[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.
“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.”
Reply
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?”
Reply
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.”
Reply
Reply
I definitely want to do more with the cat pills, lol.
Reply
“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!
Reply
♥
This response is too cute for words. ILU too OP. Thanks so much for the reply, it made me grin from ear to ear.
Reply
I second a sequel! and I want my own Iggy Kitty
Reply
*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.
Reply
For that my sould is yours.
Reply
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