Going too far

France was sitting peacefully in his home. It was nice, autumn afternoon and he had nothing to do, then just sitting comfortable in his armchair and drinking some wine. His mind was occupied by some random thoughts, sometimes so perverted that he was smirking to himself and familiar heat was running through his body.

He wasn't expecting this – maybe not knowingly. He wasn't expecting that his peace will be interrupted by knocking to the door. He wasn't expecting that, when he will open this door, he will see familiar Englishman, glaring at him coldly. And he wasn't expecting that this Englishman will hit him right through face so hard that French will lurch on his spot. Right after first attack Arthur had stormed into Francis' house and pinned the host to the wall. France stared with disbelief into those furious, green eyes and he gulped. He knew that he was in trouble.

"I knew, you 're pervert, frog." Arthur started, pinning him harder to the wall. "But I didn't expected that you could be that filthy. This time you've gone too far, you sick bastard." England hit the jaw of startled France. With shaking voice, he continued: "From all things, you had done, that one was the most awful, the most horrible thing. You sick, sick bastard…" Tears ran down his cheeks, when he hit France again, this time into his stomach.

"Angleterre…" Francis gasped, curling from pain, but Arthur pinned him to the wall again, forcing to stay straight.

"I will never forgive you this, Francis." New tears were coming from his eyes, when he clenched his teeth and said: "You've… you've done it to Peter." His grip on France's collar had been loosen a bit. "Are you have any idea how much you've hurt him? How much you've scarred him for live with your dirty fingers? He's not his hyper self, anymore. He's scared of everybody. All day long he stays in his place and doesn't come out. I should castrate you long time ago, bastard."

Francis didn't say anything, nor defend himself from Arthur's angry fists. Englishman was hitting him with all his might. Soon on the floor had been split few drops of blood, along with England's tears. France was lying on the ground and breathing slowly. All his body was aching and he couldn't resist the impression that his ribs were broken. His vision started to become blurry, but he somehow manage to look up at his executer.

Arthur was observing him with cold gaze. Tears on his cheeks was still fresh. His eyes was full of hate and despise, pain and desperate want of avenge hurt, little boy. And Francis was sure that Arthur wished him death right now. Because what else deserved bastard, who took away his brother's innocence, innocence that couldn't be taken back? What kind of punishment suited for crime of scarring for live twelve year old child? There was no way to fix it, to repay Peter for this horror, he passed through.

But Arthur couldn't kill Frenchman, because nations can not die. So France was waiting for other kind of punishment. England kicked him one, last time into stomach, causing the Frenchman to split some blood from his mouth. Then Arthur just turned around and started to moving into door's direction.

"A-Angleterre…" Francis tried to make him stop, he wanted to apologize, but soon Arthur closed the door behind himself and Francis was all alone in his hallway.

OK, this idea came to me during vacation. We all generally laugh at France's pervercy, but what if France pervercy led him into rape of somebody? Have you ever wondered, if he could hurt anybody?

And this fic isn't the response to New Colony. It's just random thing, I've wrote to show you the other face of France.