Soooo...this is a rant?
Warning: yaoi, mentions of sexual content, sorry for any grammar mistakes!
2# Why He Loves Him (France edition) -FrUk (Nation Verse)
Ears:
He loved Arthur's cute ears, how small they were and how they were pointed at the top. They resembled the ears of the elves Arthur always liked to go on about. He loved to kiss those ears, suck on the ear lobes and lap at the shells. When he did that, Arthur would make the cutest gasps and squeals, reminding the Frenchman of teenage love.
Eyes and Eyebrows:
They were the Brit's best features, or at least two of them. Francis couldn't help but want to drown himself in the dancing emerald and gold hues of the other's eyes; they were always so big and bright, giving away his emotions when Arthur refused to facially show them or say anything out loud. They were like the eyes of a doll, framed by paper thin eyelids and thick eyelashes. His eyebrows, those big, caterpillars on his face, were the most adorable thing Francis had ever seen. He had lied, all those centuries ago. Arthur's eyebrows were beautiful and cute and made his face look perfect. If the Brit plucked them, and they stayed plucked, Francis would through a fit. Francis loved to press kisses to his eyelids and eyebrows, making Arthur flustered and embarrassed. But he loved them. He did.
Lips:
If someone thought Arthur's eyes and eyebrows were not the prettiest work of art ever seen, then there was no denying that Arthur's next best feature was his lips. Fragile, pink lips as soft as the underside of a rose with a bottom lip bigger than the top. Francis new how fragile those lips were, how bruise able they were as his teeth nibbled and his tongue tasted, lost in a heated moment of intimacy. He loved how they'd turn raw red and slight dark purple at the end of the night, when they were both tired and content from the physical activities that led to dirtied sheets and chilling, sweaty skin.
Body:
Francis loved Arthur's body, although there were some things he didn't necessarily like as well. He didn't like how skinny Arthur's body was, how the Englishman could never gain weight, how his waist was always too small and feminine for a man and how his ribs were always peaking out. He knew this was from undernourishment due to the plagues, sickness and starvation back in the early days of England; events that may or may not have been because of Francis. Because of France. His people. His country. His kings, queens and leaders. Still, Francis kissed every rib and battle scar -paying special attention to the ones he had inflicted -on Arthur's body, teeth clenching around adorable pink nipples. He licked at bony hips, kissed every freckle and "blemish", whatever Arthur considered an imperfection that Arthur despised yet Francis adored. Francis' favorite parts, though, were Arthur's legs -how'd they curl and clench around his torso, drawing him further inside -and his nails -how they left bleeding, uneven gashes down his back -and Arthur's neck -so sensitive and soft, like feeling silk against his rough face.
Inside:
Need he say more? Arthur was no virgin, neither was Francis, but Arthur's insides always welcomed greedily and accepted eagerly. There was no awkward, virginal bleeding Francis had to worry about; he only had to worry about stretching Arthur too much, tearing something inside by being too rough, and making sure to hit that "ohmyfuckinggod" spot that made Arthur loose control, arch his back and scream. He made sure Arthur came more than once, feeling more pleasure than he. He made Arthur feel loved, beautiful, happy, as they writhed on top of the bed sheets.
Heart:
Francis, above all else, loved Arthur's heart. How capable he was to feel, how strong those emotions were. Arthur loved Alfred -America -and Matthieu -Canada -like sons, even when they left him. Even when Alfred betrayed him. Even when Matthieu showed Francis and Arthur that he was not some simpering maid, earning their respect and his independence. Arthur loved them, they were family, they were his babies, and they would always love the Brit for the sacrifices he made and the love he gave. Alfred would still come crying to him if he was hurt. Matthieu would talk to Arthur every other week over the phone or via email. They both sent Arthur's flowers and chocolates for Valentine's Day and Mother's Day. The four of them -Francis, Arthur, Alfred and Matthieu -would all gather for Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving, New Year's, Easter, birthdays and -sometimes -St. Patrick's Day at Arthur's brother's country of Ireland. Or for St. Patrick's Day in one of Alfred's big cities. Francis loved Arthur for all the love Arthur gave him; all the smiles, breakfast attempts, good morning, hello, good bye and good night kisses shared, the cold, rainy nights spent in front of the fire, cuddling together beneath a warm blankets, falling asleep curled together and spooning. Francis offered his heart as a sacrifice, gaining Arthur's in return.
Because that's how they worked. They fought like dogs, maintaining a symbiotic love and peaceful, soothing life. They loved. They lost. They felt anger, betrayal, heartbreak, lust, love, passion, compassion, friendship, hope, happiness, depression, anxiety, fear, peace, desire, want, need. To Francis, Arthur was his everything; Arthur reminded Francis of the moon, beautiful and sometimes untouchable, but always present -even when you can't see it -and soothing. A light in the darkness. Arthur's was Francis' light, the moonbeams in a cold, unforgiving night.
Francis loved Arthur. There was no doubting that.
BAM!
Sorry for the wait, guys!
I need some things from you guys:
One -suggestions that you can post in the comment section OR private message me. I need these so I can write more chapters about stuff that YOU GUYS want!
Two -REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS! I need your reviews to let me know how I'm doing
Three -I NEED YOUR LUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUVVV!
Anyway, that third one was weird, but the statement still stands.
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With love,
~kitty
