England tries to confess to France but things don't go as planned, but things work themselves out

Fluff and light angst

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DarkPheonix666

England walked down the courtyard halls of the meeting building quickly. Carrying a bunch of red roses in his hand by his side. His cheeks flushed with a light blush as he mentally prepared himself. He had held off this moment for thousands of years as it was, he couldn't chicken out of this any longer.

He knew he wasn't perfect, but then again nobody was. It was part of their human forms to have their own personal faults in some way. But he couldn't hide his feelings him anymore, the love he felt about France despite his protests against him constantly. It just wasn't easy for him to admit after developing close relations only to have them leave his side.

France had been his longest ally since before he could remember and his confidant in every situation. This hadn't changed in all these centuries and he doubted it ever would. Though they fought a lot, he was someone who knew England better than anyone. He knew his personality best of all, knowing when he was up, down or in-between.

"Ok. Today's the day I tell that bloody frog the truth. Even if he thinks my cooking is awful" England muttered under his breath. I mean he hated how aristocratic and stuck up France was but he still loved the guy. Because deep down under that stuck up side of himself was a man who had been through his own grieving and pain.

Suddenly he heard some nearby laughing. He turned his head and froze on the spot, his confidence all but leaving him. Not being able to speak or even think from the shock. There stood France, as charming as always in one of his suits. But he was surrounded by women as usual, but this time seeing it hurt more than it usually would.

They were all very pretty, some looking older and even younger than France himself. As always France was using his charm on them, no wonder he had the rumours of being a pervert. He then took one of the girl's hands in his own playfully making her blush. "Ma Cherie, you have such lovely eyes. They shine like the Eiffel tower" he teased playfully.

England then felt like his chest was being squeezed and tears stung his eyes. France had once told him he had the prettiest eyes out of all the nations, which he was very proud of. The ones he loved the most in all the world, yet here he was complimenting some common attention seeking woman on her looks. No words could convey how hurt he was right now.

He watched silently as France laughed playfully with them a gentle smile on his face. How could he have been so foolish as to even attempt to confess when he was clearly happy with his new company. Hell, he wondered why so many people labelled him as a fuck-boy who only wanted other nations for their bodies.

He then gripped the bouquet in his hand and threw it to the ground angrily. Some of the flowers shedding their petals as they roughly hit the floor upon impact. Fuck France, he didn't need him and he was sure as hell not going to fall for such an ass. He then stormed off to get a drink, god knows he needed one badly right now.

Tears spiked his eyes as he left but he blinked them back bravely. He wouldn't cry where France could see him, it would only give him ammo to make him feel worse than he already did. He felt so angry that he ever fell for the bloody frog. If he knew that he would it would hurt this much to see him with other people.

France then looked up to see England storming off angrily, wondering what was wrong with him. Upon looking closer he noticed that England was crying, or at least holding back the desire to. This caused a pang of worry to shoot through France. Seeing England look so utterly heartbroken, there was no way he could ignore him when he was like that.

He then turned to his companions politely and smiled "Je suis désole. But I'm afraid I have to meet someone" he replied apologetically causing the women to moan in complaint. France then headed in the direction he had seen England head in. Desperate to catch up to the British male and see what on earth was making him so upset.

He then spotted a bouquet of red roses lying on the floor surprising them. They were his favourite flowers and had such a lovely scent to them making him smile. He picked them up and red the note that was attached to them causing his eyes to widen and guilt run through him. Now realizing why England had been so upset and left.

To Francis, Happy valentines you bloody frog

France then gave a look of sadness and bowed his head. It was obvious as to what had happened and what had caused England to be so upset at with him. He had plucked up the courage to confess to him, only to find him flirting with a bunch of women. Anyone would be upset to see their crush flirting with someone else.

He then headed to find England as fast as his legs would carry him. There was no way he could leave things this way, that would be a cruel thing to do. If he knew England, then he would probably be crying somewhere and trying to drown his pain in liquor.

England sat on a bench quietly drinking from his wine in a paper bag. A look of bitterness on his face, his eyes red from crying. He quietly watched couples passing by, his heart filled with anger. He growled under his breath gripping the bottle neck tighter. "Bloody womanizing frog". He Wished he had never fell for the wanker, if he knew it would bite him in the ass later.

"Angleterre" a familiar voice said from behind him. His voice filled with worry, obviously come to check up on him. Not that he gave a shit, he was probably here out of sympathy. He wasn't anyone's pity date or fuck, he was his own man and though he had his faults was not as easy as people thought him to be.

"Shove off Francis. Those girls are probably waiting for you" he snapped bitterly his voice cracking a little. They had obviously been prettier than him to gain a compliment about their eyes. So why the hell was he coming to him after he seemed to happy in their company instead of himself?

France then felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He could tell from his tone that England was really upset at him, especially to find no other alternative but to drink a form of comfort. He then took a deep breath "Je te cherchais" he replied defensively. There was no way he could leave England alone when he was hurting, especially now knowing he was drinking.

England scoffed, not buying a word of it. He knew the side of Francis that loved to tease and make fun of others. "What? To brag about your pussy list?". He knew all too well that France was a natural charmer and had been since they were kids. Always surrounded by men and women alike until he came out as bisexual.

France then held up the roses that England had discarded earlier "Non. Pour vous remercier pous ces" he replied gratefully a tender tone to his voice. His eyes filled with genuine gratitude. They were his favourite flowers after all and one of his nations favourites. Something he shared in common with the likes of England, which he was very proud of.

England frowned, he had forgotten about the flowers after seeing France with those women and stormed off. He then looked away averting gaze from France "You probably get loads anyway" he grumbled. Endless sex partners sending him thanks for a wonderful night. It made him feel sick inside at the thought.

France then shook his head "Non, c'est le premier a la faire" he replied gratefully. It meant a lot to him, that of all people England had been the first person to get him flowers on valentine's day. It showed despite his stubborn nature he did in fact care about him a lot more than he let on, given their long relationship.

Nobody had ever bought him presents before this day. He usually got other people presents in the sly, but today he had been blessed with his first gift from England of all people. When did the little boy he used to find covered in dirt and leaves in the woods become the handsome young man he was now?

England blushed upon hearing this but was still mad at him regardless. He was a man who still held grudges despite tending to keep his feelings to himself a lot of the time. He was more than unhappy that France had been surrounded by all those women leaving a large dent in his confidence.

France then approached England silently and wrapped his arms around the semi intoxicated male. Hugging him close to his body as if he was something precious, fragile and breakable. England's eyes widened and he slightly sobered. France then whispered "Je t'aime aussi, Arthur" he replied affectionately. He always had, ever since they were small nations.

England stiffened, fresh tears welling up in his eyes upon hearing these words. Yet again, he was falling in love with France all over again. His affections arising like a burning flame. Damn it, when had he become so weak? No wonder so many of the nations made fun of him. He really had gotten soft hadn't he?

He then turned to face France tearfully, his green eyes filled with hope and hesitation. Cautious that this would all be a dream or a joke that France had concocted upon seeing him this weak and fragile. "You better bloody mean it" he grumbled apprehensively. He would never forgive France if he was lying.

France then smiled at England, how adorable he was when he cried. It made him want to spoil him and yet at the same time tease him. "Toujours" he replied fondly. He had never lied about his feelings for Arthur. They had sprouted from the first day he met the younger nation as a new nation. From that day onward, it had only blossomed.

England hesitated gathering up what little courage he had left, then turned his head to kiss France tenderly on the lips. He was angry mind you and probably tasted like wine, considering he had drinking from the bottle. But he didn't care about that right now, he just wanted to kiss France and convey his feelings.

France was surprised by his boldness but kissed England back, his blonde waves tumbling over his cheek and tickling England's cheek. He tasted the wine he had been drinking on his lips. He had always loved the taste of England's lips, the subtle taste of tea on them. Now he tasted like wine which made the kiss even sweeter and addictive to him.

Eventually the two pulled away breathlessly catching their breath. Their eyes filled with want and yearning, both desiring each other badly. A strong longing in their hearts as they gazed at one another. A silent message of love being shared between the two males.

France then smirked playfully his blue eyes shining, there was no way he was going to leave it at this. "Attention a continuer dans ma chambre?" he asked in a teasing manner. He had been holding back all these years, being a man to never force himself on others. But now he would enjoy England for all it was worth.

England frowned distastefully but the anger inside of him had vanished. However, it was no wonder all those women had been all over him like that. He was such a bloody sweet talker. "Don't think I'll go easy on you" he berated defiantly. He would make France pay for hurting him like that. Besides, he knew that France was a closet masochist anyway.

France's smirk grew wider and his eyes gleamed with mischief. It seems the punk/pirate side of England had come out to play, not that he minded "Juste comment j'aime ça" he replied playfully.

Translations

Angleterre-England

Je suis désole-I'm sorry

Je te cherchais-I was looking for you

Non. Pour vous remercier pous ces-No. to thank you for these

Non, c'est le premier a la faire-No your the first person to do so

Je t'aime aussi-I love you too

Toujours-Always

Attention a continuer dans ma chambre?-Care to continue in my room?

Juste comment j'aime ça-Just how I like it