FrUk: Lipstick
WARNING: There is some man on man sexy time, so if that doesn't do it for you, then please don't read. Also country personification and all that jazz that comes with the slightly inappropriate awesomeness that is Hetalia fanfiction. Belongs to Himaruya, not me.
"C'mon Frenchy, you lost the bet. Get it on!"
"You cannot rush these things."
"Jeez come on, we're gunna be late."
"Do you want this done right, or done fast?"
"..."
"Actually, I don't want to know."
"You freaking done yet?"
"Hush Amerique! Oui, I am done."
Arthur had already begun the meeting when Francis and Alfred announced their arrival. Loudly.
"Would you two bloody shut up and sit down! You're late as it is – "
Alfred flopped down into his chair. "Alright, we're here! You can start sending us to sleep now."
"I swear – "
"Joking! Jeez..."
Arthur mentally facepalmed and turned back to the presentation. It wasn't long before he realised something was off. He could hear the other nations muttering and laughing quietly around the table. He turned.
"Eurgh, what's the matter with – oh." He saw what was causing the distraction.
"Frog... are you wearing lipstick?"
Francis flashed him a grin.
"Oui Angleterre. Is it distracting you?"
"Yes actually, you look freakish and wrong. More so than usual."
"Aww Angleterre." He pouted. "You want some too?"
"No I bloody well do not."
"Oui, you're right, this shade would be horrible with your complexion."
Arthur rolled his eyes and chose not to comment. By some miracle, he managed to get through the rest of his presentation without looking once at the offending nation. Eventually, he concluded. Alfred and Feliciano woke up from their respective dazes, yawning and rubbing their eyes.
"Alright." Said Ludwig. "Fifteen minute break. Precisely."
"Is that enough time for pasta?"
"No Italia, it's not."
"Ve~"
England was gathering his notes when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Merci Angleterre. Your presentation was most inspiring."
Arthur turned, and his eyes met a pair of bright, fire-engine red lips.
"Tres bien." Said lips purposefully met Arthur's cheek, leaving a large red smudge behind. France took advantage of Arthur's surprise to pat his butt before taking his seat again.
"Wanker," Arthur muttered when he'd regained his senses, and marched from the room to clean it off.
It was a bugger to get off. The oily red had worked its way into his skin and refused to budge easily.
"Now now Angleterre, there is no rush."
Arthur looked into the mirror above the bathroom sink. The bastard had followed him.
"What do you want frog?"
Francis smirked. "I was just thinking, perhaps that colour isn't so bad on you after all."He was directly behind Arthur now, and clamped his arms around him.
"Wanker! What are you – nugh." He was cut off as Francis kissed and sucked as his neck. Taking advantage of the subdued Brit, Francis began to unbutton his shirt and slide his hands over his chest. Moving in front of Arthur, he pressed him against the sinks as he left a trail of kisses down his torso, like angry little burns.
Arthur twisted under Francis, determined not to react to the delicate kisses running down his chest. His efforts got thrown completely out the window as Francis begun to palm him through his trousers. He bucked up against the well practised hand.
"Steady Angleterre," Francis smirked, "We are nowhere near through yet."
Arthur did not like it when he used that voice. Not at all. But his inhibitions were forgotten as Francis popped open his trousers and slid down his underwear. Moments later, his erection was surrounded by the heat of Francis' mouth; his tongue deftly sliding up and down before ceasing his teasing and taking the whole length.
"Oh Bollocks..." Arthur exhaled as his knees gave way a little. Yes, he could insult and hurl abuse at the Frenchie as much as he wanted, but this was one area he couldn't find fault with. Well, apart from that Francis was a dirty rotten sneaky manwhore... But it didn't seem to matter so much when Arthur knew Francis was his dirty rotten sneaky manwhore. He moaned loudly, his gruff voice bouncing off the tiled walls. Francis slid Arthur out of his mouth.
"You are enjoying yourself, non?"
"Shut up bastard." He flushed, grasping the Frenchman's hair tight. "Now get back to it, before I – "
"Before you what, Angleterre?" He looked up at Arthur, smirking.
The Brit didn't answer, instead forcing Francis' head back to his crotch. Francis obliged, taking him back into his mouth. He sucked, and licked and God knows whatever else. Arthur lost track, all he knew was that he liked it. Very much.
"God! You fucking fabulous French bastard!"
He felt Francis hum around him in response, the vibrations sending him further out of control. Shortly after, with a spectacular show of tongue gymnastics from Francis, Arthur came; the white liquid filling Francis' mouth and spilling out from between his still very red lips. Arthur sighed and leant back against the wall. Francis stood. He grinned at Arthur, lipstick and semen smeared around his mouth. Arthur snorted.
"You are absolutely disgusting."
Francis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before running it down Arthur's still exposed chest, coating it with the reddish mess. He lightly licked his finger.
"So are you Angleterre."
Arthur watched in disbelief as Francis smirked his obnoxious little French smirk before turning and leaving the room, heading back to the meeting. Bugger! The meeting. Arthur turned the taps on full blast and scrubbed at his chest.
A few minutes later, Arthur swung open the doors and marched across the room back to his seat.
"Dude, you're way late! Sit the crap down already!"
"Yes, thank you Alfred. I apologise everyone. Please continue."
Ludwig reshuffled his notes, looking a little pissed his efficient schedule had been disrupted.
"Right, now as I was saying – "
"Ve ~ didn't Arthur leave to wash the lipstick off his face?"
"Yes, Feliciano. Now please be – "
"Then how come it's still there?"
Francis grinned and gently scratched his chin. Arthur's hand shot up to his face, where sure enough, he felt the greasy smudge, exactly where Francis had left it. In all the *ahem* excitement, he'd forgotten to properly remove the original mark. Bollocks.
"Hey, he's right! And there's some on his shirt!" shouted Alfred, helpful as ever.
Arthur inwardly groaned as he saw the American was correct. He stood to go to the bathroom again and properly clean up.
He was greeted with a snort from Feliks.
"Your fly is, like, totally undone."
Francis grinned, and grasped the small tube of make-up in his pocket. His work was done.