"YOU WILL UNDERSTAND, I AM THE UNITED, BLOODY KINGDOM! YOU CAN'T FORCE ME INTO ANYTHING! I HAVE MY OWN RIGHTS!"
"Mon cher, I only asked what you were reading..." (My dear)
"S-S-SHUT UP! AND DON'T CALL ME THAT!"
"Would you prefer ma charmante épouse?" (My lovely wife)
"N-NO!" France sighed. He really WAS trying to make the best of this marriage, but England seemed firm on making his life ten times harder than it should be.
"J-JUST BLOODY LEAVE!"
"It's my house...?"
"BE GONE!" France threw his hands up in defeat and spun around, leaving the room. He grabbed his coat, put his shoes on, and stepped outside. It was a bit brisk, and he wrapped himself a bit tighter in his jacket.
He had been so tempted to grab England's, what with its fur lining and sherpa interior... It was ugly as hell, but still made for a wonderfully warm jacket.
He, unfortunately, grabbed his own thin jacket, barely providing warmth.
Ah... he could still smell the candles lit ablaze in his home, the fire crackling in the fireplace. It was rather dark out, and should be dusk soon...
He stopped his walking to find himself at a familiar bench, sitting down and watching the sunset for a few minutes. He sighed.
What had he done, really?
All he had asked what England had been reading...
And HE wasn't the one to sign up for this marriage! His boss was!
Even if England was going to be a stinker, he could still make the best of it, right?
Right!
He, not quite in the mood for sitting through the cold wind, got up and walked to the store, buying fresh groceries for dinner. Thank goodness his wallet had been left in his pocket.
He walked back home, and probably to an enraged Brit. Strangely enough, when he walked in, the house was silent. Shrugging, brushing it off, thinking the Brit was only asleep, he took his coat and shoes off, and started preparing dinner.
Chop, chop, chop
Chop, chop, chop
Chop, chop,
Grunt.
France stopped. That wasn't him... was his Angleterre doing that?
No, it couldn't have been him. He was probably asleep.
Chop, chop, chop-
Moan.
France shivered slightly, and cautiously put the knife he had been holding down. He looked back towards the stairway leading to their *ahem* shared bedroom.
Was...no, he couldn't...
But that blush earlier... oh, so delicious...
France took his apron off and quietly climbed the stairs, peeking into his room. He gasped quietly as a hand flew to his mouth, and he leaned against the doorway without pushing the door more. He couldn't believe it.
England had at least three atlases open to a map of France, each with a different showing of roads, geography, cities...
And in front of him was a bouquet of irises. France held his breath, soft locks tickling his face as he let is eyes drag out over the scene in front of him.
England was panting quietly, forehead pressed against the desk's surface, a lovely red blush on his face. His hand was in between his legs, slowly moving up and down an erect, red, pulsing member with pearly, white pre-cum leaking over his hand. He shuddered and moaned quietly as he rubbed the most sensitive areas. He didn't even know France was home, let alone, hardening in the doorway.
"Ughn...F-france..." He closed his eyes, chanting France's name as a mantra, over and over.
Mere seconds later, her cried out as an unbearably hot force surrounded his member, fully encasing it in a ring of tight heat and muscle.
"O-Oh~" He didn't open his eyes, but rather, cried out softly as he threw his head back. He hadn't noticed that his hands had been pushed away, or that the chair had moved a bit farther away from the desk, all that mattered was that he felt the immense pleasure radiating from his lower regions. This had to be the most sensational he had ever felt during masturbation.
"A-ah~! F-France!" He climaxed, his body shivering and shuddering, twitching as his seed shot out. He sighed, eyes still closed as he panted.
...
Why isn't my hand wet? I climaxed, didn't I?
England cracked open a hazy eye, then gasped.
There was France, sitting on the floor, a small stream of seamen dripping from the corner of his mouth. He slowly licked it up as he breathed deeply once, eyes closed.
"F-France?!" England practically whispered.
"B-Bonjour..." France simply stated back, his accent making England shiver, the way it rolled off his tongue. It was silent as England stared, shocked at France as he stood up, brushed his clothes off, as well as wiping his mouth, and left the room.
W-What just happened...?