I would say that I'm in a FrUK-ish mood today... But that would sound just too freaking wrong! LOL! The point is that I wanna type these two up now. One thing I love about this movie is that there was maybe...one USUK hint which can easily be translated to brotherly love in my mind. Next to that, there were...about ten FrUK moments! The one that stands out is when they were on the Pict ship and read that, while their countries are always fighting, they can also get along. In my fangirl mind, that was a HINT! Another thing my fangirl mind noticed is this: When the other nations followed Japan into the clearing (RUINING the potential GerIta moment *glares at Japan*), England was RIGHT next to France. Which means that they came out of the woods together, which means that, at some point, they must have walked through the woods together, which means that they were IN THE WOODS TOGETHER! There was also the fact that they were both smiling... ^_^ Let's see what the movie-writers NEGLECTED to show us, shall we?
'Ugh...' England's limbs felt like lead. His body was bent in what surely was an unnatural position. He couldn't feel his fingers or toes. His eyelids were covered in grit and didn't want to open. 'I...must have survived...' Wiping the crust off of his eyes and painfully forcing himself into a seated position, the Englishman grimly took in his surroundings. 'Yeah...I survived. If I was dead, this would be a sunlit meadow filled with unicorns and pixies...'
"Hiya, England!" A familiar, high-pitched voice split the night.
"Huh?" England turned around hopefully. His emerald eyes lit up at what they saw. "Flying Mint Bunny!" Immediately, he opened his arms and was tackled to the ground by his favorite magical friend. "I'm so happy to see you! I thought that the Pict might have gotten you. Are the others okay?"
The tiny green creature nodded. "They're fine. I don't think the mean aliens can see any of us. They're hiding anyway, just in case." His little wings fluttered. "But not me! I wanted to make sure you were okay!"
England smiled and stroked his friend's soft fur. "I'm glad you came. I don't know how long it'll be before the Pict come for us. It's nice to see a friendly face before I'm taken."
Flying Mint Bunny tilted his head, frowning slightly. 'England isn't usually like this... He never gives up!' "You and your friends can fight them! Make them go away and leave us alone! You're super strong, England! So are your friends!"
England's hand stopped moving and a sober expression came to his face. "I...don't know how many of them are still alive...if any..." A horrible thought struck him. 'What if I'm the last nation on the whole planet? That means that I'll just keep running and running until the Pict finally catch up with me and make me one of their own. Then all hope will die with me!' He was broken out of his morbid musings as a tiny paw nudged his cheek.
"When I was flying over, I saw two of them sitting by a fire that way." The bunny pointed to the right.
"What?" Within seconds, England was standing up. 'If two of them are alive...' "Flying Mint Bunny, I want you to patrol the area and guide anyone else you find toward the fire. Can you do that for me?"
"Sure England! You can count on me!" With a bright smile on his face, the magical creature disappeared into the jungle.
"Be careful!" Just as the weary nation was about to make his way toward his companions, a girlish scream caused him to stop dead in his tracks. 'Huh...?' He turned his head toward the sound. It sounded very similar to France's voice. 'Why would France be screaming? Unless...' His green eyes widened. 'The Pict!'
England rushed into the trees, jumping over logs, shoving branches to the side, keeping a watchful eye on the terrain, ready for one of those white monsters to jump out at him. 'Where is he...?' He couldn't hear the odd noises the aliens made. Had they already transformed France and left? The thought caused an icy fist to clench the Englishman's chest. "I gotta be close..." He murmured out loud. "Almost-ARGH!"
Within one second, England tripped, fell head over heels, and landed flat on his back. "Bloody logs..." He grumbled as he started to stand up. He froze as he saw, sprawled out on the ground a few feet away, pink outfit coated with dirt, France! The older nation was shaking out his blonde locks and sitting up.
"You could watch where you're going, you punk." France grumbled, feeling the spot on his back that his rival had so rudely kicked. Secretly, he was relieved beyond belief to see him!
"Bloody frog!" The younger nation felt familiar hatred for his prissy enemy flaring up. "That's the thanks I get for coming to rescue you?" A quick check told him that there were no aliens in the area. "You were screaming so loud, every Pict in the sky will be landing in this bloody spot! What were you bloody yelling about anyway?"
The Frenchman pushed his hair back out of his face and let out a superior huff. "Your language is as charming as ever, Angleterre. If you must know, a large, flying, green creature flew at my face. Nearly gave me a heart attack." He placed a hand on his chest. "And my poor heart is going through so much strain already..."
England breathed a sigh. 'Flying Mint Bunny...' "Let's just go. There's a fire this way."
"What?" France perked up immediately. "How do you know?"
"...That's not important. Let's just go."
As the two nations walked, France kept muttering under his breath. Eventually, some words became audible. "...filthy island...green monster...following England...his fault we're in this mess, anyway..."
"And how is any of this my fault?" England growled, stopping dead in his tracks.
France rolled his eyes as he fixed his white scarf. "Your appalling attempt at culinary artistry is what turned them against us. They were so close to making peace with us, and you ruined it!"
A thick eyebrow started to twitch in agitation. "If you're referring to my scones, they are a delicacy!"
"Ha!" The Frenchman folded his arms and shook his head. "You don't even know the meaning of the word!"
"Don't act so superior, wine-loving bastard! From what I've heard, 'delicacies' taste 'odd'. That's not a far cry from 'appalling' in my book!"
"Clearly, your intelligence is rapidly leaking out of your ungroomed head."
"At least I have intelligence to lose!"
The two nations stood there for a moment, glaring daggers at each other. Right when it seemed that the anger would escalate to physical violence, they turned away with simultaneous, deflated sighs.
"Why are we fighting, Angleterre? I don't wish for a petty argument to be my last act as a free man." France muttered, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.
"You're right." England folded his arms, staring at the ground. "This is stupid. Besides, the Pict are more likely to find us if we keep yelling." He glanced at his companion out of the corner of his eye. "Want to keep heading toward the fire?"
"No..." The taller nation wearily sank down into a sitting position in the grass. "I'd like to just sit for awhile...if that's alright with you..."
They sat in silence for few minutes before France spoke again. "Do you remember the last time we thought the world was ending? The year 1000? We were so positive that Judgment Day would come with that year."
"I remember." England chuckled at the memory. "You wanted me to pretend that you conquered me, since it was always your dream to do so, and you thought that you'd never get the chance otherwise."
"In a way, I wish that the world had ended then. It seems to be a better fate to die than to become a faceless entity in a swarm."
"It doesn't seem like we have much choice." The Englishman pushed up the sleeves of his scarlet jacket and breathed a heavy sigh. "So..." He murmured. "Any last wishes before it really does end for all of us?"
"I want..." France wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes. "I want...to hold someone."
"Eh?" England blinked dumbly. That was one of the last things he had expected his rival to say. He had been imagining anything from "to dominate you yet again" to "one last night with a beautiful someone" or something stupid like that. This...was completely different. "What do you mean?"
"I don't like to be alone." The older nation admitted, staring fixedly at his shoes. "That's why I flirt with people so often. I enjoy the feeling of being wanted. Of being with someone...even if it's for one night and I never see them again. I would like to have that just one more time before I become a noppera, if only for a few minutes."
He seemed so helpless... Against all reason, England found himself scooting closer to his hated enemy. 'I never realized...I just thought he was a pervert. And while that still is true, that's not the whole story...' He found his arms wrapping around the pink-clad nation and pulling him into a comforting embrace.
France let out a soft noise of surprise before melting against his rival, instinctively nuzzling the soft skin at the base of his throat. 'He's...very warm...' "Merci..." He mumbled, breathing a quiet sigh.
England felt his cheeks heat up as he felt his fellow nation snuggle up against him. He quickly beat down the warning signs that were popping up in his mind. 'It doesn't matter. We're going to be taken by the Pict soon, anyway. It's not like anyone will know.' Firmly clamping down on his usual restraints, he began to gently rub France's back, moving his hands in a soothing up and down motion.
Cerulean eyes grew cloudy as their owner began to feel something...a stirring in his chest... Why did the Brit's hands feel so perfect on his back? Why, considering the circumstances, did he feel like his heart was about to burst with happiness? These questions remained in his mind for less than a second before an answer formed. It was an easy enough answer, not one he tried to deny. After all, he of all people should know that denying such things is fruitless. Smirking to himself, he moved back so that he could gaze into those beautiful emerald eyes.
"Huh...?" 'Why is he looking at me like that?'
France tenderly reached toward the new object of his affection, holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted his head to the side and smiled calmly, his eyes glittering. "I just realized what else I would like before we are changed, mon Angleterre..." He purred quietly.
England's eyes became as wide as flying saucers (pun intended) as France's lips enveloped his own. He made a small noise of protest before closing his eyes and surrendering to the kiss. 'No one will know. No one will know. No one will know.' He repeated to himself
The Frenchman was in his natural environment once more. Already knowing what to do, his hands began to roam, searching for the places where their captive most liked to be touched. These places, they found, included the abdomen, the side of the neck, and the left side of the chest, right above the heart. At the same time, his lips moved lovingly against England's, trying to coax a stronger response from them. Eventually, he moved down to the throat and began to seek out the softest patch of sweet skin. When he found it, he began to nibble and suck on the spot.
The younger nation found himself being utterly swept away by France's undeniably perfect kisses. He let out soft cries of pleasure as his neck was ravished. A combination of fear and delight shot through his system as he was pressed down into the cool grass and kissed in, if possible, an even more passionate manner. The pure, unadulterated joy he was feeling swelled to a maximum as a hand slid under his shirt and pressed firmly against his rapidly beating heart. A tear trickled down his cheek as his heart melted in his chest.
France felt an overwhelming wave of tenderness as he took in England's beautiful face. He leaned down and softly kissed the single tear from the Brit's flushed cheek. When he pulled back and looked into those green eyes, he saw a combination of affection, happiness, and a trace of fear. With a comforting smile, he leaned down and whispered in his beloved's ear. "Don't worry, mon amour. I won't hurt you..."
Awhile later, England was self-consciously straightening his jacket as he and France walked on in silence. Both of them were still red in the face. Neither one could keep himself from smiling slightly at the other every now and then, inviting another rush of sweet warmth into the atmosphere between them. As the light of a fire and the scent of pasta came to their attention, the Englishman turned to his companion, forcing himself to take on a stern expression. "Not a word. Got that, git?"
France chuckled lightly and nodded his head. "But of course."
Not another word was spoken, but both nations still had the softest of smiles on their faces as they walked into the firelight.
Were they out of character? Well...considering the fact that the world was ending... NO! They weren't! Was there an implied Lemon near the end? Hm... I'll let ya'll draw your own conclusions! ^_^ Did you likey? No likey? I hope you likey... Since I've been shooting so many glares at my poor Japan, I think I'll do the Ameripan chappie next! Japan needs some loving!
Japan: Eh... *starts to sneak away*
Me: OH NO YOU DON'T! *kidnaps* Oh, America...
Please review, but don't flame. Flames make Iggy sad. Peace out! ^_^
PS- I just gotta ask... Who else thought that England looked unlawfully FINE in that red outfit? Come on! You know you thought it was completely hot! Admit it!