Title: Wine Red
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: France/Canada
Rating: PG-13
Author's note: aph_fluffathon, 1. France/Canada-Wine-kisses. Meaning, someone takes a sip of the drink and the other kisses them to get the taste. Vermouth was the first take on it which I decided went a different way than I wanted and used for something else.

For a certain Miss Melly because it's her prompt and she needed fic. And as part of a larger package of stuff for her birthday. Also incidentally done for International Day of Kissing.

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Canada closed his eyes, and folded his hands together behind France's neck. The wine slipped between his lips. The kiss was soft, and the wine was as well. He tried to formulate the fragments of his wine knowledge, but his mind was too dizzy from it all. The wine, the taste from France's lips. It was sweeter than he thought possible.

It was a surprise, coming home to find France there with his dress shirt half unbuttoned and a bottle in hand. Wispy blond hairs covered his chest. He took a drink, and before Canada could even make the first syllables of a question, France was coming to him and pulling their lips together.

The wine was softer than he thought it would be. Canada was used to strong wines, overpowering wines, the sort France loved best. But this is softer. He tries to find it, find the word–Merlot. There was a scent like blackcherries and herbs, mixed with the strong aroma of roses that always followed France. It was so soft–exquisite, with the gentle heat of France's lips, his tongue probing against Canada's own. Tingles went through him. He loved this. Like floating high over the rooftops and trees.

But the moment stopped when his glasses awkwardly pressed against France's nose. In the shock, the kiss broke ever so slightly and some he wine poured from their lips to the floor. Canada laughed despite himself. It was a giddy feeling. Awkward and silly. France didn't seem too broken up by the loss.

"What are you doing here? I didn't expect you in this early," Canada asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm drinking fine wine and kissing you," France said. He said it with a certain affection, though. Even if the words themselves were harsh, he wasn't.

"Do I need an excuse to do that, now?" France asked, faintly amused.

"Oh, no. And a s-sorry about the wine–"

"A drop or two spilled doesn't matter much," France whispered. "We have a whole bottle to finish, after all."

"But it's expensive," Canada protested.

"I don't mind spending money on you, you know that," France said dismissively.

He put his arm about Canada and pulled him closer. Canada giggled, but gladly allowed himself to be dragged in. France nuzzled closer against him, murmuring words in French. His stubble was scratchy against Canada's neck where he was currently rubbing against, and kissing. The scent of wine and roses, blackcherries and herbs was making him heady. France bit down lightly and sucked on his neck, and Canada squirmed, a moan escaping at the back of this throat.

He was so weak to kisses to the neck. There was a joke that all anyone had to do to disarm him was to start sucking on his neck. (Then inevitably, the jokes about sucking on other places for disarmament. That was how drunken family reunions got.) Canada savored the moment as France nibbled, licked, sucked and kissed at his neck. He'd look like he was wearing a necklace of bruises after France was done with him, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

When France had given him a proper 'badge of honor' (or two, or three) he pulled back slow to study him. He looked at Canada with such blatant hunger that it made Canada blush just a little.

"You're staring at me again," Canada said. He looked down, pleased and embarrassed all in one. He wasn't used to being noticed, so thoroughly studied like this. France had a way of making you feel like in his mind you weren't just naked, but underneath him and being very thoroughly taken.

"Your lips are very red...and delicious looking," France said.

He traced his thumb over Canada's lower lip. Canada sucked on the tip of his thumb. The ridges felt strange under his tongue, but he smiled, playful as France reached for the glass. France took another sip and crushed their lips together this time. Canada expected it, and eagerly returned the kiss. He focused on France–the taste, touch, feel and smell of him, and the wine between them. Not the deadlines, the insecurities that always came up.

Here with France, kissing him, they all just melted away to the smooth taste of wine passed between them.