Le Docteur de L'amour [1a/?]
anonymous
October 27 2009, 23:37:11 UTC
Here you go, anon, the beginning of a fic for you~ Oh yeah, and I took your fourth bonus and ran with it.
-------------
“So, mon patient, what seems to be the problem? Tell Docteur Bonnefoy eveeeeerything.” England stared at him. France stared back, tapping a pen on a clipboard. “You do know you can talk, non? I am doing this out of the goodness of my heart.” Tap. Tap. Tap.
“You tied me up, you bloody wine-bastard! After knocking me out and dragging me here!” England flailed, or would have, if his hands hadn’t been securely tied to the arms of the chair. France ‘tutted’ at him.
“Such defensiveness. Perhaps because you have a secret? A sex secret~?” France asked suggestively.
“I-I do not, you daft frog! Why is everything about sex with you? Can’t it be something else?” France sighed dramatically, adjusting the (fake) glasses that made him look like a professional. After all, that is just what he was, a professional docteur de l’amour~!
“Angleterre, I have not seen you embroider this much since the Victorian Age, and God knows we don’t need another one. You were cranky and irritable enough back then as is,” France said, shuddering at the recollection. “Table skirts…to cover up the table legs,” he muttered, making a face. Those strange Victorians…one would wonder how the British survived at all, what with being such utter prudes.
England started to flush, hands curling into fists as much as they could. “That…that was different! It was…was… just because I didn’t feel like having sex! Not everybody is like you, France!”
“Oh, Angleterre, do not deny it. Masturbation marathons, one of the world’s horniest cities, men having sex with bicycles… It is like I said before: you are just like me! A wonderful, lovable sex maniac! You enjoy sex, like most of the other people in the world. This is not news, please get over your silly British moral issues.” England just glared at him. Oh, dear, he was being stubborn as usual. But, there was always a strategy for if being reasonable would not work in getting England to admit his problem…
“Or, perhaps we could find out how long it would take me to strip you utterly naked, then deposit you as a present for Amerique?” France said, giving England a lecherous smirk. “I know how much you like to be tied up during sex~”
“You wouldn’t dare,” England said, but was starting to look a tiny bit frightened (and turned on) at the prospect.
“Oh, you know I would. You know me much to well to be fooled into thinking I would not do it,” he said, setting his pen and clipboard to the side and slowly rising out of his chair. And this was the sport he excelled at: England stripping. He did not get to do it overly much now, since America protested loudly and beat him up when he tried. However, he did not think America would mind just this once…
“Okay, okay! I’ll talk, damn it! Just sit down and stay away from me!” England said, flailing in his chair. France sighed and sat back down. He always had to spoil the fun. Being stripped was always the most sensual part of sex.
“So, shall we start over? Mon patient, tell me eveeeeeerything,” France said with a leer. England glared but started talking anyway.
“Well, you see, when I am… having sex with America,” he said, blushing. France couldn’t believe he actually blushed at that. “I keep seeing…” England paused there, the blush becoming more pronounced.
“Let me guess, you see moi¸ and have realized that you desperately need me in your life!” France said, half-joking. England made a face.
“No, bloody no. If it was that, I would have tossed myself over a cliff by now or checked myself into a mental health ward.”
“Angleterre, you wound me!” France shouted, hand flying to his chest.
“Oh, keep your damn mouth shut, this is about me, remember?” France shut his mouth, then. If he did want to get to the bottom of this, he would have to stop interrupting, even if England did bait him. “Anyway, I keep seeing America. Only…as a child. Being all sweet and cute and talking with a lisp.” France nodded, scribbling on his sheet of paper. Really, it was just scribbles. He was trying to look professional.
Le Docteur de L'amour [1b/?]
anonymous
October 27 2009, 23:41:48 UTC
“And this does…what?”
“It turns me off, you perverted bastard! What else would it do?”
“You would be surprised the kinks people have,” France said with a lewd smirk and wiggle of his eyebrows. England made a truly disgusted face.
“Oh god, no! Though it wouldn’t surprise me if you did, you wine-freak.” France decided to ignore it in favor of addressing the task at hand.
“And I don’t suppose you could tell me why this turns you off?” England blinked at France, then decided to start flailing in anger.
“Are you deaf, you frog?! America as a cute little kid! I basically raised him from an innocent child, and now I’m buggering him like I’m a sex-depraved rabbit! Which he used to have a pet, oh god, I keep reminding myself even when I’m not having sex with him. I’m a cradle robber and a perverse dirty old man!” France blinked at England, who was breathing heavily, red faced after his rant.
“Well… That was oddly specific. Merci for the information.” He scribbled some more, and ended up drawing a bunny rabbit. It was obvious what England’s problem was. After all, he’d just shouted it at the top of his lungs. And there was a rather easy way to fix this, but only if England was willing to do it. Knowing him, he would be stubborn. But America was even more stubborn and worse, a fool in love. With France’s guiding hand, they would be over this in no time. And France could stop worrying about a madly embroidering England and a dejected America.
“I have a solution for you. Though you might not like it,” France said mildly, pushing up his glasses. England looked up, hopeful.
“You do? It isn’t something horrendously stupid and painful, is it?”
“No, no, it is completely pain free, I promise you. It’s all very simple. Just tell him how you are feeling.” Complete silence. France closed his eyes and counted down. Three…two…one…
“What?! I can’t do that, he’ll be disgusted, he won’t want to see me anymore, and anyway, the git probably won’t be sympathetic at all!” France knew he was wrong on all three counts. But convincing England of something is perhaps one of the hardest things to do in the world.
“Angleterre, I hate to actually make you see sense, but if Amerique minded about your age and previous affiliation to him, he would have already said something. Or perhaps not even have started a relationship with you.” Of course that was logic. Something that England sometimes could not wrap his head around.
“You don’t understand at all, you French frog. You’re already a pervert, that would probably turn you on,” England said, sneering. Ah, he was being defensive. He always did that when he was afraid.
“I know you will not believe me, but I know that Amerique would never willingly leave you,” he said. Anyone could see that, with the way America looked at him during meetings, the way he insisted on holding hands under the table, the way he sometimes saw that miniscule squeak from England and that smirk from America, both hands busy under the table.
Predictably, England could not see this. “He left me before,” England mumbled, looking downcast. And this was not France’s department. America had to reassure England of his love. France could only give advice and pointers. But this would never happen if England kept on habitually avoiding America and America kept looking as if someone had turned his beloved McDonald’s healthy.
Le Docteur de L'amour [1c/?]
anonymous
October 27 2009, 23:45:03 UTC
So there was only one thing to do. The next few minutes consisted of France dragging England still tied to his chair, yelling and cursing down the hallway and pushing him into America’s room.
“There. Amerique should be here in the next hour or so. Sit tight, Angleterre~” France flirted, smirking evilly. England gave him a glare that possibly could have killed.
“Aren’t you going to strip me?” England said rather defiantly. France made a show of thinking about it, before leaning down into his face.
“No, I think I shall reserve that right to Amerique. After all, stripping one’s lover is the most sensual part of sex.” Watching England’s face go slack in shock, and then rearrange into lust made him smile in triumph.
“See, you are just like me. Au revoir, Angleterre!” And he was gone in a whirl of designer clothes, shutting the door behind him. Now, perhaps he shall go and see if he could push America in the right direction.
After all, he was le docteur de l’amour!
----------- Translation notes:
mon patient: my patient merci: thank you le docteur de l'amour: the doctor of love~!
At least according to my two years of French. I should warn anons that the next parts of this may end up on the past part fill, since this will be maxed in a while.
"...I basically raised him from an innocent child, and now I’m buggering him like I’m a sex-depraved rabbit! Which he used to have a pet, oh god, I keep reminding myself even when I’m not having sex with him. I’m a cradle robber and a perverse dirty old man!”
Teehee~...Oh England...
You anon have to be some sort of God to write so awesomely in such a short amount of time! Thanks so much for France on the side, he such a good nii-san!! You've thoroughly rocked my world like a hurricane and I hope to read more of your stuff!
-------------
“So, mon patient, what seems to be the problem? Tell Docteur Bonnefoy eveeeeerything.” England stared at him. France stared back, tapping a pen on a clipboard. “You do know you can talk, non? I am doing this out of the goodness of my heart.” Tap. Tap. Tap.
“You tied me up, you bloody wine-bastard! After knocking me out and dragging me here!” England flailed, or would have, if his hands hadn’t been securely tied to the arms of the chair. France ‘tutted’ at him.
“Such defensiveness. Perhaps because you have a secret? A sex secret~?” France asked suggestively.
“I-I do not, you daft frog! Why is everything about sex with you? Can’t it be something else?” France sighed dramatically, adjusting the (fake) glasses that made him look like a professional. After all, that is just what he was, a professional docteur de l’amour~!
“Angleterre, I have not seen you embroider this much since the Victorian Age, and God knows we don’t need another one. You were cranky and irritable enough back then as is,” France said, shuddering at the recollection. “Table skirts…to cover up the table legs,” he muttered, making a face. Those strange Victorians…one would wonder how the British survived at all, what with being such utter prudes.
England started to flush, hands curling into fists as much as they could. “That…that was different! It was…was… just because I didn’t feel like having sex! Not everybody is like you, France!”
“Oh, Angleterre, do not deny it. Masturbation marathons, one of the world’s horniest cities, men having sex with bicycles… It is like I said before: you are just like me! A wonderful, lovable sex maniac! You enjoy sex, like most of the other people in the world. This is not news, please get over your silly British moral issues.” England just glared at him. Oh, dear, he was being stubborn as usual. But, there was always a strategy for if being reasonable would not work in getting England to admit his problem…
“Or, perhaps we could find out how long it would take me to strip you utterly naked, then deposit you as a present for Amerique?” France said, giving England a lecherous smirk. “I know how much you like to be tied up during sex~”
“You wouldn’t dare,” England said, but was starting to look a tiny bit frightened (and turned on) at the prospect.
“Oh, you know I would. You know me much to well to be fooled into thinking I would not do it,” he said, setting his pen and clipboard to the side and slowly rising out of his chair. And this was the sport he excelled at: England stripping. He did not get to do it overly much now, since America protested loudly and beat him up when he tried. However, he did not think America would mind just this once…
“Okay, okay! I’ll talk, damn it! Just sit down and stay away from me!” England said, flailing in his chair. France sighed and sat back down. He always had to spoil the fun. Being stripped was always the most sensual part of sex.
“So, shall we start over? Mon patient, tell me eveeeeeerything,” France said with a leer. England glared but started talking anyway.
“Well, you see, when I am… having sex with America,” he said, blushing. France couldn’t believe he actually blushed at that. “I keep seeing…” England paused there, the blush becoming more pronounced.
“Let me guess, you see moi¸ and have realized that you desperately need me in your life!” France said, half-joking. England made a face.
“No, bloody no. If it was that, I would have tossed myself over a cliff by now or checked myself into a mental health ward.”
“Angleterre, you wound me!” France shouted, hand flying to his chest.
“Oh, keep your damn mouth shut, this is about me, remember?” France shut his mouth, then. If he did want to get to the bottom of this, he would have to stop interrupting, even if England did bait him. “Anyway, I keep seeing America. Only…as a child. Being all sweet and cute and talking with a lisp.” France nodded, scribbling on his sheet of paper. Really, it was just scribbles. He was trying to look professional.
Reply
“It turns me off, you perverted bastard! What else would it do?”
“You would be surprised the kinks people have,” France said with a lewd smirk and wiggle of his eyebrows. England made a truly disgusted face.
“Oh god, no! Though it wouldn’t surprise me if you did, you wine-freak.” France decided to ignore it in favor of addressing the task at hand.
“And I don’t suppose you could tell me why this turns you off?” England blinked at France, then decided to start flailing in anger.
“Are you deaf, you frog?! America as a cute little kid! I basically raised him from an innocent child, and now I’m buggering him like I’m a sex-depraved rabbit! Which he used to have a pet, oh god, I keep reminding myself even when I’m not having sex with him. I’m a cradle robber and a perverse dirty old man!” France blinked at England, who was breathing heavily, red faced after his rant.
“Well… That was oddly specific. Merci for the information.” He scribbled some more, and ended up drawing a bunny rabbit. It was obvious what England’s problem was. After all, he’d just shouted it at the top of his lungs. And there was a rather easy way to fix this, but only if England was willing to do it. Knowing him, he would be stubborn. But America was even more stubborn and worse, a fool in love. With France’s guiding hand, they would be over this in no time. And France could stop worrying about a madly embroidering England and a dejected America.
“I have a solution for you. Though you might not like it,” France said mildly, pushing up his glasses. England looked up, hopeful.
“You do? It isn’t something horrendously stupid and painful, is it?”
“No, no, it is completely pain free, I promise you. It’s all very simple. Just tell him how you are feeling.” Complete silence. France closed his eyes and counted down. Three…two…one…
“What?! I can’t do that, he’ll be disgusted, he won’t want to see me anymore, and anyway, the git probably won’t be sympathetic at all!” France knew he was wrong on all three counts. But convincing England of something is perhaps one of the hardest things to do in the world.
“Angleterre, I hate to actually make you see sense, but if Amerique minded about your age and previous affiliation to him, he would have already said something. Or perhaps not even have started a relationship with you.” Of course that was logic. Something that England sometimes could not wrap his head around.
“You don’t understand at all, you French frog. You’re already a pervert, that would probably turn you on,” England said, sneering. Ah, he was being defensive. He always did that when he was afraid.
“I know you will not believe me, but I know that Amerique would never willingly leave you,” he said. Anyone could see that, with the way America looked at him during meetings, the way he insisted on holding hands under the table, the way he sometimes saw that miniscule squeak from England and that smirk from America, both hands busy under the table.
Predictably, England could not see this. “He left me before,” England mumbled, looking downcast. And this was not France’s department. America had to reassure England of his love. France could only give advice and pointers. But this would never happen if England kept on habitually avoiding America and America kept looking as if someone had turned his beloved McDonald’s healthy.
Reply
“There. Amerique should be here in the next hour or so. Sit tight, Angleterre~” France flirted, smirking evilly. England gave him a glare that possibly could have killed.
“Aren’t you going to strip me?” England said rather defiantly. France made a show of thinking about it, before leaning down into his face.
“No, I think I shall reserve that right to Amerique. After all, stripping one’s lover is the most sensual part of sex.” Watching England’s face go slack in shock, and then rearrange into lust made him smile in triumph.
“See, you are just like me. Au revoir, Angleterre!” And he was gone in a whirl of designer clothes, shutting the door behind him. Now, perhaps he shall go and see if he could push America in the right direction.
After all, he was le docteur de l’amour!
-----------
Translation notes:
mon patient: my patient
merci: thank you
le docteur de l'amour: the doctor of love~!
At least according to my two years of French. I should warn anons that the next parts of this may end up on the past part fill, since this will be maxed in a while.
Reply
Reply
Teehee~...Oh England...
You anon have to be some sort of God to write so awesomely in such a short amount of time! Thanks so much for France on the side, he such a good nii-san!! You've thoroughly rocked my world like a hurricane and I hope to read more of your stuff!
Reply
And ooo, what will France say to America? Can't wait for the next part~!
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment