Written on LJ for the kink meme. Yes, I have finally done that. I have fixed this up much since first posting it though, so I hope you all enjoy!

Running Passions

The first reason was dislocated fingers.

The wine glass had been knocked over quickly. England was about to tell France 'that is what you get for leaving it on the ground' but his mouth was rather occupied. With France's tongue, that is. France was moaning, hands trying to unbutton England's shirt while England was trying to stop him. Half of his mind still remembered where he was.

Certainly his trousers and pants had been discarded some time ago, but... oh, damn.

France had moved downward and was sucking very painfully on the skin on the inside of his thigh. Grabbing France's hair, he tried to reposition the Frenchman's head when he lost his balance. Both of them tumbled into the wildflower patch. Instinctively, his hands were thrown forward to protect himself and he landed with his fingers.

"Nice going~" France laughed. With a groan, England thrust downward and filled the other Nation's mouth. Apparently France was not too upset as he kept his mouth around the head, letting his tongue lick up and down the shaft. Just as he knew England liked it.

It was not until he had come screaming that he was aware of how his fingers were not working. France laughed at him again and England kicked him right in the place he had previously been pleasuring him.

The second reason was his sprained ankle.

"Fuck," the word hissed out of him as he tried to rearrange his legs. This was not what he had intended to do on this business trip, but what did he expect from staying in the same hotel? France always caught up with him eventually.

"That's what I'm trying to do," France gasped, hands gripping England's hips hard enough that England knew there would be bruises in the morning. Then he winced as England's knee nearly struck his eye. England could care less for France's comfort, as he was trying very hard not to crawl out of his skin. Leaning over, he bit France's neck. "Dieu!"

"He won't... help you now." England gasped, France forcing him down on his member without any care for England's comfort. Then again, if he cared for England's comfort he would not have ambushed him in the damned bathroom! Somehow England found his left knee over France's shoulder as he gripped at the stall walls. Please let no one come in here, please... ah, fuck it.

"Still flexible, are we?" France pulled away from his collarbone long enough to smirk at him. England pulled up and let gravity take him down, left foot pressing hard against the wall behind France's head.

No one could say he did not know how to shut France up. Which did not work very well, because the noise that escaped France (which arguably was not a coherent word, which was really what England was trying to stop, not all sound) came out at the same time someone entered the bathroom. Both of them stopped as quickly as was possible, trying to keep their panting down. Both of France's feet were pressed again the stall door.

"Really now?" Romano's voice bounced off the walls. The door shut soon afterward. And with that exit, they returned to their current activity.

It was not until they were doing a very bare clean up job, and redressing, that England fell forward on a weak ankle and accidentally pushed over the vase on the counter.

Why did these bathrooms even have vases and pictures? Who was looking?

The third reason was his strained wrist.

"What are you doing in here?" England demanded. He was busy trying to get all of the soy sauce off of him from a very disastrous encounter with Japan and China wherein Korea showed up. All he had wanted was to be home, wash off, and go to bed. None of that included France in the equation. Especially while he was standing in the shower.

"So sorry," France said, for once not sounding as if he was teasing him. "I heard you were covered in juice and I had to see... but I am too late!"

"Soy sauce!" England clarified with a scowl as France stepped in, not even bothering to shuck off his clothes. "I never said you could come in! My house! You aren't allowed in my house, let alone–"

His words ended with a hiss of breath as France's lips encircled a nipple. England slipped, only saved from bashing his head in against the wall by France's arm catching his back and his own hand catching the shower shelf, albeit at an odd angle.

"Careful," France smirked, lapping water off of his chest.

It was rather unfair, the rate at which England found himself aroused. Thankfully the water drowned out his whimper. France's hand squeezed one of his buttocks, pushing him up slightly so as to press the both of them into the wall. England wrapped his legs around him.

"I'm tired, so make this quick," England grumbled into his ear, resting his chin on France's shoulder as he went by feel to try and remove France's wet belt. France laughed quietly.

"Very well."

"And none of your– nngh!" England moaned as France rubbed his thumb on his tip. "Tricks! Tricks, you frog! None of them!"

"But you like my tricks..." France responded as England finally removed the obstacles and pulled France's pants down, cupping the bulge there and nearly finding himself dropped as a result.

"Watch it!"

"Oh, but I am!"

Somehow England found France thrusting into him, back and shoulders pressed flat against the wall, more wet than he really wanted to be right now. There was nothing to grab on to except for France, so he kept one hand on his own member and the other gripping at that hair which was still bound in a ponytail.

"Ouch!" Thrust.

"Stop." Very hard thrust. "Com–plaining!" England saw stars.

Suddenly England's head did bash against the wall, but only because France's shoulder had suddenly struck his jaw. England smelt plaster, but kept rocking his hips as he felt the both of them lower to the floor of the shower. France twisted a nipple between his fingers and England choked as he released. France continued his rhythm, not finished yet.

Stabilizing his own breathing, England looked up to see a hole in his wall. "How dare you–" he started, but France covered his mouth with a hand and continued to make him want to start another round.

By the time England had chased France out of his house, found some blackmail to make certain the Nation would pay for the wall, and finally returned to turn off the water he was utterly exhausted. Drying off, England did not even bother to get into his pajamas before collapsing in bed.

He had forgotten to turn off his alarm. When he reached to slap the snooze button in the morning, his wrist screamed bloody murder at him.

Fourth, a twisted knee.

An argument over who was going to cook breakfast ended up with a very irate England sitting at the kitchen table as France (amused as ever, that bastard) cooked some horrid French meal. France's winning line had been "it is my house". England could not argue with that. He had tried to, he had tried to say "I could take it from you and it won't be anymore" but France was not amused.

England was going to be amused somehow. And he was going to make up for the fact that he was having to eat French food. Sure, he could leave and go home to eat, but he was hungry now. He could eat here at France's or eat and one of France's restaurants. Making such a big deal out of this and eating at one of the restaurants... having to pay for it... It would make France laugh even more.

Here goes nothing.

He stood up, sitting on the table as he quickly undid his shirt buttons half way down his chest. "France..."

England had France's attention in an instant (it was the tone) but France seemed unwilling to leave the stove. "Oh no, England. I know what you are doing."

So England smirked. "All right then. You know what I am doing." It was because France said that England was determined that France would not know what he was doing. So maybe instead of seducing him he would simply jerk off in front of him. Then France would be hot and bothered and lonely all at the same time.

France swallowed, those eyes unable to leave England's hands as he reached down into his trousers, his facial expressions giving an obvious display as to what France was missing out on. "C'est pas juste!"

"You... didn't want... my breakfast..." England teased, slouching further on the table and accentuating his moans more as he said so. Just to be an ass. France could call him crude later, the man was obviously suffering for it now.

England won.

He heard France practically dive toward him, grabbing him by the legs and pulling him to the edge of the table, tongue running down his chest. England purred, a leg wrapping around France's thighs as he pushed himself up against him. England was hungry all right, but what he wanted for breakfast had changed considerably in the past few minutes. The same could be said for France as his mouth was now between England's legs. And was performing miracles for all England was concerned.

Okay, it had been worth it. Right up to the point when they smelled burning.

"You left it on the stove?" England spat out, disbelieving it as France backed away from him, tripping over a chair and accident and the accident-prone both crashing to the ground. "Shit! France?" England asked, looking up from the table.

"F-fine!" France muttered thru clenched teeth, rubbing at the back of his head, getting to his feet once more and turning off the heat. Well, the heat on the stove. Chest heaving, England lay back, stroking himself once more. Well, he's not finishing it...

"Ah ha!" France came back over, taking his wrists and pinning them over his head. England groaned. He was so close and France had to just– "You little tease."

"I do try," England smirked, licking at his lips. France was leaning into his leg and the back of his knee was digging into the side of the table. He shifted his leg so to get more comfortable. "Going to remind me that you're good at this, or can I go and tell everyone you were so unsatisfying that– mgh!"

France's tongue was practically playing hockey with his tonsils. England could barely moan.

Afterward England talked himself out of paying for the chair which now had a crack running up the wood of one of the legs. No, he was too busy trying to talk France into paying for another leg. His leg. Because his knee felt as if it were bent out of shape.

Then fifth... His neck was cricked horribly that one time...

They had been trying to get somewhere else. England was busy filling his head with all sorts of things which would distract or maybe even get rid of his own problem. France's heavy breathing was not helping, however.

Fuck you Spain! You don't just start doing that there!

England was not like France, he would not be blamed of being a voyeur because he was not. No, no, no. Even if Spain and Romano had just been– don't think about it!

Not that it mattered. England pulled to the side of the road. France looked rather surprised. "England, why have we–"

England cut him off by climbing into his lap and snogging the ever-loving French out of him. "Shut up and have sex with me, you git. Before I change my mind," England added as he climbed into the back seat. Not that there was much chance of his mind changing soon, but France did not need to know that.

France was right behind him, shoving him down into the seats and trying to remove England's clothes as England was just trying to kiss him. Then France was trying to lick England's fingers as England was trying to pull down France's trousers. There was a lot of 'trying' going on and not a lot of succeeding.

England, for once, blamed the car. His car. A small car. He hated to think that America was right in suggesting he buy a bigger one. England did not need a bigger one... well, now he did. For more space... For this. Damn it all!

Their bodies finally agreed and France's trousers were finally and successfully removed. England doubled over so as run his tongue up from the base of France's dick to his head. France let out a sigh and England pushed him on to his back. England would be on top, where he belonged. While he was doing so, France's hand had slid into his pants, but missed gripping his penis and instead stroked his balls.

With a whimper, England's leg shot out behind him (without his consent) and struck the window. There was a slight cracking noise, but as the only pain England was suffering from was lust he forget about it immediately.

England tried to rub his body against France, but found a knee pressed against his stomache. "Move your leg," he told France.

"You need a bigger–"

"Don't. Finish. That. Sentence." Stupid car.

But truth be told, they did not have enough room to do anything more but grind against each other. England ended up on his back three more times before he came, pressed up awkwardly into a corner.

Then they heard an alarm.

England simply wanted to die. A cherry top pulled up behind the car, alarm still informing everyone that something was happening here. Apparently someone driving by had not minded their own business and called in because thought someone was being assaulted in their car. France smirked and (as an idiot would) said something was. England groaned, but could not get up with extreme pain.

His neck was killing him. Not his foot, his bloody neck. Hell.

Goddamn his bashed elbow!

It was a new chair. England had not asked, but with his face shoved into the back of it he could smell the new leather. Maybe it was because of that he tried not to dig his nails into the leather as France ran his hands down England's back, pressing his hips right against the edge of the chair, moving in and out of him at a very calm (yet forceful) pace.

Whatever the case was, it drove England mad. Either the pace or the smell of the leather. He could not tell.

"Ooh... France... please..." England moaned, despite himself, as his fingers finally gripped between the seat cushion and the armrests to give himself the leverage to push back against France.

"Please what?" France responded, not changing anything. England dug his toes into the ground and the chair scratched quietly forward on the ground. France pushed him into it again.

His resolve to keep his hands above the chair was dwindling. France was teasing him. They both knew it, there was no point in thinking otherwise. An hand wrapped around his leg proceeded to trail up and down the inside of his thigh while ignoring the part of him that England really needed help with right now. He found himself rutting up against the chair to relieve himself of some of the pressure.

The chair scooted forward once more.

England could feel as France reached his climax, which simply proceeded to irritate him. France had ignored his own aching member and was now done? If they had been at England's house, he would have kicked him out. "You wank– ah!"

A hand had gripped the base of his member. England's hands around the back of the chair, as he pulled himself up into it. France's hand was still there, but for some other reason England felt rather crooked.

Maybe because the chair was no longer flat on the ground, the back of it leaning against a chest of drawers. France turned him about and England's elbow smacked against the top drawer before he could grab France by the shoulders and pull him on top of him.

That was it for the chair. It tilted over, the back catching one of the drawer handles and pulling it halfway out at an angle before spilling the two Nations onto the floor. Not that either of them were paying attention.

After a blow job that convinced England that he should not be too angry with France, he noted the disheveled furniture. "That is a terrible chair," England told France.

"Funny, Sweden is the one that recommended it."

England was starting to think IKEA was not all it was cracked up to be. Neither was his arm which he could not feel from the elbow down.

The seventh reason was his hea– erm... the burns. The horrible carpet burns.

"I... you."

That three worded sentence had nearly left his lips (though why? Why would he say that?) when France said he was bored and he was going to go bother Spain. Needless to say, England was absolutely furious. Something inside of him told him that France could not have known what he was going to say. France was thick even at the best of times when it came to important things, so why, why would he get it now?

The sex right now was to remind France he was not boring. It was filled more with anger than lust. He bashed France's head against the banister and in response France dragged him down the stairs. They both had one goal in mind, but the path they wanted to take to get there was going to hurt the other, not himself, there was no doubt.

"Fuck– get off!"

"Ah, but you wanted this, rosbif!"

England screamed for the sake of screaming, kicking France in the shoulder to get him off. With a swear, France hit the wall. There was another crash, but as there had been plenty of those neither of them paid attention to it. England crawled up to France before the other could steady himself and bit the inside of his thigh. France swore again, his legs buckling as he slid down, back still against the wall.

"You'll scream for me," England demanded, words ghosted out in a breath. The wind was knocked out of him as France landed his forearm on England's stomache, teeth grazing England's neck. Gasping, trying to blink the darkness away from his eyes, England barely felt France push up against him, scraping him up a couple of steps.

He was vaguely aware of considering whether a wooden staircase had been more comfortable or not, but cast it aside. It was not important.

The game was ended as France gripped him. England was submitted to his mercy. It did not stop England from continuing to push up against him, trying to get France to loose some control.

He succeeded, France screamed his name. None of this felt like a victory.

It took a few minutes for England to realize how uncomfortable he was. He could hear France muttering. "What?" he asked, tone mostly exhausted.

"Just glass from one of your frames," France responded noncommittally, pulling it out of his hand. "I'm going to use your restroom."

"Go ahead."

While France was gone, England counted the empty hooks on the wall of his staircase. Six that he could see. Hopefully the pictures were all right, but he could not be bothered to get up and check. With a sigh, England rubbed at his back.

Ow.

"Those look nasty," France commented, coming back down the stairs, still naked.

"What does?" England asked as he sat up.

"The carpet burns," France smirked, sitting beside him, uncorking a bottle, applying some of the cream to his hand and running it down England's back. England winced. "Should I call your work and tell them you're taking tomorrow off?"

"Hell no," England shook his head, gritting his teeth as France's smooth fingers continued to rub the lotion down his back and squeezing his buttocks. "I'll do that."

"Right," France responded, though he continued to pretend England was only talking about the call. England gave in, moving to his front so that France could continue to tend to his burns.

Then there was his bruised shoulder. Hell, that one had even been planned!

They were not even being rough this time.

England lay on top of France, kissing him gently as he felt France's hands stroking his hair and down his neck. His partner was saying something, but it was in French and England did not bother to try and translate it (a part of his mind worried that the very calm and beautiful sounding words might turn into something he would take offense of).

"God, you're beautiful," England breathed out, almost wanting to cling to France rather than have sex with him. France smiled, speaking more. England took the pillow out from under France's head, dropping it off the side of the bed to get it out of the way.

He had the feeling he might be made to regret what he said tonight, but that was in the future. England would just be honest now. He ran his fingers thru France's hair, bringing his mouth down on his cheek, kissing from there down his jaw, then back to his ear. "And right now you're mine. Mine... all right?"

He felt a hand caress his cheek. England leaned into it. "Always."

That was a big fucking lie and England almost burst into tears because of it. To distract himself he began to suck on the skin right under France's earlobe as he blindly reached for the lube.

On this day of all days they were equals and they accepted it. England pushed into the blinding tight heat that was France knowing as soon as they had recovered they would be swapping positions. Happy Anniversary, right dear?

Unfortunately, during the respite in their escapades they drank too much and England was subjected to some of the harshest sex they had ever had without drawing blood. Not that he was complaining. Even as they broke the bed frame. Correction: England had broken the headboard with his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" France asked him, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

"Fine," England responded, catching France's lips with his own and drowning out the rest of the night with him.

Maybe if he had been less drunk at the time he would have been prepared for the pain which assaulted him the next morning. Surprisingly, France stuck around to tend to him, long fingers gently massaging the bruised area as he replaced the ice pack.

"It was my fault," the other smiled, both with concern and pride.

"Shut your face, no it was not," England mumbled, voice muffled into the sheets. Yes it was, but if he blamed France that meant the other was here to make certain England was not going to blame him for it later. Not here just to be here.

Dammit.

The ninth reason was maybe his entire body.

"Wait, Angleterre. You've been avoiding– Please, there is something I need to tell you."

"Couldn't you have done that at the beginning of the break?" England asked, about to open the door and return into the World Conference room. He did not want to be seen with France right now. He was trying to make people take him seriously, which meant no arguing with France, America, and China. He had managed it so far, despite how unlikely it was.

"This is important."

"I don't want to be seen near you today," England reiterated the sentiment. He had said it earlier, after all. In clear words so that France would not misunderstand him.

"Then stop arguing with me and listen!" France exclaimed, exasperated. Which was when England heard the footsteps coming toward the hall they were in. He glanced from the door to France. France had to know he had given in by the simple fact he did not just enter the conference room (though it was more because he did not want France entering the door behind him). So the southern Nation grabbed his hand and pulled him toward one of the other doors.

"Wait France! This is just a–" England shut his mouth as he found himself pushed into a shelf. France stopped, door shutting behind him.

"Whoops, closet," France's voice was right against the back of his head.

"I'm surprised you don't know where all of the broom closets are in here," England sneered. He could not see anything, but he assumed France responded to his tone by the slight hitch in his breath.

"I only remember them if they are memorable enough," France retorted, his breath running down England's neck. England rolled his eyes. On purpose, not with a shudder.

"If making this memorable for you will keep this mistake from happening in the future..." England grumbled, managing to turn himself around with a little bit of difficulty and then hoisting himself backward on the shelf. Whatever rested there was knocked over, but he did not care. "Unless what you have to say will be that memorable?"

There was something in France's silence which made England shiver.

But France did not say anything. He pushed England further back on the shelf, kissing him. Turning his head to the side, England let his lips part. Hands trailed down France's arms, landing on the hands which were griping at England's hips.

So much for important. It's not as important as sex is to him... stupid man.

England braced his feet against the door on either side of France while he unbuttoned his trousers. Were they really doing this here? Not that it was the first time, but really... England thought he had grown out of, or passed, or whatever... gotten away from this stupid phase. Yet he had offered it up so easily. What was wrong with him?

Probably stress. It was easy to blame stress.

There was a sense of urgency to this, though neither of them rushed it. He ran his hands thru the hair on France's chest, for as far down as that blue shirt was unbuttoned. France lavished only the skin which would lay under his collar with love bites. Eyes fluttering shut, dark to dark, England let one of his legs tighten around France, whilst his other foot still pressed against the door. The back of his head hit the shelf above him as he leaned back.

"Uh... ça va?"

"Merde... ça va. Ah! M-merci," England whimpered, whether from his head or the pressure France was applying to his shaft he did not know. He moved himself as much as he could so he would not hit his head again, pushing himself further against France.

"Oh, Angleterre..." France sighed, though England could not grasp why he would say it, not like that. His arms circled about France's neck as he kissed him, France desperately kissing him back. His hips bucked against him and England found himself being pulled even closer.

But the shelf did stick out that far and England was now only supported by France, who was not expecting that responsibility resting solely on him. France tumbled back, while England tried to get his feet underneath him, and they crashed back against the door, which did not hold their force. They fell to the ground outside the closet. Immediately England could hear voices, people coming.

Goddamn it, France! He wanted to cry, sob, run. But he did not. He kissed France again and continued what he was doing. The two of them fully ignored the Nations who came to check what the noise was until they were done.

Then England went home. With difficulty. His entire body felt like a pretzel and his emotions felt like a roller coaster. Damn you, France. Damn...

And...

France blinked down at him.

England stared up to him, hoping that he had made his point.

"Mon cher... you expect me to be turned off from having sex with you after you talk about all of these other times we have had sex together?"

"You weren't supposed to be paying attention to that!" England exclaimed, throwing his head back with a groan. "You were supposed to be paying attention to all of the things we broke! And all of the injuries I've gotten!"

"All right," France conceded, though his hand was still under England's shirt, thoughtfully tapping lightly against his stomache. "Let me put it to you this way. You mentioned our anniversary."

Damn it all. England knew he should have left that one out, despite the broken headboard and his bruised shoulder. "So?"

"'So?'" France repeated, sounding somewhat surprised. "Oh, England... So..." he kissed him. England was adamant to keep his mouth shut, despite the tongue prodding between his lips. France pulled back. "We are on the couch. What injury could you possibly get on the couch?"

True. It was just the couch. "What injury could I possibly have gotten in bed?" he retorted, trying to grasp for any reason to keep saying no even though he really just wanted to say yes.

"We are not drunk now," France ducked down, whispering into his ear.

"That isn't the point," England scowled. France stopped, pulling back.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Yes!" England exploded, pushing him off of him. France, surprisingly, did not argue. He just sat there as England pulled himself out from under him and folded his arms across his chest, looking at the wall.

"It's not fair that you are mad at me for something I don't know about!" France responded quietly, looking at him rather oddly. "I'm sorry that you get hurt, but you seem to have forgotten about all of the injuries moi has gotten over the years!"

Only a couple (accidental) injuries of France's came to mind. "It's not my body I'm talking about, you prat!" he exclaimed. When France did not respond right after that, England looked at the ground.

"I paid for your wall–"

"Oh, this is useless!" England stood up, though before he could walk away France caught his wrist.

"What do you want me to say?"

England wheeled about on him. "The truth!" he shouted, shutting his jaw right after that and simply staring at him. France stared back.

"Both you and I want to make love. Right here on the couch, right now."

And as much as England wanted to punch him in the face, he could not say that was a lie. It had also been a very long time since France had called it 'making love'. "This isn't love," he sneered.

"It isn't?" France asked, looking surprised. That was not the reaction England was expecting and he could not say anything for a moment. "Now look who's lying..." France said, tapping a finger against his own lips. "Come here and love me, England."

If he said no he would have established himself. He would have made up for all of the other times he was weak. If he said no... Weak? Establish what? What was he thinking about?

Oh, fuck it.

England gave in and ten minutes later he heard the crash of his tea cup falling off of the table.

"France!"

"What~?"

And when England ended up with his back out, he blamed France for everything. Despite that, France stayed. France did not try and convince England otherwise. He was here to be here.

"You're such an idiot," he said fondly. France smiled and kissed him.

This was what he had wanted in the first place, what he had. England guessed that all of these reasons were simply to find a safer way of showing it.

Still... he could afford to buy a new tea cup.