[Fic] To Be Romantic
Title: To Be Romantic
Author: Me! cassandracsenta
Rating: PG?
Warnings: Uh... Weird writing style?
Characters: EnglandxSpain
Notes: So, I got kind of excited over this request over at the Kink Meme: England is with Spain, a very romantic and passionate nation...and therefore, the Brit is beside himself with worry that the other will get tired of his stuffiness and unromanticism. So he goes overboard: flowers, chocolates, rose petals and candlelight, sweet music...and France’s advice.
(France is having the time of his life)
Bonus. Past references to France/Spain, and present France/anyone who isn’t Canada.
I finished my (short) fill within an hour or so only to find that the request has been screened... OTL Anyway! OP, whoever you are, I hope you like this. Even if it's a bit weird. ^^;
Summary: England tries to be romantic and sets up a romantic surprise. Spain catches him.
Spain thought the red carnations were beautiful, soft and fragrant against the new silk sheets of England's (their?) bed. He thought the gold-wrapped chocolate bites in a pretty little bowl on his side of the bed were really sweet. He liked chocolates, you know? Even more so when they were in easy reach. And the candlelight made the room look soft and intimate and romantic, very different from the way it usually looked, which was very neat and very proper and very England (And England never let him eat on the bed ever. And now he had chocolates on his side of the bed!).
There was even music!
That's Edith Piaf, wasn't it? Yes, he would know that distinct, warbling voice anywhere. He wouldn't be able to mistake her for anyone else after spending so much time over at France's and the French Nation refusing to play anything else whenever he's in one of his self-indulgent moods (which was a lot of the time). So yes, he knew Edith Piaf and she's now singing and bringing back memories.
Of soft blond hair, smiling blue eyes, French affections, sumptuous food and wine, lazy, loving afternoons and a great love that was marked with both romance and passion.
What did you expect from two romantic Nations, really?
But that was in the past now and Spain was all right with that. France was his first love and he will always have a place in his heart, but that doesn't mean he was unable to love another in much the same capacity, if not just a bit more.
Scruffy blond hair, bushy eyebrows, British reserve, strange culinary concoctions, rainy, but cozy evenings, and a true love that took forever to be realized and achieved.
It seemed that England had recovered from his shock of Spain suddenly appearing in the middle of his careful and meticulous preparations. Now he was sputtering and flailing and blushing, entirely embarrassed after his romantic, Spanish lover had taken in everything all too quietly with just that usual, but now strangely unusual smile on his face.
How to explain? How not to embarrass himself (even more)? How to kill France who was probably off celebrating his abject humiliation somewhere with someone (Scotland, maybe, to just make it all the more fantastique and terrible somehow? Or maybe Prussia. Celebrating the AWESOME failness of it all. England wouldn't put it past the two idiots. This was a set up. A complete and utter set up. And those two were going to--)
Spain sighed following the short silence that followed after he took England into his arms and effectively stopped his lover's flailing and stuttering. He smiled as he held the blond Nation to him, snuggling and nuzzling against him. He brushed a kiss against a still-red cheek. "You didn't have to do this for me..."
Because Spain knew this was not England. Not with the flowers and the chocolates and the candlelight, especially not the music. Though he did try to be romantic at times, in his own little ways. A poem, a sonnet. Holding his hand when no one is around and not letting go as long as they were alone. Scones that were charred and crusty, but made with love, nonetheless. Giving up his scarf when Spain was cold. It was all England's way of being romantic and Spain will never have him any other way.
Spain smelled of cinnamon, coffee and sunshine. It's warm in his arms, warm and pleasant and comfortable. England felt the love there and since no one else was around, he burrowed into it all. He said he didn't need to do it, but England felt strongly that he had to.
This Nation of sun and passion. How was he to keep him with him when they were so different? When Spain was used to open affection and lavish romance and he was just... not? Spain had been with France. How was he to compete with that? Just... How?
"...Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?"
"...You made some?"
"Mmhm~ Thick and sweet, just like how you like it."
"...Right..."
"Well?"
"...All right."
"We can cuddle on your couch in front of the fire! It's such a cool night. Perfect for snuggling, don't you think?"
"Yes..."
Green met green, coaxing smiles from both, then Spain took England's hand and led him out the bedroom door. They still have a lot of time to be romantic in their own way.
Spain's hand was warm in his own, warm and solid. He tightened his grip a little and of course Spain hardly noticed. He just squeezed back, maybe a playful, loving gesture, but that's it. England doubted he knew about his thoughts.
They may have left his overdecorated, romantic room behind, but it was as if he never left. His thoughts still remained.
How was he to keep this beautiful, loving Nation?
Just how?
~*~
More Notes:
The first parts were written to Edith Piaf's Je Ne Regrette Rien on repeat and the second part with Queen's Love of My Life and the Beatles' I Wanna Hold Your Hand on repeat. Haha. XD
Author: Me! cassandracsenta
Rating: PG?
Warnings: Uh... Weird writing style?
Characters: EnglandxSpain
Notes: So, I got kind of excited over this request over at the Kink Meme: England is with Spain, a very romantic and passionate nation...and therefore, the Brit is beside himself with worry that the other will get tired of his stuffiness and unromanticism. So he goes overboard: flowers, chocolates, rose petals and candlelight, sweet music...and France’s advice.
(France is having the time of his life)
Bonus. Past references to France/Spain, and present France/anyone who isn’t Canada.
I finished my (short) fill within an hour or so only to find that the request has been screened... OTL Anyway! OP, whoever you are, I hope you like this. Even if it's a bit weird. ^^;
Summary: England tries to be romantic and sets up a romantic surprise. Spain catches him.
Spain thought the red carnations were beautiful, soft and fragrant against the new silk sheets of England's (their?) bed. He thought the gold-wrapped chocolate bites in a pretty little bowl on his side of the bed were really sweet. He liked chocolates, you know? Even more so when they were in easy reach. And the candlelight made the room look soft and intimate and romantic, very different from the way it usually looked, which was very neat and very proper and very England (And England never let him eat on the bed ever. And now he had chocolates on his side of the bed!).
There was even music!
That's Edith Piaf, wasn't it? Yes, he would know that distinct, warbling voice anywhere. He wouldn't be able to mistake her for anyone else after spending so much time over at France's and the French Nation refusing to play anything else whenever he's in one of his self-indulgent moods (which was a lot of the time). So yes, he knew Edith Piaf and she's now singing and bringing back memories.
Of soft blond hair, smiling blue eyes, French affections, sumptuous food and wine, lazy, loving afternoons and a great love that was marked with both romance and passion.
What did you expect from two romantic Nations, really?
But that was in the past now and Spain was all right with that. France was his first love and he will always have a place in his heart, but that doesn't mean he was unable to love another in much the same capacity, if not just a bit more.
Scruffy blond hair, bushy eyebrows, British reserve, strange culinary concoctions, rainy, but cozy evenings, and a true love that took forever to be realized and achieved.
It seemed that England had recovered from his shock of Spain suddenly appearing in the middle of his careful and meticulous preparations. Now he was sputtering and flailing and blushing, entirely embarrassed after his romantic, Spanish lover had taken in everything all too quietly with just that usual, but now strangely unusual smile on his face.
How to explain? How not to embarrass himself (even more)? How to kill France who was probably off celebrating his abject humiliation somewhere with someone (Scotland, maybe, to just make it all the more fantastique and terrible somehow? Or maybe Prussia. Celebrating the AWESOME failness of it all. England wouldn't put it past the two idiots. This was a set up. A complete and utter set up. And those two were going to--)
Spain sighed following the short silence that followed after he took England into his arms and effectively stopped his lover's flailing and stuttering. He smiled as he held the blond Nation to him, snuggling and nuzzling against him. He brushed a kiss against a still-red cheek. "You didn't have to do this for me..."
Because Spain knew this was not England. Not with the flowers and the chocolates and the candlelight, especially not the music. Though he did try to be romantic at times, in his own little ways. A poem, a sonnet. Holding his hand when no one is around and not letting go as long as they were alone. Scones that were charred and crusty, but made with love, nonetheless. Giving up his scarf when Spain was cold. It was all England's way of being romantic and Spain will never have him any other way.
Spain smelled of cinnamon, coffee and sunshine. It's warm in his arms, warm and pleasant and comfortable. England felt the love there and since no one else was around, he burrowed into it all. He said he didn't need to do it, but England felt strongly that he had to.
This Nation of sun and passion. How was he to keep him with him when they were so different? When Spain was used to open affection and lavish romance and he was just... not? Spain had been with France. How was he to compete with that? Just... How?
"...Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?"
"...You made some?"
"Mmhm~ Thick and sweet, just like how you like it."
"...Right..."
"Well?"
"...All right."
"We can cuddle on your couch in front of the fire! It's such a cool night. Perfect for snuggling, don't you think?"
"Yes..."
Green met green, coaxing smiles from both, then Spain took England's hand and led him out the bedroom door. They still have a lot of time to be romantic in their own way.
Spain's hand was warm in his own, warm and solid. He tightened his grip a little and of course Spain hardly noticed. He just squeezed back, maybe a playful, loving gesture, but that's it. England doubted he knew about his thoughts.
They may have left his overdecorated, romantic room behind, but it was as if he never left. His thoughts still remained.
How was he to keep this beautiful, loving Nation?
Just how?
~*~
More Notes:
The first parts were written to Edith Piaf's Je Ne Regrette Rien on repeat and the second part with Queen's Love of My Life and the Beatles' I Wanna Hold Your Hand on repeat. Haha. XD