I-I have a confession. A deep, dark, fandom secret. One so hideous I haven't yet revealed it to you all.
I love France. /cries in a corner
But seriously, I've visited the country, taken a class on the language for two years and want more, studied the countries history, and want to visit again. I also love the Hetalia version even if he is so, so silly xD If I didn't love RusAme so much I'd probably write mostly FrAme cause Franceeeee.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia
"Are you sure you want to...to paint me?" America murmured, a blush on his cheeks and wondering if this had been the purpose of France's 'meeting' with him all along. He of course considered himself to be fucking gorgeous, but, well...the European countries all liked to say he had weight problems and England liked to poke his sides and tease him about love handles which didn't even exist he was sure of it he measured! So he wasn't exactly comfortable taking France up on his offer.
"But of course, mon ami!" France smirked at the boy's beautiful flushed cheeks, patting one hot side of his face before leaning in to kiss his forehead affectionately. "I know I say you are getting fat, but that is just in fun, I assure you. I will capture the beauty of the American people for all to see, non?"
"Well...if you're sure..." America had hardly gotten the words out before France grabbed his hand, kissing the knuckles like men did to women in movies with a flirtatious wink that had the younger blond regretting his decision.
"Good! Now, come with me to the room I wish to use. I will pay you in eclairs, oui?" France's words had America perking up, forgetting his worries and eagerly following after the older nation. It would suck to sit still for so long but if he was getting some Paris Twinkies out of it he was all for it!
"Here we are." France stopped them in a room with lots of sunlight streaming in, a small love-seat sitting where the sun illuminated it like a Hollywood spotlight. In front of it was a stool and an easel, with various paints beside it.
France pushed America over to the love-seat and halted him before he could collapse on top of it. The Frenchman smiled deviously, leaning in with a leer and quickly pulling at America's clothing, tearing his jacket and shirt off with a quick exclamation. "By the way, this will be a nude painting!"
"Wh-what!" America tugged himself away from France's groping and grasping claws, tumbling back onto the couch and giving him wide eyes. The older nation fell on top of him and pulled at the buckle of his pants, deftly undoing the obstacle and working it down before the other blond knew what was going on. "Y-you can't just strip me! I have my rights!"
"Ah, oui. I will give you twice as many eclairs then~" France hummed, pulling the blonds boxers down and practically purring at the sight of the American's uncovered vital regions. He was such a well proportioned boy! He would make a lovely painting.
"B-but I don't want-" America was cut off by France removing his shoes and socks, all of his clothing being bundled up and tossed off to the side, leaving him completely naked and sprawled out on France's couch. Notgoodnotgoodnotgood.
"Nonsense. I will give you the eclairs and a souffle made by moi." France patted the American's cheek again before hoisting the teen's left leg up and bent at the knee, resting it against the back of the small couch. He tugged the right one out, draping it off the edge of the couch so that America's legs were spread and inviting. Next he placed the blonds right hand at his low belly, close but not touching to his erotic manhood. The left arm was draped over the couch-back, creating a pose of sexual relaxation that had the Frenchman gushing while he propped America up with some pillows.
"Try to stay still now. If you need something to drink or eat, or need to use the restroom, tell me before you start fidgeting." France instructed, wagging an elegant finger at the bewildered and slightly overwhelmed American before he retreated to his easel and began preparing the paints.
America was left to sit, flushed and not knowing what to do with himself other than to go against his nature and hold perfectly still. Or, well, as still as possible. He couldn't help tapping the hand that was out of sight or curling his toes, trying to keep his head at the right angle and not go looking around at everything that caught his eye.
"Shift your left leg up a bit more." France murmured, eyes intent on his painting while he glanced back and forth from the American sprawled out on the couch for him to his rapidly evolving painting. He'd already gotten the body of it done, his skills finely developed from having done this for centuries. He still took his time with the work, not wanting to rush, but practice certainly made perfect and he had gotten plenty throughout the years.
America did as told, forgetting himself and idly scratching at his belly. The mild pressure so close to his vital regions made him aware of just how close his hand was, just how naked he was, and how warm and relaxing it actually was to be sitting draped in sunlight like this. In the quiet that followed he let his mind wander, forgetting where he was and who he was with, just enjoying the sun on his skin and occasionally giving himself another little scratch, each one coming slightly sooner than the last.
His eyes lidded, not even aware of his hands idle scratching going lower or the way heat was beginning to well up from inside of his body, rather than be draped over his splayed limbs. He didn't notice France's blue eyes drinking him in like a fine wine, the pervert nation's lips curling up more and more the closer his hand got to the gradually swelling organ between his legs.
Blue eyes closed softly when tanned fingers met the heated flesh, plush lips parting to allow a pink tongue to dip out and along the edge of a lightly panting mouth. America's free hand clenched lightly, mimicking the other as it wound around his length and squeezed gently. He could feel the sun all along his body in a way he'd never indulged in, basking in it while his hand languidly began to pump up and down.
France didn't say anything as America began to slowly pleasure himself, biting his tongue on the lewd comments he would normally have made had he walked in on a scene like this. Instead he chose to capture the beautiful man as he was, the way the muscles in his arms flexed with the easy motions or how his nose (dotted with freckles France had never noticed before he'd placed the blond directly under sunlight and really looked) wrinkled delicately with his moans and smoothed out with his whimpers. His eyes took in the way America's legs spread more, leaning against the couch-back and moving his hand faster.
Blue eyes sparkled when the blond on the couch lightly brought his thumb across the tip; the motion so sensual and sweet, the glistening of fluid left over on the pad of the digit, and the way America's entire body seemed to tense ever so slightly for the fraction of a moment it took the rough touch to glide across the crown, toes curling and white teeth biting into a lower lip.
The entire moment was a work of art unto its self and France was determined to capture it with his paints.
With that in mind he kept the image in his minds eye and worked feverishly, making sure to keep his tail-eye on America just in case he repeated such a beautiful display for him again. Ah, if only he had the forethought to set up a camera in here to record this! But although he'd always hoped something so pornographic would happen, none of the other nations he'd conned into doing nude paintings for him had ever done this.
"Ah..." America, lost to his vivid imagination and waking dreams, had leaned his head back and was stroking himself faster. His hand was pumping quickly, forgoing the casual pace from before as his body began to coil and tense with his mounting orgasm. Within his minds eye he could see all the things he usually thought of, pretty girls and handsome men, nations and humans alike. He didn't really stick to one person at a time when he began, going from one scenario to the other, from one gender to the next, sometimes just thinking of a porn video he'd watched, sometimes creating his own where he was the star.
Being the country of hopes and dreams, his imagination was sometimes too much to handle, such as when people expected him to focus and remember they were in the room. If he closed his eyes and got going he could just sit and imagine for hours, until he fell asleep or invented something brand new to unleash upon the world.
The blond sighed, sounding breathless as his back began to arch and his hips twitched, thrusting up into his own hand in desperation. He moaned deeply and stroked fast, his other hands gripping the material of the couch while his head tipped back, neck curved in natural elegance as he groaned his pleasure to the otherwise silent room. His body snapped taut as he hit his peak, white fluid bursting from the tip of his length as he wordlessly cried out.
He slumped down on the couch when he'd finished completely, a contented smile coming to his face as the after-glow washed over him. That combined with the lull of the sunlight made him drowsy, unable to open his eyes or even caring about cleaning up the mess on his stomach.
France couldn't help but coo softly at the sleeping American, feeling as pleased by the display as the blond looked from his orgasm. He set his paints aside, proud to have captured the essence of America in the midst of his passion and that he'd managed to keep his hands to himself long enough to allow the blond his moment.
Of course, when he woke up he was fair game again, but for now France would content himself bringing the young man a blanket (the sun was warm but he was still stark naked) and using his own hand.
This was a fun little thing to write. I got the idea today and churned this sucker out fairly quickly, with some distractions because my roommate put Underworld on while I was trying to write this. Ah well, I hope you all enjoyed this and please leave a review if you did ;D