Anon Notes: I always wanted to try to write a France/Spain so I really hope the OP likes. I'm trying my best, thank you!!
A Tomato Whose Name I Don’t Know Yet Chapter One
A long time ago, a nation named itself the country of love.
It happened long before there were the cute brothers of Italy to own, or the Americas to teach how to become fully grown. It happened before there were voyages across the seas, or even Britain to tease.
It happened even before there were many other countries to love, or gods above; when the world was old and the people in it had very little knowledge beyond what they saw, tasted and felt. Before all that –
There was France.
“You’re looking a bit wistful, aren’t you?”
“Ah,” France looked away from the window of his house to rest his blue eyes on his most current boss. It was important for a nation to pay attention to what the president wanted, no matter what the point in time. Otherwise, it would be far too easy for a country to get stuck.
The president sat behind his lavish desk and was paused in the signing of a huge stack of papers. “It’s, well…” He stopped himself short and ducked his head with a slight frown as he concentrated on his papers once more. “Pardon.”
France cocked an eyebrow at the behaviour. “What is it?” He asked, setting his glass of deep red wine down on the finely carved wood of the desk. Sensing his boss’ unrest, he grinned, mouth curving into his usual genial expression. “You cannot hide much from your country, no?”
He poked his boss’ cheek in a cute fashion and the man scowled then, a slight blush overcame his middle-aged cheek.
“And you cannot hide when you are feeling amorous, can you?” The boss sighed in retaliation.
France grinned even harder, his eyes squinting shut. “I would never want to hide my love! Love is the feeling that pours. If I kept it bottled up, why— I’d be wet all the time.” He paused, and then his grin became lecherous.
The boss of France pushed back his chair at that. His country waved was waving his hands in glee, tiny hearts that fluttered around his head trying to dodge him.
The man looked out the large window behind the desk, the same his country had been using just a moment ago. The same window his country had been staring out of since before his presidency. He didn’t know for how long; it could have been years, decades, or even centuries.
The house of France had hundreds of windows, none of them more special than the last. Except for that one on the side which backed onto North Italy’s house. France could sometimes get a great peepshow in if he was lucky. And France definitely knew how to get lucky.
France joined his boss by the sill, sipping his wine idly and chattering about how many roses he needed cut from the bushes for that day. The boss watched and then sighed, returning to his papers. He shook his head with a bored sort of look but an amused smile was fighting to spring free when his country began to hum a bit off-key.
“You will have to tell me one day— that object out there that you love so much.” The president began signing again.
France spared his boss one last glance before he scanned the scenery, searching for something a mere human couldn’t see.
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A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 1a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-02 07:14 pm (UTC)(link)A Tomato Whose Name I Don’t Know Yet
Chapter One
A long time ago, a nation named itself the country of love.
It happened long before there were the cute brothers of Italy to own, or the Americas to teach how to become fully grown. It happened before there were voyages across the seas, or even Britain to tease.
It happened even before there were many other countries to love, or gods above; when the world was old and the people in it had very little knowledge beyond what they saw, tasted and felt. Before all that –
There was France.
“You’re looking a bit wistful, aren’t you?”
“Ah,” France looked away from the window of his house to rest his blue eyes on his most current boss. It was important for a nation to pay attention to what the president wanted, no matter what the point in time. Otherwise, it would be far too easy for a country to get stuck.
The president sat behind his lavish desk and was paused in the signing of a huge stack of papers. “It’s, well…” He stopped himself short and ducked his head with a slight frown as he concentrated on his papers once more. “Pardon.”
France cocked an eyebrow at the behaviour. “What is it?” He asked, setting his glass of deep red wine down on the finely carved wood of the desk. Sensing his boss’ unrest, he grinned, mouth curving into his usual genial expression. “You cannot hide much from your country, no?”
He poked his boss’ cheek in a cute fashion and the man scowled then, a slight blush overcame his middle-aged cheek.
“And you cannot hide when you are feeling amorous, can you?” The boss sighed in retaliation.
France grinned even harder, his eyes squinting shut. “I would never want to hide my love! Love is the feeling that pours. If I kept it bottled up, why— I’d be wet all the time.” He paused, and then his grin became lecherous.
The boss of France pushed back his chair at that. His country waved was waving his hands in glee, tiny hearts that fluttered around his head trying to dodge him.
The man looked out the large window behind the desk, the same his country had been using just a moment ago. The same window his country had been staring out of since before his presidency. He didn’t know for how long; it could have been years, decades, or even centuries.
The house of France had hundreds of windows, none of them more special than the last. Except for that one on the side which backed onto North Italy’s house. France could sometimes get a great peepshow in if he was lucky. And France definitely knew how to get lucky.
France joined his boss by the sill, sipping his wine idly and chattering about how many roses he needed cut from the bushes for that day. The boss watched and then sighed, returning to his papers. He shook his head with a bored sort of look but an amused smile was fighting to spring free when his country began to hum a bit off-key.
“You will have to tell me one day— that object out there that you love so much.” The president began signing again.
France spared his boss one last glance before he scanned the scenery, searching for something a mere human couldn’t see.
~~~
Con't in Chapter 1b