Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, I just own an unhealthy devotion to France as a nation and its history. English is not my mother language and neither is French, any constructive criticism is appreciated.

Warnings: Drugs and alcohol abuse. It gets close enough to overdose so PLEASE take care if this is a trigger to you. The first chapter is written from England's perspective, the second one from France's. France is going to speak random French because, well, he is France.


Lost into the haze of despair


The reception was at its highpoint, but none of the nations felt tired of the day of leisure they had been granted. The food was good, the background music pleasant and the company… well, they just had to keep an eye around them not to risk meeting someone they didn't like.

This last point was something that was apparently a given for everyone except England and France, at least in the other nations' eyes. Every once in a while, there was some loud yelling and, as they attempted to focus on who had broken the mood, there were always France and England fighting one another. Whether it was about politics, economy, science, history, weather, colour of clothes or proper way to grow azaleas in a desert, you were sure that they shared different opinions on the matter and that they would be vocal about it.

Why they kept gravitating towards one another despite knowing how it would end up, it was anyone's guess.

This was until England's voice pieced through the light buzz of the room calling for France, sounding for the first time more worried than irate. The shift in tone had caught the attention of many of the nations nearby, but no one could really understand what was going on: all they could see was France kneeling on the floor with a worried England at his side.

"Oi, France! France!"

As France attempted to answer, however, he stopped himself instantly, bringing his hand over his mouth as if he was trying to keep down the food he had eaten.

That had been the last straw for England, who had just pulled his friend back up and dragged him to the nearest bathroom. He had then closed the main door behind the two of them, unwilling to let other nations seeing France the way he was now, and helped him to sit on one of the toilet bowls.

"Oi, can you hear me? Are you feeling sick?"

"I'm fine." France countered, sounding as annoyed as he could manage while slugging his words. "You can leave me here."

"Don't be an idiot, you are not fine at all." England cut short, kneeling in front of him. "If you're not nauseous, what is it?"

France kept stubbornly his eyes away from England, still it was easy for the English nation to notice the light perspiration, the heavy breathing, the unfocussed eyes and… Oh my.

"France, are you hard?"

France growled in embarrassment and tightened his arms around his waist in a defensive manner, moving slightly away from England.

"Yeah, but it will go away on its own, it's not really something you should worry about. Just don't tell the others, if you mind."

England nodded, feeling confused but slightly relieved by France's words. As he stood up and walked outside the cubicle, however, he noticed that the French nations had started to tremble and that his grasp on his arms was growing firmer.

"Fuck it." He rushed back to his friend, this time well into France's personal space to grab his wrist and check his pulse.

Even though England had acted to simply put his nursing education to good use, France had fought him off as if he was going to beat him up.

"Let me go, Angleterre!" France pleaded as he tried to free himself, making England stop his attempts to check on him to caress kindly his upper arm in a vain attempt to calm him down.

"Stop it, France. I just want to check on you."

"Check me keeping your distance!"

"Why are you so stubborn, I just want to help!" England gave up being gentle to try forcing his hand on the visibly ill nation, and France tried to wriggle free in answer. "Hold on a little!"

"Angleterre, I can't stand having you this close!"

That made England stop, so France took his chance to scramble into the furthest corner of the cubicle he could reach, sitting scrunched on the floor with his face buried in his hands as he attempted to get a hold of himself and shield his eyes from the light he had just noticed it was too bright for him.

"What?" Was all England could ask, seeing France's sudden retreat.

"Angleterre." France managed to say in between deep breaths that were apparently not sorting their effect. "If you are not up to touch me, you should just leave me here until it goes away."

"You're drugged."

"Merci d'énoncer des évidences." France cut short, his voice obviously strained.

"France I need to bring you to the hospital, who knows what the hell you have taken."

"I prefer dying alone in a bathroom than going through that shame." France stated, sounding dead serious. "I can just rub one out, Angleterre. Something that I can't do with you here."

"I could look away while you do it."

"So exciting."

"I don't think you are lacking on the matter right now."

France groaned, but he simply tightened his hold around his waist even more and made himself smaller in his corner in the vain attempt to give himself comfort, stubbornly shutting close his eyes.

"France, c'mon... You need to do something, it looks painful." England attempted to coax him out of his stubbornness. "You know that you can trust me, right?"

France remained silent, though, and England felt his heart breaking. France had always showed himself open and trustful to him, even though he had to admit that lately he had looked more distant... What a wonderful way to discover that his childhood friend, the nation he would trust with everything except his own feeling for him, didn't trust him as he used to.

He would have left the stubborn nation to his own devices, but the tremors were worrying him as it was the late reactions to any kind of stimulus that wasn't touch. And France sincerely looked pale, uncomfortable and completely void of focus, no matter if his words seemed to make sense up until now. If he had left him in the room together with the others... England had no idea of what would have happened.

Too many nations hated or loved France enough to take advantage of him, and what scared England the most was that he wasn't so sure that he was not among them.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the only thing that really mattered at the moment: checking that France was all right. He grabbed a hold of France's arm to drag him back to sit on the toilet bowl, and wasn't at all surprised to feel little resistance there. The seat wasn't big enough to allow them to sit next to the other, though, so England went to the main room and searched for something he could use. His eyes fell on a stool that seemed small enough to fit between the toilet bowl and the wall, so he took it and brought it to the cubicle. He sat next to France, placed his jacket over his friend's shoulders and pulled him closer, hoping that some companionship and body warmth could quell his tremors.

France understood what England was doing way later than he should have and, as soon as he did, he tried his best to push him away... something that didn't account for much, a realisation that could only worry the English nation more.

"Stop being so stubborn, you are freezing."

"Ça n'aide pas... Not the cold or the other problem..." France managed to say, his voice sounding weak and even more slurred than before. "Touch me or leave me alone."

"I doubt it would be smart of me taking advantage of you."

"You're a gentleman only… when is good to you."

"I'm not a rapist, France."

Instead of answering, France just attempted to throw England further away from him... With even less success than before. Unnerved by the lack of results, he tried to stand up to go away, then, but he just ended up ungracefully falling on the floor.

England waited for France to admit defeat and ask for help this time, but the French nation just started to cry, making his heart feel even heavier. For someone as proud as France, accepting that he had not the control of his own body must have felt awful... Maybe it would have been kinder if the drug had taken fully away his consciousness as soon as it had started to have its effect.

He moved in front of France to stare at his friend and -irrationally – his heart started to beat faster as their eyes met, no matter how small his pupils had become. Bloody bastard, how could he look so beautiful even when he was helplessly crawling on a dirty bathroom floor with little consciousness of his surroundings?

It took England all of his willpower not to give in and claim those red lips, or kiss the tears away from those even bluer eyes... or beg for some kind of acknowledgement from someone who would never be his, not in victory nor in defeat. No matter if, in the delusion that unrequited love brought with it, France's blue eyes seemed to beg him for the very same acknowledgment England desired from his friend.

And what was even worse, that expression on France's face felt familiar, even though he couldn't very well place it, and led him dangerously towards France. Something that he was not going to do. Not now or ever.

His hand still moved to cup France's jaw in a way he hoped it would be perceived as soothing and, despite his actions until now, eventually France leaned into his touch like a cat searching for comfort. He fucking felt cold, though, and his eyes were clearly not seeing him anymore... And yet they shone with something that made England irrationally hope – if only that feeling had been directed at him.

"Angleterre," France calling his name made him jump in surprise, a surprise that grew even more when he offered him his lips to kiss. Instead of giving in as his heart pleaded him to do, however, England just scoffed and took a firmer grip on France to put him back sitting on the toilet bowl as he would do with a doll.

"Angleterre... I can't stand this..." France pleaded, though, not looking back at him as he moved on his own volition into his friend's personal space, sending England's reason to hell. "Touch me, do what you want with me..."

"I can try to keep it as mechanical as I can, France, what about it?" England proposed tentatively, cornered between his better judgement telling him that he shouldn't listen to an intoxicated France and his first instinct to just accept his invitation.

"Take more..." France moaned and then tried awkwardly to mimic England's earlier attempt at reassuring him, cupping his jaw with his hand but still without looking at him and thus making England panic. "Take all, everything you like."

"Who do you think I am!?" England protested, grabbing firmly France's hand and using the advantage he had to guide him into a well open position that forced France to look up in his direction. "Touching you right now is completely wrong. I can do something but you can't ask me more, France!"

Nevertheless, none of his words seemed to have gotten through France, who just kept staring at him with something that England tried his best not to call love… until tears began falling down his cheeks. As if France had confessed his love to him and England had just rejected him.

No, everything was wrong with that picture.

He had never rejected France: England would never do so and France must have been fully conscious of his surroundings for whatever proposition to have any meaning. And it was not love what he was seeing on France's face, words and acts: it was the drug making his friend drowsy and unable to act coherently.

He had to remind himself this, not to risk hurting France... And himself in the process.

"Angleterre~" France moaned again, proving quicker than England would have hoped that by now there was little he could say that his friend would understand. "It hurts..."

Why it had to be him the one in charge of a completely wasted France? Sure, it was true that the thought of France in this state together with any other person made him throw up, but still... Why the chance to turn into reality for few fleeting moments one of the deepest desires of his heart had to be there, dangling in front of him, but he was not intoxicated enough to just take the chance and go for it?

Still, he had to do something if France didn't want to go to the hospital. He let his wrist go, then, and palmed his groin delicately, earning a soft relieved groan from his companion.

"I bet it hurts, you are as hard as a rock." England confirmed, attempting to give himself some kind of absolution as he felt the last bits of remorse he had becoming even frailer. "I'll make you come, alright? I'll use my hand."

He delicately opened the fly of France's trousers, and he was all but surprised to see his erection already up and hard. And warm. With his tiny veins crossing his length already full of blood, the balls swelling up poking out the white fabric. It wasn't the first time England had seen and grabbed a hold of it, but he had to admit that, especially lately, he didn't really remember much of their trysts.

The desire to step up their relationship together with the growing rumours of France sleeping with an increasing number of people kept leading him to drink way too much whenever they met. He knew that getting so drunk to lose control was risky, but he also knew that he could trust France with himself even then. This was the prime reason why he got wasted only when he was in his company, because he was sure that France would get him out of trouble and back to safety. And that he would grant him the care and love he desired.

France would listen to his rants, he would cuddle and comfort him, he would take him gently and free England from everything that bothered him. Only with someone who knew him as well and for as long as France did he would dare this, only with someone who knew him as well and for as long as France did he could show himself completely relaxed and defenceless.

Any other nation would never do: the special chemistry and companionship they shared would put every other kind of relationship he would even think to pursue to shame.

He had tried thinking about opening up to other nations, but no one had France's ability to accept his every flaw with nothing more than a gentle smile. He sure could make friends with them, but it was only France who accepted his heart and his whole being as they were, with no intention of changing him, only to make him grow stronger and more confident.

How could England not love him? How could he change him for anyone else? How could he not desire to show France his love through his actions?

Because France was everything for England, but what he heard about France from the other nations hinted that he had not a special place in France's heart as France had in his.

The background buzzing of the rumours in his ears made him sure that he would get rejected if he tried to confess, but France wouldn't be able to notice his feelings right now, even if he allowed himself to finally show them out in the open. This could be his only chance to make love to France and take some weight off his heart, make him his in the way he had always desired, the passionate lovemaking of his dreams... France had been the one asking him to take everything he wanted, after all, could it be considered consent?

England let his head fall back against the wall, hoping that it was enough to knock some sense back into his skull.

He sure as hell wasn't the right person to be in charge of France's wellbeing.

He focussed on the pain in his head and attempted to keep himself as emotionally detached as he could then, and proceeded to pull down France's trousers. He started to mechanically move his hand up and down France's heated shaft, then, eliciting soft moans and sighs of pleasure from the nation shivering in his arms.

"More~" Despite England's attempts to keep some distance between them, France leaned against him, desperate for contact. His head slid over his shoulder, his arms clumsily attempting to close around England's neck as he opened his legs wider to grant him better access. "Ngh... More please~"

His pleads and touches went straight to England's cock, and the strong smell of France's arousal wasn't helping at all his attempts to act like a gentleman. He forced himself to move France back to his previous position, then, feeling worried about how easy it was to manipulate his friend.

He took his chance to grab some lube from his pocket and spread some on his hand, realizing too late the effect that mixing the scent of his lube with France's would have on him.

This was way too familiar, way too linked to the normalcy of falling into one another's arms and take some fleeting pleasure from one another. It was the smell he associated with wine – since they were frequently inebriated during sex –, with the feeling of not knowing what to do whenever he woke up next to France the following morning, with the heaviness of his heart seeing him so peacefully asleep that he couldn't help but to kiss him with all the love he didn't dare to show France when they were awake.

And the fact that France kept gravitating back to him after he tried to shove him away didn't help at all, so, when France tried again to meet his lips into a kiss, it took all of England's strength not to just give in.

"Angleterre~ Kiss me~" France pleaded, but England just forced himself to ignore him, focussing on mechanically stimulating his dick.

The lack of passion, however, got the opposite effect on France, who only grew restless, calling his name, crying for more and attempting to get closer... Arousing England in turn and making him lose his cool.

England could show self-control, he sure as hell could, but making love to France, show him that he deeply cared about him and give back a little of what he felt France gave him... This was tapping into his deepest desires, the ones he tried to keep in control whenever their tumbled into one another's bed while sober, or for which he used wine as an excuse to dare a little more. This even though he was certain that France made love to him, or at least showed him a mockery of the feeling, considering the reputation he had to sleep with everyone.

Rumours were just rumours until proven true, though, and England's feelings and desires were still there. No matter the buzz.

"France? Oi France?" He called, but nothing in France's behaviour gave any sign that he had heard him. He then stopped what he was doing earning a whimper of disappointment from his friend, and he tried to make him look at him. "France?"

"Angleterre~ Kiss me~" France repeated as a broken machine, his eyes giving no sign that he was actually looking at him. "Give me more~ Angleterre, more~"

And it was then that a realisation stuck England: France was completely lost to the drug, either hallucinating or living a completely different reality. He could be with anyone at the moment, but he probably would still be pleading for England to kiss him and give him more all the same. Why would France be calling for him? With all the people he could have chosen why... Him?

Fuck, this made his attempts to not allow himself to believe that there could be something more between the two of them going down the drain. He swallowed then, and stood up to free his aching cock from his trousers.

"Fuck you, France. Fuck you and whoever put you into this state." England muttered, sitting once again by France's side to put more lube on his hand and start opening him up.

England's fingers inside him were welcomed with a satisfied groan from France, something that didn't lessen England's guilt, as it didn't the continuous mantra of his name spilling out France's lips, or his attempts to touch and cuddle against him. Attempts that he kept trying to fight off with little success and increasing distress for the both of them.

When he was sure that France was ready to take him, England stood up again, put some more lube on his dick, already up and hard without even touching himself, and took a firm hold of France's legs to keep them spread open as he penetrated him slowly, careful not to hurt him despite the obvious discomfort of the position.

"You can kill me all the times you want after this." England grunted, feeling the tight heat of France's muscles enveloping him making him even less sure that he could manage to get to the end of the evening without doing something stupid, like making love to France or saying something that he would never admit even to himself.

He allowed himself a few tentative trusts to be certain that France felt fine, before dragging his legs over his shoulder to keep a better hold of them and resume masturbating France. Like this, things seemed to work a bit better, considering his moans and the pale trail of precum running down his heated shaft, even though France -in the little place where his mind was trapped- seemed to be still growing more and more restless.

"Angleterre, more~!" He whimpered softly, making England doubt for the first time that the more France kept asking him was as sex related as he had thought at the beginning. Something that would make his choice to make France come through penetration even more wrong.

All France could do, however, was letting himself being rocked by England's thrusts inside of him, while soft tears kept falling down his cheeks.

Great, now England honestly felt like a rapist, even though France couldn't be left alone to take care of his arousal and – somehow – it looked like that, even though they were in two different realities, it was always the two of them making love having sex together.

"Stop crying, I am giving you more!" England reprimanded him, despite the need to fight for coherence on his own now that his orgasm was approaching. "And I really wanted to give you more than this, but you can't even hear me, you bloody git!"

After some time, France's moans and the mantra of his name resumed, making England wonder if France had understood him somehow. Whatever thing was happening inside his mind, however, his tears didn't stop, despite the growing excitement and the approaching of his orgasm.

England's own mind was a mess as well, though: he needed to come, but also to soothe whatever was hurting France... Without showing that he cared too much and thus getting them hurt in a different way.

On the point of not hurting France, though, his first urgent matter was not coming inside France.

Too many times he had woken up hungover, not remembering a thing but finding out like that that he and France had sex the day before. It was reassuring, for him, the thought that getting the both of them wasted had allowed him to get to bed with France without too many consequences and without risking that, if some unneeded words were to slip out, he would be held accountable for them. He loved France, though.

What would France think, instead, if he discovered such a violation of his body by evidence and not after England could explain him what had happened and thus get the beating up he felt he deserved?

So, please... Even if he ended up allowing himself to kiss and hold France before the end of the evening, at least not coming inside.

"Ahn~ Angleterre~!" France cries as he came pierced through England's thoughts, thoughts that blanked as soon as he heard him adding as a strangled plea. "Je t'aime..."

France's confession made England lose completely the control he was attempting to keep, and before he realised it, he ended up emptying himself inside France. As soon as he had recovered, he could only stare shocked at his friend, who had fallen asleep as soon as he had come, sprawled in the most unappealing way over the toilet bowl.

Unwilling to let himself hope that a confession done in the throes of passion and drugs was real, England just focussed on putting their trousers back and giving their suits some sort of order, so that he could bring France home as soon as he had rested a little.

When he had almost finished his task, a soft tinkling echoed inside the room, and England noticed that a tiny empty vial had slipped out France's pocket.

He retrieved the thing and stared at it a long time, at a loss about what to think about it. Sure, England was quite well inebriated himself, but there was little doubt about what that vial was.

He sat France back better on the toiled bowl and resumed his position by his side, bringing him close in his arms protectively, as he tried to remember everything France had done that day.

About an hour passed before France's breath felt less heavy and he attempted to move slightly away from England, signal that a tiny bit of consciousness might be returning to him. The silence was still thick, though, and now that he had several questions to ask France it felt even heavier.

"France?" He tried to question him. "Why did you drug yourself?"

The direct question didn't even make his friend flinch.

"You don't really want to know." France sounded still half asleep, his voice groggy and sluggish, and with some hint of sadness laced in it.

"Am I in the equation?" England waited for France to nod tiredly before continuing. "You planned to give the spiced drink to me?"

"Brought it thinking of you, never planned to give it to you." He breathed out. "Didn't even plan to use it on me-"

"Oh great, you wanted to drug someone else to flaunt your sexuality in front of me?" England yelled despite knowing that it was stupid confronting France right now. His hold on France for the first time became hard as he moved in front of him and managed to make France turn his head to face him, to glare at him properly. "You are a fucking bitch! You are the worst! Did he make you drink-"

"I didn't."

"What?"

"I didn't do anything of what you said." France answered confused, his stare on England showing that he was still far away from the there and then, even if the soft tears that had resumed to stream down his cheeks seemed to answer to England's accusations. "What have I done to make you think that I could do that?"

The blunt question made England think, but he honestly couldn't point out a real episode in which France had showed himself capable of drugging others to get them to bed or to get one on someone else. And he was the one who had shared most of his time with the other nation. It was common opinion that he could do that, though... Why was indeed a question England had never asked himself. Sure, France talked a lot and said the worst and most depraved things, but on a matter of acting on it...

He got naked in public a lot.

Yeah, sure, but that wasn't a crime. He had never even showed himself naked or semi naked when he was hard, so he couldn't even call him properly indecent.

"Why would you buy something that you are not planning to use?" England asked instead, hoping that France would contradict himself and finally give peace to his thoughts.

"Don't know." France admitted, though, lowering his eyes. "Hoped for those stories about me to be true. If I really could sleep with anyone, life would be much easier… But I can't." He continued, his voice cracking once again. "I just wanted out of that miserable farce at the reception. Needed something different from what I felt."

So France did know what people thought about him. Suddenly, England felt sincerely bad to have simply accepted them as true, but if he had understood well his friend, France didn't feel bad for the rumours, but for the fact that they weren't true. Who knows, the idiot might have even made them bigger, not even realising that he was having the opposite effect on people. Being a fine connoisseur of France's idiocies, he could only come to the conclusion that he really was an idiot.

"It's not bad having morals." England offered kindly. "If you were more honest with the people around you, you would get more reliable political relations and relationships than the ones you have now."

"Big words from someone who doesn't care switching from one relation to the other."

"Are you jealous?" England teased, hoping to elicit a chuckle from France, but the French nation just remained dead silent. "France, you have relations with many nations no differently than I do."

"Oh, tell me about them."

"Well, you are getting along with Germany, you just made a big deal with Italy-"

"Who would ever believe those are real and lasting. It's not foreign relations my problem, though."

The admission broke England's heart and for the first time in the whole evening he felt like he was about to cry no differently than France. He had hoped that it was simply a political matter, but if this turned out to be love sickness... he had been right not making love to France, his case was hopeless.

"So you see that being honest would make your life less miserable?" England smiled sadly at France, feeling already about to regret what he was about to say. "Go to the nation you love. Kiss them and tell them that everything you did until now against them are all lies. Tell them that you love them and that you want a different relationship based on trust from now on. Things will get better."

Unpredictably, France just closed the gap between them to kiss England on his lips.

"Angleterre, everything I did until now against you are all lies." He repeated, with a despair that made him almost look like he had snapped out of the haze of the drug. "I love you and I want a different relationship based on trust from now on."

England's eyes fixed on France's still unfocused ones, at a loss of words. A small part of him wanted to believe that France really meant it, but as the tiny bubble of hope rose to the surface, it was quickly hushed down by pure anger.

"Fuck you, France!" He yelled, barely stopping himself from pushing his friend away with all the strength he had. "How dare you to toy with-"

"You see!? You're a liar!" France interrupted him, hyperventilating and sounding as angry and betrayed as England felt. "Nothing will change! You switch to other nations and I'm left behind alone! You are-"

France suddenly stopped bellowing and brought a hand in front of his mouth, turning quickly to the toilet bowl to throw up.

Seeing France's pitiful show, England's rage almost completely disappeared, and he rushed next to him to caress his back in a soothing manner. Under his touch, France's shirt felt wet from the sweat and his whole body rhythmically shook as the tremors resumed. It was then when England realised something: France wasn't just drugged, he was also completely drunk.

Bloody hell, only France would take two depressants at once.

"France, c'mon, you are not going under on me, aren't you?" England asked worried, now not really sure that he had done the right thing not bringing him to the hospital.

"Why would you care!? Why now?" France managed to yell despite his ragged breathing and the tremors. "Just leave me alone, you are a frigging liar! You promised things would change if I did what you said!"

Despite his words, France had turned towards England and had started to cry in his arms with such a despair that he looked half his age.

"France, please calm down, I did not lie." England attempted to make him see reason, kindly caressing his head. "It's just... You shouldn't tell these things to me, but to the one you love. That's how things change."

"I just did it!" France let himself fall on the dirty floor, beaten by the strain on his body and mind

By then, however, England was scared to even touch him or keep up this conversation. Was France really in love with him? So much that England's attempts not to hurt them had just made everything worse for the both of them?

Fuck him who had listened to the others and not on what his heart told him, and fuck France who had done just the same. This was not the time for them to have this conversation, though, no matter how much he wanted to just kiss France and tell him that he loved him back.

"France, let's talk about it tomorrow-"

"I don't want to talk! I want more from you now!"

"France, fuck it!" Before he even realised what he was doing, England had dived towards France to claim his lips in a kiss, hoping that something physical could make France understand that he wasn't going anywhere. The French nation fought it off, though, his eyes angered and hurt as he stared back at him.

"I don't want a pity kiss!"

"Great choice of words from someone who knocked himself out on drugs and wine to get a pity fuck!"

"A pity fuck was what you gave me, it was by no means what I wanted from you! I wanted you to love me!" France admitted tiredly, the burst of anger having burned even the last bit of his strength.

Not really knowing what to do with a France distraught like that, England just held him in his arms and let him cry it out until he fell asleep again and he could bring him home.

The only thing he knew was that the following morning was going to be hell.


TBC