Hey guys! It's Lucky! n.n
We decided to post other stories as well, so, "Everyone will know that we're not insane serial killers that write fanfictions as a hobby", as Angel put it. And mentioning Angel, this is the reason why we have this fic in the first place. n.n HAPPY B-DAY ANGEL!! (Even though it was a few days ago...)
So, of course, I had to write her a little fic as a present. Hope you guys like it too! n.n
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Nor does Angel. Because if we did, all I'd have to do is draw her a Fruk strip for her birthday. T.T But I can't draw worth crap, so here's a fic!
England's eye twitched. "France."
France merely pouted, adjusting himself so that he was on his elbows, which he propped up on the table. England had just gone downstairs, and considering the fact that it was five in the morning, expected for it to be far too early for surprise houseguests. Apparently he was wrong, for the moment he entered the kitchen to boil some water for tea, France had looked up from his novel, the smell of cookies in the air.
Biscuits. He meant biscuits.
"What are you doing in my bloody house at five in the morning?" England demanded, trying to stomp down the stairs with at least a little bit of dignity. Unfortunately, one will often find it hard to achieve a certain level necessary for dignity when one is wearing fluffy bathroom slippers and a bath robe, staring hard at someone who happened to not button up their collar and had their wavy hair tied up into a sexy ponytail. France merely smiled.
"Bonjour, moi cherie," he said in a completely cheerful way that made the irritable (and slightly blushing) England want to punch his face in. "The cookies are almost done, so you won't have to wait long."
"And why, exactly, did you come all the way to my house at five in the morning to bake cookies?" England fought to keep his voice down, so as not to wake Sealand. The last thing he needed was his little brother to barge in and completely tear down England's mind with questions.
France merely gave another happy smile and completely ignored England, turning back to his book. A small tick started pulsing on the forehead of the smaller nation. "France."
"Can you please just—?"
France sighed and finally put down his book, the faintest lines of a frown starting to crease his mouth. "You are really lacking tact, love," he said, shaking his head just slightly. England gulped as he finally reached the bottom of the stairs, watching that beautiful blond hair swish back and forth… "Maybe it's your age? Is it finally getting to you?"
That snapped England to his senses. "Age?! I'm younger than you! If anyone's the old one here, that would be you!" France just smiled and watched as England returned to his old self, stalking over to the sink and checking all of the bowls with last bits of batter stuck in them. There were more than were strictly necessary for making cookies that were enough for two people. "And how many blasted biscuits did you make?!"
France didn't answer. England turned around, frustrated, wondering if he was going to supply all of the European nations with cookies, when he spotted France blushing slightly. France. Blushing. And although England's heart skipped a beat when he saw a pink glow, an even louder voice told him something. Something that he learned through experience.
Something France was about to do is going to completely embarrass England to no ends.
The larger nation simply shook his head wildly, the ponytail holder slipping slightly. England crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned all of his weight onto his right leg. France looked at England for a second, and then started shaking his head even faster. "I just made a seven!" he finally cried out. England scoffed with wonder, and then turned and looked at the dirty bowls in the sink, which all together added up to much more than seven. Heck, they were probably more than seventeen.
"How big were the cookies? Were they like America's cookie cakes?" England tried to make reason of the situation. After all, everything could be explained eventually…he hoped.
France looked utterly miserable for some reason. "No. They're just…normal cookies."
England kind of…lost it.
"THEN WHY IS THERE SUCH A BIG MESS?!"
France actually winced. What was wrong with him today? Actually letting himself get pushed around by England? However, England did have to admit that this submissive France is much better than the one that usually runs around groping people. "I…kind of…"
"They're done!" France cried, relieved. England couldn't help standing there in shock for a few moments. He thought it was only in movies where a character was 'saved by the bell'. And besides, it wasn't like some rabid fangirl would be typing some really weird story about this the moment it was happening. No, no, that sort of thing was impossible.
"Would you like some help?" England asked, remembering his manners. Rules in Etiquette #72: Assist a houseguest in whatever they need to have done. Of course, the fact that they broke in on their own accord was not included in the instructions, England had gotten so used to having countries simply waltz through his door that he thought nothing of it.
Although coming at five in the morning was pushing it a bit.
"Non, non," France said quickly, sliding the tray out of the oven with an oven mitt on one hand, the other holding open the door. "Go sit down." England frowned when France blocked the tray with his body, and tried to get up on his tiptoes to see. However, it seemed like France knew England would be doing such a thing, for he sighed and said one word. "Please go sit down."
He said please.
England unconsciously plopped down on a chair, completely astonished. He then scrambled for the note pad on the table and reached into his pocket, pulling out and clicking the pen, proceeding to furiously scribble down words in his perfect cursive. July 22, 2009. France said please. Use later on for blackmail. Satisfied, England clicked the pen again and quietly tore off the piece of paper, shoving it into his pocket before France could see.
England did that in the nick of time, too, for not seconds after he stuffed the paper into his pocket did France turn around, a plate of cookies in his hands. And just like he said before, there were only seven. England couldn't help staring at them. Every single one was completely different—in size, in shape…and in color, disturbingly. "The cookie jar's in the top right cupboard," England pointed out, gesturing with his hand. However, France completely ignored him and set the cookies in front of England, staring at him pointedly. England looked from the cookies, up to France, and then back down. "You…You want me to eat them now? Can't it wait until after breakfast?"
"I won't be here after breakfast," France said in a completely genuine voice. England stared up at him with disbelief.
"You want to watch me eat them? What makes them so important?"
"The fact that I made them."
England literally wanted to punch France's face in. Or at least throw darts at a picture of France that he posted over his dartboard. Because that stupid bastard's smile was not only making him furious, it also strangely seemed to make the room a bit warmer. And the last thing that England wanted to give up was his thoughts that he could control whatever emotion Mother Nature threw at him.
He could almost hear her going, "Yeah, good luck with that."
"Englaand~!" The said nation jumped, then looked up to glare furiously at France for startling him so badly. France snorted at England's reaction. "Why are you so jumpy all of a sudden?"
"Because being in the same room as you spikes the chances of the symptoms of paranoia," England stiffened, refusing to give in to this rose-loving bastard of all people. However, it seemed like France didn't exactly know what paranoia was, much less the symptoms. "Just forget it."
"Okay…whatever~! Well, you still have to try my cookies…"
"Not now," England found himself sighing. After you leave my house so I can throw them out just in case if you poisoned them. "I'll eat some for dessert, okay?" France looked at him pointedly, and then walked over to a cupboard, wrenching it open. England felt himself give a strangled sort of sound when France lifted a beautiful teapot in his fingers, dangling it on the edge. It was his favorite. The one that Elizabeth I gave him.
"Eat it or the teapot gets it," France said, his fingers curling around the handle. England couldn't help judging how many pieces the priceless china would shatter into, and felt his stomach squirming at the thought.
"France, please just put the teapot do-"
France uncurled one finger.
"No! Francis Bonnefoy, don't you dare—"
Arthur whimpered at seeing only three fingers support his porcelain. He really didn't want to give in to France, but what else was he supposed to do? England let his fingers move slightly towards the plate of cookies. Unfortunately, it seemed like he didn't move fast enough for France, because another finger straightened. The teapot was now only supported by his index finger and his thumb. "Three."
"I'm eating, I'm eating!" England cried, lunging and tearing off a bite of the closest cookie. He chewed furiously, completely forgetting about the taste, and swallowed. "Now you can put the pot down." France didn't move.
"Do you like it?"
England frowned, his eyes never leaving France's fingers. Was it just his imagination, or were they moving apart slightly? "Loved it. Brilliant. Now put the damn thing down." France looked at England, confused for a moment, before shaking his head.
"Take another bite. And make sure you notice the flavor this time." Arthur's eyes widened as France's thumb curled more tightly around the stem, his index finger lifting. "Two."
England scowled and snapped off another bite of the cookie, making sure to chew in an over-exaggerated way. However, when one find oneself chewing in such a way, it allows time for the flavor to set in. England immediately spat it out. "Vodka?! You put vodka in this?!" France grinned.
"Now try the next one."
"Put my pot down first," England demanded, setting down the strange vodka-cookie none the less. France merely rolled his eyes, setting the pot down forcefully on the countertop, and took a seat across from England, grinning wickedly.
"Take another one."
England huffed and looked down again. He chose one that at least looked slightly normal—it was just a brown cookie, like all normal (burnt) cookies should look. England hesitantly took a bite, and then spat that one out as well. "I-It's made out of hamburger meat!" France blinked, completely astonished.
"Really? Here, let me try." And without waiting for England to respond, France wrapped his hand around the smaller one (England blushed and looked up at the ceiling. It was a very nice color of beige today.) and pulled it to his mouth, biting at the biscuit. His face scrunched up with disgust. "Ew. Definitely hamburger. Here—I'll take this one, you try another."
England willingly let go of the cookie, but looked down at the rest of the ones on the plate with disdain. After two of the strangest cookies he had ever tasted, England wasn't so sure that he wanted to try any more. The ones that looked normal were definitely not, so England reached for the disturbing pink one. He looked at it, at France (who was staring at him with a 'get on with it' sort of expression), and then sighed and took a bite.
England's face contorted once more with disgust. "Sausage," he declared, automatically handing it to France. France took a bite, looked up while he chewed, and then looked back down at England with horror.
"It's still half-uncooked." England snorted and took the next one by himself, causing a secretive smile from France.
"This one's…sweet red tea," England declared, confidently. France looked at him with disbelief, and England handed him the cookie. France took a bite.
"It tastes like any normal tea to me…"
"No, no! It has to be red tea, because only red tea has that musky flavor! And I know for sure it's sweetened, because this tastes a bit sweeter than the red tea that China sent me a few years ago. I still have some—do you want to try?" England looked at France with a smile, momentarily forgetting that it was five in the morning and that he was not a morning person.
"No thanks," France said hastily, watching as England's face fell slightly, but the smaller nation disguised it by shrugging it off in an apparent nonchalant manner and went for the next one—a strange looking pale white cookie.
England took a bite, and then looked at France with horror. What he thought was white icing apparently wasn't, and he spoke the next word through his teeth, unable to remove the cookie from his mouth with surprise. "…Pasta." France gave a bark of laughter and leaned across the table in his excitement, taking a bite of out of the other end of the cookie while England still had half in his own mouth. England's face burned when he felt something feather soft just brush by his own lips, but France pulled back before he could be sure of it.
"Fettuccini with Alfredo sauce," France laughed again, watching as Arthur simply swallowed his half, still bright red. "Go on, go on!"
England made a face at the strange cookies, and then went for a slightly larger one. He bit off half and chewed deliberately, this time making sure to remove the other half from his mouth. "I…think it's…seaweed." He offered the other half to France.
France momentarily pouted, unhappy that England had skittered his way around another innocent little kiss. Of course, he was still secretly enjoying that adorable flustered expression, and wished that he had pictures. However, he wasn't about to let England outdo him just yet. Grabbing England's wrist, France wrapped his lips around the cookie, swallowing some of Arthur's fingers on the process. France deliberately made a scene by biting off the cookie first, and then sucking gently at England's fingers to 'get rid of any leftover crumbs'. The poor Brit flushed yet again and bit his bottom lip to suppress a moan.
France looked up at England from half-lidded eyes, smirking at the other nation's current predicament. "Seaweed," France confirmed, flicking his tongue once more across the tips of England's fingers, causing a strangled sort of whimper to come from the smaller country. France grinned, pulling back and giving a small peck on England's hand before the other nation snatched it back.
"Yes. Well. I already said that," England stuttered out, clutching his hand to his chest almost as if he didn't want France to reach it again. France had to hold back a snort of laughter. England looked so adorable when he was so overprotective. "So. What's this last cookie?"
France grinned, and then looked down at the very last one. It was smaller than the rest—more delicate. It was this cookie that was the reason why he had all those leftover bowls. "Oh, it's just a little something that I made."
"Didn't…you make the others too?"
France shrugged, looking up and tilting his head slightly. "Oh, I had a little help with those. I actually made this one." England reddened yet again when he thought he imagined the double meaning in the words. He tentatively reached out with his pure hand and wrapped his fingers around it, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a slow bite.
It was delicious. There really was no other word for it. It was an amazing blend of about fifteen different spices that England couldn't make out, and it was so sweet and soft that it melted in your mouth. However, the size was something similar to a bite-sized cookie, and England actually felt bad that France couldn't even try his own biscuit. England stopped chewing and looked up at France.
"What's wrong?" the other nation asked immediately, jumping up from his seat and running over to England's side of the table. "Did you choke?"
Arthur completely ignored France's comment on whether or not he choked on a cookie, and just plowed on with his plan before he lost all of his strangely appearing courage. He hated talking with a full mouth, but there was no other way he could do this. "Would you…like to have a taste?"
France actually blinked with confusion this time. "Wait, wh—" England, however, took that as a go and wrapped his arms around France's neck, pulling his face down, causing France to almost jump out of his skin when he felt soft lips press against his own.
Of course France was happy. He was expecting England to put up a fight, flailing and kicking when he tried to kiss him. But here was England making the first move, which was something similar to one of the occasions that angels should come down and start singing 'hallelujah'. France eagerly responded, of course, running his tongue rather forcefully along the crack between England's lips, and was almost immediately granted entrance.
But here was something France wasn't expecting. England still had bits of the cookie in his mouth and started pushing them into France's mouth with his tongue. France had to admit that it was pretty good—he really did have a sort of gift when it came to food. France eagerly probed around England's mouth, searching for any leftover crumbs.
And then his tongue bumped against something hard.
France almost had to burst out laughing, as he pulled back, and finally started chortling out loud. England looked perplexed (but completely adorable in a beautiful little blush), but jumped when France choked out, "Don't swallow!" He then gently pried open England's mouth with his fingers, reaching in and pulling out something.
"What the…?" England's question was lost when he saw a ring. And then, if it was possible, he got even redder. "Y-You…"
France grinned, getting down on one knee and grabbing England's left hand before he could make a run for it. "Arthur Kirkland, would you take me, Francis Bonnafoy, as your lawful and wedded husband?" France had never noticed that England was one of those people with a full body blush, but even the hand that France was holding was starting to turn a slight pink.
England looked away and muttered something.
"I can't hear you~"
"I said fine, you bloody git!"
"Did anyone get a picture of their kiss?" America asked, scrolling through the pictures on his camera.
"Those are, like, most of the ones that I got," Poland said, rolling his eyes. Hungary looked over his shoulder to see the pictures on his digital phone.
"That one's really cute, aniki!" Korea called cheerfully, pointing at one where France had been sucking on England's fingers. China frowned, scrolling through, pointing out a few others that were possibly better than the one that Korea had just mentioned.
"I recorded the whole thing," Japan said in a matter of fact sort of voice, rolling through the film. "Who wants to come over to my house later to watch it all?"
"That's brilliant, Japan!" Italy cried, happily, fingering his own camera. "Ne, ne, Doitsu? Should we go to Japan's house after siesta?"
"Sure," Germany said, trying to refrain Prussia from simply running into England's kitchen to interview the two of them.
"No!" Romano cried loudly. "My brother is not going with a potato-bastard like you! Come on, Feli, we can go by ourselves!"
"But Romano…I wanted to go with Germany! Do you want to come with us?" Italy whined, looking at Germany and Romano who were glaring daggers at each other. Spain merely laughed and patted Romano on the shoulder.
"Hey, Romano, why don't you kiss me like that?" The older Italian immediately blushed furiously and spun around, completely pissed off.
"I-I think that picture's really good, America."
"You think so, Canada?" America beamed up at his younger brother, pride evident on his face. "I like that one too! See, great minds do think alike!"
"We set up video cameras from every angle in the kitchen," Taiwan said, dragging a reluctant Hong Kong after her. "So now we can see both of their expressions~!"
"That's really smart," Lithuania said tentatively, smiling at the two Asians. Taiwan beamed at him while Hong Kong merely stared at a picture on England's wall, slightly bored of his stalker brothers and sister.
"That is, Lithuania~" Russia hummed quietly, causing Lithuania to loose his smile and shudder slightly. "I wonder why no one ever thought about doing to me and China…"
"Don't speak such things out loud~aru!" China cried, blushing horribly as Russia simply grinned and threw his arm around the smaller nation.
"No! Su-san, don't delete that one! That one's good!" Sweden sighed and rolled on to the next one. "No! Don't delete that one either!" The next one. "Su-saan, you have to keep them all!"
"I think that one's crappy," Denmark said in an informative sort of tone, pointing at the screen of Sweden's camera. Sweden merely glared up at him.
"If Fin' t'hnks th'r g'd, th'n th'y 're."
"Bullshit!" Denmark cried, grabbing onto Norway's arm. "Hey Norway, don't you agree with me?"
"I'm neutral," he said, bored, which brings us to another pair.
"Liech, I really don't think you should be looking at these sorts of things," Switzerland scolded, watching as his sister also scrolled through her pictures. "You're a proper lady. I don't want you to end up like Hungary."
"Hungary is a proper lady," Liech said, looking up at her brother. "Vash, don't you like this one too? This is what we always do." Switzerland blushed as all of the other nations stared at the two. They didn't know that Liech was referencing the picture where France removed the cookies from the oven.
"Whoa, Switzerland!" America cried, his eyes widening. "We didn't know that you and Liech were an item! Well, it looks like you learn new things every day!" Switzerland angrily retrieved a pistol from his uniform and shot at America's head with it, who blithely dodged.
Unfortunately, the gun did not have a silencer.
"What the bloody hell is going on out here?" England demanded, throwing open the doors of the kitchen. His jaw seemed to drop in a very comical way when he saw the legions of nations that were gathered in his front hall. France walked up from behind him, and laughed.
"Well, England, considering the fact that America, China, Russia, Germany, Italy, and Japan helped me with the cookies, I decided on a way to pay them back," France chortled. "I told them they could take pictures and even record it if they wanted. It seemed like they brought some friends as well~"
England looked at France with horror for a few moments.
"YOU BLOODY GIT!"
"Run, France, run!" America laughed, following the other nations as they made a mad dash out the front door.
Review if you feel like it. :)