“I… I… well, no I’m not!” England said, to which France chucked. “I’m surprised, that’s all! Yesterday you told me you were going to be busy all week and that it would take you a while to return to Europe and… oh, blimey, America! How many times do I have to tell you not to sit like that?!” England shouted and tried to shove France’s legs away from his desk.
France didn’t even shift. Luck was on his side, it seemed! His chances of bumping into America had decreased by a lot and so far he hasn’t messed anything up. England shot a murderous look at his sneakers and opened his mouth to comment, but France interrupted him:
“I changed idea! Paperwork is boring and I much prefer to spend some time with you instead!” France said and crossed his arms behind his head, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. He supposed he had said the right thing, because immediately England’s face became really red and his jaw almost dropped to the floor (almost).
“S-spend time with… ahh… err…” England stuttered, then he suddenly shook his head. “No. No. No. I-I can’t! I have paperwork to do and you are… you are, well, you are annoying me!”
France’s grin became even wider and made to retort but, in that moment, someone chose to interrupt them by knocking on England’s office’s door. France froze and immediately took his feet off the desk, a thing that didn’t go unnoticed to England. England smiled at America’s change of posture, glad he had taught politeness to the other nation when he was younger and exclaimed: “Come in.”
The door opened and the young lady that France had met at the reception suddenly entered, carrying a tray with her. She nodded at France and placed two teacups in front of England.
“I brought the tea you asked me, sir.” The secretary said and poured the tea in the cups. “I supposed your friend would love some too.” She added, flushing a little when her eyes met France’s ones.
“Oh, no. Mr. Jones actually drinks no…!” England immediately said but France cut him once more.
“It was really nice of you, miss…?”, he asked as he took her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. The secretary slightly parted her lips, almost smiled and coughed in embarrassment.
“Margaret, sir.” She whispered, her heart beating so frantically that France could feel her pulse under his fingers.
“Margaret. What a beautiful name.” France smiled. With the corner of his eyes, he noticed England blinking at him, obviously taken aback by America’s antics, and France immediately let go of Margaret’s hand.
Damn it. He forgot he supposed to be America. America is not the flirty type. He grinned at England then and took the offered cup, just to fill the awkward silence.
“I… err…” Margaret said then, coughed once more and shot a lusty glance at France. “Well.” She took the now empty tray and quickly made to the door. “It was nice meeting you, Mister Jones.” She said and closed the door behind her.
As soon as Margaret left the office, England abruptly turned to stare at France, who shrugged and took a sip of his tea. England’s brows shot up at that and France immediately spit the liquid back into the cup.
“Gross!” France said, laughed a little, totally not-America-like and pushed the teacup away. England watched his every motion and crossed his arms over his chest, suspicious. France wanted to slap himself. Being America was so difficult! He was going to betray himself too soon!
“Since when do you drink tea?” England asked, his eyes narrowing. France chose not to answer and shrugged once more. England eyes turned from suspicious to worried and slowly stood up.
“Are you sure you feel okay, America?” England said and got closer to where France was sitting and unexpectedly raised a hand to feel France’s forehead. France’s breath hitched as England’s hands touched him and looked up at the island nation.
“You are acting so weird…” England spoke softly and leaned down to look at France’s face better. “…and your accent is… odd…” England continued. France raised an eyebrow at him.
“I might have screamed too loud yesterday…” France tried, “…there was a match on TV…”
“Oh.” England nodded and finally let go of his face. “Is that so…”
“Yeah…” France grinned and decided to keep it up. “My team won of course! Because… well… I only cheer for the BEST!”
England raised and eyebrow and then shook his head. France’s felt a lump in his throat and watched as England returned back to his place and started packing his things up.
“What are you doing?” France asked, suddenly suspicious. The other nation ignored him and kept putting all his paperwork away. “England?”
At the sound of his name, England turned to look at him and his mouth slightly opened. France felt his heart speed up at the way England was looking at him and even stopped when the nation blushed, looked down and said:
“I think you are having a nervous breakdown and you need some air to recover. I’m going to tell Miss Margaret I’m taking the week off to stay with you.” England coughed and then scowled. “You owe me, America. Just for the record.”
France believed that it would be nice not to argue with England for a change. It is not like France didn’t like arguing with England. It spices things up and riling each other up is something they almost couldn’t wait for every time they meet. Nevertheless, France was sure that the nature of England and America’s fights were totally different from those they had and he was partly right. Partly. It seemed that England liked to argue more than he let on.
France wanted so much to be with England that he swore he would stomach whatever he and America called food for a week, so, to be more credible and more American like, when they were finally out of England’s office, France decided to start a new conversation with a:
“I’m hungry! Let’s go for a hamburger!”
The first statement was true, the second one wasn’t. England didn’t know it was but it was enough to make him turn to look at him, widen his eyes, frown and exclaim:
“No! I’m not going to eat that shit!”
France wanted with England for once, but he was America and… well… America liked hamburgers so he kept it on.
“Your food sucks, England, and I saw a McDonald my way over here.”
“Well, I’m not in the mood for hamburgers and I know a place right down the road where they sell the best fish and chips on this earth.”
France doubted it.
“I doubt it.”
“I don’t understand why you are so against it!” England exclaimed, “You used to like what I cooked!”
France doubted that too, but this time he wasn’t going to say it.
“Yes, but this time you are not the one cooking, right? So, let’s go to that McDonald!” France grinned, tried to look happy about it (and it was difficult, but England would surely know if America suddenly declared he wanted to go to a French restaurant). France hoped that what he said would convince England that he didn’t really want Fish and Chips.
He didn’t expect England’s eyes to turn so… hopeful, though. England almost smiled at him and kept staring at him with that look of pure joy that France knew surely meant something bad was going to happen.
“So you want me to cook for you?”
Damn it. How can he get out of this now?
“You said so yourself, I used to like your cooking.” The words were out of his mouth before he could understand what exactly had he said. England’s frown deepened and he crossed his arms over his chest, immediately on the defense. France wanted to smack himself: courting England as America proved to be really difficult.
“Fine! That was so stupid of me! Offering to cook! What was I thinking?” England started shouting, “Mr. America prefers junk food! That is why he is so… so… argh!”
France sighed as England started murmuring to himself about how much of an idiot he was for trying to be nice to America.
“FINE!” France suddenly exclaimed, making England finally stop and stare at him. France sighed once more, tried to smile and took England hand in him, to which England became ten shades of red. “Let’s go to that place you mentioned! I can eat hamburgers at home. They taste much better there than here in Europe.”
England wasn’t really listening to him; he was staring at the hand holding his. He looked really lost and France waved before his nose for at least ten minutes before England finally reacted.
“What are you doing, you git?” England shouted, abruptly pulling his hand out of America’s hold. “We-we-we are in a public place!” he added then, reddening.
“So?” France raised an eyebrow. England stared at him, opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of the water for at least ten minutes before he finally uttered a response.
“So?” England exclaimed, “I don’t know what you do in your house! But this is my house! My house, my rules!”. He was hyperventilating and England didn’t really know what he was saying but France liked the reaction very much. It was funny.
“I like to hold your hand, England.” France said then. He wanted to grin but remained serious as England’s face almost burned.
“Y-you what?” England stuttered. France tried not to laugh and made to take England’s hand instead. England jumped away from him and hid his hands behind his back.
“Oh, come on!” France exclaimed. He couldn’t hold it in anymore and he started openly grinning. “Give me your hand and let’s go eat!”
“You… you…” England shook his head and started walking fast before America. “You are mad!”
France softly laughed to himself and followed England.
“Such an old and old-fashioned man!” France shouted back at him. England stopped, turned around and shouted:
“Old? I show you bloody old!” and with his face turned to the other side, took France’s hand and they started walking together to the restaurant England had been talking about. England didn’t talk for the rest of the walk, only when he ordered what he wanted to eat and even then he didn’t dare to look at France once.
France decided he was too hungry to argue and ate what England ordered for him without complaints. They sat one in front of the other, hands back to their respective owners.
“Admit it.” France said at one point. England finally looked at him and raised an incredibly bushy eyebrow. “You liked it~” France teased.
“I did not.” England marked his words with a frown.
“We should do it more often.” France smiled, “Didn’t it feel good?” England looked away at that.
“It did not.” His words weren’t convincing.
“I don’t believe you~” France started laughing when England blushed.
“You are unbelievable!” England exclaimed then, “I don’t know how I managed with you until now!”
“It’s because you like me.” France stated. His heart skipped a beat at that because he knew that he was talking about America as he did. England didn’t like France. France didn’t like England. (He loved him. There is a difference.)
“I-” England looked up from his half-finished meal and just stared. France wanted to sigh, his lips wanted to quiver down in sadness, but he did none of that. On the contrary, he beamed.
“We both know you do!” France grinned. England shook his head no.
“Why would I?” England said instead, more to himself than to France. France took England’s hand, intertwined their fingers together as England stared. Just stared.
“You took a week off for me.” France said. “If you didn’t like me, you wouldn’t have.”
“I would do that for anyone in need!” England exclaimed.
“If it was France?” France asked then. England’s breath hitched and didn’t say anything. France let out a smile.
“See?”
“Well…” England was at loss with words. “What’s your point?” he asked then, trying to change subject.
“We should make this week special! That’s my point!” France said. “Let’s go out! Have fun! I don’t think we’ll ever have another chance!”
“Maybe you are right.” England whispered and France felt England’s hand warmer under his fingers. France grinned.
America was an idiot, France thought then. Seeing the world from America’s eyes made France realize how blind America was.
England was the same sarcastic, unbearable, saying one thing and thinking another, old nation that everyone… no, that France had always known but there was a tiny little difference when with America. England’s eyes always had that look of pure defiance and arrogance but with France they always held another more, violent should he say, emotion in them.
With America no.
With America they were smiling.
England smiled.
As America and England held hands under a table, England was smiling.
How could America not see that? How could America not see how much England loved him?
“Yes.” Those eyes were saying.
Yes, America.
--- I'm so happy this is liked! I hope I won't let you down, OP!!!
“So…” England said, as they walked. “Are you going back to your house or are you going to stay here?”
They hadn’t been really talking since they had lunch, both of them too deep in thought to say anything, and just walked together down one of the busiest streets of London in silence. It hadn’t been really an uncomfortable silence and France was totally taken aback from the sudden question:
“What?” he asked, sincerely confused as America would have been. England shrugged and continued:
“If you go back, I’m coming with you.” England shrugged once more, nonchalantly. “Until you feel better.” He added then, as if trying to justify himself.
“No, I’m staying in Europe.” France immediately said then. There was no way he would let England go to America and meet the real Alfred F. Jones. It would be better to stay in London or back to Paris, until the spell… or whatever it was… wore off instead.
“Does your boss know you are here, then?” England asked, curious. France wanted to laugh, but didn’t.
“Yes, of course.” He grinned. “I told him I was going to visit you and even reserved a hotel room for me. He is awesome just like that.”
England was looking at him with the corner of his eye and France immediately caught a note of disappointment in the island’s green eyes.
“So you are staying in a hotel?” England asked then. “I would have offered you to stay with me, but if your boss reserved a hotel room…”
France couldn’t believe his ears. Did England just offered him to stay in his house? France considered it for a moment: staying under England’s roof, maybe even sleeping in the same bed, sharing things, having breakfast together… France wanted to. He really, really wanted to. He had spent the night at England’s house before, of course, even if they hadn’t exactly wanted it. Going out drinking had ended in him sleeping in England’s bed more than once but it had never ended just where France wanted to (in England’s pants, to be exact). Maybe now, if he just said yes, maybe…
“I guess its better this way.” England smiled to himself, “You are such a hassle and it’s difficult to feed you.”
France should just tell England that he was going to sleep with him… no, he wanted to say. Stay with him. But, what if. What if they called him home and his boss asked for him? He was supposed to stay in bed. What if they don’t find him and went to search for him at home? They’ll immediately know he had lied and his cover would totally blow up. It was a risk and a big one at that.
Nevertheless, this was a once in a lifetime offer.
“You are ridiculously silent, you know?” England suddenly asked.
“Am I?” France laughed. His head was hurting. England shook his head.
“Really, America. What is wrong with you?”
“I am thinking.” France said, to which England snorted.
“I’m sorry.” England tried to suppress his laugh. “What are you thinking about, then?”
“That I’m going to stay with you, instead.” France said, finally making up his mind and his heart beating fast as he said so. England turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow.
“What about the hotel room?” England asked.
“Oh… I’ll thank my boss for it, but I prefer to be with you.” France smiled, tried to put that silly but sincere American smile on his face instead of his I’m-flirting-with-you one. Judging by England’s immensely embarrassed look, France’s smile wasn’t American at all. He should practice more, he decided then.
“Are you sure?” England blushed. “Oh, well. O-okay then…”
“Of course I need to return back to get some clothes.” France reasoned. England looked down, nodded and said:
“Yes. Of course.”
France wanted to smack himself. He couldn’t say no to temptation. He imagined someone come in search of him, to see if he was okay or something, and find no one. Well, they wouldn’t find France either way. He needed to answer the phone, at least. No. He was making a mountain out of a molehill. When he was going to have another opportunity like that?
“I… well, then…” England was saying. “I’m going to prepare a room for you in the meantime. Should I call you on you mobile if something…”
Oh, God. The mobile. Imagine England calling America and… no, he didn’t want to think about it.
“No!” France exclaimed, taking England totally aback. “I mean, no…” he tried to sound calm but England looked really suspicious. “I… well…” France laughed, “My cell is broken. I… it’s a funny story, really!”
England raised an eyebrow.
“I was trying to call someone and…” France thought about it, “…and it fell in a puddle…”
England’s face looked really suspicious.
“Yeah…” France said, “And now it’s conked out!” he snapped his fingers. “Just like that!”
“Whatever…” England suddenly said and shook his head.
“So, I’m going to get some clothes. Don’t call me on my phone, because… there is no phone!” he laughed, “Don’t call me. At all. And…” France was starting to panic, he tried to think. “Let’s catch a movie tomorrow evening?”
England stared at him, hard and scrutinizing, for what it seemed like ages and then sighed.
“Fine.” England agreed. “Good, I’ll wait for you tomorrow evening then.”
France wanted to dance from the joy. He grinned, hugged England close, felt England’s breath hitch, felt England’s body so small and warm against him, felt… England’s butt…
“AMERICA! What are you doing?” England screeched then and pulled France away. (Not as hard as he would have done if it was France feeling him up, France noticed.) France expected the blow too but nothing came. England’s face was red but not angry, a fact that France believed he could take advantage of.
“I’m just happy I’m going to spend some time with you, England!” France exclaimed, smiling and giving a thumbs up. “See you tomorrow then!” he laughed and ran away. England remained then, watching America go for a moment, before shaking his head and walking the other way.
France returned back to Paris then, to collect the clothes he had bought and everything he needed. He felt on cloud nine. Literally. He checked his voice messages and there were a couple he needed to answer.
It's funny and wholly cute on the surface, but the underlying layer of confusing emotions is really rather more heartbreaking.
I feel so bad for France. And I feel awful for England. I am torn over where this fic seems to be going - I am always in favour of sex, but it's just going to make everyone involved more miserable than they were before. And then there's the issue of technical rape!
Also, there's then America... aaargh, really no idea what he'd be thinking. Can't imagine it would be good.
This whole fic is wonderful and you're handling it well, making it light-hearted when it needs to be before switching to a more serious tone... Can't wait to see what happens!
I'm actually surprised France is managing this long. There's long periods of time where he isn't with England and has to deal with being America with nothing to distract him.
Romano told me you were sick and well… I just wanted to tell you to get well soon! If there is anything you need just call, ve~
Second message:
This is Germany. Italy told me you are ill, so I suppose we should just postpone any meeting we agreed on until you get better.
Third message:
KESESE! I heard you were sick, man! Wow. You can’t hold alcohol at ALL! Too bad! I was planning to organize a MEGA-AWESOME-party at your house, but, well… if you are sick and stuff, I’ll just wait until you get better! Why aren’t you answering by the way? Are you asleep?
Beep!
Four message:
Sorry if my brother is bothering you, by the way. I’ll take care of it. Germany.
Fifth message:
This is Benoit. I’m just calling you to say that meetings are going to be postponed. Get well soon, by the way.
Sixth message:
Hola. I suppose you are not feeling well and that’s why you won’t answer the phone, but… well… I want to tell you that you may receive a lot of phone-calls. I kinda told everyone you didn’t feel well. I hope you don’t mind. Anyway, if you need anything, just call! I’m a little busy these days but if you want I can come over sometimes! See you!
Seventh message:
I’m Marie, the barwoman. Remember me? I just called to see if you wanted to hang out sometime! Bye!
Beep!
Thanks God answering machines existed. France made a sad face as soon as he heard the last message. Marie was the girl he met in one of the bars Gilbert, Spain and he had been the night before. It was such a pity he had to ignore her every call, as she had been really sweet. France cancelled all the messages and sighed. He was glad most of his meetings had been postponed, because that meant he didn’t need to find many excuses from the time being. Moreover, it meant he didn’t need to do paperwork too and he was free from every responsibility.
He wondered what he should do if either Spain of Gilbert decided to pay a surprise visit to him. He decided he would think about it when the time will come.
For now, he couldn’t think about nothing else but England. To make everything more credible, he had decided to return to England that evening, a whole day after they had went out in that awful fish and chips restaurant. Even a nation like America couldn’t go to his house and back to England in less than two hours. France had to wait.
All day long, he hadn’t answered the phone and just planned what to do with England the next days. For a moment he was afraid this wasn’t going to work out and that he was going to be discovered, but then he convinced himself that it was impossible something like that could happen.
Unless America decided to come over.
Then he would be over too. Literally.
France took his bag full of clothes and stuff he needed and decided to finally travel back to England. It took him no more than two hours to get before England’s familiar apartment. He pressed the buzzer and waited for England to answer:
“Who is it?”
It was time for action.
“It’s me AMERICA!” France shouted a little too loudly. Some passersby turned to look at him as if he was mad. He didn’t care. “Open!”
As soon as he shouted the order, the door clicked open and France cheerfully made his way to England’s apartment. England was waiting before his door, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
“Could you please not shout so loud next time?” England reproached. “I almost became deaf!”
France grinned, dropped the bag on the ground and hugged the other nation close, shutting him up for good. Then, as if nothing was the matter, picked his bag back up and went inside the apartment, leaving a stunned England behind.
England’s apartment was really clean, France noticed immediately and snorted to himself. England apartment was never clean when he came over as he preferred to do other, more important stuff, than clean around. But America was an exception, no? England really worked himself out to make a good impression on America.
“Nice!” France exclaimed and then turned to look at England, who was strangely silent. “So! Where’s your room?”
That seemed to push England out of his thoughts. England looked up at him and raised an awfully bushy eyebrow.
“My room?” he repeated, stupidly. France laughed.
“Of course! Where else should I stay?”
England was taken aback by this and blinked at France, opening and closing his mouth in shock.
“What?”
France dropped the bag down once more and literally fell on the couch before him, the only couch England had in his living room. England watched his every movement and finally exclaimed:
“I prepared the guest room for you, America.” England said as if talking to a baby. France scowled.
“Mean! I wanted to share the bed with you!”
To say England fainted from the shock would be an understatement.
“Excuse me?” England thought it over, blushed tenfold and then turned his back to America. France wanted to laugh, but didn’t, and just stood up once more and approached England. He patted the other hard on the back and leaned closer to the other face. England’s breath hitched at the sudden closeness and made a step backwards. France grinned.
“Well. Where’s the guest room, England?” France said. England looked straight into the other’s eyes and imperceptibly gulped. France made a step closer to the other nation and felt a shiver run down his spine when England didn’t move away from him.
“It’s…” England opened his mouth, closed it, stared into America’s eyes and then shook his head. “Let me show you.” He said then, turned his back to France, picked America’s bag and climbed up the stairs to the upper floor. France followed him to the guest room. England opened the door, told him where everything he could need was, but France wasn’t really listening, he just stared at England’s figure, England’s face, England’s mouth opening and closing…
“…and the bathroom is…” England was saying. France already knew and he was fed up with all that nonsense. He took England’s hand, cutting him off, and made him turn to look at him.
“Is something the matter?” England asked, suddenly worried. France shook his head and intertwined their fingers together.
“We planned to go to the movies, didn’t we?” France said then, suddenly remembering what he what suggested the day before. France smiled and added: “We don’t want to miss the show, do we?” England looked at him for a long moment and then nodded.
“Oh, yes.” He let go of France’s hand and exited the guest room. France followed him in England’s bedroom, where England kept all his stuff. France noticed the photographs lined under England’s mirror. As England got ready, France looked at the photographs. Some were relatively old, while others were new. There were a lot with England and America, some of them were England only, (scowling, secretly smiling, absorbed), there was one of all England’s brothers too and one with Sealand only and then… then France noticed there was one with France too. France raised an eyebrow and took the old picture in his hands. He looked at himself smiling and having an arm around England’s shoulders, who was for once laughing. They were dressed in their old military outfits and France suddenly remembered where the picture had been taken.
A moment later, the photo wasn’t in France’s hands anymore. England snatched it from him with shaking fingers.
“They are just old photos…” England said, more to himself than to France. France watched as England put that photo back in its place.
“Where was that taken?” France asked, even if he knew the answer. England stared at the photo for a while, then at France and shrugged.
“It was after the War.” England explained as if it wasn’t important. Then he took America’s hand. “Should we go?”
“Yes.” France said, completely forgetting about the picture for the moment. He and England walked away from England’s room and went down the stairs back in the living room. They exited the apartment in silent and only when they were out in the street did France realize that England was still holding his hand.
England realized the same thing too, because abruptly he pulled his hand out from France’s hold.
“So…” England said, blushing a little, “What movie you want to see?”
Good question. What movie did France want to see? No. What movie America would like to see? France supposed that America would want to see a horror movie (and France couldn’t understand why America liked horror movies so much when he was scared of ghosts). France remembered there was a new movie America had mentioned one day he couldn’t wait to see.
He told England so.
England raised an eyebrow but didn’t complain.
They went to the movies, bought the tickets, France bought the pop-corn and the maxi cola America would surely buy if he was in his place and kept telling England how he couldn’t wait for the movie to start.
England was smiling at him, called him an idiot once or twice but sat really close to France as they waited.
In all his excitement for spending the week with England he forgot that France hated horror gore movies. A lot.
When the movie started, he resented himself for suggesting watching it. England seemed unfazed by all the gore scenes and even silently laughed at some parts. France, as much as he wanted to laugh with England, he couldn’t. The movie was making him sick and he decided to look at England instead.
England noticed.
“Are you afraid?” England whispered, teasing him. France scowled.
“Of course not.”
England was laughing at him with his eyes.
“Coward!”
France stared at England’s teasing face and then he suddenly had an idea for revenge. He smirked and started touching England’s ear.
“W-WHAT!” England shouted and tried to pull away.
“Sssh!” Someone in the back rows said. England shot a murderous glance at them but then France started to touch England’s ear again and England’s face turned more embarrassed than angry.
France had learned a thing or two about England in the last centuries together: England really liked it if someone touched his ear. Maybe a little too much. France had swore to himself that he was going to use to his advantage one day and now it was the perfect moment.
“America… stop…” England whispered, trying to shove America’s hand away.
“Sssh!”
“Why?” France asked, naively, “It calms me down.”
“It doesn’t calm me down.” England whispered back, emphasizing the ‘me’ with a slap on France’s hand.
“I don’t really care.” France smirked and even in the dark room he could see England’s blush darken. England started squirming and then, suddenly, he stood up and made to leave. France congratulated himself and followed England outside.
“Ssshh!” someone exclaimed again and France thumbed up at him.
Oh I absolutely adore this fill x) You're torturing us by taking it so slow, anon, but I love reading it all the same!
England's obliviousness is a tad worrying, I do hope America doesn't show up and spoil France's plan. I'm really interested in seeing what happens after it comes to fruition, but of course, time will tell if France manages.
France's cheeky actions in the theatre made me laugh. And the ideas of England's ears being ridiculously sensitive is sexier than it ought to be
This anon is happy everybody likes this fill so much! Thank you for the comments! Happy Valentines Day everybody!! *gives free heart-shaped cookies*
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“Why did you leave, England?”, France exclaimed, trying to hide his smile. He felt a sense of déjà-vu, because that was exactly what France had said when he first learned about England’s soft spot so many years before. England, though, didn’t make the connection and just abruptly stopped, turned around, red in face with anger and embarrassment and stated:
“Don’t you do that again, you git. You heard me?”
England would have looked terrifying too if the blush on his cheeks didn’t give away his embarrassment so much. France grinned, and then hid his grin with his hands because he remembered that America didn’t grin that way. He tried to regain composure and continued:
“Oh, come on. I just touched your ear.” France said naively. “What’s wrong with that?”
He was playing with fire, but, who cared? England wouldn’t dare to torture America to death as he would have had if France would have been the one to touch his ear. France felt safe in his American body, maybe a little too much.
England wouldn’t dare to torture America to death.
But he surely didn’t mind punching America hard in the stomach.
“Ow!” France exclaimed, not expecting the blow at all. England looked down at him, pleased with himself and tsk-ed.
“Don’t play naïve with me, America. It doesn’t work.”
France wondered if America would even feel the pain, being the strong nation he was. If he didn’t, then France did for both of them and the pain was enough to make him kneel down.
“Okay. I’m sorry.” France murmured. England crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, perplexed. France didn’t notice the look, though, as he stood back up and tried to regain his breath. A moment later he was smiling again and England didn’t look that worried, anymore.
“It’s a shame we missed the movie.” France decided to say then. England snorted and started to walk away from him.
“It sucked.” England said.
“Still.” France followed him. “I would have liked to see how it ends.”
“Everybody dies.” England said, a little too confidently.
“How are you so sure?” France asked, curious. “In my movies the hero always survives in the end!”
“Yeah, right.” England snorted. “So said the hero who kneeled down after being punched in the guts.”
“I was just acting. In fact, I didn’t even feel the blow!” France bragged. England just tsk-ed.
“If you were, they should give you an Oskar.”
“They did.”
England laughed.
“Where are we going, by the way?” France asked then. England shot a glance to him, still smiling amused, and said, matter-of-fact-ly:
“Home, of course.”
France nodded. Home.
They started commenting the movie, England kept making sarcastic remarks, while France tried to act as America would as much as possible. Soon enough, they both forgot what happened in the theatre and England looked relatively in a good mood again. France felt happy, everything was going smoothly and England smiling was a really beautiful sight to see.
The moon was already up in the sky when France and England returned back to England’s apartment. France was exhausted and he couldn’t wait to go to sleep. England climbed the stairs up to his room without uttering a word and France too made his way to the guest room in silence.
“England?” he suddenly exclaimed, before he opened the door. England stopped, his hand already on the doorknob, and turned to look at him.
“Yes?”
“I had fun.” France stated, with a smile. England seemed surprised for a moment, as if America telling him he had a good time was completely unbelievable, but then smiled and said:
“Goodnight, England.” France said then, laughing a little to himself. England looked down, the bangs hiding his eyes for a moment, and whispered:
“Goodnight, America.” And disappeared inside his room. France watched the door click shut and he sighed. He took all his clothes off and got into bed. He fell asleep immediately afterwards.
The morning after, France woke up in an unfamiliar room. He looked around him, noticed the ugly pictures on the walls, then at America’s glasses on the bedside table. He groaned as he remembered what happened the day before and decided to stand up. England’s house was silent, meaning England was still sleeping in the room besides his. France rubbed his face and decided to go down to the kitchen to make some breakfast, before England could.
He passed before England’s door, which was still closed, climbed down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, checked what England had, wondered if England had any coffee and then planned what they were going to do that day together as he cooked.
It was like this that England found him an hour later. France, too deep in though, didn’t hear England’s breath hitch as soon as he stepped into the kitchen.
“Are you cooking?” England exclaimed right then, startling France. France looked at England, who stared back at him in disbelief. France wanted to slap his forehead. Afraid he was going to eat England’s famous uneatable breakfast, he had completely forgotten that America didn’t like to cook, at all. He laughed, embarrassed:
“Yeah… I’m…” he looked down at the crêpes he was making, “…I’m making pancakes.” He hoped England would be so untalented he couldn’t differentiate a crêpe from a pancake, “Canada thought me how to make them and I wanted to cook for you to apologize for what happened yesterday!”
“Who?” England cocked his head to the side, then closed his eyes hermetically shut and shook his head. “Okay, I believe you. Okay, I accept your apology. You didn’t need too, of course. But… why are you naked then?”
“Naked?” France blinked and looked down. Oh. He had completely forgotten to put all his clothes on. He looked back at England, who was standing fully clothed before the kitchen’s door, hiding his eyes with his hands. France laughed, this time amused:
“Don’t you like?”
“Be serious.” England retorted.
“I forgot to put them on.” France said, honest. England snorted. France laughed, put the rest of the crêpes on a plate and onto the table, and approached England. He took the other’s hands and pulled them away from England’s face.
“Relax. It’s just me.” France said. England stared at him, blushed and tried hard not to look down. France smiled at him, reassuring. England couldn’t take it anymore and closed his eyes again.
“Can you see without your glasses on anyway?” England suddenly asked then, taking France totally aback. It was France’s turn to touch his face and he oh-ed in understanding.
“I…” he didn’t know how to get around that. He decided to keep lying: “Yes, of course.”
“I see.” England said, “Okay.” He coughed. “Could you please now go and dress, while I prepare my tea?”
France laughed and England finally opened one eye and shot a murderous look at him. He nodded and walked away from England back to his room. England was watching him, France nodded then, pleased.
He returned back down ten minutes later, fully clothed and with his glasses back on. England was drinking his tea and eating the crêpes/pancakes France had made. He looked like he was enjoying them, France noted, proud of himself, and refrained from commenting out loud that England supposedly didn’t like French cuisine at all. He sat down before England and poured some coffee in a mug. England was watching his every movement, but every time France looked up, England looked away, down at his tea.
“I…” England blushed, took a sip, “…I didn’t know you could cook.”
“That’s not really a gentleman thing to say.” France said, laughing. England bit his lip, looking annoyed for a moment, but then unexpectedly smiled.
“I guess not.” England took another sip, his eyes darted from France to his tea, then back to France. “They are delicious.”
“Thanks.”
“Who taught you again?”
“Canada.”
“Who?”
France laughed.
“What do you want to do today?”
“Today?”
“Yeah!” France grinned, he had thought about something England would surely like. “Why don’t you take me around the city?”
England was surprised by this.
“You really want me to take you around London?”
“Of course!” France grinned, “I’ve been here a thousand of times, but never with you as my personal guide!”
England’s mouth was slightly opened from the shock. Nevertheless, after thousands of years together, France could tell England was happy. He felt really proud of himself.
“Yes, let’s go!” France immediately exclaimed and stood up. England watched him go around the table and take his hand. England stared at their hands together and, unexpectedly, didn’t pull away. France thought it was a great start.
The tour around London lasted all day long. England took France to all his favorite places, from known ones to less known ones, and he kept talking and talking and talking. France kept listening, liking the way England’s voice sounded when he was happy. He cracked a joke once or twice, England laughed. He liked the way England laughed too. The day passed quickly. London was beautiful. England was beautiful.
(Arthur Kirkland was beautiful.)
France especially liked the way England kept holding his hand, as if afraid he was going to lose him somewhere in the city.
In the end, somewhere around eight, the tour was over and they decided to regain their breath on a bridge. A slight breeze caressed their cheeks as they stared down at the calm waters of the Thames. England leaned against the barrier, with a smile on his face. France looked up at the moon, noticed the way it shined above them, and then looked back down into England’s eyes.
“That was fine.” France said then. England looked up at him, the moonshine made England’s cheek almost pale.
“You never wanted to visit the city before.” England said then. France looked down at him, quiet surprised, but didn’t say anything. “Why now?” England added then, his voice a mist of confusion and wonder.
France sighed and looked down at the waters. He started to think. Should he tell England, he asked himself. Should he risk it? Telling England he was France was out of the question, but to admit he wanted to spend his days with England in America’s body was dangerous too. Maybe America liked England too, maybe not, but if France dared to say anything, he risked destroying America and England’s friendship. When he started planning to pretend to be America with England, he thought this could work, that, maybe, finally, he could be with England, be a couple.
But now he was having doubts.
England may say yes.
He finally realized how crazy his plan was after all. It had a lot of holes in it.
“You are uncharacteristically silent.” England suddenly said then, the worry evident in his voice. “What? Cat got your tongue?” he tried to joke. France snorted and leaned against the barrier too.
After the "I'm not going to eat that" statement, that's a "wanted to agree with England for once". I'm sure my yaoi-mind wanted to write something else and ate that part.
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Love me the "American" way [2b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 04:18 pm (UTC)(link)France didn’t even shift. Luck was on his side, it seemed! His chances of bumping into America had decreased by a lot and so far he hasn’t messed anything up. England shot a murderous look at his sneakers and opened his mouth to comment, but France interrupted him:
“I changed idea! Paperwork is boring and I much prefer to spend some time with you instead!” France said and crossed his arms behind his head, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. He supposed he had said the right thing, because immediately England’s face became really red and his jaw almost dropped to the floor (almost).
“S-spend time with… ahh… err…” England stuttered, then he suddenly shook his head. “No. No. No. I-I can’t! I have paperwork to do and you are… you are, well, you are annoying me!”
France’s grin became even wider and made to retort but, in that moment, someone chose to interrupt them by knocking on England’s office’s door. France froze and immediately took his feet off the desk, a thing that didn’t go unnoticed to England. England smiled at America’s change of posture, glad he had taught politeness to the other nation when he was younger and exclaimed: “Come in.”
The door opened and the young lady that France had met at the reception suddenly entered, carrying a tray with her. She nodded at France and placed two teacups in front of England.
“I brought the tea you asked me, sir.” The secretary said and poured the tea in the cups. “I supposed your friend would love some too.” She added, flushing a little when her eyes met France’s ones.
“Oh, no. Mr. Jones actually drinks no…!” England immediately said but France cut him once more.
“It was really nice of you, miss…?”, he asked as he took her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. The secretary slightly parted her lips, almost smiled and coughed in embarrassment.
“Margaret, sir.” She whispered, her heart beating so frantically that France could feel her pulse under his fingers.
“Margaret. What a beautiful name.” France smiled. With the corner of his eyes, he noticed England blinking at him, obviously taken aback by America’s antics, and France immediately let go of Margaret’s hand.
Damn it. He forgot he supposed to be America. America is not the flirty type. He grinned at England then and took the offered cup, just to fill the awkward silence.
“I… err…” Margaret said then, coughed once more and shot a lusty glance at France. “Well.” She took the now empty tray and quickly made to the door. “It was nice meeting you, Mister Jones.” She said and closed the door behind her.
As soon as Margaret left the office, England abruptly turned to stare at France, who shrugged and took a sip of his tea. England’s brows shot up at that and France immediately spit the liquid back into the cup.
“Gross!” France said, laughed a little, totally not-America-like and pushed the teacup away. England watched his every motion and crossed his arms over his chest, suspicious. France wanted to slap himself. Being America was so difficult! He was going to betray himself too soon!
“Since when do you drink tea?” England asked, his eyes narrowing. France chose not to answer and shrugged once more. England eyes turned from suspicious to worried and slowly stood up.
“Are you sure you feel okay, America?” England said and got closer to where France was sitting and unexpectedly raised a hand to feel France’s forehead. France’s breath hitched as England’s hands touched him and looked up at the island nation.
“You are acting so weird…” England spoke softly and leaned down to look at France’s face better. “…and your accent is… odd…” England continued. France raised an eyebrow at him.
Love me the "American" way [2c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 04:19 pm (UTC)(link)“Oh.” England nodded and finally let go of his face. “Is that so…”
“Yeah…” France grinned and decided to keep it up. “My team won of course! Because… well… I only cheer for the BEST!”
England raised and eyebrow and then shook his head. France’s felt a lump in his throat and watched as England returned back to his place and started packing his things up.
“What are you doing?” France asked, suddenly suspicious. The other nation ignored him and kept putting all his paperwork away. “England?”
At the sound of his name, England turned to look at him and his mouth slightly opened. France felt his heart speed up at the way England was looking at him and even stopped when the nation blushed, looked down and said:
“I think you are having a nervous breakdown and you need some air to recover. I’m going to tell Miss Margaret I’m taking the week off to stay with you.” England coughed and then scowled. “You owe me, America. Just for the record.”
To which France grinned.
OP
(Anonymous) 2012-01-22 06:05 am (UTC)(link)I can't tell you how much I love this fill, anon.
Re: Love me the "American" way [2c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-22 08:12 am (UTC)(link)Re: Love me the "American" way [3a/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-26 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)France wanted so much to be with England that he swore he would stomach whatever he and America called food for a week, so, to be more credible and more American like, when they were finally out of England’s office, France decided to start a new conversation with a:
“I’m hungry! Let’s go for a hamburger!”
The first statement was true, the second one wasn’t. England didn’t know it was but it was enough to make him turn to look at him, widen his eyes, frown and exclaim:
“No! I’m not going to eat that shit!”
France wanted with England for once, but he was America and… well… America liked hamburgers so he kept it on.
“Your food sucks, England, and I saw a McDonald my way over here.”
“Well, I’m not in the mood for hamburgers and I know a place right down the road where they sell the best fish and chips on this earth.”
France doubted it.
“I doubt it.”
“I don’t understand why you are so against it!” England exclaimed, “You used to like what I cooked!”
France doubted that too, but this time he wasn’t going to say it.
“Yes, but this time you are not the one cooking, right? So, let’s go to that McDonald!” France grinned, tried to look happy about it (and it was difficult, but England would surely know if America suddenly declared he wanted to go to a French restaurant). France hoped that what he said would convince England that he didn’t really want Fish and Chips.
He didn’t expect England’s eyes to turn so… hopeful, though. England almost smiled at him and kept staring at him with that look of pure joy that France knew surely meant something bad was going to happen.
“So you want me to cook for you?”
Damn it. How can he get out of this now?
“You said so yourself, I used to like your cooking.” The words were out of his mouth before he could understand what exactly had he said. England’s frown deepened and he crossed his arms over his chest, immediately on the defense. France wanted to smack himself: courting England as America proved to be really difficult.
Love me the "American" way [3b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-26 06:46 pm (UTC)(link)France sighed as England started murmuring to himself about how much of an idiot he was for trying to be nice to America.
“FINE!” France suddenly exclaimed, making England finally stop and stare at him. France sighed once more, tried to smile and took England hand in him, to which England became ten shades of red. “Let’s go to that place you mentioned! I can eat hamburgers at home. They taste much better there than here in Europe.”
England wasn’t really listening to him; he was staring at the hand holding his. He looked really lost and France waved before his nose for at least ten minutes before England finally reacted.
“What are you doing, you git?” England shouted, abruptly pulling his hand out of America’s hold. “We-we-we are in a public place!” he added then, reddening.
“So?” France raised an eyebrow. England stared at him, opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of the water for at least ten minutes before he finally uttered a response.
“So?” England exclaimed, “I don’t know what you do in your house! But this is my house! My house, my rules!”. He was hyperventilating and England didn’t really know what he was saying but France liked the reaction very much. It was funny.
“I like to hold your hand, England.” France said then. He wanted to grin but remained serious as England’s face almost burned.
“Y-you what?” England stuttered. France tried not to laugh and made to take England’s hand instead. England jumped away from him and hid his hands behind his back.
“Oh, come on!” France exclaimed. He couldn’t hold it in anymore and he started openly grinning. “Give me your hand and let’s go eat!”
“You… you…” England shook his head and started walking fast before America. “You are mad!”
France softly laughed to himself and followed England.
“Such an old and old-fashioned man!” France shouted back at him. England stopped, turned around and shouted:
“Old? I show you bloody old!” and with his face turned to the other side, took France’s hand and they started walking together to the restaurant England had been talking about. England didn’t talk for the rest of the walk, only when he ordered what he wanted to eat and even then he didn’t dare to look at France once.
France decided he was too hungry to argue and ate what England ordered for him without complaints. They sat one in front of the other, hands back to their respective owners.
“Admit it.” France said at one point. England finally looked at him and raised an incredibly bushy eyebrow. “You liked it~” France teased.
“I did not.” England marked his words with a frown.
“We should do it more often.” France smiled, “Didn’t it feel good?” England looked away at that.
“It did not.” His words weren’t convincing.
“I don’t believe you~” France started laughing when England blushed.
Love me the "American" way [3c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-26 06:47 pm (UTC)(link)“It’s because you like me.” France stated. His heart skipped a beat at that because he knew that he was talking about America as he did. England didn’t like France. France didn’t like England. (He loved him. There is a difference.)
“I-” England looked up from his half-finished meal and just stared. France wanted to sigh, his lips wanted to quiver down in sadness, but he did none of that. On the contrary, he beamed.
“We both know you do!” France grinned. England shook his head no.
“Why would I?” England said instead, more to himself than to France. France took England’s hand, intertwined their fingers together as England stared. Just stared.
“You took a week off for me.” France said. “If you didn’t like me, you wouldn’t have.”
“I would do that for anyone in need!” England exclaimed.
“If it was France?” France asked then. England’s breath hitched and didn’t say anything. France let out a smile.
“See?”
“Well…” England was at loss with words. “What’s your point?” he asked then, trying to change subject.
“We should make this week special! That’s my point!” France said. “Let’s go out! Have fun! I don’t think we’ll ever have another chance!”
“Maybe you are right.” England whispered and France felt England’s hand warmer under his fingers. France grinned.
America was an idiot, France thought then. Seeing the world from America’s eyes made France realize how blind America was.
England was the same sarcastic, unbearable, saying one thing and thinking another, old nation that everyone… no, that France had always known but there was a tiny little difference when with America. England’s eyes always had that look of pure defiance and arrogance but with France they always held another more, violent should he say, emotion in them.
With America no.
With America they were smiling.
England smiled.
As America and England held hands under a table, England was smiling.
How could America not see that? How could America not see how much England loved him?
“Yes.” Those eyes were saying.
Yes, America.
---
I'm so happy this is liked! I hope I won't let you down, OP!!!
Re: Love me the "American" way [3c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-26 08:47 pm (UTC)(link)OP
(Anonymous) 2012-01-26 11:53 pm (UTC)(link)Oh, poor France. I feel so sorry for him right now ):
Love me the "American" way [4a/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-30 11:35 am (UTC)(link)They hadn’t been really talking since they had lunch, both of them too deep in thought to say anything, and just walked together down one of the busiest streets of London in silence. It hadn’t been really an uncomfortable silence and France was totally taken aback from the sudden question:
“What?” he asked, sincerely confused as America would have been. England shrugged and continued:
“If you go back, I’m coming with you.” England shrugged once more, nonchalantly. “Until you feel better.” He added then, as if trying to justify himself.
“No, I’m staying in Europe.” France immediately said then. There was no way he would let England go to America and meet the real Alfred F. Jones. It would be better to stay in London or back to Paris, until the spell… or whatever it was… wore off instead.
“Does your boss know you are here, then?” England asked, curious. France wanted to laugh, but didn’t.
“Yes, of course.” He grinned. “I told him I was going to visit you and even reserved a hotel room for me. He is awesome just like that.”
England was looking at him with the corner of his eye and France immediately caught a note of disappointment in the island’s green eyes.
“So you are staying in a hotel?” England asked then. “I would have offered you to stay with me, but if your boss reserved a hotel room…”
France couldn’t believe his ears. Did England just offered him to stay in his house? France considered it for a moment: staying under England’s roof, maybe even sleeping in the same bed, sharing things, having breakfast together… France wanted to. He really, really wanted to. He had spent the night at England’s house before, of course, even if they hadn’t exactly wanted it. Going out drinking had ended in him sleeping in England’s bed more than once but it had never ended just where France wanted to (in England’s pants, to be exact). Maybe now, if he just said yes, maybe…
“I guess its better this way.” England smiled to himself, “You are such a hassle and it’s difficult to feed you.”
France should just tell England that he was going to sleep with him… no, he wanted to say. Stay with him. But, what if. What if they called him home and his boss asked for him? He was supposed to stay in bed. What if they don’t find him and went to search for him at home? They’ll immediately know he had lied and his cover would totally blow up. It was a risk and a big one at that.
Nevertheless, this was a once in a lifetime offer.
“You are ridiculously silent, you know?” England suddenly asked.
“Am I?” France laughed. His head was hurting. England shook his head.
“Really, America. What is wrong with you?”
“I am thinking.” France said, to which England snorted.
“That’s quite offensive.”
Love me the "American" way [4b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-30 11:35 am (UTC)(link)“That I’m going to stay with you, instead.” France said, finally making up his mind and his heart beating fast as he said so. England turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow.
“What about the hotel room?” England asked.
“Oh… I’ll thank my boss for it, but I prefer to be with you.” France smiled, tried to put that silly but sincere American smile on his face instead of his I’m-flirting-with-you one. Judging by England’s immensely embarrassed look, France’s smile wasn’t American at all. He should practice more, he decided then.
“Are you sure?” England blushed. “Oh, well. O-okay then…”
“Of course I need to return back to get some clothes.” France reasoned. England looked down, nodded and said:
“Yes. Of course.”
France wanted to smack himself. He couldn’t say no to temptation. He imagined someone come in search of him, to see if he was okay or something, and find no one. Well, they wouldn’t find France either way. He needed to answer the phone, at least. No. He was making a mountain out of a molehill. When he was going to have another opportunity like that?
“I… well, then…” England was saying. “I’m going to prepare a room for you in the meantime. Should I call you on you mobile if something…”
Oh, God. The mobile. Imagine England calling America and… no, he didn’t want to think about it.
“No!” France exclaimed, taking England totally aback. “I mean, no…” he tried to sound calm but England looked really suspicious. “I… well…” France laughed, “My cell is broken. I… it’s a funny story, really!”
England raised an eyebrow.
“I was trying to call someone and…” France thought about it, “…and it fell in a puddle…”
England’s face looked really suspicious.
“Yeah…” France said, “And now it’s conked out!” he snapped his fingers. “Just like that!”
“Whatever…” England suddenly said and shook his head.
“So, I’m going to get some clothes. Don’t call me on my phone, because… there is no phone!” he laughed, “Don’t call me. At all. And…” France was starting to panic, he tried to think. “Let’s catch a movie tomorrow evening?”
England stared at him, hard and scrutinizing, for what it seemed like ages and then sighed.
“Fine.” England agreed. “Good, I’ll wait for you tomorrow evening then.”
France wanted to dance from the joy. He grinned, hugged England close, felt England’s breath hitch, felt England’s body so small and warm against him, felt… England’s butt…
“AMERICA! What are you doing?” England screeched then and pulled France away. (Not as hard as he would have done if it was France feeling him up, France noticed.) France expected the blow too but nothing came. England’s face was red but not angry, a fact that France believed he could take advantage of.
“I’m just happy I’m going to spend some time with you, England!” France exclaimed, smiling and giving a thumbs up. “See you tomorrow then!” he laughed and ran away. England remained then, watching America go for a moment, before shaking his head and walking the other way.
France returned back to Paris then, to collect the clothes he had bought and everything he needed. He felt on cloud nine. Literally. He checked his voice messages and there were a couple he needed to answer.
He really couldn’t wait for the week to start.
Re: Love me the "American" way [4b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-30 07:37 pm (UTC)(link)It's funny and wholly cute on the surface, but the underlying layer of confusing emotions is really rather more heartbreaking.
I feel so bad for France. And I feel awful for England. I am torn over where this fic seems to be going - I am always in favour of sex, but it's just going to make everyone involved more miserable than they were before. And then there's the issue of technical rape!
Also, there's then America... aaargh, really no idea what he'd be thinking. Can't imagine it would be good.
This whole fic is wonderful and you're handling it well, making it light-hearted when it needs to be before switching to a more serious tone... Can't wait to see what happens!
Re: Love me the "American" way [4b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-31 10:04 pm (UTC)(link)Love me the "American" way [5a/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-08 10:32 am (UTC)(link)First message:
Romano told me you were sick and well… I just wanted to tell you to get well soon! If there is anything you need just call, ve~
Second message:
This is Germany. Italy told me you are ill, so I suppose we should just postpone any meeting we agreed on until you get better.
Third message:
KESESE! I heard you were sick, man! Wow. You can’t hold alcohol at ALL! Too bad! I was planning to organize a MEGA-AWESOME-party at your house, but, well… if you are sick and stuff, I’ll just wait until you get better! Why aren’t you answering by the way? Are you asleep?
Beep!
Four message:
Sorry if my brother is bothering you, by the way. I’ll take care of it. Germany.
Fifth message:
This is Benoit. I’m just calling you to say that meetings are going to be postponed. Get well soon, by the way.
Sixth message:
Hola. I suppose you are not feeling well and that’s why you won’t answer the phone, but… well… I want to tell you that you may receive a lot of phone-calls. I kinda told everyone you didn’t feel well. I hope you don’t mind. Anyway, if you need anything, just call! I’m a little busy these days but if you want I can come over sometimes! See you!
Seventh message:
I’m Marie, the barwoman. Remember me? I just called to see if you wanted to hang out sometime! Bye!
Beep!
Thanks God answering machines existed. France made a sad face as soon as he heard the last message. Marie was the girl he met in one of the bars Gilbert, Spain and he had been the night before. It was such a pity he had to ignore her every call, as she had been really sweet. France cancelled all the messages and sighed. He was glad most of his meetings had been postponed, because that meant he didn’t need to find many excuses from the time being. Moreover, it meant he didn’t need to do paperwork too and he was free from every responsibility.
He wondered what he should do if either Spain of Gilbert decided to pay a surprise visit to him. He decided he would think about it when the time will come.
For now, he couldn’t think about nothing else but England. To make everything more credible, he had decided to return to England that evening, a whole day after they had went out in that awful fish and chips restaurant. Even a nation like America couldn’t go to his house and back to England in less than two hours. France had to wait.
Love me the "American" way [5b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-08 10:33 am (UTC)(link)Unless America decided to come over.
Then he would be over too. Literally.
France took his bag full of clothes and stuff he needed and decided to finally travel back to England. It took him no more than two hours to get before England’s familiar apartment. He pressed the buzzer and waited for England to answer:
“Who is it?”
It was time for action.
“It’s me AMERICA!” France shouted a little too loudly. Some passersby turned to look at him as if he was mad. He didn’t care. “Open!”
As soon as he shouted the order, the door clicked open and France cheerfully made his way to England’s apartment. England was waiting before his door, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
“Could you please not shout so loud next time?” England reproached. “I almost became deaf!”
France grinned, dropped the bag on the ground and hugged the other nation close, shutting him up for good. Then, as if nothing was the matter, picked his bag back up and went inside the apartment, leaving a stunned England behind.
England’s apartment was really clean, France noticed immediately and snorted to himself. England apartment was never clean when he came over as he preferred to do other, more important stuff, than clean around. But America was an exception, no? England really worked himself out to make a good impression on America.
“Nice!” France exclaimed and then turned to look at England, who was strangely silent. “So! Where’s your room?”
That seemed to push England out of his thoughts. England looked up at him and raised an awfully bushy eyebrow.
“My room?” he repeated, stupidly. France laughed.
“Of course! Where else should I stay?”
England was taken aback by this and blinked at France, opening and closing his mouth in shock.
“What?”
France dropped the bag down once more and literally fell on the couch before him, the only couch England had in his living room. England watched his every movement and finally exclaimed:
“I prepared the guest room for you, America.” England said as if talking to a baby. France scowled.
“Mean! I wanted to share the bed with you!”
To say England fainted from the shock would be an understatement.
“Excuse me?” England thought it over, blushed tenfold and then turned his back to America. France wanted to laugh, but didn’t, and just stood up once more and approached England. He patted the other hard on the back and leaned closer to the other face. England’s breath hitched at the sudden closeness and made a step backwards. France grinned.
Love me the "American" way [5c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-08 10:33 am (UTC)(link)“It’s…” England opened his mouth, closed it, stared into America’s eyes and then shook his head. “Let me show you.” He said then, turned his back to France, picked America’s bag and climbed up the stairs to the upper floor. France followed him to the guest room. England opened the door, told him where everything he could need was, but France wasn’t really listening, he just stared at England’s figure, England’s face, England’s mouth opening and closing…
“…and the bathroom is…” England was saying. France already knew and he was fed up with all that nonsense. He took England’s hand, cutting him off, and made him turn to look at him.
“Is something the matter?” England asked, suddenly worried. France shook his head and intertwined their fingers together.
“We planned to go to the movies, didn’t we?” France said then, suddenly remembering what he what suggested the day before. France smiled and added: “We don’t want to miss the show, do we?” England looked at him for a long moment and then nodded.
“Oh, yes.” He let go of France’s hand and exited the guest room. France followed him in England’s bedroom, where England kept all his stuff. France noticed the photographs lined under England’s mirror. As England got ready, France looked at the photographs. Some were relatively old, while others were new. There were a lot with England and America, some of them were England only, (scowling, secretly smiling, absorbed), there was one of all England’s brothers too and one with Sealand only and then… then France noticed there was one with France too. France raised an eyebrow and took the old picture in his hands. He looked at himself smiling and having an arm around England’s shoulders, who was for once laughing. They were dressed in their old military outfits and France suddenly remembered where the picture had been taken.
A moment later, the photo wasn’t in France’s hands anymore. England snatched it from him with shaking fingers.
“They are just old photos…” England said, more to himself than to France. France watched as England put that photo back in its place.
“Where was that taken?” France asked, even if he knew the answer. England stared at the photo for a while, then at France and shrugged.
“It was after the War.” England explained as if it wasn’t important. Then he took America’s hand. “Should we go?”
“Yes.” France said, completely forgetting about the picture for the moment. He and England walked away from England’s room and went down the stairs back in the living room. They exited the apartment in silent and only when they were out in the street did France realize that England was still holding his hand.
England realized the same thing too, because abruptly he pulled his hand out from France’s hold.
“So…” England said, blushing a little, “What movie you want to see?”
Love me the "American" way [5d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-08 10:34 am (UTC)(link)He told England so.
England raised an eyebrow but didn’t complain.
They went to the movies, bought the tickets, France bought the pop-corn and the maxi cola America would surely buy if he was in his place and kept telling England how he couldn’t wait for the movie to start.
England was smiling at him, called him an idiot once or twice but sat really close to France as they waited.
In all his excitement for spending the week with England he forgot that France hated horror gore movies. A lot.
When the movie started, he resented himself for suggesting watching it. England seemed unfazed by all the gore scenes and even silently laughed at some parts. France, as much as he wanted to laugh with England, he couldn’t. The movie was making him sick and he decided to look at England instead.
England noticed.
“Are you afraid?” England whispered, teasing him. France scowled.
“Of course not.”
England was laughing at him with his eyes.
“Coward!”
France stared at England’s teasing face and then he suddenly had an idea for revenge. He smirked and started touching England’s ear.
“W-WHAT!” England shouted and tried to pull away.
“Sssh!” Someone in the back rows said. England shot a murderous glance at them but then France started to touch England’s ear again and England’s face turned more embarrassed than angry.
France had learned a thing or two about England in the last centuries together: England really liked it if someone touched his ear. Maybe a little too much. France had swore to himself that he was going to use to his advantage one day and now it was the perfect moment.
“America… stop…” England whispered, trying to shove America’s hand away.
“Sssh!”
“Why?” France asked, naively, “It calms me down.”
“It doesn’t calm me down.” England whispered back, emphasizing the ‘me’ with a slap on France’s hand.
“I don’t really care.” France smirked and even in the dark room he could see England’s blush darken. England started squirming and then, suddenly, he stood up and made to leave. France congratulated himself and followed England outside.
“Ssshh!” someone exclaimed again and France thumbed up at him.
Re: Love me the "American" way [5d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-08 11:15 pm (UTC)(link)This is going so great!
Re: Love me the "American" way [5d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-09 12:10 am (UTC)(link)England's obliviousness is a tad worrying, I do hope America doesn't show up and spoil France's plan. I'm really interested in seeing what happens after it comes to fruition, but of course, time will tell if France manages.
France's cheeky actions in the theatre made me laugh.
And the ideas of England's ears being ridiculously sensitive is sexier than it ought to beRe: Love me the "American" way [5d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-10 08:39 am (UTC)(link)Re: Love me the "American" way [5d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-12 01:03 am (UTC)(link)Gotta love France and his little tactics!
Love me the "American" way [6a/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-14 05:32 pm (UTC)(link)----------------------------------------
“Why did you leave, England?”, France exclaimed, trying to hide his smile. He felt a sense of déjà-vu, because that was exactly what France had said when he first learned about England’s soft spot so many years before. England, though, didn’t make the connection and just abruptly stopped, turned around, red in face with anger and embarrassment and stated:
“Don’t you do that again, you git. You heard me?”
England would have looked terrifying too if the blush on his cheeks didn’t give away his embarrassment so much. France grinned, and then hid his grin with his hands because he remembered that America didn’t grin that way. He tried to regain composure and continued:
“Oh, come on. I just touched your ear.” France said naively. “What’s wrong with that?”
He was playing with fire, but, who cared? England wouldn’t dare to torture America to death as he would have had if France would have been the one to touch his ear. France felt safe in his American body, maybe a little too much.
England wouldn’t dare to torture America to death.
But he surely didn’t mind punching America hard in the stomach.
“Ow!” France exclaimed, not expecting the blow at all. England looked down at him, pleased with himself and tsk-ed.
“Don’t play naïve with me, America. It doesn’t work.”
France wondered if America would even feel the pain, being the strong nation he was. If he didn’t, then France did for both of them and the pain was enough to make him kneel down.
“Okay. I’m sorry.” France murmured. England crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, perplexed. France didn’t notice the look, though, as he stood back up and tried to regain his breath. A moment later he was smiling again and England didn’t look that worried, anymore.
“It’s a shame we missed the movie.” France decided to say then. England snorted and started to walk away from him.
“It sucked.” England said.
“Still.” France followed him. “I would have liked to see how it ends.”
“Everybody dies.” England said, a little too confidently.
“How are you so sure?” France asked, curious. “In my movies the hero always survives in the end!”
“Yeah, right.” England snorted. “So said the hero who kneeled down after being punched in the guts.”
“I was just acting. In fact, I didn’t even feel the blow!” France bragged. England just tsk-ed.
“If you were, they should give you an Oskar.”
“They did.”
England laughed.
“Where are we going, by the way?” France asked then. England shot a glance to him, still smiling amused, and said, matter-of-fact-ly:
“Home, of course.”
France nodded. Home.
They started commenting the movie, England kept making sarcastic remarks, while France tried to act as America would as much as possible. Soon enough, they both forgot what happened in the theatre and England looked relatively in a good mood again. France felt happy, everything was going smoothly and England smiling was a really beautiful sight to see.
The moon was already up in the sky when France and England returned back to England’s apartment. France was exhausted and he couldn’t wait to go to sleep. England climbed the stairs up to his room without uttering a word and France too made his way to the guest room in silence.
“England?” he suddenly exclaimed, before he opened the door. England stopped, his hand already on the doorknob, and turned to look at him.
“Yes?”
“I had fun.” France stated, with a smile. England seemed surprised for a moment, as if America telling him he had a good time was completely unbelievable, but then smiled and said:
“I had fun too, git.”
Love me the "American" way [6b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-14 05:33 pm (UTC)(link)“Goodnight, America.” And disappeared inside his room. France watched the door click shut and he sighed. He took all his clothes off and got into bed. He fell asleep immediately afterwards.
The morning after, France woke up in an unfamiliar room. He looked around him, noticed the ugly pictures on the walls, then at America’s glasses on the bedside table. He groaned as he remembered what happened the day before and decided to stand up. England’s house was silent, meaning England was still sleeping in the room besides his. France rubbed his face and decided to go down to the kitchen to make some breakfast, before England could.
He passed before England’s door, which was still closed, climbed down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, checked what England had, wondered if England had any coffee and then planned what they were going to do that day together as he cooked.
It was like this that England found him an hour later. France, too deep in though, didn’t hear England’s breath hitch as soon as he stepped into the kitchen.
“Are you cooking?” England exclaimed right then, startling France. France looked at England, who stared back at him in disbelief. France wanted to slap his forehead. Afraid he was going to eat England’s famous uneatable breakfast, he had completely forgotten that America didn’t like to cook, at all. He laughed, embarrassed:
“Yeah… I’m…” he looked down at the crêpes he was making, “…I’m making pancakes.” He hoped England would be so untalented he couldn’t differentiate a crêpe from a pancake, “Canada thought me how to make them and I wanted to cook for you to apologize for what happened yesterday!”
“Who?” England cocked his head to the side, then closed his eyes hermetically shut and shook his head. “Okay, I believe you. Okay, I accept your apology. You didn’t need too, of course. But… why are you naked then?”
“Naked?” France blinked and looked down. Oh. He had completely forgotten to put all his clothes on. He looked back at England, who was standing fully clothed before the kitchen’s door, hiding his eyes with his hands. France laughed, this time amused:
“Don’t you like?”
“Be serious.” England retorted.
“I forgot to put them on.” France said, honest. England snorted. France laughed, put the rest of the crêpes on a plate and onto the table, and approached England. He took the other’s hands and pulled them away from England’s face.
“Relax. It’s just me.” France said. England stared at him, blushed and tried hard not to look down. France smiled at him, reassuring. England couldn’t take it anymore and closed his eyes again.
“Can you see without your glasses on anyway?” England suddenly asked then, taking France totally aback. It was France’s turn to touch his face and he oh-ed in understanding.
“I…” he didn’t know how to get around that. He decided to keep lying: “Yes, of course.”
“I see.” England said, “Okay.” He coughed. “Could you please now go and dress, while I prepare my tea?”
France laughed and England finally opened one eye and shot a murderous look at him. He nodded and walked away from England back to his room. England was watching him, France nodded then, pleased.
He returned back down ten minutes later, fully clothed and with his glasses back on. England was drinking his tea and eating the crêpes/pancakes France had made. He looked like he was enjoying them, France noted, proud of himself, and refrained from commenting out loud that England supposedly didn’t like French cuisine at all. He sat down before England and poured some coffee in a mug. England was watching his every movement, but every time France looked up, England looked away, down at his tea.
“I…” England blushed, took a sip, “…I didn’t know you could cook.”
“That’s not really a gentleman thing to say.” France said, laughing. England bit his lip, looking annoyed for a moment, but then unexpectedly smiled.
Love me the "American" way [6c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-14 05:33 pm (UTC)(link)“Thanks.”
“Who taught you again?”
“Canada.”
“Who?”
France laughed.
“What do you want to do today?”
“Today?”
“Yeah!” France grinned, he had thought about something England would surely like. “Why don’t you take me around the city?”
England was surprised by this.
“You really want me to take you around London?”
“Of course!” France grinned, “I’ve been here a thousand of times, but never with you as my personal guide!”
England’s mouth was slightly opened from the shock. Nevertheless, after thousands of years together, France could tell England was happy. He felt really proud of himself.
“Yes, let’s go!” France immediately exclaimed and stood up. England watched him go around the table and take his hand. England stared at their hands together and, unexpectedly, didn’t pull away. France thought it was a great start.
The tour around London lasted all day long. England took France to all his favorite places, from known ones to less known ones, and he kept talking and talking and talking. France kept listening, liking the way England’s voice sounded when he was happy. He cracked a joke once or twice, England laughed. He liked the way England laughed too. The day passed quickly. London was beautiful. England was beautiful.
(Arthur Kirkland was beautiful.)
France especially liked the way England kept holding his hand, as if afraid he was going to lose him somewhere in the city.
In the end, somewhere around eight, the tour was over and they decided to regain their breath on a bridge. A slight breeze caressed their cheeks as they stared down at the calm waters of the Thames. England leaned against the barrier, with a smile on his face. France looked up at the moon, noticed the way it shined above them, and then looked back down into England’s eyes.
“That was fine.” France said then. England looked up at him, the moonshine made England’s cheek almost pale.
“You never wanted to visit the city before.” England said then. France looked down at him, quiet surprised, but didn’t say anything. “Why now?” England added then, his voice a mist of confusion and wonder.
France sighed and looked down at the waters. He started to think. Should he tell England, he asked himself. Should he risk it? Telling England he was France was out of the question, but to admit he wanted to spend his days with England in America’s body was dangerous too. Maybe America liked England too, maybe not, but if France dared to say anything, he risked destroying America and England’s friendship. When he started planning to pretend to be America with England, he thought this could work, that, maybe, finally, he could be with England, be a couple.
But now he was having doubts.
England may say yes.
He finally realized how crazy his plan was after all. It had a lot of holes in it.
“You are uncharacteristically silent.” England suddenly said then, the worry evident in his voice. “What? Cat got your tongue?” he tried to joke. France snorted and leaned against the barrier too.
Love me the "American" way [6d/?]
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(Anonymous) 2012-01-27 06:44 am (UTC)(link)