Hetalia Drabbles

Miscommunicated feelings (FRUK)

Disclaimer:I do not own the following work of fiction sexual references

"Hey there, tall, dark and drop dead gorgeous."

At the sultry voice, both France and England turned and saw a woman: beautiful, sexy, and nondescript. Before they could react, she settles herself in France's lap, and begins stroking his stubbled chin.

"Let's dance. Upstairs. In my room."

France laughed as the woman pressed her richly endowed bosom against his cheek; But it was more because of England's seething expression he caught at the corner of his eye than anything else.

He lifted her hand from his chin to place a delicate kiss there before relocating it down to her own lap.

"Je suis desolé mademoiselle. But I am wid 'im."

The woman looked over her shoulder, and noticing England for the first time, made a soundless 'oh' with her lips. Then she resumed wrapping her hands around France's broad shoulders and cooed, "That's alright, he won't be lonely."

On cue, another woman approached them - blonde, petit and pretty. She situates herself beside England who jumps as she locks her arms around his neck putting her lips to his ear.

"We can do a foursome if you desire."

Again France chuckles stiffly. "Zatis very kind of you, but I meant, I am wid 'im and 'e is wid me, we are... togezzer."

The woman blinks emphatically at him, as if thinking France was pulling a fast one on her; then glanced over at her friend who kept kissing England's ear but elicited nothing more than a badly suppressed look of annoyance on his blushing face. Then she looked at France again.

"I admit... he's really cute... but you don't seem the type who'd go for men."

England snorted loudly at that. And France could almost hear him retort in his head: 'Oh he'll go for anything with sex in it', even though England said nothing.

"I am bisexual. But..." Pushing the woman gently off him, he hops off his barstool and leans over England pulling him in for a very passionate kiss in which the Englishman just accepts but does not respond to, save for the intensified blushing. If anything, he was even pushing the Frenchman away, but it went unnoticed and unsuccessful. Both women stare, mouths hanging open.

"I am in love and I am not looking for diversions." France stated dreamily when he broke the kiss.

England hastily looked down, suddenly finding the patterns on the floor very interesting, and even the two women couldn't help admit that the mere sight of their blushing cheeks side by side was simply endearing...

They nod nervously and before they saunter away, mumbled breathless words that sounded a lot like 'sorry, congratulations' and 'you two look perfect together'.

France stared after them looking genuinely pained at having to break yet another admirer's heart; yet all the same, very pleased with himself, like he had just done his good deed for the day. It's all for the best, he sighed dramatically, the heady smile never leaving his face.

But suddenly feeling as though someone was boring a hole in his blind side with a glare, he turns to England and sees him doing just that; his green orbs glowing translucent beneath the dimmed lights.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"What?"

"That."

"I wuz only telling zem ze truth cherie."

"Which couldn't have been farther from it! We aren't together, n-not like that!"

"Oh?" France leaned back against his stool, amusement in his blue eyes as he brought his glass to his lips. "Would you 'ave preferred a foursome wid zose women?"

"That is not what I was saying!"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying- that you are a bloody liar. And you didn't have to pass up her generous offer on my account, knowing full well that sex is what you came here for!"

"While zat's not entirely false, it iz also not entirely true." Replied the Frenchman subtly.

England merely scoffed and turned to nurse his replenished whiskey glass.

"I indulge in much flirting mais au contraire, when it comes to ze zsree-letter-word, I am very méticuleux. I came 'ere to accompany you. And yes, to 'ave sex wid you if you are in ze mood for it."

At this point the whiskey exited England's mouth in a furious spurt.

"S-sorry." England muttered to the bartender, who took the brunt of it. Cheeks tinted bright red, he wheeled with eyes blazing to the still wide-eyed Frenchman. "I most certainly am NOT! Nor will I ever be for anything remotely to do with you! You fro-mmpphh!"

The bartender shook his head and walked to the other end of the counter wiping his face, as the Englishman's words were smothered in a rough kiss. England managed to pull away gasping for air and redder than ever.

"Now, 'uu eez ze liar?" France grinned smugly, hands still possessively gripping the other Nation's nape keeping their noses touching.

"Fuck off!" England hissed, only to be forced to another lip crushing kiss. This time France didn't let him pull out of it so easily. He chewed and sucked on the English Nation's lips out of spite, just to coax a response out of him. He laughed as the disgruntled Nation tried and managed to bite him back, blood oozing from their bursted lips now; England's with a clean bite, while France's nastily ripped.

France wiped the blood on his sleeve with a predatory smirk. And that was all the warning he gave before he dived in to devour the younger Nation's lips in another bout of mouth-to-mouth roughhousing. This time England fought back hard to gain the upperhand in the 'kiss'. More bites, blood and French-versus-English kisses later, both were panting hard and tight somewhere below where no one could see.

The bartender wordlessly extends a key to them which France quickly grabs with a polite 'merci', before dragging England to their usual room upstairs...

Whatever they were to one another was not easy to comprehend or define. Well, at least not to the simple-minded observer, but as far as the two of them and the rest of the eccentric world was concerned, the "Nation of Love" and the "Nation of Romance" miscommunicated their feelings to each other just fine.

England is referred to as the "Nation of Romance" in this