[Fanfic] Chance Meeting
Title: Chance Meeting
Pairing: France -> Norway
Rating: 13+ for France being himself
Length: ~1000 words
Summary: Norway unexpectedly encounters France while having coffee in a hotel cafe. He is less than pleased about this.
Written for Nate, because he made me like these two.
In a hotel far away from home Norway rested back and aimlessly watched the sunlit street through the large lobby window. The mug from the hotel's coffee bar was warm in his hands, and he cupped it gently as he looked out at the busy street.
The annual conference gathering of European nations had gone well so far. This year Estonia played host to it, welcoming them all with a charming, eager smile, trying a little too hard to impress. The day's endless stream of talks and papers and superficial politeness would be wrapped up that evening with an outing to a particular bar. A party, Estonia had called it.
Norway had declined when faced with his host's hopeful invitation during a break between speakers. Inexpensive Estonian booze was all well and good, but an evening outing with his fellow nations was another thing entirely. With that, he had turned his eyes toward the centre of the room again, making an effort to look attentive so that he wouldn't have to see Estonia's disappointment.
No, Norway thought as he set the mug on the coffee table and reached for his novel. After an entire day surrounded by far more noise than he cared for, and two more days of this to follow besides, there were other ways that he would much rather spend his small amount of free time. With that, he opened the book, rested back in the low armchair, and prepared himself for a moment of sorely-needed relaxation.
The hands that settled on his shoulders nearly made him jump out of his skin. Startled, he only barely registered the words that accompanied them: "Why Norvège, what a surprise to see you here!"
Norway exhaled and turned the page and tried to ignore the way those long fingers danced over his shoulders, as if feeling out and appraising the quality of the fabric of his dress-shirt. "Shouldn't be surprised, seein's I was invited here. Same as you," he said - and, as an afterthought, added, "Hands off, France."
"Of course, of course. But my dear Norvège, I simply assumed you would be sulking in your hotel room the entire time. Look, you have made it all the way to the lobby on your own. Wonders never cease! There may be hope for you yet."
Norway frowned. In the window, the glare of the lobby’s lights produced just enough reflection that he could barely make out the form of himself in the armchair, and of France behind him, bending over him, his hands on his shoulders, his fingers grazing the back of his neck, his mouth far too close to Norway's ear.
"Didn't I just tell you to -" He trailed off, his eyes widening as France began to knead at his shoulders, pressing and searching and seeking out knots. In a second, Norway caught his breath, and wished he hadn't lost it to begin with.
"Th' hell're you doing?" he hissed, glaring at France's reflection in lieu of turning around and doing it to his face. "We're in public."
France waved a hand, as if saying that he didn't care one bit about that, and resumed his work. "You are as tense as a wound-up spring, and I am simply offering my expert assistance. You don't have to thank me for it."
"I ain't -"
"With all this stress, an outing tonight would do very well for you, and -"
"'M not -"
"And of course," France continued, seeming to ignore the fact that the tension was entirely his own doing as he dipped his head to murmur by Norway's ear, "Of course, later tonight, I would naturally be perfectly willing to show you just how good I am with my hands in, ah, other capacities, if you understand my meaning, hmm?"
Norway shivered as France's lips grazed his ear. It was bad enough that he dared to get that close, but even worse, just as he opened his mouth to give him a piece of his mind, he felt one of France's fingers coil around the flyaway curl of hair at the base of his neck.
He went rigid. The rest of France's comments barely registered, though he was dimly aware that it was some draf about how "perhaps even you can appreciate that." He could barely breathe until France’s hold on his hair eased and the curl slipped from his fingers again.
As soon as it did, he pulled away, standing and gathering his jacket without a word. Norway knew he was blushing from tip to toe, and when he turned to shoot France a glare, the look on the other nation's face only confirmed it. France was smiling as if the entire thing was a particularly amusing joke, a private game between the two of them.
"Is there a problem?" France asked, quirking an eyebrow with a perfect look of faux bafflement. The only thing that kept Norway from grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and giving him a few choice words was the fact that they were in public. It wouldn't do to lose his temper with humans nearby.
Instead, he turned and left. He could feel France's gaze on him as he made his way out, crawling all over him, sweeping up and down, and it wouldn’t have surprised him one bit to discover that in his mind, France was laughing at him while he undressed him with his eyes.
It wasn't until Norway was out in the fresh air and the late afternoon sunlight that he could breathe properly again. He shrugged on his jacket, tucked his book under his arm, and after a moment’s thought, headed off in the direction of Old Town. There was a certain cafe on a tiny side-street which he was sure he could find again; as he remembered, it had excellent coffee and was, above all else, very quiet. He could certainly do with some of that.
And this time, Norway thought as he made his way toward the maze of slim, winding streets, he would choose to sit with his back to a wall.
Pairing: France -> Norway
Rating: 13+ for France being himself
Length: ~1000 words
Summary: Norway unexpectedly encounters France while having coffee in a hotel cafe. He is less than pleased about this.
Written for Nate, because he made me like these two.
In a hotel far away from home Norway rested back and aimlessly watched the sunlit street through the large lobby window. The mug from the hotel's coffee bar was warm in his hands, and he cupped it gently as he looked out at the busy street.
The annual conference gathering of European nations had gone well so far. This year Estonia played host to it, welcoming them all with a charming, eager smile, trying a little too hard to impress. The day's endless stream of talks and papers and superficial politeness would be wrapped up that evening with an outing to a particular bar. A party, Estonia had called it.
Norway had declined when faced with his host's hopeful invitation during a break between speakers. Inexpensive Estonian booze was all well and good, but an evening outing with his fellow nations was another thing entirely. With that, he had turned his eyes toward the centre of the room again, making an effort to look attentive so that he wouldn't have to see Estonia's disappointment.
No, Norway thought as he set the mug on the coffee table and reached for his novel. After an entire day surrounded by far more noise than he cared for, and two more days of this to follow besides, there were other ways that he would much rather spend his small amount of free time. With that, he opened the book, rested back in the low armchair, and prepared himself for a moment of sorely-needed relaxation.
The hands that settled on his shoulders nearly made him jump out of his skin. Startled, he only barely registered the words that accompanied them: "Why Norvège, what a surprise to see you here!"
Norway exhaled and turned the page and tried to ignore the way those long fingers danced over his shoulders, as if feeling out and appraising the quality of the fabric of his dress-shirt. "Shouldn't be surprised, seein's I was invited here. Same as you," he said - and, as an afterthought, added, "Hands off, France."
"Of course, of course. But my dear Norvège, I simply assumed you would be sulking in your hotel room the entire time. Look, you have made it all the way to the lobby on your own. Wonders never cease! There may be hope for you yet."
Norway frowned. In the window, the glare of the lobby’s lights produced just enough reflection that he could barely make out the form of himself in the armchair, and of France behind him, bending over him, his hands on his shoulders, his fingers grazing the back of his neck, his mouth far too close to Norway's ear.
"Didn't I just tell you to -" He trailed off, his eyes widening as France began to knead at his shoulders, pressing and searching and seeking out knots. In a second, Norway caught his breath, and wished he hadn't lost it to begin with.
"Th' hell're you doing?" he hissed, glaring at France's reflection in lieu of turning around and doing it to his face. "We're in public."
France waved a hand, as if saying that he didn't care one bit about that, and resumed his work. "You are as tense as a wound-up spring, and I am simply offering my expert assistance. You don't have to thank me for it."
"I ain't -"
"With all this stress, an outing tonight would do very well for you, and -"
"'M not -"
"And of course," France continued, seeming to ignore the fact that the tension was entirely his own doing as he dipped his head to murmur by Norway's ear, "Of course, later tonight, I would naturally be perfectly willing to show you just how good I am with my hands in, ah, other capacities, if you understand my meaning, hmm?"
Norway shivered as France's lips grazed his ear. It was bad enough that he dared to get that close, but even worse, just as he opened his mouth to give him a piece of his mind, he felt one of France's fingers coil around the flyaway curl of hair at the base of his neck.
He went rigid. The rest of France's comments barely registered, though he was dimly aware that it was some draf about how "perhaps even you can appreciate that." He could barely breathe until France’s hold on his hair eased and the curl slipped from his fingers again.
As soon as it did, he pulled away, standing and gathering his jacket without a word. Norway knew he was blushing from tip to toe, and when he turned to shoot France a glare, the look on the other nation's face only confirmed it. France was smiling as if the entire thing was a particularly amusing joke, a private game between the two of them.
"Is there a problem?" France asked, quirking an eyebrow with a perfect look of faux bafflement. The only thing that kept Norway from grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and giving him a few choice words was the fact that they were in public. It wouldn't do to lose his temper with humans nearby.
Instead, he turned and left. He could feel France's gaze on him as he made his way out, crawling all over him, sweeping up and down, and it wouldn’t have surprised him one bit to discover that in his mind, France was laughing at him while he undressed him with his eyes.
It wasn't until Norway was out in the fresh air and the late afternoon sunlight that he could breathe properly again. He shrugged on his jacket, tucked his book under his arm, and after a moment’s thought, headed off in the direction of Old Town. There was a certain cafe on a tiny side-street which he was sure he could find again; as he remembered, it had excellent coffee and was, above all else, very quiet. He could certainly do with some of that.
And this time, Norway thought as he made his way toward the maze of slim, winding streets, he would choose to sit with his back to a wall.