Hetalia Kink meme part 9 -- CLOSED
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hetalia kink meme
part 9
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( Christmas Reveals )
Your national flower, mon ami? Really?
France had been paying little attention to their conversation-America was always rattling on about pride in his nation something or other-but he had lit up when America had mentioned roses.
“Yeah. It, er, wasn’t exactly my personal decision or anything. The folks in my government sorted it out. They decided I needed a national flower for some reason. Some people made a case for using the marigold, but the guys in Congress thought the rose was best in the end.”
America smiled hesitantly.
“Um….you don’t mind, or anything, do you?”
France looked surprised.
“Mind? Why should I mind, mon cher?”
“Well, they’re kind of your thing, aren’t they? Roses?”
The smile playing around the corners of France’s lips widened.
“You think so?”
America couldn’t ever quite tell when France was being sarcastic. So, as usual, he took him at his word.
“You’ve always got roses around. You had some with you the first time I ever saw you, in fact. You’ve even got one when you don’t have anything else….er….”
America trailed off, his cheeks heating up. He hadn’t meant to bring up France’s scandalous tendencies, but his mouth had gotten ahead of him again.
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France’s smile had turned into a smirk by this point. America though it was the sort of expression you could photograph and paste into the encyclopedia under the heading ‘cat who got the canary’. Or something like that.
“I have got roses with me even sans clothing, you mean?”
America blushed and grimaced slightly.
“Er….”
“Ah, mon cher, you embarrass so easily over the most natural of things! It’d be annoying, really, except that you’re so cute when you turn that particular shade of pink.”
This caused America to color further. He cast around for something to say that wasn’t related to nudity.
“So you don’t mind then? I mean, I wouldn’t want you to think I was stealing your national symbol or anything.”
“Not in the least! And it’s not, actually.”
“Wha?”
“La rose, mon cher, she is not my national flower.”
France slid closer to him as he spoke.
“That would be le lys.”
“The which-wha?”
“The lily, mon cher. Le lys is the national emblem of France. I personally enjoy roses, that’s why I keep them nearby. It is not a matter of national pride, only preference.”
France was sitting right next to him by this point. America startled a little as their knees bumped gently. Did he have sit so close? The Europeans had no notion of personal space, in America’s opinion. France, as an individual, was particularly bad about it.
He noticed France was playing with a rose as they spoke. The man always seemed to have one about his person, usually of the red variety. His long, elegant fingers were petting the petals in a motion that America was sure was intended to look a little obscene.
“My favorite flower, le rose.”
“Y-yeah?”
America tried to scooch back and give himself a little breathing room, only to find his route blocked by the arm of the couch at his back.
“Oui. And now your national emblem as well. An intimate thing to share, non? That my favorite flower should be made special for you-it is special, do you not agree?”
If France kept on talking like that and making eyes at him, America was going to have to suspect him of making a pass.
“Eheh….uh…”
“We could make it special, the two of us.”
France loved to cause scandal and tease the more easily embarrassed nations. In retrospect, America thought he really should have expected something of this sort.
The tips of the rose petals brushed gently against America’s cheek, guided by France’s hand. He felt an involuntary light shiver pass through him, causing his scalp and toes to tingle. He pulled back slightly from the rose and gasped when France’s other hand came to rest at the sensitive junction between his neck and shoulder. The scent of his new national flower surrounded him and caused his insides to tingle too.
Definitely making a pass, then.
America shook his head a little, trying to clear it. This was all feeling far too right and comfortable. Nothing involving France making a pass should be making his head fuzzy like this.
“W-what…. are you suggesting?”
That hadn’t come out sounding the way he’d wanted it to. He’d meant to come off indignant, to get France to back off. It’d come out as more being interested in the prospect offered than standoffish, though.
France still looked far too pleased with this situation. And far too handsome. Oh no, what was he thinking that for?
“I’m suggesting that you and I celebrate our mutual love of roses together. Think of it as a consecration of your new national emblem, if you like.”
France was so close now that he was practically breathing the words in America’s ear.
“The red rose is the flower of passion and l’amour. It would be completely appropriate, mon cher.”
Something in America scoffed at the idea of any of France’s overtures being anything approaching appropriate. However, the scoff didn’t quite make it past his lips, since his breathing had become ragged, reacting to having France’s warmth pressed up so close to him.
America was tingling all over, now, and his senses were swamped with the scent of roses and feel of a forward Frenchman who was so far pressed up against him that he was practically sat in America’s lap.
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America felt tingly and warm from the inside out in a way he hadn’t for years. His senses were overwhelmed, but all of it was a pleasant experience. And France, while undoubtedly bent on sex, felt nice and was being gentle in his sensuous fashion.
America ignored the tiny voice in his head that was panicking at him-he hadn’t listened to England for years now. And anyway, it was 1986. Wasn’t he supposed to have gotten sexually liberated by now?
Oh, what the hell….
America liked roses.
He turned his head slightly and met France’s lips.
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