“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.
“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.
aaaargh this whole thing makes me feel awful for everyone
I feel bad for France because he's probably just doin' what he'd do if he wasn't in America-form But because he looks like America, England's being responsive to it, though at least France is worrying about how it'd affect England and America's relationship. Nobody's really a 'bad guy' here, I like that in particular about this fic.
I can't really say I blame him for doing what he did, even considering the circumstances, but I'm wondering why England, if he wants America so badly, would turn him down. Does he suspect something? I'll just have to wait and see.
Hng I must say I lol'd at the idea of France just forgetting to get dressed. xD
I can't agree with the anon comment that 'there are no bad guys.' In real life, when you present yourself as someone *already known* by the victim, in order to capitalize on the trust for sexual purposes, it's rape. Author!anon, you have France not planning to go any further than kissing, but it's still sexual assault. I know this is Hetalia, and the kinkmeme, where raep! can be silly, or historically linked to military invasions, or even lead to bodice-ripping love, but your fill seems serious, so I have to note the reality of the situation.
I would think, in order to have a happy ending in this story as the OP wants, England has to reject a sexual relationship with America. Even if it's France!America. Or America!France, whatever. IMHO
I'm glad this has so different point of views, but is liked nonetheless. I kind of wanted it to be, in a sense, provoking. I believe this is going to have two or three chapters more, then it's over. Okay, enough. Let's continue. :) ------------------------------------------------------------------
Neither of them talked about the kiss that evening. To France it felt like it was a secret that neither of them should ever think about anymore, and for the first time in his long live, he seriously couldn’t understand what went on inside England’s mind.
The next morning, though, everything returned back to normal. France tried this time to not forget to put his clothes (and most importantly his fake glasses) on and tried to cook something simpler for breakfast. England seemed reassured by the fried eggs and the beacon waiting for him in the kitchen, and while France made coffee for himself, England started preparing his tea, as if they had been spending the mornings together since forever.
But then something unexpectedly happened: England’s phone rang, and England stood up, eyebrow raised, and made to get the call. On the other hand, France’s almost chocked on his coffee at the sound. For a moment France seriously thought it was America who had decided to ring at that time of the hour and immediately let go of his mug to follow England to the living room.
“Hello? Arthur Kirkland here.” England stated, shooting a glance at France, who stared at him from the kitchen’s doorframe. “Oh, hello Germany.”
France let out a sigh of relief and made to return back to his coffee, when something else caught his attention.
“Okay, I understand.” England said after a long moment of pause, “By the way, Germany. It’s not as if I’m interested or something, but… has you seen France recently? He’s been too quiet lately.”
France’s heart skipped a beat and turned around to look at England, who was looking down at his fingernails as if nothing was the matter. Germany must have said something, though, because England’s eyebrow suddenly propped up, and he stopped staring at his fingers for good.
“He’s sick?” England opened his mouth, then he suddenly looked angry. “No, he hasn’t called me. The bastard. Well, anyway…” England’s lips became a thin line, “Yeah, see you in a few.” And he hung up. France watched as England made his way to the second floor.
“Is something wrong?” France decided to ask then, but England didn’t hear him. Some minutes later, England came back down, dressed and ready to go. He looked up at France, as if it was the first time he saw him and said:
“Oh, ehm…” England put his coat on, “I need to meet Germany now. The bastard doesn’t understand what the phrase ‘I took the week off’ means. But, anyway…” he looked once more over to where France was standing, “You don’t mind if I leave for a couple of hours, do you?”
“No. I’ll find someway to entertain myself, don’t worry.” France said with a smile. England nodded, took his keys and opened the front door. England shot another look at France, smiled a little and closed the door behind him. France sighed and decided to spend the day watching television. He was ready to turn the TV on, that, suddenly, France’s mobile rang. He wondered who would want him at that hour of the morning, and answered. It was his boss.
“Hello?”
It felt strange to talk in his language, in that body, but France had to admit that it felt kind of nice too.
“How are you?” his boss said in French from the other line, “Are you feeling any better?”
“Yes and no. It’s quite hard to explain.”
“I just wanted to tell you that I need you to sign some documents. I hope you are not sick enough for this. Benoit will come to your place in an hour or so. It’s not going to take long, I promise.”
“Benoit is going to my house?” France suddenly exclaimed.
“Going?” the boss said, suddenly suspicious. “Aren’t you at home?”
“I am!” France immediately said, “I am! Well, I hope is not going to take long. I really need to recover.”
“No, no.” his boss said. “I hope to hear from you soon then.” And hung up.
Shit, France thought. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
He put the first coat he found on and immediately left England’s apartment. He needed to hurry, and for once he was glad about Benoit’s notorious punctuality. He managed to get back to Paris in an hour, and when he finally arrived home there still was no trace of Benoit. He needed a plan quickly. He hoped Benoit didn’t need to see France in person, or he was busted.
Ten minutes after he closed the front door behind him, Benoit finally rang his doorbell. France swore and in his haste to get to the door, dropped one of his favorite vases on the floor.
“Shit!” he swore.
“France? Is everything alright?” someone asked in French from the other side, but what France immediately realized was that it wasn’t Benoit.
“Canada?” he swore out loud as Canada rang his doorbell again.
“I heard you were sick so I came to see how you were… Are you okay? France?”
France wanted to die. He wondered if he should just pretend not being home, but he immediately realized that it wasn’t a good plan at all. What should he do? What should he do? He sighed, cursed himself for what he was going to do, and suddenly opened the door.
To say Canada was shocked would be an understatement. Canada stared at America’s face for a long moment, blinking, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of the water, and then Canada suddenly exclaimed:
“What are you doing here, eh?” Canada started, “I talked to you before I made my way to Europe. How did you manage to get here before me, eh?”
“Canada, I… ehm…” France wanted the earth to open up and eat him whole, for as soon as France said his name, Canada’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“How…” then suddenly he widened his eyes and with shaking voice asked, “You are not America, right?”
“I…!” France wondered how Canada managed to tell, but he didn’t have the time to ask that Canada suddenly made a step backwards, in panic.
“Who are you?” Canada exclaimed, “What is going on? I—!”
“It’s me, France!” suddenly said in his mother-tongue, “Oh, God. Come in!” he grabbed Canada by the shirt and dragged him inside. Canada didn’t complain and just stared at France, ready to pass out.
“A-America? F-France?” Canada was pale, “What is going on?”
France sighed, run a hand through his now short hair and made to talk. As if on cue, someone rang on the doorbell. France swore once more and opened the door. This time it was really Benoit, carrying a black bag full with documents. The young man stared up at him, he was new in the business and so he didn’t know what America looked like, but he knew for a fact that the man that had opened the door to him wasn’t France. He raised an eyebrow and asked:
“Excuse me, but isn’t this Francis Bonnefoy’s house?”
“Of course, it is!” France said with a smile, ignoring Canada’s lament behind him, “But Francis doesn’t feel that well so much now and asked me to open the door. You must be Benoit, right?”
The man’s suspicion suddenly became less, and he nodded at France.
“Yes. I’m here to give him some documents to sign.”
“Of course, of course. I know all about it.” France smiled at Benoit once more, “Give them to me and Francis will sign them in a moment.”
“I need to see him in person.” Benoit tried to complaint.
“He can’t.” France stated, grabbed Benoit’s bag from the young man’s hands and continued, ignoring Benoit’s protests: “He needs to sign all of this papers?”
“O-only those in the green folder, but…!”
“Okay! They’ll be ready in a second!” France exclaimed and shut the door in Benoit’s face. He opened the black bag, took the green folder out and searched around the house for a pen. He had totally forgotten about Canada, and only when the other handed him a pen did France remember that he had another problem to solve.
“America doesn’t talk French and he doesn’t notice me.” Canada said, still looking pale, but less surprised that before. France took the pen and started checking the documents out. “So you must be really France.”
“Yes, I am.” France said, signing his fist document. Canada sat down on the couch with a sigh. There was a long moment of silence, in which, France was sure, Canada was trying to understand what was going on. Nevertheless, it seemed he couldn’t find a proper answer, because he suddenly asked:
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.” France said, honestly, while reading the next document at hand, “I just woke up looking like America.”
There was another long moment of silent. Canada couldn’t believe his ears. He tried to find a logical explanation, but nothing seemed good enough. In the end, he decided to just believe to the unbelievable:
“That’s why you told everyone you are sick?”
“Yes.”
“And what have you been doing all this time?” Canada asked, suddenly worried. “Have you done something about it? Have you asked England’s opinion on this?”
This took France by surprise and looked back at Canada, astounded.
“Why should I do that?”
It was Canada’s time to look surprised:
“Well, he knows about this kind of stuff! Magic, body swaps, and fairies are his kind of thing, after all.” He said, “Maybe he could help.”
“I’ve been to England…” France cut shortly, returning back to his documents, hiding his face from Canada.
“And?”
“And what?” France signed the last one and put everything back in the green folder.
“And have you asked him?”
France put the folder in the bag, closed it and opened the door once more. Benoit was still waiting patiently outside. As soon as France opened the door, Benoit opened his mouth to protest once more, but France just handed him the bag and shut the door again. Canada watched every movement of his, his arms crossed over his chest and his face calmer by the second.
“Have you?” Canada asked once more. France ignored him. “Then what have you been doing in England?” Canada’s eyes grown suspicious. France turned his back to him.
“Don’t tell me…” Canada suddenly shot up from the couch, and France sighed.
“I thought it would be a good plan!”
“It’s not!” Canada retorted, and then his mouth became a little ‘o’. “Tell me you didn’t…!”
“No.” France said, “What did you take me for?”
Canada snorted. France shot him a murderous look, but then, he suddenly turned around and grabbed Canada’s shoulders.
“Please, don’t tell anyone about it!” France pleaded, “Don’t! I won’t forgive you if you do!”
Canada stared at him for a long moment, confused and worried at the same time.
“I…”
“Especially not England!” France admonished then. “He mustn’t know!”
Canada stared at him for a long, silent moment, then sighed and run a hand through his messy (so alike France’s) hair. He nodded, once, slowly, and France felt suddenly better with himself.
“I’m not going to, as long as you don’t do anything stupid.” Canada said then.
“Trust papa, I won’t.” France grinned and let go of Canada’s shoulder. Canada raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. On the contrary, he just said:
“It’s weird listening to America talk French and call himself my ‘papa’.”
“Sometimes I forget I look like America…” France said and made his way to the door. Canada followed him. Benoit was nowhere to be seen, France noted, and as soon as Canada came out of the house, he closed the front door with his keys.
“Where do you live now?” Canada asked then, noticing France hiding his key in one of his internal pockets. France shot him a look, but didn’t comment, to which Canada rolled his eyes: “You should be more careful, you know?”
France decided to ignore that statement too. They were ready to leave, when suddenly another familiar figure came suddenly into view. France didn’t notice him until it was too late, and it was Canada that gave the alarm:
“E-Engl—!”
France raised an eyebrow, but understood what Canada wanted to tell him only when he suddenly heard someone shout at him:
“What the hell are you doing here?”
France turned around and came face to face with England. That day couldn’t get any worse! He cursed himself, shot a conspiratorial look at Canada, who just sighed and mumbled something that seemed like ‘Maple’ or something, and then turned to look at England. England stopped before them, his hands on his hips, and raised an eyebrow at France, who decided to be a good American and grin.
“I overheard France wasn’t okay, so I decided to check out!” he said. He was so good at lying now, he should be proud of himself. (But he wasn’t, he just felt worse). “Why are you here?” he asked then, emphasizing his ‘you’ with a raise of the eyebrows. England seemed taken aback by the sudden question. Suddenly on edge, England turned away, blushed, for a moment he even looked angry, and suddenly marched over to France’s front door, determined.
“Have you seen him?” England asked instead, ready to ring France’s doorbell. France suddenly grabbed the island’s hand and pulled him a little closer and away from the door. “What the bloody…!”
“He is really sick!” France said, for a moment he sounded exactly as America did when he told a lie. He hoped England wouldn’t notice.
(But, hell, England had raised America, and the guy had a crush on him. Wouldn’t he notice? How stupid of France to hope.)
“And he doesn’t want to see anyone right now!” France added then. England abruptly turned to look at him, his eyes wide open.
“But he let you in! You said you saw him!”
“Yeah… ehm…” France tried to find an excuse, but England had already found one way before France did. England suddenly looked really angry.
“So, the correct phrase would be: he doesn’t want to see ME!” England exclaimed and, suddenly, gave a hard kick on France’s front door. “You WANKER!” England suddenly shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I hope you die a painful death, git! And to think I was… I was! Argh! I won’t bother, ever again!” England gave another hard kick. France’s breath hitched and Canada shot a worried look at them both.
“England, maybe he has a good reason…” Canada tried to say. England suddenly turned around to him, finally noticing Canada’s presence.
“You saw him too?” England exclaimed instead, cutting Canada off. “You slimy, you… you!!” England suddenly turned around to the door again. “Why do I keep caring!” he suddenly shot his arms to the air and abruptly made his way back to the main road. France sighed. Canada just looked really guilty.
“Okay, ehm… America…” Canada suddenly said to France, “I… I’m going to head back now.”
France noticed England abruptly turn around once more at Canada’s words. He looked really angry, his cheeks red and his hands into fists.
“Yes.” France said, “See you soon.”
Canada nodded, tried to smile, but then just turned around and took his leave. England had come all the way to Paris by car, it seemed, as France suddenly noticed England’s car parked before the building. England was waiting for him.
“Get in the car.” England suddenly ordered. France couldn’t understand why England suddenly looked so threatening. “Get in the car. Right now.”
France would have protested, but England got into the driver’s seat and silently threatened him to leave him in Paris alone, so he complied. England put the key in the ignition and started the engine. He shot a look at France, who tried to crack a joke.
“I don’t understand why you keep insisting on driving on the wrong side of the road.”
“It’s not the wrong side, git.” England said, “You all drive wrong.”
It hadn’t work, so France decided to change subject.
“Where are we going?”
“Home, of course…” England said, then he thought it over and said: “No. Let’s go to the countryside instead, away from London. I need some air.”
France sighed and looked out of the window for the rest of the drive. England kept driving in silence for the next three hours. he looked really lost in though, as if he was fighting an internal battle with his mind. France tried to put some music on, just to break the silence. England let him.
Three hours later, they were driving in one of England’s countryside’s roads. Threatening grey clouds covered the whole area, and, abruptly England made a detour. France didn’t know where they were heading; all he knew was that it was deserted. Suddenly, England stopped the car, and without another word got off. France watched him go, as the first droplets of water started to fall, and decided to follow him outside. Everything was green and lonely around them, and France suddenly pictured England’s eyes in his head.
England suddenly turned around, approached France and grabbed him by his shirt.
“I’m an idiot…”, he whispered and, without another word, kissed France directly on the lips, hard. France didn’t feel like complaining, but he couldn’t do but wonder why England was kissing him like that all so suddenly. England wasn’t letting go of him. He pulled him even closer, and France unconsciously wrapped his arms around the other’s waist. England made an abrupt movement, and France’s fake glasses fell on the already wet grass.
First of all, I wonder what Canada is going to do with this information ;u; Can he be trusted? He's sweet and caring... but that caring could be directed towards his brother. He seems suspicious of France enough here, I wonder if he'll tell America.
And then England. His showing up at France's house was very telling. Especially what he said there. Methinks maybe he's staring to care for France? It looks like he's torn between France and 'America' now. ;u; But that cliffhanger... Has he made his choice? I'll have to wait and see...
The whole fic is a whirl of delicious layered angst, anon. Can't wait for more! <3 <3
France didn’t knew who ended the kiss first, if he or England, and he honestly didn’t care, as England kept holding his hand, and dragged them both back into the car. They were soaking wet and heavily breathing. England sat back in the driver’s seat and ran a hand through his wet hair, and France couldn’t stop thinking he looked absolutely sexy when he did that. The thunderstorm roared above them, and England suddenly looked out of the window as the lighting flashed.
France felt the coat sticky against his skin. He took it off, dropped it on the back seats and decided to do something useful, leaned over where England sat completely still, and started the car. The island glanced at him, as France turned the heat on.
“We are going to catch a cold.” France said matter-of-fact-ly, noticing England’s confused look. France gazed into the other’s green eyes, as the other slowly nodded, took his own coat off, and dropped it behind with France’s one. England looked once more back at him, and France unexpectedly felt England’s fingers on his cheeks.
France sighed, as England ran his thumb over the skin under France’s eye.
“You know…” England suddenly whispered. France looked at him and took his hand. It was cold. “Since the day I met you, you always had that glimmer in your eyes.”
“Is that so?” France asked, unconsciously bringing England’s finger near his lips. England kept staring at him, as France lightly kissed England’s index’s tip, but before France could do anything else, England pulled his hand abruptly away.
“What is it, England?” France asked, suddenly worried. England bit his lips, but then shook his head. He remained silent for a moment, before he out of the blue said:
“America?”
“Yes?” France readily answered. England smiled a little, and leaned against his seat.
“Let’s play a game.” England stated then, taking France totally aback.
“What game?”
“Let’s told each other something the other absolutely doesn’t know.”
“But you know everything about me.” France protested, quite amused. England snorted, and looked outside the window once more.
“No, I don’t.”
The rain tapped hard against the car. France could only imagine how cold it was outside, but inside it was warm and nice. He didn’t really mind playing a game in that atmosphere.
“Do you want me to start?” France asked then, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
“Okay….” France took a deep breath and looked outside the window. “I loved a woman once. A mortal.”
England turned to look at him, startled.
“A mortal?” he asked, surprised.
“If she didn’t have to do what she needed to do, and if I wasn’t a nation, I would have married her, and I would have spent all my mortal life with her.” France kept staring outside, “And when she died. I seriously wanted to die too; I would have tried everything to put an end to this immortality.”
“And then?”
France smiled and looked at England.
“And then I found another reason to go on.”
“Ah…” there was a long moment of silence. “Did you fall in love with me then?”
“At first it wasn’t love.” France frankly said.
“Ah…”
“But, now that I think about it, I don’t think it was hate either…”
“Ah…” England seemed confused. He furrowed his eyebrows, and seemed lost in thought for a long moment. France sighed and playfully punched his arm:
“Now it’s your turn.”
“I feel magic.” England promptly said, staring straight into France’s eyes, “I mean.” He looked down, thought his words over, and then looked at France again. “I understand when something magical is happening, even if I don’t understand exactly what it is.”
“Like if there’s a fairy in the vicinity?” France asked, amused.
“Yes, just like that. They are difficult to track, if they don’t want to be found, but I can still feel them if I concentrate hard enough.”
“That’s not really something I didn’t know, England.” France suddenly laughed, “I know you believe in magic!” he grinned. England’s twisted his lips, but then smiled back.
“I believe you must.” France crossed his arms over his chest.
“Okay then. Here goes something you really don’t know.” he sighed, “I started liking someone a long time ago.”
France raised an eyebrow. He knew England was talking about America, but he wondered if he should tell England so. He decided to pretend not to know.
“But I’m not really good at understanding my own emotions, so I understood I loved him only later.”
“When exactly?” France asked, curious. It was something he wanted to know since forever. When exactly had England understood that he had a crush on America?
“In the Second War.” England said, sure of himself. France nodded. He thought England had loved America way back, but the fact that England realized only in the Second War surprised him.
“Why?” he asked.
“I thought I had lost him.” England said, his voice breaking a little. England cleared his throat, trying to disguise the sudden emotion. Nevertheless it didn’t work, because, as France looked over at England, he immediately noticed the way the island’s lips still trembled slightly, and he knew that, even after all this years, whatever had happened still affected him deeply. France tried to imagine what had happened to America that had terrified England so much. He could think about a couple of things, but he didn’t really want to ask.
“Anyway…” England said, sighing, “I decided to ignore my feelings, of course. But now I can’t anymore, because I feel like I fell in love with this guy once again.”
“Ah…” France felt his hands shake, so he hid them under his armpits. England kept talking:
“I was so angry when I realized I did. I was upset. I felt… I felt…” England ran a hand through his hair once more, and looked outside at the thick rain. “I was angry.” He repeated. “But when I saw how much this person is trying to win me over, how he is trying to make me happy, forgetting his own happiness in the meantime… well… I can’t ignore something as big as that…”
France stared at the back of England’s neck. He was confused. Who was England referring to now? America or France? It was France that had been trying to win England over all this time.
‘But I’m America now’. France thought then, and something churned inside him. He was America. England thought he was America, that it was America that was trying to win England over. England had fallen in love with America.
“That’s all I had to say.” England said then, turning back to France and smiled at him. “Do you understand?”
“I think I do.” France said, and England smiled. France thought he was blushing too, and he knew that he had said the right thing, because if he hadn’t, England would have sure smacked his face against the window, for letting him open up like that. There was a long moment of silence, in which England seemed torn between embarrassment, happiness and just a little bit of anger. Minutes passed, the rain slowly became lighter, and France suddenly realized that they had to eat since morning.
“Do you know if there’s a restaurant around here, or something?” he asked, knowing fully well how inappropriate such a question sounded right then. He supposed that America would have asked the same thing, so he didn’t really dwell on it much longer.
“Yes, there is a nice and cheap one twenty minutes from here.” England answered, after getting over his first shock. They finally left the deserted country road, and returned back to the main one. Twenty minutes later they were before the restaurant, exactly as England had said.
“Let’s go, then!” France said, as the prospect of food put him in a relatively good mood. He got off the car, and went to open England’s door. England stared shocked at the hand France was offering him, and then pouted.
“I’m not a woman, idiot.” England exclaimed, slapped the other hand away and got off on his own. France laughed, let England do as he pleased, and together went inside the restaurant. The other clients watched them, as they sat down at the one of the tables. It was only then that they realized that they were still relatively wet, despite putting the heat on in the car. They stared at each other, and then started to laugh together. France had to admit that he liked laughing with England like that, without a reason in particular.
They ate, talking about nothing and everything, feeling comfortable with each other presence, forgetting what happened between them just an hour before. When they returned back to the street, the rain had finally stopped and the sky was clearing up. France finally realized they were near the sea, in one of England’s fishing villages. Now that the rain was over, France could appreciate the beauty of the houses, the cobbled street, and the fresh air.
“…and you should have seen China, England!” France said, as they walked down the seashore, “God! The look on his face!”
“What about Korea?”
“Korea wouldn’t leave China for two whole months after that!” France said, smiling. England snorted.
“He wouldn’t leave China even if we paid him.”
“That’s true too.” France said, and England laughed. “Anyway, you should have been there, I really would have wanted to hear your sarcastic remark on the matter.”
“I’m not sarcastic!” England immediately protested. France raised an eyebrow, England’s lips turned into a thin line, but everyone could see he was trying hard not to laugh. England was stubborn; he covered his mouth with one hand, and almost turned red from the effort not to laugh. France found the thing amusing, and when England turned around and faced away from France, France decided it would be an all right thing to just pinch England’s butt.
“What did you do that for?” England suddenly exclaimed, turning to look back at France. The latter shrugged, and pointed at England’s lips.
“You wanted to hide your smile from me!”
“I wasn’t smiling!” England retorted, and put a hand where France had pinched him.
“Why deny it, England?” France said, grinning, “You have some awful eyebrows, but when you smile, your face is so beautiful! Why hide it?”
“You are such an idiot.” England said. “And no more comment on my eyebrows. Thank you.”
“That’s difficult. They are always there!” France teased. England shot him a nasty look.
“Don’t look at me then.”
“I can’t.” France said, his hand finding England’s one. “You are amazing. Even with those awful eyebrows, even if you are sarcastic and like to argue with me all the time, even when you say one thing and mean another, even when you hate me, I feel like I’m missing something, if I don’t look at you at least once a day.”
“Where did that cheesy line come from?” England said, holding France’s hand.
They returned back to the car, and made a silent agreement to should go back to London. France put some music on as England drove, and he watched the landscape change outside. He looked at the green hills, and thought about England’s eyes, he looked at the sea, and thought about England’s temper, he looked at the sky above, and thought about England’s mood. He thought about how once upon a time, million and million of years ago, he and England used to be one. He would have liked to remember that time, but he couldn’t, because they both were born when their land had already parted. He thought about their history, their alliances, and how much they constantly took each other for granted.
“You are so silent…” England suddenly said, pushing France out of his thoughts.
“I was thinking.” France said.
“What about?”
“You.” France honestly said. England kept driving. “How much I want you.” He added then, turning to face England. What he said made England press hard on the accelerator, but, fortunately, England regained composure immediately after and they didn’t risk going off the road.
England glanced at him, his hands clutching the wheel tightly.
“W-well… w-ell…” England stuttered, his eyes on the road before them, “You, well…. I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Of course.” France said, smiling a little.
“B-but…” England added then, surprising both of them. France looked at England, stared at him, waited for what England wanted to say, but was too scared to. “But you, well… you can have me…”.
A whisper, but France heard it as if England was shouting it at the top of his lungs.
Aaaah I am so wonderfully confused~! Who likes who? Who wants what? This is better than a Spanish soap opera.
The ending is so sad D: When France gets back to normal, America's gonna be all 'wut' if England tries getting it on with him. And then England will either kill France dead or not find out what happened. And France will be forever alone either way ;u;
Unless you manage to resolve this some other way, author!anon, that my uncreative imagination can't possibly muster. I'm awaiting the next install like woaaah :I
France couldn’t stop thinking about what England had told him. Those simple, amazing, scaring, revealing words kept twirling inside his mind, dizzying him in a way he had never experienced before. It’s not like no one had ever said them to him before, but to hear them from England’s mouth, to see England tell him so, felt really different from the other times, they felt much more worth the effort.
And it was turning him on, maybe a little too much. France was managing to control himself, though.
It was only when they arrived back in London just a little before midnight, and England parked, hastily opened his open his door, and motioned France to follow him, that France felt that lust take him over again. England waited for him to get off the car, and, unexpectedly, tentatively took France’s hand, blushing as he did so, dragging them both into England’s apartment.
England didn’t let go when he opened the door, nor when he closed it again besides them. The gesture was so meaningful, that France couldn’t help himself anymore and pinned England against the door. All thoughts flew out of his head, when he realized that England wasn’t trying to free himself, as he had everything time France had done the same, either seriously or not. France immediately attacked England’s neck with kisses, and England moved his head enough to show a little more of skin.
England’s hands were trying to take the T-shirt off France, his cold fingers making France hiss slightly. England then moved his head up and found France’s lips. His eyes were closed, and, for a moment, France wanted him to open them, to see into that green, been swallowed by it, before he closed them too and let England kiss passionately.
There was something frenzy in the way England suddenly took off his still wet shirt and dropped it carelessly on the floor. France felt that what was happening was too amazing to describe it with words, so he stopped thinking altogether and just felt. They suddenly broke apart as England let go of France, stared at him straight in the eyes for a long, significant moment, and made a bee line to the stairs. They didn’t need words, because France knew what he had to do. He followed England up the stairs, and when France made the first step in England’s bedroom, England slammed him to the door and started kissing him again, back to where they were a second before.
“I love you.” France suddenly said. He almost made to say so in French, but managed to revert back in English in time.
“I know.” England whispered. His fingers were all over France’s body, his eyes were closed, France couldn’t only think about England and nothing else. “I always knew.”
France’s fingers ran through England’s hair, his thumb caressed England’s eyebrows, England’s eyes, England’s cheeks and, finally, England’s soft spot. The island opened his mouth a little at that, in surprise, and France, taking advantage of it, carried England in his arms and over to where the bed was.
“Idiot…!” England exclaimed, as he was carelessly dropped on the mattress. France smiled and then started kissing England again. England kissed back, pressed his whole body against France, and found the other’s face with his hands. England broke the kiss once more then, moved his neck and started kissing France’s jaw line, making France look on his right.
It happened then.
France’s eyes found the mirror, and saw America staring at him, with England’s arms around his shoulders. He was slightly panting, his hair was a mess, and his glasses were missing, but it was without any trace of doubt America. Everything shattered, as France suddenly stilled. America looked surprised, annoyed even, and France’s heart started to beat franticly against his chest, as England rose on his eyebrows and kissed America on the cheek.
France (America) suddenly pushed England away and stood abruptly up, facing the mirror. America stared at him, panicked, angry, upset and guilty. France looked at him, wondered if he ever saw America looking that way, until he realized how stupid that sounded. He groaned, and hid his face in his hands.
What was he doing? What was he fucking doing? France ran a hand through his hair, approached America in the mirror, and looked into those blue, naïve eyes. He had promised not to do anything stupid, not only to Canada, but to himself too.
America was still staring at him, the face mirroring France’s every emotion. France couldn’t take the look anymore and looked down, only to find America looking at him from the photos lined under England’s mirror.
“I can’t do it.” France suddenly said. America was everywhere. “You don’t love me.”
No matter how much he wanted it, no matter how much England wanted it, France couldn’t do it. As long as he was America, as long as England wanted America, he couldn’t do it. It was dishonest for everyone. For America. For England.
For him.
He saw England move behind him in the mirror and stand up.
“What?” England’s voice sounded honestly surprised. France wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, but couldn’t.
“You don’t love me.” France repeated. He glanced at every photo England had of America, until his eyes stopped to the only one England had of France. He decided to concentrate on that instead, and to forget America’s face for a moment. He hadn’t realized how much his hands were shaking, until he picked the photo up.
What was he doing? He told himself again. He had completely forgotten that he was America. He had completely forgotten that England had said those things to America, that he was sure he was talking to America.
(England had wanted America since the Second World War, or maybe even before that, but France couldn’t remember if England had told him it had been a crush or it had been love and, seriously, France didn’t care, because he wasn’t part of the equation anyway… and what was he saying now….)
He felt England stand behind him, and remained silent, probably expecting France to say something more. But France was just staring at the picture in his hands, at that arm around England’s shoulders, and how they were never meant to be like that. Suddenly England grabbed the photograph from France’s hands, in the same fashion he had done some days before. France couldn’t ignore him anymore, and turned to face England.
“France.” England said then, he looked angry, humiliated, “You seriously think I love HIM?”
England put the photo back in its place, then grabbed his shoulders and made him look at him. France stared at England’s angry, confused eyes, and gently pushed the other away.
“Have you understood a word of what I told you?” England said then, punching France hard in the arm.
“I did.” France said, ignoring the pain, and made his way to the door. He had to get out of there. But first he had to make amends somehow, only he didn’t know how. “I’m sorry, England. We weren’t thinking straight.”
“Of course we weren’t!” England suddenly exclaimed, and dropped down on the bed, hiding his face with his hands.
“We are moving too fast.” France said then. How cliché that sounded. France wanted to slap himself.
“Seriously…” England groaned behind his hands, but didn’t add anything else.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-14 05:34 pm (UTC)(link)“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.”
Re: Love me the "American" way [6d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-14 09:41 pm (UTC)(link)I feel bad for France because he's probably just doin' what he'd do if he wasn't in America-form But because he looks like America, England's being responsive to it, though at least France is worrying about how it'd affect England and America's relationship. Nobody's really a 'bad guy' here, I like that in particular about this fic.
I can't really say I blame him for doing what he did, even considering the circumstances, but I'm wondering why England, if he wants America so badly, would turn him down. Does he suspect something? I'll just have to wait and see.
Hng I must say I lol'd at the idea of France just forgetting to get dressed. xD
Re: Love me the "American" way [6d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-15 03:17 am (UTC)(link)I can't see this ending well for France at the moment. Don't get me wrong, I like your France, it's just that he's breaking my heart with all of this.
France, mon cher, stop hurting yourself.;_;Re: Love me the "American" way [6d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-15 10:44 am (UTC)(link)I would think, in order to have a happy ending in this story as the OP wants, England has to reject a sexual relationship with America. Even if it's France!America. Or America!France, whatever. IMHO
Love me the "American" way [7a/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-19 12:31 pm (UTC)(link)------------------------------------------------------------------
Neither of them talked about the kiss that evening. To France it felt like it was a secret that neither of them should ever think about anymore, and for the first time in his long live, he seriously couldn’t understand what went on inside England’s mind.
The next morning, though, everything returned back to normal. France tried this time to not forget to put his clothes (and most importantly his fake glasses) on and tried to cook something simpler for breakfast. England seemed reassured by the fried eggs and the beacon waiting for him in the kitchen, and while France made coffee for himself, England started preparing his tea, as if they had been spending the mornings together since forever.
But then something unexpectedly happened: England’s phone rang, and England stood up, eyebrow raised, and made to get the call. On the other hand, France’s almost chocked on his coffee at the sound. For a moment France seriously thought it was America who had decided to ring at that time of the hour and immediately let go of his mug to follow England to the living room.
“Hello? Arthur Kirkland here.” England stated, shooting a glance at France, who stared at him from the kitchen’s doorframe. “Oh, hello Germany.”
France let out a sigh of relief and made to return back to his coffee, when something else caught his attention.
“Okay, I understand.” England said after a long moment of pause, “By the way, Germany. It’s not as if I’m interested or something, but… has you seen France recently? He’s been too quiet lately.”
France’s heart skipped a beat and turned around to look at England, who was looking down at his fingernails as if nothing was the matter. Germany must have said something, though, because England’s eyebrow suddenly propped up, and he stopped staring at his fingers for good.
“He’s sick?” England opened his mouth, then he suddenly looked angry. “No, he hasn’t called me. The bastard. Well, anyway…” England’s lips became a thin line, “Yeah, see you in a few.” And he hung up. France watched as England made his way to the second floor.
“Is something wrong?” France decided to ask then, but England didn’t hear him. Some minutes later, England came back down, dressed and ready to go. He looked up at France, as if it was the first time he saw him and said:
“Oh, ehm…” England put his coat on, “I need to meet Germany now. The bastard doesn’t understand what the phrase ‘I took the week off’ means. But, anyway…” he looked once more over to where France was standing, “You don’t mind if I leave for a couple of hours, do you?”
“No. I’ll find someway to entertain myself, don’t worry.” France said with a smile. England nodded, took his keys and opened the front door. England shot another look at France, smiled a little and closed the door behind him. France sighed and decided to spend the day watching television. He was ready to turn the TV on, that, suddenly, France’s mobile rang. He wondered who would want him at that hour of the morning, and answered. It was his boss.
“Hello?”
It felt strange to talk in his language, in that body, but France had to admit that it felt kind of nice too.
“How are you?” his boss said in French from the other line, “Are you feeling any better?”
“Yes and no. It’s quite hard to explain.”
“I just wanted to tell you that I need you to sign some documents. I hope you are not sick enough for this. Benoit will come to your place in an hour or so. It’s not going to take long, I promise.”
“Benoit is going to my house?” France suddenly exclaimed.
“Going?” the boss said, suddenly suspicious. “Aren’t you at home?”
“I am!” France immediately said, “I am! Well, I hope is not going to take long. I really need to recover.”
“No, no.” his boss said. “I hope to hear from you soon then.” And hung up.
Love me the "American" way [7b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-19 12:32 pm (UTC)(link)He put the first coat he found on and immediately left England’s apartment. He needed to hurry, and for once he was glad about Benoit’s notorious punctuality. He managed to get back to Paris in an hour, and when he finally arrived home there still was no trace of Benoit. He needed a plan quickly. He hoped Benoit didn’t need to see France in person, or he was busted.
Ten minutes after he closed the front door behind him, Benoit finally rang his doorbell. France swore and in his haste to get to the door, dropped one of his favorite vases on the floor.
“Shit!” he swore.
“France? Is everything alright?” someone asked in French from the other side, but what France immediately realized was that it wasn’t Benoit.
“Canada?” he swore out loud as Canada rang his doorbell again.
“I heard you were sick so I came to see how you were… Are you okay? France?”
France wanted to die. He wondered if he should just pretend not being home, but he immediately realized that it wasn’t a good plan at all. What should he do? What should he do? He sighed, cursed himself for what he was going to do, and suddenly opened the door.
To say Canada was shocked would be an understatement. Canada stared at America’s face for a long moment, blinking, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of the water, and then Canada suddenly exclaimed:
“What are you doing here, eh?” Canada started, “I talked to you before I made my way to Europe. How did you manage to get here before me, eh?”
“Canada, I… ehm…” France wanted the earth to open up and eat him whole, for as soon as France said his name, Canada’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“How…” then suddenly he widened his eyes and with shaking voice asked, “You are not America, right?”
“I…!” France wondered how Canada managed to tell, but he didn’t have the time to ask that Canada suddenly made a step backwards, in panic.
“Who are you?” Canada exclaimed, “What is going on? I—!”
“It’s me, France!” suddenly said in his mother-tongue, “Oh, God. Come in!” he grabbed Canada by the shirt and dragged him inside. Canada didn’t complain and just stared at France, ready to pass out.
“A-America? F-France?” Canada was pale, “What is going on?”
France sighed, run a hand through his now short hair and made to talk. As if on cue, someone rang on the doorbell. France swore once more and opened the door. This time it was really Benoit, carrying a black bag full with documents. The young man stared up at him, he was new in the business and so he didn’t know what America looked like, but he knew for a fact that the man that had opened the door to him wasn’t France. He raised an eyebrow and asked:
“Excuse me, but isn’t this Francis Bonnefoy’s house?”
“Of course, it is!” France said with a smile, ignoring Canada’s lament behind him, “But Francis doesn’t feel that well so much now and asked me to open the door. You must be Benoit, right?”
The man’s suspicion suddenly became less, and he nodded at France.
“Yes. I’m here to give him some documents to sign.”
“Of course, of course. I know all about it.” France smiled at Benoit once more, “Give them to me and Francis will sign them in a moment.”
“I need to see him in person.” Benoit tried to complaint.
“He can’t.” France stated, grabbed Benoit’s bag from the young man’s hands and continued, ignoring Benoit’s protests: “He needs to sign all of this papers?”
“O-only those in the green folder, but…!”
“Okay! They’ll be ready in a second!” France exclaimed and shut the door in Benoit’s face. He opened the black bag, took the green folder out and searched around the house for a pen. He had totally forgotten about Canada, and only when the other handed him a pen did France remember that he had another problem to solve.
“America doesn’t talk French and he doesn’t notice me.” Canada said, still looking pale, but less surprised that before. France took the pen and started checking the documents out. “So you must be really France.”
Love me the "American" way [7c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-19 12:33 pm (UTC)(link)“What happened?”
“I don’t know.” France said, honestly, while reading the next document at hand, “I just woke up looking like America.”
There was another long moment of silent. Canada couldn’t believe his ears. He tried to find a logical explanation, but nothing seemed good enough. In the end, he decided to just believe to the unbelievable:
“That’s why you told everyone you are sick?”
“Yes.”
“And what have you been doing all this time?” Canada asked, suddenly worried. “Have you done something about it? Have you asked England’s opinion on this?”
This took France by surprise and looked back at Canada, astounded.
“Why should I do that?”
It was Canada’s time to look surprised:
“Well, he knows about this kind of stuff! Magic, body swaps, and fairies are his kind of thing, after all.” He said, “Maybe he could help.”
“I’ve been to England…” France cut shortly, returning back to his documents, hiding his face from Canada.
“And?”
“And what?” France signed the last one and put everything back in the green folder.
“And have you asked him?”
France put the folder in the bag, closed it and opened the door once more. Benoit was still waiting patiently outside. As soon as France opened the door, Benoit opened his mouth to protest once more, but France just handed him the bag and shut the door again. Canada watched every movement of his, his arms crossed over his chest and his face calmer by the second.
“Have you?” Canada asked once more. France ignored him. “Then what have you been doing in England?” Canada’s eyes grown suspicious. France turned his back to him.
“Don’t tell me…” Canada suddenly shot up from the couch, and France sighed.
“I thought it would be a good plan!”
“It’s not!” Canada retorted, and then his mouth became a little ‘o’. “Tell me you didn’t…!”
“No.” France said, “What did you take me for?”
Canada snorted. France shot him a murderous look, but then, he suddenly turned around and grabbed Canada’s shoulders.
“Please, don’t tell anyone about it!” France pleaded, “Don’t! I won’t forgive you if you do!”
Canada stared at him for a long moment, confused and worried at the same time.
“I…”
“Especially not England!” France admonished then. “He mustn’t know!”
Canada stared at him for a long, silent moment, then sighed and run a hand through his messy (so alike France’s) hair. He nodded, once, slowly, and France felt suddenly better with himself.
“I’m not going to, as long as you don’t do anything stupid.” Canada said then.
“Trust papa, I won’t.” France grinned and let go of Canada’s shoulder. Canada raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. On the contrary, he just said:
“It’s weird listening to America talk French and call himself my ‘papa’.”
“Sometimes I forget I look like America…” France said and made his way to the door. Canada followed him. Benoit was nowhere to be seen, France noted, and as soon as Canada came out of the house, he closed the front door with his keys.
Love me the "American" way [7d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-19 12:35 pm (UTC)(link)France decided to ignore that statement too. They were ready to leave, when suddenly another familiar figure came suddenly into view. France didn’t notice him until it was too late, and it was Canada that gave the alarm:
“E-Engl—!”
France raised an eyebrow, but understood what Canada wanted to tell him only when he suddenly heard someone shout at him:
“What the hell are you doing here?”
France turned around and came face to face with England. That day couldn’t get any worse! He cursed himself, shot a conspiratorial look at Canada, who just sighed and mumbled something that seemed like ‘Maple’ or something, and then turned to look at England. England stopped before them, his hands on his hips, and raised an eyebrow at France, who decided to be a good American and grin.
“I overheard France wasn’t okay, so I decided to check out!” he said. He was so good at lying now, he should be proud of himself. (But he wasn’t, he just felt worse). “Why are you here?” he asked then, emphasizing his ‘you’ with a raise of the eyebrows. England seemed taken aback by the sudden question. Suddenly on edge, England turned away, blushed, for a moment he even looked angry, and suddenly marched over to France’s front door, determined.
“Have you seen him?” England asked instead, ready to ring France’s doorbell. France suddenly grabbed the island’s hand and pulled him a little closer and away from the door. “What the bloody…!”
“He is really sick!” France said, for a moment he sounded exactly as America did when he told a lie. He hoped England wouldn’t notice.
(But, hell, England had raised America, and the guy had a crush on him. Wouldn’t he notice? How stupid of France to hope.)
“And he doesn’t want to see anyone right now!” France added then. England abruptly turned to look at him, his eyes wide open.
“But he let you in! You said you saw him!”
“Yeah… ehm…” France tried to find an excuse, but England had already found one way before France did. England suddenly looked really angry.
“So, the correct phrase would be: he doesn’t want to see ME!” England exclaimed and, suddenly, gave a hard kick on France’s front door. “You WANKER!” England suddenly shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I hope you die a painful death, git! And to think I was… I was! Argh! I won’t bother, ever again!” England gave another hard kick. France’s breath hitched and Canada shot a worried look at them both.
“England, maybe he has a good reason…” Canada tried to say. England suddenly turned around to him, finally noticing Canada’s presence.
“You saw him too?” England exclaimed instead, cutting Canada off. “You slimy, you… you!!” England suddenly turned around to the door again. “Why do I keep caring!” he suddenly shot his arms to the air and abruptly made his way back to the main road. France sighed. Canada just looked really guilty.
Love me the "American" way [7e/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-19 12:35 pm (UTC)(link)France noticed England abruptly turn around once more at Canada’s words. He looked really angry, his cheeks red and his hands into fists.
“Yes.” France said, “See you soon.”
Canada nodded, tried to smile, but then just turned around and took his leave. England had come all the way to Paris by car, it seemed, as France suddenly noticed England’s car parked before the building. England was waiting for him.
“Get in the car.” England suddenly ordered. France couldn’t understand why England suddenly looked so threatening. “Get in the car. Right now.”
France would have protested, but England got into the driver’s seat and silently threatened him to leave him in Paris alone, so he complied. England put the key in the ignition and started the engine. He shot a look at France, who tried to crack a joke.
“I don’t understand why you keep insisting on driving on the wrong side of the road.”
“It’s not the wrong side, git.” England said, “You all drive wrong.”
It hadn’t work, so France decided to change subject.
“Where are we going?”
“Home, of course…” England said, then he thought it over and said: “No. Let’s go to the countryside instead, away from London. I need some air.”
France sighed and looked out of the window for the rest of the drive. England kept driving in silence for the next three hours. he looked really lost in though, as if he was fighting an internal battle with his mind. France tried to put some music on, just to break the silence. England let him.
Three hours later, they were driving in one of England’s countryside’s roads. Threatening grey clouds covered the whole area, and, abruptly England made a detour. France didn’t know where they were heading; all he knew was that it was deserted. Suddenly, England stopped the car, and without another word got off. France watched him go, as the first droplets of water started to fall, and decided to follow him outside. Everything was green and lonely around them, and France suddenly pictured England’s eyes in his head.
England suddenly turned around, approached France and grabbed him by his shirt.
“I’m an idiot…”, he whispered and, without another word, kissed France directly on the lips, hard. France didn’t feel like complaining, but he couldn’t do but wonder why England was kissing him like that all so suddenly. England wasn’t letting go of him. He pulled him even closer, and France unconsciously wrapped his arms around the other’s waist. England made an abrupt movement, and France’s fake glasses fell on the already wet grass.
Then it started raining.
Re: Love me the "American" way [7e/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-19 04:58 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Love me the "American" way [7e/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-19 10:53 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Love me the "American" way [7e/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-20 12:02 am (UTC)(link)First of all, I wonder what Canada is going to do with this information ;u; Can he be trusted? He's sweet and caring... but that caring could be directed towards his brother. He seems suspicious of France enough here, I wonder if he'll tell America.
And then England. His showing up at France's house was very telling. Especially what he said there. Methinks maybe he's staring to care for France? It looks like he's torn between France and 'America' now. ;u; But that cliffhanger... Has he made his choice? I'll have to wait and see...
The whole fic is a whirl of delicious layered angst, anon. Can't wait for more! <3 <3
Re: Love me the "American" way [7e/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-20 06:52 am (UTC)(link)I don't care how it ends, I'm just curious where it goes, anon!
Love me the "American" way [8a/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 10:01 am (UTC)(link)France felt the coat sticky against his skin. He took it off, dropped it on the back seats and decided to do something useful, leaned over where England sat completely still, and started the car. The island glanced at him, as France turned the heat on.
“We are going to catch a cold.” France said matter-of-fact-ly, noticing England’s confused look. France gazed into the other’s green eyes, as the other slowly nodded, took his own coat off, and dropped it behind with France’s one. England looked once more back at him, and France unexpectedly felt England’s fingers on his cheeks.
France sighed, as England ran his thumb over the skin under France’s eye.
“You know…” England suddenly whispered. France looked at him and took his hand. It was cold. “Since the day I met you, you always had that glimmer in your eyes.”
“Is that so?” France asked, unconsciously bringing England’s finger near his lips. England kept staring at him, as France lightly kissed England’s index’s tip, but before France could do anything else, England pulled his hand abruptly away.
“What is it, England?” France asked, suddenly worried. England bit his lips, but then shook his head. He remained silent for a moment, before he out of the blue said:
“America?”
“Yes?” France readily answered. England smiled a little, and leaned against his seat.
“Let’s play a game.” England stated then, taking France totally aback.
“What game?”
“Let’s told each other something the other absolutely doesn’t know.”
“But you know everything about me.” France protested, quite amused. England snorted, and looked outside the window once more.
“No, I don’t.”
The rain tapped hard against the car. France could only imagine how cold it was outside, but inside it was warm and nice. He didn’t really mind playing a game in that atmosphere.
“Do you want me to start?” France asked then, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
“Okay….” France took a deep breath and looked outside the window. “I loved a woman once. A mortal.”
England turned to look at him, startled.
“A mortal?” he asked, surprised.
“If she didn’t have to do what she needed to do, and if I wasn’t a nation, I would have married her, and I would have spent all my mortal life with her.” France kept staring outside, “And when she died. I seriously wanted to die too; I would have tried everything to put an end to this immortality.”
“And then?”
France smiled and looked at England.
“And then I found another reason to go on.”
“Ah…” there was a long moment of silence. “Did you fall in love with me then?”
“At first it wasn’t love.” France frankly said.
“Ah…”
“But, now that I think about it, I don’t think it was hate either…”
“Ah…” England seemed confused. He furrowed his eyebrows, and seemed lost in thought for a long moment. France sighed and playfully punched his arm:
“Now it’s your turn.”
“I feel magic.” England promptly said, staring straight into France’s eyes, “I mean.” He looked down, thought his words over, and then looked at France again. “I understand when something magical is happening, even if I don’t understand exactly what it is.”
“Like if there’s a fairy in the vicinity?” France asked, amused.
“Yes, just like that. They are difficult to track, if they don’t want to be found, but I can still feel them if I concentrate hard enough.”
“That’s not really something I didn’t know, England.” France suddenly laughed, “I know you believe in magic!” he grinned. England’s twisted his lips, but then smiled back.
“I guess so… then… should I say something else?”
Love me the "American" way [8b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 10:05 am (UTC)(link)“Okay then. Here goes something you really don’t know.” he sighed, “I started liking someone a long time ago.”
France raised an eyebrow. He knew England was talking about America, but he wondered if he should tell England so. He decided to pretend not to know.
“But I’m not really good at understanding my own emotions, so I understood I loved him only later.”
“When exactly?” France asked, curious. It was something he wanted to know since forever. When exactly had England understood that he had a crush on America?
“In the Second War.” England said, sure of himself. France nodded. He thought England had loved America way back, but the fact that England realized only in the Second War surprised him.
“Why?” he asked.
“I thought I had lost him.” England said, his voice breaking a little. England cleared his throat, trying to disguise the sudden emotion. Nevertheless it didn’t work, because, as France looked over at England, he immediately noticed the way the island’s lips still trembled slightly, and he knew that, even after all this years, whatever had happened still affected him deeply. France tried to imagine what had happened to America that had terrified England so much. He could think about a couple of things, but he didn’t really want to ask.
“Anyway…” England said, sighing, “I decided to ignore my feelings, of course. But now I can’t anymore, because I feel like I fell in love with this guy once again.”
“Ah…” France felt his hands shake, so he hid them under his armpits. England kept talking:
“I was so angry when I realized I did. I was upset. I felt… I felt…” England ran a hand through his hair once more, and looked outside at the thick rain. “I was angry.” He repeated. “But when I saw how much this person is trying to win me over, how he is trying to make me happy, forgetting his own happiness in the meantime… well… I can’t ignore something as big as that…”
France stared at the back of England’s neck. He was confused. Who was England referring to now? America or France? It was France that had been trying to win England over all this time.
‘But I’m America now’. France thought then, and something churned inside him. He was America. England thought he was America, that it was America that was trying to win England over. England had fallen in love with America.
“That’s all I had to say.” England said then, turning back to France and smiled at him. “Do you understand?”
“I think I do.” France said, and England smiled. France thought he was blushing too, and he knew that he had said the right thing, because if he hadn’t, England would have sure smacked his face against the window, for letting him open up like that. There was a long moment of silence, in which England seemed torn between embarrassment, happiness and just a little bit of anger. Minutes passed, the rain slowly became lighter, and France suddenly realized that they had to eat since morning.
“Do you know if there’s a restaurant around here, or something?” he asked, knowing fully well how inappropriate such a question sounded right then. He supposed that America would have asked the same thing, so he didn’t really dwell on it much longer.
“Yes, there is a nice and cheap one twenty minutes from here.” England answered, after getting over his first shock. They finally left the deserted country road, and returned back to the main one. Twenty minutes later they were before the restaurant, exactly as England had said.
“Let’s go, then!” France said, as the prospect of food put him in a relatively good mood. He got off the car, and went to open England’s door. England stared shocked at the hand France was offering him, and then pouted.
Love me the "American" way [8c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 10:07 am (UTC)(link)They ate, talking about nothing and everything, feeling comfortable with each other presence, forgetting what happened between them just an hour before. When they returned back to the street, the rain had finally stopped and the sky was clearing up. France finally realized they were near the sea, in one of England’s fishing villages. Now that the rain was over, France could appreciate the beauty of the houses, the cobbled street, and the fresh air.
“…and you should have seen China, England!” France said, as they walked down the seashore, “God! The look on his face!”
“What about Korea?”
“Korea wouldn’t leave China for two whole months after that!” France said, smiling. England snorted.
“He wouldn’t leave China even if we paid him.”
“That’s true too.” France said, and England laughed. “Anyway, you should have been there, I really would have wanted to hear your sarcastic remark on the matter.”
“I’m not sarcastic!” England immediately protested. France raised an eyebrow, England’s lips turned into a thin line, but everyone could see he was trying hard not to laugh. England was stubborn; he covered his mouth with one hand, and almost turned red from the effort not to laugh. France found the thing amusing, and when England turned around and faced away from France, France decided it would be an all right thing to just pinch England’s butt.
“What did you do that for?” England suddenly exclaimed, turning to look back at France. The latter shrugged, and pointed at England’s lips.
“You wanted to hide your smile from me!”
“I wasn’t smiling!” England retorted, and put a hand where France had pinched him.
“Why deny it, England?” France said, grinning, “You have some awful eyebrows, but when you smile, your face is so beautiful! Why hide it?”
“You are such an idiot.” England said. “And no more comment on my eyebrows. Thank you.”
“That’s difficult. They are always there!” France teased. England shot him a nasty look.
“Don’t look at me then.”
“I can’t.” France said, his hand finding England’s one. “You are amazing. Even with those awful eyebrows, even if you are sarcastic and like to argue with me all the time, even when you say one thing and mean another, even when you hate me, I feel like I’m missing something, if I don’t look at you at least once a day.”
“Where did that cheesy line come from?” England said, holding France’s hand.
“It’s the truth.”
“Bullshit.”
Love me the "American" way [8c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 10:10 am (UTC)(link)They returned back to the car, and made a silent agreement to should go back to London. France put some music on as England drove, and he watched the landscape change outside. He looked at the green hills, and thought about England’s eyes, he looked at the sea, and thought about England’s temper, he looked at the sky above, and thought about England’s mood. He thought about how once upon a time, million and million of years ago, he and England used to be one. He would have liked to remember that time, but he couldn’t, because they both were born when their land had already parted. He thought about their history, their alliances, and how much they constantly took each other for granted.
“You are so silent…” England suddenly said, pushing France out of his thoughts.
“I was thinking.” France said.
“What about?”
“You.” France honestly said. England kept driving. “How much I want you.” He added then, turning to face England. What he said made England press hard on the accelerator, but, fortunately, England regained composure immediately after and they didn’t risk going off the road.
England glanced at him, his hands clutching the wheel tightly.
“W-well… w-ell…” England stuttered, his eyes on the road before them, “You, well…. I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Of course.” France said, smiling a little.
“B-but…” England added then, surprising both of them. France looked at England, stared at him, waited for what England wanted to say, but was too scared to. “But you, well… you can have me…”.
A whisper, but France heard it as if England was shouting it at the top of his lungs.
Re: Love me the "American" way [8c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 06:28 pm (UTC)(link)The ending is so sad D: When France gets back to normal, America's gonna be all 'wut' if England tries getting it on with him. And then England will either kill France dead or not find out what happened. And France will be forever alone either way ;u;
Unless you manage to resolve this some other way, author!anon, that my uncreative imagination can't possibly muster. I'm awaiting the next install like woaaah :I
Re: Love me the "American" way [8c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-22 07:31 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Love me the "American" way [8c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-24 03:47 am (UTC)(link)Re: Love me the "American" way [8c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-23 01:35 pm (UTC)(link)Love me the "American" way [9a/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-29 12:09 pm (UTC)(link)And it was turning him on, maybe a little too much. France was managing to control himself, though.
It was only when they arrived back in London just a little before midnight, and England parked, hastily opened his open his door, and motioned France to follow him, that France felt that lust take him over again. England waited for him to get off the car, and, unexpectedly, tentatively took France’s hand, blushing as he did so, dragging them both into England’s apartment.
England didn’t let go when he opened the door, nor when he closed it again besides them. The gesture was so meaningful, that France couldn’t help himself anymore and pinned England against the door. All thoughts flew out of his head, when he realized that England wasn’t trying to free himself, as he had everything time France had done the same, either seriously or not. France immediately attacked England’s neck with kisses, and England moved his head enough to show a little more of skin.
England’s hands were trying to take the T-shirt off France, his cold fingers making France hiss slightly. England then moved his head up and found France’s lips. His eyes were closed, and, for a moment, France wanted him to open them, to see into that green, been swallowed by it, before he closed them too and let England kiss passionately.
There was something frenzy in the way England suddenly took off his still wet shirt and dropped it carelessly on the floor. France felt that what was happening was too amazing to describe it with words, so he stopped thinking altogether and just felt. They suddenly broke apart as England let go of France, stared at him straight in the eyes for a long, significant moment, and made a bee line to the stairs. They didn’t need words, because France knew what he had to do. He followed England up the stairs, and when France made the first step in England’s bedroom, England slammed him to the door and started kissing him again, back to where they were a second before.
“I love you.” France suddenly said. He almost made to say so in French, but managed to revert back in English in time.
“I know.” England whispered. His fingers were all over France’s body, his eyes were closed, France couldn’t only think about England and nothing else. “I always knew.”
France’s fingers ran through England’s hair, his thumb caressed England’s eyebrows, England’s eyes, England’s cheeks and, finally, England’s soft spot. The island opened his mouth a little at that, in surprise, and France, taking advantage of it, carried England in his arms and over to where the bed was.
“Idiot…!” England exclaimed, as he was carelessly dropped on the mattress. France smiled and then started kissing England again. England kissed back, pressed his whole body against France, and found the other’s face with his hands. England broke the kiss once more then, moved his neck and started kissing France’s jaw line, making France look on his right.
It happened then.
France’s eyes found the mirror, and saw America staring at him, with England’s arms around his shoulders. He was slightly panting, his hair was a mess, and his glasses were missing, but it was without any trace of doubt America. Everything shattered, as France suddenly stilled. America looked surprised, annoyed even, and France’s heart started to beat franticly against his chest, as England rose on his eyebrows and kissed America on the cheek.
Love me the "American" way [9b/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-29 12:09 pm (UTC)(link)What was he doing? What was he fucking doing? France ran a hand through his hair, approached America in the mirror, and looked into those blue, naïve eyes. He had promised not to do anything stupid, not only to Canada, but to himself too.
America was still staring at him, the face mirroring France’s every emotion. France couldn’t take the look anymore and looked down, only to find America looking at him from the photos lined under England’s mirror.
“I can’t do it.” France suddenly said. America was everywhere. “You don’t love me.”
No matter how much he wanted it, no matter how much England wanted it, France couldn’t do it. As long as he was America, as long as England wanted America, he couldn’t do it. It was dishonest for everyone. For America. For England.
For him.
He saw England move behind him in the mirror and stand up.
“What?” England’s voice sounded honestly surprised. France wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, but couldn’t.
“You don’t love me.” France repeated. He glanced at every photo England had of America, until his eyes stopped to the only one England had of France. He decided to concentrate on that instead, and to forget America’s face for a moment. He hadn’t realized how much his hands were shaking, until he picked the photo up.
What was he doing? He told himself again. He had completely forgotten that he was America. He had completely forgotten that England had said those things to America, that he was sure he was talking to America.
(England had wanted America since the Second World War, or maybe even before that, but France couldn’t remember if England had told him it had been a crush or it had been love and, seriously, France didn’t care, because he wasn’t part of the equation anyway… and what was he saying now….)
He felt England stand behind him, and remained silent, probably expecting France to say something more. But France was just staring at the picture in his hands, at that arm around England’s shoulders, and how they were never meant to be like that. Suddenly England grabbed the photograph from France’s hands, in the same fashion he had done some days before. France couldn’t ignore him anymore, and turned to face England.
“France.” England said then, he looked angry, humiliated, “You seriously think I love HIM?”
England put the photo back in its place, then grabbed his shoulders and made him look at him. France stared at England’s angry, confused eyes, and gently pushed the other away.
“Have you understood a word of what I told you?” England said then, punching France hard in the arm.
“I did.” France said, ignoring the pain, and made his way to the door. He had to get out of there. But first he had to make amends somehow, only he didn’t know how. “I’m sorry, England. We weren’t thinking straight.”
“Of course we weren’t!” England suddenly exclaimed, and dropped down on the bed, hiding his face with his hands.
“We are moving too fast.” France said then. How cliché that sounded. France wanted to slap himself.
“Seriously…” England groaned behind his hands, but didn’t add anything else.
Love me the "American" way [9c/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-29 12:10 (UTC) - ExpandLove me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-29 12:11 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-29 13:06 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-29 14:26 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-29 16:02 (UTC) - Expand(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-29 20:29 (UTC) - Expand(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-29 21:22 (UTC) - Expand(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-01 12:23 (UTC) - Expand(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-02 02:12 (UTC) - Expand(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-02 07:28 (UTC) - Expand(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-02 08:09 (UTC) - Expand(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-02 08:13 (UTC) - Expand(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-02 08:36 (UTC) - Expand(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
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(Anonymous) - 2012-03-01 19:22 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-01 16:38 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-01 21:55 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-02 09:29 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-02 20:18 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-08 19:10 (UTC) - ExpandLove me the "American" way [10a/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-09 19:19 (UTC) - ExpandLove me the "American" way [10b/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-09 19:20 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [10c/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-09 19:21 (UTC) - ExpandLove me the "American" way [10d/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-09 19:27 (UTC) - ExpandLove me the "American" way [10e/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-09 19:28 (UTC) - ExpandLove me the "American" way [10f/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-09 19:36 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-09 22:58 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [10f/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-10 00:33 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [10f/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-10 17:25 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [10f/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-13 16:29 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Love me the "American" way [10f/10]
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-13 20:05 (UTC) - ExpandA!A here
(Anonymous) - 2012-04-01 11:33 (UTC) - Expand