Author's Note: My first fanfic/smut. Might as well get it over with in one sitting.

I love this pair, and expect more to be coming soon. Also, I hope to do a fanfic with each member of the Bad Touch Trio.

I do not own the characters or the anime/manga; just merely the plot.

Please enjoy and thank-you for reading!

Rough, pale skin brushed against his cheek; the feeling causing his stomach to do a flip.

When a confident tongue trailed up his cheekbone, lips sucking and teeth biting against his flesh, he then finally realized that: maybe this was going all too fast? They should slow down, wait a few more months, or at least until he was out of Arthur's control; then, they would finally take their relationship to the next level, if some other major catastrophe didn't occur.

No, that would be impossible, nothing but the earth swallowing them up whole would stop this being above him from continuing with his best occupation; lover.

His head went rather fuzzy as the sweet spot below his earlobe was located and given the most affectionate care. Thank-god it was winter and turtle neck sweaters weren't out of season.

Stifling back a moan, his head finally got some control over his limbs as he pushed at the chest of the man over him, a curse arising out of both of them; one for the loss of contact, the other for the interruption of his ministrations.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est, mon amour?"

Francis's tone wavered between frustration and ardor. Fumbling about, specifically to pull down his t-shirt which had been pushed up to his chin, Matthew sat up, blush upon his cheeks, hair askew, glasses lopsided. Looking into the azure eyes of his lover, the Canadian man couldn't help but feel warmth pool into his belly.

Why had they stopped again?

Oh right. The fact that they were in Arthur's home, on Arthur's couch, and Matthew, the forgotten golden child, was cavorting with Arthur's greatest enemy in the most intimate of ways.

That may have something to do with it.

It was not as if he would be under Arthur's thumb forever, no he was planning on asking his 'mother country' for independence as soon as there was an opportune moment. That moment had just not come yet. Matthew had broached the subject before, but he was usually shot down or shoved aside by Arthur who was more concerned with the rest of the world, mainly Alfred, and too busy to deal with him. When you had Scotland, Ireland, New Zealand, Hong Kong, India and most of the Pacific to deal with; the friendly next door Canada was not on your list of priorities to take care of.

Francis's lips returned to Matthew's collarbone, taking the silence as an initiative, causing the boy to jump. Groaning, Matthew closed his eyes and relished in the utter feeling of being adored. What harm could possibly come about this? Francis liked him and Matthew had never really wanted to separate from his French roots after all.

So what if Arthur would get upset?

Sometimes, Matthew felt that he needed to be a little more selfish.

Lying back against the pillows once more, Matthew permitted Francis to catch him in a kiss; one that involved their tongues in a meticulous battle for dominance before, finally, the Canadian accepted defeat and gave full control to the more experienced of the two.

Francis settled in between the lithe body beneath him. Automatically, Matthew's legs wrapped around Francis's waist, unintentionally bringing them closer together to the point where they were nearly grinding against one another fully clothed. Moaning into the elder's mouth, Matthew pulled at the collared shirt that Francis wore and fumbled with the (microscopic) buttons. His hands were going too slow for his liking and seeing his lover's distress, Francis assisted the boy with his task. When the white piece of fabric was finally done away with, the Frenchman's pale, toned chest was exposed to the temperature of the living room.

"You know what, cher? I find this wholly- oh, merde- unfair that I am the first to remove my clothing."

In response, Matthew groaned as he found cool hands creep beneath his t-shirt and lightly brush his nipples. Sighing a bit as Francis's blonde curls tickled at his nose, Matthew threw his head back when he found one of his nipples enveloped; the Frenchman's tongue licking until pert.

With all of the breath that he could possibly muster, some of which should actually be used to obtain oxygen, Matthew huffed out, "Then get me naked already."

Boldness was not something one would see every day in the embodiment of Canada.

Francis had watched the boy grow up from a distance, kicked out by that swine of a Brit; nonetheless, he would have bet his life that his Matthew would never have said what he had just exactly uttered at that moment. Maybe his Canadien was growing up after all. Once out from under the nose of Arthur, Francis would have a chance to show the boy just what exactly he had been missing.

His dear Matthew wanted more? Then Francis was pleased in giving him more; just not on the couch.

Canada's shirt was removed, and he cried out in surprise as he was lifted bridal style by a very blithe France, who picked him up as if he weighed but a feather.

Where were they going?

Matthew adjusted his glasses, which were dangerously close to dropping, and watched as the living room disappeared; their shirts thrown carelessly on the floor, their shoes had been abandoned near the door, and both men were nude except for their pants. Shivering, the young man couldn't help but cling to his captor, one hand reaching into the golden locks and taking hold, while the other grasped at his shoulder.

The exposed flesh of Francis's chest was as tempting as newly unwrapped chocolate, and the Canadian began placing kisses, licks and nips to the flesh that he could get a hold of. From the sighs and startled jumps that were elicited from his lover, Matthew knew that he was doing alright.

"Matthew, mon amour, if you keep doing that; I don't think I'll be able to get us all the way to your room."

Smirking, quite a rare facial expression for the youth, Matthew continued his work until they finally reached the end of the hall where his room was located. The door was pushed opened by Francis's knee, the elder scanning around in the dim light for the bed.

Mentally, the Frenchman cursed the bloody Brit.

Matthew's room was entirely lacking. There was a simple trunk for his things pushed against the wall, a small walk in bathroom, accompanied by a shabby twin bed. Pictures of Matthew with Arthur and Alfred, Canadian landscapes, magazine clippings (with 'Canada' highlighted) and a few grizzly bear drawings littered the otherwise bare blue walls.

The thing that caught Francis's eye and nearly made him drop the body in his arms, was a sizeable, framed photo of Francis and Matthew.

Francis immediately knew where the picture had been taken; he remembered the day perfectly.

It had been their final day together, just before Arthur had taken custody of the child. France had taken Canada to the Jardin du Luxembourg, a popular sight for picnics and games that the nobility would take their children to. He had always kept Matthew away, worried for the newly formed country's safety; but, since it was going to be their last day together, he had thrown caution to the wind.

A local photographer had snapped this shot of the two of them whilst they had been relaxing in the shade of a pear tree. The picture caught the moment where Francis had fallen asleep, watching Matthew pick at bugs on the grass. Apparently, the child had gotten tired as well and curled into the crook of his guardian's arm. Though the photo was in sepia, Francis vividly recalled the color of suit he had been wearing, the un-ripened pears as they swayed over head, and the blush of Matthew's cheek from the sheer exertion of his amusement.

Perfect days like the one in the photograph had, apparently, been scarce since the transferring of custody, and Francis wordlessly stood there, Matthew in arms, staring at the old memory. Before, Francis had thought he had been the only one injured by the separation, Matthew had been but a boy when he went off with Arthur; so, Francis had assumed that Matthew would just replace him with Arthur. From the look of the room, the shabbiness of Matthew's clothing, and Arthur's apparent lack of memory for the young man; Francis knew that substitution had never happened. Matthew had been injured by the separation as well.

He had been so, so, égoïste, to think otherwise.

Matthew, sensing the sudden pause, peeked up from Francis's chest and looked up at the Frenchman who was staring at the photograph. A ruddy blush instantly crept to his cheeks, he had forgotten about the photo and knew that Francis was probably embarrassed at such a garish display. Any hope of actually getting intimate were slashed; Francis would leave and Matthew would be alone and abandoned as per usual.

Francis eased the country from his arms, setting him on his feet before him. Matthew waited for Francis to tell him how he needed to be going home, some excuse about getting the heck out of the house.

Instead, he found himself pulled into a tight hug, one that left no room for Matthew to do anything but let his arms dangle limply at his sides.

In his ear, he heard Francis whisper numerous apologies, reasons for which Matthew had a vague idea, "I am sorry Matthew, I am terribly sorry."

Shock was the first thing to set in, immobilizing him before he realized that Francis wasn't running away, he wasn't running at all. Francis would be there for him, and that simple resolution made Matthew's heart soar.

Returning the hug, Matthew placed a kiss to Francis's cheek in an attempt to persuade the Frenchman to let go. France's blue eyes looked imploringly at Matthew in both forgiveness and encouragement.

Taking Francis's hand within his own, Matthew led the elder man to the bed; pushing him lightly to sit on the edge as he straddled Francis's lap.

Gazing up at Matthew, Francis watched as the Canadian removed him glasses and began to place tiny kisses up his collarbone, on his shoulder blade and in the crevice of his neck. Reveling in the feeling, even if they were only kisses, Francis knew that all was forgiven, and right now he had an all too eager Canada waiting for him to make a move.

Catching hold of the boy's belt loops, Francis brought the young man closer, Matthew resuming the position of his legs wrapped around Francis's waist. Moving them until Matthew was lying sprawled out below him; Francis began unbuttoning the corduroy pants the youth was wearing, almost gleeful when he felt the stiffened arousal beginning to form in the Canadian's pants. He had kept Matthew waiting too long, and was resolved to help him out of his current state.

Matthew fumbled out of pants, free to be liberated of the constraining fabric and bit at the back of his hand to stifle the loud groan that erupted from his mouth as his member was gripped through the fabric of his briefs. The hand that was repressing the pleasurable sounds coming out of Matthew was pinned back to the side of his head by Francis who consumed the moans himself; their mouth meeting together in a breathy kiss as the Frenchman continued stroking Canada through his underwear. Francis could feel his head go dizzy as all the blood in it rushed to his rather rigid cock; usually he could keep himself under control, but the cries of pleasure that were coming from his Matthew were driving him insane.

Ridding himself of his own trousers, Francis trailed his mouth down the expanse of pale skin that made up Canada's chest; nipping at the sensitive crevice between the boy's pectorals and down each rib bone that jutted out to greet him. Taking hold of the underwear, Francis slipped it down until Matthew's erection was released. With a cocky smirk, the Frenchman gazed up at his lover who was watching him with wide blue eyes, face red, waiting for what he knew would come next. Placing one peck to the head of Matthew's member, Francis took part of it in; reveling in the loud cry of pleasure that tore from his Canada's chest.

Hands grasping at the bed sheets below him, Matthew couldn't help but close his eyes as the overwhelming sensation of Francis's mouth around his arousal overloaded all of his senses. His hips jutted up with every lick and suck, he knew his end was eminent but didn't want to come already.

"F-Francis, uhn, please stop. I-I think I'm gonna…Aah, foutre…"

Taking into mind what the young man was practically screaming out, Francis gave one last lick to the member before wiping his mouth. Matthew's head fell to the side, large gulps of air consumed as he tried to lessen his high; anything at the moment would send him over the edge.

So far, Francis's job was well done.

The next part of their activities though, would not be as wholly enjoyable though.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, Francis dug around in his pant pocket until he found the travel-size bottle of lubricant. When he had come over early this afternoon, he had made it his mission to get Matthew into the exact state he was in now.

Canada looked up from his position on the bed and saw the container of lubricant in Francis's hand. He knew precisely what it was, and what it was used for. This was going to be his first time, but better it be with Francis who actually cared for him than somebody else who didn't.

With the captivated gaze of Matthew as his audience, Francis grinned as he divested himself of his own underwear. He nearly began laughing as Matthew's eyes became glued to his cock, the picture of innocence, as a blush coated his cheeks and his hands twitched from nervousness.

The boy was a virgin, which made Francis extremely cautious as he proceeded forward.

Uncapping the bottle of lubricant and pouring a generous amount onto his hand, he eased himself forward on the bed until he rested in the spot next to his Matthew. Distracted by an urging kiss from Francis, Matthew didn't register the cold, wet hand that pressed into his rear; delving between the cheeks until a finger circled the rim of his entrance.

It was an odd feeling, very intrusive, and the coldness didn't add to much pleasure to the situation.

In the middle of their kiss, while Matthew was preoccupied with Francis's tongue, did a single finger makes its way into the tight crevice; the Frenchman swallowing the gasp of pain that the Canadian emitted. After a moment, until Francis felt Matthew loosen up, did he add a second finger, then began scissoring and stretching the boy's entrance. At this, Matthew couldn't help but push his lover away from him, yelping as a painful lurch went through his lower spine. Calming his companion by placing steady kisses to his temple, Francis reached his other hand down to Matthew's cock, giving it a few pumps. Moaning, Matthew tried to relax; knowing that the pain was not intentional and Francis was trying to take care of him, as best as possible.

Finally, once Francis was sure that Matthew was thoroughly prepared, did he remove his fingers and poured more lubricant onto his hand. In response to his hand on his own member, Francis gave a hearty moan, squeezing and pumping himself as well, head thrown back in pleasure. Before getting too carried away, Francis remembered Matthew and gestured for him to lift his knees. Wiping the remaining lubricant on the bed sheet, much to Matthew's dismay, Francis took hold of one the boy's knee and lifted it. The other knee was left to wrap itself around Francis, allowing for a perfect entrance.

Francis wouldn't proceed without Matthew's final consent and Matthew, sensing what he was silently being asked, nodded his head and patted the Frenchman's hand.

Guiding his cock to the youth's entrance, Francis let the first few inches slip in slowly. He had to hold the Canadian's hips down as he finished sheathing himself; toes crinkling from the irresistible bliss that filled him. This was supposed to be about Matthew, and right now the boy's knuckles were turning white from his grip on the sheets, and his eyes were closed tightly as several tears made their way down his cheek.

Without pulling out, Francis bended over the boy's body and took one of his hands away from the sheets. Using his own hand as a guide, France placed Canada's hand on his own member, stroking it a few times. Matthew opened his eyes at the feeling and smiled up at Francis; the pain really was bearable so long as he was doing that.

Seeing the boy relax, Francis used it as opportunity to set up a slow rhythm, moans echoing from both at their own sensations. God, Matthew was tight and he was finding himself unable to stop as his rhythm built up a little more speed and pace. Matthew threw his head back as the pain that had been washing over him was now replaced by extreme pleasure as Francis's cock hit a spot in his body he had never dared explored.

The room's once cold atmosphere had risen in temperature, and the two men's moans reverberated off of the walls as the old bed squeaked in protest from the actions of the two. Francis had given up all hope of holding back, Matthew seemed to be enjoying himself and the screams that came from the boy backed up his theory.

Matthew clutched at Francis's thighs and shoulders, bringing the country down so that they could kiss as Francis continued his rocking motions; pounding into the country below him. Every now and then, he would rise up to meet his lover's thrusts, the action causing him to hit a sweet spot, tempting a cry from both Francis and him as they began their ascension towards orgasm.

Reaching a hand into the dishwater locks on Matthew's head, Francis crashed their lips together in a kiss before letting all inhibitions go out the window. Both bodies frantically moved to reach their end, Matthew's hand going behind him and clutching the headboard as his body was pounded into.

Francis could hear the pleading in Matthew's cries, his own voice garnering volume. His edge was near but he was fearful that Matthew would not reach completion soon; therefore, he began stroking the boy's cock, hoping that this would help.

One, two, three and Matthew saw stars as he was sent over the edge. Francis continued his rocking motions until he too experienced his own euphoria of orgasm.

The two rode out their pleasure until Francis felt Matthew go limp; the boy had come into Francis's hand and the Frenchman simply wiped the essence onto the sheets. They would be burned anyway.

A string of thin fluid remained as he removed himself from Matthew, grabbing the coverlet and dragging it up with him to cover their bodies.

Immediately, Matthew nuzzled into the crook of his arm; panting as he wrapped an arm around Francis's waist.

Whispering into the sweaty flesh, Matthew muttered, "I love you."

Francis stiffened at the words, but knew that he returned the young man's feelings.

Maybe their relationship was a little premature, Matthew was still Arthur's ward after all, but as soon as that freedom was gained; Matthew would be his. He would never let another moment pass where that wasn't true.

Rustling the locks on top of his Matthew's head, Francis closed his eyes and murmured, "Je t'aime aussi, mon chéri."

Whatever lay ahead of them, they would deal with when the time came. For now, the simple comfort of each other's arms was all that they needed.

The last thing Matthew thought before drifting into sleep beside his lover was that perhaps being selfish was something he would do more often, after all.

EDIT: Qu'est-ce que c'est, mon amour - What is it, my love?

merde - shit

foutre - to fuck (fuck)

Je t'aime aussi, mon chéri. - I love you too, my dearest one (love).

EDIT: Thank-you kindly for the reviews. I corrected that one blatant spelling error that I made. I only took a couple years of French, and my friend who did the same reviewed my grammar; but, if there are any [other] mistakes, please let me know. Also, if there are any grammatical errors (in English), let me know.

One simple review, please?