Papa France
"Non Angleterre."
"Why do you keep saying no when you're eyes clearly show how much you want this?" England's words whispered across France's neck and the older Nation shivered. "Why not just give in?"
He turned his head to get England farther from him as he wasn't able to move away with the stronger Nation pinning him to the ground. The two were covered in dirt and ash and blood from the fight, but it only made things that more exciting... that more tempting. After all this was what they had always been, this was what they are. Flames roared around them, separating them only slightly from the war going on between their people though the damage was beginning to take it's toll on France. His body was weakening...
He scowled and struggled against England in a vain attempt to get the other off of him. He could not lose this fight, not to him, not to anyone. "Get off of me!"
England smirked, the flames reflecting in his eyes as he leant closer once again, "Why don't you make me, you damned frog..."
His wrists were pushed harder into the dirt beneath him and France gasped in pain when England's nails dug into his skin before the Brit lowered his head and kissed along his collarbone, the shirt he had been wearing had conveniently been ripped long ago in the midst of battle. If the fire around them was hot then England's kisses were ice. As they trailed over his skin they set alight his nerves in a much more delightful way then the deaths of his people and the burning of his land were. They were distracting as they trailed from his collarbone to his neck and down again before trailing over his adam's apple and then onto his jaw line. They made him forget that he was in pain.
And god he was in so much pain... his chest, his head, his back, they all hurt.
"A-Angleterre..." He panted, "P-please..."
England chuckled, moving back so he could see the other's eyes, "Please what? Would you like me to fuck you now?"
Tears welled in France's eyes. He closed them tightly so as not to see those cold green eyes staring down at him and shook his head, "S'il vous plaît..."
"Please what Frog?"
"Stop."
England didn't pause in shock at the words, in fact he had expected them all along. He knew how much this fight had meant to him and that in turn had only made it that much more important for him to win it. So instead of showing any of the tenderness he had been known for showing France in the past as the tears seeped down the older Nation's face, he leaned down and roughly licked a tear from his cheek, earning a tortured gasp from his enemy and breathed out, "Never."
France's eyes snapped open when lips suddenly crashed onto his. England was harsh, demanding and France felt his lower regions stir despite his best wishes. He tried to shrink back into the ground, to get away from that demanding mouth, but England was persistent and when he did not respond to his advances a set of sharp front teeth sunk into his lower lip causing him to cry out and give England the perfect opportunity to wriggle his tongue past France's lips and deepen their kiss.
Shuddering at the new feeling France closed his eyes, forgetting about the pain he was in and moving his lips hesitantly to kiss the younger Nation back.
'This is mauvais! What are you doing? Pensez à ce que vous avez à perdre!'
Delighted that he was not only winning the war but the fight as well England shifted, pausing their kiss for a moment so he could bring France's wrists up over his head so he could grip them in one hand and use the other to rip off the last remains of the other's shirt. With a smirk he trailed his fingertips down the bruised flesh and France whimpered, trying once again to shrink away.
"S-stop Angleterre, I... I cannot, you know I - Please!" He sobbed when England yanked down his pants, not caring if they were off all the way or not, all he had to do was wriggle in between those creamy thighs so he could - "Angleterre!"
England spat into his only free hand, ignoring France's struggling as he freed himself from his own trousers, his erection standing proud as he pumped it slowly, slicking it for what was about to come. When he felt that he was properly prepared he lifted his gaze to grin haughtily at France, yanking him forward so that the tip of his cock pressed threateningly against France's entrance he took a moment to admire how beautiful he looked like this. Broken, submissive, covered in enough dirt and grime that he would have to sit in that over the top fancy French Tub he loved so much for a week to cleanse himself, completely and totally England's.
He pushed against that tight ring of muscle and France sobbed harder, struggling still, "Why do you resist Frog?" England rolled his eyes pushing against him again and breaching him slightly.
"Because of Canada!" France screamed back at him, struggling harder, "What about mon doux petit Canada!?"
Ah... so they had come to the real reason of this fight at last...
"Canada... will be mine." England thrusted harshly into the body beneath him, burying himself to the hilt inside of France and the older Nation screamed at being fully invaded at last, his head falling to the ground with a painful thump as his body was thrusted into again and again. And to his horror, it felt good. It felt so, so good to be with England in this way. As his Country burned around them and he himself felt ready to burst into flame as well, England hit home, slamming against his prostate in a familiar, albeit much rougher, way that had already been done many times before.
"A-Angleterre!" He gasped, but it didn't sound as angry or as disgusted as he had wanted it to. Instead it came out as a breathy moan and it seemed his reward for finally giving in was the release of his wrists, for England's hands suddenly appeared on his hips, holding him down as he quickened his thrusts.
He should have pushed him away. He should have punched him in the face. Instead France reached up and dragged England down to kiss him properly, tongues colliding and saliva dripping down both their chins as their teeth clacked together and noses smooshed together, trying to get closer and closer because it was just never enough.
England removed one of his hands from France's hip to wrap it around the weeping erection of the Frenchman and stroke and France screamed, falling back down to the ground with a thump as his entire body was overtaken with pleasure and pain as the war began to reel to it's close. England followed his descent with his lips, kissing him bent practically in half as his hips ploughed into France faster and harder, nearing his own release as France's toes curled and his back arched prepared to shoot off his last gunfire for the night. He bit down into France's neck, claiming the top half of his land as his own, won in the war and the battle, and France screamed into the night once again, shaking as he spilled his seed onto England's shirt and his own stomach.
He couldn't open his eyes, England was still thrusting deep into his body though the erratic thrusts were a clear sign that he was almost at his own completion and France did not want to see it. So he came down from his orgasmic high and allowed his body to be used while ignoring the tears that were slipping down his cheeks. "Je suis désolé Canada..."
England came with a grunt not a scream, his fingers digging into the dips of France's hips and his head falling back so he could pant up at the smoke filled sky as his cum rushed into France's nether regions. The disgust France had been looking for earlier was finally there, but it was not directed at England... no... He was disgusted with himself.
"Get off of me..."
England looked down at his conquest but France had his head turned to the side, staring blankly at the flames still raging. There was none of the familiar French spark that usually resided within the Nation, there was barely even a sign of life at all as England removed himself from the body below him and tucked himself back into his pants. He stood and hesitated when France did not move from where he lay. "France-"
"Leave Angleterre. I ... I cannot bear to look at you."
Taking a step back in surprise England nodded slowly, "I'll... I'll be expecting you to drop Canada off at my house by the end of the week..."
France did not move.
"... France?"
"You know Angleterre... I loved you once." France finally turned and met his gaze, those blue eyes that were so much like the skies of Paris looked cold and lifeless. "Please ... leave."
Something large and hard to swallow was settling in England's throat at the words and he quickly scurried away without replying to the older Nation. Apparently, he had some thinking to do.
France stayed where he lay for some time, not bothering to make himself more presentable as semen dribbled from his entrance and blood seeped from the bite on his neck. He stared at the smoke of the sky, imagining that somewhere beyond the ruin there were pretty stars twinkling.
"Je suis désolé Canada..."
"Papa? Why are we at England's?"
Canada... Oh dear sweet Canada. France forced a smile to his face as he got down on one knee so he could be eye level with his little boy, "Don't you like coming to Angleterre's house little one?"
"Is America there?"
"Yes of course," France chuckled ruffling the blond hair that was so much like his own, "America is always with England."
Canada's violet eyes brightened slightly but then he frowned again, "But papa... why did I have to pack all my things?" He gestured to the two little bags at his feet that Kumajiro was sitting by and France sighed.
"I have to go away for a little while Canada..."
"... but why? Have I been bad papa?" Canada's eyes filled with tears and he sniffled.
France could literally feel his heart shatter, "Non, non, you have been très magnifique mon petit Canada," He laughed but it was dry and lifeless, "I will return to visit you."
"O-ok," Canada sniffed, "Je t'aime, papa..."
"Je t'aime Canada," He leant forward to brush away his little Nation's bangs and kiss his forehead, "Be good for England." Canada nodded and with a sigh France got to his feet and rang the doorbell to the large victorian home. "I must leave now."
"Au revoir..."
France smiled sadly and patted Canada's head one last time, he could hear footsteps nearing the door and the bite wound on his neck throbbed under the scarf he had on, he really did not want to see England at the moment. "Au revoir mon petit."
And he walked away.
He walked away despite being able to hear Canada crying and sniffling behind him.
He walked away despite England's eyes burning a hole into his back.
He walked away despite hearing America's loud voice ask, "Where is your papa going Canada?"
He walked away because he would never forgive himself.
France loved a lot of things, he loved wine, women, song. He loved his friends Spain and Prussia. He loved his Country and he loved his pet bird Pierre. But more than all of that, he loved his little Nation.
He no longer deserved to be called Papa France.