9Title: Laissez les Bon Temps Roulet
Warnings: Stuff
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just their actions.
A/N: This would've been out sooner, but life... 'nuff said. Also, I have no beta, so I read, and re-read what I write trying to fix grammar and punctuation. Doing that also causes me to decide that I don't like certain parts and rewrite them.
England couldn't decide what was worse, the fact that France seems to have put an absurdly detailed plan against him into motion, or the look on the scruffy Frog's face every time the door to a possible escape route gets slammed in his face. In all truthfulness, the island nation was completely blindsided by Canada's involvement in France's scheme. He hadn't been so unprepared and surprised by an enemy in centuries. It was embarrassing, and although he'd never admit it out loud, it was also kind of exciting. During the meeting, thus far, there was no escape. If it wasn't the Canadian's 'accidental' and light touches that caused the Englishman's senses to somehow become hyper-sensitive, it was the blue eyed duo on the other side of the room making some unbelievably subtle, yet arousing scenes. The now trio of blondes, had left not only England, but a large number of the representatives squirming in their seats as their pants seemed to become agonizingly restrictive. The friction that subsequently followed such movements was both welcome and unwelcome simultaneously. Mercifully, another break had been called, though instead of a simple pause, this break in the meeting was for lunch. England did intended to use the opportunity to make an expedited tactical withdrawal… However, France reminded the emerald eyed nation why he had earned his spot as 'Nemesis'.
After the lunch break had been called, France gathered everyone's attention and informed all in attendance that lunch had been arranged at his, America, and Canada's expense. Not only that, but lunch would be held in the 'simple, yet aesthetically pleasing garden'. Of course this announcement was made with more flare and show then was required, and England definitely noticed the challenge France sent his way in the form of a smirk. Unfortunately, the island nation's escape route had been effectively cut off. With the other nations seemingly excited about the prospect of a free meal and their human attendants being invited, the representation of the United Kingdom had no choice but to attend. Sometimes politics were, as America would so eloquently say, 'A real bitch'. England could just imagine the headlines the following day. The United Kingdom Snubs Major NATO Allies at Luncheon. Well played, Frog.
This is why the blonde haired nation was now currently sitting at one of the many tables scattered throughout the NATO headquarters' garden. Thankfully a small hitch had developed in France's plan. Turkey was proving to be more than a little unwilling in letting America's attention be directed at someone other than himself. He wasn't obnoxious or pushy about it; centuries of treading through the political landmine of Medieval and Imperial Europe makes one quite skilled at getting what you want with absurd subtlety in social situations. This had allowed the Englishman an opening while the trio was preoccupied with trying to get rid of the Mediterranean without directly snubbing or rejecting him. If the green eyed nation was lucky, they'd end up in some sort of infinite loop of political, social niceties.
Looking up from where he was seated at the table in the far corner, away from the main 'action', England couldn't help but take in the sight of the flags flying on the poles that effectively serve as a fence for the simple rectangular garden (which was really just a large patch of lawn with a sizeable amount of flags flapping about in the wind.) For a moment, the Englishman temporarily forgot about the absurdity of the meeting as he came to the conclusion that the scene before him would make for a marvelous painting. A luncheon with mingling guests on a bright, cloudless day, surrounded by their national standards… The almost serene look on England's face is quickly replaced with a scowl. All this rampant French influence was definitely starting to affect his thought processes.
"Enjoying yourself," an all too familiar voice announced the presence of an equally familiar individual.
"No," England scoffed as he attempted to scoot away from the blonde man that rudely seated himself, uninvited, at the Englishman's table. He didn't even care anymore that everyone was still speaking French. Continuing to speak English was so far his only way to defy the scruffy bastard. "I don't see how anyone could possibly be enjoying themselves, it's a political event; work! Something that should be taken quite seriously," The smaller blonde pauses briefly to shoot a disapproving look that would remind any 'normal' human of the kind their mother gave them when they did something they shouldn't have towards the taller French nation. "I have no idea what you are trying to do, other than be utterly annoying, but I suppose that is just who you are."
"Fine, I'll tell you my magnificent plan. Honestly, I expected more from you… and you're supposedly my rival," France states with a small chuckle, as if the thought of England being a worthy adversary was mildly amusing. "No one ever gets anything done at these things. Everyone is always so on edge, so anxious, and… dare I say? Frustrated!" The blue eyed nation says dramatically. One hand clutched against his chest while the other conveniently finds its way onto the shorter man's leg. England immediately rolls his eyes and pushes the offending French appendage away from his person a little more forcefully than needed. Unfazed, the Frenchman continues, "I truly believe that meetings would be far more productive if everyone in attendance was more relaxed. Imagine what could be accomplished if that pent up stress and pressure from our frustrating lives was gone. If all that tension was, released?"
"Let me get this straight." England says incredulously while leveling an 'are you an utter moron look' at the French nation at his side. "You're trying to get everyone laid so that the subsequent meetings of this NATO session will be more productive?"
"Ingenious, no?" France replies with a smile. "I just need to remind them of how neglectful they have been to their poor bodies." He lightly places a hand on the island nation's face while leaning in slowly. The motion of which causes England's heart to race and face to slightly tent red. "Sometimes you just need to add more tension, of a certain variety, before it all suddenly… Bursts."
"Back off, Frog!" England shouts as he shoves the offending nation away. He turns his head so that he is looking at anything other than the Frenchie. Although he'd never admit it, this whole situation was definitely forcing the Englishman to realize just how much of a 'dry spell' he had been subjected to. All the flirting, the touches, the smells, the strategic flashing of skin, and whatever such nonsense had his whole body on edge and staging a full scale rebellion against his mind. It also wasn't all that bad of an idea that everyone might be a bit more productive at these meetings if they were allowed to 'unwind' beforehand, as it were. Of course, England would never tell anyone that a 'French idea' was a 'good' or even 'slightly decent' idea. After a brief pause to collect himself, and let the obvious red tint drain from his face, he turns towards France. "Although such an idea is definitely right up your alley. Why, might I ask, is it that you seem to be targeting only me?"
"Why? You obviously would benefit the most. You're always so high strung, I'm surprised you haven't experienced some sort of mental breakdown yet." France replies in a nonchalant manner that England, in some inexplicable way, finds to be incredibly infuriating. "Besides, you're just one of the 'actors' in my play. You just haven't realized it until now."
Slightly puzzled by the last statement, the emerald eyed man furrows his brow together while trying to process what was just said. He slowly glances around the garden and notices something. Although everyone appears to be engaging in their own conversations, they occasionally shoot glances towards himself and France. Sometimes they instead glance at a pair of North Americans. Who interestingly enough have managed to lose Turkey, and are engaged in their own conversation; seemingly oblivious to the fact that they actually have a decent sized crowd of people watching them. Canada was dressed in the same dress shirt, skinny tie, and flared leather jacket combo as his brother. It proved to be just as devastatingly attractive on the northern brother. The only difference, besides their eye color, was their hair. America's was what could only be described as a stylish, hot mess; while his brother's was pulled back into a loose, short pony tail that was some strange combination of classy with an ever so slight amount of sleaze. At first, England couldn't understand why Canada would willing choose to dress exactly like his brother, but seeing them together, and the crowd watching, it was all too clear. They were literally entertaining the World's 'hot twin' fantasies.
That particular revelation is further 'driven home' when the two nations seem to break out in a brotherly quarrel. America seems to want something from his brother's plate, but Canada is denying him. Eventually the Canadian picks up his plate and moves it of reach of his brother, who leans in rather closely, in an attempt to grab it. England can't help but notice that the spectators near the scene have paused their own conversations in order to watch the display. Temporarily, the American appears to give up on his quest of raiding his brother's lunch with a signature pout that cause the hearts of those watching to skip a beat. However, his face quickly adopts a devious smirk before turning and placing a hand on both sides of the Canadian's head. Canada looks slightly confused by the action. His confusion is replaced by shock as his brother leans in and licks his face. With his brother temporarily incapacitated, the American grabs a fork and stabs at what looks to be some sort of pastry, before quickly stuffing it into his mouth with a victorious smile. The Canadian quickly recovers, and shock is replaced by embarrassment. His face turns red as he looks around to see if anyone had just seen what had happened while whipping his cheek and looking so adorable in the process that England could swear everyone present was shamelessly slavering at the sight.
"They make me so proud," France says with a sniff while pressing a napkin to the corner of his eye. "Come on!" the Frenchman says a little loudly as he gets up out of his seat. Before England can even process a retort, he can feel slimy frog hands latch on to his arm, and unceremoniously yank him out of seat and into a standing position. For a brief second, he contemplates whether or not to give the taller nation a good thrashing, but mercifully chooses not to. It wouldn't do to have one ally smash another's smug face into the dirt during a major political event. Although, that doesn't stop the increasingly irritated and displeased look from forming on his face as he is practically dragged through the garden, towards his former colonies. The trip is fortunately a quick one, and England hasn't failed to notice the looks of anticipation directed towards the four blonde nations.
"I'm going to be sick," the island nation states as he takes a seat at the table. There's an overwhelmingly powerful French aura emanating from the area and England's limit for French influences was unsurprisingly surpassed quite quickly in the day. He glances briefly at the two North Americans now seated directly across from him. America looks characteristically excited. England could just imagine the blue eyed American sprouting puppy ears and a tail that was wagging so fast, the moment would cause his lower body… to move with it. He once again finds himself turning red as his mind decides to join his body and derail the thought of 'American hindquarters moving' into an unwelcome direction. Trying to desperately distract himself, England quickly averts his attention towards the Canadian at the American's side. The Englishman watches helplessly as the Canadian simply smiles and offers a greeting, in French, that the island nation's mind interprets to be far more arousing that it most likely is. To make matters worse, the violet eyed Canadian produces England's sell phone and pushes it towards England, their hands lightly brushing against each other as the smaller of the two reaches to retrieve it. Once again his mind meanders off into the gutter as at that moment, it decides to remember that the Canadian technically had his hands in England's pants earlier in the day.
Mercifully, the indecent train of thought is brought back (as it where) when a relatively loud yelp emanates from where America is sitting. Returning his gaze to the blue eyed nation, England is relatively surprised to see that Turkey has embraced his tan, muscular arms around the younger and was whispering something in the blonde's ear. Whatever it was, it must have been something completely inappropriate for civilized company as it was causing the American to sport a rare look of 'true embarrassment' that seems to occasionally mingle with arousal. Watching whatever is unfolding, the British nation can't help but notice the way that the Turk's darker skin tone complimented the azure eyed nation's lighter skin. Their skin was remarkably smoothing looking and England finds himself fighting the strangest urge to reach out and touch both nations.
"Uhh… What?" England mutters as he is pulled from his daze as he realizes America has said something. Before he can ask again, the American is away from the table and willfully being dragged off by the older Mediterranean nation.
"Who would have thought that America would be into… the hairy, manly type?" France asks with a content smile on his face. Turning towards England, he nods his head to the side in effort to get the smaller blonde to divert his attention away from the retreating forms of two nations and towards something else. "It would seem that my plan is moving along quite beautifully."
"What about the rest of the meeting?" The Englishman asks as he notices that the crowd of nations at the luncheon appears to be dwindling in size. No doubt they were 'hooking up' and sneaking off. Leave it to France to turn an international alliance into some sort of swingers' club. "Wait, where's Canada?" he asks as he suddenly realizes that he is once again, alone with the slimy frog. Squinting his beryl eyes, England can barely make out what appears to be his former charge being dragged off by Hungary, of all people, towards an Austria that is walking away, with an uncharacteristic amount of haste.
"That just leaves the two of us," the Frenchman purrs as he leans in towards the shorter blonde. England feels his face heat up when he locks gazes with the sapphires the other dared to pass off as eyes. As hard as he tried, the Englishman couldn't look away. It was as if he was spellbound, and could only see blue and feel his heart thrash against the walls of his rib cage, as if it was trying to escape some cruel fate. The distance between the two starts to get smaller and smaller with each passing second. Just as they were seemingly, mere millimeters apart, England suddenly raises a hand and pushes it against France's face with enough force to knock the offending nation out of his seat and on to the ground… it was as if his body had an automated defense procedure against lecherous Frenchmen. In that instance, his eyes catch a movement that momentarily diverts the island nation's attention. Once he recognizes what has temporarily distracted him, the island nation's cunning suddenly kicks in and a 'counter attack' is quickly thrown together and executed. It was time for some revenge and a swift and decisive victory in this Anglo-French conflict.
"I must admit," England says as a victorious smirk forms. "I have spent this whole day being constantly reminded of the horrific 'dry spell' I have been suffering. What's more, that fact has been so thoroughly driven, that there is no conceivable way that I can continue to ignore it. You're idiotic plan has indeed been a 'success'," England pauses and takes in the sight of the Frenchman, still sitting at his new place on the ground, looking smug before continuing. "However, there is one flaw in it that I thoroughly intend to exploit and use to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat."
Standing up, England walks away from France and feels a sense of satisfaction at the slightly confused look the other European is now sporting. Turning towards the distraction from earlier, England tries to concentrate on something other than the feeling of his pants rubbing against the more sensitive areas of his body as he walks.
"Hola…"
"Shut it," England says as he walks up to Spain, who seems to have been left on his own at some point during the luncheon, and grabs the darker skinned man by the arm and walks off, Spaniard in tow, towards his car. "You better hurry and find someone, the pickings are getting slim," the Englishman says without looking back.
I apologize for the ending, kind of lost interest half way through. I intended to have more Canada and end with FrUk but England wasn't cooperating. Also, I find the idea of TurkAme to be insanely hot. Also, Austria isn't in NATO, but Hungary is and I imagine he'd be an 'observer' state that Hungary takes with her.