[Hetalia] "What I Want?"
Title: "What I Want?"
Author: shuriken7
Claim: England
Character(s): England -> America, France
Table/Prompt: Romance/1. Yearning
Word Count: 1789
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post-Civil War. Sequal to Gone By Daylight. England can't get over that night, and he needs some advice... even if it's the last person he wants to ask.
He couldn't forget it. England lay awake in his bed, he was not sure how many nights in a row, but his mind would not let it go. It would not let go of the feeling of America's lips against his, the feeling of his hands on his shoulders, the touch of his lips to his neck. The smell of the alcohol that could have made it all a lie. He groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillows to cover his head. Nothing could drown out the sound of America's whisper, "I love you, England."
He flung the pillow off the bed, satisfied that it tipped the wash basin over. The clang stopped it for at least a moment. He sent the servant who came to check on him away as soon as the man arrived. He needed something to make him forget. He needed something else. He got up and called the man back, telling him to get his horse ready and to send for a boat to be readied at the dock. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, he needed someone right now. And unfortunately the first person who came to mind was not possible, and that left one other. He pulled on his riding clothes with few thoughts in his head except getting away from the bed that America had lain on with him, even if the younger man had been in a drunken stupor. Just looking at the sheets made his mind imagine what it would have been like if he had no conscience, if he had just let America give him the things that he offered. He knew it was for the best, but his heart had a hard time believing it.
He rode hard and fast, even the darkness with the ocassional oil lamp not enough to calm him. England tried to let himself fall into a bit of a stupor, just focusing on the pound of the horse's hooves and the rushing of leaves past his head. His mind had just began to wander when an errant branch caught him across his left brow and he stopped for a moment, cursing his misfortune. He kicked the steed on, the cut not too bad enough to stop. He didn't stop until he could smell the ocean. He gave his horse over to the man waiting for him at the dock, throwing the rope off and striking out into those open waters. The boat seemed to direct itself across the Channel. The constant movement of the ship and the need for readjustments kept him busy, and it kept him from thinking about what he was about to do.
He was surprised when he found France waiting for him on the dock. "You know you should really learn to send a telegram first, England."
"I was planning on ruining your evening." he replied. France smirked at him and gave him a teasing bow, gesturing towards his home. England knew the way well and they walked in silence. He could sense France watching him, judging him, trying to figure out what would bring him to his shores in the middle of the night. England was uncomfortable, feeling as though the eyes of every person they passed stared directly inside, knowing exactly about the darkness in his heart. He breathed a sigh of relief once the door closed behind France.
He turned and pushed France against the door, leaning up to brush their lips together. France didn't dissapoint him with the way he kissed back. It wasn't until he was sliding his fingers through the buttons of France's shirt that France reached for his hands and held on to them. England broke away and yanked his hands back. He sank into one of France's armchairs, feeling angrier and more humiliated than he had before. He groaned, putting his face into his hands. "God damn it France!" he cursed.
He heard France sigh and lean up from the door, going over to sit on the sofa by the chair. He reached out a hand and put it on his knee. England shifted so France couldn't touch him. "Normally I would be happy to oblige you, my friend. But I can tell it is not me that you want, which makes me wonder why you are here." He offered him a handkerchief to dry the blood on his forehead. England dabbed at the small wound, cursing the stupid branch again.
"I have no reason to be here if you won't."
"And yet you do not move and came here in the middle of the night."
"Shove off, France."
"You are in my home." he replied cooly. England could sense the bemused expression that France must be wearing at the spectacle he was making. He knew he must look quite the child sitting curled up in the chair as he was. He sighed and tried to unwind. For just a moment he wanted to go back to the place where he could rely on France, even though it was hardly true anymore.
"I... need you." France raised an eyebrow, "Not like that, I was just hoping you would distract me. And don't act hurt over that, I know you don't really care."
France shrugged, "Then we can just be ourselves today. I swear that whatever you confide in me will only be between us."
England bit his lip, they had made promises like this more than once. They had known each other for longer than they could count, and sometimes they just needed the person who knew them as well as they knew themselves, even if there were problems between them politically. He nodded and opened his mouth to speak, "It's America..."
"I told you not to get involved..."
"I know you bloody well told me! It's too fucking late now!" he shouted, glaring at him. France looked a little taken aback.
"I'm sorry, England. What happened?"
England flushed, suddenly feeling as though his tongue were made of lead, "France... I... I have feelings for him."
He colored darker, knowing the terrible truth of those words when he let them out to someone else. He cared about America in a way he shouldn't. France gave him a pitying expression, "Angleterre, a blind man would recognize that you have feelings for him. I had a feeling you wouldn't be able to stay away."
"He was hurting so badly... and I felt as though my heart were being torn out. I... I... I..." the words wouldn't come.
"...you love him?" France asked, and England started, France said it so casually... "You yearn for him?"
England furrowed his brow, "That sounds so lewd."
"Do you deny it?" France smirked. England opened and closed his mouth several times, wanting to refute the assertion.
He sighed in defeat and shook his head.
"When he visited you last... did you act on it? What did he do? Were you rejected?" France asked the last question with as much delicacy as he could muster, which ultimately wasn't much. England looked at him between his fingers, feeling even more embarrassed. However, he lowered his hands and stared down at the tips of his shoes.
"No, he had been drinking and I'm sure his head wasn't in a good place. He probably doesn't know what he feels. But he..." He raised his fingers to his lips, he caught sight of France's face, "For God's sake! Don't look at me like I am the most pathetic person on the planet!"
"Do you think he knows? How you feel?"
"I don't know, I think he may suspect. Confederacy practically threw himself at me so... he may have said something. Don't look at me like that!"
France shook his head, "For someone who has risen so high, you sure do end up stepping in it."
"That's not fair, you don't do yourself any favors either."
"Point taken, but... Angleterre, you have made things most complicated for yourself. It was like when you and I were young..." France looked at him pointedly.
"Shut up, we were stupid back then."
"You do not think you are being stupid for America now?" France sighed and came over to kneel by his chair. England looked at him, wondering what he wanted now, "I knew, the moment you lay eyes on him that you were changed. Maybe not your government, maybe not your people, but you. Sometimes we have those effects on each other. I've been around longer than you, I've seen it happen."
"France... I don't know what I should do..." He cursed himself inwardly as soon as the words slipped through his lips. He didn't want to show any weakness in front of France... even though he was probably giving away more than he wanted just by sitting in France's armchair. France reached over and patted his knee before standing up and walking out of the room. England wasn't entirely sure why he was leaving, but his curiosity was answered when a wine glass was dangled in front of his face. He accepted it and downed it in one swallow. France filled it up immediately.
"Problems like these need good wine." he said. England tried to drink more slowly, not wanting to make any more embarrassing slips in judgement. Yet before he knew what was happening the drink was downed. France was right there with the bottle, thankfully being silent. In the silence England began to chew over a question that he really didn't want to have to ask.
"France... what would you do?" he cringed as it came out, sensing he wouldn't like the answer.
France gave him a rakish smile, "I think you know what I would do."
He knew it, he didn't like the answer. He frowned and glared at the other nation, "I am not propositioning him the next time I see him."
"Your loss, my friend, such an action rarely fails me." France said, flipping his hair over his shoulder. England reached over and punched him in the arm. France gave him a hurt look for a moment before smiling. "There's the England I know. Do you want my opinion or not?"
"Do I have a choice?" he groaned, slumping back into his chair.
"You need to tell him how you feel." England gave him an incredulous look, "Don't look at me that way Angleterre, you will not know how he feels until you say something! Love can not happen if you keep everything bottled up inside!"
England sighed and slumped back in the chair, before he reached for the bottle of wine. He was going to need a lot more drink if he was going to even give France's suggestion a second thought.
Author: shuriken7
Claim: England
Character(s): England -> America, France
Table/Prompt: Romance/1. Yearning
Word Count: 1789
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post-Civil War. Sequal to Gone By Daylight. England can't get over that night, and he needs some advice... even if it's the last person he wants to ask.
He couldn't forget it. England lay awake in his bed, he was not sure how many nights in a row, but his mind would not let it go. It would not let go of the feeling of America's lips against his, the feeling of his hands on his shoulders, the touch of his lips to his neck. The smell of the alcohol that could have made it all a lie. He groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillows to cover his head. Nothing could drown out the sound of America's whisper, "I love you, England."
He flung the pillow off the bed, satisfied that it tipped the wash basin over. The clang stopped it for at least a moment. He sent the servant who came to check on him away as soon as the man arrived. He needed something to make him forget. He needed something else. He got up and called the man back, telling him to get his horse ready and to send for a boat to be readied at the dock. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, he needed someone right now. And unfortunately the first person who came to mind was not possible, and that left one other. He pulled on his riding clothes with few thoughts in his head except getting away from the bed that America had lain on with him, even if the younger man had been in a drunken stupor. Just looking at the sheets made his mind imagine what it would have been like if he had no conscience, if he had just let America give him the things that he offered. He knew it was for the best, but his heart had a hard time believing it.
He rode hard and fast, even the darkness with the ocassional oil lamp not enough to calm him. England tried to let himself fall into a bit of a stupor, just focusing on the pound of the horse's hooves and the rushing of leaves past his head. His mind had just began to wander when an errant branch caught him across his left brow and he stopped for a moment, cursing his misfortune. He kicked the steed on, the cut not too bad enough to stop. He didn't stop until he could smell the ocean. He gave his horse over to the man waiting for him at the dock, throwing the rope off and striking out into those open waters. The boat seemed to direct itself across the Channel. The constant movement of the ship and the need for readjustments kept him busy, and it kept him from thinking about what he was about to do.
He was surprised when he found France waiting for him on the dock. "You know you should really learn to send a telegram first, England."
"I was planning on ruining your evening." he replied. France smirked at him and gave him a teasing bow, gesturing towards his home. England knew the way well and they walked in silence. He could sense France watching him, judging him, trying to figure out what would bring him to his shores in the middle of the night. England was uncomfortable, feeling as though the eyes of every person they passed stared directly inside, knowing exactly about the darkness in his heart. He breathed a sigh of relief once the door closed behind France.
He turned and pushed France against the door, leaning up to brush their lips together. France didn't dissapoint him with the way he kissed back. It wasn't until he was sliding his fingers through the buttons of France's shirt that France reached for his hands and held on to them. England broke away and yanked his hands back. He sank into one of France's armchairs, feeling angrier and more humiliated than he had before. He groaned, putting his face into his hands. "God damn it France!" he cursed.
He heard France sigh and lean up from the door, going over to sit on the sofa by the chair. He reached out a hand and put it on his knee. England shifted so France couldn't touch him. "Normally I would be happy to oblige you, my friend. But I can tell it is not me that you want, which makes me wonder why you are here." He offered him a handkerchief to dry the blood on his forehead. England dabbed at the small wound, cursing the stupid branch again.
"I have no reason to be here if you won't."
"And yet you do not move and came here in the middle of the night."
"Shove off, France."
"You are in my home." he replied cooly. England could sense the bemused expression that France must be wearing at the spectacle he was making. He knew he must look quite the child sitting curled up in the chair as he was. He sighed and tried to unwind. For just a moment he wanted to go back to the place where he could rely on France, even though it was hardly true anymore.
"I... need you." France raised an eyebrow, "Not like that, I was just hoping you would distract me. And don't act hurt over that, I know you don't really care."
France shrugged, "Then we can just be ourselves today. I swear that whatever you confide in me will only be between us."
England bit his lip, they had made promises like this more than once. They had known each other for longer than they could count, and sometimes they just needed the person who knew them as well as they knew themselves, even if there were problems between them politically. He nodded and opened his mouth to speak, "It's America..."
"I told you not to get involved..."
"I know you bloody well told me! It's too fucking late now!" he shouted, glaring at him. France looked a little taken aback.
"I'm sorry, England. What happened?"
England flushed, suddenly feeling as though his tongue were made of lead, "France... I... I have feelings for him."
He colored darker, knowing the terrible truth of those words when he let them out to someone else. He cared about America in a way he shouldn't. France gave him a pitying expression, "Angleterre, a blind man would recognize that you have feelings for him. I had a feeling you wouldn't be able to stay away."
"He was hurting so badly... and I felt as though my heart were being torn out. I... I... I..." the words wouldn't come.
"...you love him?" France asked, and England started, France said it so casually... "You yearn for him?"
England furrowed his brow, "That sounds so lewd."
"Do you deny it?" France smirked. England opened and closed his mouth several times, wanting to refute the assertion.
He sighed in defeat and shook his head.
"When he visited you last... did you act on it? What did he do? Were you rejected?" France asked the last question with as much delicacy as he could muster, which ultimately wasn't much. England looked at him between his fingers, feeling even more embarrassed. However, he lowered his hands and stared down at the tips of his shoes.
"No, he had been drinking and I'm sure his head wasn't in a good place. He probably doesn't know what he feels. But he..." He raised his fingers to his lips, he caught sight of France's face, "For God's sake! Don't look at me like I am the most pathetic person on the planet!"
"Do you think he knows? How you feel?"
"I don't know, I think he may suspect. Confederacy practically threw himself at me so... he may have said something. Don't look at me like that!"
France shook his head, "For someone who has risen so high, you sure do end up stepping in it."
"That's not fair, you don't do yourself any favors either."
"Point taken, but... Angleterre, you have made things most complicated for yourself. It was like when you and I were young..." France looked at him pointedly.
"Shut up, we were stupid back then."
"You do not think you are being stupid for America now?" France sighed and came over to kneel by his chair. England looked at him, wondering what he wanted now, "I knew, the moment you lay eyes on him that you were changed. Maybe not your government, maybe not your people, but you. Sometimes we have those effects on each other. I've been around longer than you, I've seen it happen."
"France... I don't know what I should do..." He cursed himself inwardly as soon as the words slipped through his lips. He didn't want to show any weakness in front of France... even though he was probably giving away more than he wanted just by sitting in France's armchair. France reached over and patted his knee before standing up and walking out of the room. England wasn't entirely sure why he was leaving, but his curiosity was answered when a wine glass was dangled in front of his face. He accepted it and downed it in one swallow. France filled it up immediately.
"Problems like these need good wine." he said. England tried to drink more slowly, not wanting to make any more embarrassing slips in judgement. Yet before he knew what was happening the drink was downed. France was right there with the bottle, thankfully being silent. In the silence England began to chew over a question that he really didn't want to have to ask.
"France... what would you do?" he cringed as it came out, sensing he wouldn't like the answer.
France gave him a rakish smile, "I think you know what I would do."
He knew it, he didn't like the answer. He frowned and glared at the other nation, "I am not propositioning him the next time I see him."
"Your loss, my friend, such an action rarely fails me." France said, flipping his hair over his shoulder. England reached over and punched him in the arm. France gave him a hurt look for a moment before smiling. "There's the England I know. Do you want my opinion or not?"
"Do I have a choice?" he groaned, slumping back into his chair.
"You need to tell him how you feel." England gave him an incredulous look, "Don't look at me that way Angleterre, you will not know how he feels until you say something! Love can not happen if you keep everything bottled up inside!"
England sighed and slumped back in the chair, before he reached for the bottle of wine. He was going to need a lot more drink if he was going to even give France's suggestion a second thought.