Prompts: 'Something sweet', G8 (group of 8) nations with France flirting with any/all of them
Fission Mailed
When France had appeared on Canada's porch, he said that he was there on business and asked if he could leave his things at Canada's house while we went about on said business. "It will only be for an hour or so," France had said cajolingly, hand rubbing circles against the small of Canada's back.
Of course, Canada had turned red—which had led to France calling him adorable—and had agreed to let the taller nation bring in a large bag that looked like an overnight bag more than anything. His suspicions were confirmed when France came back at around ten o' clock and said that it was much too late to go home and that it was better if he just spent the night at Canada's.
Canada had attempted to dissuade France from sleeping over; he'd just repainted his guest room's walls and that no one could stay there because of the fumes, and really, wouldn't France prefer to sleep at his own house? Especially since they had a world meeting to attend tomorrow and France would undoubtedly sleep much better and be well-rested in his own bed.
He'd given the older nation a lot of very good reasons for France to go home so Canada wondered how he'd ended up sharing a bed with him. France had said something about going to the meeting together, and the next moment, he was wishing Canada a good night.
Canada blinked, not really seeing anything in the dark, feeling the weight of France's arm around his waist and the warmth of France's body pressed up against his back. To be honest, Canada didn't really mind sharing a bed with France. It was nice being able to snuggle with someone, he thought, smiling slightly at the feel of France shifting a bit closer to him in his sleep. And he really did like France himself most of the time. As long as the older nation wasn't trying to cop a feel. During those moments, France was just exasperating.
Eventually, Canada fell asleep.
When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was France smiling down at him. Canada wondered why France's face wasn't blurry. Then he realized that the tips of their noses were practically touching and that he could feel France's every exhale against his skin. Canada promptly turned as red as his sweater.
"Good morning, Canada," France crooned, moving even closer so he could rub noses with Canada. "Did you sleep well?"
Canada felt like he was overheating. At least France was wearing clothes, he told himself. "I-I think I should go make breakfast," Canada managed to say, squirming out from underneath France and escaping into the kitchen.
France trailed into the room just as Canada was unscrewing the top of a new bottle of maple syrup. "Pancakes again, Canada? Ah, well. Yours are the best, at least." He sat down opposite Canada with a smile, reaching out to transfer some of the said pancakes onto his plate.
They talked while they ate, France making less innuendo-laden comments than usual. Canada was feeling pretty optimistic about not having to fend off any unwanted advances when a dollop of maple syrup accidentally landed on the tabletop. He absent-mindedly wiped it up with his forefinger and was about to suck his finger clean when France's hand closed around his wrist.
"Let me," France purred, eyes half-lidded as he slowly drew Canada's finger into his mouth, tongue swirling around the digit. Panicking, Canada's brain froze for five seconds before he did the first thing that came to mind.
He bashed France on the head with the bottle of maple syrup. Needless to say, they were late for the world meeting.