Story Title: deep fried
Rated: R because Francis fails to communicate properly unless horizontal
Status: Complete || 200+
Summary: [Francis/Alfred] Some arguments are questions of honor, and others are just plain ridiculous. This one was both.
Steve's Notes: Written for mochalatt3, because I love her. She requested Francis/Alfred hate sex, with a surprise.
Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Himaruya Hidekazu

"So," Francis smirks as he snaps his hips forward. His anger remains in the hard corners of his mouth, the blunt edge of his nails, and the relentless push push push of his thrusts. "Que—s'appellent—ils?"

"Fuck you," Alfred spits, digs his heels into the dip of Francis' lower back, but arches his back as Francis' cock scrapes his prostate. A strangled moan fills the air, filtered through stubborn, clenched teeth.

"Mon—plaisir," Francis retorts. He shifts high onto his knees, pulling Alfred's lower torso higher, and slaps the heavy curve where his buttock meets his thigh. Alfred's traitorous throat lets out a high, strangled keen. "You are—getting—fat."

"You're French!"

Francis rolls his eyes. "Très astucieux."

They don't speak after that, except in grunts and moans and curses. When they're close, Francis spits into his palm, reaches between them, and pulls pulls pulls on Alfred, twisting his wrist around his head, until Alfred says "Jesus Christ" and trembles around and beneath Francis as though all the nerves in his body misfired instantaneously. Francis follows him, biting his brutal satisfaction into the meat of Alfred's broad shoulder.

Then, after their hearts stopped thundering, Alfred says petulantly, "They're still Freedom fries."

Translation Notes:
Que s'appellent-ils?: What are they called?
Mon plaisir: My pleasure
Très astucieux: Very astute

end.