Hey guys! Don't think I've forgotten! I promised an extra chapter, a sort of epilogue thing, so here it is! I hope you enjoy it.
Speaking of forgetting, I haven't forgotten about the next season. It's being updated as I write this!
Anyways, enjoy this final chapter.
Love you all!
.:|Silver|:.
England sighed, looking around the trashed set wistfully. Many nations and the audience were passed out everywhere. He would truly miss the show. There was a groan from one of the passed out people. The Englishman's eyebrows raised slightly before he gingerly made his way to collapse on one of the audience seats. A glow stick rolled away from the seat.
The blond glanced over the carnage once again before letting a grin take over his face.
The last-day party had been truly magnificent. Especially when Prussia had somehow convinced Germany and Austria to loosen up. Arthur shivered as he remembered the loud reverberating lyrics of 'Disco Pogo' bouncing around the room.
Unbeknownst to Arthur, France just strolled in from the balcony, looking around with interest before plopping down next to his English partner.
"It looks like a 'urricane went by," he remarked, successfully surprising the English nation. England nodded.
"Doesn't it? I'm going to honestly miss this set."
"Ah, moi aussi. We shared some great moments 'ere."
There was a silence as both of them recalled certain events.
.:|Moment Remembered Number One~|:.
Arthur glared at Francis as they strode out of the set and away from the building. Arthur was scoffing, his green eyes bright with the light of a challenge.
"Everybody knows, frog, that my accent makes women fall all over themselves."
"Says you, cher. My accent is superior to yours."
"You sound like you've got a bloody cold!"
"I do not! You sound uptight and bratty!"
"Nu-uh!"
"Uh-huh!"
Both the blonds glared at each other and shoved their way into the first bar they found. It was filled with many men, and quite a few women, who were well on their way to drunk.
"Okay, so the one with the most women or men by the end of the night is the one who's accent is better," reiterated France. The other blond nodded, straightening his tie and throwing a smirk towards his lover before striding away. Blue eyes watched him go with amusement, and a bit of lust, before they turned to start on their own journey.
The night was loud. The people in the bar had divided into three groups. One that was listening to Arthur, one that was paying attention to Francis and one that was ignoring the other two with passion. Bob, the bartender, was looking around his bar with amusement. A gaggle of men and women were fawning over the seated Englishman, all watching him with lusty eyes. It was a wonder that they hadn't stripped him by now. Bob's eyes shifted to the other side of the room where some other men and women were swooning at a purring Frenchman. Then his eyes went to the other emptier parts of the room where people were drinking and being rather depressing as usual. Deciding they needed his services, he served the depressed looking people.
England paused in his exciting narration of something or the other and glanced over at his lover. Francis had quite an accumulation of people. But he wasn't doing too badly either.
"So, what happened next, Artie?" asked one of the women, a rather pretty young thing with light brown hair, batting her eyes with adoration. A man he didn't know leaned forward with interest too, seductively running a hand over his thigh. Arthur gave the man a blatant look before upping his accent.
"Can you get me a drink, love?" he asked the brunette next to him, charm oozing from every orifice. The girl swooned and got up unsteadily, stumbling to the bar to get the said drink. While she was gone other people were chatting up England.
Meanwhile France was in quite a similar position. He was showering French words into his conversation and using many others to compliment the people he was talking to.
"Mon trésor, you are looking très bandante tonight," he complimented a woman, stealing a glance at his lover. England was relaxed and chatting away, a girl curled up to his side and giving him lustful looks. The Brit's other hand was holding rum, which he held loosely. Francis smirked and took a sip of his own wine. Rum. 'Ow quaint, he mused, glancing up at the women and men.
"I 'ave a suggestion…"
When Arthur finally tore his gaze away from the people, he found no Francis and none of his followers. Assuming the worst, the Brit stumbled to the bartender and then out to where the bartender had told him to go. It was a seedy hotel. When Arthur went in to the specified room, he found himself facing a multitude of people in various states of undress. And then…
"Join us Arthurr."
The rest was a swirl of colors. When Arthur awoke it was to find a pair of horns on his head, bite marks along his neck and a pair of handcuffs on one wrist. There were also multiple bodies lying over him. Green eyes turned with confusion to his side where Francis was sitting up and watching him.
"Zey liked my accent more, cher," he greeted smugly, reaching out a gentle hand to brush Arthur's hair. The Englishman stiffened then let out a groan.
"Bloody hell. And why are there so many people here?"
"Why do you zink?"
"Oh…dammit all!"
.:|End of Moment~|:.
Both the nations grinned at the memory. Francis sighed happily and leaned back on the couch.
"Zat was a truly wonderful night. I didn't even 'ave to pay-" He cut himself off abruptly, blue eyes widening slightly. England's own eyes narrowed and he glared.
"'Pay'? You paid them?"
"Non! Why would you zink zat!"
"You're such a cheater, frog! Hmph. We are having a rematch."
"Of course."
There was silence for a while before England laughed.
"Remember that episode where Germany tossed us into the closet?" he asked with a grin. The Frenchman smirked.
"Oui. Zat was fun."
.:|Moment Remembered Number 2~|:.
Germany shoved both Francis and Arthur into the closet, giving them both a warning look.
"Try not to mentally scar anyone," he warned, locking the door and going back to the set. Both the nations inside stared at each other for a second before sighing in unison.
"I 'ave an idea," France suddenly said, a smirk in his voice as he fumbled for the lights. He pulled a string and the lights came on. England gave him a bored look.
"And what is it?"
"Mentally scar anyone wizin a five meter radius." He gave Arthur time to absorb this. The Englishman finally grinned at his lover and nodded. Casting a quick glance over the well-dressed Englishman, Francis quickly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it away, rumpling it satisfactorily before giving it back. Arthur tossed it to the side and pulled his lover closer to himself, backing himself into the door and pulling France in for a kiss. They both let out simultaneous loud moans, France thumping on the door in an imitation of humping against England. The door creaked slightly and groaned. England ran his hands through long blond hair, gripping it tightly and maneuvering France's lips, breaking away for a second with a mischievous smirk.
"Try not to get horny. And this is the only time you get to top," was all the warning France got before England let out a keen, eyes amused.
"Oh gods, Francis! Harder! HARDER!" he moaned out, letting out a slowly escalating series of moans. The Frenchman took the moment to admire his lover's deviousness, smirking too and shoving the door with more force, making it groan loudly.
Some backstage workers and crew were frozen in place, staring at the closet door with red faces. It creaked and bulged slightly outwards, two distinct voices calling out and making indecent noises at an indecent level. One of the girls promptly fainted. Finally, England's voice inclined to a crescendo and then slowed down into rough panting. The crew stayed frozen, wondering if it was okay to go and check. Unfortunately, the door was pushed a few more times before a certain French accented voice called out. Then there was silence. All of the crew glanced at each other and then hurried away, faces flaming furiously. Germany strode over to the closet, glancing curiously at the people, before opening the door. England and France slowly made their ways out, lazy smirks on their faces.
.:|End Of Moment~|:.
England snickered.
"You should have seen the look in the crews' eyes. None of them would look straight at me. And one poor girl fainted."
"Well, we were too sexy, zat's why," said France matter-of-factly. They both chuckled and mused for another silent moment.
"Do you remember zat episode, where America came in limping? I was so proud of mon Mathieu."
"Oh yes. I was proud of the boy too. Alfred really deserved it."
.:|Moment Remembered Number Three~|:.
Canada and America were still on the stage, even after the lights had dimmed and the people had made their ways out, and were glaring at each other. Well, the Canadian was. Alfred was just giving him a horribly smug look.
"You do suck at everything that isn't hockey, man. Its true and you know it."
"I do not suck at everything except hockey, you wanker!" snapped back Canada, taking one of his father's insults. England and France were seated on the couches that had been left behind. All the nations had left.
"Brilliant. Matthew, you make me proud," said the Brit from his seat, grinning. France was looking a bit grumpy.
"Come on Canada. Show 'im you 'ave in'erited somezing from me too," he grumbled. The Canadian happily obliged, getting a sharp look in his eyes as he stalked towards the American, eyes filled with something unknown, and leaned in to whisper into his ear. The American turned redder and looked away with a cough, glancing back at his brother with an embarrassed gaze. There was an interested silence and Arthur and Francis passed looks between both the brothers. Canada smiled a shark-like grin. There was some more silence. Then, without any visible prompting, Alfred and Matthew both got up and went away, giving some vague excuse as they left.
That episode Alfred came in limping. France and England cast each other inquisitive looks and decided to ask later. When the episode was over they cornered their two sons.
"What happened? Why are you limping, Alfred?" The American flushed and glared at the floor. France cast an appreciative glance at his son.
"Good job Mathieu," he praised. The Canadian grinned. England looked between the other three with confusion.
"What did you do, Matthew?" he asked slowly. Canada gave his father figure a vicious grin.
"I showed him just how strong the second biggest country of the world is." There was silence before understanding dawned on the Brit.
"You. Matthew, you beat him? I'm so proud!" Arthur rushed forwards to hug the Canadian. You see, there was a little secret that Francis and Arthur kept. Canada was stronger than America. Why he didn't seem so was because he seemed to hide his strength behind his hoodies and maple syrup. Alfred glowered and grumbled some choice words as his brother was being hugged, and limped away. Matthew grinned evilly as he hugged his fathers back. Oh yes I did, he thought to himself in a ghetto accent. What? Being with a weird family had made him weird.
.:|End Of Moment~|:.
Both of the older nations leaned back with tiny laughs. There was a groan as someone 'flop-of-death'ed their way to a more comfortable place. Hmm, he looked rather like America. There was a silence as both the countries simply stared at the destruction. Then England stood up with a stretch, making the bones on his shoulder let out a loud 'crack', before offering his hand to his French lover.
"Do you want to take advantage of this brief respite we're getting? Nobody will hear us," he said with a smirk. The Frenchman hauled himself up and smirked right abck, dragging the Englishman off to the nearest bedroom.
"Ohonononon! Of course, cher. I 'ave great expectations from you."
Well? Reviews aren't necessary, but a few would be nice.
.:|Silver|:.