Title: Strawberry Crepes and Sexy French Chefs
Characters/Pairings: France/Canada
Rating: T
Summary: Canada wakes up one morning craving, surprisingly not for pancakes, but for some crepe. Good thing, there's Chef France to the rescue.
Warning: kissing, innuendo(?), random cliché French words thrown in (OTL)
AN: Written for the france/canada secret santa exchange over at livejournal for lb_x. Their prompt (more or less) was: France and Canada making a meal together. Just something cute and domestic, with a food theme. First franada fic, sorry if everyone's OOC. And this is FWP: fluff without plot. Pfft.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
"Good morning, Canada dear. Breakfast is ready!"
Canada sat upright on his bed, gaping at France. And who wouldn't, with what the Frenchman was wearing.
Or rather, with what he wasn't wearing.
For France was almost completely naked, save for a lacy apron covering his vital regions. ("And thank God for the apron!" Canada murmured reverently.)
"I made crepes for you." France cooed, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing the breakfast tray on Canada's lap.
And what delicious crepes they were! Canada could feel his mouth watering at the sight of the perfectly-brown crepes, with juicy and deliciously red strawberries peeking from inside, all drizzled with chocolate syrup and whipped cream. Canada had to close his still-gaping-from-shock mouth to stop himself from drooling all over the covers.
France sliced a forkful of the crepe. "Say ahh~"
Canada closed his eyes and promptly opened his mouth. Immediately, he tasted the piece of crepe on his tongue.
He chewed slowly, savoring every bit of the sweet yet slightly tart strawberries, the gooey chocolate, the whipped cream, all mixing with the chewy and perfectly done crepe. Pure heaven!
"Would you like some more, chéri?"
Canada quickly opened his mouth again, expecting more bliss.
Only to feel something furry land on his face.
Canada groaned and tried to sit up. "Kumajiro, get off my face."
"Get off whose face?"
He sighed and pushed Kumajiro away. He felt around for his glasses on the bedside table and put them on.
There was no Frenchman wearing only an apron in sight. Nor was there any sign of delicious delicious crepe.
"So it was just a dream." he thought, feeling quite disappointed.
He got off the bed, not expecting much from the day ahead.
Because how could he expect the day to be wonderful when it started with an unfinished dream and a polar bear's butt in his face?
Canada certainly did not expect to see his French boyfriend lounging on his couch so early in the morning.
"Had a good night's sleep, Canada dear?" France asked.
Canada could still remember his dream from last night and as he watched France sitting on the sofa while sipping his early morning glass of wine, Canada could not help picturing France in nothing but an apron. (Which wasn't exactly that difficult, to Canada's great embarrassment.)
Canada suddenly felt lightheaded from all the blood rushing in to color his face.
France stood up and wrapped his arms around Canada's waist.
"Adorably blushing so early in the morning, mon chéri?" he teased, planting a kiss on Canada's cheek. "If seeing your boyfriend so early in the morning makes you react like that then you shouldn't have given him the spare keys to come and go as he pleased."
"Eh? It's not like that. It's just that-" Canada tried to explain when he was suddenly cut off by the loud rumbling of his stomach.
France laughed. "I'm assuming we're having pancakes for breakfast…?"
"Actually…"Canada paused thoughtfully. He could still taste the crepes from his dream: the tart strawberries, the chocolate syrup, the chewy pastry. "Actually, I was thinking if we could have crepes for breakfast."
France raised an eyebrow. "Why the sudden craving?"
"N-nothing." Canada laughed sheepishly. "You know what, forget it. You're the guest here; I should be the one making pancakes for you."
France leaned forward and kissed the corner of Canada's mouth. "If my Canada wants crepes, then he shall have crepes. And besides, I think it's time for moi to show my kitchen prowess again, don't you agree?"
"Please pass the eggs, Canada."
Canada handed the beaten eggs to France who quickly poured it into the crepe batter and just as quickly pulled Canada closer before he could slip away, wrapping his arms around the other's waist.
"A kiss for the cook?" he asked teasingly, nuzzling against Canada's neck.
"Maybe." Canada replied in the same teasing tone, "But first, you'll have to fill my hungry stomach."
France chuckled. "And that I will do that soon enough, mon chéri." But first, I will need some motivation."
And soon, France was planting kisses all over Canada's neck, trailing his tongue across the bare skin.
He moved his lips upward slowly, kissing first Canada's chin, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.
And Canada was sure France's lips would have reached his own soon enough if it wasn't for the rude (and very loud) interruption of his hungry stomach.
"Looks like I'll have to feed you first before we can do some early morning calisthenics." France remarked in a wink-wink nudge-nudge voice.
"Eh? And what exactly do you mean by early morning calisthenics?" Canada spluttered out, his cheeks flushed.
But France merely laughed and freed Canada to return to his cooking.
Still blushing, Canada walked over to the other side of the kitchen counter to slice the strawberries for the crepe.
Slicing strawberries was generally an easy task but it was a job that required concentration. And Canada soon realized that it was difficult to concentrate when there was a, well, sexy Frenchman cooking beside you.
Canada tried to keep his eyes on the strawberries he was slicing but it was difficult not to glance up at France, who was standing nearby busily cooking the crepe batter. And looking distractingly attractive while doing so.
Maybe it was his hair, messily tied up in a ponytail, a few strands falling down and framing his face as he bent over the kitchen stove. Or maybe it was his loud and carefree humming as he flipped over the crepe in the pan. Or maybe it was the confidence he exuded while cooking, acting like he was king of the kitchen and master of the pan he was holding. Well, whatever it was, France was proving to be a distraction.
So distracting in fact that Canada soon realized that he was not anymore slicing a strawberry but his own finger.
"Ow!" Canada let go of the knife, letting it clatter loudly against the floor.
France was immediately beside Canada, holding his hand and inspecting the wound. It was just a small nick but it was bleeding a lot.
"Tsk." France took a clean towel and applied pressure to the wound to stop the flow of blood. "You should be more careful next time, Canada. You have such beautiful fingers." He opened the faucet and washed Canada's finger under the water.
Canada stared at his fingers. They were long but rough and filled with nicks and cuts. ( "Must be from playing too much hockey." he thought.) They were certainly not beautiful, at least not in his own eyes.
France must have noticed the confused look in Canada's eyes, because he laughed, the sound mixing with that of the running water's. "They are beautiful," France explained with a twinkle in his eyes. "because you, yourself are beautiful."
Leave it to France to take any ordinary situation and then turn it into a cheesily romantic one.
Not that Canada minded.
Canada looked down at his wounded finger, as soon as France let go of his hand, both to inspect the cut and to hide his quickly blushing face.
France walked back to the kitchen stove, the crepe now slightly burnt at the edges. "Go bandage your finger, mon cher." He winked at the other nation. "And when you come back, you will taste the most delicious strawberry crepes you will ever have. Made by Chef France, of course."
Canada stared at the plate of crepe laid in front of him.
The crepe itself was a bit dark at the edges and the strawberries were not cut that properly. (But then, those were more his fault than France's.) but overall it looked exactly like how he imagined it.
France handed him a fork. "Go ahead, taste it."
Canada sliced a forkful and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring every bit of it: the slightly crisp but chewy crepe, the tart strawberries, and the sweet and sticky mix of whipped cream and chocolate. It tasted so good that Canada could not help but sigh in contentment.
France leaned forward across the table, his face near Canada's. "A kiss for the cook now that he has fed you?" he asked teasingly.
"Well…since you did fill my hungry stomach…" And Canada happily obliged.
end