“Y-you are acting weird, America.” England added then. France could tell England didn’t really want to say exactly that. He didn’t expect the next question, though.
“Why?”
France abruptly turned to look at England, whose lips became a thin line in anger. England was ready to burst out.
Why.
Easy question. Difficult answer. France sighed once more. Should he risk it?
He was being selfish.
But.
England may say yes.
“I like you, England.” France suddenly said, before he could think it over once more. England’s eyes widened. France tried to keep the smile on his lips. “There is a reason I came here to spend the week with you. I like you. I really do.”
England looked up at France, looked down, then up again.
“As a fellow nation, right?” England asked then, his voice betraying his real emotions. France snorted and shook his head. “As a friend then?”
“Definitely not as a friend.” France said. He wanted to ask: can we even be friends? But didn’t.
England seemed taken aback at that, he just said:
“Oh.”
France sighed and stared at England’s lips.
France was been selfish. How could he pull this out if everything returned back to normal, again? What if he never returned normal again?
But he wanted it. He wanted it really bad.
He wanted to ask: May I kiss you now?
He wondered if he could ask. If America would ask. Would America ask? Would America need permission? Would France need permission?
It would be just a kiss anyway.
A kiss.
France looked down at England, who kept staring at him. He made a step forwards. England didn’t move away. He was selfish, he could destroy a friendship, he could… he could…
But it’s just a kiss, and England may say yes.
“May I?” he asked then. England raised an eyebrow.
“May you what?”
“May I kiss you right now?”
“Eh?” England’s eyes widened and France made a step forwards. He leaned down.
“I really like you.” He said then, their face inches apart.
“I know.” England retorted, unexpectedly. France wanted to laugh.
“Do you?” France asked. He leaned down. He felt England’s breathe on his skin and then, suddenly, England’s hands were touching his chest. France thought England would push him away. France decided right then that if England pushed him away he would pretend he had been joking. He would laugh about it and leave the next day for Paris.
But if England didn’t, France would just kiss him and try not to go further than that.
As soon as that thought crossed his mind, England’s eyes stuttered shut and France felt England’s lips on his. England grabbed the shirt he was wearing and pulled him closer. Instinctively, France deepened the kiss, run his hand through England’s hair, and hated America’s glasses because they were in the way. And then…
Then England bit France’s lip, lost in the moment, and everything shattered. England suddenly, harshly pushed France away and made a huge step away from him.
“Oh, God! What are you doing?” England suddenly exclaimed, angry, as if it had been France who had lost control first. France sighed, still feeling England’s taste in his mouth, disappointed the kiss ended that soon, and turned to look at the Thames again.
“I’m sorry, America…” England suddenly said and touched France’s arm. “I’m… it’s a little… bloody hell…”
“It’s okay.” France said, with a smile. He was amused at England’s antics. He was angry at himself, because he couldn’t kiss England as France and not America. He envied America for getting all of England’s attention. He felt disappointed that England stopped.
“Bloody hell.” England stated again. France snorted and watched as England tried to hide his burning face. England heard him laughing and looked back at him.
“Do you think this is funny?” England said, suddenly angry. “Well! Your glasses are askew!”
France blinked, touched his face and started laughing. England raised his eyebrows at him and then smiled a little too.
“Should we go home?” France dared to ask then. England’s eyes were lost in his.
Love me the "American" way [6d/?]
“Y-you are acting weird, America.” England added then. France could tell England didn’t really want to say exactly that. He didn’t expect the next question, though.
“Why?”
France abruptly turned to look at England, whose lips became a thin line in anger. England was ready to burst out.
Why.
Easy question. Difficult answer. France sighed once more. Should he risk it?
He was being selfish.
But.
England may say yes.
“I like you, England.” France suddenly said, before he could think it over once more. England’s eyes widened. France tried to keep the smile on his lips. “There is a reason I came here to spend the week with you. I like you. I really do.”
England looked up at France, looked down, then up again.
“As a fellow nation, right?” England asked then, his voice betraying his real emotions. France snorted and shook his head. “As a friend then?”
“Definitely not as a friend.” France said. He wanted to ask: can we even be friends? But didn’t.
England seemed taken aback at that, he just said:
“Oh.”
France sighed and stared at England’s lips.
France was been selfish. How could he pull this out if everything returned back to normal, again? What if he never returned normal again?
But he wanted it. He wanted it really bad.
He wanted to ask: May I kiss you now?
He wondered if he could ask. If America would ask. Would America ask? Would America need permission? Would France need permission?
It would be just a kiss anyway.
A kiss.
France looked down at England, who kept staring at him. He made a step forwards. England didn’t move away. He was selfish, he could destroy a friendship, he could… he could…
But it’s just a kiss, and England may say yes.
“May I?” he asked then. England raised an eyebrow.
“May you what?”
“May I kiss you right now?”
“Eh?” England’s eyes widened and France made a step forwards. He leaned down.
“I really like you.” He said then, their face inches apart.
“I know.” England retorted, unexpectedly. France wanted to laugh.
“Do you?” France asked. He leaned down. He felt England’s breathe on his skin and then, suddenly, England’s hands were touching his chest. France thought England would push him away. France decided right then that if England pushed him away he would pretend he had been joking. He would laugh about it and leave the next day for Paris.
But if England didn’t, France would just kiss him and try not to go further than that.
As soon as that thought crossed his mind, England’s eyes stuttered shut and France felt England’s lips on his. England grabbed the shirt he was wearing and pulled him closer. Instinctively, France deepened the kiss, run his hand through England’s hair, and hated America’s glasses because they were in the way. And then…
Then England bit France’s lip, lost in the moment, and everything shattered. England suddenly, harshly pushed France away and made a huge step away from him.
“Oh, God! What are you doing?” England suddenly exclaimed, angry, as if it had been France who had lost control first. France sighed, still feeling England’s taste in his mouth, disappointed the kiss ended that soon, and turned to look at the Thames again.
“I’m sorry, America…” England suddenly said and touched France’s arm. “I’m… it’s a little… bloody hell…”
“It’s okay.” France said, with a smile. He was amused at England’s antics. He was angry at himself, because he couldn’t kiss England as France and not America. He envied America for getting all of England’s attention. He felt disappointed that England stopped.
“Bloody hell.” England stated again. France snorted and watched as England tried to hide his burning face. England heard him laughing and looked back at him.
“Do you think this is funny?” England said, suddenly angry. “Well! Your glasses are askew!”
France blinked, touched his face and started laughing. England raised his eyebrows at him and then smiled a little too.
“Should we go home?” France dared to ask then. England’s eyes were lost in his.
“Yes, okay.”