Author's note: Writer's block is still kind of with me right now, but I managed to write this and start a new multi-chaptered fic, so I'm posting :D So after my newfound love for France erupted, I felt like writing a story where England realizes just how attractive France really is. I channeled my feelings onto Iggy once more =3=


He was beautiful.

England was surprised he hadn't realized it sooner. Sure, he'd been pretty when he had been younger, but that wasn't the same as being beautiful. He let his hands weave into the soft blonde hair, watching the expression on the other nation's face. Blue eyes stared back at him, watching him curiously. England leaned down, tracing his fingers along the golden skin. And then he traced those lips, full of such vulgar words that he couldn't help but enjoy.

He bent further, pressing his mouth onto the other's. It was awkward to kiss him upside down, but England enjoyed the softness of the Frenchman's warm lips. He felt him kissing back, trying to mold their mouths as one and though England enjoyed it, he broke away.

France pouted and opened his mouth to say something, but England put a finger over his lips. He moved around the sofa France was laying on to straddle him. He wanted to drink in this beauty he had been given; to appreciate it. His hands fumbled with the buttons on the blouse, but with every inch of skin revealed, England became more enamored. He leaned forward and kissed at France's neck before letting his hands caress the man's now bare chest. France was staring at him again, a slight smile on his face.

England ignored him, letting his lips suckle on his right nipple. France let out a soft moan which reverberated around the Englishman. Encouraged by this response he moved to the left nipple and gave it the same treatment. He ran his hands up and down France's sides before stopping at the waistband of his trousers. His mouth moved down his chest, leaving a trail of kisses on the Frenchman's abdomen towards his belly. He chuckled deep in his throat then.

"Angleterre—" he started, but England glared at him and he wisely closed his mouth.

The Brit worked at removing the other's pants and once they fell loosely off his hips, he was able to gaze at the perfection and beauty of the man beneath him. Rather than rush things as per usual, England took his time. He had never truly appreciated France like this before; never had the ambition. France's cock was hard which didn't surprise him, and for once he wasn't ashamed of being face to face with it. He let his hand lightly wrap around the hardened flesh and France gasped.

England pressed his lips to the swollen head before taking it into his mouth. He was sure France had never experienced such tenderness before even if he was the country of l'amour. He was slow with his sucking, taking the organ one inch at a time. France's hands had reached for his hair and he found himself being encouraged to take him deeper. He looked up towards France's somewhat flushed face and felt his heart nearly stop at how utterly gorgeous he looked. Half-lidded blue eyes watched him closely.

He pulled back, smirking slightly at the disappointed groan France let out. "Please, Arthur," he crooned.

England reached for the zipper on his own trousers, fumbling a bit in his anticipation. He had never taken France before. He took his own erection out and felt a swell of pride when France rutted against him. The lube was in another room, and England didn't want this beautiful image to disappear if he got up to get it, so he started to slick his fingers up in his mouth, watching France's reaction. He coated his cock with his wet fingers, praying it would be enough. France was tense when England positioned himself.

He got one last look of the Frenchman before pushing in and gasping at how utterly tight the other blonde was. He saw France's face screwed up in a mix of emotions and panicked, afraid he had done something wrong. "Francis?" he whispered.

France looked back at him. "Move," he moaned.

England nodded, pulling out and pushing right back in. The man beneath him was glistening in sweat as they moved as one. France's back arched and he tossed his head from side to side, and all England could think was: Fuck, he's beautiful.

Their movements were slow and sensual, and although he knew France would have preferred him to just pound him ruthlessly into the sofa, England kept a steady pace, bracing himself and preparing for the final stage. France's eyes shot open suddenly and his body froze, even as the Englishman continued to thrust inside. His cock twitched before he released himself all over his stomach. The sight made England's body heat up, his pulse raced, and he felt himself tense before spilling his seed inside the Frenchman.

Tired and spent, he pulled out of him, taking deep breaths. He moved up to kiss France on the mouth, delving his tongue inside. When he broke away, he smiled and rested his head on France's chest. "You're so fucking beautiful, Francis," he murmured.

"Merci, Arthur," France replied, kissing his lover's forehead and wrapping his arms around the other man.