Summary: A Conversation And Deal With France Later, England Decides to Show America Who Steers The Ship In Their Relationship. But Will England Chicken Out In The Last Minute? Or Will He Put America In His Place?
USxUK Two-Shot
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England felt insulted.
The other day that Frog-face, France, had the nerve to call him the "girl" in England's relationship with America.
How dare he? There was no way in hell he was the going to stand for such absurd nonsense.
"Oh silly Angleterre, you are simply the more feminine one in your little fling with that dimwitted Américain. That really is all I'm saying. There is no need to take so much offense to that." France was seated comfortably in the Englishman's living-room. After the world meeting England had been in a particularly chipper mood that afternoon due to a certain hamburger-lover. Even though that was the case, that mood had been quickly decreasing due to a very annoying Frenchman.
"Shut it Frog-face! Bloody hell, I don't understand why you insist on calling my relationship with America a "fling". Also you have no right to call me a lady in any way! I'm not the one with ridiculously flashy clothes and girly hair, unlike someone I have the displeasure of knowing." England was becoming a little bit more than fed up with France's...France's...well just everything! He had had enough of the man overall.
France had taken on a very dramatic pose, " You wound me, mon ami. Do not try to change the subject by talking about my dazzling hair and clothes in such a demeaning fashion. And I insist on calling it a fling because that's what it is. I call it as I see it. You may be mature enough for something serious, but is Amérique?"
The Frenchman chuckled, an amused smirk gently gracing his features as he noticed the Brits reaction, "Apparently, Amérique has already proven himself, oui?"
England's cheeks had become a deep beet young American had indeed informed him that he was mature enough. 'Artie you don't have to worry about that. If I wasn't 100% sure I was ready for this, I would wait. I'd wait forever if it was for you. I would do anything for you Babe.' Those words had been reassurance enough for England and also enough for America to earn a pinch on the cheeks because 'Didn't I tell you to stop giving me those ungodly nicknames, you git.'
"Not like it's any of your business, but he very much has", confirmed the Englishman, a light blush still lingering on his features.
"The thing is Angleterre," France sat up straight, a slightly more serious look appearing on his face,"you are not the one in charge in this "relationship". He looked England in the eyes, "That is why I call you the "girl", that is why I call it a fling, and that is why the stupid Américain has you wrapped around his little gloved finger. You see, if anything, he seems to call the shots."
The Brit scowled at this. America was not in charge. And he most certainly did not have him "wrapped around his little gloved finger, ohonhonhonhonhon". He felt that they had stood equally, so why on earth was this French buffoon spouting such nonsense. How in the hell did he get the sense that he was the one following anyway? "I'll have you know that we treat each other equally, and even if we might not seem like it, it would obviously be me who looks in charge, since I am the more mature one.", England pointed out.
"Oh really?", the Frenchman smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Really", England huffed.
"Then tell me something mon ami, just one little thing"
"Just what do you want to know?", asked the unsure Englishman, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.
"It is a simple question really...", France started.
"Well, get on with it." England said, his short patience and peaked curiosity getting the better of him.
France gave a sigh, "Who exactly tops whenever you do it?"
England stiffened, his eyes slightly widened in silent horror. Did he just ask...? Well its France of course he would ask something so...so... But what in the world did that have to do with anything!? "W-what?",the Englishman squeaked.
"You know what I mean my British friend. Like, who controls the sexy-times? Who is the dominant and who is the submissive.? Who moans in pure ecstasy while the other passionately thrusts into-"
"I-I KNOW WHAT YOU MEANT! B-bloody hell I meant, w-why would you need to know that, y-you wanker?" The Brits eyes were downcast, focusing on the brown carpet beneath them as he avoided further eye contact with the pervert that is France. England was holding back by not bashing the frogs face in or running away. Who cares if it was his fucking house, he just wanted to get way from the French pervert.
"Ohonhonhonhonhon~, don't be shy Angleterre. Being on the "receiving end" is not something to be ashamed about."
"I AM NOT ASHAMED! AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN ON THE "RECEIVING END"?! I NEVER SAID ANYTHING OF THE SORT!" England was becoming very uncomfortable with everything the Frenchman had to say.
"Can you deny that you are not the one who "takes"? Hmmm~?"
The smug smile on Frances face broadened when all England did was look back down at the carpet to seemingly continue attempting to burn it with his eyes.
"Oh, well you can at least tell me that you switch roles from time to time. Right?" With still no reaction but a redder face from England, France gave a victorious laugh. "Ah, I always knew you liked it up the ass Angleterre."
"I-I...sh-shut up already you git! You don't need to know any of this!", England fumed.
"Oh but I did, because this tells me for a fact who gives the orders and who follows the order" France said with a wink.
"And your result is...?" England furrowed his brows, wary of his answer.
"That you are the chick!", the Frenchman happily exclaimed,"Which means I'm right!"
"Y-you know what!? I can bloody well show you that America is not in charge around here!" England shouted, before he even knew what exactly he was getting himself into.
"Really now? How exactly are you going to do that Angleterre? Enlighten me." That mischievous smirk slowly started returning to Frances features.
"W-well I'll...", and then the idea hit him, "A-America is coming over later on tonight for dinner! I'll show you that he's not the only one who can top! I'll have his arse waddling like a duck tomorrow and then you'll see that I'm no pushover! I mean I was a pirate for crying out loud! I'll show him who steers this ship!"
"Ohonhon. So you say you'll top Amérique...tonight?" The Frenchman smirked.
"Yes! As a matter of fact I will! Just you watch, he'll be putty in my hands!" England gave a cocky grin.
"Okay, lets make a deal then! If you don't top Amérique tonight I get to tell every nation that you are the receiver."
"Alright, and if I do top tonight I..uhm...you have to dress like a frog to the next world meeting!" England snickered.
"Deal! But only because I doubt you will, I mean your cooking will surely poison him before you get the chance", France said, as he got up from the couch and walked to the front door. England scowled, resisting the urge to strangle him and got up as well to escort him out. When France walked onto the porch he turned, " Don't chicken out on me Angleterre~" France chuckled, as he held out his hand. England shook it and said, " Just be prepared to hop around like the frog you are next month." the Englishman smirked.
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And so...
A couple of hours passed and England had settled himself down with a cup of his favorite Earl Grey tea and a copy of a Sherlock Holmes novel. The Brit glanced at the clock which read: 6:03. 'Alfred should be arriving any minute now.' As if on cue there was a knock at the door. Quickly, England put his book back on the shelf and set his half empty cup of tea on the kitchen counter before he headed to the door. To be honest the Englishman couldn't wait to see his beloved. He needed something to get his mind off of that Frog-Face France.
That was going to be difficult though considering the deal the two had made. England slightly regretted it now. As soon as the door swung open Arthur was met with two warm arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against the other. Arthur smiled. He felt so safe in these familiar arms. When the American finally loosened his grip he looked up to see two beautiful blue eyes shining down on him, along with a dazzling smile that nothing else in the world could out shine.
"Hey Artie!" America greeted as he pecked the British mans lips.
"H-hello there yourself Alfred" England was already blushing like mad. He was feeling nervous now.
'Just how in the world am I going to top this lovely git?'