No one really knew what went on behind closed doors whenever France and Russia met up with each other during the Franco-Russia alliance. The alliance itself was secret to the Triple alliance and other nations after all. The most anyone had seen them together was a friendly handshake greeting, exchanged small talk and eventually entering a room; which no one else was allowed to enter unless both nations gave them permission to do so. The rooms they always entered seemed to be a bedroom.

Today, it was France who visited Russia's giant mansion. As always there was a cold air with the interior, despite the yellow walls and the neutral colour scheme of the floor tiles and carpets, with ornaments and furniture that should have made the place at least welcoming. The white snow may as well be inside as well as out. Even Russia wore his long tan coat and scarf indoors because his house was that cold.

The Russian stood at the window mesmerized at the snowflakes fluttering down towards the snowy abyss, while France in a burgundy suit over his turquoise sweater, sat in a puce armchair sipping a glass of wine, which Russia made the effort to offer. If he were less hospitable the Frenchman would have been drunk on strong vodka. The atmosphere itself was silent. Neither man spoke.

One would have thought they were discussing military strategies against the Triple Alliance. Russia bought France out of diplomatic isolation after the Franco-Prussian war while the alliance ended Russia's vulnerability. Anyone would have guessed they had plenty to talk about but it was a completely normal thing to happen between the two. There would be a prolonged silence before one of them would finally start the conversation about a topic outside warfare. On this occasion, it was France who broke the ice. "I have been curious about this for a while and I have to ask; have you ever fallen in love with anyone before?"

Russia didn't answer straight away, that was normal too and vice versa when he would ask an obscure question to France. His violet eyes fixated with the wintery scene outside. "Nyet," he finally answered. "I can't say I have."

"Not ever? Man or woman?" The Frenchman tucked a strand of his golden locks behind his ear before taking another sip of the red wine.

"I never even kissed anyone," Russia responded again. "I have never been shown any form of love even as a young child, so I do not know and understand love. Why do you ask of this strange notion?" He asked, turning his head towards the other.

France peered into the wine glass. "I would have thought that every nation would feel at least some infatuation towards someone; whether they be another like us or human." He drank the last of the wine and set his glass on the table besides the armchair he sat at. "You must have a strong will if you have never fantasized about what pleasures you."

"I never had a strong desire for such a thing," Russia stated before returning his gaze at the window. "If it's going to be a distraction then it's pointless to have it."

"So your heart is as icy as everyone says," France stood from the chair and sauntered towards the platinum blonde haired male before stopping a little away from him. "Did you choose to be alone or did everyone else decide that for you?"

Russia hesitated at the question. His childhood wasn't happy when Sweden, Denmark and the Teutonic knights kept trying to invade his land until the Mongol Tartars successfully captured Kiev, the old capital.

All he wanted was to find friends and be accepted by them but it never really happened now that he thought about it. Even a hamster he tried to befriend rejected him. The only people who liked him unconditionally were his sisters, Ukraine and Belarus, but they were his siblings so they had to in a way. Other than them, no-one cared for the man. They either feared him or tried to beat him up and this sent Russia's mind into a blank state for a while until he finally answered in a monotonous voice, "No one wanted to be my friend so I know nothing of any love apart from the unconditional kind from my siblings and even Belarus is a bit possessive of me." He shuddered at the thought of her voice calling out to him, proposing marriage. France's hand sent shivers to his shoulder where he touched it.

"So do you think you forgot how to feel?" Russia glanced at the Frenchman's blue eyes. The Russian's gloved hand unconsciously reached for the hand situated on him and drew his fingers across softly. The brown leather gloves prevented him from knowing how much heat came from the back of his hand. Russia didn't know why he was doing this, touching France of all people in a sensitive way. No one else had been willing to touch him (other than Belarus and General Winter) through fear yet France, the country of love, had the courage to place his hand on Russia's shoulder. A tingling sensation unhurriedly coursed from his chest and spread throughout his body. The Russian couldn't understand what was going on. Was this excitement, anxiety, or something more? He couldn't quite put his finger on it but eventually he felt it to be a positive feeling, one he wished he'd experienced earlier. The warm, kind touch he could sense if he took off his leather gloves. It was then that Russia had to know something; something only France can answer.

"You suffered a revolution and a battle against Prussia yet you still proclaim you're the country of love. Why?"

The Frenchman gazed at the spot on the shoulder where his hand still planted itself. "I call myself the country of love because no matter what sort of hatred I go through, I always come back to love. With any person who is willing to share love with me, be it romantic or sexual, I always tailor myself to their needs, regardless of how much experience they have. If they tell me to kiss them, I would do it as passionately as they want. If they tell me to touch them, I would caress them to their liking. We would be guiding each other to our euphoria."

"But if their love isn't about sex and caressing each other's bodies then I accept that. It can be those three words everyone says to those they hold dear. Love is something that shouldn't be forced upon everyone after all."

"Please…" Russia stammered and turned to face France with a pleading expression. His fingers clenched onto the other's suit, his hands shaking. "I want to know that feeling… of someone who can be spoken to… someone who can be touched… without the fear of the other leaving them or running away. I just… want to be loved."

France knew all to well of the other nation's perception of him: a Casanova, a pervert… a rapist. That word stung him every time he heard someone talk about him in that way just because his nation was more sexually driven than anywhere else. France blamed the Marquis de Sade for everyone crowning that reputation on him. He couldn't help it if he wanted to express his gratitude to another for not losing their head during the French Revolution. Since losing Canada to England after the Seven Years War, he no longer felt the joy he once had when he had the privilege of being his guardian. Whenever he had intercourse with anyone at present, he felt like a doll whose only living quality was breathing. Apart from that, nothingness was hidden between the smiles and civil talks.

For France to hear Russia begging him to love him caused him to reach out to the other's face and cup his round, childlike face. The Russian's cheeks felt as cold as the snow falling outside and yet, his hands stayed where they were. France gazed into Russia's violet eyes with wonder. "Take off your gloves," he uttered. "You'll know the sense of 'feeling' better."

The platinum blonde haired man glanced at the brown gloves covering his hands before removing them and placing them on the windowsill. Russia returned to staring into France's sapphire orbs before his hand floated to the Frenchman's digits holding his face. They flinched at the iciness of the Russian but relaxed knowing they never meant to harm him.

Once Russia was sure France was comfortable, he connected his lips to their others in a soft kiss. The Frenchman knew he had to take the lead and immediately felt the frostiness of Russia's mouth from the moment they made contact. It was like kissing an icicle it was that cold. Both lips began to hunger for more of each other as their embraces became more fervent, their tongues now dancing inside their mouths. France's hands moved around Russia's form, gliding down his arms and secured them on his waist. The Russian untied the lilac ribbon that held France's wavy blonde locks back, letting them fall around his face and combed through his hair with his fingers. The ribbon lay forgotten on the floor but their main concern was getting some air back into their lungs, so they only pulled their faces away while their hands remained in place around their figures. The nations gazed into each other's eyes realizing what had just happened: they empathized with each other on how alone they felt. Despite the times when they had been enemies in war, they knew loneliness was something both of them had felt for too long. Russia lowered his hands from France's hair and stopped at his back then glanced to the side briefly before turning back to the man in front of him.

"During this alliance," Russia started while stroking France's cheek with the back of his fingers. "I want you to teach me how to feel happiness, sadness, emotions I have yet to reawaken."

"And the same for I," The Frenchman said immediately after, grabbing both the Russian's exposed hands. "In that brief moment, I began to feel what I have felt before I spiraled into turmoil; such wonderful feelings I've missed so much." France captured the Russian in a short kiss. "It is decided. We shall help each other in this alliance through any means necessary."

"Indeed. When anyone of the Triple Alliance makes their move, we shall be ready to counter them." Russia responded with a peck on the Frenchman's lips before both smiled at each other.

!

This was really weird to write and note just because of the FrancexRussia pairing. I really have no clue. All I'll tell you is that this takes place sometime during the Franco-Russia alliance so sometime between 1892-1917. Again, I feel weird but I have thought about this pairing before because both France and Russia had revolutions and they lost a female figure that fans have assumed they held dear (Jeanne d'Arc for France, Anastasia for Russia) but then I think they'd just be friends... okay so they kissed in this fan fic here. A girl can dream right?

The characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.