France gets sick with a summer cold and England decides to cheer him up, France decides getting sick has its perks

France panted heavily, his head was spinning like a top and his body felt like a led weight, the world felt distorted and strange. His senses we dulled, he was exhausted and the raging fire inside of him never seemed to end. Coughing occasionally and gazing out of the window to appreciate the world outside, the place he took for granted when he was healthy. No matter how much he took care of himself, nothing could ever prepare him for re-experiencing the crappiness of being ill. Feeling like a flat battery, losing all of his energy and being helpless to do anything about it. Bored out of his mind and trying to think of things to do that didn't consist of binging Netflix, every small hobby becoming boring and frustrating. He couldn't move, he couldn't summon any vestige of strength to accomplish even the smallest of tasks, he felt like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. Knowing he had to rely on England until he was at full strength. Placing his phone on silent so that nobody could disturb or annoy him while he was in recovery. Pinned to the mattress as cold shivers ran through his body, his breathing ragged, brushing his greasy and damp hair from his face. His body radiated heat and he felt as though he was suffocating, the fever burning his skin, the stickiness of sweat as his body continued to battle the virus within him. Balancing between kicking of his blankets due to feeling too warm and wrapping himself into a cocoon because cold chills were freezing him to death. His pyjama's clinging to him like a second skin, drenched in his sweat, though he didn't have the energy to change. He needed a bath, water, or even a shower, anything to make himself feel more comfortable. He needed to relieve himself of the sweat caused by the fever and put on some clean bedwear, like hell he would be able to sleep in this state. How had he gotten himself into this mess? Why did he have to endure this crappiness? Stewing in self pity and waiting for his body to recover so he felt back to full health again. By sod's law as England would call it, he had managed to become infected with a cold, leaving him bedridden for the next week or so, draining him of all his energy. Of all people he was the one to get sick? Not America who ate like crap all the time, constantly found himself in trouble and made endless bad choices? He'd jump into cold water naked as a dare and get sick. But more so the time of year for getting sick was ridiculous, why not in the winter when it was normal for such things? Why of all times did it have to be in the summer when it was unbearably hot and he wanted to be sociable?

"Nom de Dieu, of course, I had to get sick during summer of all times" France groaned hoarsely, rolling over and wiping his forehead with his sleeve. Yanking at his pyjama collar in hopes of airing his body out a little. He was confined to his room until he got better, he couldn't go out and have any fun whatsoever. Everyone had sent messages of get well soon and understanding why he had to cancel, offering to rearrange plans etc. Which in turn only made him feel worse about getting sick. He had hoped to attend a fireworks festival with Japan which he would now have to cancel, the warm humidity of Japan's summer, eating shaved ice, going to the beach and wearing a traditional Kimono and enjoying the stalls and fireworks. He felt so guilty despite Japan being so understanding and saying his health came first. He couldn't visit one of his beloved beaches and enjoy the warm sandy beaches and sunshine, sipping wine or being able to wander through the countryside. Visiting markets and exploring the hidden gems of his home nation. He wouldn't be able to take a holiday to a summer cottage with England as he had planned, going away for a while and having a romantic holiday. Sitting by a log fire, sipping wine together and making more memories. They had been looking forward to it for ages and now he'd spoiled everything, despite England being able to get reimbursed for the expenses and simply rearranging the dates. He'd been so looking forward to it too. All of his hopes for summer were now nothing but dreams, wasted because he was ill. The best time of the year when festivals, beach trips and parties were rampant he was left out because he was ill. This had to be karma from someone in the universe, punishing him for being too happy. He was trapped in bed and he was bored out of his mind, looking for ways to pass the time so he didn't go insane from the lack of brain stimulation. His appetite was poor, barely able to stomach anything, merely wishing to hide underneath blankets and sulk. Sleep helped him regain some energy for a while but in short bursts, it would be a while before he fully recovered. He felt nauseous and was lucky to manage anything to stay down without feeling awful, unable to enjoy food like he used to. Chills running down his body constantly, so no matter how high his fever got he felt perpetually cold, desperate for some relief from his chills. A warm body or hot water bottle to cuddle in hopes of relieving his chills. He hated getting sick, it was so gross and horrific, he probably looked an utter disaster. The complete opposite from his usual well groomed, best dressed self. Being ill was the worst thing ever, helpless to do anything but wait it out.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened with a soft creak, dragging him from the misery of boredom and self pity. Wondering who could have visited to entertain him for a while in hopes of entertaining him. He turned his head weakly with a light groan in the direction of the sound, his gaze foggy, barely able to make out who was standing in front of him. England popped his head in the door, a warm smile on his face, he knew France had been napping quite a bit which would help him recover faster. He knew he was grumpy due to feeling fed up from his cold and upset at all the cancellations he had been forced to make. But these things happened and there was nothing they could do about it. But they could always reschedule, they hadn't put the deposit down on the cottage which meant they merely had to book once Francis was better. Japan had been very understanding and even sent a fruit basket which was most helpful. Canada had called and sent his love, America was shocked but teased France in his own way. This wasn't the end of the world though it was problematic, things like this couldn't he helped. His usually cheeky smile filled with sympathy and concern, though he did enjoy teasing France and sharing banter with him. He knew France was genuinely miserable and feeling crappy due to his cold. The last thing he wanted was to be made fun of or made to feel worse, he needed cheering up "Hey poppet, how are you feeling?" he asked softly. He'd been pottering around the house all day and even ran some errands, knowing France would need all the rest he could get to recover from his summer cold. He'd gotten a few things while he was out and was even able to call his brother Alistair while he was gone. Though it was quieter around the house without Francis to keep him company.

France pouted sulkily in response, he knew England wasn't teasing him, he'd been so quiet all day as to not disturb him and even gone out to get some jobs done. He felt so blessed to have a husband who took care of him and gave him space while he was sick. He just felt so bitter that England was the one being all cheery and energetic while he felt like crap. Jealous that he was still optimum health, free to do whatever he wanted while he was the complete opposite. England couldn't help but chuckle at the childish expression his husband was wearing, it was utterly adorable. France was throwing a tantrum because he was fed up with being sick and wanted to go outside. But at least he was being reasonable and taking his health into consideration. If Spain, Prussia or even America could see him acting so immature they would crack up laughing, seeing the self entitled "big brother" acting like an utter child. He folded his arms, leaning against the doorway in amusement, watching his husband with endearment, falling in love all over again. After all as the saying went, in sickness and in health. "Looks like I'm playing nurse then pet" he joked, grinning mischievously, he was going to have fun with this and there wasn't a thing Francis could do to stop him and he knew it. France panicked, a cold chill running down his spine and not just from the fever, this had to be a punishment, this wasn't fair. Screaming internally from fear and wanting to run away as fast as he could, wishing someone else could be here to take care of him instead, at least with meals. England was infamous for his terrible cooking, if he ate it while sick he was sure his fever would worsen.


France's face flushed a crimson red, matching the roses he loved so much, choking on his breath and his eyes widened like saucers. His mouth became dryer and he licked his lips awkwardly. Nearly falling out of bed from shock and thanking every deity he could think of for this gift, he was undeserving. He felt his mind spinning, was this a fever dream brought on by the cold, was he hallucinating perchance as his brain fried? He was sure this was something concocted by his brain while he was ill and if he told England about it he would look at him oddly and chalk it up to a dirty dream. There was no way this could be real, I mean he would have to beg England for this to happen. Either way, he could die happy with this memory for the rest of his life, that is if he wasn't immortal. England strolled into the room, wearing a cheeky smile on his face, he could sense France's eyes on him and he was loving it. If this didn't stop France from sulking over his cold he didn't know what would. Dressed up in a pale pink nurse costume, the top buttons undone slightly to reveal his chest, the skirt reaching just below his upper thigh, leaving little to the imagination. If he bent over just a little France knew the Eiffel tower would be at full mast, there was no way a professional trained nurse would wear such a thing. A pair of white stockings on his legs reaching his upper thighs held together by a garter belt, followed by a cute little cap on his head and small nurse sandals. He had a feeling Japan may have been involved with the gift, probably in an attempt to cheer France up while he was sick. Reminding himself to send a gift and thank you letter to Japan for this once he was well enough. England looked like sin incarnate and he knew it, he was owning the costume, showing no shame in what he was doing. He doubted England could look bad in any costume, his sex appeal when he switched personalities was unmatched. As much as other nations and himself occasionally teased him for his past and hobbies, sometimes being married to the perverted ambassador had its merits.

England leaned over across his bed, his green eyes gazing down at him mischievously, knowing he was riling up France and he was reveling every second of it. There wasn't a thing France could do to stop him and maybe now he would stop sulking. "Here's some ice to help with that temperature" he responded in a sing-song tone, placing the icepack on his forehead. France was so adorable when he was flustered and speechless, despite being the older one in the relationship and as a nation, he was capable of immaturity and childish habits. It was simply that England showed this side of himself more often. France sighed in relief, the coolness of the ice pack felt wonderful with his fever, imagining clouds of smoke erupting from his ears as the heat evapourated from his body. Cooling his fever fried brain, but he was still blushing at the sight of England, aware he was staring. He didn't know if he would ever be this lucky again in his life, he never wanted this moment to end and the minute this fever would be gone, so would this cosplay. England placed a tray beside France's bed quietly, making sure not to spill anything after the time and effort it took into preparing the meal. A steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup smelled heavenly, making France's stomach gurgle slightly, realising his own hunger. A huge glass of fresh orange juice, ice water and some medicine beside it, all foods that were historically great for colds. The vitamins and nourishment his body needed to recover the energy lost fighting this cold. His mouth watered at the sight

England pulled up France's blanket, tucking him in carefully, making sure he was settled and wouldn't get cold. He was sweating so much he would worsen his fever if he got too cold. But his fever wouldn't allow him to notice, meaning he would have to give him a bed bath later. For now attempting to eat was the best he could do, it was at least the smallest proof he was getting better "You need to eat to keep up your strength, doctors orders" he winked. Though historically, England was known for his bloody awful cooking that everyone loved to mock, America constantly berating him for how boring or gross his food was. Nobody ever wanting to come over for dinner or asking him why his taste in food was so awful. Only Japan, Belarus and Canada were aware of how England was capable of making edible food, though they would never tell anyone. Japan had been pleasantly surprised and even asked for some recipes to make for himself. Canada had always known, given for a short period he lived with England after the civil war before he gained independence after England gave it to him for his loyalty. Belarus was surprised and even asked for some of his recipes too, but asked if she should kill America lying about his talents for so long. England suffered badly from anxiety, which worsened under stress causing him to make mistakes, often burning his food by not paying attention to the oven, wrong ingredients or spacing out due to anxiety. Having distractions didn't help matters either, America pestering him so often that he ended up unintentionally ruining his cooking. When he was in his element, able to breathe and focus, he was immensely good at cooking. Though it lacked the fanciful nature of his neighbours, he put love into his cooking, baking tended to be a specialty. The recipe came from one he learned growing up that had always been good when he was sick

France laughed weakly, he could get used to this, though he knew England would become an arse if he so much as muttered something along those lines. Pouring hot soup all over him and pretending it was a mistake. Seeing England in a nurses outfit, maybe when he wasn't so ill perhaps he could appreciate it better, maybe it was something he could suggest when he was feeling braver. He slowly tried to sit up to take his medication, perhaps then he could enjoy a nice nap as he had lost a lot of sleep due to becoming too warm. England placed a hand on his chest preventing him from rising, he knew France was already weak, if he pushed himself further he would only prolong his cold. "Allow me pet" England smirked, he'd taken care of Canada and America plenty of times as children. Though with Francis he could at least have a little fun with it. France looked confused, blinking at him in confusion, wondering what he was up to. He just wanted to eat what he could manage while he had a brief appetite. England popped the medicine into his mouth, grabbing the ice water and downing it in one gulp, making sure not to swallow the liquid. He then grabbed France by the back of the head, kissing him roughly to which France moaned slightly and blushed. Making sure he swallowed and didn't spill any of the fluids, he needed to rehydrate as much as possible. The icy water pouring down his parched throat, cooling him blessedly, barely noticing the medicine he took, his face darkened, as England's soft lips pressed against his own, making it hard to focus. Though he worried about getting England sick with his cold, he was too distracted to care.

England slowly pulled away, water slightly dripping from both of their lips, gazing back at France with a half lidded gaze. France stared at him in a daze, leaning against his pillow with wide blue eyes. If England was trying to tease him or rile him up, he was doing a good job. He didn't doubt his dreams would be filled with perverted thoughts thanks to England. England wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still smirking like a cat "Good boy, you took your medicine" he teased.

France winced, England was loving every second of this and he knew it, he was in control and France was just supposed to behave. He had managed to take his medicine but he felt as though he had been tricked. England had kissed him and knew it would confuse him, meaning he couldn't complain about taking it. He was too weak to fully appreciate this moment and it felt like England was taunting him, belittling him rather than being supportive. He'd rather attempt to down the soup and then go to sleep just to spite England so he couldn't have any more fun. His pout worsening, fed up with England playing these games with him "Will you be feeding me too Angleterre?" he scoffed.

England smiled, he knew France was grumpy and probably thought he was making fun of him. Francis was bored off his face and he was exhausted, so he thought perhaps he would appreciate this little situation to make him feel better. He'd asked for a favour from Japan and though as strange as it must have sounded, it was paying off. He wasn't naïve to the fact Francis had tented under the sheets. But he would continue to mess with Francis, "We don't want you making a mess do we?" he responded playfully. He sat beside France quietly, placing the tray on his lap and carefully feeding France, making sure not to spill anything on him. Knowing he would be too weak to hold such a hot bowl on his lap, he could barely sit up without the pillow to support his back. France weakly opened his mouth to accept the hot soup, enjoying the savoury, salty and herby taste of the broth, the taste of the softened vegetables, stock and pieces of chicken. Feeling a minority of his strength returning to him, clearing his nasal passages slightly and filling his empty stomach, god this tasted so good. France slowly swallowed his soup contently, enjoying being able to consume something with taste. He couldn't wait to finally eat solid food but for now he had to manage with what his body would allow him to. If he pushed it he knew he would pay the consequences later on. Watching England quietly, his eyes lightly clouded with lust, drinking in all of his figure and those sparkling green eyes. He had to admit, being spoiled was rather fun sometimes, especially by a charming Englishman.

Nom de dieu-God damn it