The tea kettle whistled loudly as Matthew turned the corner into the kitchen. He hummed happily to himself as he gathered the necessary tools to fix his guest a drink. The silver footed press sat waiting with freshly obliterated beans in the bottom. Two simple coffee cups perched beside it, as well as a miniscule pitcher of cream, a bowl of sugar, and a tiny mug of the most delightful, fresh maple syrup. Loading all the items onto a simple tray, he poured the steaming water into the press, and carried the tray into the sitting room.
"Merci, mon cher."
Francis radiated a smile toward Matthew as he presented the tray to the Frenchman. Matthew smiled a childlike grin back and took his seat.
"So, Mathieu, what has been occupying your time as of late?"
"U-um....chess." Matthew's dewy voice spoke just above a whisper.
Francis elegantly arched a brow. Chess...now this could be interesting.
"Do you enjoy this game?" Matthew nodded sincerely. "How long have you been playing?"
Matthew began counting in his head, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he bit his lower lip gently. "About 15 years, I think."
The Frenchman lifted his brows in mock surprise. "That's quite a while. I suppose you play well then?
Matthew smiled genuinely. "Yes."
The plunger on the press was initiated, and two mugs were filled with fresh, hot, sweet smelling coffee. "W-would you care f-for cream or s-s-sugar Francis?" A kind smile fell across the Frenchman's lips. "Non, Merci." Matthew added a teaspoon of sugar, and a large dollop of maple syrup before returning his conversation to the aforementioned game.
"D-do you p-play chess, F-francis?"
Francis concealed his grin behind his cup. "A bit." He took a sip before gingerly settling the mug between his hands on his lap.
Matthew beamed. "Would you like to p-play with me?"
Francis chuckled darkly before replying. "Oh Mathieu, you have no idea how much I would enjoy playing with you."
The Canadian entirely missing the double entendre in the Frenchman's statement, hopped up to go retrieve the chess set from the other room. The game board was displayed on the table between the two men, and each took their place to begin the battle at hand.
It was decided that Matthew would represent the white and Francis the black. Game play began smoothly enough, interjected with questions from the Frenchman about movements of particular pieces. The Canadian all too happily answered each question in breathy detail splashing his knowledge of the game into each explanation. Francis appeared to play quite poorly, which entertained the Canadian to a high degree. On occasion, Francis would capture a pawn that strayed just within reach, but the majority of the annihilated pieces to the side were black. The game continued, but ended quite quickly when Francis made a rather silly mistake, which Matthew quickly acted upon, throwing the game into check, and mate.
Laughing a cheery chuckle, Francis asked if perhaps he would mind playing again so that the Frenchman could have an opportunity to redeem himself. The kind hearted Canadian couldn't refuse, so he reset the board, and Francis attacked his opportunity.
"Mathieu, why don't we make this round more....exciting?"
The Canadian grin radiated. "Sure! What did you have in mind, Francis?"
Francis simply smirked and made his unceremonious suggestion. Canadian eyes exploded wide. It took him a moment to register the idea that had been presented. Francis wanted to play...strip chess? Matthew had heard of things like strip poker, but never strip chess. Pink flushed his pale cheeks as he thought about the idea. He would certainly beat the Frenchman, so it wasn't as though he would end up without his clothing. He was also nonplussed about Francis being nude, as he had seen that several times in his life, too. Something was nagging him in the back of his mind. He couldn't place it, but he was snapped out of his pondering by the smirk and subsequent chuckle of the man before him.
"I see you are afraid you will loose."
The Canadian's pacific blue eyes darkened to a rather dangerous gray. "I am not." The merry giggle of the Frenchman only added to his indignation.
"You can not beat me again." Francis was dangling the bait ever lower in front of Matthew's nose.
"I...I can too!" Matthew gurgled indignantly. Francis smirked over his coffee cup before taking another sip.
So began the game. The opening moves of any chess game are generally quite dry and uneventful, but that was shattered quickly in this setting. After a short few moves, Matthew had captured the first of Francis' pawns, and so the latter was removing his first piece of clothing. It was rather unsettling for Matthew to watch as Francis removed his slate gray coat. Every move the Frenchman made was so fluid and sensual. Snapping back to reality, Matthew groaned lightly as Francis captured a white pawn in retaliation. Rolling his eyes, he slipped quickly out of his hooded sweatshirt.
Play rolled on. A pawn here, another there. A bishop, and an unlucky knight later, Francis was devoid of his linen shirt, his rust colored trousers, his shoes and his socks. Sitting before a very red Canadian was Francis, clad only in his undergarment which was a, rather miniature, representation of the French tricolor.
Matthew could hardly keep his curious eyes focused on the game in front of him. He had nearly lost another piece while gawking at Francis. It was only by sheer luck that he managed to save it in time, thus eliminating the knight.
It was Francis' move. Uncurling long fingers, he grasped his remaining bishop, sliding it diagonally along the board before stopping at Matty's unguarded knight. Smirking lightly, Francis snatched the piece off the board and looked up at the Canadian. Eyes wide, Matthew blinked a few times before slumping slightly, and removing his socks.
Matthew moved his piece, and play turned to the other. Francis laughed wickedly in his mind. This was all going according to his plan. He moved a piece delicately and captured a white pawn.
Slapping his palm to his forehead, Matthew frowned and began roughly removing his shirt which was emblazoned with a maple leaf.
Now entirely miffed, the Canadian furrowed his brow in concentration before moving his next piece. Nodding happily after it was placed, he looked up to notice glee twinkling in the Frenchman's cerulean eyes. Before Matthew had time to consider it, another of his army was captured. Jaw dropping in frustration, the Canadian huffed quietly and unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them off his narrow hips, wriggling out of the legs and pitching them into a heap on the floor. The playing field was even now. Both men were only wearing one article of clothing apiece. Whomever captured the next piece was the winner.
Matthew studied the game board and the remaining pieces carefully. He was now determined to beat the man before him. After three minutes of surveying, he made up his mind. Reaching out a small pale hand, he picked up his piece, made his move, and exhaled slightly. There was no way he was going to loose. It was an excellent move. Francis eyed the placement of the chess piece for a brief moment, before he picked up his piece and responded.
Matthew dammed his breath in his body, waiting, frozen. Once Francis placed his piece, he sighed with relief. He had not lost anymore pieces. It was once again his turn. Already knowing what piece he as aiming for, he made his move quickly and closed the gap. Francis was already moving his piece before Matthew had time to register his own move.
Matthew stopped. What!? Check? That couldn't be right. Looking down to his own area of the board, it was certainly true. He was in check. The problem was that there was absolutely nothing he could do to save himself. He had already lost. Eyes drifting up slowly, Matthew noted the look of planned triumph on Francis' face. Slumping sadly, the Canadian stretched out a long finger and flicked his king to the board.
Feeling and looking utterly defeated, he tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and began to slide them down, but stopped when warm hands were placed on top of his own.
Tense, excited breathing was heard along with the reply. "Non."
Sweeping the smaller man into his embrace, Francis held Matthew close, long fingers laced through glowing locks, and curved into the small of his back. Capturing his lips in a strong, passionate kiss, Francis slicked his warm wet tongue along Matthew's plump bottom lip. Giving in to the desire to taste him more fully, the Canadian opened his mouth. Tongues battling wildly, thrashing and dancing passionately, the two melted together. Matthew could taste the fresh coffee as well as a hint of something he could only identify as pure essence of Francis. His taste and scent were intoxicating. Matthew noted with embarrassment that he had grown aroused during this passionate embrace, and was now doing everything he could to avoid looking Francis in his clear blue eyes. The Frenchman, who noted his avoidance was observing him quizzically, before he felt the reason for the embarrassed flush painting Matthew's face. A smirk filled Francis' eyes as he held the man tighter and sneakily began brushing his fingers along the clothed partial erection.
Shuddering at the faint touch, Matthew swallowed a moan before it could escape. Even with the efforts he was making, it was painfully obvious how much he was enjoying the slight attention that was being given to him. A shiver tore through the small frame causing his knees to wobble. Francis tightened his arms around the quaking form and slipped a hand under his chin tipping it up to capture the sweet lips in another embrace.
Throughout the passion, Francis steadily inched them toward the bedroom. Too wrapped up in feeling, Matthew didn't realize the change in scenery until the back of his legs bumped into the bed corner. Breaking for air, both heavily panting, Matthew leaned forward to latch his lips on an unguarded ear. Lavishing the tender flesh with his tongue and nipping gently, he retracted. Purple eyes burned with lust as he gazed at Francis. "Baise moi."
A tidal wave broke over the Frenchman's body upon hearing that comment from the usually shy man before him. It took only a breath for both bodies to be draped on the bed, undergarments tossed unceremoniously on the floor.
Exploration began, but the expedition was short. Neither man wanted to prolong their desire for much longer. Francis spread luxurious kisses from forehead to navel, stopping only to entice pink nipples to firmness. Traveling lower, his tongue flicked the tip of a very hard Canadian, earning an impressive moan. Both leaking erections twitched at the sound, and neither could stand much more teasing.
Matthew was unsure when Francis had found the bottle of lube, but he heard the cap click closed before a long finger was swimming around his opening, begging for entrance. Slipping in easily, the finger was almost immediately joined by a second. Gliding slowly in and out, Matthew squirmed, wanting more. He began to feel slight changes as Francis moved his fingers so to spread muscle, but it wasn't enough. A slight gasp sounded as a third finger was added, the ring of muscle having a momentary spasm in attempt to expel the intrusion. It took very little time for the relaxation to occur, and Matthew was rocking wantonly into the fingers at his entrance. A whimper sounded as the fingers were removed, but in moments they were replaced by something much more substantial.
Legs were pressed back, and Francis held his breath as his head breached the wall below, the tightness engulfing him. Leading his aching length in slowly he waited and watched the face below. Slight distress clouded Matthew's face, but disappeared just as quickly as it manifested. Once fully sheathed, Francis waited a moment for the signal to begin. Hazy purple eyes drifted open and a flushed, panting nod was given.
Pulling back lightly, Francis pressed in again. A slight gurgle was heard pouring over Canadian lips. "Please....more." A low rumbling groan was heard as the Frenchman happily obliged. The thrusts were deepened, and it only took three before the Canadian's eyes snapped shut, his back arching and a sensual moan erupted. A silky chuckle could be heard above. "There you are...." Francis made sure to brush the prostate again, earning a similar response.
Hardly able to control himself after hearing the uncharacteristically loud sound from Matthew, Francis snaked a hand out to grasp the quivering erection between them. Stroking in time with each thrust, Francis was awarded with a cry for each. Orgasm was gaining speed. In a few mere thrusts, Matthew came hard spurting thick white cum between them, pulsing with each continued thrust below. One word uttered between moans and gasps: Francis. After watching the ecstasy above, and feeling it below, Francis came as well, filling the tight space. He bit his lip, but was unable to hold back a choked utterance: Mathieu.
Slipping gently out of the pale body, Francis leaned close and whispered to the exhausted man. "I suppose I should have told you that I'm a world champion chess player."
Lavender eyes snapped open, and Matthew glared at the Cerulean eyes above. "Why you..." The contort was cut off as pale pink lips were captured in a gentle kiss. Sighing lightly, Matthew giggled to himself before he replied. "I suppose I'll just have to have a few more lessons, eh?"