A Debt Settled
With shaking hands and a pounding heart, England pressed the doorbell to France's home. It was a cold, cloudy day and he had worn a thick coat over his usual military outfit, the collar was turned up high to prevent the wind brushing against his neck. He had a scarf, but it was very thin and gave little protection from the cold. He rubbed his hands together, trying to bring back the circulation, cursing again that he had no gloves. Back in his home, the temperature had just started to drop as he boarded the Eurostar. The train ride had been relatively warm and it was only when England arrived in Paris that the cold had hit him. Even the taxi driver had commented on the coldness which was strange seeing as France enjoyed a very hot summer. England grumbled and pressed the doorbell again, leaving his finger on the buzzer. He heard shouting from inside and smirked.
England was a little surprised France hadn't been waiting at the train station for him. In the two weeks since the incident in America, France had constantly texted, phoned, emailed and even written a letter politely enquiring when England was free to settle the outstanding debt. England knew France wouldn't give up; the man could be insatiable when it came to favours being called in. Eventually, England had text him, detailing when he was free and when he could come over. For the past few days, England had been wandering around his home with dread lining his stomach. France was the master of perverted-ness... god only knew what he would subject England to...
More shouts were heard when England pressed the doorbell again, followed by something scrapping along the floor. What was France doing? And how long we he going to leave England waiting on the doorstep? France had been the one insistent on getting this debt resolved as soon as possible. England's phone beeped and vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open to see his had a message from Norway:
[Received: Sat 15 Oct 13:17 PM]
America awake and eating Big Mac, then going back to sleep.
YOU OWE ME ENG!
Nor
Sighing, England typed a quick thank you in response. The last thing he needed was to owe yet another favour. At least Norway wasn't as perverted as France. The worst his friend would do is make him clean his or Denmark's house from top to bottom. He had left Norway some food – and a takeaway menu; apparently his cooking was awful – and had made up the spare bedroom for him just in case France made England stay overnight. He hoped not. France hadn't even helped that much during the crisis, so he had better not demand too much.
Finally the front door opened. France stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath, wearing black trousers and a polo-neck jumper, despite the warmth that flittered through the air. His hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and he looked a little red with exertion. England raised an eyebrow at him. France merely smiled and stepped aside.
"Pardon my delay Angleterre. Please come in," he purred, sweeping a hand towards his hallway. England narrowed his eyes at him, but stepped inside, grateful to be out of the cold.
"Let's get this over with frog-face," England snapped, tugging off his coat and scarf. He threw them at France's face. "I don't want to stay here all evening."
France chuckled as he hung England's coat inside his cloakroom. "Impatient as ever Angleterre. Where is your sense of romance? Or setting the scene?"
"What are you planning France?" England snapped, breathing on his hands. "Setting the scene?"
"Ah, you'll have to wait and see mon cher. Now then, some of your vile tea to warm you up?" France said with a smile as he headed off towards the kitchen. England begrudgingly followed. Tea sounded perfect, but he wouldn't dare tell France that.
"Did you bring your wand?" France asked as he set the kettle to boil.
"Yes I did. Why?" England asked as he took a seat at France's kitchen table. He glanced around the room, eyeing the appliances and France was unease. Nothing seemed out of place... what did France have planned?
"Just checking," France replied cheerfully, dropping a cube of sugar into England's teacup. "You'll need it."
England glared at France's back. "Why?"
"Questions questions!" France exclaimed with a dramatic shake of his head. He poured the hot water into England's teacup. "Learn to have some patience!"
"How can I be patient when you're planning some evil scheme?"
"Me? Evil?" France replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He walked over and held out England's tea, the steam rising in coils. France flashed a smile. "Now that's just mean."
"Oh be quiet." England snatched his tea from France's hand. He took a gulp of tea, forgetting how hot it was. "What were you doing earlier anyway?" he added, hoping France wouldn't notice he had just burnt his tongue.
"Ah still so impatient," France muttered, taking a seat next to England. He had a cup of coffee in his hand. "I was merely moving some furniture."
"Furniture? Why?"
"You sound like a broken record today Angleterre," France commented, blowing on his coffee. "Big brother is getting bored of you already."
England bit back the retort he had. Instead, he blew on his tea and stared out of the window, letting an awkward silence settle in the atmosphere. England had to remind himself that he was here to settle a debt; if France wanted to be mysterious and secretive, he was within his rights to do so. The silence stretched as England gulped down his tea. He occasionally stole glances at France, who seemed to be content sipping his coffee in silence. England swore he could see a smirk on the man's lips. Endless possibilities raced through his mind. What did France have planned?
Eventually, France finished his coffee. With a sigh, he stood and took England's teacup – which was only half empty – and placed them in the sink.
"Best get your wand Angleterre," France said with a smile. England glared, but did as he was bid. He certainly didn't want to waste his time by having to come back again.
England fished his wand out of his coat pocket and made his way back to the kitchen. On the way, he was stopped by France and gently pushed into the living. Only there was a huge double bed where the sofa should have been and a large, elaborate partition decorated with butterflies in one corner. England's eyes grew wide at the sight. It looked like France had gone to a lot of effort to create such a grand looking room. The room smelled of lavender and there were purple candles on the windowsills, with the curtains tied back out of the flame's way. It was strange to see that not all of the living room furniture had been moved; a large bookcase stood opposite the bed, and a small coffee table had been pushed towards the wall. England's suspicions grew; France never did anything this grand without good reason. Especially when England was involved.
"This is what you were doing?" England asked as he walked carefully into the room, searching for any hidden items. He wouldn't put it past France to have a camera installed somewhere.
"Oui. What do you think?" France said. England noted that he had locked the door.
"What was wrong with your bedroom?"
France sighed. "Mon dieu! Where had all your romanticism gone?"
"Why did you bring your bedroom downstairs?"
"Is that all you can say today?" France said with exasperation. He sat down roughly on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why this, why that... Mon dieu!"
"Fine," England replied, crossing his arms, his wand poking him in the arm. "To what point and purpose did you bring your bedroom downstairs?"
France glared at him, which made England smirk. "More space," the Frenchman replied curtly.
"Space?" England asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Space for what?"
France ignored his question. Instead he reached under the bed and pulled out a pretty purple box, decorated with a large blue ribbon. With a smile, he placed the box on his knees and opened it, pushing past the purple tissue paper and grabbing hold of... something. England couldn't see, but he didn't want to alert France that he was curious. France was obviously into purple today.
"Here, you'll be wearing this," France said, throwing the purple garment at England. It hit him in the face, making him splutter and claw at the material. He pulled it away and held it at arm's length, trying to figure out what it was. It was too short to be a suit, was it a shirt? It was very silky and there was a little bit of lace here and there as well. There was too much material for it to be a waistcoat. England grabbed the shoulders and shook it out...
It was a dress. Not just any dress. A short-length French-style maid's dress.
"What?" England blurted, his face turning a bright shade of red. "France this is a... well... it's for a girl!"
"Exactly," France smirked, leaning back onto his palms. "Now you know why you need your wand."
"What..."
France sighed loudly, placing a hand to his forehead. "First why, now what. Honestly Angleterre." He crossed his legs and folded his arms, looking very serious. There was no hint of smirking on his face. "I want you to turn yourself into a girl and wear that outfit."
"You what?" England said, dumbstruck. He held the dress limply in his hands as he stared at France. "You cannot be serious."
"What is so hard to understand?" France countered with a tilt of his head. "I even put up a screen for you if you're that embarrassed. Although it's not like I haven't seen you naked before."
"You serious expect me to do this?" England said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Even though you did hardly anything to help me at that world meeting in America? This is ridiculous!"
"But I did help you mon cher, and you did say that you owed me," France countered. "You didn't specify what I could and could not do."
England gritted his teeth at that comment. It was true; he hadn't specified the details of this arrangement. He should have known France would choose something like this. Ever since he had caught England as a girl all those months ago, France had always managed to bring it up in conversation. The man had been on a mission to make England a girl for his amusement. The feeling of dread from before turned into butterflies in England's stomach.
"I cannot believe this. How long have you had this dress?" England asked, not moving from where he stood.
"Long enough," France responded curtly. He narrowed his eyes. "Hurry Angleterre, you said you didn't want to stay here that long. And if this debt isn't paid, I'll just make the next time worse."
"How could you make this any worse?"
France tapped his temple. "I have a very active imagination."
Glancing down at the dress in his hands, England considered his options. He could storm out of France's home, but that would not only make him an oath-breaker, but it would give France ample ammunition to bully him again and demand yet more compensation. He could just say no and offer to do something else, but France would only think of something more degrading for him to do – as if this wasn't degrading enough. Or he could just go along with it. He hadn't seen any cameras in the room, so France couldn't use this situation for blackmailing in the future. Despite all the warning bells ringing in his head, England sighed and went behind the partition.
England began to undo his shirt as he muttered the words of the spell under his breath. There was a familiar bright light, which blinded him. When the light faded, England looked down. Yes he was a girl again. He sighed, then winced at how girly it sounded. He pulled off his boots, socks and trousers, folding them up and laying them in a neat pile. His now long hair fell forwards over his face.
"You ready in there?" France called. England ignored him. He quickly tugged off his shirt and hung it over the partition. With a final sigh, he pulled the dress on over his head. The material was very soft and silky, practically gliding over his skin. Under different circumstances, he would have taken the time to enjoy the sensations. The dress itself finished at mid-thigh, barely covering his boxers, which he still wore. He refused to take them off! Summoning his resolve, England patted down the dress and stepped out from the partition.
France was still sitting crossed-legged on the bed, tapping a tune with his fingers and glancing at the bookcase. He looked at England and a small smile spread across his face. England blushed and looked away. This was so embarrassing!
"Belle," he heard France whisper. His blushed grew brighter and something in his chest grew tight.
"D-do you have a hair-band?" England asked, cursing himself for stammering.
"Non, you don't need it anyway," France replied. His eyes ran the length of England's body. It took all of England's restraint to not cover himself with his hands. "What underwear do you have on?"
England glared at France. "Why is that important?"
"When you're wearing a dress as pretty as that, you cannot spoil it with boring underwear," France said coolly, as if explaining the basics of boiling water. He leaned forwards, rummaging around under the bed again, his face frowning in concentration. His face brighten and he pulled out a pair of black and white stripy tights. England's face fell.
"You want me to wear those? Where the hell did you get them?" he said, his voice coming out in a squeak. "No. No no no! I refuse!"
"You refuse?" France said with a smirk, waving the tights in the air. "You want me to think of something worse for next time you come over?"
Cursing, England snatched the tights from France's hand and stormed back behind the partition. He tugged off his boxers angrily and, after seeing nothing better to sit down on, fell onto the floor. He had worn tights before – that Christmas party had been one to remember! – so knew how to put them on without creating ladders. He stood up to tug them up to his waist, trying not to think of the fact he wasn't wearing any underwear. At least they gave him some level of modesty.
When he re-appeared, France clapped. "Lovely. You look a little like Alice in Wonderland," he said cheerfully, making England clench his fists.
"Just get on with it," England spat. "I know what you're planning. Get the camera out and get this done with. Photo shoots with you always seem to take forever." He crossed his arms and tapped his foot on the floor. Next time he needed a favour from France, he would specify the terms beforehand.
France looked confused at England's comment. "Photo? Angleterre you aren't dressed like that for photos, although now you mention it, I should take a memento of this occasion."
As France stood from the bed, England leapt forwards and grabbed his wrists, pushing him back down. "No! No photos!" he shouted, cursing himself for putting the idea in France's head.
France chuckled and with his other hand, tenderly ran his fingers along England's cheek. England flushed red at the gesture and the proximity of their bodies. With ease, France wriggled his wrist free of England's grasp and snaked it around his waist, pulling him down onto his lap. England didn't resist. That tightness in his chest returned as France's blue eyes roamed his face. Fingers traced his cheek, his neck, the top of his chest before returning to his cheek, brushing gently across his lips then coming to rest on the crook of his neck. His skin tingled wherever France's fingertips touched. Minutes passed and neither nation spoke, not wanting to ruin the moment.
"Here. Read this," France said suddenly, pushing a small leather-bound book into England's hands. England blinked at France, surprised at his request.
I could have sworn we were going to... well... not that I want to! England thought to himself as he opened the book. There was a bookmark in place and he flipped the pages until he reached it. His brows creased again when he saw what France wanted him to read.
"It's in French," he stated.
"I know."
"I'm not reading this," he said, slamming the book shut and offering it to France. The nation didn't move, but smirked up at England.
"Fine, then your debt still stands. You can come back another day and wear that outfit again, only next time I'll have an audience, and I'm not just talking about Spain and Prussia." France's smirk grew as England's face fell.
"I hate you," he spat as he opened the book at the bookmarked page. He looked down and his hair fell forwards again.
"Oui oui now start reading," France muttered absentmindedly as he pushed England's hair behind his ears.
"But it's in French!" England cried.
"So?" France said with a raise of his eyebrow. A hand suddenly appeared on England's thigh, tracing small circles onto the material of his tights. "I know you can read it and speak it fluently. We've been neighbours for centuries, you expect me to believe you can't speak my language as well as I speak yours?"
England glared at France, tempted to slam the book into his handsome face. France smiled, not a smirking, lauding smile, but a gentle, almost loving smile. England felt the temperature in his cheeks rise. "Je ne parlerai pas," he said, despite his better judgement.
"S'il vous plait," France murmured. His hand continued to trace patterns on England's leg, while the other held him around the waist. He gave England a pleading look. With a sigh, England bent his head and read aloud.
"Par les soirs bleus d'été, j'irai dans les sentiers, picoté par les blés, fouler l'herbe menue – hey cut that out!"
Shivers danced along England's neck as warm lips kissed his skin. The hand on his leg had snaked upwards, now caressing his hip through the fabric of the tights. The hand around his waist loosened and started to rub circles on his back before trailing downwards, dipping deftly under the hem of his dress. England tried to wriggle free of France's embrace but was held tight.
"Keep reading," France murmured against his neck. England tried to ignore what France was doing and concentrate on the words in front of him. It was proving difficult. But this was to settle a debt.
"R-Rêveur, j-j'en sentirai la fraîcheur à mes pieds... Je l-laisserai le vent baigner ma t-tête nue... I said stop it," England breathed as France's hand snaked upwards under the silk dress.
"Continuer à lire," he whispered. England shivered, cursing himself as he did. He should say no, he should stop and go home... but he couldn't. Not now... France pulled him closer, so that they were chest to chest. England pulled the book up and held it behind France's back, looking over his shoulder to read it. France's kisses and caresses continued, the feel of the dress almost tickling his skin. No matter how hard he tried to ignore his touches, they were doing something wonderful to his body. A warm pool of heat spread below his waist and he was sitting on something rather hard, which didn't help.
"J-Je ne p-parlerai pas... j-je n-ne p-penserai rien. Look I can't read it properly if you keep doing that!"
"Well you'll just have to put up with it," France replied, pulling the neckline of the dress down for better access to England's neck.
England pulled away as much as he could. "I won't read it if you can't control yourself."
"Ah Angleterre, don't forget that this is to settle a debt," France smirked. "I am in control this time, and I will decide when your debt is paid. Until then, I can do whatever I wish with you."
"You fu-"
"Ah ah, no curses tonight," France said, pressing a finger to England's lips. A predatory grin broke across his face. England narrowed his eyes, which only made France grin more.
"This is unreasonable," England grumbled around France's finger. France ignored his comment.
"My, I'm starting to get a little too warm," he said, letting go of England and tugging his jumper up and off. England's breath caught at the sight of his chest and he cursed this female body with its damn hormones. He'd seen France topless plenty of times before, why should this time be any different?
England turned his face away, making France chuckle. His hands returned to their former positions on England's body, making his skin shiver. "S-stop that!" England hissed. Fingertips danced the length of his spine and England hated himself as his back arched involuntarily.
"Keep reading, let's see if you can get through the whole poem," was France's smug reply.
Tugging the book up to eye level, England took a deep breath and continued, forcing the words out. "M-Mais l'amour i-infini m-me m-montera dans l'âme. Et j'irai l-loin, b-bien loin, c-comme un b-bohémien-"
Suddenly, England was flipped and thrown onto the bed. He landed roughly on his back, the small book flying out of his hands and landing somewhere on the floor. He had moments to recover from his surprise as France appeared, kissing him hard. England parted his lips gasping for air, which France took as an invitation to invade his mouth. Hands roamed England's body, tracing contours, rustling fabric and sending shivers down his spine. Somehow, England's hands found their way to France's hair and he was kissing back with equal fervour. His legs wrapped around France's waist, pulling him closer, wanting him, needing him... This was no longer about the debt...
"J'adore quand tu parles en francais pour moi," France breathed huskily, his hands snaking under the hem of England's dress. "Mon Angleterre..."
Fingertips slid underneath the flimsy material of England's tights, brushing his hipbone and making him squirm. England couldn't stop the breathy moans that escaped him as France's other hand cupped his face. His legs clenched tighter and his hands began to claw at France's back. The warm pool of heat from earlier grew in intensity as they continued to kiss. God but England wanted it, he wanted it so badly...
France pulled away and sat back on his knees, confusing England. His brows creased in puzzlement, to which France grinned with the same predatory gaze. Hands gently snaked along his thighs until they reached the waistband of his tights. England blushed and tried to bring his knees together; remembering he wore no underwear, but France pushed them apart. In one swift, ferocious movement, France tore the tights apart at the waist, pulling them until they resembled stockings more than tights and only a flimsy piece of material kept the ensemble together. England's heart leapt into his mouth and he tried to scrabble away, but France clutched at his knees, pulling him back and his legs further apart.
"Ne fuis pas," France murmured, his thumbs tracing circles on England's now bare thighs. Blue eyes stared into green as one hand travelled lower. England forced himself to look at France, despite his pulse racing and his stomach doing back-flips.
The hem of England's silk dress was lifted upwards to his waist. Butterfly kisses peppered his bare stomach and the curve of his hips. A furious blush crept across England's cheeks and he cursed inwardly at his girlishness. This was France for goodness sake! There was nothing they hadn't done before in their original forms... maybe that was why England was so hesitant. In their original forms he knew what to expect from France, but as a girl...? He had no idea what France was capable of and he could-
England's thoughts crashed to a halt as France's finger touched something that made England's hips buck upwards. England's hand flew to his face, hiding the embarrassing noises he was making. God but that felt so good.
"Tu es deviendras mouiller pour moi," France purred, against England's stomach.
"D-Don't... embarrass me..." England breathed, biting down on a finger. The teasing touch had made the warm coil in his stomach increase tenfold. France was torturing him deliberately, his slow actions reducing England to a puddle of shivering bliss. He wanted France to touch him again, he needed it... god how he needed it, but he refused to beg for it... no matter how much he wanted it... because this was France, and England didn't do things like that for France, no matter-
Something warm, firm and wet dragged along that part of him that had been teased earlier. England moaned and arched before he could control himself, his eyes shut tight and teeth biting into his index finger. The pool of heat in his stomach spread outwards to his hips and lower back, small jolts of electricity pulsing along his inner thighs all the way down to his ankles. Somehow England's other hand nestled in France's hair, tugging gently with encouragement. He felt France's tongue trace circles, patterns and single lines in varying speed, making him writhe and buck, whisper and moan. Muscles clenched tighter and tighter, until they grew to an unbearable peak. Sparks exploded behind his eyes and England came, forgetting how to breathe and who he was. He was not proud of the noises he made, nor of the way his body shook as he felt waves of pleasure course through him.
When he returned to normality, England was vaguely aware of France's fingertips tracing gentle circles into his waist and lips kissing his neck. France's warm body was pressed against his, something hard and firm poking into England's hip. With shaky fingers, England delved downwards to unbuttoned France's stretched trousers. A hand caught his wrists and pulled them away. England looked up at France in confusion and was met with a passionate kiss. He blushed again as he tasted himself on France's tongue, but did not want the kiss to stop as he wrapped his arms around France's shoulders.
France managed to free himself deftly and England gasped against his lips when he felt France's tip at his entrance. France hesitated at England's gasp, pulling away from the kiss, his eyes silently asking the question. Biting his lip, England nodded, shifting his knees to accommodate his companion. Another gasp escaped his lips as he felt France push inside. England turned his face away, embarrassed by the noise he made. France kissed his neck and shoulder gently, almost lovingly. England trailed his fingers along his spine, clawing lightly as they dipped lower. Movements were slow at first, the sensations unfamiliar and new, but soon France set a steady rhythm.
England was swept along with the tide of pleasure, gripping France tightly as he endured the blissful pounding. Sweat trickled down his temples and spine, causing the dress to cling and hair to stick to his face. Hips snapped against hips. Nails clawed and dug, leaving welts behind as a mark of ownership. Breathy moans grew louder and more desperate.
With a curse and a harsh bite to the neck, France came inside England, his warm essence adding to the heat within England's stomach which in turn tipped England over the edge. White sparks scattered across his vision and he followed France into heavenly bliss with a whimper, clutching France tightly. The two of them lay panting from their high, entwined and sweaty. England was the first to begin to move, pushing France away gently.
Phew... that was... well... at least this debt is settled, England thought to himself as he unwound his limbs from France's body. England grimaced a little when he thought of how sore he would be tomorrow, but he had nothing important that needed completing, so he could-
Suddenly France sat up and pulled England onto his lap. England was smothered in kisses as he felt France stir again. The air seemed to be sucked out of his lungs and his strength faded. He allowed France to scoop and arm around his waist, holding him close and another hand grip his hip.
"F-France?" England breathed against his lips, desperate for air.
"It's not enough Angleterre, not enough... this debt isn't settled yet..."
0O0
I cannot believe I went through with that. How embarrassing! England thought as he finished buttoning up his shirt. He ran a hand through his now short blond hair and sighed quietly. He was back in his proper from and dressed in his proper clothes, although he felt anything but proper. The last few hours had been... well... England coughed and looped his tie. He wasn't going to dwell on what had happened. It was to settle a debt, and that debt had been settled. No one would ever need to know the full details of what had happened and that it had happened multiple times. Tugging on his jacket, England was grateful that his collar covered the marks on his neck, although one bite was still pulsing with a dull pain. He rubbed his neck absentmindedly as he stepped out from the partition, dropping his wand into the pocket.
France was lounging in his bed, the covers around his waist covering most of his nakedness. He was sitting back against the headboard with the small leather-bound book in his hand. He was reading to himself, smiling and nodding every now and then. The purple dress was still on the floor in a crumpled heap. England scowled and picked up the garment, shaking out a few creases. As he searched for the box, he heard France snicker.
"You can keep it if you like it that much Angleterre," France said, placing the book down on the bed. England glared at him as he pulled the overturned box onto the bed. "You look good in purple," France added.
"Shut up," England said as he rearranged the dress inside the pretty box.
"You could keep the tights as well," France said, reaching under the covers to pull out the stripy tights. "Although they're a bit damaged now," he added, holding them up by the toes. The crotch part was completely torn away.
"Shut it France!" England snapped, throwing the box at him. France deftly caught it with a wry grin. England suppressed a blush as he watched France ball up the damaged tights and throw them onto the floor.
"Ah, I think I prefer you as a girl Angleterre," France sighed with a dramatic shake of his head. "At least you weren't so aggressive all the time."
"The debt is settled France," England stated. He stood, hands on hips waiting for France to agree.
France sighed again. "Oui the debt is settled," he said with a wave of his hand. "A shame really, I was expecting you to put up more of a fight and have to come back later."
"As if I would come back," England muttered under his breath.
France didn't hear him. "Ah... at least you spoke the language of love to me, although it was barely passable. Maybe I'll persuade you to do it again next time we're together."
England snorted. "In your dreams France."
"Oui, dans mes rêves," France replied slyly. He winked brazenly and shifted on the bed, causing the sheets to fall a little lower.
England stormed out of the room, trying to will away the furious blush across his cheeks. He would never, ever speak French to that bastard again! As he wound his scarf around his neck, he contemplated going back into the room and strangling France with it. Instead, he flipped open his phone to check the time. There was a message from Norway.
[Received: Sat 15 Oct 16:12 PM]
How's it going over there?
Nor
England tapped a quick reply as he tugged on his boots, which proved a little difficult.
[Sent: Sat 15 Oct 17:29 PM]
On way back now. Should be about an hour. Thanks again.
Eng
England snapped his phone shut and laced up his boots. The next problem on his list was America; no doubt he would be thoroughly pissed off when England returned. His phone buzzed in his pocket again.
[Received: Sat 15 Oct 17:31 PM]
Have ordered Chinese. Should arrive when you get back. America still asleep.
Nor
England smiled at Norway's message; it was thoughtful of him to order food. England's stomach rumbled loudly at the thought. Maybe he could grab something at the station before he left. He checked his coat pockets; he did have some Euros left. He slung his coat on over his jacket, wondering just how could it would be outside. With a final check, England opened the front door.
"Adieu mon Angleterre," France called from the living room. England's temper flared.
"I'm not your England!" he shouted.
England slammed the door closed and hailed a taxi. The temperature had dropped and England could see his breath in the air. Thankfully he didn't have long to wait as a cab stopped close by. He jumped inside and gave directions to the train station, chatting a little while about the crazy weather. Eventually England fell silent, watching the streets of Paris whizz by. Today had been an eventful day. England was grateful he had settled his debt with France, even if it did mean weeks of ridicule and sly winks at world meetings. Well he could deal with that.
As the train station grew closer, there was one thing England still didn't quite understand. He shifted in his seat – damn his hips ached – wondering why he hadn't asked again.
Why had France moved his bedroom downstairs?
0O0
As soon as the door slammed shut, France practically leapt out of the bed. He tugged on his discarded trousers and tied his hair back as he made his way over to the bookcase. He couldn't contain a grin as he reached over and pressed stop on the camera he had hidden discretely within the bookcase. Thank goodness England hadn't noticed! He had wanted to record England's stay in the comfort of his bedroom, but the cables on his camera weren't long enough to reach the plug sockets. Instead of giving up, France had simply moved his furniture downstairs where there were more plug sockets. Ingenious!
France made his way back into the hallway, where he kept his house phone. His mobile was conveniently left next to it. He pressed a button on each phone and lifted both to his ears; speaking simultaneously to the two friends he had called.
"Prussia? Spain? Both of you get over here now, you've got to see this... and Prussia... you owe me €100! Oh yeah, I got him to speak French..."
Translations that should be accurate:
Belle - Beautiful
Je ne parlerai pas – I will say nothing
S'il vous plaît - Please
Continuer à lire – Continue reading
J'adore quand tu parles en francais pour moi – I love it when you speak French to me
Mon Angleterre – My England
Ne fuis pas - Don't run away
Tu es deviendras mouiller pour moi – You are wet for me
Adieu mon Angleterre – Farewell my England
Dans mes rêves – In my dreams
A thank you to ProdigiousGirl for help with my appalling French!
Incidentally, the poem used was written by Arthur Rimbaud in 1870 called Sensation.