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The morning after America’s Christmas party was slow; everyone had drunk themselves past reason. France and England were no exception, their unusually close behavior the night before leaving the others exchanging awkward glances. The two of them had spent the entire night practically glued together, hands intertwined, refusing to let the other out of sight, not even for a trip to the bathroom. At one point, they were even caught feeding each other. It was an unsettling sight, especially for the Allies, who had always assumed the two men were sworn enemies.
When England finally opened his eyes that morning, he found France’s head tucked against his chest, strong arms wrapped securely around him, and their legs tangled together. Dark, reddish marks dotted France’s neck and collarbone—hickeys England vaguely remembered leaving. For a moment, he simply watched the calm rise and fall of France’s breathing, almost reluctant to disturb him. Almost. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing in my bed?’ England muttered under his breath.
France's arms tightened around him, pulling England closer until he gave a muffled grunt against the blond’s chest. Irritated, he shook him awake. "Why the bloody hell are you in my bed?" England snapped as France blinked groggily awake. "Why are you always so angry in the morning?" France smirked, burying his face deeper against England, inhaling the faint scent of tea and soap clinging to him. "You—what is wrong with you!" England exclaimed, a betraying blush rising on his cheeks. "I'm not the one shouting," France murmured, pressing a lazy nip against England's neck, far too pleased with himself.
France brushed a soft kiss against England's cheek, openly admiring the way his face scrunched into that familiar pout. “Don’t look at me like that,” France teased, lips curling into a grin. “You know it turns me on.” England's eyes widened, a sharp gasp escaping as his entire face flushed crimson, the red spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.
England decided that if France was going to tease him, he might as well return the favor. “Maybe I want to turn you on,” he smirked, watching France’s eyes darken with desire. Before either could think twice, they closed the distance, sharing their first sober kiss, lips meeting in a tentative, electric press.
They kept kissing messily, sleepily, and completely uncoordinated. France's skilled hands explored England's body top to bottom, rubbing and caressing his sensitive bulge, rubbing his nubs at England, making him squirm and mutter in protest. England whined out, looking at the look in France's eyes. He couldn't believe he was doing this with the man he believed he knew he hated, but deep, deep down he didn't hate France; quite the opposite, he was in love with France, but like hell he'd show it.
"Are you going to be good for me, yeah?" France murmured into England’s ear, teasing it with a gentle nip. “Mhm… yes, I’ll be good for you,” England whined, a mix of embarrassment and amusement in his voice. His hands wrapped around France, who was now straddling him on the bed, pinning him gently. It was a beautiful sight. “That’s good,” France murmured, pressing a soft kiss along England’s jawline.
England pulled France closer, wrapping his legs tightly around the other’s waist. His hands fumbled with the buttons of France’s shirt until it finally slipped open, revealing the soft trail of hair across his chest. England blinked, his face heating despite himself. "Nice sight, huh?" France teased, leaning back with a lazy grin, clearly amused at the way England’s eyes lingered. "D-Don’t flatter yourself," England muttered, though his blush betrayed him. France chuckled, brushing his fingers through England’s messy hair. "Mon dieu… You really are adorable when you’re flustered." England scoffed, trying to turn his face away, only for France to tilt his chin back toward him with infuriating gentleness.
England slowly worked at the buttons of his own shirt, revealing skin stained with faint love-mark reminders of their drunken haze the night before. His cheeks burned hot under the realization and even hotter under the weight of France’s gaze. France’s blue eyes swept over him, not shy in the least, brimming with a hungry sort of affection that made England’s stomach twist.
France dipped his head, gently nipping at England’s neck where the marks already bloomed, making England squirm under the attention. He felt rough fingers slowly rub his sensitive pink nubs. "Does it feel good?" France whispered hot breath coating England's ear, "So good, mmh." England moaned out, not caring anymore about how France would perceive him.
France drank in the sight of England's newly exposed skin, lips curling into a wicked grin. "It seems you're a bit... marked up from last night. I must have been quite enthusiastic in my attentions, no? Though I suspect you were rather enthusiastic yourself, cher."
He leaned in, dragging his fingertips across one of the vivid hickeys adorning England's collarbone, watching with satisfaction as England shuddered and let out a shaky breath. "I thought I told you not to let me drink too much. You didn't listen so well, did you, mon amour?"
England's blush deepened at the nickname, even as he tried to squirm out from under France's touch. "Don't call me that, you miserable git. And I warned you; you were the one who kept pouring the bloody champagne!"
France just laughed, a rich, warm sound that made England's stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with any lingering intoxication. "You're so cute when you're flustered like this, mon coeur. I can't help myself."
He dipped his head, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin of England's neck, nipping lightly before soothing the sting with a languid lick. "Besides... I seem to recall you enjoying my 'attentions' immensely last night. The way you cried out for me, the taste of you on my tongue... it's branded my memory."
England made a choked noise, his grip tightening on France's shoulders as he felt himself start to harden, the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against his trousers. "You're insufferable," he panted, even as his hips twitched upwards, seeking more of that delicious friction.
France just smirked against his skin, one hand sliding down to cup England through his clothes, squeezing gently. "And you're utterly delicious, mon chéri. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you."
He captured England's mouth again, kissing him deeply, filthily, until they were both breathless and aching with want. "Tell me you don't want this," France challenged softly, his voice a low rasp against England's ear. "Tell me you don't crave my touch, my taste, the feeling of me inside you."
England swallowed thickly, his mouth trembled, and his voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I can't..."
France smiled, a slow, wicked curl of his lips against England's skin. "That's what I thought, mon amour. Now, let me show you what else these hands can do..."
His fingers deftly undid the fastenings of England's pants, slipping inside to wrap around his hard, aching length. England gasped, his hips jerking up off the bed as France started to stroke him slowly, teasingly.
"Does that feel good, cher?" France purred, his thumb rubbing over the weeping head, smearing the bead of moisture there. "Do you like the way I touch you, the way I make you feel?"
England could only whimper in response, his grip on France's shoulders tightening as pleasure sparked through him with every pump of France's hand. He was already so close, his body wound tight and ready to snap.
France leaned in, his lips brushing against England's ear as he whispered, "I want to taste you, mon coeur. I want to feel you come undone in my mouth, to swallow every last drop of your release. May I?"
He punctuated the question with a particularly firm squeeze, making England cry out, his body arching up off the bed. In that moment, he would have given France anything he asked for and would have let him do whatever he wanted to this willing, desperate body.
But all England could manage was a breathless, broken, "Please..."
And that was enough for France. More than enough. "As you wish, mon amour," he murmured, already shifting down the bed, settling between England's spread thighs.
He looked up at England as he licked a long stripe up his length, from base to tip, savoring the taste of him. "You taste divine, cher. I could feast on you for hours and never be satisfied."
Then he took him into his mouth, swallowing him down to the hilt, and England lost the ability to think, to breathe, and to do anything but feel. And oh, did he feel.
He felt France's mouth work over his aching cock, felt his tongue swirl around the sensitive head, dipping into the slit to lap up the salty-sweet essence leaking there. He felt the tight He felt the tight clutch of France's throat around him, the way it fluttered and squeezed as he swallowed around his length. It was too much, too good, and England knew he wouldn't last long like this.*
His hands flew to France's hair, fisting in the dark locks as he fought the urge to thrust up into that welcoming heat. France just hummed around him, the vibrations shooting sparks of electricity up England's spine.
"Fuck, France..." England gasped out, his voice ragged and desperate. "I'm going to... I can't... ah!"
He came with a hoarse cry, his back arching as pleasure exploded through him, white hot and all-consuming. His cock pulsed and throbbed as he spilled himself down France's throat, wave after wave of release crashing over him.
France swallowed it all, not spilling a single drop as he worked England through his climax, his throat convulsing around him. When the last shuddering aftershock faded, he slowly pulled off, licking his lips with a satisfied smirk.
"Exquisite," he purred, crawling back up England's body to capture his mouth in a searing kiss. England could taste himself on France's tongue, the flavor of his own release mingling with the unique essence that was purely France.
"You're trying to kill me, you bastard," England accused breathlessly when they finally parted, his chest heaving. "First you fuck me stupid with champagne, then you do this..."
France just laughed, a low, rich sound that made England's spent body thrum with renewed interest. "Kill you with pleasure, you mean. And I'm far from done with you yet, mon amour. The day is still young, after all."
He rolled his hips meaningfully, and England could feel the hard, heavy length of him pressing against his thigh. It seemed France was just as aroused by their activities as he was.
"You're insatiable," England muttered, even as his own treacherous cock gave a valiant twitch of interest. "I don't know if I can keep up with you."
"Challenge accepted," France grinned, his eyes glinting with wicked promise. "But first..."
He leaned in to whisper hotly in England's ear, "I think it's time I had my turn, no?
With a sudden, swift motion, France flipped England onto his stomach, pushing him down into the mattress. He straddled England's hips a moment later, gripping them firmly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
England felt the blunt, hard press of France's arousal against his backside, the thick length of him nestling between his cheeks. He gasped, his body tensing for a moment before he forced himself to relax, to surrender to France's touch.
France guided himself with a sure, confident hand, the swollen head of his cock pushing insistently against England's tightly furled entrance. England bit his lip, a muffled whimper escaping him as he felt the stretching, the burning sensation of that initial breach.
Slowly, steadily, France pushed forward, the thick girth of him parting England's walls, sinking into the clutching heat of his body inch by delicious inch. England panted harshly into the sheets, his fingers scrabbling at the fabric as he was filled, utterly and completely, by France's hard, throbbing cock.
"Fuck, cher..." France groaned, his voice a low, guttural rasp. "You feel incredible, like you were made for me." His hips met England's backside with a soft slap of skin on skin, signaling his full, deep penetration.
England could only moan in response, his body quivering with the intensity of the sensation, the overwhelming fullness inside him. He'd never felt so complete, so utterly claimed, and it both thrilled and terrified him.
France started to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside, before surging forward again, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, powerful thrust. He set a steady rhythm, each snap of his hips driving the breath from England's lungs, forcing him to gasp and pant with the force of his possession.
"That's it, mon amour," France panted, one hand fisting in England's hair, the other gripping his hip hard enough to leave bruises. "Take it, take my cock. You're mine, all mine..."
He punctuated each word with a sharp, deep thrust, grinding his pelvis against England's backside, stirring his cock inside him until England was writhing beneath him, lost to the pleasure, lost to the feeling of being so thoroughly, so completely taken.
England could only cry out, a broken, desperate sound torn from his throat as France pounded into him, each thrust driving him closer to the edge of oblivion. The pleasure was unlike anything he'd ever known, intense and overwhelming, consuming him utterly.
"Fuck, France!" he gasped out, his voice ragged and hoarse. "I can't... I'm going to... ah!"
His body tensed, back arching as his release crashed over him like a tidal wave. He came with a hoarse scream, his untouched cock pulsing and jerking as it spilled hot and thick over the sheets beneath him. The sensation of England's walls clenching and fluttering around him was too much for France, and with a guttural groan, he followed his lover over the edge.
France's hips jerked and stuttered as he found his own release, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he emptied himself deep inside England's clenching heat. He collapsed against England's back, his weight pressing England into the mattress, their sweat-slicked skin sticking together as they both gasped for breath in the aftermath.
"Mon dieu," France panted, his voice a low, ragged rasp against the sweat-damp skin of England's neck. "That was... you were... exquisite, cher."
England could only hum in weak agreement, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his intense climax. He'd never experienced anything like that before, never felt so utterly claimed, so completely owned. It was terrifying and thrilling, and he knew he was lost, utterly and completely lost to France.
They lay like that for long moments, France's softening cock still nestled inside England, their bodies pressed close, until their breathing slowed and steadied. Finally, with a soft groan, France rolled off of England, his weight lifting from England's back. England immediately missed the warmth, the solid press of France's body against his own.
He rolled over to face France, his cheek still flushed and his eyes bright with lingering passion. France smiled at him, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips that made England's stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with their recent activities.
After their intense lovemaking, the two men lay entwined in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of their shared passion. France gently brushed England's sweat-damp hair back from his forehead, his fingertips tracing the delicate lines of his lover's face with tender affection."That was incredible, mon amour," France murmured softly, his blue eyes warm and filled with adoration as he gazed down at England. "You are incredible." He leaned in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to England's temple, his lips lingering against the soft skin.England blushed at the sweet gesture, his heart fluttering in his chest. He nuzzled into France's touch, savoring the feeling of those strong yet gentle fingers caressing his skin. "You're not so bad yourself, you dick," he teased, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.France chuckled. He rolled onto his side, pulling England with him until they were facing each other, their noses nearly touching. England's breath caught at the intimacy of the moment, at the way France was looking at him with such open, vulnerable affection."Stay with me, cher," France whispered, his thumb brushing over England's lower lip, tracing the shape of it with a tenderness that made England's heart ache. "Stay in my arms; let me hold you close. I don't ever want to let you go."England swallowed thickly, his eyes stinging with unshed tears at the raw emotion in France's voice. He knew he should pull away, should put up his walls and maintain the hostile front he'd always shown to the world, but he found he couldn't. Not with France looking at him like that, not when he felt so safe, so cherished in his arms."I don't want to go anywhere," England admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to stay here, in your arms, forever. I want to be yours, always."France's eyes lit up at England's words, a sweet smile spreading across his handsome face. He leaned in to capture England's lips in a slow, sensual kiss, pouring all of his love, all of his devotion into the gentle press of his mouth against his lover's own.