It was official; Francis and his perversities were rubbing off on him. “Have you lost your bloody mind?! No!”

Any further protests died on his lips when the buttons of his boxers were popped open, his prick drawn hastily into a blisteringly hot mouth. My, but that was rather nice. Head falling back as far as the seat would allow, he reached out blindly to fist great handfuls of blond hair, murmuring encouragements as his legs spread wantonly. Francis certainly wasn’t pulling any punches, head bobbing in a steadily building rhythm, hollowing his cheeks and sucking in that expert way that made Arthur’s whole body melt into a puddle. Toes curling at a particularly brilliant swirl of tongue, he gasped as his muscles began to tighten, felt heat pooling low in his spine, shivered at the sweat that beaded on his forehead.

He also felt the car begin to roll forward where his foot had eased off the brake pedal. Ooops.

“You may wish to consider putting us in park before I continue.” Francis pulled away fractionally to grin and let a thin trail of saliva drip from the tip of his tongue to the tip of Arthur’s cock. “I would not wish us to get into an accident due to your lack of attentions.”

“I’d just make you pay for it,” Arthur chuckled breathlessly, nevertheless reaching over to shove the gear stick into park. “Now suck me off.”

“My demanding little prince…”

And so it went; the next few minutes narrowed down into a delicious amalgam of heat and pressure and friction and repeated cries of Francis’ name. Arthur’s boxers were tugged sharply down his hips after the car seat was let down to give Francis more room to work. Everything blurred. It blurred so much that the feeling of one long finger pushing inside of him only barely registered, dripping down to collect into the molten pot of bliss that was already bubbling in his belly. And when that finger was curled just so, pressed firmly against just the right spot, and Francis continued sucking Arthur’s prick in just the right way…it was as though every braincell fired all at once and then died.

Oh my wasn’t this the most wonderful feeling in the whole wide world and yes, yes, yes, more Francis, more…

“Francis!” Arthur’s teeth ground together, spine arching painfully as he felt throat muscles work around the length of his cock, milking his orgasm for everything it was worth and leaving him feeling as though the earth had ceased to spin. Really though, it was more like it was revolving so quickly that he was in danger of being flung off, and long moments passed before it slowed enough to let his thoughts coalesce.

Who cared that they were in car where anyone could see…that was the best damn blow he’d probably ever had.

When the bright spots obscuring his vision had faded, he glanced over to find Francis back in his own seat, smiling and looking completely self-satisfied. The smug bastard. Oddly enough though, he’d actually taken the time to put Arthur’s cock back into his pants and tuck in his shirt before doing so. This was odd not in the fact that it was an affectionate gesture on Francis’ part (that happened more than they both would be willing to admit), but more in the fact that Arthur hadn’t felt a single thing. Someone could have walked up to shoot him dead and he probably wouldn’t have batted an eyelash.

Nice way to go though.

“Look, mon crapet!” Francis pointed out the windshield with a bright smile, prompting Arthur to raise his seat back up and take a look. “The traffic is moving again! See? All you needed was a little…distraction.”

Indeed it was. Whatever obstruction had blocked the way for the last hour must have been gone, because slowly but surely the cars were moving again. People around him were restarting their engines, some waking up from their short naps to the abrupt honking of horns, everyone looking relieved to be making some sort of progress. Of course…there was one small problem…

“You realize, of course, that this is the M25,” Arthur said, raising a playful eyebrow in Francis’ general direction. “In another few kilometers we’ll probably be stopped again.”

“I am fully aware of the deplorable state of your nation’s traffic.” Francis drew his shirt slowly from the confines of his pants, raising it up to expose the enticing lines of his abdomen, the softly jutting planes of his hipbones. Arthur swallowed with difficulty and pretended to focus on the slowly accelerating cars. He’d always loved that little dusting of gold that trailed down to Francis’ cock. “And knowing such I would expect that you might…return the favour, oui?”

Arthur could feel the blush spread hotly across his cheekbones, burning even more intensely when he caught the gaze of a little old lady giving him a thumbs up in the next car over. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he hadn’t been this ashamed since that incident involving his neighbor’s in-ground pool. Nevertheless…

“Only if you let me listen to my Sex Pistols album again.”

A longsuffering sigh. “You drive a hard bargain Monsieur Kirkland.”

He changed the music anyway.



1: Behold the M25 motorway, where my British friend told me a story of how her uncle took 2 hours to go the distance that should have taken 15 minutes. Infamously bad traffic. Tell me of your stories, I love hearing that stuff.

2: They're listening to Mon Paradis by Christophe Mae', which I am completely in love with and feel the need to plug. Go. Download it.

I hope you all enjoy another round of my random storytelling! Loves!


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