[Fanfic] Not the right time

[nahiara-hime.livejournal.com]

Title: Not the right time
Characters: England, America and France
Pairing(s): FrancexEngland, AmericaxEngland.
Ratings/Warnings: T for swearwords. Country names.
Summary: England wouldn't admit it, but he had been waiting for that moment since forever. However, there was a problem. It was the wrong time for it and he knew it. It didn't matter what he felt like doing, because common sense and logic said otherwise.
Notes: English is not my mother tongue. Also, I don't know any french, but there are some sentences in french.

 

England briefly considered the idea of slapping himself, just to make sure that wasn’t a dream. Not that he had ever dreamed about that, of course not. But it was the only reasonable explanation for what had just happened. Finally, he simply pinched his own hand. It hurt, so he was most likely not dreaming.

“Oh, crap” he murmured. After hearing that, the blond guy in front of him (who was looking strangely not-so-cheerful as usual) raised his eyebrows.

“Excuse me?”

The Englishman wanted to curse himself for having said that aloud. He took a deep breath, while trying to think clearer. Some seconds later, he seemed to get the situation.

“Okay, got it. What is the trick about?”

America answered with a quite rude exclamation: “… the fuck?! What are you talking about, England?”

“That should be my question! We were having a rather nice conversation and then you said… that. I mean, this joke is in very poor taste, so just cut it out.”

The other man clenched his fist, as he started shaking. Calm down, he told himself, you knew something like this could happen. Don’t be so mad about it.

“Shit, England. I’m being damn serious about this!”

“Oh, please, stop it. You can’t expect me to believe that”

“And why the fuck not? Gosh! I was trying to do things properly, but you’re such an idiot I can’t. I said I love you! Why would I even joke about that?!”

“Because you are a bloody git! Do you expect me to trust you?”

“What do you want then? Must I prove it?”

They stared at each other, but England doubted a little. What did he mean by ‘proving it’? His mind was overflowing with some not-quite-gentlemanly mental images. However, he discarded them. As if America would do any of them even if he wasn’t fooling around. Maybe he wasn’t pure enough to see the fairies, but he was such an obvious virgin teenager. He probably still blushed at a romantic scene in one of his cheesy movies (screw that ‘probably’, he had witnessed it).

“I would like to see you try”

And then it all went to hell. America doubted for half a second, after which he roughly held England’s shoulders and pressed their lips together. Immediately after the green-eyed country realized what was happening, he pushed the other away. Heavy breaths were the only sounds to break the silence.

 That love confession was clearly true. That stupid blond wouldn’t do that as a joke, simply because in that case the only one to be laughed at would be himself.

 Shit, he thought, brushing his thick eyebrows. He had assumed it was a lie and now he didn’t know how to react.

“Damn, you are such an awful kisser!”

Clearly, saying the first thing that went through his mind had been incredibly stupid.

“Of course I’m! It was my first time!”

Oh, crap. Was that idiot so inexperienced? It was worst than he had thought…

“And why the fuck is that so?”

America hesitated a little. Nevertheless, he had promised himself he would make it to the end and a hero never went back on his word.

“Because I’ve been only interested in you. Since always. Get it?”

That was the last straw. England started wondering if he had made one of his fairies angry or maybe one of his brothers had cursed him. But he managed to ask what he wanted pretty much without sarcasm:

“Got it. So what’s the point of this confession?”

“I want to go out with you.”

Deep breath. He was almost grateful there had been no “I won’t accept a negative response”.

“Sorry, I can’t.”

Any hint of America’s smile or confidence vanished. That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He had expected the skepticism and violent behavior… But a rejection was too sudden.

“W-what? This can’t be. E-England, you like me. I’m sure you like me. Though you may not love me… But I know you do, everybody knows it. Ain’t that right?”

“Indeed. Nonetheless… how can I put this? I am… already dating someone” Silence, shock and blue eyes wide open, not exactly a good omen. “It is not something official, you would have known sooner if it was… I am really sorry.”

“Didn’t you say you liked me?”

“Kind of, yeah”

“You like her better than me?”

“Him… and not quite”

“Can’t you break up with him?”

Now it was England’s turn to be shocked. Actually, it was a pretty obvious option.  Maybe he could end it… he would understand, for sure.

“No. No! I cannot do that! You don’t understand it. It is finally starting to work out between us and it has been too hard. I cannot just throw it all away.”

“Finally? Should I assume he is one of us, a country? Do I know him?”

The tone in America’s voice was slightly menacing, just enough to scare the Englishman. Maybe it wasn’t a subtle threat, but some kind of hidden pain and disappointment. Still, all things considered, he decided not to answer.

“Would you say something? I’ve to find out who he is. I will learn to be better than him. If you want, I can talk to him and explain the situation. Please” The prick was begging him. It brought back memories: when he had been a child under his care, almost his brother. It was impossible to ignore. And so…

“F-France” he whispered.

“Fuck off. Are you serious?”  The vain hope it was a joke disappeared when he nodded “C’mon, I ‘m better than him! He is always chasing after skirts… or pants… or whatever has legs and is alive. And I’m not sure about the last part. Do you think you can trust him in a relationship?”

England got incomprehensibly angry. Perhaps it was the mix of frustration, shock and confusion due to that confession he wanted to accept so badly, but at the same time scared him. There was a struggle between his common sense and feelings; yes, he liked America better than France, though the difference wasn’t how much he liked both. It was the way he liked them. Still, America was young, immature and an idiot. France just was the two latter.

That was not what pissed him off the most, though.

“Trust? Do you know shit about trust? You, lousy wanker, have no right to talk about it. Given that, yes, France has in fact betrayed me a fair amount of times and we have had our share of fights and wars, he is not very trustworthy. All taken into account, he still defeats you in that matter. Do you even remember your own betrayal? I had taken care of you, tried to protect you. From me you learnt everything and you were my most important person. The sole fact you dared to say you have loved me since always as I am reminded of our past makes me nauseous” America tried to object “Quiet! Do you realize why I want that relationship to work? Because he, the womanizer and perverted France, has been trying to start something with me for centuries. And it is indeed starting to work out. Can you do something like that? Can you stop being a selfish brat sometimes? Sorry, but even if I were to love you, it would take a lot more than our feelings being mutual to cope with our problems. I’ll see you around.”

Once his rant had come to an end, he waved and went away.

America stood speechless. He wanted to think England had overreacted, which he had, but those words still hurt him deeply.

In his idealistic world or when he spoke about it with Japan it all seemed simple:  He brought himself to spit it out, a little this and that and then he got profit and they would live happily ever after. But it wasn’t so. It wasn’t like in his movies.

Did heroes have things like that happening to them? He had the feeling they did. Still, he felt like a weakling. Because heroes suffering from rejection then breathed deeply and started fighting for justice, so they could avoid thinking about it. They definitely didn’t just want to lock themselves inside their rooms and whine over how their two-hundred-years-old hopes and love scenarios had gone straight into the garbage.

 

As England entered into his own house, he wasn’t surprised at all when he noticed the Frenchman was inside it.

“Welcome back, mon amour. How are you doing?”

He sat on one of the chairs at the kitchen, where France was cooking dinner. His answer was a simple “fine”. He reacted only slightly to his boyfriend leaning over a bit to kiss him sweetly. What did really surprise him, was the comment after their lips parted:

“Oh, you already ate?”

“No, why?”

There was an awkward silence.

“So, you had a little meeting with America before tomorrow’s conference, is that so?” the answer was a slow nod. France stared at him for a bit, squinting slightly. “… Your breath smells like burgers.”

England almost forgot how to breathe.

“So, did something strange happen, mon chéri Angleterre?” There was a light trembling in his voice.

“…” he coughed “No, nothing at all. He just wanted to talk about some ridiculous robot dog he was planning on creating to be his side-kick.” England swallowed hard and almost choked.

The French caressed his face endearingly, looking at him in a way that would have been too cheesy if not for the pain and sadness he was unsuccessfully trying to hide.

“Ne t'inquiète pas, Angleterre. Je ne t'en veux pas” England had a really limited knowledge of French, but he was able to understand that and felt terrible. Then, his partner hugged him tightly, with his forehead against the other’s shoulder “Parce que je t'aime”.


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French sentences (this is what they are supposed to mean)

Mon amour: My love/darling/sweetheart.

Mon chéri Angleterre= My beloved England

Ne t'inquiète pas, Angleterre. Je ne t'en veux pas = Don’t worry, England. I am not mad at you.

Parce que je t'aime=Because I love you,