[Part 10] The Accidental Cat - 2/?
anonymous
April 19 2010, 08:40:12 UTC
*****
France rang England’s doorbell and waited on his doorstep. He held a fondant fancy in front of him, wrapped in taffeta and tied with a silk ribbon. England answered the door in his dressing gown. He pulled it tighter around himself once he saw France.
“What the hell are you doing here?” England said.
“This is an intervention,” France said. “Before your blood pressure gets so high the top of your head blows off.”
“This again?” England slid his eyes to the side and spoke from the corner of his mouth, like a bad ventriloquist. “I appreciate your concern but we don’t get ill like that. Something would have to happen to my country first.”
“But your country subsists on fish and chips, curries and McDonalds. You should take better care of yourself.” France proffered his gift. “The French diet is much better for you.”
“You’re only worried in case I get fat.”
“Then there would simply be more of you to love, would there not?” France waved the gift.
England eyed it. “Come in. Although that doesn’t look like a healthy, balanced meal.”
“Baby steps.”
England slumped down on his couch. He wrapped his dressing gown even tighter around himself. France slid next to him, so close that their hips touched. He unwrapped the ribbon tying the cake and held it between his fingers. England almost bit them off. He swallowed it whole.
“So… Uncouth,” France said.
“Don’t expect me to eat from your hand then!”
“But that’s what you did!”
“Shut your continental-“
England dropped onto France’s lap. France poked the side of his head. England only snored in response. Damn it! What had China given him? He’d only slipped the pill inside the fondant fancy to make sure that England swallowed it. If it turned out to be some sort of date rape aid his reputation would surely suffer. France picked him up and carried him up the stairs. He deposited him on his bed. Sleep was a form of relaxation, he supposed, and England was surprisingly cute like this. France stroked his hair. The scent of papayas rose from it. France peered down the neckline of England’s dressing gown. Was he naked underneath? France removed the dressing down, so he could, uh, tuck England into bed. No such luck. England was wearing a pair of boxers with little teapots printed on them.
England sprawled over three quarters of the bed. So selfish. France covered him with the blanket.
England opened his mouth and mewled. France jumped about a foot backwards. Hang on; England was looking a little toothier than usual. France touched one of his unnaturally sharp canines with the pad of his thumb. England dragged his rough tongue over it. France removed it and wrinkled his nose. He wiped his thumb on the quilt. England tossed his head. Soft, triangular ears the same colour as his hair flopped over his face. France lifted the blanket. England was lying on top of a stubby, little blonde tail.
Damn it, China. How was this going to relax him?
England opened one eye. He smacked France in the chest. “Why are you watching me sleep, pervert?”
France rubbed his chest. “How are you feeling?”
“What the fucking hell kind of question is that? I woke up to your creepy, bearded face, didn’t I?”
France cast his eyes around England’s bedroom. There were different coloured embroidery threads on the bedside table. France picked up a blue one and threw it to England. He didn’t deign to comment on England’s embroidery habit. Any mockery seemed somehow redundant. England glared at the thread. France wondered if it was yet another side effect of the pills but England’s eyes seemed bigger and greener than ever. He nudged the thread toward him.
[Part 10] The Accidental Cat - 3/?
anonymous
April 19 2010, 08:42:41 UTC
England batted it with his hands until the thread unfurled. He sucked the end of the string into his mouth and unravelled it from the other end. England’s pupils dilated as they followed the thread. He tossed it over his limbs as it became too long to hold. He hissed at France when he ventured a hand toward him. So France tossed him another bundle of thread. It was pink, which was definitely going to be brought up the next time France mentioned the length of his hair. England unrolled the pink bundle as well. He crossed it over with the other threads, until pink and blue were latticed over him.
“Now how are you going to get out of that?” France said.
“I can manage it,” England said.
His brow creased in concentration as he pulled various criss-crossing threads. He lifted a foot to pluck strings from his toes, yanked one free and lifted his other foot. He flopped onto his back and in an effort to roll out of the worst tangles, rolled right off the bed. France dived across and grabbed his tail before he could hit the floor. He screeched but otherwise came to no harm. France freed him from the various knots of thread.
“No wonder you’re always so grumpy,” France said. “You need to let other people help you when you need it.”
“France.”
“Yes?”
“What are you holding me up by? What the hell is sprouting out of my arse?”
France set England down on the floor gently. “The waistband of your boxers?”
“Don’t tell pointless lies!”
England scrambled around on the floor until he managed to grab his tail and pull it between his legs.
“What on God’s green Earth is this?” England said. “Is this some sick new fetish of yours? You turn me into an animal and then you fuck me? You stay away from me!”
“No, it’s not like that! China gave-“
“You involved China in this too? Have you no shame? What did you do to him? Where is he?”
“I didn’t do anything to China! Every time I try he kicks me.”
England climbed back onto the bed. He clawed at France until France managed to catch his wrists but not before he was covered in tiny scratches. England had grown little claws on both his hands and feet. All the better to rend him with, France supposed. He stuck France in the thighs with his toenails. France swore but managed to keep hold of England. England continued to try his damnedest to scratch at France’s face.
“How am I supposed to show my face anywhere?” England said. “I have meetings, appointments, deadlines-“
“Take a day off.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Yes but your boss will understand, surely. Tell him that you’re indisposed.”
“Pull a sickie?”
“It’s either that or attend to your duties looking like this.”
“Damn it.”
England retracted his claws from France’s thigh. He rolled off the bed and seized his phone. France pulled his own mobile out of his pocket and slipped into the hallway. He dialled China’s number. He picked it up after two rings.
“You’d better not be drunk again,” China said. “I can block your number any time I want.”
“What the hell did you give me?” France said.
“Aha. How are you enjoying your vengeance? Don’t peek on me again!”
“I didn’t take them. I gave one to England.”
“You gave England mystery pills? How depraved.”
“You gave them to me!”
“…True. They’re not harmful. They’ll wear off in a few hours. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell England I had anything to do with this. Thank you. Bye!”
France glared at the silent phone. Perhaps he should stop harassing China for a while. He swung the bedroom door open, only to be pounced upon by England. He was knocked onto his back. England pawed at his face.
“France, France, I’m hungry,” England said. He rubbed his face across France’s cheek. “Make me some food,” he tilted his head. “Some food that isn’t snails.”
[Part 10] The Accidental Cat - 4/?
anonymous
April 19 2010, 08:43:51 UTC
France scooped him up. England wrapped his arms around his neck and didn’t protest, for once. France ventured into England’s kitchen. France pulled a face at the décor. There were woodcuts, embroidered tablecloths and hand towels, grape-patterned wallpaper adorned the walls which housed cupboards with cut-out shapes in their doors. There were hand-made tea cosies and doilies. Brillo pads adorned the sink. Perhaps the kindest thing would be to put England in a nursing home before he started sitting in a rocking chair on his lawn to yell at teenagers. France deposited England in one of the cushioned chairs around his kitchen table.
He opened England’s cupboards. A half-empty jar of marmalade congealed at him. There was some better-looking jam as well but it wouldn’t make much of a meal on its own. France slammed the doors shut. He tried his luck with the fridge. Ugh, didn’t England ever eat anything fresh? There was a bar of lard, margarine, some eggs, cheese, bacon, milk… If France were at home he would have already bought freshly picked delicacies from the market and stuffed his miniature fridge full of them. He thought sadly of cherry tomatoes, crisp salad and Brie. He grabbed the eggs and bacon. An omelette and grilled bacon would have to do.
England stalked over to the fridge as France busied himself with that. He took the full two litre milk bottle. He parked himself right there on the floor and hugged it to himself. He made a happy little mewl at his discovery and popped of the lid. He tilted it back and chugged it.
“Don’t drink too much,” France said. “You’ll ruin your appetite.”
England’s only response was to tilt the milk up further to drink even more. Milk daubed his upper lip. France chuckled under his breath. By the time he’d finished cooking England had drained half the bottle and showed no signs of stopping.
France set the plates either side of the table. England dragged the bottle of milk up with him. He chewed through the food with a contented expression that made France want to pet him even more than usual. He was finished before France had even taken two bites of his. He turned the plate upside down and sniffed at it, looking for more scraps of food.
“Still hungry, I see,” France said.
England put the plate down. He ducked underneath the table and reappeared between France’s legs. He climbed up them, clicking his claws on France’s trousers. England sat France’s lap. He wrapped his arms around France’s lap and rubbed against him. His naked upper body settled against France’s shirt. He darted his tongue out of his mouth and licked France’s lower lip, then the corner of his mouth. France raised his hands and hovered. Touching England anywhere remotely inappropriate would be nothing short of immoral right now. He placed a tentative hand on England’s lower back.
“Pudding?” England said. “Plum pudding? Rhubarb crumble? Peach melba?”
“There is nothing remotely resembling a fruit in your house.”
England’s face fell. France kissed him on the nose. England wrinkled it in response.
“If only you would sit this happily on my lap when you’re in possession of your right mind,” France said. “Or what passes for your right mind.”
England poked him in the shoulder. “Pudding.”
“I will gladly make you dessert but it must be one which you have the ingredients for.”
England considered this for a while. “Jam tart.”
“That can be done. I think I saw some actual butter in your fridge somewhere.”
England leapt off his lap and bounced across to the bench. He bent over to procure mixing bowls, flour and- Oh dear. The tail had split through England’s boxers, leaving a rather large gap. England’s ass was a thing of beauty. It should be weaponised. It should be in his hands right- No, it shouldn’t. England wasn’t in a fit state to be played with like that. France would just…appreciate it…from afar. France tore his eyes away and stood up.
“You’ll get your hands and knees dirty crawling around like that,” he said.
England sat up. He narrowed his eyes. His tail swished dangerously across the floor. “I thought you were going to cook.”
[Part 10] The Accidental Cat - 5/?
anonymous
April 19 2010, 08:45:07 UTC
France made sure all of the ingredients for the pastry were there and retrieved the jam from the fridge. The jam looked oddly fresh, with whole raspberries and blackberries in the mixture. Other empty jars lurked in the depths of the cupboard.
“Did you make this?” France asked.
“I make preserves,” England said. “They kept better during the wars and I never got out of the habit. Why?”
“Did you also keep a jar for your testicles?”
“Put on your pinny and make my damn cake.”
France eyeballed the measurements and tossed the ingredients into the mixing bowl. England popped up between his arms with a wooden spoon to stir it. France lifted his arms as if he were surrendering, not daring to touch England. He watched the flour, butter and sieved sugar swirl together until it was thick pastry mix. He left England to it while he grabbed an oven dish. He placed it next to England, who was sampling the pastry mix with a finger.
“Don’t eat it like that!” France said.
England stuck the offending finger in his mouth and hissed at him. France snatched the bowl and poured the pastry out onto the bench. France grabbed the rolling pin from England’s selection of cutlery. It was a hefty wooden thing, probably used as a blunt instrument by its owner more than once. France dusted it with flour so it didn’t stick and proceeded to roll the pastry. England rested the side of his head on the bench and watched it with wide, fascinated eyes. France scratched him behind the ear. His eyelids flickered with pleasure.
“If only you could be this cute all the time,” France said.
England ignored that. He skipped away and returned with a large cake cutter.
“Would you like to do the honours?” France asked.
England nodded enthusiastically. He pushed the cutter through the sheet of pastry and removed it. France peeled the excess away and lifted the circle carefully. He spread it across the dish and tucked the edges into place.
“Your dishes are all so plain,” he lamented, as he placed the dish in the over.
“Your dishes are all too disgusting,” England said. “Frogs and snails and whatever else you can dig up from under a rock.”
“Yet all of my dishes manage to be delicious, while yours turn into heavy, unappetising-“
England had lost interest. He climbed onto the bench, nudged the mixing bowl onto the floor and pushed over the open bag of flour. He rolled in it with every sign of enjoyment. His skin picked up the flour and the few shreds of pastry that remained. He leapt off the bench and rolled on the floor, to spread the mess further. His trail of destruction ended with him knocking over the bin.
“You did that deliberately!” France said.
England sat on France’s feet and blinked up at him. One of the cat ears flopped over his forehead. His hair was in little flour-covered tufts. There was flour on his nose, a smudge on his cheek and over at least half of his body. He mewed innocently. France sighed and picked him up. He placed him on one of the chairs.
“Please stay there until I clean this up,” France said.
France found the mop and bucket lying in a corner. He painstakingly cleaned the floor, refilled the bin and disinfected the whole thing. By the time he was done, the base of the tart was ready. He placed it on the bench and poured the jam into it. He left it to cool.
“There you go- England?”
He was not on the chair. Damn it! It was like raising Canada all over again. Turn your back for one second and he’d up to mischief. France ran into the living room. England was rolled up in the rug, clicking it with his claws and dragging them down it. The noise was atrocious. France unwrapped him from the rug and stared down at him.
“Your cake is ready,” he said.
England scrambled up and rubbed up against France’s legs. “Food ♥ ,” he said. France sighed at the flour now ingrained onto the rug.
[Part 10] The Accidental Cat - 6/?
anonymous
April 19 2010, 08:46:35 UTC
France was about to cut England a slice of the tart when he appeared wearing oven gloves and took the whole thing. He placed it on the floor, tucked himself in the corner and dug in. He nibbled the pastry on the edge of the dish, then stuck his face and hands inside it to finish it off. After a few minutes of this, he raised an eye to France. He pushed what little remained of the tart toward him.
“Food?” he said.
“Yes. Food you’ve had your face and hands in. No thank you.”
England shrugged and went back to eating. He was now covered in jam as well as the rest. He sat up and looked at the empty dish, which he dismissed with a bat of his hand. He examined his jam and flour-covered arms. He began to lick along their length, tasted flour, skipped a bit and continued. The trouble was, he was covered in more flour than anything else.
“I taste bad!” he yelled.
“Yes. Preening won’t work for you, I’m afraid,” France said. He picked England up again. “Humans have to take baths.”
“Bath!” England began a flurry of kicking, scratching and screeching that only stopped once France managed to scratch behind his ears.
France scratched until England settled against his chest and purred. France continued up the stairs calming him like that. He deposited him on his bed and offered him a pillow to play with.
France walked across to the bathroom. He smiled and the white tiles and blue whales design. The bath and sink both had those novelty plugs with a whale that floated to the surface when the water was full. Didn’t America keep a whale now? France filled the bath and squeezed in enough bubble bath to hide the fact that there was even water under there. He found some small rubber ducks in a set of wicker drawers and tossed those in too. When he shut off the water, there was at least a foot worth of bubbles. Somehow a few of the ducks were supported either on top or inside of it.
France crossed the hall again. England had shredded the pillow and was cuddling the stuffing inside. It was fortunate he could sew, really. France picked him up and dropped him on the floor of the bathroom.
“You can’t fool me,” England said. “That’s a bath.”
“I am astounded by your perception,” France said. “But if you don’t get in it. You’ll remain dirty.”
“I don’t like being dirty.”
“Cats are like that. Englands too, I suppose. Remove your underclothes and get in.”
France faced away from England and covered his eyes. He resisted the sore temptation to peek until he heard a splash. England ducked under the water and emerged with his hair and cat ears plastered to his face. He had the head of one of the rubber duckies in his mouth, so the body stuck out. France poured some shampoo into his palm and lathered up England’s hair. England spat out the rubber duck.
“I can do that myself,” he said.
He shoved France’s hands away and washed his hair.
“Can I ask about the décor?” France said.
“Can I ask about your facial hair?” England snapped.
[Part 10] The Accidental Cat - 7/7
anonymous
April 19 2010, 08:47:33 UTC
England paused in the furious rinsing of his hair. “When he was little, America hated taking his baths so I made him a little wooden whale to play with. I hollowed it out so it would float. He loved them after that.”
France smiled. “He keeps a real whale now.”
England turned quiet. He took a cloth from the side of the bath and scrubbed at the jam on his face. His tail floated to the surface and poked through the bubbles. France stroked his wet head. The bubbles preserved his modesty well enough that France could keep an eye on him. England was too focused on washing his upper body to object to any of it. Maybe France should get a cat. There must be blonde breeds the same colour as England, maybe even with green eyes and a cantankerous personality.
“Finished!” England declared, suddenly.
He jumped out of the bath and ran down the stairs completely naked. France snatched a towel and ran after him.
“Wait! You’ll catch a cold!”
He tackled England at the foot of the stairs and wrapped the towel around him. England squirmed underneath him until he was facing him. France wrapped the towel as best he could but he wasn’t an expert at keeping men dressed. England raised his head and kissed France on the cheek, then shifted to try and kiss him properly. France placed two fingers over England’s lips and pushed his head back down.
“I’m a gentleman,” France said. “If you still want to do that when you’re yourself again, I’ll happily accept but not now.”
“France?”
“Yes, my little cabbage?”
“I’m sleepy.”
France tied the towel around England’s waist. He carried him back into his bedroom. England dived under the covers. France slipped in beside him. England curled up on top of him. He kneaded France’s chest through his shirt. He purred loudly as he did so. It was like a lullaby. France was soon asleep.
*****
When France awoke, England was fully dressed and sans tail and cat ears. He was holding a glass of dark red liquid. He thrust it toward France.
“Claret,” he explained. “Thank you…For not taking advantage of me.”
France accepted the glass, too dumbstruck to reply. He drained it. It was oddly good claret for England to be in possession of. England took the empty glass and grinned.
“England,” France said. “I’ve just woken up and yet I feel extremely fatigued. Would you know anything about this? A little something extra in my claret, perhaps?”
“That’s for humiliating me, taking me away from my work and feeding me unknown drugs.”
France reached up. He could already feel the tufts of fur growing over his ears.
“Enjoy the next few hours,” England said. “Bastard.”
Re: [Part 10] The Accidental Cat - 7/7
anonymous
April 19 2010, 13:04:14 UTC
Awww, so cute! you really did a great job keeping England both feline and playful but also Englandy. This is absolutely adorable. Will there be a sequel, about France? England can't be so bad as to leave him alone and not take care of him (if for no other reason than he is at England's, and leaving him alone would be highly destructive)
Re: [Part 10] The Accidental Cat - 7/7
anonymous
April 19 2010, 23:45:31 UTC
Thank you! Uhh, there might be a sequel some time way in the future? So many fills to finish omg. But I'm really flattered that you liked this enough to want to see more.
I definitely want to do more with the cat pills, lol.
Glmop from OP
anonymous
April 19 2010, 13:47:16 UTC
(OP tackle-hugs author!anon. cuddles and rubs face on chest) You filled my request! You filled it, and you made it long, and you made it adorable, and you did the bonus, and your the bestest anon in the world and I love youuuuuuu!!!! <3!!!
“They would normally be 105 Yuan but since it’s you, 210 Yuan.” (shakes head and laughs) China ups the price. And France doesn't question it. Wonderful. And France's comment about England's head popping off, and England making preserves, and England's boxers having little teapots, and England climbing all over France and purring when you scratch his ears, and YEEEEEE!!! ^U^ It was adorable and wonderful and thank-you so incredibly much for writing it for me! <3! <3! <3!
Author!Anon Again
anonymous
April 21 2010, 22:49:00 UTC
I do too, anon. Although Britannia Angel kitty would be even cuter with stubby little wings.
*shifty* There...may be one? England's certainly Not Pleased at China's part in this and may just want to punish him by leaving a France kitty on his doorstep.
France rang England’s doorbell and waited on his doorstep. He held a fondant fancy in front of him, wrapped in taffeta and tied with a silk ribbon. England answered the door in his dressing gown. He pulled it tighter around himself once he saw France.
“What the hell are you doing here?” England said.
“This is an intervention,” France said. “Before your blood pressure gets so high the top of your head blows off.”
“This again?” England slid his eyes to the side and spoke from the corner of his mouth, like a bad ventriloquist. “I appreciate your concern but we don’t get ill like that. Something would have to happen to my country first.”
“But your country subsists on fish and chips, curries and McDonalds. You should take better care of yourself.” France proffered his gift. “The French diet is much better for you.”
“You’re only worried in case I get fat.”
“Then there would simply be more of you to love, would there not?” France waved the gift.
England eyed it. “Come in. Although that doesn’t look like a healthy, balanced meal.”
“Baby steps.”
England slumped down on his couch. He wrapped his dressing gown even tighter around himself. France slid next to him, so close that their hips touched. He unwrapped the ribbon tying the cake and held it between his fingers. England almost bit them off. He swallowed it whole.
“So… Uncouth,” France said.
“Don’t expect me to eat from your hand then!”
“But that’s what you did!”
“Shut your continental-“
England dropped onto France’s lap. France poked the side of his head. England only snored in response. Damn it! What had China given him? He’d only slipped the pill inside the fondant fancy to make sure that England swallowed it. If it turned out to be some sort of date rape aid his reputation would surely suffer. France picked him up and carried him up the stairs. He deposited him on his bed. Sleep was a form of relaxation, he supposed, and England was surprisingly cute like this. France stroked his hair. The scent of papayas rose from it. France peered down the neckline of England’s dressing gown. Was he naked underneath? France removed the dressing down, so he could, uh, tuck England into bed. No such luck. England was wearing a pair of boxers with little teapots printed on them.
England sprawled over three quarters of the bed. So selfish. France covered him with the blanket.
England opened his mouth and mewled. France jumped about a foot backwards. Hang on; England was looking a little toothier than usual. France touched one of his unnaturally sharp canines with the pad of his thumb. England dragged his rough tongue over it. France removed it and wrinkled his nose. He wiped his thumb on the quilt. England tossed his head. Soft, triangular ears the same colour as his hair flopped over his face. France lifted the blanket. England was lying on top of a stubby, little blonde tail.
Damn it, China. How was this going to relax him?
England opened one eye. He smacked France in the chest. “Why are you watching me sleep, pervert?”
France rubbed his chest. “How are you feeling?”
“What the fucking hell kind of question is that? I woke up to your creepy, bearded face, didn’t I?”
France cast his eyes around England’s bedroom. There were different coloured embroidery threads on the bedside table. France picked up a blue one and threw it to England. He didn’t deign to comment on England’s embroidery habit. Any mockery seemed somehow redundant. England glared at the thread. France wondered if it was yet another side effect of the pills but England’s eyes seemed bigger and greener than ever. He nudged the thread toward him.
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England batted it with his hands until the thread unfurled. He sucked the end of the string into his mouth and unravelled it from the other end. England’s pupils dilated as they followed the thread. He tossed it over his limbs as it became too long to hold. He hissed at France when he ventured a hand toward him. So France tossed him another bundle of thread. It was pink, which was definitely going to be brought up the next time France mentioned the length of his hair. England unrolled the pink bundle as well. He crossed it over with the other threads, until pink and blue were latticed over him.
“Now how are you going to get out of that?” France said.
“I can manage it,” England said.
His brow creased in concentration as he pulled various criss-crossing threads. He lifted a foot to pluck strings from his toes, yanked one free and lifted his other foot. He flopped onto his back and in an effort to roll out of the worst tangles, rolled right off the bed. France dived across and grabbed his tail before he could hit the floor. He screeched but otherwise came to no harm. France freed him from the various knots of thread.
“No wonder you’re always so grumpy,” France said. “You need to let other people help you when you need it.”
“France.”
“Yes?”
“What are you holding me up by? What the hell is sprouting out of my arse?”
France set England down on the floor gently. “The waistband of your boxers?”
“Don’t tell pointless lies!”
England scrambled around on the floor until he managed to grab his tail and pull it between his legs.
“What on God’s green Earth is this?” England said. “Is this some sick new fetish of yours? You turn me into an animal and then you fuck me? You stay away from me!”
“No, it’s not like that! China gave-“
“You involved China in this too? Have you no shame? What did you do to him? Where is he?”
“I didn’t do anything to China! Every time I try he kicks me.”
England climbed back onto the bed. He clawed at France until France managed to catch his wrists but not before he was covered in tiny scratches. England had grown little claws on both his hands and feet. All the better to rend him with, France supposed. He stuck France in the thighs with his toenails. France swore but managed to keep hold of England. England continued to try his damnedest to scratch at France’s face.
“How am I supposed to show my face anywhere?” England said. “I have meetings, appointments, deadlines-“
“Take a day off.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Yes but your boss will understand, surely. Tell him that you’re indisposed.”
“Pull a sickie?”
“It’s either that or attend to your duties looking like this.”
“Damn it.”
England retracted his claws from France’s thigh. He rolled off the bed and seized his phone. France pulled his own mobile out of his pocket and slipped into the hallway. He dialled China’s number. He picked it up after two rings.
“You’d better not be drunk again,” China said. “I can block your number any time I want.”
“What the hell did you give me?” France said.
“Aha. How are you enjoying your vengeance? Don’t peek on me again!”
“I didn’t take them. I gave one to England.”
“You gave England mystery pills? How depraved.”
“You gave them to me!”
“…True. They’re not harmful. They’ll wear off in a few hours. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell England I had anything to do with this. Thank you. Bye!”
France glared at the silent phone. Perhaps he should stop harassing China for a while. He swung the bedroom door open, only to be pounced upon by England. He was knocked onto his back. England pawed at his face.
“France, France, I’m hungry,” England said. He rubbed his face across France’s cheek. “Make me some food,” he tilted his head. “Some food that isn’t snails.”
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He opened England’s cupboards. A half-empty jar of marmalade congealed at him. There was some better-looking jam as well but it wouldn’t make much of a meal on its own. France slammed the doors shut. He tried his luck with the fridge. Ugh, didn’t England ever eat anything fresh? There was a bar of lard, margarine, some eggs, cheese, bacon, milk… If France were at home he would have already bought freshly picked delicacies from the market and stuffed his miniature fridge full of them. He thought sadly of cherry tomatoes, crisp salad and Brie. He grabbed the eggs and bacon. An omelette and grilled bacon would have to do.
England stalked over to the fridge as France busied himself with that. He took the full two litre milk bottle. He parked himself right there on the floor and hugged it to himself. He made a happy little mewl at his discovery and popped of the lid. He tilted it back and chugged it.
“Don’t drink too much,” France said. “You’ll ruin your appetite.”
England’s only response was to tilt the milk up further to drink even more. Milk daubed his upper lip. France chuckled under his breath. By the time he’d finished cooking England had drained half the bottle and showed no signs of stopping.
France set the plates either side of the table. England dragged the bottle of milk up with him. He chewed through the food with a contented expression that made France want to pet him even more than usual. He was finished before France had even taken two bites of his. He turned the plate upside down and sniffed at it, looking for more scraps of food.
“Still hungry, I see,” France said.
England put the plate down. He ducked underneath the table and reappeared between France’s legs. He climbed up them, clicking his claws on France’s trousers. England sat France’s lap. He wrapped his arms around France’s lap and rubbed against him. His naked upper body settled against France’s shirt. He darted his tongue out of his mouth and licked France’s lower lip, then the corner of his mouth. France raised his hands and hovered. Touching England anywhere remotely inappropriate would be nothing short of immoral right now. He placed a tentative hand on England’s lower back.
“Pudding?” England said. “Plum pudding? Rhubarb crumble? Peach melba?”
“There is nothing remotely resembling a fruit in your house.”
England’s face fell. France kissed him on the nose. England wrinkled it in response.
“If only you would sit this happily on my lap when you’re in possession of your right mind,” France said. “Or what passes for your right mind.”
England poked him in the shoulder. “Pudding.”
“I will gladly make you dessert but it must be one which you have the ingredients for.”
England considered this for a while. “Jam tart.”
“That can be done. I think I saw some actual butter in your fridge somewhere.”
England leapt off his lap and bounced across to the bench. He bent over to procure mixing bowls, flour and- Oh dear. The tail had split through England’s boxers, leaving a rather large gap. England’s ass was a thing of beauty. It should be weaponised. It should be in his hands right- No, it shouldn’t. England wasn’t in a fit state to be played with like that. France would just…appreciate it…from afar. France tore his eyes away and stood up.
“You’ll get your hands and knees dirty crawling around like that,” he said.
England sat up. He narrowed his eyes. His tail swished dangerously across the floor. “I thought you were going to cook.”
“I am, I am.”
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“Did you make this?” France asked.
“I make preserves,” England said. “They kept better during the wars and I never got out of the habit. Why?”
“Did you also keep a jar for your testicles?”
“Put on your pinny and make my damn cake.”
France eyeballed the measurements and tossed the ingredients into the mixing bowl. England popped up between his arms with a wooden spoon to stir it. France lifted his arms as if he were surrendering, not daring to touch England. He watched the flour, butter and sieved sugar swirl together until it was thick pastry mix. He left England to it while he grabbed an oven dish. He placed it next to England, who was sampling the pastry mix with a finger.
“Don’t eat it like that!” France said.
England stuck the offending finger in his mouth and hissed at him. France snatched the bowl and poured the pastry out onto the bench. France grabbed the rolling pin from England’s selection of cutlery. It was a hefty wooden thing, probably used as a blunt instrument by its owner more than once. France dusted it with flour so it didn’t stick and proceeded to roll the pastry. England rested the side of his head on the bench and watched it with wide, fascinated eyes. France scratched him behind the ear. His eyelids flickered with pleasure.
“If only you could be this cute all the time,” France said.
England ignored that. He skipped away and returned with a large cake cutter.
“Would you like to do the honours?” France asked.
England nodded enthusiastically. He pushed the cutter through the sheet of pastry and removed it. France peeled the excess away and lifted the circle carefully. He spread it across the dish and tucked the edges into place.
“Your dishes are all so plain,” he lamented, as he placed the dish in the over.
“Your dishes are all too disgusting,” England said. “Frogs and snails and whatever else you can dig up from under a rock.”
“Yet all of my dishes manage to be delicious, while yours turn into heavy, unappetising-“
England had lost interest. He climbed onto the bench, nudged the mixing bowl onto the floor and pushed over the open bag of flour. He rolled in it with every sign of enjoyment. His skin picked up the flour and the few shreds of pastry that remained. He leapt off the bench and rolled on the floor, to spread the mess further. His trail of destruction ended with him knocking over the bin.
“You did that deliberately!” France said.
England sat on France’s feet and blinked up at him. One of the cat ears flopped over his forehead. His hair was in little flour-covered tufts. There was flour on his nose, a smudge on his cheek and over at least half of his body. He mewed innocently. France sighed and picked him up. He placed him on one of the chairs.
“Please stay there until I clean this up,” France said.
France found the mop and bucket lying in a corner. He painstakingly cleaned the floor, refilled the bin and disinfected the whole thing. By the time he was done, the base of the tart was ready. He placed it on the bench and poured the jam into it. He left it to cool.
“There you go- England?”
He was not on the chair. Damn it! It was like raising Canada all over again. Turn your back for one second and he’d up to mischief. France ran into the living room. England was rolled up in the rug, clicking it with his claws and dragging them down it. The noise was atrocious. France unwrapped him from the rug and stared down at him.
“Your cake is ready,” he said.
England scrambled up and rubbed up against France’s legs. “Food ♥ ,” he said. France sighed at the flour now ingrained onto the rug.
“Yes, food. Now come along.”
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France was about to cut England a slice of the tart when he appeared wearing oven gloves and took the whole thing. He placed it on the floor, tucked himself in the corner and dug in. He nibbled the pastry on the edge of the dish, then stuck his face and hands inside it to finish it off. After a few minutes of this, he raised an eye to France. He pushed what little remained of the tart toward him.
“Food?” he said.
“Yes. Food you’ve had your face and hands in. No thank you.”
England shrugged and went back to eating. He was now covered in jam as well as the rest. He sat up and looked at the empty dish, which he dismissed with a bat of his hand. He examined his jam and flour-covered arms. He began to lick along their length, tasted flour, skipped a bit and continued. The trouble was, he was covered in more flour than anything else.
“I taste bad!” he yelled.
“Yes. Preening won’t work for you, I’m afraid,” France said. He picked England up again. “Humans have to take baths.”
“Bath!” England began a flurry of kicking, scratching and screeching that only stopped once France managed to scratch behind his ears.
France scratched until England settled against his chest and purred. France continued up the stairs calming him like that. He deposited him on his bed and offered him a pillow to play with.
France walked across to the bathroom. He smiled and the white tiles and blue whales design. The bath and sink both had those novelty plugs with a whale that floated to the surface when the water was full. Didn’t America keep a whale now? France filled the bath and squeezed in enough bubble bath to hide the fact that there was even water under there. He found some small rubber ducks in a set of wicker drawers and tossed those in too. When he shut off the water, there was at least a foot worth of bubbles. Somehow a few of the ducks were supported either on top or inside of it.
France crossed the hall again. England had shredded the pillow and was cuddling the stuffing inside. It was fortunate he could sew, really. France picked him up and dropped him on the floor of the bathroom.
“You can’t fool me,” England said. “That’s a bath.”
“I am astounded by your perception,” France said. “But if you don’t get in it. You’ll remain dirty.”
“I don’t like being dirty.”
“Cats are like that. Englands too, I suppose. Remove your underclothes and get in.”
France faced away from England and covered his eyes. He resisted the sore temptation to peek until he heard a splash. England ducked under the water and emerged with his hair and cat ears plastered to his face. He had the head of one of the rubber duckies in his mouth, so the body stuck out. France poured some shampoo into his palm and lathered up England’s hair. England spat out the rubber duck.
“I can do that myself,” he said.
He shoved France’s hands away and washed his hair.
“Can I ask about the décor?” France said.
“Can I ask about your facial hair?” England snapped.
“I don’t mean it as an insult.”
“This time. Go ahead then, ask away.”
“Why all the whales?”
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France smiled. “He keeps a real whale now.”
England turned quiet. He took a cloth from the side of the bath and scrubbed at the jam on his face. His tail floated to the surface and poked through the bubbles. France stroked his wet head. The bubbles preserved his modesty well enough that France could keep an eye on him. England was too focused on washing his upper body to object to any of it. Maybe France should get a cat. There must be blonde breeds the same colour as England, maybe even with green eyes and a cantankerous personality.
“Finished!” England declared, suddenly.
He jumped out of the bath and ran down the stairs completely naked. France snatched a towel and ran after him.
“Wait! You’ll catch a cold!”
He tackled England at the foot of the stairs and wrapped the towel around him. England squirmed underneath him until he was facing him. France wrapped the towel as best he could but he wasn’t an expert at keeping men dressed. England raised his head and kissed France on the cheek, then shifted to try and kiss him properly. France placed two fingers over England’s lips and pushed his head back down.
“I’m a gentleman,” France said. “If you still want to do that when you’re yourself again, I’ll happily accept but not now.”
“France?”
“Yes, my little cabbage?”
“I’m sleepy.”
France tied the towel around England’s waist. He carried him back into his bedroom. England dived under the covers. France slipped in beside him. England curled up on top of him. He kneaded France’s chest through his shirt. He purred loudly as he did so. It was like a lullaby. France was soon asleep.
*****
When France awoke, England was fully dressed and sans tail and cat ears. He was holding a glass of dark red liquid. He thrust it toward France.
“Claret,” he explained. “Thank you…For not taking advantage of me.”
France accepted the glass, too dumbstruck to reply. He drained it. It was oddly good claret for England to be in possession of. England took the empty glass and grinned.
“England,” France said. “I’ve just woken up and yet I feel extremely fatigued. Would you know anything about this? A little something extra in my claret, perhaps?”
“That’s for humiliating me, taking me away from my work and feeding me unknown drugs.”
France reached up. He could already feel the tufts of fur growing over his ears.
“Enjoy the next few hours,” England said. “Bastard.”
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I definitely want to do more with the cat pills, lol.
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“They would normally be 105 Yuan but since it’s you, 210 Yuan.” (shakes head and laughs) China ups the price. And France doesn't question it. Wonderful. And France's comment about England's head popping off, and England making preserves, and England's boxers having little teapots, and England climbing all over France and purring when you scratch his ears, and YEEEEEE!!! ^U^ It was adorable and wonderful and thank-you so incredibly much for writing it for me! <3! <3! <3!
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♥
This response is too cute for words. ILU too OP. Thanks so much for the reply, it made me grin from ear to ear.
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I second a sequel! and I want my own Iggy Kitty
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*shifty* There...may be one? England's certainly Not Pleased at China's part in this and may just want to punish him by leaving a France kitty on his doorstep.
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For that my sould is yours.
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