Don't you love it when all of a sudden words start writing themselves in your head? And then, before you know it, you have a nice fic on your hands, without any nasty writer's block, or the like? Well, that was this fic for me.
This does imply that the characters are very close to doing it. For that there is a safety rating of PG-15, even though nothing really bad happens.
Disclaimer: Still don't own Hetalia people, understand?
Canada whimpered, feeling France's fingers running over his flushed, warm skin and linger there, their trail making shivers run up and down his spine and his eyes filled with tears instantly.
Francis heard the whimpers, the silent call for attention, for help, and leaned in close, kissing all over Canada's cheeks lightly, lingering only to lick teardrops away from reddened cheeks.
"Mon petit Mathieu, qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Dis-moi, s'il te plaît, je veux t'aider. Mathieu." He breathed, hot air blown in Canada's ear in simple sweet nothings that did nothing to calm the boy.
Canada was shivering, because he wasn't sure he could take it. He loved Francis, fully and truly loved him, and missed him, but the attention was too much, the touches too great. He curled into himself, head falling into France's warm, bare chest, and stayed completely still, mind at a crossroads and every little voice yelling something different at him.
Francis could feel Matthew checking out, hiding, and so a finger found it's way to the underside of the boy's chin, gently stroking the flesh there before nudging his face up.
Watery, wet violet eyes reluctantly met concerned, cerulean ones, and instantly closed again, his head turning away and a cheek burying itself in the bedspread. Francis sighed under his breath, wanting Matthew to open to him, to tell him. Something. Anything.
"Mathieu…" Experienced hands were down Canada's sides, barely pressing into the skin and making him want to beg for more and scream for stop. It wasn't that he didn't want this, or that he did, he was just confused, and lost, and scared that Francis was going to leave again. Francis had been there, once, giving him affection when he was a child in the form of goodnight kisses and tender, loving hugs, everything the toddling infant had needed but then he left.
He left and England came; England, who was not as much affectionate as possessive, not as caring as controlling. His visits were spent making sure Canada knew who was boss and who colony, and the only affection Matthew ever received, he knew was a precaution England make sure to take so that he would not have another America on his hands. Canada felt betrayed, but betrayal was shoved aside by longing and desire. He needed to be touched, to be noticed, to be loved, and if it meant this, than so be it.
But there was one part of his mind that was not on board; not ready to be touched this way right now and it scared him, made him want to shove France and run, call England, tell him that France had come and 'don't you even love me, England? Am I just a replacement, a prize to wave in Francis' face when you've had enough to drink that your gentleman mask melts off, a second America that you can hold over my brother- WHAT AM I TO YOU?'
Matthew choked back a sob, and Francis could not longer even attempt the intimacy the teen had requested from him. His hands wrapped around Canada's back, pulled him in close, one moving to adjust the boy's face so that he cried into his chest. And Canada broke, pressing harder and harder into France, feeling the Frenchman's heartbeat shake him, and a hand in his hair comfortingly, the way it had been after a particularly shaking nightmare when he was no taller than France's kneecaps.
"Shhhh, mon petit, je suis ici. Je suis avec toi. Je t'aime mon petit. Calme-toi, s'il te plaît. Shhh, shhhh…"
More comforting sweet nothings, and France's gentle whispers were finally starting to register in Canada's mind. The boy was relaxing in his hold, guilt replacing fear as Matthew realized what he'd done.
"J-je suis… désolé. Je suis désolé, François. Pardonne-moi… pardonne-moi…-"
"Shhh… mon coeur, je l'ai déjà fait. Je t'aime, Mathieu, je t'aimerai toujours."
And it was in that instant that Francis had decided; Arthur was going to pay dearly for this.
Translations and Notes:
"Mon petit Mathieu, qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Dis-moi, s'il te plaît, je veux t'aider. Mathieu.": My little Matthew, what is it? Tell me, please, I want to help you. Matthew.
"Shhhh, mon petit, je suis ici. Je suis avec toi. Je t'aime mon petit. Calme-toi , s'il te plaît. Shhh, shhhh…": Shhhhh, my little one, I'm here. I'm with you. I love you, my little one. Calm yourself, please.
"J-je suis… désolé. Je suis désolé, François. pardonne-moi… pardonne-moi…-" :I-I'm...sorry. I'm sorry, Francis. Forgive me... forgive me...
"Shhh… mon coeur, je l'ai déjà fait. Je t'aime, Mathieu, je t'aimerai toujours.": Shhh...my heart, I already have. I love you, Matthew, I will always love you.
Originally, this was more of a "France convinces teen!Canada to have sex with him, Canada agrees even though it's obvious he's not ready for it, and then starts to have his doubts". It was more of a 'just shy of rape' thing. As I was writing it sort of morphed, and wrote itself. For those who might be left confused, Canada, feeling neglected, asks France to have sex with him when the Frenchman sneaks in for a visit, and then starts to realize he doesn't want this kind of affection. It's rather heart-breaking, I think... sorry.
Thanks to lj user nuitari_aquariu for correcting my fail!French. And, as always, I'm going to ask you to review if you made it this far, and tell me what you think!!