[UKFr] If I Can Go Back...

Chapter 3: The Crews

4:00AM, France’s Cabin.

Meanwhile in France’s room, he was in deep slumber. The captain of this ship had given him quite a nice treat, not to mention what had happened five hours ago. The door opened slowly, as small beam of light from the moon entered such place. Who would have thought that even heavenly bodies are after and/or longing for the Frenchman?

The same crew, mentioned before, entered the room. He wasn’t wearing anything that would indicate that he’s one of the officers of the ship. He immediately headed straight towards his sleeping victim, pulled France’s legs open, which jolted the Parisian to wake up. The male tried to escape but the said crew was too strong for him to handle. Besides that, he didn’t have a weapon with him.

He placed a white, clean handkerchief that hurriedly pressed the said victim into a deep sleep. “I can now have fun with you, can’t I? You sexy dickhead.” When he was about to pour all the pleasure he had been refusing to release, the door opened in a thud as if there was someone willing to bulge in.

“Who said you can touch my property, you dirty git? Release him!” With just an order from their superior, the crew stopped doing his business as the British captain landed a strong kick at the other which had thrown his body on the ship’s wall with a slam.

The next day, the Frenchman unclasped his eyes and saw the familiar cabin he first got in yesterday. Small demeanour of the maize male on the bed had woken up the young Brit. “Ngh..” He muttered, silently blaming the bright rays of the sun which just trespassed via his window and the sun itself for its early rise.

Why the heck am I with this guy? France checked himself and surprised to find out that he was perfectly fine. No touching occurred; no extreme things were done on his body. Seems like he didn’t pay a touch on me last night—wait... If I’m not mistaken, I was sleeping at my cabin. Why am I...?

The British woke up lazily and sat on his bed, half-awake. His eyes were weakly clamped; his hair was dishevelled. England opened his eyes a bit and saw France making a funny yet irritating facial expression. “Don’t give me that stupid look. I didn’t do anything to you. It will only happen in your dreams, bloody annoying Frenchman.” He teased.

“Like I was asking about that. Who wouldn’t think such thing if someone saw themselves sleeping with someone who forced them to give him a head?” France rolled his eyes exactly like how a woman would act towards a person she doesn’t even know.

“Ah.” England snapped, drawing back that evil grin. “Don’t tell me you’re actually expecting something like that happen?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The maize male walked out of the bed and his cabin with quite a madness involved in there. He wiped dusts off from his blue long tunic and continued heading out. France completely forgotten that most of the crews in this ship hadn’t seen him yet.

That guy last night...could have thought that he’s actually a woman because of that long deceiving tunic.

He completely went out off the room without paying the other blonde male a glimpse. The guy who bugged the Frenchman last night was there, looking at him with those passionate, maniac eyes. Other crews were eyeing him, asking themselves who he is. France’s wonderful oceanic blue hues glanced at them questionably, only to realize that he was unknown yet.

“What a fine damsel. I like those scourging, gorgeous blue-as-sapphire eyes.” One of the crews mumbled to the other man beside him and grinned maniacally.

“I want those, yes...”

One of them placed his arms in front of himself and moved it close-open, as if he was playing with a kid. Those signs were actually his desire to touch the male, who they thought was a woman. “I like those sexy legs. Mhm, yes...”

Others were quiet but a desire of pleasure could be seen through their eyes because they were completely looking at him like he was a figure of a woman with sexy legs and perfect body. Not to mention that they hadn’t seen the flat chest of the Frenchman.

France could definitely hear them. Those mumbles they did weren’t exactly the ‘mumble’ France knows. One crew drew his path towards the ‘woman’ and aided him at the kitchen. While walking, “You’re a woman, right? Please, make food for us. It doesn’t matter if you can cook or not. The thing here is, a woman made it and it’s better compared to what we get through daily.” He said, as comical sweats began to drop from his temple.

The young blonde nation blinked in confusion as he failed to ask the crew to what he was trying to imply. That man already left, maybe because he didn’t want France to refuse what he was telling him to do. He’s a new ‘crew’ who just boarded the ship last night that’s why everything was making him in a muzzle. What was that...? Well, whatever. Cooking is my thing—so; I’ll just do what he says, then.