France's Sexy New Year Secret

Summery: France is hosting a New Year's party in Paris and all the European nations are invited. England winds up drunk and France must intervene when the Brit strikes up a fight with Germany. France takes England back to his place to rest…but that is not entirely what happens…
FrUk – Smutty (Hints of GerIta)

Warning: Explicit sexuality! And Colloquies…curse those colloquies…

And now for the disclaimer:

England: This will never happen. Never! Not in a million years!

France: It would if P'g owned Hetalia.

England: Do you really want that to happen?

France: I don't know…maybe…honhonhonhonhon…

A/N: I'm so disappointed in this fic…it was such a good idea but because I suck at writing smut it went downhill quickly. I found it kind of conservative and repetitive. Read it over and let me know what you think – in particular ways I can improve. Maybe one of these days I'll rewrite it so it's up to the expectations that I had for it.

A/N2: Because of a comment I recieved I feel it's appropriate to inform you all that the Republic of Ireland HAS NOT been officiated as a female by Himaruya. In 2007 he CONSIDERED making the character a female but up to this point no further information has been giving. If it had, I'm sure many websites with Hetalia information would have been updated and a large score of people still wouldn't be refering to the character as "him". Again, Himaruya DID NOT make a female Ireland official. If you see that he has PM me where you saw it (give a link please). It MUST be an official or respected site!

It was 11:45 pm, New Year's Eve and the dance floor was filled with nations and diplomats alike. France had put together a rather thrilling New Year's party in which all the European nations had been invited. And what better place to host such an exciting and romantic celebration than in Paris!

Other nations around the world like Australia and Japan were already enjoying 2012 but some nations were still several hours away.

England laughed jabbing France in the ribs, "I bet that stupid American is already drunk running through the streets of New York!"

Francis rolled his eyes, "Speaking of people who are drunk…"

The Englishman failed to get the reference but it was clear to France that Arthur was wasted. He had been that way for nearly an hour and a half. France was surprised he had not yet collapsed on the floor into a deep slumber.

When the Brit finally realized what France meant he shouted with rage, "I'm not…I'm not idiot…you drunk!"

France sighed and quickly shifted as England staggered and toppled over trying to slug his old enemy in the face. "Seriously Arthur, maybe you should just sit down for a bit."

"No!" The Brit slurred, "I'm…I'm perfectly capable!"

In an attempt to show he was still in control England put a finger – from the hand his pint of ale was not in – on his nose and tried walking in a straight line. He, and his beer, were tipping over everywhere.

France grumbled, "Just stop and sit down."

Arthur frowned. The 'I'm not that drunk' hadn't worked so he figured – an idea brilliant in his mind at the time – to point out other intoxicated countries.

"It's not just me," He charged, sounding almost like a whine, "Scotland and the Irelands are drinking a lot too!"

France rolled his eyes again, "Oh yeah, your brothers…what a surprise."

The only British brother that wasn't completely over the edge was Wales. He was sitting in the back talking with Belgium and Netherlands while keeping a close eye on England. France felt rather bad for him. He lived with Arthur but was treated more like a house servant than a brother.

France looked back to see England checking his wristwatch.

"Oh my God!" He shouted, "France! France! Do you see this!"

England shoved his watch in Francis' face, "The hour hand disappeared! Oh my God, where did it go!"

France didn't know whether to laugh or frown. He decided to be serious and straightforward, "No Arthur. It's there; you just can't see it because it's sitting right on top of the minute hand."

"Oh," England blinked, "but why – "

"Hey guys!" Spain's voice filled the dark room, "Only five more minutes to go!"

Francis was grateful for Spain's interruption. It gave him a second to shake of his dissatisfaction over England's behaviour. Only five more minutes, then the Brit could be sent home to sleep it all off.

As the minutes turned into seconds everyone gathered at the dance floor for the ten second countdown. France had managed to drag England away from the bar, hoping he wouldn't fall over or puke.

Eleven turned into ten and the nations present began to shout the last few seconds in their own language.

Francis' eyes lit up as the last three seconds were chanted, "Trois…deux…un! Bonne année!"

The New Year's anthem blared as nations and diplomats exchanged hugs, kisses and well wishes. France laughed watching Romano try to squeeze out of a hug from Spain and Italy trying to give Germany a kiss. Russia was racing around the room trying desperately to flee from the grip of his sisters, while Switzerland threatened to shoot anyone who touched his. Austria and Prussia were also rather funny with their stare down over who would be the first to kiss Hungary and the Nordics and Baltics were exchanging kind words for the New Year. England was…

"Where is England!" France looked around before spotting the Brit talking to an irritated German. France hurried over to know what the fuss was all about. The last thing he wanted was for a fight to break out at his party.

By the time he had made his way there through the crowd he realized it was too late.

"I said back off, damn you!" Ludwig was shouting aggressively. France could tell the German was rather drunk too. Shielded behind the large blond was the shaking Italian.

"Why the bloody hell should I do that!" England roared back, "I can do whatever the hell I want!"

"I don't like what you said to Italy."

"What? That I could easily take him if I want to?" A devilish grin was spread across the Brit's face, "I wasn't lying; I really could. I don't think I will though. Other than art and cooking he's rather useless. Oh and he's dirt poor right now too."

Germany balled his hands into fists and used his good one to try and swing at England. Before Ludwig's knuckles could reach England's head, France intervened catching the German's arm.

"Enough!" The Frenchman hissed, "We should be celebrating!"

Germany growled but complied, turning back to Italy, "Are you alright?"

Italy was still shaken, mostly because he didn't want to see two European powerhouses fight with each other. He gave Germany a soft smile, "Yeah. I'm fine."

The Brit laughed again, "Geez you two. Go get a ro – "

France threw a hand onto England's mouth, muffling him. He whispered in a low, annoyed voice, "Really now, Arthur, there is no need for such asperities!"

The Englishman muttered something but it was inaudible.

France decided to put his foot down. He made it clear to England and guests that the two were leaving. He entrusted his diplomats to ensure everyone got home safely as the party died down. That wouldn't be for several hours however. It was barely a quarter after midnight – the night was still young.

Arthur and Francis were driven to Francis' penthouse in the heart of Paris. It was a short walk from the Eiffel Tower and surrounded by other well-aged buildings. There were also fancy, though pricey, cafés nearby.

France opened the door and ushered his drunken guest inside. The two storey condo was rather spacious, rare for an old European city, but that didn't stop France from trying to keep his former nemesis still. He had far too many precious vases and ornaments sitting around that were easily breakable.

Dragging the Brit up the stairs he catered him into one of the two guest bedrooms.

"There," France guided England onto the bed after pulling the covers down, "go to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep here!" England fussed.

"Then where do you want to sleep?" France questioned.

After taking a moment to think about it Arthur responded, "In your bed!"

"What?" France sputtered out.

"Yes! I'm…I'm the guest so I…can sleep wherever I want."

Francis let out a huff, "Now you're being silly. There's nothing wrong with this room."

"No! I want your room!"

"Arthur!" France snapped in a serious tone, "I know you're drunk so go to bed! You're being an irritable pest! It's bad enough I have to take care of you. I should be celebrating at my party with my friends!"

England's eyes dropped to the floor, "Friends?"

"Yes Arthur. Friends!" Francis repeated, "I have friends and would rather be with them right now."

"Oh…" The Englishman went strangely quiet.

The other European sighed. He knew how to take a hint. He didn't mean to suggest England wasn't his friend but he was rather worked up. It had been a stressful year for everyone. Tacked onto economic problems France also had to deal with hosting the G8. There were a lot of angry protests that had to be controlled and mollified. In addition to that his boss made a rather negative remark about Israel's Prime Minister causing some nations to give him the cold shoulder and a few dirty looks for a while. It was no secret that France wasn't a big fan of Israel but his boss should still have been more cautious with what he said.

A soft whimpering caught his attention. Francis looked to the bed to see England sniffling and shaking. He sighed placing a hand on the Brit's scruffy blond hair, "Oh Angleterre. I didn't mean that you're not my friend it's ju –"

"Yes you did." Arthur shuffled away from the hand, "You hate me just like everyone else does."

"Nonsense." France placed his hands on his hips, "I told you I didn't mean it."

"Everyone's always hated me." England looked up, his shiny green eyes filled with tears.

"Well it's hard to like someone who's drunk all the time." France half-joked.

England ignored him and continued on, "Even when I was little! People tried to invade me just to beat me up."

His emerald eyes were now subfusc, "People like you!"

France jumped back as England launched himself at the nation standing over him. "Why! Why would you do that to me!"

France grabbed the wrists of the hands that kept hitting him and gripped them with all his strength. The Brit was crying hysterically into his chest muttering 'why' over and over.

"Es-tu stupide." Francis gently placed his chin on England's head. The two were roughly the same height, with France being only slighter taller, but with England being drunk and sluggish he looked rather small by comparison. "I didn't invade you because I hated you."

The Englishman stopped muttering and looked up waiting for an explanation.

France looked back, not really sure of what to say. He was curious, that's all. He had heard there was a land across the sea from his father who had been told by Rome. There was really nothing more to it.

Getting back to what was important Francis guided Arthur back to the bed. "Okay, seriously now. You need to get some sleep."

France turned to walk away but found himself locked in place. England had his legs wrapped around France's thighs. Arthur grabbed Francis' arms and dragged the continental nation on top of him with a grin.

"You got to invade me. Now it's my turn to invade you."

France tried to pull out, "Arthur, you're drunk. Go to sleep already!"

England grabbed a fistful of Francis' hair and yanked the nation's head onto his chest as he fell backwards on the bed.

France winced bitterly for a second. He hated people touching his hair – except Canada who he used to take turns with brushing each other's golden locks when his former colony was little.

He closed his eyes and could hear the rapid heartbeat of the man he lay under. He could feel the Brit's chest rise and fall with every breath taken.

Francis couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Did all England want is just a little feeling of love? Well, France certainly could not pass on that…he was la nation d'amour after all.

The Frenchman lifted himself up and hung his face over England's. "You're not going to invade me."

Before Arthur could say otherwise his lips were tightly pressed against Francis'. He hummed causing the French nation to pull back.

"You're supposed to moan not hum!" France complained, whacking the Brit in the head, "That's what I get for kissing a drunk…"

"Stop whining!" England sat up and bit France in the neck.

"Ack!" The Englishman was pushed off, "What was that for!"

"There was nothing else to bite," England examined the fully clothed figure before him, "well except your nose."

"Stupide Anglais." France muttered pushing England back down by pressing on his forehead.

"Don't call me stupid." England lashed back in a pout, still slightly slurring his words.

"Fine, then don't say stupid things." France changed his look of annoyance to a sly grin, "But since you got to bite me, I get to bite you back."

"And where exactly will you – ah!" England shrieked as France tore open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere, "W-w-what the hell are you doing! You broke my shirt!"

France remained quiet, grinning greedily while taking in the sight of the thing, but solid young man beneath him. Before England could squirm, much less blush, France was bending down to bite England's semi-exposed shoulder.

Arthur stood wide-eyed and red. He was caught between wanting to freak out and run away and wanting to take his shirt off completely, exposing himself to more of France's sexual touches.

France licked the spot he had bitten and began travelling over and down, spreading soft kisses all over. When he reached the area in between the chest he shot back up swallowing England in a deep kiss.

England reached his hands up to lock onto France's arms. He still wasn't fully sure what he was doing or why he was allowing it to continue. The feeling of fear and uneasiness was battling desire in the pit of his stomach.

Arthur slowly shut his eyes. Suddenly a touch to his lower region sent shockwaves through his body. He shot his eyes open as France made his way back down kissing the collarbone before sucking on it.

Arthur drew in a deep breath as he felt himself becoming harder under the groping hand of the Frenchman. "Um…d-don't you…think you're moving a bit too…quickly?"

"Of course," France's hot breath ran across England's skin, "You're drunk…If I take it too slow you'll become relaxed and fall asleep. There's no fun in that now is there?"

England blinked, "Fun?"

"Oui," France stopped palming the hardened Brit and came face-to-face with him, "I have been waiting a long time to do this."

"Y-you have?"

"Well, it kind of sucks that you're drunk, I'd rather you were sober."

"Yes, yes!" The Brit folded his arms, looking away from the man straddling him, "I'm drunk, I get it! You can stop reminding me now!"

"Excellente!" France smiled, "That means we can get to the good stuff!"

England turned his head back, "Good stuff?"

As Arthur looked over, he caught a glimpse of the Frenchman sliding backwards off.


"Non, non." France placed a hand on the Englishman's chest, holding him back from sitting up.

A deep red colour covered England's face as the Frenchman undid his buckle, unzipped his pants and pulled off everything – boxers and all.

"Ah!" England bolted up and covered his erected manhood with his hands.

Francis sighed and used the moment to take off his own shirt while waiting for his neighbour to adjust, "Ready now?"

"N-no!" England shuddered.

"Well that's just too bad." France swatted Arthur's hands away and grabbed hold of his shaft, causing the Brit to wince. This made the Parisian smile and he began to move delicately up and down the length.

England could feel his face burning up. He was trying desperately not to make a sound – though small mans escaped his lips. His near silence was broken when Francis took him all in, "Ah! Francis!"

France looked up to see England covering his flushed face with his hands. For France this was the perfect opportunity to catch Arthur off-guard. He climbed back on top of the other nation, coated a finger with saliva and shoved it past the Brit's entrance.

England quickly pealed his hands from his face to stare in shock at the Frenchman. France captured the uncovered lips in another exotic kiss, this time pushing past to the inside of the Brit's mouth to play with the other's tongue.

In the meantime he added a second finger and started stretching the inside of his partner causing the Brit to break away from the kiss and moan. Shaking he placed his hands on Francis' chest as though he wanted to push him off, but no pressure came.

Smirking France changed from stretching to pumping his fingers in and out adding a third.

England screamed out, arching his back. The feeling was both painful and bliss all at once.

France pecked him on the cheek and trailed kisses all the way to the earlobe, "Are you ready?"

"F-for what?"

The Parisian pulled his fingers out momentarily to flip the Brit over.

"Uh…wait a minute!" England began to protest.

France ignored him while he took off his pants, "You're going to have to pivot yourself towards the headboard of the bed."

A million different questions and statements were racing through England's mind to even say anything. He lay flat on his stomach still trying to comprehend what was going on. Between being drunk and sexually aroused he couldn't think straight.

"Hurry up," France, now fully undressed, spoke up. He slapped England on the rear end causing the other nation to hiss at him.

"So much for the country of love," he jested, "this doesn't feel like love at all."

France leaned over England, his front touching the Brit's back. He draped his arms around the Brit after pulling off his shirt. He kissed his back, "C'mon amour."

"I'm-I'm not your lover." England's eyes were beginning to swell with tears.

France picked up England and slid him over on his own.

"Hey you damn frog! I…I never gave you permission!" England barked, holding himself up with his hands and knees. He looked back just as France slid inside him.

"Ah ~ !" Arthur's arms caved beneath him as his upper body fell into the bed. His lower half would have given out too if France didn't have a tight grip on his waist.

"Hm? Arthur? Are you okay?"

"No, I'm bloody not okay!" the Brit snapped.

"Oh?" Francis drew a sly grin on his face, "Am I too big for you, cher?"

England grumbled, "The only thing too big on you is your mouth!"

"Well okay…" France pulled back slowly, stopping with only his head still inside. He thrust it back in with force and speed making the Brit moan.

France continued pushing in and out while grasped, mewled and moaned quietly clamping onto the sheets, his knuckles white from the grasping hold.

"Ah~ F-France…" England whispered, closing his eyes tightly, fighting back the tears of pleasure.

France maintained a steady rhythm searching for that spot that would surely make the Brit surrender. One, two, three more thrusts and England's muscles squeezed France's cock in a chokehold.

Seeing the look of near submission of Arthur's face confirmed that he had indeed found the right spot. There was still one more thing bothering him.

He forced himself into England a few more times before stopping completely. France leaned on England like before with his front against the island nation's back. "Why so quiet? I want you to scream out for me."

"I'm…not doing that!" England spat out, blushing hard.

"Do you want me to stop?"

England glanced again, refusing to reply. France was delighted at the response as it meant he was enjoying it but was too proud to say so. Luckily, the Parisian still had a trump card. He moved back up into position and, trying to set aside his own bodily desire to continue pounding the Brit, wrapped one of his hands around Arthur lonely shaft.

France could feel Arthur's muscles twitching again and it drove him wild but he was determined to make England cry out. He was already pleased to see some pre-cum dripping and decided to use it as lubricant – he had no time or patience to go to his room and get a tube of the stuff anyway.

Pumping at a medium speed he could hear the Brit's breathing getting heavy. Parfait!

Needing to fill his own desire he retarded pushing himself in and of the Englishman again. He had been careful not to lose the spot. With the intense ecstasy of being both jerked off and fucked at once it was only a mere few seconds before England was moaning and begging.

"Ah ~ F-Fra…nce…puh…pl-ease…" Toes curled and nails ripping into the sheets, England finally succumb to the intense pressure.

Even France was sweating and grunting. Every thrust nearly threw him over the edge, "S-shit…"

Arthur was moaning loudly between heavy pants, he had caved to France's demands for sex and lust-filled cries but there was more.

"Not yet." France slid his thumb over the tip of the Englishman's cock. "You can't come yet."

England gasped as he continued to build up without release. The cum filling his dick was blocked with nowhere to go causing slight plain.

Arthur's twitching and all the 'cute' little, desperate noises he was making caused France to finish inside him. He sighed and kissed England's back while riding out the little bit of energy still in him. He refused to let the Brit go however.

While pulling himself out he dressed his free hand with some of the white substance he had discharged and used it to pump the length of his sex partner, keeping his other hand in place to block the opening slit of the penis.

"S-stop!" England wailed, his eyes filled with tears.

"I want you to beg me." Francis smirked, "Please France, please make me cum."

"Y-you j-jack…ass." Arthur was surprised he could even form coherent words at this point.

"Tell me how good it is." The Frenchman continued to torture, "Beg me to release you."

"Yes! Yes!" Arthur screamed, breaking once again, "Oh god…I can't…I can't take much more of this!"

"You really want this to end?"

In truth England didn't but he couldn't go on like this forever. It felt so good but at the same time was causing his head to swell and every muscle to twitch. His legs were also becoming sore.

"Please," he cried out, his face flushed and red. He knew exactly what Francis wanted to hear, "Please finish me."

"Well, I suppose," France grinned, "Since you asked me so nicely."

The Englishman sighed as Francis took his thumb off the tip allowing him to flow freely. The release drained him of every bit of energy he had left. He collapsed on the bed rendering himself to sleep.

"Ah well," the Parisian shrugged watching the Brit drift off, "I had a feeling that was going to happen anyway."

England awoke the next morning. Both his head and body were sore and he couldn't remember a damn thing. Sitting up he was shocked to see he was completely naked. He looked over beside him, "Ah! France!"

England jumped out of bed throwing his pants on. His loud scream woke France who blinked in a daze.

"What the bloody hell is going on here!" the Brit demanded.

"Nothing." The Francophone yawned.

"What do you mean 'nothing'! We're in a bed together…naked!" England stopped, becoming dizzy, "Oh god…we didn't?"

"No Angleterre." France sighed, sitting up.

"Then why on god's green earth are we naked!" England held up his shirt, "And why is my shirt damaged!"

"Because," France started "You got drunk at the party and fought with Germany so I brought you here, to my house. You decided you were going to strip and proceeded to tear your shirt and pants off and run around my house."

England frowned, "Then why are you naked?"

Francis shrugged, "It looked like fun…so I joined you."

France had always had strange habits so it wasn't too hard to believe.

"Yes well," England made his way to the door, "I'll be leaving now."

As the door to the guestroom was shut France leaned back and stretched out. He couldn't bring himself to tell England the truth – though maybe somewhere in there the Brit already knew. For now Francis would continue to dream of the day when he would have Arthur sober.

End Notes:

~ Most people have Ireland as one country…not me. I've split it up into two: North Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. They're twins. AND MALE DAMMIT!

~Both Scotland and North Ireland have their own Parliaments. Only recently (March 3rd, 2011) did Wales gain the right to his own Parliament with the ability to pass acts without passing them on to Parliament in London for approval – thus why France notes Wales living with England. The bad treatment of Wales is in relation to England's desperate (historical) attempt to put down Wales and destroy its/his Celtic culture.

~ Bonne année! Literally means: Happy (New) Year.

~The 37th annual G8 meeting was held in Deauville, France between May 26-27, 2011. There were protests during the summit with people chanting "G8 dégage" or "G8 Go Away!" While at the G20 meeting in Cannes, Nickolas Sarkozy, the President of France, whispered to U.S. President Barack Obama that he felt Israeli Prime Minister, Binyamin Netanyahu was a liar saying, "I can't stand him."

~subfusc is not a very commonly used word – it means something is a dark, gloomy or a dull colour.

~Es-tu stupide Literally means: You are stupid.

~La nation d'amour Literally means: The Nation of Love.

~Parfait Literally means: Perfect.