Hello. This is a oneshot I wrote for BritishTraveller because she's my fifteenth follower (Yes, I do that. Write stuff for people. Yes, the numbers are illogical. I have a list of numbers. If you're lucky enough, you might get the a number.) and she requested FrUK. So I put on my Media Player Shuffle and a song randomly popped up with such lovely name as "Whips and Furs", performed by The Vibrators. Do enjoy this thing, my dears. : )
"I have said this many times already, and I will say this again; you lack style, Angleterre."
France had a dull look on his face as he browsed through England's photo album on the sofa. The Briton in question glared the Frenchman next to him.
"And you lack brains. And what do you mean, 'style'? I have plenty."
"Oh please, you dress like you were in your fifties-"
"I'm over 1000, and you're older than I am-"
"Physically, you're 23. Have been so since 1939. And you have acted like you're 50 for the last, how you say, decade. You need to update yourself, cher", France noted, and gave England a dry look. The self-proclaimed gentleman scoffed.
"I am content as I am; and if you don't remember, I did update myself in the seventies."
"Hm?"
"Please do not say you have forgot."
A grin appeared on the Frenchman's smile. England blushed.
"Oh. That time. Oui, I remember it very well. Elisabeth was so embarrassed. Not to mention your prime ministers...Wilson actually called me once, and begged me to pound some sense into your dumb head", he chuckled. England sipped his tea, face red.
"So I had a teenage fit; so what. It's not like you have not had any, monsieur La Revolution."
France scowled. "We do not go there."
"Fine, I wouldn't want to talk about your 'angst' anyway. Are we done with this subject?"
"You had a fur."
England almost choken on his tea. "What?"
"A fur. Some animal. Worth of a fortune. And you burnt it", France reminisced. England couldn't remember the incident. "Are you making this up?"
"Non, I was there-"
"What?"
"-you burnt it as a protest to the goverment. Good thing you didn't get caught, that would have been awkward..."
"When was this?!"
"I don't remember-"
"You better start or I will crack your skull open!"
"Calm down, rosbif, I think it was...september '75."
England groaned and buried his face into his hands. "I was so stupid at the time. I can't believe I allowed myself to do those things."
France patted his back. "There there, we all have dark things in our past..."
"Shut up."
Francis rolled his eyes and smiled. "You had whips."
England stiffened, and didn't answer. "I remember it well, rosbif. Those were some wild nights we had back then..."
"Shut up", the Brit groaned. France chuckled. "There's nothing wrong being wild, cher. I quite enjoyed it. You were so lovely when you took control in the bedroom. You didn't hold back. You let all the frustration out...I remember occasions when I couldn't move the following day."
England turned his head to face France. There was a weird expression on his face. France furrowed his brows.
"What is it, imbecile?"
"...I still have the whips."
It took a moment from Francis to recollect his thoughts. He smirked. "Do you feel frustrated, Angleterre?"
"Extremely."
"It's not healthy to bottle emotions, is it?" France chuckled. England grinned. "Certainly isn't."
"We should do something about it."