This is a companion fic to "A Good Old Fashioned Date, Sort Of", but you don't need to have read it to read this. Iceland had to have learned those French words from somewhere...

It happened not long after he gained independence. On his own for the first time and looking to prove himself, Iceland found himself flirting with the personification of France. It was exhilarating and flattering to have this older man, who had never noticed the younger nation before, suddenly paying attention to him. Norway would be furious to see the suggestive looks exchanged. Maybe Denmark would too, despite the fact that he was currently ignoring his former colony. Maybe that made the whole thing even better, that he was getting revenge on the two nations who had been like family to him and then had torn that all away from him.

He tried to play it cool, giving a shrug when France finally vocalized his invitation. "Sure, why not?" he said in his best French (it had been some 100 years since Norway had drilled him on conjugations and vocabulary). And anyway, just because he was an Independent Country who could make His Own Decisions now, didn't mean he should seem as eager as he was.

France wasn't deceived, though. He smiled knowingly and leaned in very close to the Icelander. "Chez toi ou chez moi?" he asked in a husky voice which sent a jolt through the younger. They went to France's hotel, since it was closer. Iceland looked around discreetly the whole way there, sure he could feel Norway's piercing gaze on his back, but the nation was nowhere in sight.

The door was barely closed before France had Iceland pushed up against it. He gave him a surprisingly light kiss, as if asking permission despite Iceland's poorly disguised enthusiasm. He took the initiative and deepened the kiss. Still, France kissed him gently, like he didn't want to break him. Denmark kissed hungrily and greedily, and Iceland didn't know how to kiss any other way. He pulled away and frowned up at the older nation. "If we're not going to do this, then I'm leaving."

"I just thought I'd take it easy on you," France replied with raised eyebrows, and Iceland realized what was going on.

"I'm not—!" He inhaled slowly. Getting flustered was not how Big Independent Nations acted. "I'm not a virgin," he said more calmly.

"You're not?" The older nation regarded him skeptically.

"No, I'm not."

Denmark had made the same assumption, but Iceland had let him keep it. He didn't want to tell anyone about the last gift Norway had given him before leaving with Sweden. In a way, though, it was like they both took his virginity, since his first time with Denmark was remarkably similar to Norway. There were clear differences, of course, because they were very different personality-wise. But both times had been rushed and desperate, and they had both said those three words that Iceland didn't quite believe. Who could say something that serious under such stress and actually mean it?

But then again, out of all the things he wanted to say to them - How dare you wait until now to say that? When we're both broken and vulnerable. How dare you say that when I know that you love him? - he returned the words immediately. He thought he had been sincere; he thought that maybe he really did love them both, but he wasn't sure how that was possible.

He came back into the present when France guided him to the bed. The older nation paused, staring at him worriedly. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, and Iceland could guess what he was thinking. That maybe he was still too young for something like this.

"Yes, I'm sure," he said, wrapping his arms around the other's neck to pull him back into the kiss.

France finally took him seriously and put all his effort into his actions. All thoughts of Norway and Denmark quickly left Iceland's mind.

Later that night as he lay awake in his own hotel room, he analyzed every detail of what had happened. As different as Norway and Denmark were in bed, France was on a whole different level. The younger nation hadn't been sure if he could keep up, but he was proud to know that he had. France had tried to compliment him afterwards, but he had quickly shushed him. He was feeling elated, and being praised like a child would certainly ruin that.

He touched his lips absentmindedly. They were swollen and still tingling from kissing. They moved to form words, French words that Norway had definitely never taught him. He liked the feel of them in his mouth, the foreign sounds tingling like his lips.

They had had a quick discussion and decided that this was a one-time thing that they would keep between the two of them. It reminded him, of course it reminded him, of the similar conversation he had had with Denmark. Should this continue? Yes. Should we tell anyone? No, relations were too volatile, too tense at the time. Iceland was officially Denmark's colony; openly being lovers would mean Norway would never forgive them. Probably. At least, that's what Denmark had told him at the time, and he had accepted that. Now he was no longer Denmark's colony, and no longer his lover. Things were again volatile, tense.

Iceland shook himself out of his reverie. He was feeling happy, satisfied, "glowing" as France had put it; he didn't want to spoil his mood by thinking about his ex-caretaker/whatever. He was a Grown Up now, no, wait, that sounded childish and dumb. He was independent, he had just had sex with a nation that he didn't know very well; things were going well. Weren't they?

Why did it feel like there was a shard of ice in the pit of his stomach? Why couldn't he get Denmark and Norway out of his head? Why couldn't he enjoy being a Big Independent Nation for two seconds without feeling guilty?