Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters.
France carefully bent the thorns off his rose and gently placed it in Seychelles' hair. She poked it, hoping it would fall out, but it remained in place. Her hand searched for the end of the stem to pull it out but France stopped her and held her hands, "Tu es tres belle, don't take it out."
She watched as he met her hand with his lips, and looked up at her with delicate eyes. "It won't attract many fish, so I guess I can't cook tonight..." she spoke with a hint of uneasiness and unhappiness. Being alone and isolated on her island, Seychelles had set a routine for herself, rather than walk around aimlessly and explore until unknown no longer existed. It was always; wake up, play, fish, eat fish, clean, gather fruits, free time, fish, eat fish, read, nap, wake up, fish, eat fish, free time, clean, sleep. If her routine was upset, then she would be at loss, simply befuddled. So now that fishing was out of the schedule, there was an empty block that she very much needed filled, "No, I have to fish! Since you're my guest, I have to make sure you have dinner." The arms of the Frenchman wrapped around Seychelles' waist before she could go off for her fishing rod, "I'll be cooking tonight."
"O-Okay," she blurted out, feeling herself trying to wiggle out of France's grasp. "Seychelles," he began when the smaller island met his eyes again, "I have, a very beautiful dress for you."
He was treating her like a precious doll again, dressing her up, possibly attempting to dress her down, and like a boy with a doll, keeping his secret, and hiding it away from all other eyes.
"De quelle couleur est la robe?" she finally asked, halting her wiggling and looking away from the man.
France's smile grew widely across his face, "Rouge." He brushed his fingers against her hair bow, "They'll match theses." Then slowly, his fingers fell beneath little Seychelles' chin, rubbing it softly and lifting it so their eyes could meet once more.
"I want to see it."
"Hm?" France's mind seemed to be elsewhere, with Seychelles in his thoughts.
"I want to see it. Francey!"
Only when she chuckled at his confused expression is when France let go of Seychelles, "Right, stay here!"
As he scampered to where he kept the dress, Seychelles started to ponder if it would be best to grab her rod and fish just because, not just to cook. She was sure that France was sick of fish, but that was all she really had, besides fruit of course. However, he wasn't tired of fish, not at all. There was always a different taste and method of cooking the fish with Seychelles, so he was fine with it, fine with the whole island, in love with the whole island.
"Seychelles don't touch it," the startled girl jumped in shock when France grabbed her wrist to prevent her from snatching her rod. Her hands jolted up, as if to say she was unarmed, gaining a quick laugh from France. "Bien, mon amour. Now," he let go of her wrist and reached over to a cute fish-decorated couch. He had draped the dress over it before he stopped her, and the contrast between the red and dull fish colors somewhat interested Seychelles, "put this on okay?"
She hadn't really paid attention, but all she heard was, "Okay?" Confused, she responded with, "Gare?"
The Frenchman chuckled again, "Non non, this dress, put it on okay?" He had but a lot of emphasis on the last word. "Okay," was the reply he received. She headed to her room to change, but stopped when she noticed France following, "You can't come in!" He looked shocked at first, "Your innocence makes you so cute," he started to close the door for her, "Go on." Then silence filled the house.
The wall became a sort of chair for France and he sighed thinking about how he met Seychelles, still the same little innocent dear, and he couldn't find it in him to corrupt such an adorable little angel. In fact, he couldn't imagine corrupting Seychelles, and rather would think of walking along the beach or picking flowers in a meadow with her. Just cute, romantic things that one would see in one of America's overly censored movies that could never be arousing whatsoever, but still cute.
"Francey," the quiet voice came from behind the door as it opened. Seychelles stepped out and spun to watch the ruffles rise. The bows and the rose made the scarlet dress shimmer more than it really did. "Mon Dieu! It looks beautiful," France smiled, took her hand, and playfully began to dance with Seychelles, her dress swaying and floating with the movements. "How graceful," France chirped, spinning his doll in neat little circles. A light sounding rumble escaped from Seychelles' stomach, "Oh right! I'm cooking. Come, I'll let you watch."
Seychelles walked with him to the kitchen and interrupted his cheerful humming with, "What are you going to cook Francey?"
"Oh! Um… well I'll throw some things in a dish and see what comes out. Whatever it is, it's bound to be good right?"
He pulled a pan out of Seychelles' cupboard, but was surprised when a lot of cups, plates, and pots fell upon him after removing it. "Francey! You okay?!" France placed a cup he managed to grab back in the cupboard. He seemed a bit shaky when he realized Seychelles was helping him out with the fallen dishes.
"Oh non non non, I have this! It's my fault any way!" Seychelles backed away a little, watching France scuttle around on the floor, picking up the dishes. "Thank goodness they're plastic right?" France asked, only looking up at Seychelles for a moment. She nodded, "Yeah…"
"Something wrong, Seychelles?"
Her eyes shifted away from the scene, and truly, for some reason, France made her feel… useless. "Not at all!"
"Good, because I figured out what I'm going to cook!"
He closed the cupboard as the last plate slid in, "It's a surprise!"
Surprises, something Seychelles didn't like. Did he forget that Seychelles was a girl of routine? She needed to know what she was doing, what she was getting, and so on, at all times. She clenched her fists a little with a bit of the red dress in hand, "Francey, you're not going to tell me now?"
"Non, and I have reasons why." France pecked her forehead with a smile on his face, and quickly went to work on his special uh-oh surprise.
What was this scary looking dinner France placed in front of Seychelles? It was brown, green, pink, and red,--hell it was rainbow and then some. Odd shapes made up so much of it that its general shape wasn't in the vocabulary Seychelles possessed. No, its shape was fange. Its smell was fange. All in all, it was fange. However, she had watched France dash around the kitchen, flipping, flopping, tripping, crying (for multiple reasons), and really just making a huge mess of the kitchen, his clothes, and mostly himself. She told herself that she'd eat the dish no matter how salty France's tears had made it.
"Well!" France breathed out heavily and took a seat across from Seychelles at the table.
"I-I think it's time for grace! I need God's guidance right now." Seychelles clasped her hands together and nodded at France expectantly.
"Right now? Okay," he followed suit, "Good food, good meat, let's eat!"
"Okay! Okay!" a smile spread across his face to show he was kidding. He began again, "Que Dieu vous benisse et la nourriture. Merci Dieu, tu benis moi de la belle Seychelles. Oh lawdy! Amen!" He had said everything so fast that Seychelles only caught the blessing of the food.
"Now we can eat?" France added a wink to his question.
"Oui oui, we can eat," Seychelles scooped the fange off of her plate and slowly guided the fork to her mouth, France watching all the while. A new thought formed in Seychelles head. Fange was absolutely not the word for it. More like ciel! Then she remembered that no matter what it looked like, it was still France's cooking. Like most of France's things, this looked weird but its taste was amazing!
"Like it?" he asked.
"I do! I really do--" Seychelles stopped eating at rapid speed to wipe off the mess on her face.
"Wait! I'll help you there," France reached over the table and began to clear her face of any food.
"Francey, I can do it myself!" she whined, but he continued any way.
"There you go!" he beamed as he watched Seychelles angrily pick up her fork and continued eating, making sure not to miss her mouth. Of course, France was oblivious to the fact that she was fuming.
"Seychelles, you're dropping the food off the fork now!" France chuckled, continuing on his own plate.
"What? You wanna feed me too?"
"Oh? You want me to?"
Seychelles violently shook her head, "No! Absolutely not!"
France saw her reaction as an act of being flustered, so he only laughed, "Sey, one of these days you should visit me." She looked from her dish to him. His hand placed on his chin, elbow on the table, other hand fiddling with his fork, a smile permanently set upon his face, and eyes set upon little Seychelles in another daydream.
"Oui madame?" Madame? Definitely a day dream.
"It's… it's not that you're a horrible person--and there's no easy way to do this!"
"Yes, there's no easy way, but…"
France took another shot of his wine, "And that's why I hate myself at this very moment. England scratched his head, sitting up on the bed he'd been pushed on to, "And today's the day you met her huh?"
"Yes damn it! Oh—whoops." A little wine spilled on England's carpet, "and--! And I'm…I'm sick of talking about this!" France tried to rub out the wine's color from the carpet, but seeing that he was losing his balance in the process, he decided to sit in the chair England had close to the bed, "It breaks my heart."
A dubious smirk grew on England's face, "Does it really?" The Frenchman set his wine down after another shot and sunk into the chair. "Wasn't she just another game for you?" England asked, which he soon found that his question got him tackled, and harsh kisses began to trail up his neck, painfully stopping at his ear, "No Arthur, she was not." Swiftly, France slipped England's shirt off, revealing skin that seemed to be getting hotter by the second.
"Unlike you or any other lover I will or already have…" France circled his fingers down England's chest, lower, and lower, which ended up with a whimpering England. Teasing him further, France circled back toward England's chest to flick at his nipple, "Seychelles was--"
"She was what?!" England asked, desperately thinking that if he hurried whatever the crazy drunkard above him was saying, he'd have him faster.
"She wasn't attached to me with this," France ground down on England's erection, weakly smiling as a moan was earned from the action, "but she was attached with my heart."
England couldn't help but frown at the sad gaze in France's eyes. Something he wasn't used to seeing. He wanted to fill that void that seemed to appear in his heart, maybe just tell France that he would always be there, though it might not seem like it.
"France…" it came out more like a moan, though it really was an honest and sincere thought. He truly did understand France. However, France didn't attempt to pry through the concerned look on England's face and took it as a face contorted in lust.
"So now! I believe you're my victim tonight England!" And just like that, the subject was dropped, until the next day France decided to drop by England's house, with sweet Seychelles on his mind.
A/N: In case you're wondering, I like FrancexWorld so you never know what the heck I'm going to do… but I like FrancexUK a lot too… This wasn't supposed to end so smutty-ish! D: And yes, this is supposed to be the Christmas Eve that Seychelles broke up with France. I didn't write the slapping part because that's up to your imagination. It was nice writing this… I wish I stopped being lazy sooner! I wrote this a long time ago. OTL