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Story #203:
"In Your Dreams"
Do you believe in the magic of dreams?
-x-
"What are you doing here?"
France approaches, looking thoughtful for a moment before meeting his eyes again, a playful smile on his strikingly beautiful face.
As always, he looked dashing and tall in his royal uniform, and his eyes twinkled playfully like countless stars in the night sky...
"I am afraid I do not know ze answer to zat, cheri, why don't you tell me? You brought me 'ere."
"Me...?"
"Oui."
"What nonsense are you..."
"I am only 'ere because you wanted me 'ere. An' I will only do whatever you want me to. Zis is your dream after all…"
"My dream...? So I am dreaming?"
"Oui."
"It- it doesn't feel like a dream…" He shivers slightly as France kisses his ear. "So… everything you do here…"
"...is what you desire." France finished for him, planting another soft kiss, this time to his temple.
"But, that's impossible, I couldn't be dreaming of you... doing this."
"You always do. And you are. It is useless to deny it to yourself. You are being silly as always, mon *jeune maître!"
"W-Well then, if- if you're just a dream of mine... I can make you do whatever I want...?"
"To ze letter."
"Then..." England feebly pushes him away, his frame trembling a little as spoke. "I... I order you to leave!"
France stops short but doesn't move from the spot, instead he just tilts his head and stares quizzically at England, his silvery locks sliding off his slender shoulders.
"I cannot move, you are not letting me." He says matter-of-factly. "Non, cheri, that may be what you say... but zat eez not what you desire. Often zey are two very different things wid you."
"H-How the bloody hell would you know what I really want?"
"I told you. I am -to a certain degree- a projection of your mind. And your heart. I am 'ere because you desire it. I cannot be, uzzerwise... But that is not to say I am not real."
England says nothing, suddenly mesmerized as he watches France's fingers wrap around the buttons of his snug cotton shirt and slowly, teasingly, undoes one after another, until his chest and entire torso is exposed for England to see; The very fine golden hairs blooming there and sinewy curves and plateaus of muscles; The glow of his light caramel-colored skin and the mischievously charming smile aimed his way.
That very same smile that always sent England's insides a-flutter.
"Enjoying the view, cheri?"
"S-Shut it."
"Je t'aime," France says simply.
And England says nothing. He looks up from France's body and stares into those deep bluish-velvety pools that remind him so much of the seas he sometimes sailed on turbulent stormy nights.
Those same nights when he is completely at the mercy of what they like to call fate.
"Je t'aime aussi, Ar'zzur," the French boy repeats. "But you already know zat don't you?"
How England longed to hear those words, but now that he did- it pierced him through his very core. He knew it wasn't real and yet he believed it all the same.
*"S'il tu plaît, croyez-moi."
"H-How can I?" England wailed bitterly. "You're just saying what I want you to say... But this isn't real... it's a lie."
"But 'ow do you know it is not ze truth?"
"Because... I know him... I know you! Him... you... you're just after my body!"
At that France chuckled before running a hand through his hair, mussing it up a bit, "Seeing as I am ze one you are staring at 'alf naked, I am not sure zat is not a mutual thing..."
England blushed yet deeper, but he reached out a shaky hand to grab the French boy's neck to bring their lips close.
"I love you, you idiotic frog! And I hate you for making me!" And that was all it took for the tears to fall. "This is all your fault! Now I can't exist without you! Don't leave me... please...! Or I'll... I'll..."
France responds to the kiss tenderly pressing and moving his lips over England's heavenly pliant ones. His arms soon follow suit, reaching out and wrapping around the smaller boy's frame in an affectionate embrace.
"Don't cry, mon petit lapin... don't be afraid. I've loved you since always, and I am yours forever... no matter what...
"And not only in your dreams..."
When England awoke, he was alone.
But a strange calm had washed over his heart, like a part of himself he had been holding prisoner for so long had been set free. And in his next rendezvous with the French boy, he is no longer afraid.
He loves Francis. And he loves France.
He is a little taller now, though still smaller; but his arms manage to make its way tightly around France's shoulders and he settles his head in the taller boy's chest, content with listening to how the heart encased within started to beat louder and faster upon sensing his presence. He couldn't help but smile, acknowledging this as a special greeting and confession in its own right.
In the next instant, the Nation of Love's heart skipped a beat, and he looked up just in time to see France's eyes grow wide and deep azure urgently seeking his golden-verdigris ones in wonder... and only then did England realize the words he had allowed to slip past his tongue.
The words so delicate, it almost instantly got caught in the wind the moment he uttered it:
I love you, Francis. I love you...!
He regretted it but he had no wish to retract it. His own confused heart thundered in his ears, panic rising like a hot balloon in his gut, threatening to explode. And suddenly he was afraid...
Afraid that he was not loved by France in return.
"I know, petit Angleterre."
England could not see, but he felt the genuine smile on the handsome Nation's lips.
"You... you do...? B-But I never told you before...!"
France planted a kiss on England's soft tuft of unruly golden hair, enchanted by the rare bouts of coyness he was lucky enough to glimpse in the young Nation every now and then. He closed his eyes and took time to cherish it, and carefully tuck it away somewhere safe, another precious treasure to his collection.
"Oh but you did, mon jeune maître, don't you remember? You always do... in my dreams."
England blinks up at him, mildly shocked, expecting France to laugh- expecting a jest... But instead, they stare at each other, time seemingly frozen between them. Then France leaned down and whispered in his ear:
"Je t'aime aussi, Ar'zzur... But you already know zat, don't you?"
The End.
Notes:
*mon jeune maître - my young master.
*s'il tu plaît, croyez-moi - please believe me.
And of course je t'aime (aussi) is 'I love you (too)'.
I imagined France around 17-18 years in human appearance here and England is 14. So France is practically a young adult. Sigh! Young love! An old idea; a very whimsical piece... very dream-esque and as with most dreams, things hardly make perfect sense, but they just do all the same. We understand somehow even if we don't. Uhh, if you almost always remember your dreams like I do, you'll know what I mean. X3
(11/06/2012 - 04/23/2013)
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