Chapter 2

A storm was howling outside. England sat in front of his fireplace, sipping his tea and eating some freshly-baked scones. He stared into the fire and softly sang.

"Bring on the fire, bring on the hell, set everything ablaze so that no trace remains. Bring on the fire, bring on the hell, set everything ablaze…"

His voice trailed off as he listened to the sounds of moaning trees and Mother Nature turning his garden upside down. He hoped Flying Mint Bunny wasn't too afraid of the occasional flashes of lightning and the roaring drums of thunder.

Then suddenly, he could hear someone knocking at his door.

Who on earth could that be, at this late hour? he thought.

England set his cup aside and got up. His frown deepened as he realized it was probably America. Only he would have the nerve to come bother him when there was a bloody storm raging through his country and—

Oh, right. There was also HIM.

England's frown deepened as he looked at the soaked-to-the-bone Frenchman standing on his doormat. France tried to smile charmingly, but the effects were lost due to him having the appearance of a drowned dog. Or frog,

"Angleterre, can you let me in? The weather is rather terrible today."

England slammed the door shut in his face.

"S'il vous plait, let me in! I'll get a cold if I stay outside in this weather! I won't leave until you let me in!"

England sighed in exasperation. He played with the idea of leaving the Frog outside and see just how long he would keep to his words, but the gentleman in him soon took over.

Reluctantly, he opened the door again and stepped aside.

"Merci beaucoup!" France sighed as he quickly ran towards the warm fire.

England tsk-ed at him as he left for his bathroom to go and grab a towel. "Take off your clothes," he demanded upon returning.

France raised an eyebrow at his comment. "Ohonhonhonhon~ Angleterre, are you that eager to see me naked?" That remark deserved him a towel being flicked in his face.

"Shut up, you bloody Frog! Just get out of those wet clothes and dry yourself, I'll get you something else to wear, You should be happy I even let you into my house at this hour!"

England grumbled as he turned and left for his bedroom in search of some dry clothes to give to the perverted Frenchman.

France sighed. All dirty comments and flirting aside, he truly was happy England was willing to let him in and take care of him. It had already been quite some time since the incident with the spell, and England hadn't changed his behaviour at all. France didn't really mind though. Teasing England was way too much fun, and as long as he got to stay close to his dear Angleterre, he was content. That was exactly the reason he had come today: to play around, and inwardly smile at England's endearing reactions to his flirting.

France slowly peeled off his wet clothes, carelessly tossing them aside. He rather liked the idea of getting to wear something that was England's. If he played it right, he could keep the clothes and take them home. He already had quite the collection of things that once belonged to the British nation. He often used the smell of those clothes to indulge in fantasies~

England returned with an oversized sleeping shirt.

"I believe you left this here one time you visited. Might as well give it back to you."

France smiled thankfully, but inwardly pouted. Oh well, maybe the shirt would still smell like England seeing as it had spent so long in his house.

"Can't you clean up faster?" England growled. He took the towel out of his hands and started rubbing his hair.

France was happy they faced opposite directions, so that England couldn't see his blush.

"So eager to touch me?" he purred.

England simply rubbed harder, making France yelp in pain. England smirked. "A little touchy-feely are we now?"

France crossed his arms. He was still very much naked, but that didn't seem to faze the Brit. Was England not attracted to him at all? Not even a teensy-weensy bit? Apparently not.

When England was finished, he went to the kitchen to make some more tea, leaving France behind to clothe himself. France stared at his retreating back for a moment, before he got up with a devious smirk. He looked around and found a vase with a single large red rose. How fitting. He picked up the rose and carefully placed it between his legs. He laughed his perverted little laugh as he walked over to the kitchen, where he leant against the doorframe.

England felt his presence, but didn't turn around.

"What were you thinking anyway, visiting me on such a dreary day? You could have at least called. You know, I was just about to—FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!"

France grinned as England scowled and was blushing furiously, trying not to look at the conveniently placed flower.

"Come on Angleterre, I know you like it~"

"I do not, you stupid wanker! And if you don't put on that shirt, I'm going to throw you out without it!" England growled as he stomped past him, heading back to the living room.

France sighed. Oh, my sweet. What am I to do with you?

~o~

After some more heated discussions, France finally got dressed. England begrudgingly showed him to his guest room, warning him that if he dared come to his bedroom during the night, he would change his country's entire cuisine so that it would consist only of America's hamburgers. This seemed to shut France up, as England didn't hear of him that night.

However, the next morning when he went to the guest's room to wake France up, he found it was completely empty.

"Frog?" he hesitantly called out. No reaction. Well that was strange.

England went downstairs. Maybe the Frenchman had woken up before him and had made coffee. England had a coffee machine, even though he barely used it himself, because some of his guests simply refused to have tea. England had no idea how one could not like tea, but being the gentleman he was, he had bought a coffee machine to meet up to their requests.

France wasn't in the kitchen. Where on earth was he then?

England opened the door to his garden. The storm had left the country, leaving behind a trail of destruction. Branches were broken off of the trees, flowers had been ripped out of the ground. England sighed as he looked at the ravished garden. It would take a lot of cleaning up to get it nice and neat again. He walked over to the pond at the far back of it. When he reached it, he froze.

A single, large frog was sitting at his pond. England blinked when a wave a familiarity rushed over him.

"…Frog?" he asked. The frog looked at him with his big, round eyes.

Had he really turned himself into a frog again? But why?

…Just so he could be kissed by England?

"Listen here, I don't know what you're planning, but I'm not going to bloody kiss you again!"

The frog remained quiet, simply staring at the flustered Brit. England found it hard to break his gaze.

…Maybe it wouldn't hurt to—no! He could not give in to the Frog's wishes! …But, if France had gotten himself to be a frog, he had to help him—no! Don't be ridiculous. There was no way in—

England knelt down, ignoring the screaming in the back of his head. His cheeks flushed a bright pink. Not because of what he was about to do, but because of what he was feeling. The frog kept staring, as if tempting him to commit the sin.

The sin of wanting to kiss France.

In one smooth movement, England swooped up the frog and brought it to his lips. It didn't mean anything if it was just to break the spell, right? Only…the frog remained a frog.

England froze as he felt two arms snake their way around his middle. A husky voice whispered in his ear. "Do you want to kiss me that badly, Angleterre?"

England let out a (anything but manly) scream and dropped the frog, who angrily hopped back into the pond.

"Fr—what are—but you, you were a frog!"

He could feel France smirk against his skin. "Nope~ I was just taking a shower. And when I came looking for you, I was met by a rather interesting display…"

France placed a soft kiss on his neck. England yelped and succeeded in pushing him away. He jumped up and raced back to his house.

"Angleterre, wait!"

Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN! How could he have let himself be swept away by those stupid thoughts he didn't even know existed?! Now he had made a complete and utter fool out of himself.

England tried to run up the stairs, but France had caught up to him and grabbed his wrist.

"Angleterre, wait! I have to tell you something!"

England scowled at him, still fiercely blushing.

France swallowed and took in a deep breath. He had to tell him now. Because of that unexpected display, he had been given both hope and the courage to confess.

Well, here goes nothing.

"Angleterre, je t'aime. Je t'adore. I love you."

England blinked dumbly. "…Come again?"

France sighed desperately. England had to understand, he simply had to!

"Britain," he said urgently. "I have loved you for a very long time now. That is why I always flirt with you, why I cannot keep my hands off you. I love you. I love you."

England kept his mouth shut. France…loved him? Well, actually, he already knew that since that incident, he had just tried to forget all about it. But now France was confessing in such a dramatic way and—

And suddenly France was very, very close. England was too stunned to push him away.

"So please, can you love me too?" he whispered, before planting a passionate kiss on his lips.

They stood there for a while, neither one wanting to break away. When France finally ended the kiss, he looked at England expectantly, both hope and concern colouring his eyes.

England was beet red. He didn't know what to say. Certainly, he had liked the kiss, but to say that he loved France? He simply didn't know.

France saw his hesitation, and his face fell. He sighed, and let go of the Brit.

"I understand if you do not feel the same way. I just thought you should know."

He turned around, but felt his wrist being grabbed in the same desperate way he had done to the Brit just a couple of minutes ago. He slowly looked over his shoulder, azure eyes meeting bright green ones.

"I…I don't know about love," England said, shifting uncomfortably under France's gaze. "B-but…I do know that you're a bloody good kisser. And don't let that compliment get to your head!" he warned, scowling in that adorable little way of his.

"So?" France asked, waiting for him to continue.

"So…maybe, we should um…t-try that again?"

France smiled as his heart almost flew out of his chest, and happily complied to the request, swooping in for another kiss.

Maybe having been turned into a frog also had its pros. After all, without it, he would have never had the courage to confess to this British Gentleman.

Somewhere outside, a frog croaked indignantly as he still felt like he'd been molested.

~o~

Words:

S'il vous plait : Please
Merci Beaucoup: Thank you very much
Je t'adore: I adore you