[fic] Tickle Fight
For those of you who browse pixiv, you may want to use this tag to find some France/America art.
自由コンビ
It means "freedom combi(nation)". You know, like freedom fries, haha, SO CUTE.
There's only 3 pages, and 2 of my pictures are up there, haha. You can also try 仏米 for more.
Title: Tickle Fight
Author: insomniel
Character(s) or Pairing(s): France/America, Estonia
Rating: PG
Warnings: France being France
Summary: for the kink meme, but I added another paragraph of tickling, then I ran out synonyms for playing footsie, so stopped there. Yeah. I'm working on other stuff, but it's taking a while... I've just wanted to do this prompt for a while, so few tickling requests...
America could not believe the audacity of the other nation, the blatant disregard for the fact that Estonia was sitting only a few feet away in front of his laptop, finishing their committee presentation for tomorrow’s meeting. There he was, innocently reading a report and twirling a lock of long blond hair around a finger, while below the conference table his couture-socked feet were gently rubbing at America’s legs in slow, sensual motions. Up and down the side of his calf, pressing against the material of his trousers lightly. Touching his ankle, grazing his shin, then his knee.
Any higher and America would have to declare it an act of war.
Not paying any attention to the paper, France was actually gauging the other’s reaction as he followed the seeming miles of leg with the tips of his toes before delicately reaching in between those long limbs. He grinned to see the boyish flinch, and shamelessly stretched further with his foot, seeking out those vital regions with all of the skill and experience of the country of love. It certainly was not his fault they were assigned to the small meeting room with a conveniently undersized conference table, and he needed to work some blood into his limbs after sitting still for several hours. Of course.
America bit his lower lip fiercely, finding it impossible to concentrate on the dossier with the secret game going on underneath the table. At least France decided to start this after they finished most of their work, but it seemed like he was trying to make up for lost time, judging by how dangerously close that foot was to his groin. Exhaling loudly, America tried to sit up straight and pull his legs back - why did he slouch in his chair in the first place and make himself a target like that - but France had already hooked his feet around America’s ankles, holding him fast.
With a barely audible grunt, America glared at him, silently threatening another McDon*ld’s in his beloved Paris. France just smiled and touched an elegant finger against the curve of his lips, and America rolled his eyes in exasperation.
Well, he’ll play along this time, and get back at the pervert later. Right. France will get bored soon, he always does.
Oh, wait, but this was not fair, not fair at all. Across the table, France managed to calmly turn to another page even as one foot pushed the fabric of America’s trousers up several centimeters and began to mercilessly brush against the bare skin above the top of his sock. America managed to stifle a gasp just in time, although he was unable to control the sudden hot blush creeping up his neck onto his cheeks.
Estonia did not bother to look up when America cleared his throat, quickly yanking his feet back, then wriggling out of his own loafers in order to return the assault, fighting fire with fire.
France’s eyes widened imperceptibly when he felt America retreat, only to promptly counterattack with his own unshod feet. An admirable effort, but the brat was still woefully ignorant of exactly who he was up against. He paused his actions, and as soon as America thought he was winning, France snuck his silk-clad foot forward and deviously brushed at the sole of the other’s foot with a toe, just enough to trigger the sensitive nerves there. As predicted, America nearly jumped in his chair, making a strangled squeaking sound. Even Estonia noticed that, and he glanced at America, concerned.
“Is everything all right, America?”
“Y-yes!” he managed to grit out, even as France continued to tease him out of sight, ruthlessly taking unfair advantage of his ticklishness, catching his leg by the ankle to keep him from kicking back. “I… just remembered something important I had to do, b-but you keep on working, don’t worry about it.” America took out a pen and began scraping away at a sheet of paper as if he wanted to hurt it, gnawing at his lower lip distractedly, trying to stifle his laughter with as much self-control as he possessed, which sadly was not very much.
“Okay…” Estonia shrugged and turned back to his computer, trying to not pay any attention to the occasional snort of what sounded like laughter as he put the finishing touches on their slides.
Desperately, America clutched at the edge of the table, determined not to give up despite the fact that he was clearly being outmaneuvered by the older nation. Every time he tried to stomp on France’s foot or kick his shin, France would dodge or block him, and then smugly retaliate with devastating effectiveness, knowing exactly where he was the most vulnerable, what would cause him to eventually burst out into laughter.
Ah, he had finally worn down the younger nation’s defenses, France noted triumphantly. America was now consumed with silent giggles, holding his aching side as he tried to breathe. His face was bright red, tears glistening on his lashes, a hand covering his mouth as if that would hide his evident mirth, and yet he somehow did not think to use his superior strength to resist France’s tickling. Utterly helpless, and so absolutely adorable as well.
Finally, France thought to give America some respite, and quickly putting his designer dress shoes back on, he got to his feet and swept over to Estonia’s side.
“Mon cher, why don’t we adjourn the committee for the day?” he whispered, letting his fingers sweep the other’s pale hair back with the lightest of caresses. “I think we all deserve a break after our hard work, poor America looks ready to faint from… caffeine withdrawal.” Well, he had not had a soda in 30 minutes, that was practically caffeine withdrawal for America.
“Errr… sure thing, France,” Estonia murmured, flushing slightly from France’s proximity. “Yes, I think we are ready for tomorrow’s conference, so… I will see you two then?” They both nodded, America somewhat less composedly than France, and Estonia promptly packed up his things and departed, expressing his sincere hopes that America would feel better soon.
Oh, he will be feeling much, much better soon, France thought as he locked the office door behind Estonia.
自由コンビ
It means "freedom combi(nation)". You know, like freedom fries, haha, SO CUTE.
There's only 3 pages, and 2 of my pictures are up there, haha. You can also try 仏米 for more.
Title: Tickle Fight
Author: insomniel
Character(s) or Pairing(s): France/America, Estonia
Rating: PG
Warnings: France being France
Summary: for the kink meme, but I added another paragraph of tickling, then I ran out synonyms for playing footsie, so stopped there. Yeah. I'm working on other stuff, but it's taking a while... I've just wanted to do this prompt for a while, so few tickling requests...
America could not believe the audacity of the other nation, the blatant disregard for the fact that Estonia was sitting only a few feet away in front of his laptop, finishing their committee presentation for tomorrow’s meeting. There he was, innocently reading a report and twirling a lock of long blond hair around a finger, while below the conference table his couture-socked feet were gently rubbing at America’s legs in slow, sensual motions. Up and down the side of his calf, pressing against the material of his trousers lightly. Touching his ankle, grazing his shin, then his knee.
Any higher and America would have to declare it an act of war.
Not paying any attention to the paper, France was actually gauging the other’s reaction as he followed the seeming miles of leg with the tips of his toes before delicately reaching in between those long limbs. He grinned to see the boyish flinch, and shamelessly stretched further with his foot, seeking out those vital regions with all of the skill and experience of the country of love. It certainly was not his fault they were assigned to the small meeting room with a conveniently undersized conference table, and he needed to work some blood into his limbs after sitting still for several hours. Of course.
America bit his lower lip fiercely, finding it impossible to concentrate on the dossier with the secret game going on underneath the table. At least France decided to start this after they finished most of their work, but it seemed like he was trying to make up for lost time, judging by how dangerously close that foot was to his groin. Exhaling loudly, America tried to sit up straight and pull his legs back - why did he slouch in his chair in the first place and make himself a target like that - but France had already hooked his feet around America’s ankles, holding him fast.
With a barely audible grunt, America glared at him, silently threatening another McDon*ld’s in his beloved Paris. France just smiled and touched an elegant finger against the curve of his lips, and America rolled his eyes in exasperation.
Well, he’ll play along this time, and get back at the pervert later. Right. France will get bored soon, he always does.
Oh, wait, but this was not fair, not fair at all. Across the table, France managed to calmly turn to another page even as one foot pushed the fabric of America’s trousers up several centimeters and began to mercilessly brush against the bare skin above the top of his sock. America managed to stifle a gasp just in time, although he was unable to control the sudden hot blush creeping up his neck onto his cheeks.
Estonia did not bother to look up when America cleared his throat, quickly yanking his feet back, then wriggling out of his own loafers in order to return the assault, fighting fire with fire.
France’s eyes widened imperceptibly when he felt America retreat, only to promptly counterattack with his own unshod feet. An admirable effort, but the brat was still woefully ignorant of exactly who he was up against. He paused his actions, and as soon as America thought he was winning, France snuck his silk-clad foot forward and deviously brushed at the sole of the other’s foot with a toe, just enough to trigger the sensitive nerves there. As predicted, America nearly jumped in his chair, making a strangled squeaking sound. Even Estonia noticed that, and he glanced at America, concerned.
“Is everything all right, America?”
“Y-yes!” he managed to grit out, even as France continued to tease him out of sight, ruthlessly taking unfair advantage of his ticklishness, catching his leg by the ankle to keep him from kicking back. “I… just remembered something important I had to do, b-but you keep on working, don’t worry about it.” America took out a pen and began scraping away at a sheet of paper as if he wanted to hurt it, gnawing at his lower lip distractedly, trying to stifle his laughter with as much self-control as he possessed, which sadly was not very much.
“Okay…” Estonia shrugged and turned back to his computer, trying to not pay any attention to the occasional snort of what sounded like laughter as he put the finishing touches on their slides.
Desperately, America clutched at the edge of the table, determined not to give up despite the fact that he was clearly being outmaneuvered by the older nation. Every time he tried to stomp on France’s foot or kick his shin, France would dodge or block him, and then smugly retaliate with devastating effectiveness, knowing exactly where he was the most vulnerable, what would cause him to eventually burst out into laughter.
Ah, he had finally worn down the younger nation’s defenses, France noted triumphantly. America was now consumed with silent giggles, holding his aching side as he tried to breathe. His face was bright red, tears glistening on his lashes, a hand covering his mouth as if that would hide his evident mirth, and yet he somehow did not think to use his superior strength to resist France’s tickling. Utterly helpless, and so absolutely adorable as well.
Finally, France thought to give America some respite, and quickly putting his designer dress shoes back on, he got to his feet and swept over to Estonia’s side.
“Mon cher, why don’t we adjourn the committee for the day?” he whispered, letting his fingers sweep the other’s pale hair back with the lightest of caresses. “I think we all deserve a break after our hard work, poor America looks ready to faint from… caffeine withdrawal.” Well, he had not had a soda in 30 minutes, that was practically caffeine withdrawal for America.
“Errr… sure thing, France,” Estonia murmured, flushing slightly from France’s proximity. “Yes, I think we are ready for tomorrow’s conference, so… I will see you two then?” They both nodded, America somewhat less composedly than France, and Estonia promptly packed up his things and departed, expressing his sincere hopes that America would feel better soon.
Oh, he will be feeling much, much better soon, France thought as he locked the office door behind Estonia.