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. Music quotes during the karaoke scene are credited to Willam Belli.
Warnings: France is going to speak random French because… well, he's France. England and Canada might as well. This fanfiction came to life thanks to two key factors: the Fruk server announcing Fruk Day and my friend Goga admitting she didn't know who Willam was... even though he is exactly how I picture France in drag in my mind, from the sassy attitude to the occasional stubble.
Additional note: France in this story is somewhere in the non-binary spectrum, but I don't think that he is the kind of character that would stick to common boundaries, even when the boundary is having no gender boundaries, so just take him like he is: he doesn't give a fuck about anything and loves England deeply.
I hate that I love you the way you are
There were several things France and England liked of one another and would never admit to it, and one of those guilty pleasures was France dressing in women's clothes. Or at least, in women's clothes for England's standards, since sometimes their ideas of male and female wear were quite different, since England cared about those labels a bit too much and France nothing at all.
This was why it was difficult for them pointing out when it had become a fully conscious habit of theirs, even though England remembered quite well when he had acknowledged that yes, he really loved it whenever France tossed the boundaries of gender into mayhem.
He had sneaked into France's royal palace to have some quality time with his lover despite the war and – between yelling at one another and ending up tangled into France's soft sheets – they had taken their time to talk about what had been happening lately in their countries. As soon as England had mentioned some new plays on stage in his theatres, France had rolled over him and pleaded to bring him to see them.
Pointing out that they were currently at war with one another and that they lacked even the basic reasons to go seeing a play together -France was not his girlfriend after all- had not sufficed, so the day after England could only leave a still pouting France behind. And he should have known that France was not going to take no for an answer, and that a pouting France was the antechamber for disaster.
Not so many weeks after that encounter, England had been discussing some military strategy with his sovereign when a servant discretely interrupted them to announce that someone was waiting for Arthur Kirkland. England's attempts to shrug it off as a misunderstanding or a bad joke were all refuted by the servant, who assured him that a beautiful lady had travelled a long way just to meet him.
England had excused himself from his sovereign then, but the man had just followed his nation, curious to see who had been so charmed by the cactus that England was that they would go the extra mile only to meet him. Instead of someone ready to laugh in England's face like both Englishmen had been expecting, true to the servant's words there was a beautiful blond woman standing in the palace entry hall.
A big feathery fan covered half of her face, but the light make-up on her blue eyes and the carefully shaped eyebrows spoke aloud of the care she had put into preparing herself. Her blonde hair was only partially tied up so that several strands fell graciously over her bare shoulders, contrasting vividly with the deep cerulean of her heavily trimmed dress.
The mysterious lady just had to smile at the other nation from behind her fan to make England realise who he was…. And make him want to kneel between his legs to enjoy that awkwardness to the fullest.
Clueless about what was happening inside his nation's mind, his sovereign didn't waste his chance to elbow him playfully, wondering aloud if he didn't happen to have a hidden girlfriend.
"Indeed I have." England had simply answered, and he'd walked towards France to offer him his hand, so that the other nation could offer his to kiss in return... Something that he did, without moving his eyes from France's. "Tu es merveilleuse, ma chère."
France just smiled wider at the compliment and covered his face better behind the fan, more to hide his proud smirk at England's reaction than to play bashful.
"Merci, mon cher. Je suis ravi de te revoir."
"Moi aussi, tu es très belle aujourd'hui." England continued, moving closer to his lover without ever leaving his hand. "I'm sure I'll find a way to make your coming worth it."
"Am I beautiful only today? If you are so glad to see me, you could start with that play you mentioned." France answered him cheekily. "After that, who knows, I might stay with you a little longer for, well, other things."
France could not stay much, in the end, since his sovereigns easily guessed where he had disappeared to, but still he'd managed to get his play and England the chance to properly appreciate some of France's female wardrobe.
After that day, they had used the trick several times to have the chance to hide France's presence by England's side during wartimes, but even during their periods of peace France made a point to grant England his well-deserved treat.
This had reassured England when they had signed the Entente Cordiale, and his main excuse to see France in women's clothes had disappeared in thin air. The anxiety had been still there, though, so France had made a point to show up into his room, later the day of the signing of the treaty, dressed with a long navy-blue dress with a mantle that looked almost like the dress version of his own usual uniform. Luckily, he had ditched the enormous hats that their people enjoyed so much back then, and he had pulled up his hair, adorning it with a big blue rose made of trims and satin.
Even though it had been carefully styled, the dress was very simple and had nothing that England would consider hot or sexy. Despite that, he had found himself swallowing at the sight, and had taken his chance to show properly to France how much he had appreciated the surprise.
Appreciation that had grown even more after he had found enough strength of heart to undo the buttons of France's dress, and had uncovered a beautiful deep red lacy corset, red lacy underwear, garters and net tights.
After that, each and every April 8 was celebrated like that, with France enjoying to show off his latest female fashion and England loving every second of it.
Sometimes drag still was a random treat offered with no particular reason, though, this was why England hadn't been too suspicious when, early that morning, France had started shaving every inch of his body, and even less when he had disappeared inside his walk-in closet, leaving England with little hope that he would come back any time soon.
To be honest, the closet had been initially just another room next to his bedroom but, since France had been gradually getting noisier about the fact that he had not enough space to put his clothes inside England's –enormous - wardrobe, the English nation had eventually adjoined the two rooms and restructured one as a walk-in closet. Needless to say that, after barely a couple of hundred years, France had managed to fill even that to the brim.
"France, don't understand it the wrong way, but could you please at least tell me what you are up to?" England decided to ask him eventually.
"I'm coming out soon!" France yelled back from inside the room, earning a soft smirk from his lover.
"I'm hard pressed to decide whether the proper answer to that is that you already came out several centuries ago or that you said the same thing two hours ago."
"The right answer to what you just said is that you are the usual unappreciative bastard." France cut short, opening the door looking as furious as he sounded. "I'd like to remind you, that I hate you."
France would have looked quite intimidating if not for his attire, which currently consisted in a black and white striped dress, with long sleeves and a white shiny belt around his waist that was obviously for show. The skirt didn't reach half of France's thigh and left uncovered most of his bare legs, which appeared even longer thanks to the pair of patent leather court shoes he was wearing.
Scratch that, France was intimidating, especially considering the twenty inches in height addition.
"Are you still angry at me for yesterday?"
"Who would even imagine that." France deadpanned. "You know, Angleterre, this whole fixation you have on stereotypes and how you want to portray yourself to the rest of the world needs to stop. There's nothing wrong in liking to be on the receiving side."
England turned scarlet hearing the sharp reprimand, knowing very well that everything he could say in his defence would be easily used against him. He wasn't ashamed of who and what he liked, he just... felt absolutely awkward admitting to it. And whenever he felt awkward about himself, he blurted out things without thinking, usually things that dropped the weight of everything he felt about himself over France.
Yeah, maybe he was ashamed of what he liked... or just jealous of his lover, who simply didn't give a damn about anything.
The day before had been particularly nasty, and all because of a category of people England wondered why they still existed in 2022: curious young girls who knew nothing about how the gay world worked, and who had watched too much stereotyped stuff. The same stuff that had filled England's brain with mush, France would note, but usually only after their banters had escalated to the point of properly tailored insults.
Said girls had approached the two of them while they were on a date that featured a particularly enthusiastic France and a particularly distressed England. After several hours of pleas and whines, England had brought France to the gayest area in London, an area filled with all the things that caught France's eyes and ashamed England to no end. Worst of all, France had worn an overly colourful shirt and a pair of white jeans so tight that England had no need to know how France's cock was shaped to figure out its outline. Add to that the fact that he had tied his hair with a ribbon and that England was certain that it was make up what he had put on his face, and France had turned out the perfect target to those curious girls.
Sure, the fact that a man who had donned the first thing he had found in his wardrobe accompanied him might have helped. Predictably, after the first awkward approach and some basic unbelievable questions like "You really like men? How did you know?" came the much predictable "Who is the top?"
France had been bracing for the most awkward question of all and was ready to shrug it off like the master he was, but England's panic had prevailed and he had obviously gone for the worst choice of words ever.
"Of course he is the bottom, haven't you seen how he dresses and acts? And you still didn't see him dressed as a woman, with that long wavy hair he looks like a pretty doll."
Later that night, not even pointing out that pretty doll could be considered a compliment –if you squinted- had saved England from sleeping on the couch.
Truth to be told, England had plenty of rooms in his mansion, but he decided that he had already tried his luck too much that day to disobey France and go to sleep into one of the guest rooms. This no matter if –after the show of rage France had provided him with – some privacy would have been appreciated.
Yeah, France was right, his tastes were the worst.
When he had ventured back upstairs to his room earlier to see whether France was still angry with him, he had found the French nation already into the bathroom shaving, so he had decided to try getting to him later, not to risk scaring his lover and end up bringing him in hospital because he had cut himself.
That was why he could properly acknowledge that France was still angry with him only after his third attempt to get him out the walk-in closet.
"I-" England stuttered, only to sigh heavily in defeat soon after. "I'm sorry, France, I got carried away. I don't really think that you are girlish."
"That's not the point, the point is that by telling people that I'm girlish or a bottom you think that you are diminishing me." France clarified, sounding more exasperated than angry by that time. "That's utter nonsense, even without debating what does girlish even mean."
"Is this why you are dressed like a sex bomb?"
"You think I overdid it?" He asked, turning to look at himself in the mirror.
"I know nothing about it, France, I can just tell you that you are hot."
France, on his end, just muttered something under his breath and re-entered the closet. Much to England's surprise, he re-emerged not long after wearing a pale magenta dress. It still had long sleeves and a really short skirt, but this time it was generally less adherent to France's body and the skirt was flowy and provided with a sturdier multi-layered underskirt. France had changed his shoes as well, and the scary stilettos had been replaced with a curt pair of shoes of the same colour with more bearable heels.
In something less than five minutes the bombshell had turned into a sweet candy, and England couldn't really say which version of France he liked more – male attire included.
"Better?"
"You're gorgeous, France."
France humpfed in fake annoyance, before walking towards England, rising his head a little upwards and kissing him lightly on his forehead.
"It's April 8 after all." He reminded him with a soft smile.
"Is it?" England wondered. "Fuck, it flew my mind! We should-"
"-take some time for ourselves, mon amour." France interrupted him, before England could go and check their actual plans for the day on his planner. "We deserve it."
"Are you really planning to ditch whatever thing our sovereigns have concocted?"
"Just watch me doing exactly that." France announced, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well?"
"Well what?" England asked, still sounding quite dubious about his lover's plans for the day.
"Are you planning to stay there and look pretty in your underwear the whole day?"
"Are we leaving?"
"Of course not, I like walking on high heels inside the house for no reason at all."
"One would wonder."
"Angleterre!"
"I'm going!" England gave up eventually, and went to retrieve something decent from his wardrobe.
He re-joined his lover dressed with a pair of studded leather trousers, a black T-shirt celebrating rock 'n roll and a pair of short boots of the same colour. His chosen attire surprised France at first, but then he simply smiled from behind his hand.
"You're adorable."
Unsure about the sincerity of France's statement, England moved closer to his lover to look at the two of them together.
"God, we look like Beauty and the Beast."
"I would say Cinderella and Prince Charming, even though you look ready to turn the step mother deaf with a guitar solo more than to go searching for the love of your life."
"You are certainly not Cinderella: she used to work hard, you work hard only on bothering me and creating mayhem." England quipped annoyed, without moving his eyes from the mirror. "And about what relates to me, I certainly have nothing charming on me."
"Well, you look charming to me, isn't it enough?" France pointed out warmly, walking behind England to hold his lover and drag his back close to his padded chest.
"Well, you should consider glasses, then." England pouted, earning a low sigh from his lover as a reprimand.
"Angleterre..."
"What were you planning to do instead of meetings and formalities?"
"Resuming yesterday's date!" France announced with a big grin, tightening his hold around England's shoulders.
"The one interrupted by you calling me by all the expletives inside both our dictionaries before storming back home?"
"You had others dates yesterday?"
"Are you going to make me pay for what I did?"
"Wasn't sleeping on the couch enough?"
"Are you really going to answer each and every one of my questions with another question!?"
"I might." France admitted eventually. "These are the times I miss having the kids around to stop us, even if I must admit that your brothers would do well just the same."
"You know that no one among them stands being around us for more than 24 hours, not even Canada."
"Well, that's your fault for always mistaking him for America."
"They are frigging identical!" England yelled, turning to stare properly into France's eyes.
"They aren't!"
Right then, France's phone ringed and the French nation went to get it from the nearby vanity, only to notice that it was precisely their son.
"Allô, mon chou- How is my sweetest baby today?" France chirped merrily, receiving a deep sigh from the other side of the phone as an answer, as soon as he put the call on speakerphone.
"Papa…" Canada stated gravely. "America and I just wanted to tell you to stop fighting and answering each other's questions with another question."
"What makes you think that we are doing that?" England wondered, starting to check his surroundings for cameras and bugs.
"It's April 8: you are easily annoyed and papa over enthusiastic... That's the recipe for disaster." Canada curtly noted, taking England's question as an admission of guilt.
"Aww... What a smart child we have~" France cooed in adoration, whilst England just started to check behind the racks of clothes since he had noticed nothing in the open air.
"In all honesty: we just know you." America's voice came from the other side of the call, sounding as defeated as Canada's. "And- dad! Stop searching the room for cameras and bugs! We would never risk hearing the two of you making up, there's no way we put any inside your house!"
"Wait, how would you know that I'm doing that right now!?"
"We know you." The two younger nations answered in unison.
"Just stop the quarrel, please? I bet that a night sleeping on the couch was more than enough to set straight whatever thing made you fight." Canada continued, earning a risen eyebrow from his French father.
"Wait, how would-"
"We know you." The two younger nations interrupted him in unison, before proceeding to say their goodbyes and close the call, leaving both their parents to just stare at the phone looking quite perplexed.
"Are we really that much predictable?" France asked, crooking a curious eyebrow at his lover.
"Fuck if we are." England cut short. "I'd bet my money on one of my brothers' friends, but I'm not up to investigate it right now."
"How would-"
"I know them."
Despite his previous words, he started to scan the room with his eyes in search for magical creatures, something that made France roll his eyes at him.
"Let's go, Angleterre." France concluded, taking his lover's arm in his and dragging him outside the closet. "Before I decide to go back to Paris."
Everything considered, England swallowed down the 'Like I would consider that a threat' that was about to leave his mouth, just not to risk that France's patience was running lower than usual and he proceeded to actually leave him alone in London during something that was basically their anniversary.
Despite that, the travel by car to the nearest train station was everything but smooth, featuring France telling England that he should stop driving on the opposite side of the road, England noting that it was France who drove on the wrong side, and a phone call from America and Canada pointing out that quarrelling about which side they should drive on was completely useless. England was about to stop the car to check it for bugs, but then France threatened him to take the driver's seat, and the realisation that he couldn't risk to get any more speed tickets than the ones he already had on his name had sufficed.
Inside the train, things had gone slightly better, at least between the two of them, since their 'I can bother him, but you can't' rule had been proven true even against the not so innocent bystanders, who had dared making a comment on the length of France's skirt, on England's need to switch to a more modern and less threatening wear, or on how an awkward mismatch the two of them were.
At the beginning, England had answered to each and every critique pointing out that those were none of their business, whilst France had just ignored them. As more people started to join the quarrel and more comments added up about how England had to watch his back if he didn't want his girlfriend snatched away, however, France had decided to take things into his hands.
He had then offered to the bystanders his sweetest smile and pointed out -with the deepest tone of voice that he could muster- that said girlfriend must have been willing to be snatched away, something that he currently wasn't. France's glare and the ten inches addition in height to an already tall man had been scary enough to empty their wagon at the following station, something that allowed the couple to continue their travel in relative peace.
"You didn't really need to scare them away, they felt just like talking too much." England complained at a certain point, only to have France leaning against him and leave a gentle kiss on his cheek.
"I think that it was the proper way to thank you for defending my right to dress the way I want."
"If I didn't answer back at the beginning, they would have stopped without any intervention, though."
"Angleterre..." France reprimanded him, before leaving a quick peck on his lips this time. "Merci."
That was enough to quieten the still unnerved English nation and allow them to reach central London unscathed. Nevertheless, only when they had dismounted the train and started to walk through the busy city, England felt he could actually call himself relieved. It was his city, after all, and even if he preferred the quieter suburbs and the security of his own mansion, it had slowly energised him. France had felt energised as well, for some reasons, and this despite the fact that they were in London and not in Paris.
France did like dates, though, so England, when he had realised that evening was already approaching and he had sincerely enjoyed his day out with his lover, couldn't help but asking himself why. He didn't like dates and generally be out in public… Had he felt at ease because France was dressed in drag?
How twisted was his mind, if he had deemed France's choice of wear relaxing only because it was like putting his enemy in his place, under him… Or because no one seeing them would doubt that England was the top of the couple, like he had blurted out the day before. France was stunning with his bare legs in full show and the pink attire… if anything, England should have felt jealous of how good he looked and lucky that, for some strange reason, the French nation liked to associate with him. Why was he so ashamed of what he liked?
"Oi, are you already back to your self-deprecating attitude?" France's voice interrupted England's self-analysis, making him stare back at his lover. "We still have the whole night ahead of us, I won't let you ruin our day, not even for a second!"
"Our day?"
"Of course it's our day, it's basically our anniversary!"
"I wasn't aware we were married." England took his chance to point out, even though he considered April 8 their anniversary, no differently than France did.
"I'd like to remind you, that we aren't married only because you keep refusing to follow through with it."
"Oh, c'mon! Were those even proper ways to ask me to marry you!?"
"Are you saying that if I changed my approach, you would finally accept to marry me?" France exclaimed overenthusiastically, compelling England to get closer to him to put a hand over his mouth, in a vain attempt not to attract unwanted attention on them.
"I never said that!" England yelled in France's face despite his previous intentions.
"Yes you did!" France insisted, improvising a pirouette to free himself from England's hold and then looking back at him with dreamy eyes and his hands crossed over his heart. "I'll find the best way, one day, and then you will say yes, and it will be marvellous, and we will live happily ever after~"
Seeing his lover so happy, England had no real heart to drag him down from cloud nine with a snarky remark, so he could just sigh before attempting to make him see reason.
"France, honestly... What would be different from now if we married?"
"That's exactly what I'd like to ask you whenever you refuse to answer or to say yes to my requests of having your hand in marriage."
England felt like telling his lover that it was not what he meant, still he eventually didn't say anything, since France actually had a point. Sort of a point, truth to be told, because apparently they both were good the way they were now, but France wanted a certification of what they were and England thought that such a certification was unneeded. Like with many other things, they disagreed basically just because they had the same opinion on the matter but wanted to follow through with it the opposite way than the other.
"You are unreasonable, honey." England concluded eventually, even though he couldn't really stop himself from smiling adoringly at his extremely happy lover. "Care to tell me why you are in such a good mood today?"
Now it was France's turn to frown at him, before he just got closer to England and put his arms around his neck, lowering his head against his lover's shoulder in a mix of embarrassment and affection.
"Because I love being out with you when you are enjoying being together with me!" France purred against England's neck. "I love you, Angleterre~"
"Does this mean that you don't usually like going out with me?"
"I like it, but when I'm not in drag you are stiff and troubled, like you were before." France admitted, still showing no intention to disentangle from England.
"It's not really a matter of you in drag or not, it's more a problem of who you are and how we use to be around the others."
"Yesterday there was no one of our friends around, Angleterre. Don't just lie to yourself because you're ashamed of what you think and feel."
"I'm not ashamed of liking you."
"I never said that." France pointed out and England could only sigh. "You know, I love seeing you troubled, but it would be healthier if you just let out whatever is bothering you."
"Even if that was true, it would be my problem. Yelling at you for your politics, for your choices, for what you say and do is all fine, but shaming you for what you are because-"
"Well, yesterday you shamed me for what you are."
England swallowed at France's statement and just let France guide him against his chest, allowing him to hide his face against his fake bosom.
"Why are you still with me anyway."
"I told you, I love it when you are conflicted." France chuckled lightly. "And I love you."
"You shouldn't. Like you should stop attempting to marry me."
"That's why I'll keep it up." France just resolved. "It's not a problem having issues with something, as long as you realise it's an issue and you want to solve it. I can wait, and I can listen."
"Sure, and when you have solved my problems, you will stop finding me amusing and you will move on to your next victim. Just when I'll start being at ease around you."
"Angleterre? When I'm dressed in drag, you are at ease with me. When you are drunk, you are as well. Truth to be told, you are almost always at ease with me except when we date with the intention of having a date, because if your brain doesn't realize that we are dating you never fuck up."
"Well, now-"
"Angleterre, when the kids were little, we went out as a family despite the time being a mess for gay rights and you never said a thing about us doing it, because you were focussed on getting the best out of the short time we had to spend together." France started enumerating then. "We live together, raised the kids together, have sex, are monogamous... But you yell at me every time I mention marriage. We drink together, go around hand in hand, buy things together, go to the movies or at the restaurant, but you get nervous only when we call it a date."
"That's why I said it's my problem."
"But it looks like that your problem is linked to thinking that not solving said problem is what's keeping me with you. Honestly, you must think very little of me, if you believe that without your personal issues I won't find a way to bother you anyway and get you so cute and all. I've got the whole history on my side."
Instead of answering, England just held closer to France, wondering if he felt angrier for the promise that France will keep bothering him nevertheless, guiltier for the attempt at comforting him despite his behaviour, happier for enjoying France cuddling him against his padded chest or... Oh god.
"France, you didn't tuck yourself."
"This skirt has four layers of laced underskirt, you wouldn't notice my bulge even if I were hard and jumping on the spot."
"Sounds painful."
"That was not the point."
"That's true, but it's not really helping my case."
"Does it turn you on?"
As England searched his mind for a good reason to lash out against his lover, France's phone vibrated against his thigh. Glad to have an escape from the dispute, he took it upon himself taking the phone out France's bag and have a look at who it was.
It was just a message in the end. From America.
"Just a friendly reminder that you are currently in public, don't start talking about dicks. Again." England read in a dead tone, before putting hastily the phone back into the bag to search around for any sign of their sons. "Where the fuck are they!?"
"What makes you think that they are here?"
"Have you another justification for that message?"
"Good guess?"
"Oh please. Besides, on a matter of spying, America is way more clueless than you are, and you are a disaster already!"
"Hey-" Before France could continue, a chiming sound made him stop. England took out with dread his own phone but had no real will to unlock it, so France got him from his hand and read aloud Canada's message. "Please, also political debates should be banned when you are in public."
"Now refute the idea that they must be following us."
"Sure thing I refute it, it would be very bad if they were here and didn't think about coming to give a kiss to their loving papa." France cut short. "Let's get to our next stop, though, what about karaoke?"
"Is that a threat?"
"Oh, c'mon, it will be fun!"
"You. Having fun in London."
"You. Having fun." France retorted and then took England's hand to drag him to the subway, before another quarrel started, more messages from their sons came up and England realised to which part of his city they were going.
In the end, the place where France had brought England was lightened with soft neon and decorated with pride flags all over.
"Fuck it, France, this is a gay bar."
"So, what's the problem? We are both men."
"Weren't we supposed to play pretend being a straight couple?"
"I don't dress up to pretend being straight, honey." France chastised him, pointing his finger at him, before grabbing the front of England's shirt to drag him towards the bathroom. "Now, come with me."
"France, that's the men's bathroom!"
"It's a bathroom!" France cut short, before irrupting inside the big room and going straight for the mirror to check the damages of a whole day outside. "Well, better than what I thought."
"If you needed to reapply your make up, the ladies' bathroom would have been better."
"You know, mon lapin, when I pound into you you seem very well aware that I'm not, in fact, a woman with a vagina. I would even go as far as to say that you like it."
"And I'll go as far as to say fuck you, France."
"At least someone would do it."
France seemed displeased with whatever a more accurate examination of the condition of his make up had produced, and proceeded to open his bag to retrieve some tissues to dry up his jaw area.
"You never seemed displeased to fuck me!"
"I love you and I love sex, Angleterre, top and bottom for me are options, not a religion."
"But- Wait, what are you doing?" England stopped the bickering without waiting for his sons' intervention this time, noticing a light shade of grey re-emerge from under France's thick make up.
"I was planning to reapply the foundation but-" France started to say, turning to stare towards England, who had brought his hand to his slightly bleeding nose and squatted on the floor, in a mix of shame and arousal. "Does seeing me in drag with a five o' clock shade turn you on?"
"Fuck. You."
"I won't deny that someone needs to be fucked here, but I doubt that's me." France chuckled, before kneeling in front of his lover to look at him sincerely worried. "Does it hurt? Do you need a hand?"
"I'm not a child anymore, I can get a hold of myself." England countered, despite holding onto France's arms for dear life.
Not so sure that England was telling the truth, France just held him closer and helped him back on his feet to lead him near the sink. England followed his lead and opened the cold water to wash his face and regain a bit of control over himself.
"Are you not going to reapply your make up?" He asked eventually. "Or at least shave."
"Since you like it, I thought I could keep it like this." France admitted. "This is a gay bar and the lights are dim, I doubt that someone would bother us for it."
England turned shocked to his lover hearing the announcement, and he swallowed deeply. This was going to end up in a disaster, he knew it, but he couldn't really say anything against it, since he had already told France that he could muster some self-control. Something that was utter bullshit, but alcohol might get him through it. Probably.
"You are paying for the first round of drinks, then." England announced after a while, making France chuckle.
Much to England's dismay, France really offered the first round of whisky – for England- and cocktail – for himself- and also the second, before he directed himself onto the stage that was being arranged for the karaoke night.
There were already many people inside the pub, but apparently not so many willing to sing, something that allowed France plenty of time to contract with the man in charge of the event what he wanted to sing. Something that worried England to no end.
Even more worrisome was France weaving his way before announcing that the song would be dedicated to him. Somehow, England knew that it couldn't be harmless, a realisation that was proven true when the base started, a base that sounded like Girl on fire but it wasn't precisely that... Fuck.
"Esa marica es pasiva~ Grindr buscando acción, de doble penetración~"
"FRANCIS!" England yelled, running on the stage to drag France back down.
The sharp movement didn't bode well with France's high heels and eventually he ruined on the floor dragging England over him.
"Fuck you, Francis, you had no right to out me in public!" England yelled outraged, unwilling to let the chance to reprimand France slip, no matter their current position.
"If I really wanted to out you, my dear, I would have sung the English version." France pointed out, making England realise only then that yes, he had guessed the parody song right, but France had opted for the Spanish version, something that blurred the meaning quite a lot. "Now everyone is staring at us, whilst I just wanted you to laugh a little."
"Do I look amused to you?"
"Well, I might say this is quite homoerotic, but we would be out of the karaoke."
"Francis-" England started to threaten, only for France to bring the microphone that he was still holding back to his lips.
"Hay que enfocarse atrás, enfrente solo es decoración~" He sang, despite the music having been already put off, and just to point out what he actually meant to his lover he moved his hips upwards, so that his groin could brush lightly against England's.
"Your groin is just a decoration!" England countered angrily however, pinning France down harder. "Who is the one dressed as a woman between the two of us?"
"Wanna see what's going on between these thighs?"
"Francis, I'm being serious, stop singing."
"Well, you lik-"
"I hate it!" England yelled back, earning France's hurt stare on him. "I hate how you make me feel."
England really looked cute whenever he felt conflicted, but there was a reason why France preferred to be in control of all that turmoil: contrary to popular belief, he knew when to stop. If the problem was real and not fabricated through careful teasing, however, he had to treat England with extreme care and not always – like right now – that was enough.
France had always prided himself to know England the best, but if not even his immense knowledge was enough to help his lover with his doubts, maybe the solution came through a different choice.
Was it really a choice what France had in front of himself, though? England would never be happy with him as a man... Not if France wanted a relationship and have the right to call it as such. Sure, then France was supposed to question himself whether he was really ready to give up who he was to ease England's doubts or not, but that was a question he had already answered himself a long time ago. It wouldn't make much difference to him anyway.
He smiled sadly to his lover then, and brought once again the mic to his lips.
"Oh every time I close my thighs, my balls they fall right out the side. So turn my dick into a slip and slide, I swear-"
"I swear I'll hurt you if you continue." England interrupted him, dropping completely his weight over France. "Why would you even consider that!?"
"I thought that would make you happy."
"It doesn't… You should have just told me to fuck off."
"I love you, though." France simply pointed out. "And I have no problem admitting who I like and how far I will go for him in front of an audience, even if such a person is a mix of denial, transphobia and latent transphilia.
"I didn't know those words even existed until now."
England's thought was apparently shared by the other clients of the bar who had been staring at them, something that earned them a roll of his eyes from France before he focussed once again on his lover.
"You're welcome fags."
England just laughed at France's sung answer and rested his forehead against his lover's.
"Your music tastes are the worst, though, and you are something like ten years late on most of your choices."
"I'll consider it a compliment coming from someone who wears a T-shirt coming from the last century."
"I think you spent too much time with Alfred."
Right that moment, France's phone vibrated against England's thigh. Despite dreading the clarification that was about to come, England retrieved it and slid open the message.
"It's not entirely my fault this time." England read aloud, only to crook a curious eyebrow at France. "What does it mean? That's an American drag queen."
Before France could answer him, England's own phone chimed, signalling that a messaged had come. France got back his phone from England's hand and retrieved England's from his pocket to hand it to him to read it, since he had already guessed the contents of Canada's note.
"That's my fault, I made a game about drag queens and used papa as a tester." England read aloud, before rising both his eyebrows in disbelief at France, only to receive an innocent shrug in answer. "Why is it always the quieter one?"
"Well, he is our boy."
England sighed in resignation at France's words of truth and shook his head.
"What do I have to do with you?"
"You could start by unbuttoning the dress I'm currently wearing."
"Francis, we are still in the middle of a room." England countered, before another realisation hit him. "With something like thirty people staring at us."
"I know, it was not an invitation to strip me naked in public. This time." France pointed out with a smirk. "Really, unbutton open the dress."
As England proceeded to do just that, instead of France's pale skin, he eventually revealed nothing else than the black striped dress he had been wearing as his first choice that morning.
England's expression was so utterly shocked and conflicted that France just chuckled at him, before retrieving once again the microphone.
"Trouble, on the floor. Baby turn it up and I'll give you more~"
"You're so 2010s."
"Then let's have a kai kai." France proposed, before adding out of song. "At home. You could experiment with the clothes here, though, dressing in drag feels great and we wear the same size."
"I-" England attempted to protest, only for France to sit up to properly divest himself of the pink dress and make England wear it over his punk attire.
"You're so frigging cute, Arthur, I wish you could see yourself." France cooed as soon as he had finished his work, displeased by the fact that he couldn't put more care into dressing up England.
The English nation pouted at him, clearly not so sure about the truth of France's words, something that earned him a soft kiss on his lips... Kiss that elicited the awws of the other clients of the pub, who had kept staring at the drama waiting for the happy ending to come.
The music started again, and France was quick to drag England up to the stage together with him, ready for the duet. Despite the utter embarrassment he was feeling, the way France held him close to him and his loving stare on him as he started to sing were enough to make England follow through with France's plan.
After all, the chance of not bickering with France continuously felt nice, and a little bit of romance and fun once in a while wouldn't kill him, especially if his companion was one he couldn't do without.
"Stand by your man... Really, brother?" Canada asked America, as he joined him staring at what was happening on the stage, slouched over a big black speaker in the corner of the room.
"Well, it worked! Look, dad is singing along." America took the cola his brother had bought him and started to sip through the straw. "Sure these two are a handful."
"I wonder whether we were right or not, interfering the way we did." Canada confessed, starting to sip he himself on his cherry flavoured cocktail. "I feared that instead of giving them a good date together we were about to lead them towards breaking up."
"I don't think the world is ready for that, apocalypse is still far away."
"Uhmm..." Canada nodded. "I was worried, though."
"Me too. There's a lot going on at the moment, and those two barely get one right even after they talk it out together." America admitted, before turning to smile at his brother. "We will solve everything as a family, though, won't we?"
"Sure! I'm sure papa would love it, if we were to pop up tomorrow at their doorstep."
"You don't think dad would be happy?"
"He will be too busy asking us about today's shenanigans to admit that he is happy to have us, if you ask me." Canada guessed, before grinning evilly at his brother. "Even though I don't think he will have much energy left, after papa gets him back home tonight."
America stared a few moments to his brother, before bursting in peals of laughter as realisation hit him.
"Yeah, let's meet up with them in the afternoon. Let's save ourselves."
"Let's leave them some time alone, like the good kids we are, I think they need it." Canada confirmed. "And I hope you are ready for all the denial they would put us through tomorrow."
"Well, they wouldn't be our parents, if they didn't make a mess of things." America pointed out, smirking back at his brother as he elbowed him playfully. "Good thing we are ready to get a hold of them."
"It wouldn't be our family, if this wasn't true." Canada admitted, chuckling as he stared once more at their parents on the stage. "And I wouldn't like it any other way."
"Yeah, me too." America concluded, as he stared back to the stage as well as he leaned against his brother's shoulder, enjoying seeing their parents happy together.
France and England had always kept an eye on them, so the least they could do was returning the favour whenever they could, especially if it was reminding them not to fight, at least not during April 8.
The end
