I DO NOT OWN AXIS POWERS HETALIA OR ANY CHARACTERS IN THE SHOW/MANGA/WEBCOMIC. OR TODD HABBERKORN FOR THAT MATTER. I WISH I DID THOUGH. *SIGH* Please enjoy, and review when you are done reading!
France despised getting caught in the rain. It made you cold, wet, and generally unhappy. Luckily, he had seen the clouds earlier, and had brought the biggest, brightest, most flamboyant umbrella he owned with him on his walk. The G8 meeting had taken part fairly close to his home this time so walking, he had figured, was his best option.
As he walked alongside the busy road, he noticed people waiting to cross the street. Such chaos mortals lived in every day.
"Chaos…"
He had murmured that word earlier on that day during the 'meeting'. He could have sworn that the rampageous gathering of nations might have gone rather well… had a certain American not come barging in with Russia in tow, announcing rather noisily that they were… 'together'.
He was even more surprised that England, of all nations, had stayed quiet throughout the entire meeting. He didn't share his opinion on anything, refused to share his presentation and didn't even shoot down any of America's crazy ideas.
Speak of the devil.
France caught sight of the bushy-browed gentleman maybe six meters away. No umbrella, no coat. He was just standing on the curb. He looked as if he were waiting for something. It wasn't as if he was incapable of crossing the street at that moment. Others were already. What were his intentions?
The traffic began moving at a quick pace again, and only when he saw the 16-wheeler headed towards this section of street fast a train did France realize what England was going to try to do.
England started forward onto the street as if each step caused him pain. France bolted for the smaller nation, throwing his umbrella far behind him. England was maybe halfway to the middle of the street, and the 16-wheeler was getting closer. The Englishman faced the monstrous speeding contraption with dull green eyes.
"ANGLETERRE!"
France just barely wrenched England out of harm's way as the massive truck plowed past them through the rain. He dragged England to the safety of the sidewalk and gripped his shoulders, forcing the shorter nation to face him.
"What were you thinking, Angleterre?"
England didn't even twitch.
"Angleterre?"
England didn't respond. He looked as if he was somewhere else entirely.
"Arthur?"
Arthur still gave no visible response at the sound of his human name. France was very worried at this point. The England he knew would shove him away spluttering about some sort of violation France had committed by touching him.
"We are going straight to my house, now."
England didn't even try to resist as France dragged him to his rather expensive home through the rain. All the while, the said Frenchman mentally fussed over the wellbeing of his 'ally'.
They stumbled into the doorway, both weary. France turned to see England hugging himself and shivering rather violently. France sighed, and led England to a spare bedroom and located a pair of flannel pajamas for the shorter nation to wear for the time being. He then departed to change himself, grabbed a warm blanket, and made a quick mug of tea for England. All the while he focused on how he would get England to respond somehow to… anything.
He knocked twice on the door to the spare bedroom and then entered. England had changed, and was curled up against the headboard of the bed. He had pulled his knees up to his chest with his head resting on them. His arms were wrapped around his knees as if he had to hold himself together to live.
France approached him and placed the blanket over the fragile nation's shoulders. The shorter blond responded by pulling it tighter around him. France set the tea on the nightstand, and placed his hand on England's shoulders.
"Angleterre…?"
Arthur's green eyes suddenly seemed to hold some form of recognition as they focused on the Frenchman's.
"Francis…"
Three things happened then. France could see England's face heat up, he saw the monstrous bushy eyebrows furrow into a glare, and thirdly, France felt pain as he hit the floor after being suddenly shoved away from England.
France was somewhat shocked at this reaction, but when he regained his composure, he could see the glare he had been faced with for so many centuries. The angry blush and downturned mouth reminded him of when England had been little. What had he called him back then…?
"What exactly did you think y-you were doing, France?" the Englishman demanded.
France cautiously moved closer. It was like trying not to startle a frightened rabbit. And similar to the situation, the ruffled Englishman did not like it one bit.
"I could ask you the same for your earlier attempt… mon petit lapin."
England froze at this. Ah, yes now I remember what it was… France smiled inwardly.
"I told you never to call me that."
"Why ever not, mon petit lapin?"
England visibly tensed and spoke through gritted teeth.
"Never say that again, you sodding-!"
"You never answered my first question, mon petit lapin."
"It has nothing to do with the likes of you!" England's voice was rising in volume with every word, and France could easily deduce that England was being defensive.
"Mon petit lapin-"
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!"
The blanket seemed to fall in slow motion as the raging Brit charged at the taller blond. France caught his punch easily.
"Y-YOU NEVER LISTEN!" England tried to hit France again. "YOU AND THAT OTHER STUPID GIT!"
Something in France's mind clicked. Only one other person had earned the regal title 'idiot' from England.
"Is this about America, Angleterre?"
He tried to pin England's arms down against the near wall. He was unsuccessful.
"O-of course it isn't!"
He tried to shake the Frenchman off. So this had everything to do with America.
"T-this has nothing to do with that bloody Yank! Honestly, France, you get the s-strangest ideas!"
But France had heard his voice break.
"Angleterre..!"
France managed to successfully pin the struggling Brit this time.
"Listen to me, Angleterre!"
But England continued to kick and struggle violently.
"G-get off, you frog!"
"You just won't admit it!"
England managed a rather nasty kick to France's left shin. France winced a bit.
"THERE'S NOTHING TO ADMIT, YOU BASTARD!"
"YES THERE IS, MON PETIT LAPIN!"
He held England's wrists above his head.
"YOU ARE JUST TOO PROUD TO ADMIT THAT YOU LOVE ALFRED!"
England suddenly stopped struggling. His eyes suddenly seemed dead again. They looked moist and weak.
"Is his rejection honestly worth ending your life over, Angleterre?"
"He never rejected me…" England let his face fall. "I mean, how could he if I never told the git how I felt…?"
Tears began to trickle down the lightly flushed face. France wanted to wipe them away.
"I-I was... I was…"
England began to shake.
"I-I was going t-to tell him today."
France let England's wrists fall from his hold. The Englishman hugged himself loosely. France tilted up England's chin and wiped at the little streams on his face.
"There, there, mon petit lapin…"
England threw his composure far away and broke down. He wrapped his arms around France and started sobbing his broken heart out into the Frenchman's chest.
"I-I told myself t-that if he w-was happy… I-I was too…"
France held the Brit and sat with him on the bed. He rubbed circles on the latter's shoulders.
"No one ever truly believes that, you know…" he replied in his accented tone.
He gently rocked England in his arms and kissed his forehead tenderly.
"W-why did you stop me, Francis?"
France stopped rocking him, and England continued;
"Why are you doing all this for me?" He sat up and eyed France. His face was still red from crying. "Why do you even care what happens to me?"
France's eyes widened. He held England's face in both of his hands.
"I have always cared, mon petit lapin."
England looked as though he had been suddenly hit by something. His eyes were wide with shock, and a kinder blush set on his features. France continued on.
"We have always been close, have we not? For better or worse we have stood side by side for centuries. Is that not but at least a small form of affection?" He cocked his head a bit to the side. "I am always here for you, mon petit lapin. I always will be."
The tears began flowing freely down England's face again.
"Francis... I…"
France brushed damp bangs out of England's eyes.
"Arthur…?"
Without warning, England kissed France full on the mouth. It was chaste, and desperate. France thought his lips felt meek, but at the same time, needy… as if stopping would kill them then and there. France kissed back gently, with just slight pressure, reassuring that it was not unwanted. He liked the feel of England's lips.
England shakily pulled away from France. France noted mentally that England had yet to let go of his shirt. He smiled at the shorter nation.
"What was that for, mon petit lapin?"
Arthur had a violent blush on his face. He focused on France's shirt. He mumbled something unintelligible.
"What was that?"
"It was a 'thank you…'" England muttered looking up at him.
France caressed England's pink face and smiled.
"Well… may I thank you back?"
England's eyes widened yet again, and he quickly looked away.
"If you must…"
France smirked, and was reminded again about his nickname for this timid rabbit in front of him. He leaned in and tilted the Englishman's face towards his.
"Merci, mon petit lapin." He whispered. And with that, claimed England's lips in a kiss.
England gave a slight moan, and France took this as a sign to go a bit further. He parted his lips and moved his experienced mouth against England's. He lightly prodded his tongue against the Brit's lips, and the responding gasp was all to satisfying for Francis. He pressed his tongue into England's mouth, exploring the uncharted area, familiarizing himself with it, claiming it for his own.
England responded then, nervously touching his tongue against France's, trying to mimic France's motions. France laid England back on the bed, straddling him, and England grasped France's hair, holding him close.
France broke away to look at England. He took in the sight of his hazy green eyes and deliciously flushed face. The fact that he was panting did not help France's thoughts stay in safe places.
"Francis?"
"Yes, mon chere?"
England didn't break his gaze.
"Will you help me forget Alfred for tonight?"
France cocked his head to the side again.
"Is this what you really want?"
England gave a deft nod.
"More than anything."
France smirked. He took England's hand in his, brought it to his lips, and kissed it.
"It would be a pleasure, mon petit lapin."
Mon Petit Lapin = My Little Rabbit
Bad? Good? Terrible? Pleasant? Please tell me! I may or may not write a lemon featuring the aftermath of this. But whatever! Hope you enjoyed it!