Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, I just own an unhealthy devotion to France as a nation and its history. English is not my mother language and neither is French, any constructive criticism is appreciated.
Warnings: France is going to speak random French because… well, he's France. The starting point of this fanfiction came to life because of a debate about tubes of paint with a friend of mine. Then I added the porn, since two stories in a row without porn wouldn't be up to my standards. Thanks to Stars of Yaoi/Lacertae to have unwillingly solved the problem of who was going to top this time.
Oil and chocolate
It was a sunny and nicely warm morning in Florence, much to Romano's disappointment. It hadn't been his idea to have the small reunion of nations at his place, and much less it had been his idea to invite –just to name the worst of the lot- France and Germany.
Since Veneziano really liked Germany for reasons he could not fathom, he'd had to live with the chance that the German nation would drop by from time to time, but why this time his little brother had decided to include also France and England was a mystery Romano was all but willing to deal with.
Germany wasn't together with them at the moment, but his presence was literally lingering all around them, turning the Italian nation more and more annoyed by the second. From the open window of the nearby house that they had rented, he could indeed smell clearly the grilled meat Germany was currently cooking for their lunch.
What reassured Romano on a matter of what they were supposed to ingest later was that first and side dishes had been left in his and his brother's care, whilst France had taken upon himself to come up with a suitable dessert, because he sure as hell wasn't about to survive a whole German meal. His grilled meat was good, though, even if he would never admit it openly and the smell of it slowly cooking on the grill clearly reminded Romano that Germany was still there, no matter if he couldn't actually see him.
Who he could see, however, were France, England and Veneziano, none of whom he was particularly liking at the moment. Or ever, just to be honest. He sighed, then, and surveyed the unnatural scene from his position perched on the brickwork on the levee of the river, as he reminded himself how they had come to all of this.
England, as soon as he had noticed the sun rising up and shining that morning, had stolen his husband's portable chair and claimed a spot under the shade of a nearby tree, only to take out his embroidery set and start working on it. In front of France's vocal protest and Italy's pout, the English nation had simply pointed out that he didn't trust Italy's weather as much as he didn't trust the nation himself, and that he preferred avoiding tans and sunburns, since he would be most likely the one to cure France's by the end of the day.
Even though England was probably right, the couple had bickered for a whole hour on the topic, leaving Italy enough time for arranging the easels and a stand on which they could place what they would need for their day of painting in the open air.
Much to Romano's dismay, painting happily together by the river levee was exactly what France and Italy were doing at the moment. He had honestly hoped that France and England's fight would have brought the two of them to finally kill one another or at least to pack up and leave – no matter if, by this time, he should have known better than hoping for such a logical consequence of their fighting.
Even though the scene was already enough to depress Romano to no end, there was still one person missing among the invitees, something that apparently was a relief for the southern nation but not so much for his brother.
"Big Brother France? Wasn't America supposed to come along with the two of you?" Italy asked eventually, averting his eyes from his overly realistic painting to stare at France as he changed both paintbrush and paint to use.
"Uhm?" France acknowledged, watching closely the canvas he was working on, as he took some more colour from his palette to mix it directly over the paint he had previously applied, to darken the edges of the three branches he was currently working on. "He was supposed to…. I wonder if he has gotten lost, he might have mixed maps once again."
France wetted his lower lip as he defined some more the nuance until it turned how he had imagined it, before properly look away from his impressionistic painting and finally stare back at Italy.
"I even prepared a map of Florence right where he would find it, this time, but knowing America it might have magically turned into a map of the United States as soon as he touched it." He confessed with a sigh. "I don't really know what's wrong with that kid."
"Knowing the both of you, it might have been a simple misunderstanding." England offered his own piece of mind, not even bothering to stare at the two Romance nations. "He probably meant that he was joining us for lunch, not for the whole painting session. You probably were just too hyped by the chance that he actually wanted to do something culturally inclined for once, to properly understand what he was telling you."
"That's not true! He really said that he wanted to try painting on canvas along with us!" France whined back at his husband, pouting at him for lack of other physical gestures he could do unless he wanted to smear colour all over his pink shirt and white trousers. "I'm certain of it, especially considering that he added 'sometimes I forget how old you are and how many boring things we actually left behind' as well."
"How came that I lost that?" England enquired, this time actually looking up from his embroidery.
"You were burning something in the kitchen." France deadpanned. "After I so implored you not to cook anything."
"Wait, I remember that time!" England countered, his face turning slightly red in both anger and embarrassment. "I wasn't cooking anything, I had just tried to preheat the stove for you, since it was lunchtime and you were still busy with America!"
"I said you burned and cooked something, I never said it was food."
"You are unbearably harsh."
"Mon amour, you melted the stove."
"Still."
"Can we focus back on the real matter at hand?" Romano butted into the quarrel, before France decided that turning himself into a French version of Harlequin wasn't a so bad idea. "Are we definitely supposed to expect America coming: yes or no?"
"Yes." France established without a doubt.
"Probably." England granted to his lover, deciding to meet him halfway but earning only a glare from him nonetheless.
"I hope so. I went the extra mile to find an easel, canvas and paintbrushes that would be good enough for a beginner!" Italy prompted with determination. "I was honestly excited to share something I like with someone who's not much into it!"
"Well, you still have here big brother who does like it, though." France's glare moved to his cousin, who clearly perceived the threat underneath the hurt tone of voice.
"And I really appreciate big brother for coming here~" Italy offered cheerfully, accidentally throwing the paintbrush he was still holding in Romano's direction, with a quick movement of his hand that was promptly noticed by the English nation but not so much by the more distracted French and southern Italy's ones.
This was how Romano found himself with a mouthful of paint, wood and bristles right before he could voice aloud his annoyance at France being there, something that compelled him rushing to the nearest water fountain to rinse his mouth, all the while spitting and forsaking his little brother and his stupid ideas.
"You know, Italy, now that I think about it… I told America that he could have used my tubes of paint for the day, but when I showed him the box where I keep them, he told me that he was going to bring his own…"
"I wasn't aware our son owned any kind of paint." England noted, so distressed by the current discussion that he simply gave up on his embroidery and placed the work on his legs.
"That's the point, right?" France approved his husband's argument with a firm nod. "I thought the same thing, but then it crossed my mind that he does some artwork? Like murals and stuff like that."
"That's not really the same thing, though. Besides, you are using oil paint-" England pointed out, earning Italy's nod before their debate was interrupted by a really loud noise, coming from one of the side alleys that lead to the small isolated square on which they had arranged their open-air atelier.
"W-what the hell-" England stuttered as he stood up from his chair, leaving his embroidery behind in order to reach his husband's side and have a better look at the reason of all that distress... Reason who was no one else than America.
"The hero is finally heereee!" The American nation announced merrily, weaving his hand to the older nations.
"Oh my…." was all France could say, as he found enough willpower in himself only to place both paintbrush and palette on the nearest surface before he ended up letting everything fall on the ground at the sight.
As America approached the group of nations, it was clear for everyone to see the enormous sack he was bringing on his shoulders: it was at least twice America's size in height and it appeared just about to explode.
"America-" England yelled at him as soon as he got over his initial shock.
"What the hell have you brought with you…?" France wept instead, his voice heavy on reprimand even as he leaned towards England for emotional support.
"-we are supposed to stay here only for a weekend!" England continued the condemning rant that had been interrupted by France's whine.
"I perfectly know that!" America countered, offering a small pout to his parents as he joined them only to empty the sac in front of their shocked stares, ending up with a small mountain of tubes of paint at his feet. "Tadaaaaan~"
"Why the hell have you brought with you these many tubes of paint!?" France could only put his hands in front of his face, horrified by the sight no differently than Italy was.
"C'mon, what was I supposed to do with that bunch of tubes you showed me! I wanted to have more choice!"
America's reasoning was met by complete and appalled silence by the other three nations standing in front of him. England alone attempted to say something after a while, but not finding anything proper to say, he resorted to simply envelope his husband in his arms in a desperate attempt at comforting him, before France ended up openly crying.
America, on his end, decided to completely ignore Italy – who was still staring at him as still as a marble statue- as well as his parents – who were just about to start their usual rant on what they had done wrong rising him, if he knew them well enough. He focussed on Italy's realistic and France's impressionist paintings then, noticing with surprise all the different shades of colour there.
"You brought different tubes of paint as well, then! These were not among the ones you showed me!" America basically screamed back at his still suffering French father, before pointing at a particular nuance that had caught his attention. "I don't even have the tube of paint for this one, can I borrow it?"
Hearing America's request, England just held his husband tighter in his arms to prevent him from falling dramatically on the ground as France simply e resignedly pointed towards his discarded palette.
"I made it." He weakly attempted to explain. "You know, if you mix two different shades... you get a new one."
America's first reaction hearing such a plain explanation was shock.
"Big Brother France," Italy gathered eventually enough willpower to ask. "Are you really sure that you two are related at all?"
As an answer to Italy's reasonable comment, France only glared back at his own husband.
"Oi! It's not like everything bad coming from America is my fault! I can paint!" England protested heatedly even when blushing deeply. "You even have some of my works at your forsaken Louvre!"
"You can't cook, though."
"What has this to do with anything now?"
Uncaring of his parents' dispute, hearing the prospect of cooking something America took his chance to pull out from his jacket a tube of cookies dough, showing it proudly to his family.
"On the subject of cooking something, I brought what's needed to do some cookies!"
America's announcement only intensified the force of France's glare on his husband, who could only swallow in guilt.
"I can- I mean, my people can manage cookies, you know?"
"Big brother France?" Italy interrupted the quarrel just about to begin, as he studied one of the tubes of paint America had brought with him. "This says made in the UK."
"You should start running, mon cher." France admonished England, who reasonably took a step behind and put his open hands between himself and his consort.
"Capitalism works on the demand of products, you know?"
"Capitalism works on creating the demand of products that no one needs." was the only answer France granted to his lover, before sprinting towards him as England fled towards the centre of the square, in order to properly fight without risking involving Italy, America or the innocent painting materials.
"Are they fighting again?" Romano asked his brother, still spitting oddly tinted saliva every once in a while.
"Well yeah... It was to be expected, though," Italy sighed in disappointment, hoping that the fight would be shorter this time and that they could resume their painting session soon. "Big brother France really has no patience when it comes to England."
"Those two do really need to find a different pastime." Germany joined the group of nations, still dressed in his mustard yellow apron with kiss the cook witted in bold red and bringing with him a plate of grilled meat cut in small bites to taste for approval.
Italy nodded to his boyfriend and stole a piece of meat to sample it, approving the taste with a kind smile towards Germany.
"Cool!" America exclaimed, as he noticed the food, before taking a piece of meat to sample as well. "Meat aside, what are we having for lunch?"
"Romano and I did cold pasta and some salads, big brother France brought a mille-feuille with chocolate ganache." Italy explained nicely to the American, who appeared surprisingly excited by the news.
"Speaking about pasta! Look at what I have here!" From his jacket, this time America produced a box that appeared to contain pasta. "We made a new kind of pasta! It's called cascatelli like little waterfalls in Italian!"
Hearing the announcement, Italy turned pale while his brother –who had chosen that time to sample the grilled meat – started coughing desperately for air, as he choked on the bite he had just taken.
"It's cascatelle, you misgendered the word." Germany explained to America, who was staring surprised at the reaction of the two Italians. "Besides, I'm not really sure someone felt the need for more kinds of pasta."
"Why now! I thought it was cool and we could try it all together!"
Both Italies simply left the group to approach the quarrelling husbands and root for their cousin. France and England, noticing them, stopped momentarily their fight to ask what the hell the two brothers were up to.
"America made a new kind of pasta." Both Italies deadpanned.
France stared simply back at his husband, shaking his head in disapproval.
"Those are not made in the UK! Why should I be hold responsible!?"
"These things happen because you can't keep an eye on your son!"
"You are the one that can't keep an eye on his son!"
As the two husbands resumed attempting to strangle one another, the two Italian brothers started once again to cheer on them, while the American nation got a hold of Germany's plate of grilled meat and began eating it as if it was popcorn, as he watched his parents attempting to kill one another.
Feeling like the only sane person left on the group, Germany simply sighed and attempted to put in order the abandoned painting setting, hoping that the turmoil would quieten before the meat turned cold. Someone needed to keep his priorities straight, too bad that the duty always fell on him.
Later that day, England found himself treating France's sunburns as predicted, as well as some minimum damage brought by their morning scuffle. The room they had rented was quite basic by France's standards, but it was clean, big and with a private bathroom, something they had appreciated immensely. The only annoying thing was that it had two separate beds instead of a double bed.
"What are we going to do about the beds?" England asked, while finishing massaging properly the soothing cream on France's bright red shoulders.
"Is that really a question?" France pouted to his lover, and then let himself fall on the bed they were sitting on, only to swear profusely as the harsh cotton of the sheets scratched his overheated skin.
"Idiot." was England's only comment, watching the display in front of his eyes. "I told you to at least keep your shirt on, if you weren't going to put a frigging hat over your empty head."
"You proposed that to me only because the sight was turning you on, mon amour~" France teased his lover, who turned bright red in pure embarrassment.
"W-why the hell does it m-matter now!" He stuttered, grabbing a cushion from the other bed to throw it at France's face and hid his smirk from his sight.
"It's cute that you don't even try to deny it~" France sniggered, moving the cushion enough that he could see England but not so much that it would fail to protect him in case England reacted violently at his teases.
"Answer to me instead of sputtering nonsense!" England yelled at him, crossing his arms on his chest and glaring down at his husband. "What do you want to do for the night arrangements?"
"Sleep with you, of course-"
"Well-"
"-and find a proper use for the second bed." France quickly continued. "Each time we want to play, we need to wait for the others not to be around, since we end up making a mess and we need to change room or sheets. And this still doesn't stop your brothers and the rest of our family from finding us in compromising positions."
"Oh, c'mon France, like you are the one changing the sheets whenever we follow through what crosses our minds no matter who is in the same house."
"You are right, but still, I want to take our chance to sleep on clean sheets at zero distance or additional bother."
"Just say that you have something specific in mind and you are using the two beds at our disposal as an excuse."
"I have something in mind and I'm using the two beds at our disposal as an excuse." France repeated diligently, much to England's amazement.
"Then tell me. What are you waiting for?"
France rolled his eyes at England's harsh reprimand, and threw the cushion he was still holding for self-defence on the other bed, in order to have both his hands free to grab his husband's arms and switch effectively their position.
Noticing England still scowling at him, France simply claimed his lips with his owns, attempting to coerce his husband into the mood. The chaste kiss didn't seem enough to make England loosen up, though, that's why France decided to just up the ante, licking England's lower lip and teasing it with his teeth until he opened his mouth to him and he could finally deepen the kiss.
Tongues met and teased one another in a wet dance that slowly turned into a heated battle, in which France and England aimed to make their lover surrender in pleasure before they were the ones to lose control. England instinctively put his arms around France's neck to drag him closer, earning soon his husband's moan in discomfort inside the kiss as he freed himself from England's grip to put some space between the two of them.
It was only when England noticed the evident pain in his lover's expression that he realised what had happened, and sat up worried to look after France.
"I'm sorry, I forgot you were still hurting." He offered him meekly. "Does it still hurt that badly?"
"Nah, I'm fine. It's just a bit of discomfort, really."
"Are you sure you want to follow through your plan?"
"I kind of think that I'm bound to follow through my plan if I want to hope catching any sleep tonight." France chuckled at his lover's remonstration and kissed England once again on his lips. "Besides, I finally managed to get you in the mood, it would be a shame to let you down. What about my name of the Country of Love?"
"You are an idiot, France." England countered fondly for lack of better retorts to give his husband, since he was honestly curious to see what France had in mind. Not that he would ever admit it, obviously.
"I brought something I wanted to try with you~" France decided to distract himself going straight to the point and moving to get a colourful metal box from his suitcase.
"You wanted to try biscuits?" England asked surprised, as soon as France returned and he noticed what was written on the lid.
"I reused the box, Angleterre. Trust yourself on not recognising what you brought with your own money." France reprimanded his lover quickly, before opening the metal case and showing England a set of small bottles of paint and some paintbrushes. "What do you think about these?"
"France, I'm hard. I want to come not to paint." England offered as brusquely as he could, earning a plain eye roll from his lover.
"Absolutely not cute, as always." France declared, placing the lid under the case and opening one of the bottles inside, before placing it right under England's nose. "Smell it."
"It smells like…. Chocolate?"
"Oui, connard." France complained, and then he proceeded to shut close the bottle once again and open two more bottles, one white and the other red. He then took a paintbrush and gathered some white paint before starting to spread the dense material to paint a small rectangle on England's cheekbone. He then put the bristles of the paintbrush in his mouth to suck it clean and then took some red paint.
"What are you painting?" England asked curiously, feeling his skin tingle at each and every stroke France made with the too rough bristles over his skin. "An English flag?"
"Ouais." France confirmed, as he stared happily at his handiwork before looking around for his phone. Deeming his husband hopeless, England grabbed the device from the nightstand and tapped open the camera for him before giving it back to France. "Merci~"
France took a picture of England and then showed it to him, proud of his work. "Here you are, ready for the football championship~"
"It looks like real paint." England noted, even though the smell spreading to his nostrils clearly told him that it was something completely different.
"Yeah, but it isn't." France pointed out, before diving towards England and licking away the English flag.
England felt small shivers of pleasure running down his spine at the sensation of France's scratchy tongue over his sensitised skin. France noticed overly pleased his reaction and licked the skin over which he had painted the flag more than it was needed before stamping an adoring kiss on England's cheek and then on his lips. When he stared once again back at his husband, he noticed that he had closed his eyes shut at the playful assault.
"Did it feel good?" France asked, amused by England's reaction.
"It felt… strange." England admitted, opening once again his eyes.
"Wanna try something a little bit more… hard-core?"
England stared some meaningful moments at his husband, considering his options. Did he want France to keep painting on him? Hell yes! Was he about to survive the experience? Probably not, since he felt completely flustered after a simple flag. And knowing France he was about to paint on him the frigging Monna Lisa, if left unsupervised.
"I don't mind it, but it's already kind of late and tomorrow you promised Italy that we would go sightseeing, so-"
"-So I'm not allowed to drag it so long to make you come three times before I even get to the real thing." France concluded cheerfully, earning England's growl for the unneeded translation of his own feelings. "C'mon take off everything. I need a full canvas at my disposal to let my genius free to create."
"France, you should lower the peaks your ego can reach for the sake of the both of us." England complained, despite following France's instructions to get naked in front of his eyes.
"Why us both?" France asked curiously, as he arranged the bottles of paint open on a chair beside the bed so that they were easy to reach.
"Because you know that I will try to best you and you will then try to best my besting of you. If you start this whole charade too high on the scale, we'll crash before even we start enjoying it."
France chuckled at England's reprimand and pulled out of the way the trousers of his pyjama, before grabbing paint and paintbrush and sitting on his heels on the bed, ready to start creating as soon as England was done.
England would usually be scared to see his husband so excited over something, still, he couldn't deny that he was as enthusiastic as France was about the whole ordeal. He settled himself supine on the bed, then, his legs at both sides of his husband's ones to allow him better access. The sight of England stretched like that made France visibly swallow, but the desire to go on with his plan was strong enough to make him willing to go forward with it. No matter how alluring England was.
"When you finished ogling me, are you going to start?" England bit back at France, pulling him out of his reverie.
"Of course, mon amour~" France chirped happily, finally proceeding to gather some paint with his paintbrush.
Before he started with the design he had in mind, France moved to straddle his lover's waist, so that he could get a better position to paint properly.
The first stroke fell over England's nipple, making the English nation shudder at the sudden cold on his sensitive skin. France wasn't done, though, and as he began spreading the paint stroke by stroke, England couldn't help but moan at the intense brushing over his hardening nipple. England didn't know whether that had been intentional or purely coincidental, but only as soon as his rose bud had turned a hard white peak France had taken some more paint and moved on, proceeding to quickly create an uneven patch of white paint from one nipple to the other. As he had finished with his chest, the other nipple was obviously abused no differently than the other, leading to England to guess that France's promise to be a good boy and not try making him come during the foreplay was utter bullshit.
France, on his end, looked like a child that had gotten candies. He set aside the paint he had been using and took two different bottles plus an additional paintbrush, not before having licked clean the one he had been using until then. Unfortunately for England, the fact that the English nation had plainly averted his eyes from the needed task was promptly noticed by France, who took a mental note to use it at his own advantage as soon as he could.
As for the moment, however, he only took some paint with one of the paintbrushes he was holding and started working on creating darker clouds and shades on what began quickly to look like a sky. A frigging London sky.
"France, are you painting a landscape?" England reprimanded his lover, more to distract himself from the erotic regular strokes over his sensitive skin than because he honestly thought the idea stupid. "Weren't you going to be quick?"
"I'm not painting anything that takes too long, don't worry~" France reassured him, still regularly changing paintbrushes and paints to get the desired effect on both the canvas and England.
England groaned in answer, feeling each time more the rhythmical strokes he was subjected to because of the frequent switch in temperature, as France kept applying small blotches of paint one after the other. The pleasurable torture slowly made him harder than ever… and the fucking git hadn't even touched his cock.
By the point England noticed France putting the two bottles away, he was feeling so effected by the whole ordeal that he fell right into his husband's trap.
"So, how are you feeling, mon ange?" France innocently asked him, his tone of voice low and seductive, the further one could imagine from the concerned tone he was supposed to keep. "Everything alright?"
"Yea-" England's answer died on his lips the moment he noticed France licking clean the bristles of one of the paintbrushes he had been using as soon as he had met his eyes.
France wasn't just sucking on the tip of the bloody paintbrush, he was basically French kissing it. England found himself unable to look away from France's tongue twirling around the tip of the bristles, right before pressing it against his palate a couple of times and then taking it almost completely out of his mouth, in order to lick the wooden length from some residual paint that -for the life of him- England couldn't see.
England swallowed at the sight but could only bear with it, since he ended up feeling as if he had been effectively hypnotised by the sensual movements of France's tongue. Only when France had deemed his husband teased enough he stopped to make out with the paintbrush, and took with it some generous amount of paint to resume his artwork, using the same technique he had used before for the sky to define a way thinner piece of land.
Because of both the position and the raging hard on between his legs, England could barely focus enough to make out what France was painting, but he had to admit that the impressionistic setting was ringing a bell. Which bell it was, it was however a completely different subject.
When France changed paint to use once again, England felt conflicted about what he was supposed to do. He did as reason told him and shut close his eyes, then, not to fall once again into France's trap. Still… the git had been hot. He opened secretly one eye to make sure that his husband hadn't any weird plan to tease him further going on, and found France smirking down at him, obviously waiting for England to just man up and stare at him.
England growled in frustration then, and opened both his eyes to glare up at his lover, who waited that time to simply pull out his tongue and leave the bristles stroking themselves clean over it, before closing his mouth to swallow the edible paint and then proceed to take a more proper lick at it.
"Like what you see?" France teased, and England just wanted to answer him that he could just take a sit a bit lower on his abdomen if he wished to feel properly how much he liked the show. Gosh, the sole thought of France's tight heat around his cock was enough to make him feel like coming on the spot… Bloody tease.
"France, please~" England resorted to moan, only to get France taking yet another bottle of paint, this time only to start sketching some quick and geometrical lines that made sense to England way later than they were supposed to.
"Fuck you, France. You painted on me the bloody London Eye." England realised astonished.
"Is this what I get to be a nice and attentive lover?" France pretended to complain as he finished the last details and then admired his work of art. "Next time I'll paint on you the Tour Eiffel."
"Please, honey. I'm sorry." England capitulated easily, unwilling to get through such a torture for any longer than this and especially not for France's love and pride.
"Are you really?" France enquired mockingly, as he quickly shut close the bottles of paint he had used except one before he grabbed once again his phone to take a photo of his husband. "You're quite a sight, you know, mon tresor? I can't wait to eat you up~"
Before England could protest France's resolve, the French nation moved lower and started to trace the darker lined of the London Eye with his tongue with purpose, slowly and skilfully making his lover's pale skin emerge from under the already drying paint. To England, the whole process felt weird but pleasurable nonetheless: his skin had already been over sensitised from the strokes of the paintbrush that had scratched it before, and it was now partially itching because of the drying paint and the sugary residuals. The fact that wherever France licked his skin clean he felt his saliva cooling off his skin only to heat up soon after because of the irritation brought by the sugar only contributed to make England's mind utter garbage.
France, moreover, was being overly careful with his cleaning, something that was quite good, since the residual sugar would be quite a problem if left on the skin for too long and the procedure got rid of the most of it, but it made the procedure longer and the mix of hot and cold crazier as well. The whole ordeal made it difficult for England to keep focus on what he was even feeling as well as to stop himself from moaning constantly in pleasure. It didn't even help the fact that France, in order to get better access to his husband's body, had eventually laid himself basically over him, a position that finally brought some well-needed friction over his aching cock.
Finished with the darker lines of the London Eye, France applied his methodical licking to the rest of England's torso as well, taking an excruciatingly long time to tease properly all the places that made England moan louder. By the time France had finished licking clean the nipples he had left for last, England had already resorted to cross his legs around his husband's waist, so that France couldn't move as he thrusted against him to help himself towards his orgasm, no matter how shameful that would be.
"France, please~" England moaned, as soon as France had stared back at him at the end of his cleaning session.
"Do you want me to play with you some more?" France teased, only to get England tightening his legs around his waist and glare at him.
"I want to come, France, please!" England eventually pleaded. "Do something, whatever thing is fine!"
"Oh really?" France teased, attempting unsuccessfully to extricate himself from England's tight grip. "C'mon, England, I need to move in order to do something."
"Swear to me that you won't keep on the teasing anymore with the bloody paint!" England demanded, knowing his husband too well to trust him.
"I swear to you that I won't keep on the teasing with the bloody paint." France swore dutifully, and England proceeded to uncross his legs from around France's waist, allowing his husband to sit up. The first thing France did as soon as he was finally free to move, however, was obviously reaching for a paintbrush and a tube of paint once again.
"France!" England reprimanded him, only to earn a soft chuckle from his lover.
"Trust me on this." France offered England, moving further down the bed as he took a nice amount of paint on the bristles before putting the bottle back with the others.
"You are not serious, are you?" England reprimanded his lover, deciding against continuing his well-meaning string of complaints as he noticed France laying between his still wide-open legs. "What are you planning?" He asked instead, his heart already beating faster at both the sight and the prospect of what was about to come.
Instead of answering England, France let the bristles lightly trace the outline of the quite visible veins of his husband's engorged cock. He didn't allow it to dry as he had done before, though, retracing the strokes he had just done with the paintbrush with the ones even more pleasurable of his tongue. The double ministration made England groan in pleasure and frustration, since the bloody git had intentionally kept the whole thing on a tease level. Quite erotic tease, no doubt about it, but tease nonetheless.
After he had deemed England's cock cleaned from every last trace of paint, France focussed on the small rivulets of pre-cum leaking from the slit, getting rid of those with quick and short licks that added to England's increasing desperation.
Before he could openly complain, however, France moved on with his plan, taking his chance to stroke with the bristles of his paintbrush and then clean with a proper work of licks and open mouth kisses also England's balls and inner tights, before starting once again on the pre-cum that kept leaking from his husband's cock. And then start the whole process once again.
"F-France~" England whimpered eventually, hoping to move his lover to pity if nothing else.
The heartfelt plea was what France had been waiting for, apparently, since he took that chance to interrupt the careful licking of England's painted cock to just engulf it as a whole. The sudden sensation made England swore, and he quickly reached for France's blond hair in order to keep his head firm in place, just in case his husband deemed wise to resume teasing him.
England's tight grip on his hair and the small thrusts that England was attempting to keep at bay -with no real success despite his better intentions- made France moan in delight, something that elicited even more delicious vibes and whimpers of ecstasy from the younger nation. As France started sucking with purpose on the head of his cock and England felt to be just about to come, the English nation used the leverage he had on his husband's hair to drag him away from his cock. Just to be sure that France wouldn't attempt going back to the task before he had put the situation back on track, England even gathered all his wits together in order to properly sit up on his heels.
"There's... no way-" England managed to explain despite the heavy breathing, in answer to France's confused stare. "That you make me come and you don't."
"Angleterre, mon coeur. You were the one asking me to make you come."
"Along with you!" England replied angrily, grabbing a firm hold of France's arms to throw him unceremoniously on the bed and starting to devour his jaw in kisses and light bites.
"Angl-" France's attempted to protest, and did his best to push England slightly away from him. His movement caught England's attention, but the younger nation just took his chance to steal France's paintbrush from his hand.
He noticed that it still had some paint left over its bristles, and he smirked evilly down at his husband, savouring on his tongue the sweet –and a bit chocolatey- taste of revenge. He painted a couple of tentative strokes over France's lower lip, observing with quite a bit of fascination it slowly turning redder and shiny. He swallowed at the sight, and bent quickly over France to lick it clean from the odd painting.
"It's true that it doesn't taste bad," England admitted, as he kept leisurely kissing France and teasing his tongue and lips with his own tongue even after having cleared his lower lip from any trace of the sweet substance. "You taste way better though."
France didn't allow England's words to get to him and attempted to reach up to England in order to have a proper kiss, something that his husband was obviously unwilling to do, considering France's behaviour of before.
"Angleterre~" France complained, making a last attempt at claiming properly and fully his husband's lips only to have England completely move away from him, in order to get a bottle of paint and the tube of lube they had placed on the nightstand.
"Let me play a bit, you're not flustered enough," England countered, plastering dark red paint all over France's jaw and nipples with his fingers. "It's only fair, isn't it?"
"Not artistic at all." France complained, despite feeling himself quite aroused by England's brusque manners and the excitement at what was about to come.
"Stop complaining, I'm going to make you feel as good as you made me feel before~" England teased his lover, taking all the time he had to lick carefully clean his fingers from the dark red paint.
France swallowed at the sight and licked his lips, looking all but ready to withstand his own medicine. England gloated seeing his reaction, adoring both his slight trembling in pleasure and his needy gaze fixed on him.
Satisfied with his effortless achievement, England took a decent amount of gel on his hand before staring back meaningfully at his lover.
"Something to say before we start on this?" England enquired, earning only a low growl from his husband.
"Weren't you hard?" France bit back, only to make England grin in satisfying answer.
"Yeah~" England admitted, laying over France to start on licking the red marks he had left on his skin at the same time as he began penetrating France with an oiled finger. "I'll take this as proof that you are fine then~"
"Suit… yourself…" France managed to moan, taking sharp intakes of breath as England kept licking him clean as he prepared him, a so pleasurable double assault that France could only enjoy it and purr in delight.
"You're almost bearable when you surrender, you know?" England teased, moving to lick and place open mouth kisses on each and every piece of skin he had previously painted red.
"Does this mean that I'm never bearable at all?" France countered, his attempts of sounding annoyed failing miserably as a hoarse groan escaped his lips at the feeling of England penetrating him with a second finger.
"Of course, my love~" England confirmed, deeply enjoying France's frustration and his wanton reactions to his ministrations. He started scissoring him, then, something that made France drape his arms around his neck in search of more contact. "I thought our history made that quite obvious."
By the time England had cleaned every trace left of the paint on his lover's skin, France was sleek and well opened enough for his husband. Not wanting to lose any more time, England just moved to a more comfortable position that would make it easier slid inside his lover.
"France?" He attempted to ask him. "Honey, are you ready?"
France answered with a tight nod and England just chuckled at his reaction, claiming his lover's lips once again into a wet and deep kiss before finally sheathing himself inside his husband. Both lovers groaned at the feeling, but England wasted no time in thrusting inside France.
"France, you feel so good~" England whispered on his husband's lips, as he quickened his pace slowly but steadily, having been on the verge of coming even before he had decided to bring France to his same level of arousal.
France didn't seem to mind, though, and he soon started moving his hips in order to meet England's movements, his legs spreading wider to allow his husband an easier game.
The English nation took the chance he had been offered, and easily managed to thrust at the right angle to stimulate France's prostate with his each and every thrust. The steady jolts of pleasure, together with the feeling of England's wet tongue relentlessly claiming his mouth, easily turned France's mind to pure mush.
It was not enough to make him accept to just lay there and take it, though. he had some principles – somewhere – and letting England do what it pleased with him clashed against quite a few of them. This was especially true considering that, as England's movements became harsher with the approaching of his orgasm, the sheets on the bed were starting to make his back itch in the most unpleasant way.
He dived his tongue deeper into his lover's mouth, then, and he teased and caressed England's sleek with sweat sides and arms enough to disrupt his husband's movements and give him the chance of switching their positions.
At England's questioning stare, France answered with a smirk, smirk that was soon followed by his hands teasing his lover's chest with desire and by a meaningful clenching of his muscles around England's hard girth inside of him.
England moaned at the tight pressure around his cock and he instinctively pushed upwards, giving France the unwilling signal to start moving and resume the pace England had kept up until few moments before.
Seeing England so lost in pleasure, made France lick his lower lip with desire. He pushed some of his hair behind his ear and out of the way, then, before fully focussing on attempting to bring the both of them over the edge.
France, from England's position, looked so handsome and captivating that the English nation seriously considered the option to just stare up at his focussed expression, his barely opened lips, his blonde hair moving in accord with his movements and England's own thrusts... He wasn't about to last long, though, therefore he had to find a way to take advantage of the new position and make himself useful, taking France's cock in his hand.
He gathered some of the pre-cum there to make his hand slide easier over his lover's rock hard manhood. He still slid his thumb over the still dripping slit to gather some more lubricant, though, earning a hoarse groan from France as both of them dragged themselves to the finish.
Eventually France came with England's name on his lips and England followed soon after, eliciting another soft moan from his lover as his sperm filled him and warmth spread all over his still aching body.
Despite the haze brought by his orgasm, England noticed France attempting to keep himself on a sitting position. As he quickly reminded himself of what he had been doing before starting their lovemaking, England took a firm hold of France's forearm to be sure he wouldn't end up falling over him and sat up enough to help his husband to pull himself off him. They managed it so clumsily that as soon as they were done, England had to get ready to catch his husband in his embrace.
"Are you all right?" England asked worriedly. "You should have probably topped, all things considered."
"I can always top on the second round~" France teased, despite wincing slightly in pain now that he was out the throws of passion. "Well, not now. Maybe tomorrow."
England chuckled at France's note and stamped an adoring kiss on his cheek, before dragging him to lay over him on the bed and pulling the sheets over the both of them, already just about to fall asleep.
"We should have a shower before moving to the other bed," France still had enough willpower to point out. "If we fall asleep like this, tomorrow will be hell. It would also be a waste of the second bed."
"Hmmn..." England complained, all but willing to move from his current position. "It's your fault for bringing the both of us on the verge of exhaustion because of the kinky things you buy in your kink-land."
"Well, without the exhaustion I wouldn't have managed to sleep through the night." France admitted, before smirking up at England. "I'm not guilty for the edible paint, though~"
France's tease caught England's attention, dragging him slightly away from his sleepiness.
"What do you mean?" He asked dubiously, earning France's wide grin.
"It's made in the UK." France busted in peals of laughter at the admission and England, after the first moment of shock, could only follow suit.
The end