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Canada was trying to focus on what the speaker was saying, really. It was an important issue—healthcare or global warming or something–but his voice was such a dull monotone that it tended to blend together. He had set his phone to vibrate, as always, just in case there was an emergency. It didn't help that France had visited and he'd gotten maybe all of an hour's sleep through the whole night.

It would be bad form to fall asleep like this (though, he thought bitterly, no one would probably notice) so he fought the feel of the tugging on his eyelids.

He'd left his cellphone in his pocket, and he had to fish for it, resisting the urge to murmur a few apologies. Luckily for him, it was a text.

Sleepy, coeur? France texted to him. He kept his white cellphone hidden from view. As usual, no one was paying attention. A few rows down, Italy fell asleep and Germany kept hissing at him to wake up, with little effect.

I didn't exactly get a lot of sleep last night, he typed. He scanned the room to find France, who was stylishly coiffed as always.

;) Oh really? Perhaps I should help you get to sleep later...

Canada looked across the room. France gave him a real wink this time, and blew him a kiss.

He blushed a bit as he bent to reply. I think you offered a little too much help last night, to be honest

Oho, you know there's no such thing as 'too much'...

Speak for yourself. Some sleep would've been nice, Canada typed back.

You sound cranky, chéri, France texted to him.

Sleep deprivation will do that to you, Canada typed in.

There was no message for a few moments, and he began to wonder if he'd angered France this time and he'd spend the rest of this miserable gathering sleepy and with the knowledge that France was now giving him the silent treatment.

He laid his phone in his lap, resigning himself to silence. Almost as soon as it was in his lap, it began to vibrate. He flinched at the sensations,

What are you wearing?

You can see me from here, Canada texted back. He laid it in his lap, and began to answer the messages from there, hunched over and not even pretending to pay attention.

Not all of you, France texted.

Canada craned his neck. France was smirking suggestively. He twirled a golden curl in his fingers.

Canada knew what he wanted. He stopped slouching a moment, and took a photo of his torso and sent it. He got a one word response: More

He took a glance from side to side. He'd somehow gotten seated between Greece and Spain, making him think that not even the seating planned had an idea who or where he was. But it also meant that he could be even more unsubtle in his actions, because Greece had fallen asleep and Spain was as oblivious to his surroundings as ever and seemed to be playing with his a small tomato plush attached to his phone.

He snuck a glance at France. France had a lewd, even predatory expression that Canada had seen plenty of times. Even last night. It never failed to make him feel blanked out with sheer desire.

He left the phone balanced on his lap as he typed in a response.

You first.


You know what I mean. Show me yours first, Canada typed. He avoided looking at France this time, and just focused on–waited for–the vibrations. A few moments, he was rewarded with a message. Another came just after it, and another in quick succession. Before Canada could even answer, he was bombarded with messages that kept the phone at a steady hum against his groin.

He'd already been almost erect just by France's manner, the memories from last night, the suggestiveness, but the mix of the vibrations and the picture France sent ensured that he wasn't going to do any focusing on anything other than France and his own throbbing erection.

Which was likely just what France wanted.

He studied the picture. Through France's white pants, he could clearly see France's erection. He must've been sitting with his legs crossed, because there was no way he could hide that, and France ensured that people always paid attention to him.

Canada swallowed away any lingering nervousness and took a picture of his own erection and sent it. He nervously tapped his fingers, hoping he hadn't accidentally hit 'send all' and turned it into a world sexting orgy. Not that France would've minded, but he would've never been able to show his face in a summit again—even if they wouldn't remember it.

But there was no mass outcry, no one blaming France for being a pervert and sending pictures of his dick all over the world, so he supposed it'd gone through all right.

Do you know what I want to do to you?

Tell me, Canada texted back.

He waited, focused on nothing but phone now balanced his throbbing erection. Another set of beautiful vibrations ran over him as France replied.

I want you inside of me. In my mouth, up in me until I can't even sit. And I want to do it right in from of all these fools who can't even see what a beauty is before them.

Instead of waiting for a reply, France kept replying, sending more and more vibrations against his aching cock.

I want you pushing me into the desk, taking me as roughly as you can and while everyone watches jealously, wishing they could be me.

Canada swallowed back a moan. His typing back was shaky, he hoped that it wasn't full of typos.

They'd be jealous of me, not you. Because I got to take someone like you.

They can be jealous of both of us, France replied. Ahhh. I wish I was closer so I could take a hold of your cock. Feel your girth in my hands. It's so nice.

I wish you were closer so I could he accidentally pushed send, and then started typing the rest of the message.

...kiss you. Smell you–you always smell so good, like roses.

France replied quickly, spreading it into several messages to increase the length of the vibrations.

Together it read you're such a romantic.

So said by the country of love, Canada typed back.

No, it's a good thing. I taught you's adorable, really.

It seemed too sappy, even for France to write out the rest: I want to hold your hands, I want to kiss you when you come and then kiss you again, just because.

Say it, the message urged on.

Canada dared a side glance. In a world where everyone was staring ahead, caught in their own troubles and ignoring him, France's gaze was only on him.

He said it all, sappy as it was. There was no response for a moment. Did France find even this ridiculous, despite his claims otherwise? Canada looked to the side, but France was fixated on the message.

We're leaving, was all the response said. He heard a large fit of coughing, and worried for a moment when he saw it was France. However, a wink his way reminded him that it was a ruse, and there was nothing to be worried about.

He was glad for his habit of taking his blazer with him even in warm places, and folded over his arm. It was just long enough to cover his groin as he excused himself, muttering apologies as he did.

France took the other route, and he didn't see him until they were outside of the double doors. And then, there wasn't a moment's pause before France pulled him close and kissed him. His hands were cupping Canada's face, and neither cared much if any undersecretaries, assistants, or security workers saw them.

France's hands were on him, unbuttoning his shirt and grinding their erections together. Canada didn't think he'd last too long. A loud admonition from inside the other room broke them apart. Canada was flushed, still holding tight to France's collar.

"Let's go somewhere a little more quiet, chéri," France said in a low, suggestive tone. They stole kisses as they went to the nearest empty room.

The room was apparently a waiting room of some sort, though there was no secretaries or other people around. There was, however, a brown leather couch which within moments of entering the room, they were making their ways towards. Canada fell onto it first, and it was pleasantly cushioned, and soft beneath him. France climbed on top of him and they resumed kissing, touching and feeling each other.

France leaned back, breaking the kiss for a moment and pulled something out of his back pocket. It was the phone. He smiled, devious and kissed it as he pressed a button. Then it was vibrating against him again. France balanced on his knees, not putting his whole weight on him as he rubbed slowly against him. He kept hitting redial with his thigh, just hard enough to get a while new set of rumbling against him. He was tingly all over, the phone pressed against him only adding to the intensity of the feeling.

Canada groaned, feeling hot under his skin. "France..."

"Yes, mon coeur?"

"I meant it all, you k-know."

"I know," France said. He leaned in for a kiss, and another bout of vibrations. It was just enough to get him off, and he let out a loud gasp as he came. France ground their hips together one last time, hitting redial once more as they both lay back, feeling boneless as climax and the rumblings from the phone went through them.

France pushed himself up a few moments later.

"Well, we should slip out early before that wet blanket Angleterre catches us," France said. He lifted up the phone, and tried it out. It was no worse for the wear. "I'll have to thank Japan for making these things sturdier than I would've thought."

"Any chance there'll be sleep?" Canada asked hopefully.

France chuckled. "None at all."

Canada sighed, and France kissed his forehead. "You can sleep when I'm on the plane back to my homeland."

Canada smiled crookedly and took France's hand. "Deal."