America has a weird thing for France. It's not a crush because he knows better than to get crushes on perverted European nations but sometimes he sees France and he gets these butterfly-like feelings in his stomach.
It isn't weird. It's like how he gets that twitch in his cheek when he sees Russia or how he always hides his wallet when China's around. Butterflies are just a normal reaction. Yeah.
But if it was just little fluttery insect feelings he might just put it all down to indigestion or something. But for one, it's France and his food is pretty good and for another, he also sometimes has these fantasies about pinning France to a wall and ravishing him. It's hard to blame that on indigestion (though he does get the weirdest dreams after eating at England's house).
And it would be totally cool if it had only happened once or twice. America has no problem fantasizing about fellow nations. Hell, he's even beat off to thoughts of Poland before. (But no one knows about that except for Canada and he's not going to say anything because he's totally jacked off to worse. Like say...thoughts of the Italy brothers making out).
It's just that lately he's been getting these…thoughts every time he sees Francis. They're not bad thoughts (on the contrary they're very, very good thoughts), they're just a bit concerning.
Like this one time when France arched his eyebrow at something stupid England said, America maybe wanted to lick that eyebrow. He guessed that wasn't totally abnormal because being raised by England had given him an appreciation of nicely plucked brows but the thought that maybe he could lick that eyebrow while they dry-humped on top of the Eiffel tower (because despite what everyone says he's not such an uncultured barbarian that he doesn't have an appreciation for cool architecture) was maybe a bit out of the ordinary.
Or maybe that time Francis was wearing this really baller black suit with a red tie (totally like the Spirit and god knows America has a thing for superheroes) and America spent most of the meeting thinking about all the naughty things he could do with that tie. Light bondage, blindfolding…heck, he would let France choke him with the thing if that's what got him off. France choking him might be kind of hot.
It wasn't just his clothes though. France took the time to make sure he looked damned good all the time and America could appreciate that. He could appreciate the nicely manicured nails, well-trimmed yet still sexily scruffy beard, and shining golden hair.
God, that hair. He could write sonnets about it but he's never been all that much of a poet so he just settles for worshiping it in his thoughts. He wants to tangle his fingers in it while France's hot mouth is tight around his cock, he wants use it to pull France closer so they can kiss until they run out of breath, he wants to bury his face in it while pounding France into the mattress (or France can do the pounding, America's not picky). He also has this weird urge to brush it. He wonders if France would let him.
(That's one fantasy that he's put a lot of detail into. In his mind, they're sitting in front of a fire and America's brushing France's hair. France isn't wearing a shirt so, as America runs the brush through hair so soft it feels like silk, he can appreciate the curve of France's spine. When he finishes, France looks over his shoulder at him, blue eyes dark with lust. They then proceed to do a lot things America isn't really proud of and that thoroughly ruin all the work America put into brushing so they have to do it all over again…)
He tried to talk to Japan about it because Canada would tell someone and England would probably have a hernia if he confided in him.
Japan hadn't been a whole lot of help. After listening patiently to America's rambling story of sexy Frenchmen and hair fetishes, he merely suggested America ask France out for coffee.
But it isn't that easy. This is France they're talking about. He's been having sex since before America was even a colony. He's the freaking nation of Romance, renowned for having a sophisticated air and being the one to emulate in matters of fashion and cuisine. What possible interest could he have in a graceless, uncultured boywhose main merit in bed was enthusiasm?
(Only maybe sometimes he thinks France could teach him how to be refined. America's not an idiot, he could learn how to dress and what wine to pair with what cheese. He could. And teaching refinement in the bedroom could be a fun learning experience for all involved)
So sometimes after he's finished fantasizing about riding France who's wearing a Napoleonic uniform and one of those giant bicorne hats, he sometimes dreams about asking France out.
He'd go up to him and they'd talk about Ben Franklin and what an awesome dude he was and discuss democratic philosophers and France would probably ask him how he spent Marti Gras and make fun of his French Creole. America would casually suggest they do this again sometime, maybe over dinner, and that would be that.
Only he hasn't worked up the nerve yet so he's at a world meeting, watching France laugh with Spain and thinking he'd like to find out what that laugh tastes like instead of going over and making conversation.
But then France looks up and notices America noticing him. He winks and smiles and America thinks to himself that it's time to man up and texts his secretary to make reservations at this really amazing restaurant that even France can't find fault with and hopes that he won't have to cancel them.