France's mind was failing him. He was going insane, there was no other explanation for his thoughts. The more time he spent sitting on the couch with America, the more he thought about the best ways to make America angry, and it was beginning to scare him.
Why would be possibly want to make his beloved angry with him? Why would he want to make America, the most wonderful person in the world, hate him? It was insane. It was crazy. But he couldn't stop himself from thinking about it!
Would pulling his curl make him mad? He doesn't let anyone touch it...
America, oblivious to France's thoughts, chuckles at something on the TV, tilting his head to the side and giving France a perfect view of Nantucket... And France's mind is thrown into turmoil. He should do it. No, he shouldn't. He has to! But he loves America, why would he want to!? France can feel his control slipping away. This was too much. He couldn't not make America mad, but couldn't make America mad either! How would he live with the guilt of knowing he had hurt his one true love?!
Even so, he finds himself jumping off the couch, then seizing America's wrists. He shoves America into the wall, not bothering to think about how, even though America was struggling, he couldn't escape, even though he was one of the strongest nations... Then, he reaches out, his hand a mere inch from America's cowlick when America says—
"France, d-don't!" in a pleading and surprisingly weak tone.
The Frenchman freezes. He sounded so... So afraid and fragile... It was... Cute, in a way, but it also made France worried. He suddenly notes how America is unable to shove him away, even with one hand and both of his legs free. His fingers twitch, and America weakly mumbles "Please...?"
France releases his wrists, taking a step away. How in hell had he even thought of doing something like that?! How could he have even wondered what it would be like to violate, to contaminate his pure America with such forced methods?! How could he have come so close to doing such a thing?!
"I-If you really wanted to know what Nantucket does, you could have just asked Mattie..." America says, still staying against the wall.
France glances at him, and the overwhelming feeling of desire fills him. America, so pure and innocent, to shaken to even back away from the wall... It would, no doubt, be easy to overpower him...
"I-I...!" France turns pink, watching as the American walks forward.
Suddenly, the younger nation takes both of France's hand in his, sending chills up the Frenchman's spine. France looks down, but America cups his chin and forces him to look upward. Immediately, France loses his train of thought, instead his head filled with how wonderful and entrancing America's blue eyes were, and how wonderful it would be to dive into them and stay there forever...
Slowly, America leans forward, until his lips are a mere centimeter from France's. Now, the Frenchman can't think properly at all. The way America's hands started to find their way into his blonde hair made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end... They way America's hot breath graced his lips made him turn entirely red... And America's blue eyes, so hypnotizing, so beautiful... France wanted nothing more than to stare into them forever...
America, in a seductive voice, murmurs "If you really want to know, why don't you find out?" in France's ear, "I think you'd enjoy it... I get very weak... That means complete control for you... Don't you want it, hmm? To make me yours forever?"
France gulps and nods, reaching out. Yes, of course he wanted America to be his forever! And so, he pulls America's cowlick...
Someone gasping brings France out of his daydream, and he finds himself clutching America's cowlick, having reached out for it in his fantasy, and now America was taking in sharp breaths, his knees wobbling and his face entirely red.
"F-F-France..." America gulps, his body trembling.
The Frenchman, his curiosity getting the better of him, tugs it again, and America moans, lunging at France as his knees give out in an attempt to keep himself upright. One final tug from France and America dissolves completely, practically melting into France's chest and clutching desperately to the older man's white dress shirt.
"Fr-Fra..." America's mind is racing. Nantucket made him... Ah... Not aroused, necessarily, more like... It made him weak, made him feel like he needed to rely on others. Also, the person who was holding it, pulling it, stroking it, etc., could make him do anything... Soon, he would most likely be giving France the promise of his will, of his mind, of his heart. Nantucket made his emotions rather jumbled, and this was usually why, if anyone wanted anything from America, they would do what France was doing. Because America was so weak and confused whenever this happened, it was hard to do much of anything but try to keep himself upright and agree to their terms until they stopped.
"S-S-Stop! Pl-lease!" America says.
The reaction is instantaneous. France lets go of America's cowlick, dropping both of his hands. "I-I'm sorry!"
Then, the door bursts open, and America, still gasping and bright red, is being wrenched away from France and into a glaring England's arms.
"I told you he would try something!" England says, patting America's head, "He can't be trusted! He's a pervert! He was going to try something with you!"
America, his knees still wobbling and a deep blush still, stares at France with hurt in his eyes.
How could France do that after I asked him not to?
The Frenchman looks at his hands, then at America, then at England, whose lips are upturned just the slightest bit as he looks at France.
"Non! That was not my intention! I just...! I... I...!"
America, having regained the ability to speak, grabs both of France's unopened suitcases and hands them to the Frenchman. "Just... Just go away..."
France, shocked and angry with himself, can feel tears threatening to spill as America ushers him to the door. The younger shoves him outside into a dark night, and shuts the door.
...How could England make France do that?!
