Chapter Text
“You’re like a young buck trying to run himself off cliffs in order to impress …. Hm, I suppose calling America a doe would be a bit misleading, wouldn’t it?” France inquired from where he lounged on the bedspread, fully enjoying the faces England made wrapping bandages coated with neosporene begged from Canada’s luggage around his own palms.
“Shut up,” England huffed, trying not to sigh too deeply with relief as he tucked an end in. “You saw the way he was nattering on and on about how Americans are so daring, they invented this sport, you should try it. As if no one’s thought about tossing themselves off cliffs before!”
“Didn’t you invent that?”
England ignored him. “It’s not the first time he’s gotten a thing like that wrong. As if none of us have ever known what true risk is.”
France rolled over onto his stomach. His suit coat had long ago been given over to the closet, his tie quick to follow. A stroll after the meeting had turned into an outright adventure none of them had been dressed for, so France lounged in his button-up and slacks with the same impudence he would have saved for silk shirts and designer jeans. He pillowed his chin on laced fingers, smiling secretively at England.
England caught himself staring at the fluid motion, and glared at France for good measure before jerking the bandage on his other hand tighter.
“Do be honest, Angleterre,” France hummed, eyes bright. England narrowed his eyes at him. “I saw the way you looked at that schooner the moment you spied her from the top floors of the conference building.”
England focused very hard on not using the bandages from his hands to make a garrote perfectly sized for France’s neck. “Don’t be ridiculous. I cannot believe you are suggesting I used America as an excuse to clamber all over a ship.”
“That ship’s seen more action from you, my dear, than anyone has in centuries,” said France, arching a brow.
“I do not have a ship fetish!” England shot to his feet, only to stumble and curse as pain shot up his thighs and dumped him right back into his chair.
“I never said you did!” sung France, laughing at him. Damn him to all sorts of paisley hell.