Onee-chan: I could no longer stand the fact that there was no disclaimer...
QueensOfPierogiAndPasta doesn't own Hetalia
France was practically prancing through the lower level of his home as he heard the shuffling of feet above him. His younger brother Italy had stopped by for a visit in the early afternoon, and the time had flown by in the blink of an eye. Evening had fallen, and after a quick argument, the Frenchman had convinced an uncertain Italy to spend the night.
I've been waiting for this for years! I wonder what he looks like in only his pajamas... Or maybe no pajamas at all. France would never say out loud what he had in mind for his sibling, but then again, maybe this refusal for words was silly. Actions spoke louder than words, and let's just say that France was a very active man.
"Franceypants?"
France turned around to face Italy, who had silently arrived at the foot of the stairs. The latter was wearing an oversized button down white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A pair of dark dress pants clung pathetically to his skinny frame. It was not very comfortable sleepwear in Italy's opinion, but as he hadn't been expecting to sleep at France's house, he hadn't packed his usual pink tank top and yellow shorts.
France was slightly displeased. Oh well… clothing can be removed. "What is it, frère chéri? Don't you think you might be a little uncomfortable in that outfit?" At least he slipped his body into your clothes and not some commoner's potato sack. Although it would have been nice if he'd stumbled upon a maid's dress instead.
Italy glanced at his feet. They were swaddled by material that could not be pulled up to his ankles. "A little bit, yea. But it's not much of a problem, not for me at least. Germany is always making me wear uncomfortable military clothing, day and night, he says it's meant to make me hardier but all I ever feel is itchy because he refuses to spend extra money for fabric softener to add to the wash and I always tell him that I brought something more comfortable to sleep in but he tells me 'no' and one time he even threw my night clothes in the trash and-"
France tossed his hand in the air. His little brother loved to ramble on until there was no such thing as punctuation and his original idea had long been lost in the empty space of his absent mind. It's cute, but I wish he didn't do it so often. "Italy, what did you come down here for?"
"Oh, well, I came to ask you for a bedtime story."
"A bedtime story? Aren't you a little old for that?"
"Everybody says I am, but I don't think so. I can never convince Germany or Romano or anybody to tell me a story, so I'm often up half the night making one up myself. Sometimes if I like the story, I paint a scene from it the next day."
"Interesting. I'll tell you a story. Yes. A very nice story… perhaps one about a man and a woman? Or perhaps a man and a man? Doesn't that sound nice?" France felt his pants grow tight.
Italy's brow furrowed. France almost wished he had a camera: he had never seen such a serious expression on his brother's face. Italy replied: "I don't think so, Franceypants. You scared me a bit with the last story you told me about a man and a woman. I don't think I want to hear one like that again, not when I'm going to sleep."
France stifled a giggle when he remembered that incident. His brother had been in his early teens, and Francis had decided to tell him the story of when he had lost his virginity. He thought he was being helpful; Italy had been confused and a little scarred.
"Well," France said as he began to lead Italy up the staircase, "I won't tell you about a man and a woman. But you'd be okay with a man and man, wouldn't you?"
"I guess," His sibling replied. "It wouldn't be the same, would it?"
"Oh, no, this story will be quite different. You see, rather than the characters being a man and a woman, the characters will both be men. And that story- that story had been of the romantic sort! This one will be maybe… a horror?"
"A horror story? For bed?" Italy lay down in the queen-sized bed in one of France's many spare rooms.
France pulled the chair from the desk to beside the bed. "Don't worry, it'll provoke nice thoughts. Very nice thoughts. And it's a story filled with passion! You're always saying you have a passion for art, don't you? You'll love it."
Italy was still uncertain, but he said nothing, and France took this to mean approval.
"Once upon a time, not very long ago…."
