Written for the kink meme: US/UK hook up Franada. I had way too much fun with this xD Enjoy!

Canada was drunk. America felt the quick thrill of "brace yourself!" that he always got when going out to drink with England, but reminded himself that this was Canada. His little brother was a lot nicer and –

"I'm so lonely!" Canada wailed, clinging to America. "You stupid – you left me for England and now I have no one! I didn't even like hanging out with you and now I miiiiss iiiiiit! Idiot!"

America patted him on the head. It was nice to know that Canada had inherited something from England. "I didn't leave you. I'm still your awesome big brother!"

"You're younger than me!"

"Pfft we're twins and I'm taller. So I'm bigger."

Canada sniffled. "You're still a bleeding tosser and a right arse."

Ahhh, that sounded familiar! "We just need to get you a date, and then you'll feel better. Any nice lady catch your fancy?" Canada sat up now, looking forlorn. Then he said something in French. Unfortunately, America's extent of knowing French came from "Lady Marmalade," and if he used that phrase with England he got sucker-punched. "You're gonna have to speak English, bro."

"That's the point! I spoke French so you wouldn't know who I just confessed my undying unrequited love for!" Canada mourned, drinking more.

He had nothing else for it. Embracing the technique of brothers everywhere, he got Canada in a headlock and gave him a noogie until he confessed.

He went to England for sympathy and got it in the form of being screwed into the mattress. He didn't mind that, but it still didn't solve the immediate problem. "So…" he ventured, not sure how to phrase this without giving England a heart attack, "I feel bad for Canada."

England was lying on his stomach, a book resting on the pillow, and he didn't even bother removing his eyes from the pages as he responded, "Is this because you left him at that bar?"

"I didn't… oh shit, I did." He moved to go find his cell phone.

"It's all right; I called a cab for him. So if not that, is it because you locked him into the conference room again?"

America turned onto his side, giving England his best pout. England knew it was there and his lips quirked into a smirk, but he didn't look up. "It's hardly my fault that he dropped his papers-"

"What about how you ate his lunch and yours?"

"I was hungry, and-"

"Or when you thought his glasses were your spare pair and he walked around blindly for two weeks?"

"It's not my fault we have the same prescription and-"

"And then there was the time-"

"That's not the point!" America hastily cried, his embarrassment permitting England to give a full-out smile. "The point is that I feel bad for Canada, because he's really lonely. He really needs a boyfriend, but…"

Assuming, and rightly so, that America was not about to give this up, England removed the book and rested his head on the pillow, facing him and his eager yet worried expression. "Your brother is far more introverted than you are, so perhaps he's pleased with his solitude."

"I don't think he's lonely, I know he is," America retorted, tapping his own temple. "He said it while drunk, and now that I'm paying attention, I can feel it."

One of England's impressive eyebrows quirked up. "Feel it?"

"Yeah. We're twins. We can do that kinda thing." He gave a dismissive hand-wave. "I think the Italy brothers can do it too."

"… … Contrary to your blasé attitude, most siblings can't-"

"He totally wants France."

That shut England up. And then he snickered. "You must be joking."

America shook his head, not looking amused at all. With the slightest tint of a blush, he admitted, "He feels towards France like I feel towards you. But that's the problem! No way is my brother going to get together with France! If I ever see a sex tape of him online I may just wipe France off the map."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing…"

"Eeeeenglaaaaaad this is seeerioooous," he whined. "My brother wants a playboy and I want my brother to be not lonely but also not a toy!"

England swept America's hair behind his ears in a soothing gesture. "All right. Tomorrow I'll talk to Canada about it, and you can talk to France. I think you'll feel better."

"By 'talk to' you mean 'threaten,' right?" America asked, eyes hopeful.

England chuckled. He raised him so well.

Canada couldn't remember a thing about the night before, much to his chagrin. Of course he knew that nothing scandalous had happened – he had woken up alone in a very cozy pair of flannel pajamas – but still, what if he'd said something? Or did something? There wasn't even a hockey game he could blame it on…

There was no other recourse. He was going to have to call America.

He balked when England answered the phone, although belatedly he realized that he should have expected it. "America's on a business trip," England explained soothingly, "but I'm more than willing to talk to you, my dear boy."

He wasn't sure what did it; his father-figure being so nice, or the fact that he really was that lonely, but rather than hang up, like he should have done, he asked, "Did America mention anything about last night? All I know is I had this hangover that hurt like bloody hell and…" He cleared his throat; apparently he wasn't feeling 100%, if he was making British swears.

England chuckled soothingly. "You did get a bit pissed, pet, but no, you didn't go to bed with anything unsavoury."

Canada let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good-"

"However, I do think you should reconsider your affections for France."

Canada wasn't sure what was more shocking – that England knew, or the very noticeable change in demeanor from the other country. "I'm… not… eh…"

"Of course you'd be attracted to him," England continued, "He did raise you, and was likely the first person approaching civilized you'd ever met. But if you ever did have relations with him you'd likely contract an incurable disease, and we don't want that, do we?"

Canada stuttered a negative. "He's all talk!" he finally cried, "And – oh, why am I – I mean, thank you, but eh, I mean-"

"Canada, hush." He went silent. There was an awkward pause between the two before England finally continued, "You could do worse. I'm not entirely sure how, but you could."

Canada was bright red, thanking fate that this was a conversation taking place over the telephone. "Poland?"

"… I'll accept that."

"So, um, America knows, eh? And so this business trip he's on is aboot…"

"Yo!" America exclaimed, marching into France's house like he owned it. France, who was watering his rose garden, merely looked up with a sigh. Occasionally America would get a craving for edible food and would show up at random, and this time, France thought, was no exception. "I need to talk to you, dude!"

France gave a put-upon sigh, putting down his watering can. Before he knew it, however, he had been shoved into a corner and had America looming over him. France hoped against hope that the expression on the taller nation's face would be a sexy leer, but if it was, it was a remarkably frightening one. "FYI," he drawled, "if you hurt my baby brother, I will assure the only person you ever have sex with again is yourself, and you'll be able to because you'll be super flexible without a spinal cord."

Long used to hearing threats, France nodded. He considered asking what America was talking about, but decided he was better off not knowing.

"Awesome!" America clapped him on the back. "Now then, excuse me but I have this wicked strong taste for some French fries!" He cheerfully sauntered in the house.

There were a lot of things the now-alone France could ask. What the hell just happened? or Who said you could just go into my house and eat my food?, but what he finally settled on was, "How many times do I have to tell you that French fries are Belgian?"

Later that week, England and America curled up on the couch under a large blanket with a cup of tea and hot chocolate, respectively. America had a notebook on his lap labeled "Operation Hook France and Canada Up, Although If That Frenchie Hurts My Little Bro I'll Pwn Him."

"Unwieldy, but it gets the point across," England said, proud. Really, this entire experience had made him realize just how much he and America had in common.

"I call it OHFACUAITFHMLBIPH."

Forget that whole "things in common" bit. "And does this plan have any details?"

"Well, I was hoping we could do it together," America admitted, ears turning red.

"All right," he replied, ears just as red. "Let's make a list of what we know of their likes and dislikes."

This is what they came up with:

France:

Likes: wine, perversion, cheese, nudity, losing, French
Dislikes: things that are awesome (i.e. America) or relevant

Canada:

Likes: maple syrup, bears, hockey, (Fake) French
Dislikes: things that are awesome (i.e. America)

"Didn't Canada win a cheese championship? Or was it wine?" England mused. America added "cheese and/or wine" to the list of Canada's likes.

"Oh! He likes violence and drugs!" the younger nation proudly proclaimed.

England raised an eyebrow. "Canada, your brother?"

"Yep! You'd be surprised."

They looked over the list. "So, essentially they shall be bonding over a love of cheese and wine and speaking French, and a hatred of you."

"That's harsh."

"But accurate. Now, we need an actual plan."

America winced. "See, the problem is that the typical dating stuff is just France's way of seducing people, which is so not what I want! They need to fall in love, not get laid!"

"You do realize that they're going to be doing that eventually," England said gently.

America winced again, eyes going unfocused, before he dramatically stood up. "I'll kill him!" The notebook and cocoa spilled to the floor.

England made a mental note about what to do the next time that wino made him mad, but stood up and cupped America's face. "America, look at me."

Reluctantly he made eye contact.

"You are not allowed to defend your brother unless he actually needs it," he said sternly. "But Canada loves the stupid bastard, so if you want him to be happy, you have to give France a chance."

Finally America nodded.

"All right. Come sit, poppet. We'll work on this later."