Arthur sat in his favorite armchair, one leg crossed over the other, with a needle in hand and a half-finished embroidery pattern in the other. Quite enjoying his pastime, the Englishman would have been content to sit there for hours on end doing nothing else provided there was a supply of tea and scones; however, there was one man that stood in his way to a peaceful afternoon.

Francis Bonnefoy.

"Mon Angleterre, you're not knitting this time?" He chimed. Arthur scowled.

"No, Francis, and I'm trying to focus- Why do you keep hounding me about the sweater anyway?"

"I wouldn't, but the last one was pink-"

"There's nothing wrong with the sweater I made you-!"

"-Pink, Angleterre, pink!" The Frenchman held fast. Arthur opened his mouth and was about to find a retort before he amended himself, "I love the effort, Arthur," Francis said, the 'th' sounding like zed, "but I am not the woman in this relationship-"

"Neither am I." Arthur spat.

"Oh really now? You made it." He teased.

His Englishman uncrossed his legs and looked him square in the eye. Arthur fixated a glower into sparkling pools. A smirk spread itself across his French lips as he returned the gaze into forceful emerald eyes. Giving in, the younger man broke the half-hearted death glare and looked to the side with a small huff. Knowing from experience the wall was for show, Francis pounced on the opportunity like a cat on its delectable, helpless prey. All of a sudden, Arthur found his mouth invaded by a warm, pulsing tongue and his trousers by a taunting hand.

"F-Francis-!"

"Shhhh, Angleterre, relax…." He soothed.

Relaxing, Arthur let himself go limp and be taken over entirely. An angry display was a just show, after all….and what his lover was doing to him felt really, really good.

Francis felt the other man fidget in front of him, before withdrawing and watching his irregular, gasping pants. His face had flushed such a deep shade of pink that it reflected a tint onto his flaxen hair. So…..cute. Mignon... The Frenchman took in the scene and flicked a tongue across his lips, still smirking, and hungry for more. To nourish this new-found need, he pulled his lover off the armchair and onto the sofa, pushing him down swiftly but with care. He hovered over Arthur and began to slowly strip the both of them of their clothing.

"F-Francis, it's still the a-afternoon…"

"What? Worried that your embroidery won't get finished?" He stared the younger man down.

"No, but-" His weak protest was shot down. Not that he minded. Francis tugged at his collar incessantly, wanting to see all of his lover nude, and he wanted to see it now.

"Angleterre, do you think any answer you give me is going to stop moi?"

Arthur gave no answer, so his lover continued to strip their bodies, leaving them naked and exposed to chill. He shivered and blushed furiously, while Francis watched and surveyed his bare skin. Every inch of the Englishman's body uncovered for him to touch, kiss, lick, anything- and with nothing holding him back, the country of love began to leave love bites, everywhere within reach. His victim moaned softly and shuddered, growing with anticipation. The enthusiasm for more was evident, especially in his hard -and still hardening- member. Any sign of resistance in the younger man's figure evaporated and was swiftly replaced with need and loving desire.

Francis loved all of it. Every moan and movement served as another motivation, building slowly to the point where it pushed him over the edge of sanity.

Not that he had enough blood in circulation to remain sane anyway.

He ran long and skilled fingers down Arthur's sides to make him shiver, letting them rest on his thighs and gently massage the contracting muscles. Adoringly he took one pert nipple in his mouth and sucked, teasing the other with his free hand. The Englishman let loose a mingled shriek of delight, arching his back in an effort to create more delicious friction between himself and his "assailant." Francis lifted his head and was met with the sight of emerald eyes glazed over with lust, parted lips breathing heavily and his milky white skin riddled with passionate red bumps and now thick, sticky saliva.

"Nnnh, Fr-Francis…." The small, twitching movements throughout his pleading form and member went to the building heat in the Frenchman's stomach.

Francis could have lost it right there, however the begging whimpers were so enticing in themselves that he waited. Drawing out the tension, he pressed his own mouth against Arthur's and kissed him forcefully, letting out a few streaks of passion he held back- their tongues met and battled for dominance in the kiss, although the older nation won and explored the other's mouth, enjoying the warmth and faint taste of Earl Grey hidden in slick velvet creases. The man below him let out moans from deep in his throat, increasing louder and each more demanding than the last.

His cock stood fully erect, pre-cum beading at the tip and begging for some kind of attention. Francis repositioned himself above Arthur and took his member into a waiting mouth, licking the delicate underside and using his credentials in tongue acrobatics to pleasure his lover and play with the slit before taking all of him in and humming softly. This action elicited an excited gasp from his Englishman as he called out his name. Music to Francis' ears, but all the same a sign they needed to advance to something...more. He took the signal readily and removed his mouth from Arthur's sensitive places, and moved for a bottle of lube on the bedside. Coating his fingers, Francis placed one digit into Arthur's entrance, while using the other hand to stroke the Arthur's equally sensitive eyebrows.

"A-Ahhn, d-don't-" Arthur writhed in momentary pain/pleasure, as Francis probed his ass and moved the lone finger in and out, slowly. He also reminded him the pain was –only- momentary and whispered reassuringly into his ear.

"It'll only hurt for a minute, mon Angleterre..." He cooed. Arthur nodded and relaxed, once again letting the Frenchman take over everything. After all, he was very, very good at all he was doing currently. When Francis deemed he was ready, he added a second, then a third, finger- pumping them in and out and listening to his splendid sounds. After a while Francis hit that special spot and Arthur's body tensed, from shutting his eyes tight to curling his toes, letting loose a scream overflowing with pleasure. His lover smirked.

"Oooohh, Francis...p-please..." Arthur looked over at him and pleaded with his eyes more than anything.

"Mmmm, yes Angleterre?" The Frenchman glanced up, and his facial expression was the only answer he needed. Using his other hand he slicked more lube over his manhood, and removing his fingers, he shifted himself above his -because every inch belonged to him, and no one else- Englishman and kissed him once more, before replacing them with something much larger and more fulfilling.

Arthur panted under him, his body unsuccessfully attempting to reject Francis' cock. Both remained still for a moment, basking in the pleasure and moaning breathlessly, until the older man began to move. He set a steady pace at first, thrusting into Arthur with a mixture of lust and intense affection, noted as love. The man beneath him was using his voice in an even more senseless and demanding way than before, grasping onto Francis anywhere he could, tangling a hand in his golden wavy hair. With every moan the Frenchman sped up, only to be met with more shrieks and started a cycle; which continued until both parties teetered dangerously close to the edge.

He thrust harshly, pounding into him until he found that special spot. Below, Arthur's body ached for it, his muscles clenching every time. Deliciously. Francis whispered softly to his Englishman and reveled in the satisfaction, the tight heat around his member he gave him. Their bodies connected, Francis rolled his hips into Arthur's prostate repeatedly, causing the edges of his vision to whiten while the other saw stars.

Soon, it became too much and the younger man cried out his name, loud enough to startle the neighbors had they been home (though they had grown accustomed the such noises) and accompanied by his orgasm. A thick, viscous liquid spread over their torsos while Francis came inside him, groaning from deep inside his chest, and collapsing next to his lover.

A quiet moment of tenderness passed and Arthur moved to snuggle close to him, and Francis pulled him close.

"Je t'aime, Angleterre." He kissed his forehead.

"Hah...Je t'aime aussi."


Happy Birthday, Francis-! (7/14)

A/N: Okay, I still own nothing

Also, now my friends will stop bothering me about this. HAHAHAHA- okay, sorry about that.