I do not own anything Hetalia-related. I only own the plot. Otherwise, Romano would respond to Spain, France and Canada would interact, and America and England would be a thing. :D

Sorry ahead of time for the extensive usage of French. :3 I love the language, and I can't help but use it sometimes. However, there shouldn't be anything too difficult: cher, dear; ange, angel; bele, beau, beautiful; je suis desole, I'm sorry; mon amis, my friends; mon canadienne, my Canadian; Qu'est-ce que c'est, what is it; S'il vous plaît...m'aimer toujours, please, love me always; ne vous arrêtez pas, do not stop; mon dieu, my God; and...that's it, I think. Oh, and sorry for the missing letters/mispellings. I'm what's called a realist writer, so I write how the character would speak. Like how Mark Twain wrote. So, sorry if France's text gets a bit confusing.

Oh, and another note, the French spelling of Paris is the same, but it's the pronunciation that's different: Pari. And there's one point where France says that, so I put how it's pronounced. So yeah, enjoy~!

The annual Christmas party (which any and every country that attended World Conferences was invited to) was a tradition hardly anyone ever wanted to miss. The host of the country was drawn from a hat, and the location of the party would always be held in the capital. And most of the time, unless they made up a lie (because yes, most countries didn't have anything else better to do), everyone went. As for Canada, he had immediately denied wanting to go to the party, which would be held in Paris, France this year. No one ever really paid attention to him, so what was the point of going? He would just stay home with Kumijinko and watch Christmas movies like he always did.

So imagine Matthew's surprise when December 21th comes around too fast, and he opens the recently abused-by-a-fist door, before suddenly roughly and abruptly tackled by a strong, warm form covered in blue and red. He stumbled back in surprise, and would've fallen back if he hadn't grabbed the side of the door.

"What do you mean you're not going to the party Canadia, you have to go, that's not fair, everyone expects both North American countries to be there, and that means you and me Mattie, I can't go alone, we're the only North American nations and I can't face drunk Iggy all by myself and I can't go all by myself, I'll get hurt and molested by France and-"

It took approximately a minute to drag his brother into the house, and another two to get him calm and quiet again. By this time, he was seated on the couch with hot chocolate warming his hands from the Canadian chill in the air, Kumajiro snoozing peacefully beside his right legs. Matthew took the chair in front of the fireplace and across from his brother. Alfred, burrowed in four blankets, looked up at him over the rim of the mug, and smacked his lips, a trim of foam traced above his lips. "So, what were you yelling about before?" The former wondered, taking a sip from his maple syrup-drizzled drink.

The older shuffled in his place and pulled out his phone from his pocket, teeth chattering as he found the message and showed it to his brother. "Th-th-this," he shivered as his sibling gripped the phone and glanced at the message. "A-are you c-crazy? Y-you have to g-go, dude."

Canada blinked, taken aback by the request, before regaining a somewhat firm look. "America, it's a waste of time for me to go; no one ever pays attention to me."

"I-I pay attention to you! R-remember last year? dammit, dude, it's so cold here!"

"Alfred, last year you and Britain were flirting in a corner with each other."

America sputtered in surprise to find the right words, cheeks darkly dyed an embarrassed red. "H-he was drunk! A-and we weren't flirting, w-we were trying t-to warm each other up!"

An eyebrow rose on the more northern nation's face. "Um, you had your hands up his shit while you bit his neck. And he was moaning in your ear."

"Liar! You saw nothing, Canadia!" Blue eyes had gone wide at the comment as his face shaded even more in mortification.

Matthew frowned at his brother. There were times when the two would sit together in either's house and just chat, leading to many secrets being exchanged between each other. For instance, America had explained his entire story of why he had truly gained independence from England, and Canada had revealed how "Kumacheeri" could talk, which apparently no one else knew how. So the topics of what was exchanged was several and full of miscellaneous matters, especially their love lives, like how the former had gone to bed with two of his closest friends, was dragged to bed by his mortal enemy against his will, and still contained feelings for his first love that he had broken the heart of; and how the latter was still a virgin, but had had dreams of going to bed with his own crush. So both knew America's denial didn't mean a thing.

Upon the outburst of the louder country, Kumajiro jumped in surprise and gazed at the blue-eyed male in grumpiness for being disturbed. But his eyes turned to his owner, and he stretched his paws in front of him. "Hungry," he demanded, and pawed once at Canada's shoe, who sighed in annoyance before standing up and going to the kitchen.

"Hold on, Kumickanee, I'll make you some pancakes," he replied to the bear.

The polar animal tilted his head as he sat up. "Who are you?" He questioned, receiving another exhale.

"I'm Canada, your owner."

Alfred watched his brother retreat to the kitchen before giving the bear by his feet a rub of the head. "Why don't you give him away if he never remembers you?" He wondered, completely oblivious of the gawks of surprise from both bear and nation.

"He's the only one who even sees me! Even though he never remembers my name, he at least notices me, unlike everyone else!"

"Hey! I see you!"

Matthew sulked slightly; "Not all the time, you don't."

Still shivering from the cold he was easily affected by, a look of realization suddenly washed over his features. "Hey, dude! Didn't France give him to you when you were a kid?"

France…. The shorter got the pancake mix out and a pan to pour it in. "Yes, and Britain made him talk so I wouldn't be lonely all the time."

In surprise, Kumajiro raised his head. "Really?" He piped up. America, who had silently been contemplating something in thought, smirked mischievously at his brother.

"Wait a sec…," he smugly sneered. "You don't wanna go 'cuz France is hosting." A shaky gasp and the shattering of glass was heard, immediately followed by the familiar, boisterous laughter. "Dude, I can't believe you're afraid to even face him! I face Artie every day and insult him, and I still have the guts to tell myself I'm in love with him!"

Canada glared at his only sibling harshly. "Th-that's not why!"

"Wow, dude, I can't believe you're afraid of confronting France~, that's rich, hahahaha~!"

The violet-eyed country blushed, and looked away in embarrassment. "Easy for you to say, America, your crush at least notices you all the time. Mine can barely give me a second glance…."

America stopped laughing, and looked over at his brother. For some reason, he couldn't take his sibling looking so pitiful and depressed. It made him pitiful and depressed, and that was unhealthy for heroes! So, with the blankets still tightly around his body, he stood and closed the distance between him and Canada, and placed a hand on his shoulder, receiving a jump as a response. "H-hey, dude…don't be upset. Maybe this year, he'll pay close attention to you."

Matthew scoffed, and returned to the preparations for his pet's food. "No one ever looks at me, and if they do, they always yell at me because they somehow think I'm you."

"Canadia, I see you all the time!"

"Not when you're around other people, you're not!" Although he was currently yelling in a whisper, Alfred flinched at the scolding. "Which is why I'm not going: you never recognize me when around other countries, they don't see me, and if they do, it's always 'America, you bloody wanker' or 'America the Awesome' or anything else, and I'm tired of it so I'm not going!"

The blue-eyed country blinked once in slight shock at the outburst, before he chuckled. "If it makes you feel better, Canadia, if you tell France how you feel, I'll tell Artie no matter how hard it may be for me to tell him. Will that make things better?"

The more northern of the duo couldn't help but gasp silently and blush at the proposition. "W-what?"

"At the party, we'll both tell France and Britain how we feel~! 'Kay?"

Matthew gulped. T-tell…France? The idea was brilliant, it really was, but…h-he was too afraid. Although he had a big crush on him for a long time, he didn't want his heart to be broken. He had already had a relationship with Prussia, a long time ago ("It's alright, Lil' Birdie; the awesome me will never make you lonely! Kesesesese!"), but that hadn't ended well at all. And Gilbert had been kind to him. The problem was…the only thing the North American could think about was him. And only him. With the rippling waves of hair as bright and gold as dandelions; cerulean eyes to match the sea; rich, accented voice that entranced him every time it pronounced even a single syllable. It was a lie to say he never thought about how much his love for him was true.

So how about he takes a chance? Grab the rope and pull! Jump at the opportunity! Make all of his late-night dreams that left him awake for hours a reality. Close that gaping hole inside him, and let his heart be taken by the one man he always wanted. He was going to tell Francis Bonnefoy, France, the country of l'amour, that he was in love with him. And that he wanted them to be together for as long as they lived on earth and beyond. So, he looked at his trembling, chilly, older brother, and nodded, receiving the boisterous yell of joy and accomplishment loudly in his ear.

"Okay."

To the delight of America and discomfort of Canada, the latter turned out to be making the seven-and-a-half-hour plane trip from Ottawa to Paris. His brother promised he would stay with him the best he could ("Hey, maybe Drunk Iggy can hang out with us, too, dude?" The taller had offered), and even with those two reassurances to help him- which only eased his nerves by a small amount- he was still simply terrified of what was waiting for him with the nation that always took away his breath, both in reality and in his dreams.

On the twenty-second of December, the duo had left the capital at around seven in the morning in Ottawa, and arrived at Paris at around nine at night. As it was all expected by all nations, Alfred messaged the host of the party that they had landed in the capital, checked into a hotel nearby, and passed out until the morning. The plan was simple: as usual, on Christmas Eve, the countries had to make the most popular dish from their home country (America, being a multitude of combined cultures and therefore not having a specific, main dish, just bought ice cream every year). Then, on Christmas Day, they would all proceed to either a large hall or the home of the host, and eat Christmas dinner there before proceeding to the party.

And this wasn't just a normal party, no. The countries always went over the top with their holiday parties. When dessert arrived, there was always a food fight that broke out between the left and right sides of the table. Plus, nearly every country managed to intoxicate their selves with alcohol either drunkenly or tipsily. They would have Ice Cream Wars around the area of the party location, teams split evenly with straws (red and green were used for Christmas), consisting of hot fudge, sprinkles, whipped cream (always from the can), almost all ice cream flavors, nuts (the food kind), cherries, cookie crumbs, and more. Many times, they would play a Korean game called Apartment (where you act out scenarios, call out a floor number at any time, and stack on top of one another, and the person who is on the floor number called out is punished), or they would run out in the cold to play an American game called Man Hunt, or Hide-and-Seek-in-the-dark, to the others besides Alfred. This was also split into teams, usually Most Likely to Top and Most Likely to Bottom, and you had a hundred fifty mile limit to hide.

So it was very safe to say their parties were parties one had difficulty forgetting, no matter how hung-over they happened to be.

And Canada found himself with America, walking down the corridor to the large hall. He had a tight twist of knots inside his stomach ever since they had arrived in Europe. His hands wouldn't stop fidgeting with his wrapped dish. His brother sensed his nervous behavior, and tried to get his mind off his anxiety by talking about Alfred's favorite person, no matter what he said about it.

"Hey dude, do you think England will like the way I look because I think he likes it when I get all dressed up in dress shirts but I have no idea why since I think he hates me so much even though lately I've seen him glance at me sometimes at the World Conferences and if I see him he'll get all nervous and look away quickly and blush but I don't even know why he does that do you think he likes me?" America wondered, all in one breath.

"Um…sure, I guess he do-"

Matthew tried to speak, but his brother cut him off abruptly. "I mean, I guess he would, I mean what's not to like about me anyways, right?"

"Uh, well, you're not exactly perfect America. Not everyone i-"

"Dude, how nervous are you anyways? You can't even finish a sentence." The older of the two had turned to glance at his brother, who then stopped walking with a look of hurt clearly glistening in his violet eyes. "Dude, did you hear me? Hello~?"

"Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should've just stayed home with Kumakenn." He started to turn around to go, but his brother gripped his arm firmly, preventing his escape.

"Mattie, I'm sorry, I forgot."

"Yeah," he bowed his head in dismay, "so does everyone else."

"Not Francis." As soon as the words had left his mouth, his brother turned his head curtly.

"Francis can't even look at me without thinking 'who is this guy?'. Do you even get it, Alfred? No one has ever seen me without thinking 'who?' or 'America changed his clothes'. Besides, no one will know if I'm missing." America's grip slackened, allowing him to slip out of his hold and hand him the wrapped plate. "Here…please give this to France when you go inside…."

"Wh…where ya going?"

Canada had started to walk back the way they had come, but turned back around. "Home…." With a last, nearly inaudible sigh, he turned back around and started to once again sulk back the opposite way.

Slam!

"Bonjour, mon amis! I knew I 'eard you two out 'ere~!"

(Un)fortunately, before he could make it very far, Francis had opened the door and noticed the duo, a partially full wine glass perched in his hand and a smile upon his face. Long hair partially pulled back, eyes filled with more charm than possible, attire ever so French and fashionable, despite its simplicity of a pair of fitting slacks and a dark green dress shirt underneath a thin, black vest. America gave his trademark laugh.

"HAHAHA~! Hey, dude!" He exuberantly greeted. "Is Iggy here?"

The European chuckled; "Oh~, Angleterre? 'e's been complaining ze whole time you weren't 'ere, so you better go make 'im 'appy."

The superpower frowned, a look of surprise on his face before he rushed past France and into the hall, yelling "IGGY~~~!" as he did so, leaving the duo to the other's company.

The younger had turned halfway around, cheeks bright red in embarrassment. His thin hands wrung around each other, all words disappearing from his mouth. Violet eyes peered at the ground, before finally lifting and peering into azure. He would never admit it to anyone else, but when he had difficulty sleeping at night (which was pretty much every night), all he had to do was think of those eyes and he would easily be subdued to sleep. They mirrored the sea in ways he wouldn't be able to imagine; so clear and holding an eternal mischievous glint inside their alluring depths.

Francis was the first to break the silence, giving a warm, friendly smile. "Well, 'ow are you cher?" He wondered as he took the Canadian's hand softly in his own. When had he gotten so close?

Matthew managed a soft rise of his lips. "I'm good," he whispered loud enough for him to hear.

"Zat plane ride over 'ere wazn't too bad? I 'eard Pari iz expecting znow zis evening."

"N-no, it was good. But the snow doesn't bother me very much."

The wavy blond grinned, and handed his former colony his wine glass before using his now free hand to stroke the younger's face. "Mon jeune enfant…I remember when you were just a mere child. Where did za time go, mon cher?"

Before the younger could answer, the hold in his hand lightly tightened as he was pulled toward the loud, noisy hall. Reluctantly, he let himself be taken to the Christmas dinner, hoping but not expecting someone would at least notice him, if just for a little while.

By the end of the dinner (and the food fight with the dessert), both France and Canada had ended up talking as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other in years. The two seemed to go off in their own world, amidst the chatter about them (and the yells of a certain Brit and laugh of a particular American). Even Prussia and Spain would jump in every now and then (only Antonio would only talk for a minute or so, because Romano would pull him back toward him, only to be bombarded with "Aw, Lovi~! I'm sorry I'm making you jealous!"); and although Matthew expected talking with Gilbert would be awkward, he made it seem as if everything was normal.

But most of all, he was perfect.

Francis' eyes hardly left him, and if they did, they hardly ever wavered to another nation, minus the other members of the Bad Touch Trio. He listened to every word, and responded in one way or another, but always with words. He hardly strayed from a topic, and he made sure their hands were entwined ever so gently. And whenever he (apparently) said something that was amusing to the elder, France would laugh smoothly and squeeze their hands ever so softly, causing Canada's heartbeat to race against his chest.

After somehow cleaning up their mess of the desserts, the countries then made their way by car to a rather fancy hotel where the party would then continue (meaning no Ice Cream Wars this time, but that was okay; they would live). Fortunately for the North American, the European invited the younger to drive with him, Antonio (plus Romano) and Gilbert. The quiet nation gave a smile and nodded; he thought he had caught America and England behind them, hands intertwined together as his brother swung their arms back and forth, the Brit scolding him as he did so. And despite the success of his brother, Matthew, however, was still worried, and despite the friendly atmosphere, the knots were still tangled inside his stomach. And the fact that Francis' hand hadn't left his excited him, but also tightened the knots.

The large group finally arrived at the hotel, all piling out and huddling around the front entrance. France, Canada in his right hand, maneuvered them towards the front before he turned around and held his former colony's other hand in his grip. "Je suis désolé, mon canadienne, but I must leave for a second." Raising his left hand to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss on top of it, stubble tracing against Matthew's fingertips. His cheeks burst into scarlet suns as the elder disappeared into the hotel. The North American smiled, and leaned against the side of the large hotel. He would probably never admit it out loud, but he adored the extra attention he was receiving. It made him feel…wanted, and not alone. But it especially made his heart ram into his ribs and let him feel loved.

"Hey, Canadia!"

America's loud voice managed to catch his brother's attention as he navigated his way through the crowd to him. The older of the two had a bright grin on his face, rivaling his usual one; his left hand was pulled back, as if towing someone along with him.

"Dude, it totally worked! I told him!" He exuberantly announced, and rotated halfway around so he could tug England into a warm hug, hands wrapped lightly and lowly on his waist. Upon the public contact, the Brit squirmed and cried out for him to release him, but stopped protesting as soon as the mixed-culture country pecked his cheek lightly. Alfred once again gazed at his sibling with another lively beam, Arthur letting himself melt into the embrace with a smile on his features as well. "He said he loves me too and that he would love to be with me forever, and keep me company and all kinds of stuff~! And he was sober and hadn't even started drinking too much!" Britain flushed red slightly, but wrapped his arms around the taller.

"Yes, yes, luv, you managed to get to me before I got too drunk," he mumbled as his new love started to press kisses along his neck, receiving quiet sighs of pleasure from him as a response. The superpower chuckled against his skin before pulling away and focusing his attention on his brother.

"So~, Mattie, did you tell France yet?"

Before he could answer, the shaggy blond furrowed his rather bushy eyebrows and gazed at Canada with a look of slight surprise and what would seem to be anger. "You're in luv with the frog?"

The younger nodded in worry; although America looked like he could care less who his brother falls head-over-heels with (except for Russia), England looked furious with him.

"Canada, do you know wot he's done to other countries?"

Matthew thought about the question, and replied with a shake of his head. Francis was the country of love; it was a no-brainer he obviously had others in his bed in the past. It was so evident, even Italy could figure it out. And he seemed okay by that; he didn't blame him for loving others, as long as that was behind him. However, something about the Englishman's words made him curious. What had he done to others in the past? And how bad was it?

"Canada…," Arthur sighed as he struggled to find the right words to easily speak his thoughts, "France has had others in his bed before. A lot of nations, and most likely the same amount of humans. He's not clean; hasn't been for centuries."

"Yes, I figured that," he nodded, curiosity growing as the seconds ticked by. What was so bad about loving France? He was wonderful and loving and handsome and brilliant and kind and—

"Well, when he doesn't get his way in love- meaning if someone rejects, um…."

"Hooking up?"

"Right, thank you, Alfred- if someone rejects the two of them hooking up, he, well…he makes it so that in the end, they do end up sleeping together." Canada blinked in confusion, and the older once again exhaled. "How do I say this without hurting you too much….Well, he forces them to perform sexual intercourse with him, whether they like it or not."

Oh…

Oh…

That one comment had made everything fall down for him. If someone denied having sex with him, he…he raped them? Just so….Just so he what? Got his way? Was he that involved in sex that he dropped down to…to…force? Is that what would happen to him if he and Francis ever got far? If it happened, would he break? Would he want more of it? Would he be abandoned, or even be remembered as cher? How many had been called such an endearment?

England must have taken pity on his former colony as well, for he had wormed out of America's arms momentarily to hug him despite the height difference they had. Canada could feel and tell his eyes were filling with tears, but not releasing any water from them yet. "Matthew, I am so sorry you had to know, but I can't let you get hurt like I was, and so many others, because it's not a fun experience to love someone and have them hurt you." The North American sniffled into the hug, burrowing his face in his neck. Despite Britain barely recalling him at times, he still cared for him after he had finished raising him. And right now, he was the closest thing he could find and confirm as comforting.

Arthur pulled back and softly stroked the younger's face with the side of his finger. Alfred, having not been the center of attention in "quite a bit" and watching his newfound lover hug his brother, jealously and (most like unintentionally) selfishly pulled the Englishman back into his arms.

"I'm sorry Canada, but I believe you needed to know…besides, I was once in love with the damn frog, and yet when I said no, he spread my legs and took me." America growled in annoyance and anger, and tightened his grip around England's middle slightly. "You be careful, Canada, alright? He's very tricky and manipulative, and can make you fall off your rocker just so you can love him, so just…watch him."

"Canada, zey confirmed my reservation and a little room I had sa- Mathieu? Wat's wrong? Wat 'appened?"

Upon detecting the French and the rich accent, he decided to momentarily leave reality and slip into oblivion.

When Canada finally had enough strength to open his eyes again, the ground beneath him was soft and comfy, head propped up with a pillow made from what felt like satin. He softly moaned as he rubbed his eyes, glasses removed from his face, and pushed himself up, body dipping over his legs. He noticed his eyeglasses on the bedside table, and sluggishly put them on.

"'ow are you feeling, cher?"

"Ah!" Upon hearing the voice, he jumped and gracefully fell off the hotel bed, bumping his head against the stand as he did so.

"Mathieu!" Canada, lying on his back, had his eyes screwed shut in pain, but judging by the quiet creaking he heard, France was most likely gazing down at him. "Mathieu, êtes-vous bien?"

"I'm fine, fine," he breathed out, rubbing his forehead at the pain he felt. A moan slipped past his lips, before a yelp followed as careful arms swept under his legs and across his back and cradled him. Frightened purple orbs flipped open and his lanky arms enclosed around a nearby neck.

"You should be more careful, ange."

As he was once again placed on the bed gently, his face lit up rosily in embarrassment and realization. England had said that France enchants others to get what he wants, and even if they refuse, he still finds a way for them to get together, whether the other wants to or not. Would he do that to him if he says no? Before they went any further, he'd have to ask him a few questions. Now how to reword those inquiries so as not to offend his still very much crush.

Francis' handsome face appeared across from him as he plopped down in front of him, and reached over to successfully hold his hands. Matthew gulped, and nibbled his lower lip in anxiety. "Mathieu, do you remember what 'appened before you fainted?"

He cautiously nodded his head so as not to harm his growing headache (and most likely purple-and-blue mark). "I was talking to England and America…," he stated, gazing at their intertwined hands.

"Can you remember what Angleterre told you?"

He gulped in worry, eyes glimpsing anywhere but the pools of the sea that his crush owned. "N…yes…." Why lie to France? He should just tell him so he can get it over with, right?

The hold the European had on his hands tightened, causing the younger to wince. "Wat did 'e say?"

"W-well…he just told me I should be careful around you."

If possible, the grasp became tauter. "Wy?"

Once again, he gulped in worry. "W-well….H-he said that…i-if someone says no to you, a-as in…having sex together…," his cheeks flushed a bright pink at his words, "that…you force them to do it…."

When the words were finally out, Francis was silent. The two maintained perfect eye contact, but both could tell the atmosphere was uncomfortable. The wavy blond finally sighed after a moment of thought, shaking his head with closed eyes before he reopened them and placed a gentle kiss on Matthew's hand. "Do you believe zat?"

"I don't know…I-I'm just afraid I'm going to get hurt."

Whatever anger the elder had held diminished at the sight of his former colony's frightened face. That was probably the first time he had ever been a witness to that side of him. France softly stroked the top of the younger nation's hands reassuringly. "Canada, I would never 'urt you. You would 'ave to be mad if someone wanted to 'arm you." He hummed softly, and fixed his position slightly so that his clenched hands rested on either side of his thigh. "Mm…mon bel ange, so pure…." A hand pushed away a stray hair away from his face, brushing it behind his ear, before the fingers lingered on his cheeks. "Wen you dated Gilbert…did you ever…avoir des relations sexuelles?"

If Canada's blush at the sudden change of position hadn't made him turn as red as a tomato, then the following words certainly had. "U-um…what?"

With a light, closed-mouth chuckle, he leaned in close to him and dragged his tongue up his ear, eliciting a moan from Matthew. "Ange, don't act like you didn't 'ear zat, we both know you understand French clearly." He sat up to gaze at him through a half-lustful stare, and the North American couldn't help but shudder. "Did you and Gilbert ever do it?"

"N-no…I-I'm still a virgin." He yelped as a hand snaked up his shirt and twisted one of the nubs on his chest.

"A pleasure. So zis will be a wonderful time for boz of us, oui?" Francis moved in close to connect his mouth to his neck.

"N-no!"

Upon the outburst, the blue-eyed country stopped and allowed the younger to sit up. "What's wrong, cher? Iz it too fast for you?"

"I-it's not that, it's just…I-I want this to be out of love." When America had told him about his past two relationships and how although they were apparently nice (and how they were his close friends even today), he had said that they hadn't been out of true love. Because, in Alfred's words; "I mean, Japan and Liet are my closest friends and I love them to death, but when I went to bed with them, it…well, it didn't feel right. And I realized, after it was done, that, well…England was my true love. And from then on, I've fallen head-over-ass for Iggy, but I can never say anything nice to him. I'm too afraid I'm going to get rejected…but I'm not going to stop, because he's my love, and that's what 'making love' is, right? It's something performed with your true love." Canada had asked how you knew someone was your true love, and his brother responded with a slight smile; "You just know when you look at them and your heart skips a few beats, or they make you smile. A true love is that person that fits perfectly with your hands. That's why your fingers are separated, y'know? So your true love can fit there. And I'm gonna reserve this spot for Artie and make him feel like the most special nation to ever live." America's words had sort of changed his way on who he wanted to be with when he was older. Which is why the first time he and France made eye contact (after he had grown up, of course) and his heart skipped a beat, he knew he was the one to spend the rest of time with.

The elder tilted his head slightly at what he had said. "You don't want to be wiz me?"

"N-no, it's just…." Here it was; the truth was rising rapidly to spill out of him. He might as well just admit it and get it over with. "When I was a little kid, when you were raising me…I-I never thought that I'd be falling in love with you. Whenever I look at you or talk to you, I always feel like I mean something to the world." He slipped his spread fingers with the elder's and enclosed their hands together. "When you look at me and speak to me, and…just be with me, you make me feel like I'm the most loved person to ever live. And…I hope you love me the same way."

Francis was silent as he looked down at the hands that held his. Matthew nibbled his lip in worry. Would he accept his confession? Would he ignore it? Would he…leave him up here, alone? What?

Canada felt the tears once again pick at his eyes, and he shut them and bowed his head to keep them down. "I-I'm sorry, I've just been holding that up inside for a while, and I didn't want to keep it hidden away from you for much longer. I-I understand if you don't want to s-"

The European had unexpectedly and hastily crashed their lips together and removed their hands' hold, but only to place his under the younger's jawline. Canada yelped in surprise, eyes wide and fingers frantically burrowing into the sheets around him as his heart and mind raced to try and think of a response to this oh-so-good kiss that nearly molded them together. It felt so…so perfect and without a single mortal or immortal flaw. It felt like their lips had waited to meet the other against each other, despite the North American's way of trying to reply. It felt like he had finally found his true love.

When France pulled away, his ocean-like eyes held on to his former colony's violet, expressing his love in ways one would be unable to imagine. "I want to spend the rest of my life wiz you. And no one else, Canada." He sighed, and pressed their foreheads together with shut eyes. "For so long, I've wondered wat a perfect kiss feels like: so melded togezer as if you are one…," his eyes flipped open slowly, causing Canada's heart to beat faster, "and I finally found ze owner of zat perfect kiss. As long as you want us to be a zing, I happily approve us."

"Francis…," he managed to utter out. "I-I…."

"Mm-hmm…take your time, cher." He pecked his hand gently, and smiled up at him, once again causing many fluttering heartbeats.

"Francis…si'l vous plait."

"Qu'est-ce que c'est…."

"S'il vous plaît...m'aimer toujours."

A gentle pair of lips brushed under his jawline, causing him to shiver in want and need. "Je le promets."

The two connected their lips together, tilting their heads ever so gently. This feeling- this everlasting sensation of kissing the right person and telling they wanted what you did- swept them off to their own world, where only the two of them could enter and exit from, no one else. Canada jumped almost unnoticeably at the slick muscle pushing at his mouth, but nonetheless allowed the tongue to enter and smoothly glide along his own as his arms wrapped themselves around France's neck and the latter carefully led him onto his back. His warm hands rubbed against the former's shirt where his stomach was located, pressing hopeful touches to reach the skin. The younger groaned quietly into the kiss before they broke apart for air, staring at one another as if the other was a national treasure.

"You are a good kisser, Canada," he whispered into his former colony's ear. "And zat moan I 'eard before…?" He chuckled. "I'd razer not tell you wat effect it 'as on me."

The younger blushed, already guessing what he meant. "I'm sorry….M-my stomach and chest are sensitive." He bit his lip at the last minute, already regretting his words. Because telling the top perv what your weak spots were was a totally smart and safe idea.

Francis smiled mischievously. "Oh? Is zat so, ange?" With a shaky nod from the country underneath him, he couldn't help but grin softly. "If you want, I can treat zose spots; find what makes you feel…," he traced a hand underneath his chin, across his jawline and wrapping around a strand of caramel-blond hair, "delighted."

Matthew let out a quiet gripe, and the elder chuckled kindly.

"Are you zure you want me to take away zat pure air you 'ave? I won't do it unless you approve."

Almost immediately, he answered. "Please, Francis! Please!" His grip, which had disappeared somehow, once again returned and enveloped his neck once more. "I-I want-need this!"

The European laughed lightly. "As you wish, bel ange."

With both beyond needing the other to caress and hold, they attached again. Smooth yet gentle hands made quick work to get his shirt off his creamy skin, to connect with him in ways that weren't possible until now. Canada's fingers rushed up to the black vest around the curved body above him, hastily undoing each button, along with the rest of his shirt's before he slid his hands on his shoulder and slipped the clothing off. When both their shirts were off the bed, France pulled away from him and placed gentle pecks on his neck and skin, receiving cries in return. "Mon dieu…Francis…ne vous arrêtez pas—ah!"

A warm mouth had started to wrap itself around a nub, tongue encircling it and pulling out gasps of pleasure from Matthew. Francis chuckled at the sounds he was able to make before he moved on to the other, using his hand to keep the recently abandoned nipple attended to. Canada drew his hand to his mouth and nibbled on it, whining as he tried to keep his vocals under control.

"Canada…," France whispered to him, sitting up and nibbling on his neck, "move your 'and for me, please. I want to 'ear you moan."

The younger removed his hand and let out a startled yelp as the warm hands ghosted over his pants. The wavy blond gazed at him from his position.

"Mathieu, if you want, we can stop. I don't 'ave to keep on going."

"Non, non, I'm fine, I-I just….I'm not used to this at all."

The blue-eyed country frowned, and gently placed a kiss on his hand. "Are you sure, cher? I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

Canada gazed at him from his position in surprise. "N-no one's ever thought like that for me."

"Zat's not true, mon bel ange." The younger looked at him in curiosity at his words. "I 'ave always zought of you, no matter wat 'as 'appened between us. And I missed you all zose years ago, because I 'ad fallen in love with an angel and never felt ze same way for anyone else…and I 'oped he has done the same."

The young nation nodded vigorously, and intertwined their hands. "Even though I've only had one relationship, I see now that there is no one like you. And that you're the only one I ever want to be with."

"Canada…," the elder glanced down at his pants, and sheepishly- as in embarrassed?- chuckled. "If you keep on complimenting me like zat, I may have to take you now."

The North American laughed quietly. "Then why don't you make it past my waistline?"

"Spiteful now, aren't we?"

"Well I learned from the b-ahhh Francis!" His pants and boxers had already been discarded away from the duo, and a caring hand had started to caress the rather large member that needed the European's attention urgently.

"It seems like you are already 'ard, Mathieu. And I 'aven't done much."

"I-it's just you…," he panted out as the fingers once again rubbed his needy erection slowly. "Your voice, your presence, everything!" Eyes shut as he elicited a rather loud scream in shock at the touches of comfortable hands.

"Well zen…," he leaned in close to his ear, "how about we test your vocals, cher?"

In a few seconds, France had once again kneeled in front of his slightly spread legs. The younger listened in anticipation for something, but gasped as a warm, wet mouth now connected to the member. He cried out in surprise as it moved down, engulfing him in pleasure and almost forcing his hips to thrust upwards into his mouth. Eyes wide and head thrown back, he squirmed and clawed at the covers when just beyond where his erection lie was soon receiving tender strokes and brushes. FrancisohGodpleasedon'tstop-

He chuckled despite his full mouth, and inhaled his cheeks ever so slightly while his tongue wrapped around the head. Matthew cried out and gripped the dandelion locks in front of him, trailing his fingers through the silky tresses.

"F-Francis," he groaned, "mon dieu, mon d-" He shut his eyes and screamed when he soon reached his limit and released into the elder's mouth, trembling and arching his back off the bed as he did so. The wavy blond hummed in interest, and soon sat up with a half-smirk, swallowing and using his thumb to wipe off anything dripping.

"You're very vocal, cher," he complimented as he licked three of his fingers with a seductive glint in his eyes. "I zink you're even louder zan your brother."

"Th-that was….I-I've never felt like that before…."

Francis laughed as he undid his pants button and zipper, slipping out of them and his undergarments easily to leave him now fully nude. "Well zen I'm glad I'm ze first one to make you come." Matthew blushed in embarrassment in his words, receiving a sigh and loving gaze. "My beautiful angel…to me, you will always be perfect. Remember zat." The younger exhaled through his nose and closed his eyes as he nodded, but stopped when he felt a finger circle his entrance.

"Francis…w-what's your finger doing th-" Their mouths collided together upon the European's request, naked bodies pressing against the other. Canada gave a moan in approval, and slid his arms up to wrap around the elder's free neck. Mouths opened and tongues met like hang gliders, slithering over the other in an attempt to taste as much as possible. The aforementioned nation sighed in content; this was what the perfect kiss felt what the hell was that right there?

"A-ah!" He pulled away and cried out in shock at the poking digit inside him before it slid out and, after a few seconds, repeated the action. The younger cried out in surprise, turning his head to the side and groaning. Back and forth, in and out, it went a couple more times before finally deciding to nudge itself in, moving in as far as it was allowed and then the opposite way, only to be rammed forward and having the next finger help the stretching. Owowowowow-! Matthew shut his eyes in pain yet pleasure, wondering how anyone could take this. But he knew after he was done, the worse would be pushing in.

Another jab had him screaming and arching off the bed, a hand clawing against France's back while the other wrapped into his wavy, gold locks and pulled. The latter chuckled and licked his neck before nibbling lightly and pulling his fingers out. He sat up halfway with a light peck to his mouth, and positioned himself in front of his entrance, fixing the position of the other's legs slightly. The younger gripped his shoulders, gazing into the blue eyes with worry. Was this going to hurt? Was this going to be enjoyable? Was this…going to be horrible? Well only one way of finding o-

"Ah!" The large pressure of the member pushing in to him caused tears to blur his vision and pain to erupt in his backside. He choked for air as his body clenched and his fingers clawed in an attempt to try and repel the unwanted organ. His shout of agony erupted around the room and caused him to scratch unknowingly at the first body in front of him, which was unfortunately Francis. However, light kisses started to trail over his body to soothe him and calm him down.

"I'm so sorry, cher, I am." He pressed a kiss to his cheek and stroked his hair to try and soothe the nation underneath his body. "Oh, mon bel ange, just a little bit more." He glanced down at where the two were "connected", and once again gained eye contact. "I'm going to move, okay, cher? Don't worry, it will only hurt a little bi-"

"Aaaah!" Canada leaned back as the member rammed into him for a second time, feeling a twinge of pleasure that he had never felt before. His voice rang out again, feet twisting into the bed. Pecks proceeded to deck out his upper body lovingly, placing care into each individual kiss to successfully soothe him. And in no time at all, he was soon moaning and returning the grazes just as affectionate as the more experienced male.

"Cana," he grunted. "Mon dieu, Cana…."

The elder sped up rather hastily, trying to let the younger become situated to the presence as he aimed for the sweet spot to send him into a frenzy of pleasure. Matthew gasped for air, and heaved his lower body down to take in more, and it wasn't too much time before his lower body exploded in a completely filling burst of satisfying pleasure. It washed over him as his groans dripped from his mouth, as he leaned back and let himself be showered with pecks and decked out in sweat. Hands intertwined around his shoulders and through his hair once again, twisting inside the locks and twirling them effortlessly.

With a final inhale and a swift bite to his neck, he suddenly released over them, soaking their bare abdomens. Francis gasped, grabbing his lover's hips and pulling himself deeper into the younger and finally reaching his end and pouring into Canada with a trembling exhale and quick whisper in French.

"Je t'aime…."

Je t'aime….

Je t'aime.

Je…t'aime….

The North American sighed as the Frenchman pulled out of him, placed a tender kiss on his lips, and lied down beside him. Another, chaste kiss was delivered to his hand before words were shared.

"Did I 'arm you, beau?" The older blond wondered, stroking his former colony's face gently. Canada shook his head tiredly, and gave a yawn. "Zat's good…you're very vocal, amour. I'm razer impressed, wat wiz you being so frequently quiet and all." Matthew hummed in agreement, softly letting his arms rest around the elder's waist. A chuckle trickled through his chest, and he raised a hand to drag it through the caramel tresses.

"Francis?" Matthew spoke up quietly; he wanted to know if this was true, or if he was just going to be part of a game.

"Mm?"

"…Did you really mean what you said before? About me being perfect, and your bele ange, and…a-and 'Je t'aime'?"

France gazed down at the younger, and he saw that there was all seriousness in the eyes like the ocean. "Canada…wat I say, I mean wiz every part of me. I always loved you wen you were younger; you were so quiet and kind. And wen you were taken away from me, I didn't know wat to do. I realized zat…wat I 'eld for you, was somezing I 'adn't experienced."

"And…what was that?"

He leaned over and placed their lips together in a kind, gentle embrace. "True love." The whisper ghosted over Canada's lips like a breeze. "I may be ze country of love, and I may 'ave 'ad boz men and women in my bed, none of zem compare to wat I feel for you. No matter how many times I've used 'cher' or 'ange' or za like- especially 'amour'- zeir meaning 'as never meant more zan wen I say it to you."

Matthew felt his eyes prick with tears slightly. He didn't realize he had meant so much to Francis, after over two hundred years of not being with one another as they had been. He felt like his search for someone so perfect was done. Both of their searches were. Because that love was right beside him.

"Ange, don't cry, your face is so beautiful, tears do not need to fall."

"I'm crying because I'm happy," he whispered, and nuzzled into the older. "I've always wanted somebody to love, and now I found him. All I had to do was look up and he was right there."

France smiled wide, and placed another kiss to the locks of caramel blond. "Oui…you did, cher. And I'm so glad you did."

Canada stole a quick glimpse at the clock: only eleven-thirty. The party could continue on without them; they were fine right up here. His purple eyes then led him to the almost-fully-covered window, and then a smile to his lips. "It's snowing."

The elder looked over where the younger's eyes were currently gazing at. "It is."

He gave a peaceful sigh. "It's so pretty."

"Mm…I've seen better."

Matthew's cheeks flared up bashfully, and Francis let out a laugh before pulling his newfound lover closer and snuggling him closer to him. They fit like two puzzle pieces of a missing puzzle, lost somewhere dark and dusty, but found by a force that neither had truly had experience with. And it glued them together and kept them inseparable, until there was nothing but love surrounding them. And it's thanks to that that they are the perfect match for each other.

Fail ending...I know this is for Christmas, but I never finished and was like "What the hell". So...yeah.

~~Lady Skarlet out