France's Daughter // Hetalia

Chapter Twelve- Bake, Ache, and Overtake

France (Francis), 8:12PM

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"Merci, Papa. Dinner was excellent", Charlie smiles, collecting everyone's plates.

I watch her start to wash the dishes, putting away the extra food, wiping down the counters- it's as if she had never left. I try to stand up to go and help her, but Arthur grabs my sleeve. I look back at him, and those enticing emerald green eyes sway me into sitting back down. 

"Francis. Give her a chance."

I stare at him, examining every feature of his soft, stubborn face. He'll happily argue himself to death trying to get me to see the benefits of letting Charlotte bake for me, but the fact of the matter is- if she fails, she'll never forgive herself. I can't watch mon cherie get hurt again. Not now that she's back. 

Yet, as England sets his soft hands on my cheeks, the excitement of flirting behind Charlie's back sending sparks to my heart, I feel as if I'd do anything he says. His eyes see right through me, and instead of yelling and screaming like he normally does, he's just staring at me- trying to get me to break- and it's working. With every second, I feel my face heating up more and more, the clattering of silverware and dishes in the distance adding to the anticipation. 

The only way to fight fire is with fire. 

"Angleterre, are you trying to seduce me?", I purr, leaning in a bit more.

He blinks, those big bushy eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He looks overwhelmed now- Embarrassed, even. He parts his lips, so close to screaming, to ruining the serenity of the moment, but I gently caress his cheek to retaliate. One of the many moves I have planned to sway his opinion in my favor. 

"Bloody pervert... I'm not one of your maidens", He growls with an insincere animosity, taking my hand and removing it from his face.

The touch lingers for a moment longer, as he holds my hand just for an extra second before swatting it away. I savor the feeling before his fingertips slip from my grasp, and I wonder what it means when I miss his hand in mine.

"Let her", he finally says, and I sense for the last time. He's growing weary of asking- as if he's on the verge of begging. 

I let out a sultry sigh, looking back towards Charlie, still far too occupied in dishes to notice the sexual tension between me and my dear aggressive England. I turn my focus back to the British man, who's on the edge of his seat, awaiting a response. I'd never put Arthur in front of Charlie, even if he's seducing me, but he does make a compelling argument. Especially with those slender hips and contoured collarbone. Even those thinly pressed lips, sealed in a exasperated line, are luring me in. 

"Fine", I don't mean for it to come out as a whisper, but I can't help it. 

I also can't help but notice that we're now only inches apart. His eyes flicker to my lips, then back up the meet my gaze, and I see an ache glistening against those green irises. All I can think about is the undeniable desire crackling between us, until Charlie catches my attention.

"Papa, what are you doing?"

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Charlotte (Charlie, Lottie)

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Oh Papa. You can't help yourself, can you? I've always known there was something between you and Arthur. Why else would he have moved in? Why else are you so nervous around him you resort to insults to express yourself? It's endearing, really, but I know you'll still deny it, even if you two get married. 

"N-Nothing, Charlie!", He pulls away from the other man, and it seems he doesn't know what to do with his hands. "Hey, how would you like to make dessert, huh?"

I blink, trying to process if I heard him correctly. Maybe Arthur was finally able to break him, make him come to his senses. I'll be an adult soon, I can handle a little dessert- but finally hearing him say it is so overwhelming. I feel like I'll explode from joy. 

"Really Papa!?", I grin from ear to ear, clasping my hands together in excitement. "You mean it?!"

"Of course, ma cherie!", He smiles back, Arthur copying his expression with just a hint of smugness. 

I throw myself in his arms, but only for a split second before I rush back in the kitchen, scouring the cabinets for ingredients and cookware. This'll be the best dessert he's ever tasted! I'll show him that I have what it takes to work in the bakery, too! I've never told him about that aspiration.. I've never even met the owner- but I know someday I'll work beside him or her. I'll be so great!

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France (Francis)

One hour later, 9:12PM

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"Angleterre, what are you scheming here?", I whisper huskily, pressing my forehead against the shorter man's. "Because you might just drive me wild with that face of yours.."

He's pressed against the bedroom wall, his face pained yet longing. I feel the rising of his chest against mine, each breath short and staggering, and I wonder how much longer I can hold back. It's more than a lustful desire at this point- having him in my house 24/7 has contributed to these growing feelings, devouring everything in their path. I can't help but want to go crazy when I stare into his gorgeous eyes and touch is baby soft skin.

 But, then again, he's so goddamn annoying.

"I.. feel like you drugged me..", He whispers, gently setting his hands on my chest, my elbow leaned against the wall above him. "I feel weak..."

I can't help but let a heavy breath escape my lips, which sounds more like a purr, as I set my free hand on his hip. I use my thumb to rub circles into his skin, and he accepts the gesture, leaning into my touch as subtly as possible. 

"That's just the bliss", I smirk, leaning in just a little closer.

I want those lips against mine. I want that body against mine. I want that man to be mine. I never thought, even after all these years of bickering and arguing, that I'd find myself lusting over England- of all people! Does he feel the same, or is he taunting me? Just playing with me in his sick little twisted game of love. 

I've never doubted my abilities- but right now, as he's rubbing his knee between my legs, I'm left wondering where I should start devouring him.