Jul 18, 2015
[Credits to artist] RP PT-BR/ENG/ESP - MULTI-SHIP
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[Credits to artist] RP PT-BR/ENG/ESP - MULTI-SHIP
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
ask-that-english-lady
[Text: frog] I already feel horrible. I mean idk I think it was with killing.each other?
[text] Then I'm afraid I need to ask again
[text] which one? ;3
I'll make a brand new start of it
'... in old New Yooooork.'
Francis rolled his eyes as he waited for the elevator to stop at his floor. Was the background music of that terribly ugly hotel really that lame? It made him feel even more out of place than he already felt.
Why had England chosen such an extravagant place to stay at New York he didn't know but, in all honesty, he was glad for once at the Brit's habit of staying away from whatever hotel chosen for the EU members. That way, it hadn't been too hard to sneak out of their dinner and make it look like he had a date with some unknown person. Everyone was used to it. If only they knew...
The doors opened and France stepped out, checking the room number on his phone's notes. He approached the room and glanced at the box of chocolates he was holding. He felt stupid. And, to make things worse, not even the chocolates' brand was French -in fact, it was a very well known American brand-, but he had this rule of never showing up on a date empty handed, and this was the only thing he could buy on his way.
He finally got to room 218 and stared at the door for a moment. It was still hard to believe that he was really waiting for him at the other side. What if all of it was nothing more than a huge joke? What if it wasn't, but it ended up being a bad experience? And what if it turned up to be too good?
The mere thought made his pulse race. France tried his best to ingore it, then he put on his most charming smile and knocked on the door.
yourenglishgentleman
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Character Overview
（*´▽｀*）: I love the way you play your character.
// wHO ARE YOU. LET ME DROWN YOU IN GENTLE KISSES =3=. Thank you, thank you very much. <333
(x)
France jumped and turned around instantly at the familiar voice. No, please, not him, not now. If England had heard him he could die of embarrassment right there. He felt the urge to cry and bit his lower lip to fight it.
"H-how long have you… been there?" he asked, ignoring Arthur’s question.
yourenglishgentleman:
"A while. Long enough to know you’re babbling to yourself like a wrinkly old codger," Arthur retorted flatly, turning his head a little as he threw a glance around the room; no silver-blond hair and no deceivingly gorgeous Spanish behind anywhere in sight.
Fucking brilliant, really. Just fantastic.
"I always knew you were pathetic, but this is a little over the top, don’t you think? Loitering about, drunk and alone, sounds more like something I’d be prone to do."
Of all the things that could have happened, really... why did he have so bad luck?
"Why do you always have to be so mean to me?" he pouted. "Just go! Let...- let me be."
He crossed his arms over the bar and buried his head between them.
"And fuck you, I wasn't alone. I- I got lost, and my phone ran out of battery, that's all." His voice came out muffled, but still the crackings in it were noticeable.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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(x)
"Your inability to take a joke even when my comment was obviously false is still astonishing after so many years" France replied while laughing. He poked England’s side just one more time and then retreated, rising his glass of wine to his lips as if it was a shield of sorts.
He sipped from the glass and gave the other a faint half-smile.
"You haven’t gained a single gram of fat since I know you, now that I think about it" France noticed. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, giving the Brit an evaluating look from head to toes. "It’s probably because you spend way too much energy being bitter 24/7. Tsk, what a waste."
yourenglishgentleman:
"Maybe you joke was just so horrendously not funny that it wasn’t worth being acknowledged,” England grumbled irately, again swatting at Francis’ hand as he shifted away from him as best as he could.
"Oh please, I hardly think I look famished enough for that to be a possibility yet," he commented, completely deadpan even as he lifted a hand to steal a single piece of cheese from the other’s plate.
For a few seconds, he fell silent as he merely chewed; a swallow and he took a sip of wine, before he rested his chin back against his palm, elbow propped on the dark, smooth wood in front of them.
"Now, kindly sod off about my weight, will you? It’s none of your blasted business. And who knows, I might end up terribly insecure; just sitting in the corner, crying and wailing about my frail and bony, bitter self."
"Oh, no, but we don't want that, now, do we?" France replied, with one hand on his chest and an obviously fake worried expression on his face. "Poor little England, sooo anxious about what someone else has to say about his skinny little body." He snorted and then took another piece of cheese from the plate. "I know you better that to think that that is an actual possiblity."
(x)
England’s neverending rant seemed to finally snap the Frenchman back to reality. He frowned and crossed his arms.
"If coming to greet me personally on my birthday is such an unbearable experience for you, then what on earth are you doing here?" He tried to keep a serious expression, but the sight of a uncomfortable England standing in the middle of his living room still holding a bunch of flowers was too delightful. A mischievous smile escaped from Francis’ lips against his own will. "Are you some kind of masochist, perhaps?"
yourenglishgentleman:
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Arthur raised his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a second as he attempted to rein in his flaring temper.
“Yes, France,” he ground out quietly. “Obviously I must take some sort of sick joy in humiliating myself in front of you of all people. Why else would I possibly-“
Biting the inside of his cheek quickly, England stopped himself mid-sentence, taking a slow breath. Experience assured him this sort of reaction wouldn’t get them any further; it would just serve to fuel the smug mirth he could already see settling around Francis like a cloak.
So, instead, the Englishman licked his lips, tearing his gaze from the other nation’s face again as he shifted uncomfortably.
"Look, can you just— Take the goddamned flowers already? Please?"
A shadow of something that somehow resembled tenderness made its way, for a split second, through France's eyes and smile.
"Why, of course, Angleterre. Let's put them in water, yes? I wouldn't want them to wither too soon."
Francis took the bouquet from Arthur's hands and, after a very unlike-him moment of awkwardness, he turned around looking for a suitable vase.
A lonely piece made of Bohemian glass placed on one of his shelves cought Francis' attention. He took it to the kitchen and filled it with tap water. Once the vase was ready, France untied and unwrapped the flower bouquet slowly, carefully, as if he was performing an art. He then picked the flowers one by one and put them in the vase.
He could sense the presence of the Englishman looking from behind. Francis smiled for himself, but he didn't turn back.
"You know, I thought I was going to spend most of the day alone", he said. "That is, until you came here."
(x)
"Not my fault you tipped the scale with something that mundane, is it. I’m disappointed; I’d have expected something more spectacular from you."
yourenglishgentleman:
lafrancecestmoi:
"That’s where I was getting, mind you", France replied as he leaned closer. "That is, until you started being a spoilsport. What a pity, I was somehow hoping that we both could get eternal damnation together."
He tilted his head and smirked at England, raising a single eyebrow.
England’s lips twitched with the barest hints of a grin and he gave a theatric sigh. “It is a real tragedy that we missed out on such a unique opportunity, isn’t it. But rest assured,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If there is such a thing as hell, I shall be sitting down there waiting for you to make your fashionably late entrance, at least.”
France chuckled as he pictured England waiting for him at the gates of hell. It was fun, in a twisted way, how both of them were completely sure where their afterlife would belong, if there was any afterlife at all.
"I wouldn't expect any less from you, my friend" France replied smiling. He then looked at England, judging. "You'd make a nice fallen angel now that you mention it."
