Song: Tonight I'm fucking you. (do pardon my French, if not to mention the following chapter's French from the Frenchman).
Artist: Enrique Iglesias.
(P.S, this is like a direct continuation of last chapter, so the first, short sentence might not make sense if you don't remember how last chap ended ;p )
And he had every right to. For as France found his seat, he had a rather pondering expression on his face, and Canada was sure would wreak havoc once again in not all too long. After all, the French was just too fond of eyes being glued to him to piped down now.
France on his end was humming. This was their last day of meetings, and tomorrow everyone would return to their respectable houses. And what a week it had been. France nodded to himself. It had been rather entertaining, as bothering his fiendish 'friend' from across the channel never bored him.
However, and France stopped his shuffling of documents, looking thoughtfully down at them. It was perhaps time to stop aimlessly playing around and do what he had planned when first coming to this meeting. After all, going to a week of meetings for the mere sake of the meetings was no fun, and France would have had no problem coming up with a –very good- reason as to why he could not possibly attend. So of course the French nation had had an alternate motive for coming, and if he did not want the extra ticket he had bought back to his house to go to waste, he would have to get to work. Meetings could wait.
And so it was that mere minutes since France's –in England's eyes- outrageous appearance, with France just having turned away from them, England finally wriggling free from the larger American, not really having the heart to scold him –or the energy, as all the jumping around had done nothing for his poor back and behind-, the jazz hands were falling in line and England starting going through his suitcase for the day's files, that he did not sense the not-at-all-done atmosphere.
However, Ludwig did, for a grave change, and sent his brother a very hopeless stare attached to a very tired sigh. The albino on the other hand, didn't notice at all.
Another who noticed, was Canada.
France nudged Prussia and Spain. Prussia grinned widely. "Hit it?" He said, speaking the French's thoughts. And so, when suddenly nine of the nations bellowed out a "", with far too much enthusiasm, England noticed as well.
At the second "", everyone was 'you'-ing except England, America, Germany, Canada and France. The last mentioned making a big show of loosening the buttons of his jacket.
At the third, Canada sank deep into his chair, suddenly understanding that being invisible wasn't such a bad thing on a daily basis, considering the tens of nations now howling 'you' at him very much aware of his existence right now –France standing in the middle of them all.
When the third "" had ended, it was quiet for a little while, and a brief, thankful second Canada thought that would be it. That it was just some random aftermath. Sadly though, as France let his jacket fall to the floor and very slowly turned to look at him with glinting eyes, his hopes were crushed, gutted and executed.
"I know you want me," France began. England stared. America stared as well. Canada most definitely stared.
"I made it obvious I want you too," France sloped his head to the side, blowing Canada a kiss that would mark the poor nation for the rest of his life.
"So put it on me," France did the most anyone could out of each step he took towards the Canadian. And as the poor northern nation watched, he could not help wonder exactly for how longFrance had 'wanted him too'.
"Let's remove the space between me and you," France was close enough to lean against Canada's arm rests. The heavily accented voice purred as their faces where inches apart. Not very long, most likely, Canada decided with an inwardly, hopeless sigh.
"Now rock your body," France scanned down Canada. "Oooh," he grinned lightly, really purring like a cat as if his view pleased him. Feeling most of the blood leave his face, Canada searched for an alternate escape rout from the chair.
"Damn I like the way that you move." France let go of a blissful huff. Canada felt like crying from the terror, face going white into almost bluish. He could not find any. Behind them England looked like he was about to explode. The way you move, indeed, the poor lad was obviously trying to get away! And with good reason.
"So give it to me," France hummed, taking a gentle hold of Canada's chin and turning his face towards himself.
"Oooo-oooh," Prussia and Denmark came in –not hitting a single note.
"Cause I already know what you wanna do."
Well, we all know what you wanna do, was the communal thought that rang through them all in a rare moment full agreement –a moment that was much sought for in actual serious meetings-.
"Here's the situation," France let go of the Canadian and chair all together, spinning backwards a few steps with his arms stretched out to introduce Canada to the rest of the room.
"Been to every nation," France smiled.
"No shit," America said openly.
"Nobody's ever made me feel the way that you do," France nailed Canada to the chair with a single glance. "You know my motivation," France stepped onto a chair and then a table in one fleeting motion. "Given my reputation," and he spread his arms again, turning around a little as all the nations were gathered around his table. All of which having seen the inside of France's trousers and been under his duvet.
"Please excuse me," France puckered his lips. "I don't mean to be rude," he smiled in false coyness. "But," and his eyes lit up with such passion they were literally glowing.
"Tonight I'm fucking you." It was stated as a blunt fact.
"Oh, you know~" the nations around the table cooed.
"That tonight I'm fucking you," France let his hands travel down his body.
"Oh, you know~" every nations head turned to Canada.
"That tonight I'm fucking you," France danced circles with his hips.
"Oh, you know~", in Canada's ears it sounded like they sang the certainty of his doom.
"That tonight I'm fucking you," France pointed to him. Canada had no doubt they probably were.
"Oh, you know~." And France proceeded to stand at the edge of the table, falling backwards to be caught by his waiting chorus and audience. He struck a comfortable pose as he lay supported by many hands, and then they started passing him over through the crowd.
"You're so damn pretty," France winked, reaching the end of the living baggage reclaim.
"I'd say he his more like 'cute'," America noted, receiving an elbow in the gut from the annoyed English next to him.
France got back on his feet, tilting his hips a little. "If I had a type," he faked a ponder with a finger to his cheek. "Then baby," his eyes shone as he laid his eyes on Canada. "It'd be you." Canada swallowed hard.
"I know you're ready," France took a step closer. Canada wasn't so sure he agreed.
"If I never lied," France encircled Canada's chair. "Then baby you'd be the truth," he stopped behind him.
"Here's the situation," France leaned down, resting one hand on Canada's shoulder and lowering his head next to the Canadian's so they could look at each other. France sighed. "Been to ever nation," he used his free hand to show with a sweeping motion to the audience-ing and 'oooh'-ing nations in front of them, some of them flushing, others grinning and some looking absolutely horrified –England, for instance- when his hand passed them.
"Nobody's ever made me feel the way that you do," France blew into Canada's ear briefly, earning a surprised –and very pleasing- yelp. "You know my motivation," France purred, the hand on Canada's shoulder starting an experienced travel down the younger's chest.
"Given his reputation," ninety eight percent of the other nations abruptly broke in, Russia in particular putting a lot of effort into their hip-rolling, scary quite a few to stand on a several feet's distance.
"Please excuse me," France chuckled at the view –nothing could scare him, as long as it was sexual-. "I don't mean to be rude."
"Really?" Canada asked, his voice much more of a squeak than intended, as he did not really believe France for a second.
"But tonight," France undid the nation's first shirt button. "I'm fucking you~."
"Oh, you know~," the nation's broke into an all-freestyle dancing.
"That tonight I'm fucking you," France hummed, undoing the next button.
"Oh, you know~."
"That tonight I'm fucking you," yet another button.
"Oh, you know~."
"That tonight I'm fucking you." And then the next third, forth and fifth button. Canada squirmed as France's finger slid against his exposed skin.
"Oh, you know~." Canada's breath of relief as France's hands disappeared was but a short one. For now France strolled back to end up in front of him, the pace of the song and dancing and 'oooh'-ing changing drastically all together.
"Tonight I'm gonna do," France smiled. "Everything that I want with you."
"Everything?" Canada's voice was for sure nothing but a squeak this time.
"Everything that you need," France caressed the younger's cheek. "Everything that you want." He leaned in closer, leaning his other hand to the armrest. "I wanna, honey," his breath ghosted across the Canadian's lips as France seemed to inspect his face with curved lips.
"I wanna stunt with you," France's hands slipped around Canada.
"From the window," and in a motion far too elegant than what should be possible for the move he proceeded to do, he had lifted the Canadian out of his chair, "to the wall." Canada hiccupped in surprise.
"Gonna give you my all," France assured with a smile, the Canadian freezing still in his arms. "Winter and summertime," France hummed pleased, "when I get you on the springs," his face so close Canada barely dared breathe. The hand around his back slid along the hem of the Canadian's trousers. "Imma make you fall."
Then Canada's feet were let go to gently swing down onto the floor, Canada himself gasping as he didn't manage to cry out properly in surprise.
"You got that body," France winked, his left hand feeling Canada's shape as it found its way to rest at his waist. "That make me wanna get up on the floor," France led Canada with him to the middle of the floor, "just to see you dance." And with another confident smile and teasing glint of his eyes, he led Canada into a dance, to everyone's (those who were 'oooh'-ing enthusiastically even stopped for a second to stare) clear surprise.
"And I love the way you shake that ass,"
"I- I am not!" Canada protested meekly, but just made France's teasing smile widen.
"Turn around and let me see them pants," and he twirled Canada around with one hand, before returning his hold on his waist –his hand having slipped several inches further down, mind-.
"You're stuck with me," France nodded to the mob of nations, who –at everyone day except from right now- never took much notice of Canada.
"I'm stuck with you," France pointed to England with his right hand, intertwined with Canada's, an over exaggerated sigh hopping from his mouth merely for the sake of making the English annoyed. –Which he managed without trouble.
"Let's find something to do," France returned his full attention to Canada who gulped. "Please, excuse me," France pulled their intertwined hands to him, giving Canada's fingers a butterfly kiss.
"I don't mean to be rude," France glanced at him from across their hands, making him pull in a sharp breath.
"But tonight I'm fucking you," France continued leading him around the room in an elegant dance.
"Oh, you know~," the nations around started up again.
"That tonight I'm fucking you," France swung Canada out, only to twirl him back in to a close embrace, stopping their movement across the floor.
"Oh, you know~." Yes, he knew. Very much so.
"That tonight, I'm loving you," And with that as a humming tone in the back of his throat, France swooped down to give him a proper and sweet, French kiss in all it's glory.
When they finally parted, Prussia –with a scull-splitting grin- and Spain –with an impressed 'Oh'- clapping and America laughing, Canada was thoroughly red from cheek to cheek.
"I don't get you," England then huffed, breaking France's gaze into the younger nation's eyes. The Brit looked at them –well, really just France- with a sort of malicious humour in his eyes. "You sing like you were going to do him right then and there on the floor, and then you start dancing?"
But France disarmed him with a single smile, pressing Canada's fingers to his lips again. "A true gentleman woos his chosen one with subtlety and charm. There is a reason, my dear Angleterre, that I am the country of love and you not, as you seem unable to understand even that much."
And thus he offered his hand to Canada, who was either too embarrassed or too blown away to do refuse, and left the room, with poor –and forgotten- meeting never have gotten a single chance to get even close to beginning.
But that was completely without importance, as France's extra flight ticket now was occupied.