Galehus

Part 5

England loved the git. He really did. However, at moments like this, he really really wondered why...

"Iggy?" England took a small step backwards at the voice coming from almost directly outside of his hiding place. "Iggy, where did you go? You need to help me, Iggy!"

Yes, he loved the git. But right now he'd rather not be found by him. Which was England barely dared to breathe until he heard the American's heavy footsteps move away. When he was sure that he was finally gone, he gave a sigh of relief and lifted his hand to push the door open so he could slip outside.

And was startled half to death when a hand suddenly reached from behind him and grabbed his wrist, effectively keeping him from opening the door. Then he felt hot breath against his ear and a much much too familiar voice murmured softly, "Mm, Angleterre, is there a reason that we are locked in a broom closet together?"

...Oh, God, no... Not France. Out of all of the closets he could have picked in this building, why had he chosen the one that had France in it? The universe couldn't hate him that much.

...Apparently it did, as he was suddenly spun around and a pair of arms wrapped around his waist in order to keep himself from breaking away. Damn it. It was too dark to even see anything besides the vaguest outline of a figure standing in front of him. Although he didn't have to see to know that France was definitely smirking at him.

And then he felt one of those hands lower and...

"If your hands go any lower, frog, I swear that I will castrate you right here and now." He struggled, but France's grip just tightened, letting him know that he wasn't getting away anytime soon.

Damn it.

There was a moment of hesitation and then the hand thankfully moved back to its starting place. Although it would've been better if it removed itself from his person entirely, but this was France. "Ah, Angleterre. You should really stop denying that you want it."

"Let go of me, frog. What the hell are you doing in here anyway?" Actually, he probably didn't want to know.

France chuckled in response—yes, he definitely didn't want to know—and then responded after a moment. "I think that we are in here for very similar reasons. You are hiding from your Amérique, oui?"

England hesitated, but then mumbled, "Yes. He wants me to help him with some idiotic plan to break Canada and Prussia up or something like that…"

France nodded. Or, he figured it must have been a nod; it was a little hard to tell when you couldn't see the other person. And that hand was wandering again…

England moved his foot, feeling around for a moment before he finally found France's fashionable, not incredibly sturdy shoe.

And then he stomped down.

It earned him a satisfying yelp. Although the grip around his waist didn't loosen like he'd hoped.

"Now, Angleterre…"

"Let go of me."

"Didn't you want to know why I was in this closet?"

England scowled and attempted to break away again. "Not really." He'd probably been waiting to meet with one of the others. It wouldn't be the first time that this closet would be used for…those kinds of meetings between the nations.

"I was hiding from Hongrie."

"...What did you do this time?" England wondered why he kept asking when he knew he wouldn't want to know the answer. Masochism, maybe? "Let me guess, you tried to convince Austria to shag on top of his piano. You know what happened last time you suggested that."

France sighed, removing one of his hands from England's hips in order to take one of the other nation's hands and bring it to his lips. Ignoring England's response of struggles and curses. "Non. Non. Although I am always open to that. But non, this time it has nothing to do with Autriche."

"Then what the bloody hell did you do? And let go of me before I break your bloody foot..."

He felt France immediately move his foot away. And not release his hand, although he did lower it from his mouth. "Sourcils, how can you be so cruel when I am simply trying to express l'amour? As it is, Hongrie and I have a little...ah...agreement. But my plans are going more slowly than I'd expected, so she is a little displeased."

"What the hell did you agree to? ...And I told you not to call me that!"

"Ah, but, Sourcils..." And he reached out to touch the body part in question, earning a growl from the Englishman in response. "It is such a fitting nickname, oui? And I agreed to assist her in spreading l'amour to some of our fellow nations, but...it is coming along more slowly than I had expected..."

"You agreed to do what?"

"I didn't really have a choice, Angleterre. Hongrie can be quite convincing when she wishes to be..."

England snorted. That was one way of putting it... "So you're hiding from Hungary—in a broom closet—because you're scared that she's going to kill you for not holding up your end of the deal?"

"Do not worry, Angleterre. I shall soon be successful." England could hear the smirk in his voice now. "I'm actually quite happy that we stumbled upon each other. I wanted to ask you something."

"I'm not helping you with anything."

"Ah, but Angleterre. All I want is for you to agree with me on something."

"Hell no."

France sighed and then leaned forward. "Look, Angleterre. This is going to help bring Danemark and Norvège together. You're friends with Danemark, right? You want to see him happy?"

England scowled. "I don't want to get involved in anything that involves you..."

...This was not going as well as France had hoped, which meant that he was now going to have to fight a little less gentlemanly. "Fine, Angleterre. I suppose that I am just going to have to tell Hongrie that you have completely destroyed any chance of getting our friends together. She will be so upset..."

England immediately tensed. Oh no. He was not... "You wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't I?"

...Making all of his hair fall out was too good for the bastard. Maybe he'd use one of his spells to actually turn France into a real frog. That would be enjoyable. "Fine... Fine. I'll agree with whatever you want... As long as it isn't something perverted."

"Ah, it won't." And now he sounded absolutely thrilled. Bloody wanker. "We should get going, though. As much as I'd love to spend all day in here with you, we really should make our way to join the others at the meeting."

And then, one of his hands quickly darted down for a quick grope that earned a squeak of surprise from the other nation and a kick in the shins.

"Fucking—!" And suddenly England felt the support against his back, which he'd been leaning on for most of the conversation, was suddenly gone. And he was falling backwards...

And he hit something. Hard. And very painful. Very very painful. Particularly as his head hit first.

And then something else—not quite as hard, but quite heavy—landed right on top of him, not helping anything.

"Ow...mon dieu..."

"Iggy! I found...Wait...why were you in the closet with France?"

...Great. Just when his day couldn't get any better. England lifted his head, rubbing at where he'd smashed it against the floor, to see America staring down at them.

Looking very very unhappy.

...Yes, he was going to turn France into a frog. And then he was going to make that frog leg dish that the nation was so fond of.

A/N: Aiyah, this chapter was like pulling teeth to write... Especially since I wrote it all out, then decided I didn't like it and rewrote it, then my computer crashed and ate it so I had to rewrite it AGAIN. Gah! Stupid stupid stupid. The only way I could get through it was through the amazingness of tea and your lovely lovely reviews.

Anyway, but it is now done, and we have fanart to show you! As usual, you can find the link on my profile. Go show LOVE LOVE!