Just This Once Let's Not Pretend
By Bwilla
I slipped into the steamy room, the heated fog slipping through the crack I entered in, swirling to the rest of the house. I wasn't supposed to be here, in England's house, when he saw me he would most likely scream at me, and hurry me out of his home. I had to be there, I had to see him.
I didn't even stop to think about it before entering the room Arthur was in. Though the steam filled the room I could clearly see his nude form. He turned to me as the door clicked shut, green eyes flashing in anger. "Frog," he growled, his fury swelling before he yelled at me to get out.
With the ease of many years of practice I ignored the shouts that reverberated through the rest room, shucking my clothing to the floor. As I stepped into the shower he moved back out of the spray, away from me. I placed my hand around the edge of his face, the only place I touched. Blue eyes met green as I pleaded, "Just this once, let's not pretend we hate each other. I love you Angelterre."
These were the words we pretended didn't exist, we his them from the world and even tried to keep them from ourselves. England didn't repeat the words, but I didn't expect him to. He flinched as my words hit him, as if they caused him physical pain; however his smile broke through the anger that had cloaked him, granting him a much calmer beauty. I kissed him gently, my hand moving upward to tangle in his sopping tresses and his arms shyly embraced my neck.
Unlike our previous times together, which were many I admit, no insults flew from our lips, and no bruises would be left. We stood for several minutes in the warms spray of the shower before his probing tongue asked for entrance that I willingly gave. We pulled away to breath, England fumbling behind me to turn the water off.
I stepped out of the short walls of the shower onto the mat protecting the floor, I pulled a towel off of the rack and smoothed the white cloth over first his arms and them his chest. He turned from me so I could dry his back and I followed the towel with my lips, leaving small kisses across his shoulders and down his spine. He shivered in the cooling air and drops fell from his hair back on to freshly dried skin. I took the towel and ran it through his blonde locks, using the action to pull his lips onto mine again.
England pulled my lips apart, searching my mouth with his tongue, the two of us pressed together, one wet, one dry. I felt my back hit the wall as we kissed, the towel slipping from his hair to the floor. His nimble fingers danced across my upper body twisting one of the nipple to a peak before starting on the other.
My devilish, devious angel, he smirked at me as I released a loud moan at his ministrations before covering my mouth with his again. I would have taken him right then but this time I wanted to make love to him in a place made for doing so. I pulled away, leading him by the hand to his bedroom and the old four poster we had lain on many times before.
The love they made that night was sweet, so much different then the others times when they hid their love while having sex. Where previously there was fury there was now calm. Few if any words were spoken either, except for France's proclamations of love with every other stoke. Francis ended up staying the entire night, holding the other close to him and gently petting England's hair, not wanting to miss a moment of the night. Arthur was so beautiful, especially when he slept, or maybe it was just France's mind playing tricks on him again because he every time he saw the other he thought his Ange was more beautiful than anytime before.
When the sun rose into the sky it burned away the sweet atmosphere, leaving Francis kicked out of the large house and retreating back to his own country. Even if it was only the one time, the one night he had said it. He had finally told Arthur that he loved him, the ball was in his court now, it was up to England what happened next.
Months later every thing seemed to go on as normal, at the world meeting he had next seen Arthur at the fought as usual and the entire thing was the same. Same insults same fake hate, even the same angry sex that night. France finished up his dinner and moved to the kitchen to wash up, when he returned there was a short blonde man standing next to his table. With a quiet sigh he stirred up his anger only for Arthur to whisper,
"Let's not pretend, just this once."