Author's note: I wrote this one out of the blue with just the first line to go on. Hope you like it :3

"Kiss me."

France merely stared at his guest with raised eyebrows. "Excuse me?" he said.

Large eyebrows furrowed in irritation. "I said kiss me."

"Why?" Normally such a request would make him spring into action. But for England of all people to be the one asking, well, he just wasn't sure how to respond.

England glared at him. "Because I want you to."

"But you always say my lips must taste like a frog's."

"I know."

"And that you hate my beard."

"I do. It looks awful."

"Then why on Earth do you want to kiss me, Angleterre?"

England shrugged. "Must I need a reason?"

"Yes!" France cried. "You cannot request something like this of me without an explanation!"

"All right," he replied, looking bored. "My explanation is this: we have known each other for centuries."

"And?"

"And it's only proper that we should kiss."

"Every time I've tried to kiss you in the past you have punched me," France snarled.

"Yes, well, I was young and foolish," England said with a wave of his hand, as though it were just a minor detail.

France studied him for a few minutes. "How do I know this is not a trap?" he asked suspiciously.

England snorted. "And what sort of trap would it be?"

France weighed his options. He had always envisioned kissing the other nation (and doing much more), but he hadn't expected for England to just come to him and ask. England usually said he's rather rip his testicles off than kiss a frog. With a sigh, France nodded slowly.

"Fine," he mumbled. "One kiss."

He beckoned England to sit with him on the sofa he was lounging on. England scowled but nodded, and walked towards him before sitting down beside him. There was a few moments of awkward silence in which, for once, France did not know how he should initiate it. England stared at him impatiently, as if this was a huge waste of his time.

France felt insulted and leaned in faster than he would have liked. Their lips touched briefly, breaking off with a tiny smack. France had kind of liked it, but kept his gaze neutral. Both men stared at each other, daring the other to speak. A few minutes passed without a word. Finally, France said, "Well, there you go."

But England didn't look satisfied now. He was glowering at him. "Again," he demanded.

"What?"

"Kiss me again."

"Angleterre, this is stupid."

"Oh for fuck's sake." In an instant, France found his mouth occupied with England's once again, only this time neither of them pulled back. England's mouth moved against his like a pro and although he knew he should be disgusted, France was a little turned on. He kissed him back with as much vigor as he could, not willing to be outdone. England's hands were clenched into the front of his shirt and forcing France to deepen the kiss even more.

The kiss lasted another few seconds before England pulled away, licking his own lips and staring at France with an odd look on his face. "Well," he said, "there we are."

"Indeed," France said, taking a few deep breaths. "Although I have something else to say."

"Oh?"

"We have known each other for centuries, mon cher," he smiled.

"Yes, and?"

"Well, in all those years we have never shared a bed together."

England, catching on, let a small smirk grace his lips. "You're right, we haven't."

"Perhaps we should change that?" France winked.

"Perhaps we should," England agreed.

Both men stood up from the sofa and made their way towards the stairs. "This could take all night," France said, his grin widening.

England's smirk turned predatory. "It's a good thing my flight back to London isn't until tomorrow afternoon then, isn't it?"

France had never pictured himself racing England up the staircase to get to his bedroom, but it was something he certainly wouldn't mind doing again in the future.