you sexy thing, you (1b/?)
anonymous
August 22 2010, 04:25:28 UTC
Unsurprisingly, everyone follows.
France feels rather flattered at the center of attention as he fumbles with his keycard in the slot to his room. Moreover, he is wickedly excited to finally reveal half a century of hard work. He had been saving it for a more auspicious occasion, such as England’s birthday, but this will do well enough. France would be lying if he didn’t admit he is a bit impatient about these things.
They all file in behind him, with Denmark closing the door at the back.
“Ew,” Poland sniffs around with a wrinkled nose: “It smells like cheap hooker in here.”
“You mean like how you smell all the time, huh?” Hungary jabs playfully.
Poland grins and swats her hand away half-heartedly. France distracts himself by rummaging through his suitcase, which is not as organized as when he packed it, admittedly. Finally he resurfaces with the album gripped tightly in his hand.
Monaco frowns: “I’ve seen that one, before. What’s that got to do with England?”
“A lot of things, cherie,” says France as he sinks into the bed, very careful not to wrinkle his suit. Tailor-made is always the first priority.
“This album consists entirely of the photos of l’Angleterre,” France announces, “and they are the photos candide, shall I say.”
“By which you mean he has no idea about them.” Denmarks tone is dry, but there is now a certain gleam in his eyes which France has come to recognize as pure blackmail.
France nods smugly and flips open the album.
“Well,” he smirks as the other gather behind him, “shall we take a look?”
Re: you sexy thing, you (1b/?)
anonymous
August 22 2010, 04:49:47 UTC
Oh wow, this is going to be awesome. >:D I like your France, but Hungary and Poland stole the here, I think. I mean, first of all Poland calling anyone gay is fucking hilarious, but I kind of want to see awesome Poland-Hungary hijinks, too. Heh, I can't wait to "see" those pictures of England, either. Although maybe someone out there with actual art skills will be able to draw whatever you describe? I can always hope, anyway! <3
Re: you sexy thing, you (1b/?)
anonymous
August 22 2010, 07:52:44 UTC
Poland smells a cheap hooker, I smell epicness (that's a word, dear word checker. It's the only way to describe this fill, after all).
I loved Poland calling someone "gay". I loved France defending Angleterre's beauty. And I specially love Hungary's line “I don’t really mind,”. I love our fellow fangirl.
Re: you sexy thing, you (1b/?)
anonymous
August 23 2010, 09:58:59 UTC
Pfffffffft, yes please! Poor America; your competition is about to get so fucking fierce. XD And in a way, I'm kind of glad that none of these guys are going to end up with England, considering what they think of him. I mean, the things they're saying about him could be WAY more rude or insulting, but still, that's just a little too mean for me. OTL
And yeah, I liked this: “You. England. Pants. You are in them presumably most of the day,” Denmark states flatly. J-just LOL, Denmark. LOL
you sexy thing, you (2a/?)
anonymous
August 23 2010, 16:07:01 UTC
Thanks for the response, everyone! Anon is happy. Another note: this is in fact going to be a US/UK story, so don't worry about America having any competition; he has his ways. ;)
“Oh wow.”
France smirks to himself, and perhaps outwardly at the oohs and aahs his demonstration is producing. Of course, they do owe him some credit in how he managed to get England drunk enough times for him to not notice a steady click of the camera.
He will not admit to himself that it was not very difficult to do so.
“Those are his nipples.”
“Oui.”
“Dude, they’re fucking pierced! This is incredible!”
“I do try,” France smirks, and thumbs the page over.
Poland lets out a downright piercing whoop when he sees the next picture, which happens to be of England in women’s clothes.
“Omigod, how queer can you get? Seriously!” he cries. France feels the bed shift beneath him as Hungary presumably supports Poland during his laughing fit.
Denmark leans in a little further: “Wow. I never knew corsets could be such an improvement on someone.”
“Well, oui,” France replies: “Because, you see, it gives him a most shapely figure, non?”
From the corner of his eye France sees Denmark nod a little, suddenly interested. At the same time, Monaco is tapping the next page.
“Is that real leather?” she asks, presumably referring to the skintight minidress England dons on the far right.
France runs a hand through his hair: “Alas, I do not remember.” Monaco shrugs and flips the page over herself.
Now, this page is one of France’s favorites; perhaps his favorite. Ultimately, he’s not sure.
On this page is England. And England is -
“Naked?” Hungary gasps, craning her head: “Is anyone with him? I can’t see the next page.”
England, naked, but not just naked. He is naked, spread wantonly over bedsheets, smoking a cigarette with the most alluring expression France has ever captured on film. It was the nineteen-seventies, he recalls, when he took these; that is when England became fond of piercings and returned to his old smoking habit. The pictures are monochrome, and they are beautiful.
Apparently, everyone behind him agrees.
“I - I never thought England was that flexible,” whispers Hungary from behind him.
“He’s wearing eyeliner like a pro,” murmurs Poland.
“That’s a nice ass,” affirms Denmark.
“Painted nails,” breathes Monaco.
For a moment they are silent, and it is in this moment that France admires the pictures. England sprawled against the length of the bed. England on his knees, holding himself with a cigarette in his mouth. England pushed against the wall, staring at the camera daringly. England arching his back with his sharp hipbones on full display.
It is really too easy to get him drunk, but these photos are magnifique. They are works of art. And not just because England does not know about them.
There is one picture in which England is not naked, and that is at the bottom right of the second page. His torso is nude, but he wears tight leather trousers, trousers which France is sure rest tucked away safely somewhere in one of England’s closets. They look nice in the photo, completed with boots and another cigarette England holds carelessly against his mouth with a ringed hand, leaning against the outside of a brick building. France thinks it was in an alleyway.
Denmark is the first to speak up: “And this is the same guy who wears cardigans and does embroidery work every Sunday afternoon?”
France nods. Someone drags a finger down the page, and judging from the manicured nails, it is either Monaco or Poland.
“Wow,” Monaco whispers (so it must be her), “You kept this from us for thirty years?”
Before France can sufficiently apologize, Hungary suddenly asks: “When you took those pictures, were you naked, too? I mean, are those sex pictures?”
France frowns because he is truthfully frightened of what goes on in Hungary’s mind; he has every right to be, what with her smacking him with a skillet one day and taping him touching Austria the next. He suppose he cannot deny what is true, however. He nods.
you sexy thing, you (2b/?)
anonymous
August 23 2010, 16:09:44 UTC
“You know what I think,” Denmark reaches around and grabs the edges of the album: “I think we need to spread this around, show people what they’re missing. No offense, man. If we’re stepping on your turf or something.”
“Oh, non!” No, France could not be happier. “Non, that is no problem at all!”
He feels Denmark grin more than sees it. He helps him lift the album so Denmark can leaf through it as his leisure. France turns and puts a finger to his mouth in thought.
“I still have the negatives,” he says: “I’m pretty sure I can have the copies made, if you wish it.”
And Denmark is smiling wickedly again, France knew. He closes the book softly: “Get them to me and I can try to slip them all under the doors. Or. I’m sharing one with Norge so I don’t know how easily I can do that, but I’ll think of something. It’ll probably be faster with alcohol. Heh.”
France does love those with weaknesses for alcohol. A pity Denmark actually carries a tolerance for it.
--
After they’ve all left, France sighs and flops down on the mattress before yelping a little and carefully removing his jacket. On the bed next to him are the negatives, kept in a carefully locked safe. He would have to see if there was a printer around, if they even existed in America anymore, much less New York. Everything these days is digital, which France dislikes because it takes all the fun out of the work by sidestepping the best part - developing.
He hears another knock on the door and this time it’s loud, arrhythmic. Almost impatient. With another groan France pushes himself off the bed and moves to unlock the door, but not before the person on the other side shouts.
“Yo, France! France, why do you keep your door locked all the time, it’s really annoying!”
“Patience, America,” France mutters to himself, fiddling with the chain lock before wrenching the door open. As expected, America stands on the other side of the threshold, grinning. He has lots of papers in his arms.
France blinks tiredly before offering for America to come in.
“No, it’s okay,” America replies, “I was just stopping by. I have my agenda for the next meeting at the conference for you; I think it’s my best one yet.”
“America,” France groans, “You say that about every one.”
“Well, yeah. But this time I mean it!” America thrusts a pack of sheets at France: “It’s forty frickin’ pages! There is no way this isn’t at least above par”.
France wonders if there is time to re-educate America on the differences between quality and quantity, but in the end he doesn’t bother and instead lets the forty-page packet slip into his hand.
“Merci, America,” he says, and moves to shut the door.
“Wait!” America quickly sticks his foot in the doorway, eyes wide. France groans, hopefully not audibly.
“I ran into Denmark and he told me that you told him to prepare a special surprise for England.” America is speaking quickly, as if he can’t wait to get the words out: “I was just wondering. Is this the good kind of surprise or the bad one?”
Alas, France has to laugh at that one, despite the fact America is now pouting a little bit: “Well, it depends whether you are England or you know England, eh?”
America doesn’t seem to quite get it, but he nods anyway: “Well, see you later, France. Read my thing, right?”
“Oui, oui,” France replies, and locks the door again.
It of course stands to reason America would be so interested in any ‘surprise’ involving England.
Re: you sexy thing, you (2b/?)
anonymous
August 26 2010, 16:35:25 UTC
Wow, this is beautiful! France is adorable, I'm kind of rooting for him, even if I know America is the one OP wants. Because seriously, France is the one that truly appreciates the beauty and is able to see beauty in England when nobody else could. And loves him enough to collect beautiful memories of him, in secret knowing England would refuse if he told him. Alas! I'll have to content myself with the FrUK mentions in the past ^^
You made England sound ridiculously sexy! I wonder if all these people had forgot about the pirate age, when England was really more of a catch...nice work bringing up the seventies, England is really a poster-child for the idealized beauty of a male during those years. And British, tooXD
I wonder who'll accost him now? Poor America is gonna face some competition ~~ though I guess it's implied in the request that England seems to secretly be waiting for someone...him. Oh well. this is really strange for me, I'm a hardcore USUK shipper, and here I am, a bit disappointed that America is the one ^^U
Re: you sexy thing, you (2b/?)
anonymous
August 30 2010, 20:05:57 UTC
How did you come to that conclusion, anon? As far as the prompt OP made goes, there's nothing in there about France actually having feelings for England, but it does say that America was already in love with him, so how does that make France the only one who was able to see beauty in England? And how is collecting sexy pictures of someone an expression of love? If France was really in love with England, why would he go along with all the other countries getting the photos like that? I doubt that it's something England would approve of, y'know.
Re: you sexy thing, you (2b/?)
anonymous
August 30 2010, 20:26:49 UTC
I have no comment on the France "loves him" part, but the anon above probably just meant that France was the only nation present who saw and appreciated England's beauty, which seems totally true based on what all the nations were saying. After all, they did follow France specifically because they didn't see what France saw in England. And America, although he clearly loves and desires England, wasn't present among the group anon was referring to.
I can't comment on the collecting sexy pictures thing, either. Or sharing them with everyone. Oh France, honey, why so ... yourself? OTL But yeah, you're right; like most people, England almost certainly wouldn't approve, and France seems to know that when he says that whether it's a good surprise or a bad one depends whether you are England or you know England, eh? That's rather dubious, but probably in-character for him. *facepalm*
Author!Anon
anonymous
September 1 2010, 04:24:59 UTC
I actually chose the countries carefully because these are countries that did not have extensive relations with England during the time of his hardcore piracy. So they didn't really have any idea, at least one that had substantial evidence in their minds. I'm a history major! I only blame myself.
Aww, it's so sweet how you're rooting for France! France knows seduction when he sees it. England is not particularly physically attractive, but he can always be bewitching when he wants to be. The '70s gear were only accessories; he can get positively naughty even at the present. Which, er, America will find out, if I finish this part!
Re: you sexy thing, you (2b/?)
anonymous
August 31 2010, 04:15:30 UTC
Someone drags a finger down the page, and judging from the manicured nails, it is either Monaco or Poland
LOL
His torso is nude, but he wears tight leather trousers, trousers which France is sure rest tucked away safely somewhere in one of England’s closets. They look nice in the photo, completed with boots and another cigarette England holds carelessly against his mouth with a ringed hand, leaning against the outside of a brick building. France thinks it was in an alleyway.
France feels rather flattered at the center of attention as he fumbles with his keycard in the slot to his room. Moreover, he is wickedly excited to finally reveal half a century of hard work. He had been saving it for a more auspicious occasion, such as England’s birthday, but this will do well enough. France would be lying if he didn’t admit he is a bit impatient about these things.
They all file in behind him, with Denmark closing the door at the back.
“Ew,” Poland sniffs around with a wrinkled nose: “It smells like cheap hooker in here.”
“You mean like how you smell all the time, huh?” Hungary jabs playfully.
Poland grins and swats her hand away half-heartedly. France distracts himself by rummaging through his suitcase, which is not as organized as when he packed it, admittedly. Finally he resurfaces with the album gripped tightly in his hand.
Monaco frowns: “I’ve seen that one, before. What’s that got to do with England?”
“A lot of things, cherie,” says France as he sinks into the bed, very careful not to wrinkle his suit. Tailor-made is always the first priority.
“This album consists entirely of the photos of l’Angleterre,” France announces, “and they are the photos candide, shall I say.”
“By which you mean he has no idea about them.” Denmarks tone is dry, but there is now a certain gleam in his eyes which France has come to recognize as pure blackmail.
France nods smugly and flips open the album.
“Well,” he smirks as the other gather behind him, “shall we take a look?”
tbc.
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I loved Poland calling someone "gay". I loved France defending Angleterre's beauty. And I specially love Hungary's line “I don’t really mind,”. I love our fellow fangirl.
I truly hope you update soon, this is great.
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And yeah, I liked this: “You. England. Pants. You are in them presumably most of the day,” Denmark states flatly. J-just LOL, Denmark. LOL
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“Oh wow.”
France smirks to himself, and perhaps outwardly at the oohs and aahs his demonstration is producing. Of course, they do owe him some credit in how he managed to get England drunk enough times for him to not notice a steady click of the camera.
He will not admit to himself that it was not very difficult to do so.
“Those are his nipples.”
“Oui.”
“Dude, they’re fucking pierced! This is incredible!”
“I do try,” France smirks, and thumbs the page over.
Poland lets out a downright piercing whoop when he sees the next picture, which happens to be of England in women’s clothes.
“Omigod, how queer can you get? Seriously!” he cries. France feels the bed shift beneath him as Hungary presumably supports Poland during his laughing fit.
Denmark leans in a little further: “Wow. I never knew corsets could be such an improvement on someone.”
“Well, oui,” France replies: “Because, you see, it gives him a most shapely figure, non?”
From the corner of his eye France sees Denmark nod a little, suddenly interested. At the same time, Monaco is tapping the next page.
“Is that real leather?” she asks, presumably referring to the skintight minidress England dons on the far right.
France runs a hand through his hair: “Alas, I do not remember.” Monaco shrugs and flips the page over herself.
Now, this page is one of France’s favorites; perhaps his favorite. Ultimately, he’s not sure.
On this page is England. And England is -
“Naked?” Hungary gasps, craning her head: “Is anyone with him? I can’t see the next page.”
England, naked, but not just naked. He is naked, spread wantonly over bedsheets, smoking a cigarette with the most alluring expression France has ever captured on film. It was the nineteen-seventies, he recalls, when he took these; that is when England became fond of piercings and returned to his old smoking habit. The pictures are monochrome, and they are beautiful.
Apparently, everyone behind him agrees.
“I - I never thought England was that flexible,” whispers Hungary from behind him.
“He’s wearing eyeliner like a pro,” murmurs Poland.
“That’s a nice ass,” affirms Denmark.
“Painted nails,” breathes Monaco.
For a moment they are silent, and it is in this moment that France admires the pictures. England sprawled against the length of the bed. England on his knees, holding himself with a cigarette in his mouth. England pushed against the wall, staring at the camera daringly. England arching his back with his sharp hipbones on full display.
It is really too easy to get him drunk, but these photos are magnifique. They are works of art. And not just because England does not know about them.
There is one picture in which England is not naked, and that is at the bottom right of the second page. His torso is nude, but he wears tight leather trousers, trousers which France is sure rest tucked away safely somewhere in one of England’s closets. They look nice in the photo, completed with boots and another cigarette England holds carelessly against his mouth with a ringed hand, leaning against the outside of a brick building. France thinks it was in an alleyway.
Denmark is the first to speak up: “And this is the same guy who wears cardigans and does embroidery work every Sunday afternoon?”
France nods. Someone drags a finger down the page, and judging from the manicured nails, it is either Monaco or Poland.
“Wow,” Monaco whispers (so it must be her), “You kept this from us for thirty years?”
Before France can sufficiently apologize, Hungary suddenly asks: “When you took those pictures, were you naked, too? I mean, are those sex pictures?”
France frowns because he is truthfully frightened of what goes on in Hungary’s mind; he has every right to be, what with her smacking him with a skillet one day and taping him touching Austria the next. He suppose he cannot deny what is true, however. He nods.
“Oh,” Hungary murmurs, “Oh, that’s nice.”
France pauses and decides not to comment.
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“Oh, non!” No, France could not be happier. “Non, that is no problem at all!”
He feels Denmark grin more than sees it. He helps him lift the album so Denmark can leaf through it as his leisure. France turns and puts a finger to his mouth in thought.
“I still have the negatives,” he says: “I’m pretty sure I can have the copies made, if you wish it.”
And Denmark is smiling wickedly again, France knew. He closes the book softly: “Get them to me and I can try to slip them all under the doors. Or. I’m sharing one with Norge so I don’t know how easily I can do that, but I’ll think of something. It’ll probably be faster with alcohol. Heh.”
France does love those with weaknesses for alcohol. A pity Denmark actually carries a tolerance for it.
--
After they’ve all left, France sighs and flops down on the mattress before yelping a little and carefully removing his jacket. On the bed next to him are the negatives, kept in a carefully locked safe. He would have to see if there was a printer around, if they even existed in America anymore, much less New York. Everything these days is digital, which France dislikes because it takes all the fun out of the work by sidestepping the best part - developing.
He hears another knock on the door and this time it’s loud, arrhythmic. Almost impatient. With another groan France pushes himself off the bed and moves to unlock the door, but not before the person on the other side shouts.
“Yo, France! France, why do you keep your door locked all the time, it’s really annoying!”
“Patience, America,” France mutters to himself, fiddling with the chain lock before wrenching the door open. As expected, America stands on the other side of the threshold, grinning. He has lots of papers in his arms.
France blinks tiredly before offering for America to come in.
“No, it’s okay,” America replies, “I was just stopping by. I have my agenda for the next meeting at the conference for you; I think it’s my best one yet.”
“America,” France groans, “You say that about every one.”
“Well, yeah. But this time I mean it!” America thrusts a pack of sheets at France: “It’s forty frickin’ pages! There is no way this isn’t at least above par”.
France wonders if there is time to re-educate America on the differences between quality and quantity, but in the end he doesn’t bother and instead lets the forty-page packet slip into his hand.
“Merci, America,” he says, and moves to shut the door.
“Wait!” America quickly sticks his foot in the doorway, eyes wide. France groans, hopefully not audibly.
“I ran into Denmark and he told me that you told him to prepare a special surprise for England.” America is speaking quickly, as if he can’t wait to get the words out: “I was just wondering. Is this the good kind of surprise or the bad one?”
Alas, France has to laugh at that one, despite the fact America is now pouting a little bit: “Well, it depends whether you are England or you know England, eh?”
America doesn’t seem to quite get it, but he nods anyway: “Well, see you later, France. Read my thing, right?”
“Oui, oui,” France replies, and locks the door again.
It of course stands to reason America would be so interested in any ‘surprise’ involving England.
But that’s not France’s story to tell.
tbc.
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If someone does do art of any of those pictures, like I was saying above? I may have to lick their boots or something. Jesus.
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You made England sound ridiculously sexy! I wonder if all these people had forgot about the pirate age, when England was really more of a catch...nice work bringing up the seventies, England is really a poster-child for the idealized beauty of a male during those years. And British, tooXD
I wonder who'll accost him now? Poor America is gonna face some competition ~~
though I guess it's implied in the request that England seems to secretly be waiting for someone...him. Oh well.
this is really strange for me, I'm a hardcore USUK shipper, and here I am, a bit disappointed that America is the one ^^U
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I can't comment on the collecting sexy pictures thing, either. Or sharing them with everyone. Oh France, honey, why so ... yourself? OTL But yeah, you're right; like most people, England almost certainly wouldn't approve, and France seems to know that when he says that whether it's a good surprise or a bad one depends whether you are England or you know England, eh? That's rather dubious, but probably in-character for him. *facepalm*
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Aww, it's so sweet how you're rooting for France! France knows seduction when he sees it. England is not particularly physically attractive, but he can always be bewitching when he wants to be. The '70s gear were only accessories; he can get positively naughty even at the present. Which, er, America will find out, if I finish this part!
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ILU, authornon!
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Update is happening in the next few days.
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LOL
His torso is nude, but he wears tight leather trousers, trousers which France is sure rest tucked away safely somewhere in one of England’s closets. They look nice in the photo, completed with boots and another cigarette England holds carelessly against his mouth with a ringed hand, leaning against the outside of a brick building. France thinks it was in an alleyway.
I came.
UNF
Also, it reminded me of these:
http://yfrog.com/jk1053279306curtfirej
http://img26.imageshack.us/img26/4310/descargae.jpg
And I came again
Anon, this is smoking hot
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