[Fanfic] Shot of Honesty - chp02
So here you have it, chapter two :3 please enjoy!
Author: me
Title: Shot of Honesty
Characters/Pairing: England, France, Italy, FrUKIta threesome. Brief appearance of Germany, Romano, Spain, America, Canada. (mentions of Spain/Romano)
Rating: R+ for flashbacks of smut
Warnings: threesome. Alcohol. England.
Summary: After their teams lost, France, England and Italy get together to drink their shame away. But then the next morning, when England wakes up…
---Shot of Honesty
Chapter 02: Forcing memories out
“Bonjour, Alfred! Bonjour, Matthew,” France strolled into the room with a bright smile, nodding at the two twins sitting at the table.
Alfred waved at him, too busy munching on a burger to be able to speak, and Canada smiled hesitantly at his once-caretaker, flustered that someone was taking notice of him.
France quickly lost interest on the two and scanned the room; only a few nations were already there for their usual meeting, but his eyes lit up once he realised Spain was already there, and that little Romano was with him.
With a last glance towards the door, expecting to see England coming in at anytime now, France strolled over to his best friend, sitting at his right side and smiling at him; Spain turned his attention from a very flustered Romano to France, and beamed up at him.
“Bonjour, Antonio~” France purred, patting his shoulder. “Congratulations on your win, it was an amazing game”.
Because yeah, France was not one to hold contempt towards his friend. The last game of the season between Holland and Spain had been great, and Spain definitely deserved the first place. Not that France was there for that, though.
“Gracias Francis!” Spain smiled brightly up at him, fingers intertwined with those of Romano, who was desperately trying to tug his hand away. “We watched it together, me and mi Romanito~”
“I bet you got your… reward afterwards, hmm?” France leered, wiggling his eyebrows at his friend.
Spain laughed loudly, nodding happily without any trace of shame, and Romano’s free fist collided with the back of his head, sending Spain face-flat on the table.
“Sh-shup up, you bastard! T-the hell are you saying?!”
“But Lovi~”
“I see… and where is little Feli?” France continued, easily ignoring the usual antics of the couple and looking around. He prided himself of being definitely smooth with his questions.
“That stupid little brother is late for the meeting again,” Romano muttered, looking to the side. “He keeps painting and painting all day”. He was clearly upset, and Spain gently tapped his shoulder, attempting to comfort him.
France frowned. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
The older of the Italies stared at him as if France had just said he’d like to eat England’s cooking. “Of course not, French bastard! Feli paints so much only when he’s upset… he barely comes out from that room to eat or sleep”.
“Oh, I see…”
“I wonder what the fuck is wrong with him… stupid brother…” but South Italy was clearly worried.
France’s eyes turned to the door, watching England stomp in; the Englishman stared up at him, then looked away hurriedly, face barely hiding his distaste. The sight made France look down, shaking his head.
Over a week had passed since the night the three of them had spent together, and ever since then, France had been unable to get through England’s guilt and anger. The English Nation had tried to make contact with Italy, but without receiving any answer, and France had tried going at his house, only to be left waiting on the entrance for hours.
The matches had been going on, culminating with Spain’s victory against Holland’s team, and France had hoped that in the world meeting after the last Football match, Italy would be present, and they would be able to talk.
He didn’t know why Italy had run away, and the fact that he didn’t know made him unsure.
Returning his attention to the Spaniard and his boyfriend, France tried to look nonchalant. “Ah, I’ve been missing my little Feli so much lately~ I wish to see him again~”
“Calm your frigging hormones, bastard! Feli will come for sure, he can’t avoid a world meeting… stronzo di un Francese…”
Still muttering under his breath Romano returned his attention to kicking Spain away from him, and France sighed, standing up and moving towards England.
The Englishman grunted as he saw him getting closer, but didn’t push him away, limiting himself to a growl.
“Stay away, Francis, it’s a bad day,” he warned.
France shrugged. With England, most of the days were bad ones… especially the last eight.
“Feli is going to be there, today,” he stated. He watched as England’s eye twitched, his hands clenching into fists. “Are we going to-”
“We are doing nothing,” England hurried to his seat, and France followed him.
Their antics were so usual for the rest of the nations already present that none of them spared any attention to the two, though they were all hoping they would not fight anytime soon -the meeting was about to start…
“You can’t keep on avoiding the subject, Arthur-”
“He is avoiding it. It’s clear what he thinks… he hates me. He’s disgusted. Afraid”.
“Arthur…”
“Do you want to talk about that with everybody around, Francis?” England sneered, pointing at the room that was filling up with nations. “Make it even more embarrassing not just for me, but for Feliciano, too?”
France looked around and finally sat down, brushing one hand through his hair.
He had to calm down. England was a stubborn idiot, but for once, he was right. He could not disrupt the meeting about these things. They’d have to corner Italy, so he could finally ask what was wrong, and why did he run away… but after the meeting.
The door of the room opened again, and France and England turned around at the same time, staring as Italy entered at Germany’s side.
The German Nation straightened his tie and looked around, nodding to himself in satisfaction, then motioned for Italy to go sit down, and was ignored as the Italian man seemed to be glued at his side.
France frowned. At his side, England also frowned.
Italy was chatting happily with Germany, but was definitely not in the right shape to be participating to a meeting -his clothes were worn out and covered with paint, from his sleeves to his pants, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
One of his hands kept clutching at Germany’s sleeve, and his eyes flickered towards England before returning to the blond man at his side, refusing to look away.
England felt the same pang of guilt that had been at his side for the last week and a half strike his heart again.
It was true -Italy was afraid of him. or maybe he hated him. Probably both.
“Ve~ Ludwig, Ludwig, can I paint you after the meeting?”
“Feliciano, go sit down! It is bad enough you are dressed like that for a formal meeting!” Germany grunted, pointing at the chair at Romano’s other side.
“Feliciano! Come cazzo sei vestito?!” South Italy stood up in rage. “Didn’t I tell you to change this morning?!”
“Ve~ I forgot, brother… sorry Ludwig…”
Smiling sheepishly, Italy made his way around the table, passing close to France and England without even looking at them, and sat down next to his brother; it was clear Romano was worried, as he didn’t mention his clothes anymore, nor his tired appearance.
After a moment, the two started conversing in Italian, though it was mostly Romano talking, and Italy playing with the documents in front of him.
Germany rolled his eyes and sat on his own chair at France’s side, shaking his head. “Let’s just start this meeting, please” he ordered. “Alfred, if you want…”
Scrambling up from his chair, thumping on his chest to swallow the last bites of his third burger, America smiled brightly and slurped down his coke. “Hahaha~ of course! I will be the one to commence!”
“I can’t accept this!”
With a sudden decision, France stood up, straightening up his best acting. Everybody turned to stare at him.
Pressing one hand dramatically against his chest, he turned to look to the side, pointing his other hand at Italy.
“I can’t bear to look at that hideous attire a second longer! It hurts my eyes… my poor petit Feli, wearing such horrid clothes… non, non! I won’t allow it!”
Ignoring Italy’s clearly panicked stare, he stomped over to him and grabbed his arm. His fingers tightened their hold on his wrist, and France stared deep into the other Nation’s eyes, continuing his acting as he pulled him away from the table and his brother.
“Fortunately for you, mon petit, I have a change of clothes ready within this same building… I always am organized for this stuff, of course… I’ll bring Feli back dressed like a normal, sane Nation, otherwise I won’t be able to follow a single point of the meeting!”
Without allowing any reply, the flabbergasted Nations staring at him in shock -though not surprised, as they were also used to such a quirky attitude- he tugged Italy outside of the meeting room.
If things went the way he hoped they would, then…
Shaking himself out of his stupor, England stood up, flushed and furious.
He knew what France was doing, and surely he would not allow that French pervert to do anything to Italy without him present -who knew how Italy felt? Who knew how he would react to the two that had…
“Francis! I’m coming with you! I won’t let you do anything perverted to him!”
Flushing more at his own words, knowing that he’d been the one doing the worst, he ran to the door, grimacing, and exited the room as well.
The corridor was completely silent, opposite to the soft chatters and buzzing that had been the constant background of the meeting room, and England faltered in his steps, finding himself facing France and a panicked Italy, who refused to look up at the French Nation and was still trying to tug his arm away.
“Ah… Felic-”
“We should move somewhere else to talk,” France took control of the situation again, and moved down the corridor, still pulling Italy with him.
England followed a few steps behind, watching Italy stumble to keep up with France’s pace, and feeling his heart tightening into his chest.
“Ve~ let me go…” Italy whined softly when France pushed him into a room, keeping the door open for England to get in, then closed it behind his back, locking it quickly and finally letting go of Italy’s wrist.
The Italian nation glanced around him, trembling a bit, but the room was just another, smaller, meeting area, with a round table and one chalkboard on the opposite wall. There was no way to get out other than the locked door in front of which France was staying.
Accepting defeat, Italy slumped down on the nearest chair, refusing to look at the two.
“Feli… what is the matter?” kneeling at the other Nation’s side, France gently pulled Italy’s chin up with one hand, caressing his cheek. “I… we were worried… you ran away in the morning, and you didn’t answer Arthur’s calls, nor did you let me in the house…”
Shaking his head, Italy curled more upon himself, shying away from France’s touch. “T-there is… nothing to say, ve~”
England tried to take a deep breath, but his heart was thumping wildly in his chest. It was clear, Italy was afraid of them. Of him. of France.
“Feli… please, we want to talk,” the Frenchman tried again, biting his lower lip. “We-”
“Ve~” shifting away from France, Italy still refused to stare at them. “The meeting…”
“The bloody meeting can wait!” England exploded.
His outburst made Italy jump up from his chair and slump down on the ground, sniffling. “Ve~ don’t hurt me! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“Shit… Feliciano… I’m sorry…” rubbing the bridge of his nose, England tried to calm down.
He felt like shit. He was angry, he was desperate -he wanted Italy to understand, to listen to them, but at the same time, he wanted to let him run away, because facing him meant facing what he’d done. “I didn’t mean to yell, I…”
Italy was still sobbing, and the sound was heart wrenching. “W-what do you want now?!” he cried out, slumping back on the seat and looking at the floor.
France looked up at him with a poignant stare, and England panicked.
This was it. He had to sort things out on his own, now.
He’d spent over a week trying to think the best way to talk with Italy, explain him that he was terribly sorry, that he hadn’t meant to hurt him, that what had happened was definitely not something he’d wanted, that-
“Feliciano…” he didn’t know how to start. “I…”
“You don’t need to say anything, Arthur… ve~”
Finally looking up at them, eyes filled with tears, Italy shook his head. “I h-heard you speaking then. I know what you said”.
England and France blinked in surprise, then their eyes widened.
In the kitchen, the morning after…
“Ah! Feliciano, I… I hadn’t meant to be brutal… I…” trying to recall what exactly he had said, England couldn’t really remember the exact words.
He’d been way more panicked then, he wasn’t sure what things he’d said. Something about his shame at what he’d done, something about…
“It was clear enough, Arthur.. you were drunk, it was a mistake… it was wrong-” Italy’s voice trembled as he continued, his hands clasped together in his lap, fingers white, “it disgusted you…”
England felt bile rush up to his mouth, and chocked on it. France tried to reach out, but Italy looked back down at his hands, refusing the touch.
“I… I didn’t mean that-” England felt his tone waver.
“Why are you trying t-to humiliate me now?” Italy sobbed, shaking his head. “I had thought… you had liked… I had thought…”
Head spinning, England tried to make sense to what Italy was asking him.
He didn’t want to humiliate him. he hadn’t meant to -why was everything moving down the wrong path? Facing Italy like this… it was just as wrong as what he’d done that night.
“Feliciano, I didn’t mean to scare you… or hurt you… what I did was… disgusting, not you”.
“Oh, pour l’amour de… Feli is talking about the sex, Arthur!” France slammed his hand against the table.
England’s cheeks coloured crimson. “A-ah…”
What could he reply to that? Italy had thought…
“How could I… I mean, I can’t like what I’ve done… that is… oh, bloody hell… what I mean is… of course I didn’t like it… how could I have liked doing that…”
Italy’s frame was trembling again, tears rolling down his cheeks, and England stopped. It was too complicated.
Just the few memories he had of that night were enough for England to know that it was a lie, he’d liked doing it -with both Italy and France, he’d…
But he couldn’t like that, at the same time! It was rape! Drunken actions he regretted!
It was disgusting… having liked that.
But he had to make it up somehow. He had to.
“Feliciano… I was drunk. I barely remember anything from that night… whatever I did… I regret hurting you. I stole something important, and for that, I-”
Italy blinked, tears stopping abruptly as he stared at England.
“W-what did you say…?”
England looked up, swallowing uneasily. “I regret hurting you. I regret having my way with you like that, even though… I don’t…” ashamed, he stared at France, vaguely angered that the French frog was staring at him too, blue eyes narrowed. “I only remember flashes of it. N-nothing much. If I said anything to you… if I hurt you… I…”
“Ve~”
England was startled out of his self-deprecation when one of Italy’s hands softly pressed over his own. Shocked at the gesture, England stared up, green eyes wide.
How could Italy… touch him after… after-
“You don’t remember, ve…?” Italy wiped away his tears and looked up at France. “Francis…?”
France gently shook his head, and offered his hand to Italy again. This time, the Italian nation took it, his demeanour changed completely; returning his gaze to England, Italy smiled a bit, though it wasn’t a bright smile like his usual ones.
It was small, and a bit bitter, a bit pained, but a smile.
How could he smile like this? How could he even look at England after…
“Ve~ it’s ok, Arthur…” his fingers rubbed England’s hand, almost comfortingly. “Please, don’t hurt yourself like this…”
The English Nation didn’t understand anymore.
Why was Italy suddenly calmer? Why was he…
“It changes nothing!” he yelled, shaking his hand out of Italy’s grip. “I hurt you! How can you be so understanding?!”
Italy blinked, but the small smile was still on his lips. “Well… I…” he looked to the side, staring at France for a moment, almost as if asking for support, then returned his attention to England. “I might not… have wished my… first time to be… under control of… alcohol,” he shrugged, embarrassed and flushed, and England felt ashamed when he realised that he found the sight cute. “But… but what happened… what you two did… it wasn’t…”
France’s grip on his hand tightened, and Italy nodded.
“Arthur, if you can, please try to remember what happened, ok? When you remember what you told me…” he flushed again “then we can talk again, ok, ve~?”
Italy took a deep, calming breath. He was still smiling sadly, but he didn’t look as tired and depressed anymore. Something had changed, and England was left baffled at this, unable to understand what had changed.
What had happened back then?
‘Did I perhaps tell something to Feliciano that made it ok for him to do what we…’
“I’m sorry if Arthur here is such a stubborn idiot,” France stated, smiling and holding Italy in his arms. “For a moment I had thought you, too, couldn’t remember…”
“Ve~” Italy snuggled into the French Nation’s arms, allowing him to wipe the last of his tears away, nudging at the paint on his clothes. “I was… upset because… his words… I thought…”
“No, Arthur is quite… hmmm, honest when he’s drunk,” France chuckled, clearly amused. “He thinks clearer when alcohol thinks for him”.
England felt like hitting him. Why did it feel like he was left out of a private joke that regarded him?! “The hell are you talking about?!”
Italy glanced at him, the same smile, a bit sad but warm at the same time, and shook his head slowly.
“Let’s go back to the meeting, ve~”
“What? But you need to change, first,” patting Italy’s head affectionately, France tugged him towards the door, unlocking it again. “I was not joking when I said I had better clothes for you…”
“Wait, wait a moment-” England moved towards them, still confused.
“I mean it, Arthur,” Italy replied. “If you can remember, you will understand. I will wait. Please do remember, ok?”
Leaving England in the room, France led Italy down the corridor again, one hand still pressed on the other’s shoulder, more to hold him up this time. The moment they turned around the corner, the Frenchman stopped and looked down into the troubled Italian man’s eyes.
“How are you feeling, Feli?”
Italy pressed one hand over his eyes, shoulders shaking a bit. His smile was hesitant now, trembling, his fatigue showing even more.
“R-relieved, I guess… ve~”
With a sigh, Italy leaned against France’s chest, nuzzling against it as he felt the older Nation’s arms wrap around him, warm and comforting.
“Why didn’t you contact me, Feli?”
“His words hurt, Francis… after… after… to hear that… I really thought…” sniffling, Italy closed his eyes again. “It hurt. I painted and painted, but his words still hurt, even after what he said before, to hear that the morning after… it wasn’t easy. It was so painful”.
France gently massaged Italy’s scalp, humming softly.
“I told you, Feli, that Arthur gets truly honest when he drinks too much. He can deny himself things when he’s sober, but he has no qualms in admitting what he wants when he has had enough alcohol through his veins”.
“Ve~” Italy shuffled a bit, then pulled away from the other again, sighing. “What if… what if he doesn’t remember?”
“Well…” France frowned. England was just as stubborn as a mule, but surely seeing that he had not hurt Italy would help him try to solve this, too. “I am sure he will. After all, his biggest fear was that you’d be afraid of him, or hate him. but you realised what happened, so that should be enough, for now”.
Leaning forwards, he caught Italy’s lips into a kiss.
“Ve~ thank you, Francis…”
With a chuckle, France opened a metal cupboard at the end of the corridor, and retrieved a suit.
“Ve~? Why do you have clothes here?”
“It’s a secret, mon cher Feli… now dress up, or we’ll be late”.
…-…-…-…-…-…
The remaining of the meeting, England couldn’t take his eyes away from Italy, every once in a while shifting to look at France, who was humming happily and pretending to take notes.
He really tried to pay attention to what the other Nations were saying -this was an important meeting, there were many things to talk about- but he just couldn’t.
Italy looked… the same as always.
He chatted with his brother and with Spain, he waved at Greece on the other end of the table, offering him some food since he looked thinner than usual, then he even started a chat with Egypt.
He couldn’t understand, yet he felt the weight of Italy’s request on him.
Remember.
Italy wanted him to remember? Why?
Was Italy lying? Was he just hiding everything?
… was it an elaborate prank played on him by France?
But no, because what he could remember was pretty real.
The feeling of France’s body pressing against his back, of his familiar hands caressing his chest, moving lower in that pattern France knew he liked…
The new, exhilarating feeling of smooth skin belonging to Italy, his pliant body arching to meet his own, lips parted to gasp as England bit down on his nipples…
England shivered and shook himself out of his thoughts. This was definitely not the right place to think about it; he was a pervert, yes, but this… what good would it be to indulge in such thoughts?
But there again…
Italy hadn’t said to remember that.
He’d said something about before… about something England supposedly told him.
Did he mean… before they had stumbled into France’s house?
How had that happened, then? They were drinking in a pub, and then, in France’s bed, limbs tangled together, naked…
America was standing up now for his turn to speak, but England ignored him.
Before that, they had been talking. Drinking and talking.
There was something…
Italy had smiled. He could remember it. He’d been teary, and sad, but… why had he smiled?
England frowned.
He wanted to remember.
That smile -Italy’s smile… the smile he could only vaguely remember from that night… it was worth remembering. He wanted to know what had caused that smile, and if remembering would make him able to see it again.
Not because he wanted to, of course. But because of the guilt. Because he wanted to know.
Maybe he would understand why France seemed to think that what they had done was ok. Maybe he would understand why Italy was suddenly ok with it, too.
Remember…
“Arthur?”
England blinked and suddenly found himself staring right into France’s face. Too close. Definitely too close.
“Bloody hell?!”
“The meeting ended around five minutes ago…” with a superior smirk, France stood up and patted him on the head. “I wanted to warn you before you stay here when they shut the place up for the night”.
Looking around, England realised, much to his shame, that most of the Nations were already standing up and leaving.
He’d missed the whole meeting, lost in thought.
France stared at him with a knowing face, then leered. “Hmmm… or are you kinkier than I first thought?”
Jumping up from his seat and away from the French frog, England growled and stomped towards the door, grunting at France. He didn’t need his jokes. “Stay away from me, frog!”
“Arthur…” France sighed. he was easy to rile up, but he truly wished he could be less grouchy and more honest with himself.
“Francis…?”
Turning around, France opened his arms and waited for Italy to jump into them. The Italian nation did so, snuggling against his chest and sighing.
“I’m tired…” he murmured. “Will you hold me for a bit?”
Humming with a satisfied smile, France held the Italian nation close and gently massaged his shoulders; he clearly needed to rest for a bit.
“Want to come over to my house, little Feli?”
“I’m also hungry, ve~ will you cook for me?” looking up with his best puppy eyes, Italy tapped the older nation on the chest.
With a chuckle, France nodded. “If we’re lucky, we might have Arthur join us soon enough”.
“Ve~”
…-…-…-…-…-…
so, at least one thing seems solved, hmm? well, please do drop a comment if you like :D
Gracias (Spanish) - thank you
Bonjour (French) - Good morning
Stronzo di un Francese (Italian) - Fucking Frenchman…
Come cazzo sei vestito?! (Italian) - How the hell are you dressed?!
Pour l’amour de… (French) - For the love of…
Author: me
Title: Shot of Honesty
Characters/Pairing: England, France, Italy, FrUKIta threesome. Brief appearance of Germany, Romano, Spain, America, Canada. (mentions of Spain/Romano)
Rating: R+ for flashbacks of smut
Warnings: threesome. Alcohol. England.
Summary: After their teams lost, France, England and Italy get together to drink their shame away. But then the next morning, when England wakes up…
---Shot of Honesty
Chapter 02: Forcing memories out
“Bonjour, Alfred! Bonjour, Matthew,” France strolled into the room with a bright smile, nodding at the two twins sitting at the table.
Alfred waved at him, too busy munching on a burger to be able to speak, and Canada smiled hesitantly at his once-caretaker, flustered that someone was taking notice of him.
France quickly lost interest on the two and scanned the room; only a few nations were already there for their usual meeting, but his eyes lit up once he realised Spain was already there, and that little Romano was with him.
With a last glance towards the door, expecting to see England coming in at anytime now, France strolled over to his best friend, sitting at his right side and smiling at him; Spain turned his attention from a very flustered Romano to France, and beamed up at him.
“Bonjour, Antonio~” France purred, patting his shoulder. “Congratulations on your win, it was an amazing game”.
Because yeah, France was not one to hold contempt towards his friend. The last game of the season between Holland and Spain had been great, and Spain definitely deserved the first place. Not that France was there for that, though.
“Gracias Francis!” Spain smiled brightly up at him, fingers intertwined with those of Romano, who was desperately trying to tug his hand away. “We watched it together, me and mi Romanito~”
“I bet you got your… reward afterwards, hmm?” France leered, wiggling his eyebrows at his friend.
Spain laughed loudly, nodding happily without any trace of shame, and Romano’s free fist collided with the back of his head, sending Spain face-flat on the table.
“Sh-shup up, you bastard! T-the hell are you saying?!”
“But Lovi~”
“I see… and where is little Feli?” France continued, easily ignoring the usual antics of the couple and looking around. He prided himself of being definitely smooth with his questions.
“That stupid little brother is late for the meeting again,” Romano muttered, looking to the side. “He keeps painting and painting all day”. He was clearly upset, and Spain gently tapped his shoulder, attempting to comfort him.
France frowned. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
The older of the Italies stared at him as if France had just said he’d like to eat England’s cooking. “Of course not, French bastard! Feli paints so much only when he’s upset… he barely comes out from that room to eat or sleep”.
“Oh, I see…”
“I wonder what the fuck is wrong with him… stupid brother…” but South Italy was clearly worried.
France’s eyes turned to the door, watching England stomp in; the Englishman stared up at him, then looked away hurriedly, face barely hiding his distaste. The sight made France look down, shaking his head.
Over a week had passed since the night the three of them had spent together, and ever since then, France had been unable to get through England’s guilt and anger. The English Nation had tried to make contact with Italy, but without receiving any answer, and France had tried going at his house, only to be left waiting on the entrance for hours.
The matches had been going on, culminating with Spain’s victory against Holland’s team, and France had hoped that in the world meeting after the last Football match, Italy would be present, and they would be able to talk.
He didn’t know why Italy had run away, and the fact that he didn’t know made him unsure.
Returning his attention to the Spaniard and his boyfriend, France tried to look nonchalant. “Ah, I’ve been missing my little Feli so much lately~ I wish to see him again~”
“Calm your frigging hormones, bastard! Feli will come for sure, he can’t avoid a world meeting… stronzo di un Francese…”
Still muttering under his breath Romano returned his attention to kicking Spain away from him, and France sighed, standing up and moving towards England.
The Englishman grunted as he saw him getting closer, but didn’t push him away, limiting himself to a growl.
“Stay away, Francis, it’s a bad day,” he warned.
France shrugged. With England, most of the days were bad ones… especially the last eight.
“Feli is going to be there, today,” he stated. He watched as England’s eye twitched, his hands clenching into fists. “Are we going to-”
“We are doing nothing,” England hurried to his seat, and France followed him.
Their antics were so usual for the rest of the nations already present that none of them spared any attention to the two, though they were all hoping they would not fight anytime soon -the meeting was about to start…
“You can’t keep on avoiding the subject, Arthur-”
“He is avoiding it. It’s clear what he thinks… he hates me. He’s disgusted. Afraid”.
“Arthur…”
“Do you want to talk about that with everybody around, Francis?” England sneered, pointing at the room that was filling up with nations. “Make it even more embarrassing not just for me, but for Feliciano, too?”
France looked around and finally sat down, brushing one hand through his hair.
He had to calm down. England was a stubborn idiot, but for once, he was right. He could not disrupt the meeting about these things. They’d have to corner Italy, so he could finally ask what was wrong, and why did he run away… but after the meeting.
The door of the room opened again, and France and England turned around at the same time, staring as Italy entered at Germany’s side.
The German Nation straightened his tie and looked around, nodding to himself in satisfaction, then motioned for Italy to go sit down, and was ignored as the Italian man seemed to be glued at his side.
France frowned. At his side, England also frowned.
Italy was chatting happily with Germany, but was definitely not in the right shape to be participating to a meeting -his clothes were worn out and covered with paint, from his sleeves to his pants, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
One of his hands kept clutching at Germany’s sleeve, and his eyes flickered towards England before returning to the blond man at his side, refusing to look away.
England felt the same pang of guilt that had been at his side for the last week and a half strike his heart again.
It was true -Italy was afraid of him. or maybe he hated him. Probably both.
“Ve~ Ludwig, Ludwig, can I paint you after the meeting?”
“Feliciano, go sit down! It is bad enough you are dressed like that for a formal meeting!” Germany grunted, pointing at the chair at Romano’s other side.
“Feliciano! Come cazzo sei vestito?!” South Italy stood up in rage. “Didn’t I tell you to change this morning?!”
“Ve~ I forgot, brother… sorry Ludwig…”
Smiling sheepishly, Italy made his way around the table, passing close to France and England without even looking at them, and sat down next to his brother; it was clear Romano was worried, as he didn’t mention his clothes anymore, nor his tired appearance.
After a moment, the two started conversing in Italian, though it was mostly Romano talking, and Italy playing with the documents in front of him.
Germany rolled his eyes and sat on his own chair at France’s side, shaking his head. “Let’s just start this meeting, please” he ordered. “Alfred, if you want…”
Scrambling up from his chair, thumping on his chest to swallow the last bites of his third burger, America smiled brightly and slurped down his coke. “Hahaha~ of course! I will be the one to commence!”
“I can’t accept this!”
With a sudden decision, France stood up, straightening up his best acting. Everybody turned to stare at him.
Pressing one hand dramatically against his chest, he turned to look to the side, pointing his other hand at Italy.
“I can’t bear to look at that hideous attire a second longer! It hurts my eyes… my poor petit Feli, wearing such horrid clothes… non, non! I won’t allow it!”
Ignoring Italy’s clearly panicked stare, he stomped over to him and grabbed his arm. His fingers tightened their hold on his wrist, and France stared deep into the other Nation’s eyes, continuing his acting as he pulled him away from the table and his brother.
“Fortunately for you, mon petit, I have a change of clothes ready within this same building… I always am organized for this stuff, of course… I’ll bring Feli back dressed like a normal, sane Nation, otherwise I won’t be able to follow a single point of the meeting!”
Without allowing any reply, the flabbergasted Nations staring at him in shock -though not surprised, as they were also used to such a quirky attitude- he tugged Italy outside of the meeting room.
If things went the way he hoped they would, then…
Shaking himself out of his stupor, England stood up, flushed and furious.
He knew what France was doing, and surely he would not allow that French pervert to do anything to Italy without him present -who knew how Italy felt? Who knew how he would react to the two that had…
“Francis! I’m coming with you! I won’t let you do anything perverted to him!”
Flushing more at his own words, knowing that he’d been the one doing the worst, he ran to the door, grimacing, and exited the room as well.
The corridor was completely silent, opposite to the soft chatters and buzzing that had been the constant background of the meeting room, and England faltered in his steps, finding himself facing France and a panicked Italy, who refused to look up at the French Nation and was still trying to tug his arm away.
“Ah… Felic-”
“We should move somewhere else to talk,” France took control of the situation again, and moved down the corridor, still pulling Italy with him.
England followed a few steps behind, watching Italy stumble to keep up with France’s pace, and feeling his heart tightening into his chest.
“Ve~ let me go…” Italy whined softly when France pushed him into a room, keeping the door open for England to get in, then closed it behind his back, locking it quickly and finally letting go of Italy’s wrist.
The Italian nation glanced around him, trembling a bit, but the room was just another, smaller, meeting area, with a round table and one chalkboard on the opposite wall. There was no way to get out other than the locked door in front of which France was staying.
Accepting defeat, Italy slumped down on the nearest chair, refusing to look at the two.
“Feli… what is the matter?” kneeling at the other Nation’s side, France gently pulled Italy’s chin up with one hand, caressing his cheek. “I… we were worried… you ran away in the morning, and you didn’t answer Arthur’s calls, nor did you let me in the house…”
Shaking his head, Italy curled more upon himself, shying away from France’s touch. “T-there is… nothing to say, ve~”
England tried to take a deep breath, but his heart was thumping wildly in his chest. It was clear, Italy was afraid of them. Of him. of France.
“Feli… please, we want to talk,” the Frenchman tried again, biting his lower lip. “We-”
“Ve~” shifting away from France, Italy still refused to stare at them. “The meeting…”
“The bloody meeting can wait!” England exploded.
His outburst made Italy jump up from his chair and slump down on the ground, sniffling. “Ve~ don’t hurt me! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“Shit… Feliciano… I’m sorry…” rubbing the bridge of his nose, England tried to calm down.
He felt like shit. He was angry, he was desperate -he wanted Italy to understand, to listen to them, but at the same time, he wanted to let him run away, because facing him meant facing what he’d done. “I didn’t mean to yell, I…”
Italy was still sobbing, and the sound was heart wrenching. “W-what do you want now?!” he cried out, slumping back on the seat and looking at the floor.
France looked up at him with a poignant stare, and England panicked.
This was it. He had to sort things out on his own, now.
He’d spent over a week trying to think the best way to talk with Italy, explain him that he was terribly sorry, that he hadn’t meant to hurt him, that what had happened was definitely not something he’d wanted, that-
“Feliciano…” he didn’t know how to start. “I…”
“You don’t need to say anything, Arthur… ve~”
Finally looking up at them, eyes filled with tears, Italy shook his head. “I h-heard you speaking then. I know what you said”.
England and France blinked in surprise, then their eyes widened.
In the kitchen, the morning after…
“Ah! Feliciano, I… I hadn’t meant to be brutal… I…” trying to recall what exactly he had said, England couldn’t really remember the exact words.
He’d been way more panicked then, he wasn’t sure what things he’d said. Something about his shame at what he’d done, something about…
“It was clear enough, Arthur.. you were drunk, it was a mistake… it was wrong-” Italy’s voice trembled as he continued, his hands clasped together in his lap, fingers white, “it disgusted you…”
England felt bile rush up to his mouth, and chocked on it. France tried to reach out, but Italy looked back down at his hands, refusing the touch.
“I… I didn’t mean that-” England felt his tone waver.
“Why are you trying t-to humiliate me now?” Italy sobbed, shaking his head. “I had thought… you had liked… I had thought…”
Head spinning, England tried to make sense to what Italy was asking him.
He didn’t want to humiliate him. he hadn’t meant to -why was everything moving down the wrong path? Facing Italy like this… it was just as wrong as what he’d done that night.
“Feliciano, I didn’t mean to scare you… or hurt you… what I did was… disgusting, not you”.
“Oh, pour l’amour de… Feli is talking about the sex, Arthur!” France slammed his hand against the table.
England’s cheeks coloured crimson. “A-ah…”
What could he reply to that? Italy had thought…
“How could I… I mean, I can’t like what I’ve done… that is… oh, bloody hell… what I mean is… of course I didn’t like it… how could I have liked doing that…”
Italy’s frame was trembling again, tears rolling down his cheeks, and England stopped. It was too complicated.
Just the few memories he had of that night were enough for England to know that it was a lie, he’d liked doing it -with both Italy and France, he’d…
But he couldn’t like that, at the same time! It was rape! Drunken actions he regretted!
It was disgusting… having liked that.
But he had to make it up somehow. He had to.
“Feliciano… I was drunk. I barely remember anything from that night… whatever I did… I regret hurting you. I stole something important, and for that, I-”
Italy blinked, tears stopping abruptly as he stared at England.
“W-what did you say…?”
England looked up, swallowing uneasily. “I regret hurting you. I regret having my way with you like that, even though… I don’t…” ashamed, he stared at France, vaguely angered that the French frog was staring at him too, blue eyes narrowed. “I only remember flashes of it. N-nothing much. If I said anything to you… if I hurt you… I…”
“Ve~”
England was startled out of his self-deprecation when one of Italy’s hands softly pressed over his own. Shocked at the gesture, England stared up, green eyes wide.
How could Italy… touch him after… after-
“You don’t remember, ve…?” Italy wiped away his tears and looked up at France. “Francis…?”
France gently shook his head, and offered his hand to Italy again. This time, the Italian nation took it, his demeanour changed completely; returning his gaze to England, Italy smiled a bit, though it wasn’t a bright smile like his usual ones.
It was small, and a bit bitter, a bit pained, but a smile.
How could he smile like this? How could he even look at England after…
“Ve~ it’s ok, Arthur…” his fingers rubbed England’s hand, almost comfortingly. “Please, don’t hurt yourself like this…”
The English Nation didn’t understand anymore.
Why was Italy suddenly calmer? Why was he…
“It changes nothing!” he yelled, shaking his hand out of Italy’s grip. “I hurt you! How can you be so understanding?!”
Italy blinked, but the small smile was still on his lips. “Well… I…” he looked to the side, staring at France for a moment, almost as if asking for support, then returned his attention to England. “I might not… have wished my… first time to be… under control of… alcohol,” he shrugged, embarrassed and flushed, and England felt ashamed when he realised that he found the sight cute. “But… but what happened… what you two did… it wasn’t…”
France’s grip on his hand tightened, and Italy nodded.
“Arthur, if you can, please try to remember what happened, ok? When you remember what you told me…” he flushed again “then we can talk again, ok, ve~?”
Italy took a deep, calming breath. He was still smiling sadly, but he didn’t look as tired and depressed anymore. Something had changed, and England was left baffled at this, unable to understand what had changed.
What had happened back then?
‘Did I perhaps tell something to Feliciano that made it ok for him to do what we…’
“I’m sorry if Arthur here is such a stubborn idiot,” France stated, smiling and holding Italy in his arms. “For a moment I had thought you, too, couldn’t remember…”
“Ve~” Italy snuggled into the French Nation’s arms, allowing him to wipe the last of his tears away, nudging at the paint on his clothes. “I was… upset because… his words… I thought…”
“No, Arthur is quite… hmmm, honest when he’s drunk,” France chuckled, clearly amused. “He thinks clearer when alcohol thinks for him”.
England felt like hitting him. Why did it feel like he was left out of a private joke that regarded him?! “The hell are you talking about?!”
Italy glanced at him, the same smile, a bit sad but warm at the same time, and shook his head slowly.
“Let’s go back to the meeting, ve~”
“What? But you need to change, first,” patting Italy’s head affectionately, France tugged him towards the door, unlocking it again. “I was not joking when I said I had better clothes for you…”
“Wait, wait a moment-” England moved towards them, still confused.
“I mean it, Arthur,” Italy replied. “If you can remember, you will understand. I will wait. Please do remember, ok?”
Leaving England in the room, France led Italy down the corridor again, one hand still pressed on the other’s shoulder, more to hold him up this time. The moment they turned around the corner, the Frenchman stopped and looked down into the troubled Italian man’s eyes.
“How are you feeling, Feli?”
Italy pressed one hand over his eyes, shoulders shaking a bit. His smile was hesitant now, trembling, his fatigue showing even more.
“R-relieved, I guess… ve~”
With a sigh, Italy leaned against France’s chest, nuzzling against it as he felt the older Nation’s arms wrap around him, warm and comforting.
“Why didn’t you contact me, Feli?”
“His words hurt, Francis… after… after… to hear that… I really thought…” sniffling, Italy closed his eyes again. “It hurt. I painted and painted, but his words still hurt, even after what he said before, to hear that the morning after… it wasn’t easy. It was so painful”.
France gently massaged Italy’s scalp, humming softly.
“I told you, Feli, that Arthur gets truly honest when he drinks too much. He can deny himself things when he’s sober, but he has no qualms in admitting what he wants when he has had enough alcohol through his veins”.
“Ve~” Italy shuffled a bit, then pulled away from the other again, sighing. “What if… what if he doesn’t remember?”
“Well…” France frowned. England was just as stubborn as a mule, but surely seeing that he had not hurt Italy would help him try to solve this, too. “I am sure he will. After all, his biggest fear was that you’d be afraid of him, or hate him. but you realised what happened, so that should be enough, for now”.
Leaning forwards, he caught Italy’s lips into a kiss.
“Ve~ thank you, Francis…”
With a chuckle, France opened a metal cupboard at the end of the corridor, and retrieved a suit.
“Ve~? Why do you have clothes here?”
“It’s a secret, mon cher Feli… now dress up, or we’ll be late”.
…-…-…-…-…-…
The remaining of the meeting, England couldn’t take his eyes away from Italy, every once in a while shifting to look at France, who was humming happily and pretending to take notes.
He really tried to pay attention to what the other Nations were saying -this was an important meeting, there were many things to talk about- but he just couldn’t.
Italy looked… the same as always.
He chatted with his brother and with Spain, he waved at Greece on the other end of the table, offering him some food since he looked thinner than usual, then he even started a chat with Egypt.
He couldn’t understand, yet he felt the weight of Italy’s request on him.
Remember.
Italy wanted him to remember? Why?
Was Italy lying? Was he just hiding everything?
… was it an elaborate prank played on him by France?
But no, because what he could remember was pretty real.
The feeling of France’s body pressing against his back, of his familiar hands caressing his chest, moving lower in that pattern France knew he liked…
The new, exhilarating feeling of smooth skin belonging to Italy, his pliant body arching to meet his own, lips parted to gasp as England bit down on his nipples…
England shivered and shook himself out of his thoughts. This was definitely not the right place to think about it; he was a pervert, yes, but this… what good would it be to indulge in such thoughts?
But there again…
Italy hadn’t said to remember that.
He’d said something about before… about something England supposedly told him.
Did he mean… before they had stumbled into France’s house?
How had that happened, then? They were drinking in a pub, and then, in France’s bed, limbs tangled together, naked…
America was standing up now for his turn to speak, but England ignored him.
Before that, they had been talking. Drinking and talking.
There was something…
Italy had smiled. He could remember it. He’d been teary, and sad, but… why had he smiled?
England frowned.
He wanted to remember.
That smile -Italy’s smile… the smile he could only vaguely remember from that night… it was worth remembering. He wanted to know what had caused that smile, and if remembering would make him able to see it again.
Not because he wanted to, of course. But because of the guilt. Because he wanted to know.
Maybe he would understand why France seemed to think that what they had done was ok. Maybe he would understand why Italy was suddenly ok with it, too.
Remember…
“Arthur?”
England blinked and suddenly found himself staring right into France’s face. Too close. Definitely too close.
“Bloody hell?!”
“The meeting ended around five minutes ago…” with a superior smirk, France stood up and patted him on the head. “I wanted to warn you before you stay here when they shut the place up for the night”.
Looking around, England realised, much to his shame, that most of the Nations were already standing up and leaving.
He’d missed the whole meeting, lost in thought.
France stared at him with a knowing face, then leered. “Hmmm… or are you kinkier than I first thought?”
Jumping up from his seat and away from the French frog, England growled and stomped towards the door, grunting at France. He didn’t need his jokes. “Stay away from me, frog!”
“Arthur…” France sighed. he was easy to rile up, but he truly wished he could be less grouchy and more honest with himself.
“Francis…?”
Turning around, France opened his arms and waited for Italy to jump into them. The Italian nation did so, snuggling against his chest and sighing.
“I’m tired…” he murmured. “Will you hold me for a bit?”
Humming with a satisfied smile, France held the Italian nation close and gently massaged his shoulders; he clearly needed to rest for a bit.
“Want to come over to my house, little Feli?”
“I’m also hungry, ve~ will you cook for me?” looking up with his best puppy eyes, Italy tapped the older nation on the chest.
With a chuckle, France nodded. “If we’re lucky, we might have Arthur join us soon enough”.
“Ve~”
…-…-…-…-…-…
so, at least one thing seems solved, hmm? well, please do drop a comment if you like :D
Gracias (Spanish) - thank you
Bonjour (French) - Good morning
Stronzo di un Francese (Italian) - Fucking Frenchman…
Come cazzo sei vestito?! (Italian) - How the hell are you dressed?!
Pour l’amour de… (French) - For the love of…