"Quoiiii?"

"Strip. Now." England had tried to sit up as much as he could still under France's thighs, he shrugged off his military jacket and was loosening his tie. France still hadn't moved. Mouth open but silent for once. "Take off your clothes you useless frog. Don't you get it, I was right France. There's no way they could have blocked up anymore rooms in this building and that's why they've removed the curtains, they would have been long enough to climb down but, I can tie our clothes together and it should be long enough for me to abseil down the room below us. I'll break the window and find away to get you out. Come on, quick as you like."

"…Non."

"What do you mean 'non'?"

"It means no."

"I KNOW WHAT IT MEANS. And, it wasn't a request." England thrust his hips up momentarily destabilising France and was able to push him to the floor and climb on top.

"NON!"

"YES!" England started pulling off the purple cloak. France wasn't making it easy his limbs wailing in every which way, it was like trying to stay on a bucking bull. But England, with a great amount of effort managed to pull the whole thing over his head leaving just a white shirt and red trousers.

France stopped moving, hair dishevelled in the tug of war. Blue orbs looking up intensely. "Would you really rather risk your life than be in the same room as me?"

"Well obviously, yes, of course." He undid the top button of France's shirt.

France blinked up at him. Then moved England's hands from his shirt and silently started unbuttoning himself.

England hesitated, the air had changed. It was uncomfortable he moved off of his lap. "France?" France didn't answer, he was unbuttoning the last few, the breeze blowing it open revealing a slender toned chest finished with a dusting of blonde hair. He worked the cuff buttons before shrugging the shirt off completely, it fluttered to the floor. He stared at England before toeing off his boots. "France, don't play damsel here. I know you want me gone just as much." England tried to inject some of their usual playfulness back in.

France snapped. He threw one of his boots at England. "You're as blind as Hero America out there."

"Excuse me?" Barely dodging the leather gunfire. Eyeing the second boot clasped dangerously in France's hand.

"We are jeopardising our own allies because we can't get along. And you're not even willing to put your pride away for their sake. You're so stubborn! This is why you're alone England."

England lost his breath from both the verbal punch and the physical boot that caught him in the stomach, but his defences quickly kicked back in. "I'm stubborn? Hah! Coming from you. That's rich. Besides, my stubbornness keeps us safe, I actively try to protect our nations. What do you do? You ponce around reciting beauty and love. How is that going to defend us?!"

"You see! You're so emotionally repressed! You have no idea what others are feeling. You can't empathise or is it that you just don't care? You've rejected feeling anything for so long, can you even feel anymore?"

"How dare you!"

"Look at the way you treat America! You raised him and now you treat him as your enemy! Hell you can't even tell Canada and America apart now! Do you even care what that does to Canada?!"

England didn't respond.

"You used to be Great. Now you're just cruel. You're cold. Everyone resents you."

"I cant be the fun parent like you France! It's so easy for you! I have to keep a firm hand. They need to stay their distance. I can't have them close again. Not again…. We are not the same! I don't live in an idealistic, romanticised French novel! I can't afford to show emotion, to show weakness!"

France spat at England. "EMOTION IS NOT A WEAKNESS!"

"IT IS WHEN…"

"When what?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me!"

France threw a punch. It landed square on the jaw of unsuspecting England. The roaring was over, they had stepped in to the ring, each determined to bring the other one down with a swing. England was strong but France was incredibly agile, France knew that England would take him out if he got the right punch in but if he could dance around him and get in his own precise attacks he could get him down. They were evenly matched, each knew the others moves, it was like getting back on a bike after years of never riding one, familiar almost pleasant. But they still sank attack after attack, both of them barely able to stand. They finally slid to the floor.

They sat panting. Bruised, shirtless and sweating. They wiped away blood from various and multiple offending wounds.

"I need a drink." England's voice hoarse from the fighting grabbed his jacket, rummaged for the key and tossed it to France. France stared at the small key in his hand and back up at the shirtless man, who was slipping back in to his green jacket, his pale front still very visible. France sighed and opened the window ledge pulling out a few bottles of wine. He threw one back to England and opened one for himself.

They drank in silence.

"I apologise." It had been a good twenty minutes of drinking down what was still unsaid until England made his peace. France looked up; England's eyes were downcast. "You're right. And I'm sorry."

France raised his eyebrows; he truly hadn't been expecting an apology. He walked over to the man on his knees and offered a hand. England clenched his fists, whether it was the liquid courage or France's words had actually resonated with him he hesitantly accepted it and France helped him up but didn't let go of his hand, instead he cupped it with the other and gazed in to England's still slightly defiant eyes.

"You're not alone. I never should have said that."

England tried to pull away. Avoiding eye contact.

"I know you England. I know who you really are. So even if you push everyone else away, I'll still be here. You can't get rid of me." His voice was so soft and sombre England dared to look the man in the eyes. A look they hadn't shared in years. An honest look, actually reading each other instead of talking at each other.

France's mouth twitched in a repressed smile. "I would even let you cook for me."

And with that England snorted. "You're such an arsehole." He beamed up at the taller man and brushed a stray strand of hair from France's eyes. Immediately recoiling his hand in horror from his actions. "Oh god, sorry. Don't know why I just did that." England pulled away. "Urm more wine? Maybe you could whip us up a snack?"

France was grinning like an idiot and cracked his knuckles. "Stand back Vanilla, let a master show you how culinary feats are tackled!"

England giggled and laid out pillows from the chest so they could sit on the floor comfortably.

"Tada!"

"….Cheese on biscuits."

"Shut up, there isn't anything else. And it is still better than anything you bland fish and chip eaters could have come up with."

England was about to protest but France got in first.

"No shut up and pay attention." England's lips tightened but he let the man continue. France scooted in front of him. "Close your eyes."

England studied France momentarily before sighing and doing as he was told. "Open your mouth." France broke some of the cheese and biscuit in to a suitable size and placed it in England's mouth. "Now chew but don't swallow." France could see England roll his eyes even when they're closed, when he decided it was enough chewing he said; "Open, but don't swallow, taste, let the flavours blend." England hesitated. "Oh for…You English and your etiquettes, there is no need for modesty here, there is no table for manners. Open." England knitted his eyebrows together but did as he was asked. Almost choking at the surprise of France pouring a little wine in to his mouth. The sweet alcohol mingled with the richness of the cheese and the tart of the cracker. It changed the balance of flavours implausibly; they were so complementary in balance, a complete different effect to eating swallowing and then drinking. He savoured the experience before finally swallowing.

England opened his eyes; "That is magnificent!"

France laughed happily; "Ah, you see!"