Author's note: I wrote this really quick for myself on my birthday ^_^;


He could feel him shifting beside him on the bed. A pair of arms wrapped around his torso and he tensed up. If you think I'm cuddling with you, you bloody frog…

England nearly squeaked when the other's hands started tracing delicate patterns along his bare skin. He liked to keep the fact that he was a little ticklish to himself, thanks. He tried to pry the hands away, but that only made his bed partner move closer and hold him tighter. Oh for fuck's sake…

He felt helpless, despite being perfectly awake and sober. He tried to wriggle free of the body encasing him, but that only succeeded in making the other man put his leg over his. "Bollocks," England cursed softly, praying that he would be released soon. And then he felt the lips. His eyes widened when he felt those stupid (wonderful) lips on his neck and shoulder blade and he shuddered involuntarily. Off! OFF! GET OFF!

His traitorous body was reacting to the touches and then his partner suddenly decided to roll over. England was now facing the ceiling on top of this man's chest. He tried to get off, but the arms holding him in place were like rocks. "Bloody hell, just let me go!" he growled. He tried shifting his position and was doing pretty well until the other's arms came down and England was now face to, well, chest with his bed mate. He spit out the chest hair that had somehow come into his mouth and scowled, hating his life right then and there.

Here he was, once the greatest empire in the world, now nothing more than a kingdom trapped between French arms and chest hair. He was just daring someone to walk through the door now. They would kill to see him in this position; with this man. England could feel the other's heartbeat now that he was so close. It was a steady, gentle rhythm and it calmed him down. The soft thump-thump was enough to lull him to sleep. The Englishman sighed and closed his eyes.

"I get it, you git," he whispered, lifting his arms as best he could and caressing the side of the stubbly face and soft hair. "Now let me go already."

His partner grinned then and cracked open an eye. "Ah, mais Angleterre, this is so comfy."

"For you," England snarled. He turned his head to see France staring at him. "You just wanted me to hear your heartbeat, yes?"

The Frenchman shrugged. "Peut-être, peut-être pas."

England rolled his eyes. "Bloody confusing French…"

"Oui, but you would not have me any other way."

"Yes, yes. Now will you let me go?" The arms holding him down released him finally and he breathed happily. Then he lowered his mouth to suck at the Frenchman's neck and mumbled, "That shall be—" he licked at the base, earning him a moan "—the one and only time—" moving up, his lips caught the other's in a kiss "—the French will capture the English." He smirked then at the half-lidded blue eyes staring up at him. He made himself comfortable atop the other nation by resting his head under his chin. England could feel both their heartbeats then and smiled softly.

"Nos coeurs battent comme un, mon Anglais," France whispered.

England chuckled with a small blush. "Bloody sap."

If the French isn't right, blame babelfish :/

mais Angleterre - but England
peut-être, peut-être pas - maybe, maybe not
Nos coeurs battent comme un, mon Anglais- our hearts beat as one, my Englishman