A/N: Oh boy, here we go. This is my first story with actual sex scene so don't hate if it's bad! I wrote this in like a record time of 30 minutes, so I apologize if it's not any good.

The cover picture for this story was drawn by the lovely Panda Aru.

Her fanfic account: www. fan fiction . net / u/2770322

Her picture: panda - leaf. dev iant art art /Just -a -bit -tipsy -319305028

(Remove spaces and add the http thingy)

Thanks Panda!

Canada sipped from a can of beer, his head buzzing. The party America had hosted was going really well, since his living room was turned into a dance floor. Bodies were shoved so close to each other, it made Canada a little sick, so he was sitting on a couch that had been pushed aside.

Canada gulped down the last bit of the drink before crumpling the aluminum and tossing it aside. It made a clink sound and he turned to see it had hit another empty can that he'd drunk as well. He tried counting the cans. 1, 2, 3, 4 . . . His vision blurred and he stopped counting. Whatever. He was at a party, who cares?

Now normally the Canadian's reaction would've been a little more severe, but he had ingested just enough alcohol so that his normal common sense was gone. Leaving a tired, irritable Canada in its place.

"Birdie!" Canada looked up from the pile of cans to see Prussia shoving through the crowd and making his way to him. "Birdie! Wanna dance?" He shouted over the music.

In that flash mob? Canada glared at him. "Nope."

"Please Birdie? One song?"

"I said no." Canada's voice was harsh.

"Woah. What's up your ass?" The Prussian raised an eyebrow. Then he spotted the pile of cans. "You drink all of those?"

"Fuck off."

"No way! Birdie's drunk! That's awesome! Well, not as awesome as me, but- " he leaned forward so that his body was almost flush with the Canadian's. "You're cute when you're drunk." He said with a devious grin.

Canada frowned at him, confused. "Get off me," he hissed.

"Make me."

"Fuck you."

"You're quite pissy when drunk, aren't you?"

"I'll shove a hockey stick up your ass if you don't move."

"Kesesesese… Oh, I'd like that, Birdie. I'd like that very much."

Suddenly Prussia was pulled back and shoved away by a slightly annoyed Frenchman. "Prussia. Go find someone else to take advantage of."

"What? I was just having fun with Canada. I'd thought you'd go for something like that." Prussia smirked.

"Not while mon fils is drunk, thank you. Anyone else is just fine by me." France told him before taking a seat next to his son. "Go find Austria. I heard he was in the kitchen, oui?"

Prussia scowled but understood what was going to happen. "Fine. But I get him tomorrow during the hangover." He twisted and disappeared into the crowd.

France smiled and turned to Canada. Now was his chance! His beautiful son was something he always wanted, but it was just so difficult to convince someone as innocent as him. But drunk? Now France had an opportunity, and he was not going to ignore it.

Meanwhile Canada just stared back at his father, completely unaware that there'd been a conversation going on. He really was drunk then.

"Mon amor, why don't we go somewhere where I can hear you better?" The music wasn't really that loud, but the first step in France's guide to instant sex was to isolate.

Canada had a glassy look in his eyes, but he nodded. He was tired of sitting in this stuffy room anyways.

France pulled the younger nation to his feet and led him by the hand out of the living room. They went down a narrow hallway and passed by Spain and a flushed Romano making out against the wall. Canada saw but really didn't comprehend it. France smirked and continued down the corridor. If Spain had gotten what he wanted, then there'd be no way France could go empty handed.

They finally opened a door to a guest bedroom and walked inside. France led his disoriented son to the bed to sit. Then he shut the door behind him. The music from the party had long since faded so it was eerily quiet now.

Canada stared at France. "Papa, my head feels weird."

"Don't worry, mon cher. That's what normally happens when you drink too much." France approached him.

Even in his drunk-induced state Canada felt something was wrong and shifted uncomfortably. "Papa?"

"Yes?" France was now so close their noses were touching.

"Are you going to baise-moi?"

"Only if you want to." That was a lie, of course. He'd do what he wanted.

It took a few moments for Canada to finally understand what was going on. His common sense was fuzzy and warped from the alcohol. So in his head he thought, why not?

"I want you to, Papa."

The answer surprised France but he said nothing as he pushed Canada down on the bed and straddled him. If he wasn't fighting it made it all the better. "Oui. My little boy has gotten naughty, hasn't he?" he teased.

Canada simply stared up at his father, waiting. So the little Canada was indeed serious? Well, France wouldn't disappoint.

France stuck one hand down the Canadian's pants. Canada's breath hitched and the Frenchman smiled. He expertly began stroking his member. Canada moaned and shifted restlessly underneath him.

France undid Canada's pants and slid them down to his feet, where Canada kicked them off the rest of the way. It revealed his already hardening member. France ignored the tightness in his own pants and leaned forward and kissed the nation's neck, all the while not stopping his fingers' dance along his manhood. The Canadian shivered underneath him, biting his lip.

Somewhere at the back of Canada's head he was starting to sober and felt something terribly wrong about this whole thing, but it was ignored. It felt so . . . good. An exciting yet terrifying experience Canada had only felt once or twice. And despite all he thought was right (and because he was still drunk), he let it happen.

And so it did.

..~xThisIsAPageBreakx~..

Sunlight warmed Canada's face and he shifted restlessly underneath the blankets. A hand came up to stroke his hair and he relaxed, falling back into his deep slumber. France smiled at his adorable son, stroking his golden locks that so much resembled his.

He'd never had a more enjoyable night.

Over the years France had had plenty of lovers, male and female, but none like this. The way Canada handled himself was bliss. If only there were more like him . . .

France shook his head at the thought. No. Canada was special. He had an air about him that made him as innocent as a child, but still able to handle himself in bed, even drunk. That of course must've come from his Papa. France was the country of love after all.

Once again Canada stirred next to him and France calmed him. The younger nation was no doubt someone he'd keep pursuing; especially now he knew what happened when he was drunk. France chuckled to himself. The boy was almost as bad as England. Not that bad, but pretty damn close.

Canada opened one violet eye at the sound of his father. He twisted around to stare at France, who smiled upon his awakening and ran a hand through his hair. "Bonjour, Canada. Sleep well?" he smiled.

Canada squinted at him and yawned. "Papa, what are . . . where are . . . ow, my head." He brought up a hand to his forehead and winced.

"Oui, it seems you will have a terrible hangover for a little while."

Canada's eyes widened as it dawned on him. "Hangover?" He sat up fast and paled as he realized both he and his father were naked. He looked back and forth between himself and France. He didn't . . .

"Maple! Papa! Goddamnit!" Canada cursed, jumping out of the bed and frantically searching for his clothes. But they were nowhere to be found.

"Looking for these?" Canada scowled when he saw France hold up a pair of pants and other clothes from the night before.

"Papa, give them back." The younger nation hissed.

"I don't think so." The Frenchman smiled sweetly, teasing his son by shaking the clothes slightly.

Canada lunged for them but France held them just out of reach. They began grappling for them, Canada cursing in both English and French while France laughed. Eventually Canada prevailed and managed to grab his father's wrist.

Unfortunately for him, France also managed to grab something.

Canada tensed and clamped his mouth shut to keep himself from moaning as his father yanked on his curl. The Frenchman snickered and teasingly began to wrap the strand of hair around his finger. "My, my, mon cher. You've gone scarlet."

"S-stop . . ." the Canadian said but he was cut off as hot jolts of pleasure shot through his body. He couldn't help it. He moaned.

"Mmmhmm. I would, but you seem to be enjoying this." France's smile was only getting bigger.

" . . . Papa. Please." Canada gasped as his father gave his curl a rather violent yank. His face burned red with embarrassment and sexual tension.

"What? What is it, mon amor?" France whispered into his ear.

Canada shivered and tried to move back, but it only made him sigh with pleasure as his curl grew taught. Finally he collapsed on his father's naked form, releasing his wrist.

France grinned wickedly and rolled them over so that he was straddling his son. Canada's curl was still in his hands. He gave it another pull, and the younger nation gasped, shutting his eyes and arching his back slightly.

"Now, my son, we play by my rules."

And indeed they did. Canada only lasted one round with France, unlike the night before, but with the curl on his father's side, he was exhausted by the end of it. They finally curled up in the bed, France with a satisfied look on his face and Canada panting heavily. "Damn you," he muttered before he fell asleep.

France stared at the tired form of his son and the rise and fall of his chest. So beautiful . . .

Damn, he could get used to this.

A/N: The end! One important thing I forgot to point out was that throughout this whole thing Canada did not resist his father's antics in any way (though he did complain). Just letting you know . . . REVIEW MY STORY! Please. It'd make me really happy, k?

Translations!

Mon fils: My son

Mon amor: My love

Mon cher: My dear

Baise-moi: fuck me (now you understand, right?)