“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.
“Can we pretend this didn’t happen?” France asked then, and realized how wrong that sounded. How could he make everything better? How could he disappear from England’s life, without hurting either England or America? How could he make England not go up to America and make a fool of himself?
“I should have thought it over better.” France said to himself. He looked at England, who remained still on the bed, and cursed himself, because he still wanted to go back over to England and start kissing him again all over. Hadn’t he done enough damage?
“Yes, okay.” England said then, unexpectedly, taking France totally by surprise.
“See you, then…” France said, trying to look nonchalant and not at all hurt. England was still not looking at him. France took it as a clue to leave. Everything he done from that moment on was mechanical. He opened the door. He went to his bedroom. Packed his things. Put another shirt on. Decided to leave England’s apartment.
When he passed before England’s door again, England was gone, probably in the bathroom, or somewhere France wasn’t invited. He supposed it was better that way, because at least he didn’t have to say something stupid again.
(We weren’t thinking straight. We are moving too fast, and Can we pretend this didn’t happen?, were enough).
He returned back to Paris then. It was dark, and cold, and lonely. France felt like shit. He returned back to his apartment, dropped the bag on the floor, and suddenly felt exhausted. He laid on the couch, and stared at the ceiling.
He wasn’t going to leave his home for a long time, he decided. Canada had been right. France’s whole I-want-to-woo-England-in-America’s-body-plan was pathetic and stupid. He probably managed to ruin a friendship, and no matter how much France could take advantage of that, he felt worse for even giving it a thought. He wondered if he should talk to America.
“In this body?” he asked himself.
Oh, this body. He hated it. If he talked to America in that body, everyone would know and he would be hated by all. Not even his friends would look at him in the eyes from that moment onwards.
Worst of all, he would lose England.
Oh, right. He had already lost him.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Lilly thought of herself as one of the cleverest fairies that worked for England. She knew more spells than any of her colleagues, she was good in history, and, of course, she was one of the few that knew everything about England and, for her, to make him feel better when he was down was a child’s play.
However, this time she felt the stupidest fairy of the whole world. Amanda would be happy. They hated each other with a passion, and Lilly was sure that the other fairy was going to rub it in her face for eons.
This time, though, she didn’t really care. She had done something extremely stupid, and she deserved the teasing. Amanda could take her place in England’s heart.
Lilly was sad.
She had made England miserable. She couldn’t stand seeing him like this: so catatonic, staring at the photos lined under his mirror, as if nothing in this world existed. She tried to cheer him up, but England just shrugged her off.
She didn’t think that her prank would have that kind of effect.
Not only she had made England miserable, but France too wasn’t in an exactly better shape, and even if that had been her initial intention, now she felt bad for the non-believer too.
She hated to admit it, but she had started to like France. She had started to like the way he smiled, so different from America’s usual grin. She had liked the way France tried to make England happy, despite their history full of ups and downs. She had never noticed how much France wanted to stay with England until then.
England didn’t notice Lilly leave. The fairy flied as quickly as her little wings could carry her. She managed to find France, and follow him inside France’s apartment. The non-believer didn’t even notice her, and just dropped down on his couch.
He had England’s same miserable emotion on his face.
She had to do something.
She didn’t know if that was going to work, because the spell she had used wore off by itself and there was no other way to undo it. Lilly thought she could at least make the spell progress a little quicker. She flied over France’s face, stared at those blue eyes and started chanting.
Of course, France didn’t hear anything.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
France was slowly falling asleep.
He thought he saw a little woman with wings flying over his face. He raised an eyebrow and wondered if he was already dreaming.
*sniffle* I love this story, but it's breaking my heart right now! I really need to know whether or not England realizes it's France in America's body. It could honestly go either way from what England says in this chapter and the last. Crossing my fingers for a happy ending!
(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
This fic is my guilty pleasure because I dislike FrUK so much, but this story is very good. Sometimes it seems that England knows it is France instead of America, but he is supposed to love America and still he speaks about France(?)-- what the hell is going on?! Oh how I would love an angsty ending! It wouldn't be fair if France gets to "gain" England's love and everything is jolly happy... Excellent work, A!A.
(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
I dunno about 'fair'..if this is a FrUK universe then I'm fine with it.
I would be annoyed if France slept with England and England found out the truth and WAS jolly happy because France's magic penis solved all the issues..
(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
+1 I wish this fic would stay as USUK<-France, it ending up FrUk would be really disappointing. :( I can't buy England being in love with France rather than America and France is morally the worst of this trio so a hunrded percent happy ending for him would feel off.
(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
gosh i really hope everything turns out fine <:c my heart broke. poor France. This fic is really great A!A. i have a feeling England knows it is France all along.
*crosses fingers for happy ending*
I'm really enjoying the story, author-anon, and looking forward to the next part! I really like the way you've developed the situation without bashing anyone.
France's actions are skeevy, but you've made them very understandable without trying to make it seem like he's in the right, and I, at least, really appreciate that. I'm aching for all three of them. Because France is right, this is probably going to negatively affect England and America's relationship, and in spite of the skeeviness of his current actions, he's basically a decent person. I'm very glad that he stopped short of actually sleeping with England. A lot is going to hinge on whether or not England knows that it's actually France, and if so, whether or not he can forgive him.
(I know how I'd like things to turn out, but that's up to the author, not the readers, and I'll be satisfied with whatever the author decides to do.)
This is a very good story, A!A and I hope the discussion in the comments don't discourage you. I admit that I though this would be USUK or England > America, because of how the prompt was written (France > England > America) but a FrUK ending is great too, provided there's some acknowledgement of how wrong France's actions are. My USUK and FrUK shipper heart is really happy with this fill.
I'm really hoping for a FrUK ending. But I'll be happy with whatever the author chooses, since this story has been great so far. Looking forward to the final chapter!!
Hi!! How you’re doing?? It’s America, of course! My brother told me you were sick, man! I wish I could come and pay a visit, but he told me I should just let you rest! Of course, I would have ignored him, because heroes ALWAYS visit the sick, but my boss doesn’t let me go anywhere these days either. It sucks big time. Well, then! Take care!
- - - - - - - - -
France closed the front door just in time to hear America’s booming voice wishing him a good recovery. He sighed, made a bee line to the kitchen and put his shopping bags on the counter. He put down his keys, took off his coat, and started putting everything in the fridge. He then returned back to the living room, and deleted the message from the answering machine. He decided then he was going to call America back soon and Canada too deserved to be called. He needed to thank him for keeping America away from Europe.
He glanced at the mirror that hanged on one of the walls, and run a hand through his wavy, blond hair. He stared at his face, at his slightly crooked nose, and at his lips. He really liked the fact that America wasn’t staring back at him anymore. He had missed his own face too much. He wondered what happened, why he had looked like America for so long, but nothing he could think of seemed reasonable enough. The economy had been stable, his people had remained the same, and politics had been annoying as usual. The funny thing was that, as suddenly as it had started, he suddenly woke up looking like himself again. France had been so happy to get rid of that American face staring at him (judging him) all day long.
That had been three days ago.
France had talked to Spain, and told him he was back in town. Immediately after telling Spain the news, Spain and Gilbert visited and took him around the city for a drink or two. Italy had been happy for him too, and even brought him a tiramisu with him when he came for a visit. He had finally returned back to work, and even apologized to Benoit for the treatment one of his friends had given him. He had seen almost everyone by then; Spain and Italy being the first of a long series of visits to his house. He had to see England for a week, though, since that evening they almost had sex, and he really didn’t want to see the other face right then. He was sure that he was going to betray himself. It was too soon.
He sighed once more, and picked up his telephone, ready to call America and thank him for the concern, that, suddenly, the doorbell rang. Curious to see who it was France let go of the phone and went to open the door instead. He didn’t check into the peephole, and abruptly came face to face with England himself.
France was so shocked to see England that, for a long moment, he just remained staring at the other’s face, speechless. England stared back at him, his eyebrows furrowing up, perplexed, and his eyes twinkling with something akin to amusement.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” England said suddenly, pushing France away, and went in without much of an invitation. “Or are you still so sick you forgot all your good manners?”
The statement finally made France regain his self-control. He closed the door, and looked behind him to see England putting some folders down on the coffee table. France tried to forget all that had happened between them, and reminded himself that England still didn’t know that he had spent the last week with France instead of America. He decided then to act as he had always acted before England.
“Is that your way of asking me how am I?” France retorted with a grin. England snorted and turned to look at him.
“Don’t be silly. I already know you are sick in the mind and that you are still going to be for a long, really long time.” England crossed his arms, and stared at him in defiance.
“I’m fine, thank you.” France said instead, and looked down at the folders England had brought him. “But I believe this is not a get-well visit, is it?”
“Of course not.” England said, and made a vague gesture over where the folders were standing, “I brought you the paperwork Germany wanted you to do but were too “sick”” he emphasized the last word with quotation marks, “to.”
“I was sick.” France retorted then. England shrugged, but didn’t comment on it. France sighed and sat down on the couch to check the paperwork Germany had sent him via England. Suddenly he felt England sigh, and walk out of the living room. France still didn’t look up and concentrated on the matter at hand instead. Soon enough, though, he realized he really wasn’t in the mood for paperwork, and just went over the fully written pages in the end.
“Why you never have decent tea in your house?” England suddenly exclaimed from the kitchen, and France furrowed his eyebrow together for a moment, before letting out a sigh.
“I didn’t expect you to come.”
“Idiot.”, was England’s response.
France heard England move around the kitchen. He heard him pour water in a kettle he happened to find. The opening and closing of cupboards. The clicking of cups together. A moment later, England was back in the living room, with two steaming cups of the tea France preferred. England pushed the folders away and put the cups on the coffee table, then looked at France, and grabbed the paper he was supposed to be reading. England took it, gave it a glance, snorted, and put it away.
“Hey.” France said, but it didn’t come out as aggressive as he would have wanted. He looked up at England, and England looked down at him. They were so close; France could practically feel England’s scent inside his nostrils. England looked curious for a moment. France supposed he was thinking of something, and made to ask what, that suddenly England leaned down to get closer to his face. Their noses were inches apart, and France stared into England’s green eyes.
“May I try something?” England said then, and even if he stated as a question, to France it felt much more like an order. He didn’t complain when England put his face in his hands, and slightly pulled him closer. Their noses touched. It made France shiver.
“Try what?” he whispered then, even if he already knew the answer. England shrugged once more, France swore he even blushed, and then, suddenly England kissed him on the lips. France’s eyes flattered close. He didn’t know why he felt so surprised that England tasted exactly the same as when he had kissed him the first time. He liked that nothing felt different, and yet, it was.
(England was kissing France this time.)
It didn’t last long, tough. Almost too soon, England pulled away. They looked at each other for a moment in silence, and then England spoke again.
“You don’t feel sick to me.” England stated then, his lips quivering up in an imperceptible smile.
“Is that how you measure fever in your house?” France was amused.
“You are not complaining.” England smirk turned smug.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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 pm (UTC)(link)“I should have thought it over better.” France said to himself. He looked at England, who remained still on the bed, and cursed himself, because he still wanted to go back over to England and start kissing him again all over. Hadn’t he done enough damage?
“Yes, okay.” England said then, unexpectedly, taking France totally by surprise.
“See you, then…” France said, trying to look nonchalant and not at all hurt. England was still not looking at him. France took it as a clue to leave. Everything he done from that moment on was mechanical. He opened the door. He went to his bedroom. Packed his things. Put another shirt on. Decided to leave England’s apartment.
When he passed before England’s door again, England was gone, probably in the bathroom, or somewhere France wasn’t invited. He supposed it was better that way, because at least he didn’t have to say something stupid again.
(We weren’t thinking straight. We are moving too fast, and Can we pretend this didn’t happen?, were enough).
He returned back to Paris then. It was dark, and cold, and lonely. France felt like shit. He returned back to his apartment, dropped the bag on the floor, and suddenly felt exhausted. He laid on the couch, and stared at the ceiling.
He wasn’t going to leave his home for a long time, he decided. Canada had been right. France’s whole I-want-to-woo-England-in-America’s-body-plan was pathetic and stupid. He probably managed to ruin a friendship, and no matter how much France could take advantage of that, he felt worse for even giving it a thought. He wondered if he should talk to America.
“In this body?” he asked himself.
Oh, this body. He hated it. If he talked to America in that body, everyone would know and he would be hated by all. Not even his friends would look at him in the eyes from that moment onwards.
Worst of all, he would lose England.
Oh, right. He had already lost him.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Lilly thought of herself as one of the cleverest fairies that worked for England. She knew more spells than any of her colleagues, she was good in history, and, of course, she was one of the few that knew everything about England and, for her, to make him feel better when he was down was a child’s play.
However, this time she felt the stupidest fairy of the whole world. Amanda would be happy. They hated each other with a passion, and Lilly was sure that the other fairy was going to rub it in her face for eons.
This time, though, she didn’t really care. She had done something extremely stupid, and she deserved the teasing. Amanda could take her place in England’s heart.
Lilly was sad.
She had made England miserable. She couldn’t stand seeing him like this: so catatonic, staring at the photos lined under his mirror, as if nothing in this world existed. She tried to cheer him up, but England just shrugged her off.
She didn’t think that her prank would have that kind of effect.
Not only she had made England miserable, but France too wasn’t in an exactly better shape, and even if that had been her initial intention, now she felt bad for the non-believer too.
She hated to admit it, but she had started to like France. She had started to like the way he smiled, so different from America’s usual grin. She had liked the way France tried to make England happy, despite their history full of ups and downs. She had never noticed how much France wanted to stay with England until then.
Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-29 12:11 pm (UTC)(link)England didn’t notice Lilly leave. The fairy flied as quickly as her little wings could carry her. She managed to find France, and follow him inside France’s apartment. The non-believer didn’t even notice her, and just dropped down on his couch.
He had England’s same miserable emotion on his face.
She had to do something.
She didn’t know if that was going to work, because the spell she had used wore off by itself and there was no other way to undo it. Lilly thought she could at least make the spell progress a little quicker. She flied over France’s face, stared at those blue eyes and started chanting.
Of course, France didn’t hear anything.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
France was slowly falling asleep.
He thought he saw a little woman with wings flying over his face. He raised an eyebrow and wondered if he was already dreaming.
“Oh, so you exist…?” he asked, laughing a little.
Then everything became black.
Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-29 01:06 pm (UTC)(link)OP
(Anonymous) 2012-02-29 02:26 pm (UTC)(link)Poor France and England.
And now I really don't know who England was talking about in the previous chapter.
Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-29 04:02 pm (UTC)(link)(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-29 08:29 pm (UTC)(link)(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-29 09:22 pm (UTC)(link)I would be annoyed if France slept with England and England found out the truth and WAS jolly happy because France's magic penis solved all the issues..
(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-01 12:23 pm (UTC)(link)(frozen comment) Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-02 02:12 am (UTC)(link)I just think this fic would work better with an angsty no-fruk end ;;
(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]
(frozen comment) -9000
(Anonymous) 2012-03-01 07:22 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-01 04:38 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-01 09:55 pm (UTC)(link)AND I SHIP UKUSUK
WHAT DO I DO HERE
Ohhhhh, Christ, this is confuddling D: And I'm not sure if I should be cheering anyone on, either.
However you choose to end it will be fine by me. It's up to you, author!anon, not your readers. I'm looking forward to the finale! <3 <3
Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-02 09:29 am (UTC)(link)France's actions are skeevy, but you've made them very understandable without trying to make it seem like he's in the right, and I, at least, really appreciate that. I'm aching for all three of them. Because France is right, this is probably going to negatively affect England and America's relationship, and in spite of the skeeviness of his current actions, he's basically a decent person. I'm very glad that he stopped short of actually sleeping with England. A lot is going to hinge on whether or not England knows that it's actually France, and if so, whether or not he can forgive him.
(I know how I'd like things to turn out, but that's up to the author, not the readers, and I'll be satisfied with whatever the author decides to do.)
Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-02 08:18 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Love me the "American" way [9d/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-08 07:10 pm (UTC)(link)Love me the "American" way [10a/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-09 07:19 pm (UTC)(link)Beep.
Hi!! How you’re doing?? It’s America, of course! My brother told me you were sick, man! I wish I could come and pay a visit, but he told me I should just let you rest! Of course, I would have ignored him, because heroes ALWAYS visit the sick, but my boss doesn’t let me go anywhere these days either. It sucks big time. Well, then! Take care!
- - - - - - - - -
France closed the front door just in time to hear America’s booming voice wishing him a good recovery. He sighed, made a bee line to the kitchen and put his shopping bags on the counter. He put down his keys, took off his coat, and started putting everything in the fridge. He then returned back to the living room, and deleted the message from the answering machine. He decided then he was going to call America back soon and Canada too deserved to be called. He needed to thank him for keeping America away from Europe.
He glanced at the mirror that hanged on one of the walls, and run a hand through his wavy, blond hair. He stared at his face, at his slightly crooked nose, and at his lips. He really liked the fact that America wasn’t staring back at him anymore. He had missed his own face too much. He wondered what happened, why he had looked like America for so long, but nothing he could think of seemed reasonable enough. The economy had been stable, his people had remained the same, and politics had been annoying as usual. The funny thing was that, as suddenly as it had started, he suddenly woke up looking like himself again. France had been so happy to get rid of that American face staring at him (judging him) all day long.
That had been three days ago.
France had talked to Spain, and told him he was back in town. Immediately after telling Spain the news, Spain and Gilbert visited and took him around the city for a drink or two. Italy had been happy for him too, and even brought him a tiramisu with him when he came for a visit. He had finally returned back to work, and even apologized to Benoit for the treatment one of his friends had given him. He had seen almost everyone by then; Spain and Italy being the first of a long series of visits to his house. He had to see England for a week, though, since that evening they almost had sex, and he really didn’t want to see the other face right then. He was sure that he was going to betray himself. It was too soon.
He sighed once more, and picked up his telephone, ready to call America and thank him for the concern, that, suddenly, the doorbell rang. Curious to see who it was France let go of the phone and went to open the door instead. He didn’t check into the peephole, and abruptly came face to face with England himself.
France was so shocked to see England that, for a long moment, he just remained staring at the other’s face, speechless. England stared back at him, his eyebrows furrowing up, perplexed, and his eyes twinkling with something akin to amusement.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” England said suddenly, pushing France away, and went in without much of an invitation. “Or are you still so sick you forgot all your good manners?”
The statement finally made France regain his self-control. He closed the door, and looked behind him to see England putting some folders down on the coffee table. France tried to forget all that had happened between them, and reminded himself that England still didn’t know that he had spent the last week with France instead of America. He decided then to act as he had always acted before England.
“Is that your way of asking me how am I?” France retorted with a grin. England snorted and turned to look at him.
Love me the "American" way [10b/10]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-09 07:20 pm (UTC)(link)“I’m fine, thank you.” France said instead, and looked down at the folders England had brought him. “But I believe this is not a get-well visit, is it?”
“Of course not.” England said, and made a vague gesture over where the folders were standing, “I brought you the paperwork Germany wanted you to do but were too “sick”” he emphasized the last word with quotation marks, “to.”
“I was sick.” France retorted then. England shrugged, but didn’t comment on it. France sighed and sat down on the couch to check the paperwork Germany had sent him via England. Suddenly he felt England sigh, and walk out of the living room. France still didn’t look up and concentrated on the matter at hand instead. Soon enough, though, he realized he really wasn’t in the mood for paperwork, and just went over the fully written pages in the end.
“Why you never have decent tea in your house?” England suddenly exclaimed from the kitchen, and France furrowed his eyebrow together for a moment, before letting out a sigh.
“I didn’t expect you to come.”
“Idiot.”, was England’s response.
France heard England move around the kitchen. He heard him pour water in a kettle he happened to find. The opening and closing of cupboards. The clicking of cups together. A moment later, England was back in the living room, with two steaming cups of the tea France preferred. England pushed the folders away and put the cups on the coffee table, then looked at France, and grabbed the paper he was supposed to be reading. England took it, gave it a glance, snorted, and put it away.
“Hey.” France said, but it didn’t come out as aggressive as he would have wanted. He looked up at England, and England looked down at him. They were so close; France could practically feel England’s scent inside his nostrils. England looked curious for a moment. France supposed he was thinking of something, and made to ask what, that suddenly England leaned down to get closer to his face. Their noses were inches apart, and France stared into England’s green eyes.
“May I try something?” England said then, and even if he stated as a question, to France it felt much more like an order. He didn’t complain when England put his face in his hands, and slightly pulled him closer. Their noses touched. It made France shiver.
“Try what?” he whispered then, even if he already knew the answer. England shrugged once more, France swore he even blushed, and then, suddenly England kissed him on the lips. France’s eyes flattered close. He didn’t know why he felt so surprised that England tasted exactly the same as when he had kissed him the first time. He liked that nothing felt different, and yet, it was.
(England was kissing France this time.)
It didn’t last long, tough. Almost too soon, England pulled away. They looked at each other for a moment in silence, and then England spoke again.
“You don’t feel sick to me.” England stated then, his lips quivering up in an imperceptible smile.
“Is that how you measure fever in your house?” France was amused.
“You are not complaining.” England smirk turned smug.
“Should I?” France was curious.
Re: 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]
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(Anonymous) - 2012-03-13 20:05 (UTC) - ExpandA!A here
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