Inside. Inside Antoine. He is made of a gentle flame, the sort of fire that lives and breathes and reacts. He tightens like a fist around Maximilien, his whole body rippling. Antoine was strong inside and out, able to bend Maxime to his will, able to make him breathlessly fuck into him, curling over his back. He was gasping in Antoine’s scent, lips mindlessly pressing over the bow of his shoulders and spine. Under them the desk, sturdy and already used, creaks quietly in rhythm with their movements. It choruses with Maximilien’s pants and Antoine’s moans. The desk on which Robespierre has been building the future of Republic is now also supporting Maxime’s ardour. Here he’s one with both himself and with Antoine - who could have been the Revolution. Maximilien kisses the back of his neck, nestles inside of him, entirely intertwined. He feels his heart clench the at same time as he thrusts deeply, hip to hip.
You ever re-read your writing and realize "oh damn, I can do this and actually I'm pretty good at it," but it's in service of fucking French Revolution RPF? :I
Just me? Anyway here's #saintspierre I wrote earlier this year.
