Author's note: Why is it that when I only want to write fluff for these two it ends up as smut? And phonesex at that XD So yeah, another France/England fic because I LOVE them and I love writing them together. Snarky, bickering couples is what I'm good at ;D I own nothing but the plot~


There are times when England wakes up to horrible dreams. Because his imagination is so vast and unending, his dreams tend to be much more interesting and/or frightening. He considers it a curse rather than a miracle. Sometimes he sees things he does not and would never want to see again – things he can't repeat to anyone else because they are too horrible.

This night in particular frightened him and he ended up waking up in a cold sweat. He glanced at the clock and groaned. Only two o'clock in the morning. He ran a hand through his hair and laid himself back down on his side. Just a dream, he thought as he closed his eyes. An hour later had him sitting up in bed again, this time a fresh blush on his cheeks. "Goddammit," he murmured. "Stupid bastard even invades my dreams now…"

He curled up under the blankets and sighed heavily. He wanted his sleep, dammit! He closed his eyes and prayed that he would dream of unicorns and faeries and a wondrous world where he could frolic with them all. It was a short-lived dream on account that an unwanted visitor appeared…again. England wanted to hit something as he lay awake, staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes. "I'll fucking kill him," he hissed.

He had absolutely no reason to be dreaming about him anyway. Just because the lunatic had asked for a marriage between them shouldn't mean he now had to have dreams with him. England rubbed at his eyes and turned over. The minute he closed his eyes, there he was; in a half-open shirt, tight pants that left nothing to the imagination, and a rose between his teeth. "Mon cher, won't you join with me?" His voice was low and sultry and so damn sensual and it echoed around them.

England wasn't sure why he wasn't waking up. This dream wasn't going to lead anywhere good. But he was curious. "I'd rather drink poison," his dream self replied with a smirk.

The blonde man's smiling face did not waver. "Surely poison cannot make you feel as I do."

"You mean like I just swallowed a frog? Oh I'm sure there's a poison like that somewhere…"

The insults didn't appear to reach the Frenchman and it was starting to irritate England more and more. France kept getting closer and closer until his body was pressed flush against the other's and his stubble chin was touching his face. "I ache for you, mon cher."

England was blushing now and trying not to notice the bulge in France's pants. "Keep aching then, you git."

It seemed that no matter what he said, France would still continue to come at him. England realized he could very easily wake up and forget about this dream. But he was still curious. France's lips were on his neck, licking and sucking gently and making him toss his head back. His skillful lips moved to the exposed throat now and England gasped while arching his back. It felt good, as much as he wanted to deny it. France's hands were holding his waist firmly before reaching to undo the belt. The blonde continued his assault on his neck while moving lower to the collarbone. He unbuttoned England's shirt one button at a time.

The dream was taking a turn for the worst and yet he still did not want to wake up this time. Outside of the dream, England's right hand was drifting under the covers and over to his arousal. Back in the dream and France was on his knees now, slowly pulling the Englishman's pants down and massaging the shaft with his expert hand. England let out a soft, keening moan when France enveloped his cock in his mouth. He realized he should really wake up now, but the feelings were so intense and as France's mouth (his own hand) pleased him, he couldn't stop. This horrible dream had somehow become an erotic fantasy and he did not want to wake up.

France knew just what to do to make him weak in the knees; A delicate lick here, an intense suck there. Back in the real world, England was panting and sweating and tossing his head back into his pillows as he arched up off the bed. "God…Francis…more," he pleaded, moving his hand faster.

France began to bob his head and massage his balls. It was becoming so intense that England was having a hard time remembering what was fantasy and what was reality. The Frenchman's tongue was doing fantastic things to him and making him impatient. His toes were flexing in his bed as he stroked himself wildly, knowing he was on the edge. Just a little more… France deep-throated him then and England felt his body convulse and shiver. He cried out as he came, warm and sticky into France's mouth (his hand). He woke up promptly, blushing and satisfied. He'd never had such an intense orgasm before in his life…and he'd been dreaming of France the entire time.

"Bloody idiot," he growled, taking deep breaths and grabbing a tissue to clean his hand. He stared at the phone beside his bed and bit his lip. He wouldn't be awake now anyway…

He picked it up and stared at the numbers that seemed to be mocking him. This is stupid, I'm not calling him. He almost put the phone down too before cursing and dialing France's number. He was almost praying the other wouldn't pick up.

"…Who is it?" His voice made England tense up.

"It's me," he replied quietly.

"…Arthur, I know your brain is tiny, but can you not see the time?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course I can see the time, idiot." Why had he called again?

"Then why have you called me at such an ungodly hour?"



England was feeling nervous now. Oh God, there's something wrong with me, he thought despairingly. "Nevermind, I forgot." Shitshitshitshitshit!

"…You forgot?"

"Yeah. Sorry for calling so early."

He would have hung up if France hadn't mumbled, "You're lying."

"I am not!" he snapped into the receiver, feeling his blush come back and his pants tighten. He heard the rustling of fabric and held his breath.

"I have known you for centuries, Arthur. I know when you are lying."

Not having an answer to that, he merely snorted. He wanted to ignore the tingling feeling he got whenever France spoke.

"So, what is it you wish to tell me? It must have been important for you to call me of all people."

"I had a dream." There. He said it.

"…a dream?"


"Well, how lovely. I was just dreaming about this young maid I just hired—"

"You were in it."

France stopped talking and there was a brief pause. "You dreamed of moi?" He could practically see the grin on his face. England wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him.

"It's not like I wanted to!" he protested, shifting in his bed. "You just appeared and—"


"N-Nothing. That was all."


Fuck. When he said his name like that, suddenly his pants became tighter. He shifted the phone to his left hand and reached down under the covers to let his right hand stroke his throbbing erection. "What?" He wanted to keep his voice steady, but that was proving difficult. He panted softly as his thumb brushed over the head.

"What is that noise?"

"What noise?" Crap, could he hear?

"…are you…masturbating?"

"No! Of course not! Why would I? Bloody pervert…" But as he said that, he pumped himself hard and mewled.

"You are."

"N-No I'm not!"

France sighed. "Bâtard corné…" England wanted to snap back, but was cut off. "You are touching yourself, oui?"


"Good. Now imagine it is me."

England blushed furiously. "I'm not going to wank to you!"

"Oh? You did not call me for this then?"

"Why would I—?"

"Imagine that my hand is stroking you."

…so suddenly?! But England closed his eyes and he could picture it so well. France's wonderful hands were touching him and—

"Now finger yourself. Imagine it is my cock."

England wanted to scream. He could not believe he was allowing himself to have phone sex with his enemy. He placed the phone down on his bed and stuck his butt into the air. He sucked on his middle finger before very carefully sticking it in. He moaned slightly and closed his eyes, seeing France behind him and fucking him into the mattress. "Mmf…Francis…" he whimpered. His other hand stroked at his arousal as he waited for his next instructions.

"Does it feel good, mon cher?"

"Y-Yes…! My God…"

"Squeeze the head, imagine it is me."


"You are almost there, oui?" England groaned loudly and France chuckled. "Keep going. I want to hear you cum."

His finger moved faster and deeper and his hand pumped his cock harder and pretty soon, England released all over the phone. He cried out with a moan and collapsed beside the dirty phone. He heard a faint moan on the other end and smirked slightly. "Bloody wanker," he sneered.

"It takes one to know one," France hissed back while panting.