Meltdown
France x England
This one shot was inspired by the film clip to the song Meltdown, which featured, you guessed it, France and England. Now, I am not a fan of this pairing, but once I saw this, I couldn't help but want to write it down in a story. You're also going to have to forgive me if some parts don't flow. I think they do, but then again, I wrote the thing. Spelling errors and grammatical mistakes are mine, I apologize.
Here's the film clip it's based off. Now, it's not based off the song, it's off the actual clip it's self.
watch?v=RMvu1tOxqHk
England and France where almost always on opposing sides. When it came to war, they where usually waging it at each other. When it came to decision making, it could almost be guaranteed that they would be at odds with one another. When it came to love… well, as they say: History repeats its self.
Arthur was a proud man. He liked to think of himself as strong, elegant, a gentleman to his core.
Francis oozed confidence. He was flamboyant, he was arrogant. He radiated sexuality.
And as they also say: opposites attract.
Behind the 'hatred' they shared publicly, was attraction. England was slight, but his aura of power was what France was attracted to. France was beautiful, he knew when to back down; England couldn't help but notice just how attractive France looked with that stupid goatee.
x..x
France knew there was something wrong when all he could think about was England at two in the morning. A bottle of empty vodka lay on the floor besides his bed. England, England, England. Always England. There was a tightness in his chest, and France had tried to get rid of it no avail. Could it be that France… loved the English man?
Though despite this, England, living up to his nation's image of purity, was a prude. Sitting alone in his rose garden, England sipped at his tea. It was slightly bitter; the new maid hadn't put enough in. No matter. She was new. He would advise her later. The sound of his name being called snapped him out of his day dream.
France neared him quickly with a smile on his face. Not bothering with a proper hello, Francis placed his hand on Arthur's head. Quickly, England brushed his hand away. Leaving his hand raised at his head, he clenched his fist, turning his head as a blush crept over his face.
France sighed softly, looking away. He uttered an apology to the green eyed man in front of him.
Both men stood still as an awkward pause erupted between them. Finally, France looked at England. With Arthur's name on his tongue, Francis reached forward, pulling the other man into his arms. Arthur's hands rested on Francis's chest as an arm circled his waist. Another hand was brought to his hair as his lips were claimed.
England's eyes closed as he lost himself to the kiss. France's eyes where opened, looking at the man in his arms. He closed them for a second before opening them again. France was sure he was in love with England.
x..x
Later that night, France dreamt. He dreamed of England laying on the ground; why was he on the ground? His pose was seductive and France was confused. He looked around him. Crosses where haphazardly hammered into the ground. Commemorating the deaths of soldiers - his or mine? - where they fell to the ground. Suddenly, he was in his military uniform. England, he noticed, was off the ground and also in his own military uniform. His back was turned towards France. France called out England's name, but Arthur didn't respond. Every second, England seemed to get fainter and fainter.
x..x
France woke to the sound of someone knocking on his door. Opening his door, he tried to contain the smile on his face as England looked back at him. Folding an arm against the door frame, France smirked and asked why he was here. Arthur huffed, pushing his way into the apartment, shedding his jacket as he past.
"I want you."
France looked sadly at England. France loved him so much. And England used him. But France was okay with that; anything to be close to the other nation. France reached for England's arm, pulling him in for a gentle kiss.
France wanted nothing more but to gently push England on the bed and have his way with him. Instead, France released England's arm and walked past the man, further into the apartment, leaving England stunned near the door, and hand touching his lips.
x..x
France called out for England to come back to him. Closing his eyes, he let out a breath. When he opened his eyes, England was in front of him again. Reaching out, he leaned in to kiss the man.
x..x
Francis has Arthur in his lap, clinging to him, his head thrown back, a scream passing his lips. France felt cold as he satisfied the man in his arms.
x..x
France remembered a time where he and England where on good terms. It was only for a short time, but that was the time where France could throw an arm around England's neck and not be scolded for it.
Francis was walking through the streets of Paris, a brown paper bag filled with groceries tucked into the corner of his arm. France paused to look at his capital city. France loved his country. He loved his culture, his architecture, and his food.
He remembered when England was young, still a child. He remembered holding his hand out for the stubborn child, laughing when England huffed, but took it anyways.
The one thing France couldn't remember is how they ended up as they where now. How did they go from happy children playing in the grass, barely-there-lovers.
x..x
England was on the ground again, sleeping, hands folded over his stomach. France reached down, and touched his face, ghosting over the skin of his cheek to rest on his throat. Anger suddenly flowed fast through in his veins. France dropped, straddling Arthur's waist as his other hand when to England's throat. Francis's hands tightened and England chocked.
x..x
France startled awake. His back was sore from sleeping on the couch. Sitting up so he was resting on his elbows, he looked over to the other couch. England slept peacefully, France's dream bearing no truth. France sighed slightly, relieved. England was beautiful. Suddenly, Frances's dream ripped through his head, the anger swelling. France smirked before he realized it.
France loved England so much.
Dropping quietly to his knees besides Arthur, he touched England soft blond hair and his heart broke. Closing his eyes, France said softly,
"Just stay the way you are."
England opened his eyes, not looking at France.
"Hey, will this last forever?"
Hey, so, did you like it? Could you do me a favour? Give us a review on how you liked it? Did it flow, was it confusing?
Ta,
KelsiiReece