France and Seychelles

They fell against the door of the hotel room France had checked into last minute, mouths heatedly pressed together in a battle of fervour. The French nation moaned pleasurably as he tangled his fingers into the woman's brown locks in order to deepen the kiss.

She pushed against him and separated from the passionate kiss, her mouth forming a small impish grin. "Monsieur, you are very good at this. Surely you must have experience, no?"

France replied with a smirk. "Not quite as much as I would like. I was hoping you would be able to help me with that."

She giggled and scampered to the bed. "Seeking expertise from a common waitress? You flatter me."

"Oh no, mon cher," His look was of a wolfish hunger as he approached his lover. "You flatter me by even letting me be in the presence of such a beautiful creature."

She blinked up at him through her dark lashes and whispered in her most provocative tone. "And for that comment I think you deserve a present." She tugged sharply on his tie, pulling him down. France caught himself before he could fall against her and hovered over her alluring form, letting his eyes rake over her, taking in her tousled hair with red ribbons askew, the rising hem of her dress and the mischievous glint in her eye.

He couldn't resist.

He swooped down and captured her lips with his own, all too happy to let her remove his already half-unbuttoned shirt. The familiar tingling sensation spread throughout his skin, originating from the trail she made when tracing her slender fingers along his bare back. The thrill, pleasure and ardour returned to him and filled his being, engulfing him like a ravenous predator. His lust was overwhelming.

France was far too besieged by his craving to even notice the way the woman began to smirk against his kiss and the lethal needle that she pulled from her clothing. She brushed back his flaxen hair, an action in the disguise of a amorous caress, and then raised the needle, ready to plunge it into the bare skin of his neck.

"Ah-" She gasped and dropped the needle as her wrist was grabbed in his firm grip.

He broke away from her and let out a disappointed sigh, "Not another trying to kill me? And I really had hoped you weren't a nation hunter."

The woman's eyes were wide and her lips were parted in shock. She stared up at the man who she had thought was far too sex-crazed to notice, to even consider she was a nation hunter. It was a grave miscalculation on her part.

...

"Could you send a car over? The usual hotel." France stood across the room from his would-be assassin, speaking amicably into a mobile as if she had not just attempted to do away with him. She had been propped up into a corner her hands and ankles bound together, preventing any form of effective escape. Her mouth was twisted into a distasteful frown, brown eyes narrowed into two dangerous slits.

He glanced over to her within a pause in his conversation. He saw her expression and chuckled. She hissed.

"Oui...Oui, It's another one. For my harem! "

"What!?"

France ignored her outburst and carried on with his exchange over the phone. "Ohonhon, oui! Elle est très belle et dangereux. But you know that's just how I like it. D'accord... A bientôt!" France hung up and turned to her, smirking, "From this moment onwards you shall be part of my harem. I think I'll have Jean-Paul teach you the ropes to start with until you find your feet; he's one of my most experienced paramours."

"Let me get this straight: You have a harem!? And you are getting one of your male prostitutes to show me how to please you with sex!?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"The rumours were true. You're licentious...carnal, lewd! Completely and utterly lecherous!"

"What else would you expect? I'm France."

She glowered at the nation in a hostile manner, wishing for nothing more than for him to spontaneously burst into flames under her heated glare. No such luck.

"Say...what's your name?" He asked her.

Huffing in frustration, she relied with a role of the eyes. "You didn't even ask me my name before deciding to 'get it on'. How can you possibly claim to be the nation of 'l'amour' when each of your actions seems entirely unsentimental and indifferent?"

After waiting a moment to see if she would receive an answer- and just as she expected he didn't give one- she continued on with a bitter tone. "I would be different. I actually care about what happens to the people of this country. I would be a good nation. Unfortunately I can't say the same for you."

France remained silent for a while, eyes averted to the window where he watched the sun slowly peak over the horizon. Without looking back to her he spoke, "You still haven't told me your name."

She sighed- almost resignedly. "Michelle. You'd do best to ask that earlier next time."

I have never ever written anything the slightest bit raunchy before. That was a first for me and I don't think I ever want to write anything more that this ever. And if I have to write about it at some point in the future I will not turn it into a lemon. Let's just stick to 'they made love' shall we? Yep, yep! Sounds good!

...I'm scared of smut. (Even though I read it on occasions... You there! Shhhh! Don't tell anyone.)

France and Seychelles guys! I'm actually kind of proud of this...in a way. In other ways not so much.

Later in the story I don't expect anything romantic to happen between them. This story is not for the romance! Besides, I can never really picture these two together as a couple. It always just feels more like a strange father/daughter relationship to me. Most fans will probably agree there though.

I was going to explain some stuff here but I'm to tired. It's nearly 1pm here. Night night! I'm going for some zzz's now