Word Count: 208
Pairings: FrUK
Warnings: Language
The Fight
The two were at it again: their endless fighting. By now the meeting room had cleared, it was after all well into the evening. Vain efforts to silence them had long since been abandoned, leaving the two—who had been reduced to personal insults for what seemed like hours by this point—alone in the room.
"Damn frog!"
"Tasteless cretin!"
"Flirtatious wanker!"
"Black sheep!"
"Je t'aime!"
France opened his mouth to reply, only to process what England had said. He stared at him a moment as the Brit's eyes widened and he slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Say zat again, s'il vous plait."
"I don't mean it."
France smirked. "Mon amour, we boz know zat you don't say what you don't mean."
"I do so!"
"Non, not zings like zat, Angleterre," the Frenchman said with a smirk as he inched closer. "I want to 'ear it again."
England hesitated. "I…"
"You?" France prompted.
"I…love…" England turned away, refusing to say more.
France cupped his friend's chin, not about to let this opportunity escape him. He forced the Brit to look up at him. "You love who?"
"I love you…" England murmured.
"Tres bien," France whispered, crashing his lips against those of his lover.
The fight was won.