Prompts: Time, G8 (group of 8) nations with France flirting with any/all of them
Never Hear Anything Nice
England overhears France boasting to Spain that he can last for more than an hour if he really wanted to. England rolls his eyes in disgust, thinking to himself that things like that weren't the kind of things that one discussed with one's fellow countries during the lunch break of a world meeting.
He tries to shut out the rest of the conversation—now Spain's saying that it didn't really matter how long you lasted, the quality was more important—but can't really pull it off. England also can't help but wonder what they're talking about.
When France walks up to him and asks him if anything's wrong—and his voice is lowered and intimate and does things to England's body—England tosses the contents of his teacup at the other blond before storming off.
This time, England overhears France and Prussia talking. Prussia laughs and says that he can do it faster than France. All France had to do was ask Germany if he didn't believe Prussia. France sniffs in disdain and says something in reply, but England's already walking away.
He tells himself that he's not curious at all about what they're talking about. Knowing the both of them, it's just something perverted anyway.
If he'd left the house just five minutes earlier, he wouldn't have gotten caught in the sudden downpour that had greeted him when he'd stepped outside. England curses as he stomps into the lobby, completely soaked to the bone. Almost immediately, he begins shivering in the cold air-conditioned environment.
"Ah, England, you're dripping all over the carpet," France says as he makes his appearance. He wrinkles his nose as he looks down at the once expensive, now ruined carpet. "I shall have to buy a new one, now."
"Are you just going to stand there and let me freeze to death?" England snaps, shivering.
The other blond laughs—not at all apologetic, the asshole—and leads him into a room that looks like it probably belongs to the hotel's manager. A bellboy appears with some towels and a robe which England refuses to change into until he got to his own quarters.
France, of course, follows him up, attempts to make a pass at him, and promptly makes his escape when England swings at his head with the complimentary bottle of wine that came with his room.
It's late at night and England's still in his study. He sighs in 's tired and cranky but he needs to look over some important documents before tomorrow's meeting with his boss. He stifles a yawn and leans back in his chair for a bit, closing his eyes.
When he wakes up a few hours later, the fire's still burning and there's a blanket covering him. He can smell France's perfume in the air and blushes even as he scowls. How the hell did the damn pervert get into his house?
England stands up, deciding to call it a night. He gets things ready for bed, shuffling about tiredly. He manages to force himself not to blush when he goes into his bedroom—which is mercifully France-free—and finds a rose on his pillow.