[fanfic] Sweeter than Syrup
Title: Sweeter than Syrup
Author/Artist: myself, chromatic_coma
Character(s)/Pairing(s): France, Canada; France/Canada
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Warning(s): France. 'Nuff said.
Summary: Done for haro as part of the maplesandroses exchange, the prompt was In 2009, Eastern Canada had a maple syrup shortage. Canada's really starting to feel the effects of the shortage, but he won't as long as France can help it.
Sweeter than Syrup
The meeting was dragging on far too slowly; France could only sigh as America made another moot suggestion (something involving a rocket ship and an industrial tank of mustard, or the like), which of course caused the others to rise up in an uproar. Usually France would have been among that group, but for this particular meeting he was much too subdued by boredom to even bother.
Instead, France decided to do one of things he prided himself on doing best. Surveying the room carefully, he figured he had no choice but to create his own distraction…
…Or did he? While deep cerulean eyes danced across the room (careful not to linger over someone who was “taken”, as he rather liked his face as it was), France noticed a glimmer of something strange in the corner. A moment of staring made the something come into focus, and the blond nation realized it was another nation. Canada, to be specific, dressed up rather nicely in a purple dress shirt and beige slacks.
‘Perfect,’ the Frenchman decided, creeping out of his seat (which was highly unnecessary, considering the fact that America and England’s fight was starting to get violent, even for them, and was now drawing all attention in the room) and sliding over to where Canada was sitting.
“Bonjour, Canada.” He whispered, dropping his voice to a low, sultry tone. It was always adorable to see Canada flushed, and even more so when it was mixed with the surprise of having been noticed. That, of course, was the reason why France had never told Canada he could always see him; while it could be seen as cruel to allow the boy to think himself invisible, France felt it was a worthwhile cruelty justified by the bright smile that would grace the Canadian’s face when he was acknowledged correctly from the get-go.
Which is why France was almost shocked when Canada simply gave him a meek smile, heavy bags resting beneath his eyes.
“Bonjour, France. How are you?” He replied, his voice quiet and heavy with tiredness.
The older blond frowned, and it only deepened when he noticed Canada’s left eyelid twitch in what looked like a very uncomfortable way.
“I am well, but you obviously are not. What is the matter, mon cher?”
Canada rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, before his arm plopped back down onto the table. “J-Just tired…”
“Oh? Is that all?” Sarcasm was heavy in both France’s tone and expression, and Canada almost winced.
“Y-Yeah… I haven’t been able to have coffee or-” The next part came out as a series of muffles, and France raised an eyebrow.
“What was that?”
“N-Nothing- What are you doing?” For France had decided to make good use of this opportunity, and currently had a palm pressed against the younger blond’s forehead. Just as he’d hoped, there was heat coming off the Canadian’s skin, not enough to cause for alarm, but just enough to give France a proper alibi.
“Zut Alors! You are sick, Canada-”
“No, no, I’m fine!” He exclaimed, or rather, tried to exclaim. France gave him a testy look, and Canada countered with a weak smile.
“As I was saying, you are sick, mon cher, but worry not. I vow to take care of you until you have healed from this malady.”
Canada winced a bit, before turning away shyly.
“I-I’m not sick! Honestly… it’s… um…”
“Canada?”
“Okaysomaybethere’samaplesyrupshortage!” The violet eyed boy spewed out quickly, before placing a palm over his mouth as if he’d just said something blasphemous. Not that France would know, of course; he didn’t understand a single word Canada had just said, if there even were any words in that garble. Sighing, he asked Canada to repeat himself, and the other sighed softly.
“T-There’s a, um, maple syrup shortage.” He confessed as he kept his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable laughter. A few moments later he looked up, surprised when it never came.
France was looking at him with a heavy frown marring his beautiful features, and Canada found the attention to be almost flattering. Not that he wanted France to be worried about him, but… well, he wasn’t going to complain.
“I know it is your favorite, but to have it affect you this much… I do not understand.”
Canada flushed. It was such a silly thing to let get to him, and he knew it, but without his syrup nothing tasted quite the same. Ever since he had to start rationing it, he’d found himself skipping several meals altogether just because the food was so tasteless. Without maple syrup to sweeten drinks, tea was bitter and coffee even worse off, so his body was suffering from a sudden drop in caffeine levels, as well as everything else. Even worse was the fact that ever since he’d lived with England he was used to drinking milk with maple syrup to help him get to bed, and now he couldn’t even do that. Still, he couldn’t possibly say all that to France; he knew the European wouldn’t understand, and what’s more, he didn’t want to make such a fool of himself, especially not in front of the only person who noticed him who he may or may not have had a crush on.
France, realizing that Canada was not going to answer him, continued, “Rest assured, I will not allow you to suffer any longer. Which is why I will accompany you to your home to make sure you are well fed and well rested.”
“France, you don’t have to-”
“I never said that I had to, mon coeur, I said that I was going to.”
---
The next morning found France and Canada both sitting around the nation’s kitchen table back in Ottawa; true to his word, France had not allowed him to return home alone. Of course, with jet lag added to all Canada’s other maladies, the younger nation could barely lift his head off the table, and a heavy flush colored his cheek that he did not want to admit might have been from the generous view he was getting of France’s derrière as the other was digging in his fridge for ingredients.
Too tired to move his head, but too dizzy to start getting lost in very bad thoughts, Canada simply shut his eyes head slumping further against the wood tabletop, his glasses pressing uncomfortably into his face. Still the younger nation was too tired to bother and remove them, so he let them remain while his headache persisted. What he wouldn’t give for maple syrup right then…
“Canada? Are you sleeping?” France’s voice sounded far-off, and faintly confused. Canada hummed, too tired to respond that he was, in fact, awake.
He could hear France chuckle, and felt a set of warm lips press softly into his forehead.
“Réveille-toi, Canada,” France whispered in his ear with a deep, husky voice that made Canada’s stomach flip-flop. When the boy opened his eyes, France’s voice returned to normal as he ruffled his hair with his hand. “It’s time to eat.”
The sound of china hitting the table resonated in Canada’s ear, and he looked up to find a piping hot plate of Belgian waffle sitting before him, sprinkled with powdered sugar and garnished with strawberries.
“H-huh?”
“I figured since La Belgique already does not allow for you to add syrup to this, it would be something you could deal with, non?” France answered simply, sitting down beside Canada with his own plate of food.
While France took his first forkful of waffle, as elegantly as ever, Canada could only look down at his plate wistfully. What no one had ever known was that Canada did slip maple syrup onto his Belgian waffles one way or another and now, without even a chance of being able to do it, the food was unappetizing.
Still, Canada knew that France worked to make breakfast, and he knew that he had to at least give it a try. Cutting a piece off with the side of his fork, he hesitantly took it into his mouth.
It was the epitome of France’s cooking, that was for sure. Sweet, but not mind numbingly so, and with the amazing texture combination of flaky on the outside and fluffy on the inside, Canada knew that the older blond had gone above and beyond the call of duty.
Yet, he found himself unable to fully enjoy the treat. The crunchy, flaky exterior lacked the usual sticky sweetness that Canada had spent centuries growing accustomed to, and without it the waffle felt bland and rough in his mouth. Forcing himself to swallow, and catching sight of France watching him from the corner of his eye, Canada worked a smile onto his face.
“Merci, France, this is delicious.”
France, however, could only sigh as he saw Canada’s eye twitch again from behind his glasses.
“If you do not like them, mon coeur-”
“No!” Canada was quick to interrupt, putting his hands up in the air as if to halt France’s train of thought. “They are good, really, I just-”
This time it was Canada who was interrupted, not by words, but by France’s hand tenderly stroking his cheek, before he cupped the younger man’s chin in his palm.
“F-France? W-What-”
Again, Canada was not allowed to finish his stuttering, as the Frenchman ran a finger over his bottom lip gently, before his touch was replaced with a pair of moist, soft lips pressing themselves to his hotly. For moments he was merely frozen stiff, but France continued to push his lips against Canada’s in such a way that he could not help but find himself kissing back as fervently as his tired self could. As dizzy as he was, he could still feel France’s tongue attempt to pry itself between his lips, and could still feel himself as he allowed France access to his orifice, deepening the kiss to the point where he found himself unable to keep up with it.
So, it was only when they broke for air that Canada realized his mouth was significantly fuller than it had been before the kiss.
“H-huh?” He murmured, and soon the taste of sweet waffle mixed with that of France’s mouth, and he his mind reeled, catching up to what had happened.
France was eyeing him with a smile playing on his lips, his cerulean eyes twinkling. Canada flushed, and was about to start spluttering before a single finger to his mouth silenced him.
“Does it taste better that way, mon cher?”
Canada didn’t trust himself to talk, and so he resigned himself to a shy nod as red bloomed all over his face. France smirked cunningly, brushing his nose against Canada’s tenderly and feeling the heat come off his face in droves before whispering huskily in against his cheek,
“Well, then, I suppose we should not let all this go to waste, non?”
Canada could not disagree; he may not have had his beloved syrup, but he could not deny that this alternative was much, much sweeter.
End.
----
*dies*
Author/Artist: myself, chromatic_coma
Character(s)/Pairing(s): France, Canada; France/Canada
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Warning(s): France. 'Nuff said.
Summary: Done for haro as part of the maplesandroses exchange, the prompt was In 2009, Eastern Canada had a maple syrup shortage. Canada's really starting to feel the effects of the shortage, but he won't as long as France can help it.
Sweeter than Syrup
The meeting was dragging on far too slowly; France could only sigh as America made another moot suggestion (something involving a rocket ship and an industrial tank of mustard, or the like), which of course caused the others to rise up in an uproar. Usually France would have been among that group, but for this particular meeting he was much too subdued by boredom to even bother.
Instead, France decided to do one of things he prided himself on doing best. Surveying the room carefully, he figured he had no choice but to create his own distraction…
…Or did he? While deep cerulean eyes danced across the room (careful not to linger over someone who was “taken”, as he rather liked his face as it was), France noticed a glimmer of something strange in the corner. A moment of staring made the something come into focus, and the blond nation realized it was another nation. Canada, to be specific, dressed up rather nicely in a purple dress shirt and beige slacks.
‘Perfect,’ the Frenchman decided, creeping out of his seat (which was highly unnecessary, considering the fact that America and England’s fight was starting to get violent, even for them, and was now drawing all attention in the room) and sliding over to where Canada was sitting.
“Bonjour, Canada.” He whispered, dropping his voice to a low, sultry tone. It was always adorable to see Canada flushed, and even more so when it was mixed with the surprise of having been noticed. That, of course, was the reason why France had never told Canada he could always see him; while it could be seen as cruel to allow the boy to think himself invisible, France felt it was a worthwhile cruelty justified by the bright smile that would grace the Canadian’s face when he was acknowledged correctly from the get-go.
Which is why France was almost shocked when Canada simply gave him a meek smile, heavy bags resting beneath his eyes.
“Bonjour, France. How are you?” He replied, his voice quiet and heavy with tiredness.
The older blond frowned, and it only deepened when he noticed Canada’s left eyelid twitch in what looked like a very uncomfortable way.
“I am well, but you obviously are not. What is the matter, mon cher?”
Canada rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, before his arm plopped back down onto the table. “J-Just tired…”
“Oh? Is that all?” Sarcasm was heavy in both France’s tone and expression, and Canada almost winced.
“Y-Yeah… I haven’t been able to have coffee or-” The next part came out as a series of muffles, and France raised an eyebrow.
“What was that?”
“N-Nothing- What are you doing?” For France had decided to make good use of this opportunity, and currently had a palm pressed against the younger blond’s forehead. Just as he’d hoped, there was heat coming off the Canadian’s skin, not enough to cause for alarm, but just enough to give France a proper alibi.
“Zut Alors! You are sick, Canada-”
“No, no, I’m fine!” He exclaimed, or rather, tried to exclaim. France gave him a testy look, and Canada countered with a weak smile.
“As I was saying, you are sick, mon cher, but worry not. I vow to take care of you until you have healed from this malady.”
Canada winced a bit, before turning away shyly.
“I-I’m not sick! Honestly… it’s… um…”
“Canada?”
“Okaysomaybethere’samaplesyrupshortage!” The violet eyed boy spewed out quickly, before placing a palm over his mouth as if he’d just said something blasphemous. Not that France would know, of course; he didn’t understand a single word Canada had just said, if there even were any words in that garble. Sighing, he asked Canada to repeat himself, and the other sighed softly.
“T-There’s a, um, maple syrup shortage.” He confessed as he kept his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable laughter. A few moments later he looked up, surprised when it never came.
France was looking at him with a heavy frown marring his beautiful features, and Canada found the attention to be almost flattering. Not that he wanted France to be worried about him, but… well, he wasn’t going to complain.
“I know it is your favorite, but to have it affect you this much… I do not understand.”
Canada flushed. It was such a silly thing to let get to him, and he knew it, but without his syrup nothing tasted quite the same. Ever since he had to start rationing it, he’d found himself skipping several meals altogether just because the food was so tasteless. Without maple syrup to sweeten drinks, tea was bitter and coffee even worse off, so his body was suffering from a sudden drop in caffeine levels, as well as everything else. Even worse was the fact that ever since he’d lived with England he was used to drinking milk with maple syrup to help him get to bed, and now he couldn’t even do that. Still, he couldn’t possibly say all that to France; he knew the European wouldn’t understand, and what’s more, he didn’t want to make such a fool of himself, especially not in front of the only person who noticed him who he may or may not have had a crush on.
France, realizing that Canada was not going to answer him, continued, “Rest assured, I will not allow you to suffer any longer. Which is why I will accompany you to your home to make sure you are well fed and well rested.”
“France, you don’t have to-”
“I never said that I had to, mon coeur, I said that I was going to.”
---
The next morning found France and Canada both sitting around the nation’s kitchen table back in Ottawa; true to his word, France had not allowed him to return home alone. Of course, with jet lag added to all Canada’s other maladies, the younger nation could barely lift his head off the table, and a heavy flush colored his cheek that he did not want to admit might have been from the generous view he was getting of France’s derrière as the other was digging in his fridge for ingredients.
Too tired to move his head, but too dizzy to start getting lost in very bad thoughts, Canada simply shut his eyes head slumping further against the wood tabletop, his glasses pressing uncomfortably into his face. Still the younger nation was too tired to bother and remove them, so he let them remain while his headache persisted. What he wouldn’t give for maple syrup right then…
“Canada? Are you sleeping?” France’s voice sounded far-off, and faintly confused. Canada hummed, too tired to respond that he was, in fact, awake.
He could hear France chuckle, and felt a set of warm lips press softly into his forehead.
“Réveille-toi, Canada,” France whispered in his ear with a deep, husky voice that made Canada’s stomach flip-flop. When the boy opened his eyes, France’s voice returned to normal as he ruffled his hair with his hand. “It’s time to eat.”
The sound of china hitting the table resonated in Canada’s ear, and he looked up to find a piping hot plate of Belgian waffle sitting before him, sprinkled with powdered sugar and garnished with strawberries.
“H-huh?”
“I figured since La Belgique already does not allow for you to add syrup to this, it would be something you could deal with, non?” France answered simply, sitting down beside Canada with his own plate of food.
While France took his first forkful of waffle, as elegantly as ever, Canada could only look down at his plate wistfully. What no one had ever known was that Canada did slip maple syrup onto his Belgian waffles one way or another and now, without even a chance of being able to do it, the food was unappetizing.
Still, Canada knew that France worked to make breakfast, and he knew that he had to at least give it a try. Cutting a piece off with the side of his fork, he hesitantly took it into his mouth.
It was the epitome of France’s cooking, that was for sure. Sweet, but not mind numbingly so, and with the amazing texture combination of flaky on the outside and fluffy on the inside, Canada knew that the older blond had gone above and beyond the call of duty.
Yet, he found himself unable to fully enjoy the treat. The crunchy, flaky exterior lacked the usual sticky sweetness that Canada had spent centuries growing accustomed to, and without it the waffle felt bland and rough in his mouth. Forcing himself to swallow, and catching sight of France watching him from the corner of his eye, Canada worked a smile onto his face.
“Merci, France, this is delicious.”
France, however, could only sigh as he saw Canada’s eye twitch again from behind his glasses.
“If you do not like them, mon coeur-”
“No!” Canada was quick to interrupt, putting his hands up in the air as if to halt France’s train of thought. “They are good, really, I just-”
This time it was Canada who was interrupted, not by words, but by France’s hand tenderly stroking his cheek, before he cupped the younger man’s chin in his palm.
“F-France? W-What-”
Again, Canada was not allowed to finish his stuttering, as the Frenchman ran a finger over his bottom lip gently, before his touch was replaced with a pair of moist, soft lips pressing themselves to his hotly. For moments he was merely frozen stiff, but France continued to push his lips against Canada’s in such a way that he could not help but find himself kissing back as fervently as his tired self could. As dizzy as he was, he could still feel France’s tongue attempt to pry itself between his lips, and could still feel himself as he allowed France access to his orifice, deepening the kiss to the point where he found himself unable to keep up with it.
So, it was only when they broke for air that Canada realized his mouth was significantly fuller than it had been before the kiss.
“H-huh?” He murmured, and soon the taste of sweet waffle mixed with that of France’s mouth, and he his mind reeled, catching up to what had happened.
France was eyeing him with a smile playing on his lips, his cerulean eyes twinkling. Canada flushed, and was about to start spluttering before a single finger to his mouth silenced him.
“Does it taste better that way, mon cher?”
Canada didn’t trust himself to talk, and so he resigned himself to a shy nod as red bloomed all over his face. France smirked cunningly, brushing his nose against Canada’s tenderly and feeling the heat come off his face in droves before whispering huskily in against his cheek,
“Well, then, I suppose we should not let all this go to waste, non?”
Canada could not disagree; he may not have had his beloved syrup, but he could not deny that this alternative was much, much sweeter.
End.
----
*dies*