A Tomato Whose Name I Don’t Know Yet Chapter Eight
“Hey France…” Spain whispered.
“Fraaaaaance.” The country poked France in the sleep-softened cheek.
France had spent so much time getting him up in the morning the past few weeks; it was only fair to do the same. The first thing to do was to wake the country up in a creative way, just like France would do.
Spain didn’t like working with flowers that much, so he had to think of a better way.
France let out a delicate snore. Yes, delicate. The brunette bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing.
The French house had always been decadent and the bedroom where France himself slept was nothing short of fantastic.
Silks and velvets and jewels and filigree spun together almost garishly to create an atmosphere that was completely too much to take in but gorgeous anyway. Kind of just like France.
He peeled the blonde nation’s duvet back.
“Wake uuup—Oh.” He didn’t bother to hide his laughter then. “Someone’s already up.” Spain slapped his forehead in amusement. He stared.
Spain dragged his hand through the course locks on his head. One day he was going to have to ask France why he slept naked with cat ears on.
“Hey!” Spain threw a tomato at the sleeping nation’s head.
It ended up getting lodged in France’s open mouth and choking him.
“Oh shit,” The brunette dodged the flying vegetable as France sat up, waving his arms around wildly.
“Are you trying to kill me?!” France demanded.
Hacking up tomatoes in the morning was probably not what France thought of when being creative.
“No,” He replied with a small blush, embarrassed. “I was just surprising you. Get dressed and let’s go out!”
France rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, falling back amongst his sixteen pillows in dismay. “What time is it?”
“Happy hour.” Spain laughed and pointed to France’s lap which was doing no good job at being discreet.
“Oh la la,” France chuckled along with the other country. “I suppose it is time to rise to the occasion.” He stretched languidly.
“Yeah,” Spain smiled quietly at him then, just watching him laze about. For some reason he was dressed quite more acceptably that morning in a lovely maroon V-neck sweater and crisp white shirt underneath. His jeans still had an offensive tear at the knee, but a moment was all one could expect of perfection after all.
“I haven’t bothered Austria in a while,” France suggested. “I do need to take care of mon petit ami.” He grinned lecherously. “We could show him how much you’ve progressed. You and Romano might even be hearing wedding bells soon.”
Spain’s good mood fell right off his face.
“Cher, don’t bother to clean that up,” France waved his hand. Somehow he’d gotten into a beautiful cashmere housecoat and some slippers – cat ears still intact. “Alright, let’s go.”
“Er,” Spain scratched his head and stared at his shoes. “It’s a bit cool outside…”
“I won’t need clothes for this little expedition.” France lowered his eyebrows with great smugness.
“That’s not exactly where I planned to go, but,” Spain gave a little laugh and tapped the side of his head with a fist. “Okay, we can go to his house.”
“Puurrrfect.” France… purred.
Spain just followed him out the door.
~~~
“Well what d’ya know.” Prussia stood in the doorway with a devilish look about him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“If you’re referring to me,” France strut inside with his nose in the air, “I didn’t have to drag Spain anywhere.”
“Yeah, we’re,” Spain made a little hand gesture in explanation that no country in the world could comprehend. “We’re here together.”
“I can see that.” Prussia looked them both up and down as they entered the foyer; Spain was actually put together for once and looked healthily determined. It was a far cry from the last time he’d been around.
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A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 8a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-09 08:56 pm (UTC)(link)Chapter Eight
“Hey France…” Spain whispered.
“Fraaaaaance.” The country poked France in the sleep-softened cheek.
France had spent so much time getting him up in the morning the past few weeks; it was only fair to do the same. The first thing to do was to wake the country up in a creative way, just like France would do.
Spain didn’t like working with flowers that much, so he had to think of a better way.
France let out a delicate snore. Yes, delicate. The brunette bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing.
The French house had always been decadent and the bedroom where France himself slept was nothing short of fantastic.
Silks and velvets and jewels and filigree spun together almost garishly to create an atmosphere that was completely too much to take in but gorgeous anyway. Kind of just like France.
He peeled the blonde nation’s duvet back.
“Wake uuup—Oh.” He didn’t bother to hide his laughter then. “Someone’s already up.” Spain slapped his forehead in amusement. He stared.
Spain dragged his hand through the course locks on his head. One day he was going to have to ask France why he slept naked with cat ears on.
“Hey!” Spain threw a tomato at the sleeping nation’s head.
It ended up getting lodged in France’s open mouth and choking him.
“Oh shit,” The brunette dodged the flying vegetable as France sat up, waving his arms around wildly.
“Are you trying to kill me?!” France demanded.
Hacking up tomatoes in the morning was probably not what France thought of when being creative.
“No,” He replied with a small blush, embarrassed. “I was just surprising you. Get dressed and let’s go out!”
France rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, falling back amongst his sixteen pillows in dismay. “What time is it?”
“Happy hour.” Spain laughed and pointed to France’s lap which was doing no good job at being discreet.
“Oh la la,” France chuckled along with the other country. “I suppose it is time to rise to the occasion.” He stretched languidly.
“Yeah,” Spain smiled quietly at him then, just watching him laze about. For some reason he was dressed quite more acceptably that morning in a lovely maroon V-neck sweater and crisp white shirt underneath. His jeans still had an offensive tear at the knee, but a moment was all one could expect of perfection after all.
“I haven’t bothered Austria in a while,” France suggested. “I do need to take care of mon petit ami.” He grinned lecherously. “We could show him how much you’ve progressed. You and Romano might even be hearing wedding bells soon.”
Spain’s good mood fell right off his face.
“Cher, don’t bother to clean that up,” France waved his hand. Somehow he’d gotten into a beautiful cashmere housecoat and some slippers – cat ears still intact. “Alright, let’s go.”
“Er,” Spain scratched his head and stared at his shoes. “It’s a bit cool outside…”
“I won’t need clothes for this little expedition.” France lowered his eyebrows with great smugness.
“That’s not exactly where I planned to go, but,” Spain gave a little laugh and tapped the side of his head with a fist. “Okay, we can go to his house.”
“Puurrrfect.” France… purred.
Spain just followed him out the door.
~~~
“Well what d’ya know.” Prussia stood in the doorway with a devilish look about him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“If you’re referring to me,” France strut inside with his nose in the air, “I didn’t have to drag Spain anywhere.”
“Yeah, we’re,” Spain made a little hand gesture in explanation that no country in the world could comprehend. “We’re here together.”
“I can see that.” Prussia looked them both up and down as they entered the foyer; Spain was actually put together for once and looked healthily determined. It was a far cry from the last time he’d been around.
France was... France.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 8b