Worry gnawing at him, Canada hurried up the stone path to the front door of the familiar ornate house. Something had to be really wrong; usually, France was very polite and friendly, but he'd sounded anxious and even a little panicked over the phone. It upset the shy Canadian a great deal to think there was something wrong with his France.
No, he scolded himself. He's not "your France." He's just France.
Canada reached for the door handle then paused. He should probably knock rather than just going into France's house, but impatience made him want to go in straight away. His manners won out after a few moments of deliberation and he knocked quietly.
There was no answer. No song-like "Coming!" or cheery "Un instant,s'il vous plaît!" Canada didn't like it. Other countries thought he was too quiet, but France somehow always heard him, and he always answered right away when the quiet nation visited.
Canada knocked again with a little more force just to be safe, but still didn't receive a response.
Oh, what if he's hurt and can't get to the door? What if he's unconscious?!
Abandoning his dedication to manners, Canada opened the front door and stepped into the house; he froze.
What is…?
This was not what he'd been expecting. The urgent phone call to come over had made him fear the worst, maybe a mess, broken glass or something like that. Not dimmed lights and candles, not a…trail of rose petals? Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised—it was France's house, after all—but he was definitely confused. What on earth was going on?
"France?" the quiet nation called timidly, cautiously following the trail. It led him through the house, and what he saw of it was decorated much the same as the entryway. The trail eventually brought him to a door that Canada knew fairly well. This was the door to the guest room he used whenever he stayed at the older country's house.
His curiosity growing, Canada went into the room to find it strewn with rose petals. Candles glowed on nearly every surface, and roses were elegantly placed about the room. It was all very romantic, and the blond wondered again what was going on. Was France playing a prank on him? He didn't think so—the older man thought pranks were juvenile and certainly would never waste roses on one.
It's so…romantic. Did he do all of this just for me? Does he…like me?
Hope blossomed in his chest, making him even more eager to locate the older nation.
"France, where are you?" he called again, louder this time. "What's going on?"
Again, his questions went unanswered.
A pile of fabric on the bed caught the Canadian's eye and he moved closer to investigate. It was red silk with gold embroidery, and there was an array of intricate-looking gold jewelry beside it. On top of the pile was a note written in France's elegant script.
"Hello, mabeauMathieu. You seem rather under-dressed, but never fear. I have provided for you the proper attire for this evening. Please dress yourself then join me. Je me réjouis devotre arrivée."
Under-dressed? Proper attire? What was that supposed to mean?
Is there something wrong with my clothes?
Mathew looked at the pile of fabric, hesitant. He didn't want to upset or disappoint France, but he was nervous about the idea of changing. His hoody was comfortable and familiar—he would feel exposed without it. Still, it was for France…
Nervous, the blond kicked off his tennis shoes then slowly removed his socks, jeans, hoody and T-shirt, folding them neatly and placing them on the bed. It wasn't that bad, being almost naked, but he still hurried to don the clothes that had been provided, if you could call them that. It was more like two small blankets wrapped around his body, and left a lot more skin showing than he was comfortable with. Most of his chest and back were bare, along with his left shoulder and arm, and his ankles and feet were visible. The shape of his boxers was visible beneath the silk around his waist, so he reluctantly took those off, too. Despite his embarrassment, he had to admit that the silk felt nice, and once he put on the jewelry, he actually began to like the outfit. But he still wasn't so sure about leaving the guest room dressed the way he was—he much preferred his normal clothes.
Now "properly dressed," Canada picked up the note once more.
"Please dress yourself then join me."
Join him where? The trail of petals had led him to the guest room, but he had no idea where he was meant to go next.
Maybe I'm supposed to go to his room.
It was worth a shot, so, feeling rather exposed in his new clothes, Canada went back into the hall to find that a new flower trail had been created. His face reddened when he realized that France had been right outside the door while he'd been changing, and he'd had no idea. Once again, he wondered what all this was about, and his curiosity followed the trail straight to the door of France's bedroom.
Canada knocked hesitantly. "France?"
"Come in," a familiar voice called; relief washed over the blond. It didn't sound like the older nation was in trouble, though he wouldn't have done all this if he was hurt.
Smiling shyly, the blond opened the door and entered the bedroom. "What's going on? Why did you call me?"
There was no answer, and Canada cautiously moved farther into the bedroom. It was decorated much the way the guest room had been, but more extravagantly. The curtains were drawn over the large windows, and there was a reclining couch with a small table beside it, one that he'd never seen before. On the table was a single lit candle, a vase of roses, a bottle of wine and a crystal glass, and two bowls, one of chocolates, the other filled with pieces of various fruits. As he moved closer to inspect the table's contents, the door shut behind him and the locked clicked.
Heart thundering, Canada whirled around to see France standing by the door with a small smile on his elegant features.
Canada blushed as he took in the older nation's clothes. "Uh, France, what are you doing? Why are you dressed like that?" The Frenchman wore black dress pants and shoes with a white half-apron around his waist. Black gloves covered his hands and he wore a black bowtie. He was also shirtless, thus why Canada was blushing.
The older nation chuckled. "How many times must I tell you, mabeauMathieu, that I would prefer for you to call me by my proper name?"
Mathew blushed even more. He loved that the romantic nation wanted him to use his human name, but manners demanded he call him by his title. "Sorry, Francis. Could you please tell me what's going on?"
"All will be explained in due time, ma beau. Please, won't you sit?" Still smiling, Francis moved to stand by the table and gestured towards the couch.
His heart still beating much faster than normal, Mathew sat on the couch and looked up at France. He wanted an explanation for the phone call and everything that had happened since his arrival at the house, but he didn't ask again. If France said he would explain, then he would.
"It would be more comfortable to lie down, no?" Without giving the Canadian a chance to respond, he picked up Mathew's feet and put them on the couch, causing him to all but fall over. Then, ignoring Mathew's blush and protests, he arranged the younger nation's limbs so that he was lounging, the red silk draping over him nicely.
France nodded and smiled again, pleased with himself. "Much better."
"Please, tell me what's going on." Canada's voice was even quieter than usual. "Why did you sound so upset over the phone?"
Ignoring the question, France focused on the bottle of wine he was opening. The cork came loose with a small pop, and he poured the bottle's contents into the wine glass. With a flourish, he set down the bottle and offered the glass to Canada, gracefully dropping onto one knee so that the two nations were nearly face-to-face.
Finding himself suddenly so close to the older nation made Mathew's whole body feel warm and he lowered his gaze, blushing darkly. Shy, he accepted the glass and sipped the wine—it was lovely, just the right age and flavor, though that wasn't surprising. France was a wine connoisseur, after all, and always offered his guests the best he had. Canada took another sip before he dared to meet the older man's eyes again, and blinked in mild surprise. France was holding the bowl of chocolates in one hand and, in the other, he held up a single piece of the sweet food between two gloved fingers.
"Thank you," the younger man mumbled, reaching for the chocolate.
France smiled and pulled the treat away. "Ah, ah, ah, ma beau. Open wide."
A dark blush heated Canada's face, ears and neck, but he did as he was told and allowed France to feed him the chocolate. He chewed slowly, looking away again. The process was repeated a few times, neither nation speaking.
"This color suits you." France's gloved hand touched the red silk of Canada's clothing as the younger nation took a drink of wine. He sounded a bit odd, not as cheerful as normal, and Mathew gathered his courage.
"Francis," he began, touching the older nation's hand shyly, "please, tell me what's wrong."
Smiling gently, France lifted the shy man's hand and kissed the pale knuckles. "Nothing, mon cherMathieu.Nothing you need be concerned about."
"But you said it was an emergency, and you sounded upset."
Another kiss, this time on his fingertips; his skin tingled where France's lips touched.
"Oui, but you are here now, so the emergency has been taken care of."
Canada gave him a confused frown. "What was the emergency, if all I had to do was come over?"
Did he just want to see me?
The older nation reached out and smoothed the frown lines from the younger's face then stroked his cheek. "Do you not know what today is?"
Today?
"Thursday?"
"What month?" France coaxed, his thumb brushing over Mathew's pale cheek.
"February."
"Oui. What is the date, Mathieu?"
"February fourteenth, 2013." Canada's eyes widened the moment the words left his mouth. "Oh! It's Valentine's Day!"
How could he have forgotten? It was a popular holiday for most of the world, including his own territory, so he should have remembered. Embarrassed by his forgetfulness, the blond lowered his gaze in order to hide the light blush on his cheeks. No wonder France had sounded upset earlier—he must have realized that the Canadian was going to spend Valentine's Day on his own, and of course, the Nation of Romance couldn't let that happen. Mathew felt foolish for even daring to hope that perhaps the older man loved him, or even liked him as more than a friend.
Gentle fingers lifted his chin, and Mathew found himself mere inches away from France's face; his blush darkened by several shades.
"Is something wrong, mon amour?"
Canada's heart fluttered at the word. "N-no…"
A small smile lifted the corners of the older nation's mouth, making it obvious that he didn't believe him. "You look troubled."
Mon Dieu…stop looking at me like that…stop making me feel special…
"R-really, it's nothing."
The smile faded and a sad light came into France's blue eyes. "I see." He set down the bowl of chocolates and took off one of his gloves, revealing his elegantly slim fingers, then picked up the bowl of fruit and offered Canada a strawberry. The younger nation obediently opened his mouth and ate the fruit that was presented to him, though his thoughts were miles away from the food.
Why is he sad all of a sudden? Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to upset him…but he's always so sweet to me. It makes me feel like I'm important to him when I know I'm not. He's like this with everyone. I shouldn't let it get to me.
But it did. It always did.
"Canada."
"Yes?" Since when was he "Canada" and not "Mathieu"? It was strange to hear France call him by his nation, and he didn't like it one bit.
Setting down the bowl, France lightly placed his hands on the younger nation's cheeks and looked him in the eyes. "Tell me something,oui?"
Mathew blinked. "Of course, Francis."
The older man smiled to hear his name. "Do you love someone?"
Panic.
Does he know? No, he can't. I've never said or done anything to make him think I love him. There's no way he knows.
"What do you mean?" the young nation hedged, electrically aware that France was slowly leaning closer to him. Part of him—the painfully shy part—wanted to lean away, to put distance between himself and the older man, but he couldn't. Not when the rest of him wanted to be so much closer.
"Have you ever been in love?"
"U-um…well…yes. At least, I think so."
Francis' gentle smile returned. "What makes you think so?"
His smile is so beautiful…no! Look away or he'll know! He'll see!
But he couldn't look away, couldn't turn from those mesmerizing pools of blue. "W-when I'm with"—you—"that person, my h-heart beats faster, and I feel w-warm. All I-I want is to be close to"—you—"them, and e-every time"—you—"they smile at me, it feels like I'm the l-luckiest person in the world. When I'm sad, just thinking of"—you—"them makes me feel b-better."
He couldn't even talk, he was so nervous! Why did being this close to Francis always make him so damn nervous?!
"That sounds like love to me, mon cherMathieu. Does this person know how you feel?" When he spoke, he was so close that Mathew could feel his breath on his face, warm and smelling pleasantly of wine.
"A-aucun…"
"Why have you not told them?"
"Because…ils nem'aimait pas."
Francis chuckled, blue eyes hidden behind his eyelids for a few seconds. "Honhonhon…and how do you know that?"
"B-because you don't act like you do!" Canada froze, his eyes widening farther than he'd thought possible as his face drained of color. His mouth hung open as his brain tried desperately to come up with a way to take back what he'd just said, but he couldn't think of anything. He couldn't think at all, his mind repeating the same word over and over again.
No…no...no…no…no!
France was still looking at him, still smiling, waiting for him to say something more. When the younger nation failed to speak, he leaned forward and put his lips by Mathew's ear.
"Je t'aimeaussi,ma beauMathieu."
Mathew blinked, stunned.
Did he just say…he loves me?
Before another second could pass, he threw his arms around Francis' neck and hugged him tightly, tears coming to his eyes. It should be impossible to feel this happy, but he was glad it wasn't. He wanted to feel this happy every day, every moment, for the rest of his life. And he could, as long as what France had just said was true.
Slender but strong arms wrapped around the Canadian's waist as soft kisses were placed on his cheeks and nose. He drew himself closer to the older nation, not caring that he'd made a fool of himself, that he was practically naked in the red silk or that France was shirtless. Their eyes met for a brief moment before Mathew pressed his lips against France's, blushing darkly as he did so. For years, he'd wanted to do just that, but never had the courage. He wasn't about to miss his chance when it came.
"Mathieu…" France sighed, returning the kiss, his arms moving to lift the younger man off the couch. Canada squeaked, surprised, then blushed in embarrassment as he was carried the few feet to the bed and gently placed on the silken bedcovers.
Suddenly nervous, Mathew looked up at the older man as France kicked off his shoes.
"F-Francis?" he whispered, fiddling with the hem of the silk he wore.
"Oui,mon amour?" The Frenchman smiled at his young lover as he removed the half-apron and tossed it onto the couch, his remaining glove soon following.
"What…um, what are you going to do?" He was embarrassed at having to ask.
"Do, my love?" Dropping kisses on Canada's face and neck, Francis moved onto the bed and held himself over the younger man, his hands braced to either side of the slim nation. Mathew struggled to form the words, distracted by the feeling of France's lips on his neck, then his collarbone. He squirmed when he felt a warm tongue flick against his skin, blushing all over again.
"Francis…"
The named nation chuckled and looked into Mathew's eyes. "Yes?"
"I-I want to make love with you," Canada mumbled shyly, gazing up at France through his eyelashes, "if that's all right."
Nodding, Francis leaned down and kissed the younger man, his tongue roving over the soft lips in search of entrance. "Yes. It will always be all right, ma beauMathieu. It is more than all right. There is nothing I would like to do with you more." His words brought a smile to the shy nation's lips and he parted them, allowing France access to his mouth.
Both men moaned as Francis slipped his tongue into the warm cavern, exploring gently but thoroughly, memorizing every corner, taking in the faint taste of maple syrup. His tongue rubbed against Mathew's, coaxing him to participate, drawing the appendage into his own mouth. More shyly than Francis had done, Canada let his tongue wander until he knew the shape and wine-like taste of his lover before pulling away to offer a small smile, his cheeks a pretty shade of pink.
France kissed him again, his hands slowly roaming over the pale body beneath him as he removed the red silk. Every touch increased Mathew's heart rate, made his breaths come faster; he felt warm despite being mostly naked, and smiled to know it was because of France.
He's finally mine…
The thought made him laugh out of pure joy, and Francis smiled to see him so happy. His hands finished removing the red silk, leaving Canada completely naked except for the gold jewelry, but that could stay. A few pieces of jewelry weren't going to get in the way of what he intended.
Lips brushed against Mathew's collarbone then lower; a moment later they found his right nipple and latched on as France sucked, his tongue rubbing and flicking in a way that drove a loud moan from the younger man.
"F-Fraaancis…"
The name was almost a whine, his tone a plea for more, and France was happy to oblige. One of his hands went to Mathew's neglected nipple and played with it, making the Canadian arch and gasp. His other hand slid up the narrow chest until it found the younger man's lips.
"Suck on them, ma beau Mathieu."
Blushing for millionth time, Canada gripped Francis' hand in both of his own and began sucking on the Frenchman's fingers, making sure to wrap his tongue around each digit to coat them in saliva. The man above him purred, biting Mathew's chest gently.
"Oui…like that…"
The obvious approval in his tone encouraged Mathew and he sucked harder, doing his best to please the more experienced nation. After a few moments of this, France gently removed his fingers from the Canadian's mouth and kissed him instead, gaining access immediately and earning a soft groan as his slicked fingers brushed against Mathew's quickly forming erection.
"Spread your legs for me, my love," he whispered against the younger man's lips. Canada nodded and did as he was told, leaning up to kiss and nip at Francis' neck. The older nation moaned quietly, slipping his hand between Mathew's parted thighs and beneath him. His still-wet fingers quickly located the Canadian's entrance and began to stroke it, making him squirm.
"Ah…F-Francis…that feels s-strange…"
"I know, my love. I promise it will feel good soon."
Mathew nodded, looking up at the older nation with trust and adoration in his blue-violet eyes. "I believe you."
They kissed again, France's fingers still rubbing as his other hand wrapped around the Canadian's member; a moan escaped Mathew as he lifted his hips, wordlessly begging for more. Happy to oblige, Francis began to slowly move his hand on the younger man, kissing his neck as Canada shuddered and groaned; the younger's fingers tangled themselves in France's blond locks.
When he thought he was ready, France carefully inserted one of his slick fingers into Mathew's entrance, his hand still moving on the Canadian's member to help distract him from any pain or discomfort he was likely to experience.
"Nng!" Eyes widening, Mathew arched at the feeling and whimpered. It was strange and painful but felt good at the same time, and everything else that was being done to him felt good and—
"MonDieu, François! Ne vous arrêtez pas!"
The Frenchman had kissed down Mathew's chest and was currently sucking on his hardened member, his tongue rubbing and flicking and doing things Canada had never thought were possible. He was so distracted by the heat of France's mouth that he almost didn't notice when a second finger was pushed into him. The pain increased for only a moment before fading into nearly nothing, and he found himself moving his hips in an attempt to force the fingers deeper and drive himself farther into France's mouth at the same time.
"P-please, Francis!"
His stomach felt strange, like it was tightening, and little bolts of pleasure were shooting up and down his spine at every pump of Francis' fingers, every flick of his tongue. It was almost too much to bear; he felt like he was going to burst right out of his skin.
"Please, what, ma beau?"
The fingers inside him spread apart, stretching him.
"A-ah! M-make love to me! Nng! S-s'il vous plaît!"
"Honhonhon, not yet, my love. You are not fully prepared yet."
Canada whined, tugging at Francis' hair gently, his impatience getting the better of him. Immediately, he felt a third finger being slid into him and bucked, a hoarse shout tearing from him. The fingers pumped and twisted, spreading and bending, driving moans, groans and whimpers from the pale nation, until…
"F-Francis!" Mathew screamed, throwing his head back in pleasure as his toes curled and his pale body arched off the bed.
"Found it," the older nation purred, rubbing his fingers against the spot that had made his lover react so strongly; Canada bucked his hips desperately, that feeling in his stomach growing stronger.
"P-please, Francis…please…" he begged, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him tightly. "I-I need you i-in me…"
The words alone were enough to make France moan in longing, and he spread his fingers one last time to make sure Mathew was properly stretched before gently removing the digits. The Canadian fell limp against the mattress, panting heavily as a feeling of loss came over him. Francis kissed him lightly before getting up and removing his pants and boxers, finally freeing his own erection from the restricting clothing. He then opened the drawer of the nightstand by the bed and took out a bottle of lubricant that he kept there. Mathew's already flushed face darkened farther when he saw what was in his lover's hand, but he didn't say anything as the older nation squeezed some of the lube onto his hand then rubbed it onto himself.
"Dépêchez-vous, Francis," the younger nation urged quietly, shifting on the bed.
"Patience, my love. This is your first time, and I want it to be perfect." Satisfied that he had used a sufficient amount of lubricant, Francis climbed back onto the bed and once again positioned himself over the younger man, kissing him deeply. Mathew moaned, wrapping his arms around his lover's neck and lifting his hips to press them against France's.
"Take me…"
With a nod, France gently gripped the younger nation's waist and lined himself up with his entrance before carefully pushing inside. He bit his lip to hold back a moan as Canada arched and made a sound that was a mixture of pleasure and pain. Several moments passed before Mathew relaxed and nodded, signaling that he was ready for Francis to continue. Slowly at first, the older man rocked his hips against his lover's, jumbled French mixed with groans falling from his lips at the sensation of Canada's muscles tightening around his length with every movement.
"F-faster…"
"Yes…" His pace increased and he angled his hips in different ways, searching for the spot his fingers had found. He began to kiss and nip Canada's neck, sucking gently in those places that elicited moans.
"Ahng! T-there! Again!" Mathew's usually quiet voice was demanding and he bucked his hips against France's as his nails dug into the older man's back. It was more pleasure than he could bear and yet not enough, not early enough. He needed more and France was the only one who could give it to him.
Francis quickly obliged, thrusting harder to force ever louder groans from his lover every time he struck that particular spot. One of his hands found Mathew's neglected sex and he stroked it, his hand moving at the same speed of his hips so that Canada was gasping and moaning with every breath. He bit one of the sensitive places on the younger man's neck and sucked roughly, intending to leave a mark so that everyone would know that the Canadian was his.
"Fr-France…Francis…ah…"
The sound of his name was erotic and served to arouse the Frenchman even more, causing him to push himself deeper into his lover's body. He could tell just by the tone of Canada's voice and the way he was moving that he was getting close.
Leaving the developing bruise on his lover's neck, France leaned up and bit the long curl of hair that Mathew always had, tugging on it gently—he knew it would be enough.
A scream of ecstasy tore from the younger nation, waves of pleasure rolling over him as he released. His nails dragged down Francis' back and his hips bucked up while the older nation continued to move, letting his young lover ride out his climax. Canada was still in the midst of his orgasm when France reached his own, his lips crashing against Mathew's in a rough kiss as he thrust deeper than before and released inside him. The nations moved together, lost in each other, unable to tell the difference between their bodies.
"M-Mathieu…Je t'aime…" Francis gasped once their bodies had stilled. He was completely out of breath, as was the other nation, and hadn't yet worked up the strength to move off the younger man.
"I love you, too, Francis," Canada murmured, lifting his head and placing a soft kiss on Francis' cheek. The older nation smiled then gathered his slowly returning strength and pulled himself from his exhausted lover's body before lying beside him; he snaked his arms around Mathew's slim frame and held him close. Mathew nuzzled into Francis' chest, trying to steady his breathing.
We're both covered in my semen, he realized vaguely, feeling the sticky substance on his stomach as he pressed close to the other man. It was something he'd have been extremely embarrassed about if he hadn't been so tired. As things were, he found he didn't much care, since France didn't seem to mind.
Eh…I'll clean it up later.
Minutes passed in near silence as the two nations rested, wrapped in each other's embrace.
"Oh…that makes sense…"
"Hm?" France kissed the top of Mathew's head. "What was that, mon amour?"
Mathew blushed, realizing that he'd spoken out loud. "I just realized something."
"And what might that be?"
"Well, Alfred called me earlier to see what I was doing today, but I couldn't talk to him because I was about to get on the plane to come see you. He sounded upset, and I just realized he was probably lonely since England doesn't like Valentine's Day."
It was quiet for a moment before France started laughing, his entire frame shaking with mirth.
"What?" Canada pouted, thinking that Francis was laughing at him. "Alfred's probably really lonely. It isn't fair that he's alone on Valentine's Day, Francis."
"Honhonhon…I do not think you need to worry, my love. I'm sure your brother had a…divin…Valentine's Day."
The word made Mathew pull away enough to look at his lover's face, and the smirk he found there made him suspicious. "You did something, didn't you."
"Oui." He looked rather proud of himself, and Canada rolled his eyes before snuggling close to him again.
"I don't want to know."
A hand trailed down his spine to stop at his lower back and pulled him closer; another kiss was placed on the top of his head.
"That is probably for the best."
Mathew sighed happily and closed his eyes. "Je t'aime, Francis," he whispered, on the verge of falling asleep.
"Je t'aime aussi, mon cher Mathieu."
"Good…" the younger nation mumbled, and then promptly fell asleep, comfortably held against France's chest. Francis chuckled quietly so as not to wake him, his gaze landing on the hickey he'd given the pale man. That mark was proof that Mathew was finally his, after all these years.
"You're mine, Canada," he whispered, and kissed the slumbering nation's forehead. "And I'm never letting you go."