Medicine = Magic [RoChu Fanfiction]

Chapter Twenty Four

England hadn't really intended to stay. and he wasn't exactly sure why he had agreed at all in the first place, but he didn't really want to attempt to get a hotel now. It wasn't exactly 'far after noon', more of a 'late middle of the evening' sort of deal, and he didn't particularly want to go out into the ocasinaly confusing streets of Paris when it was dark out.

Spain was also staying over, probably because he wanted to spend time with his friend, but had passed out on a basement couch a few hours earlier, probably from regular old lack of sleep. Prussia had wanted to stay but unfortunately (or fortunately depending on the perspective) had way too much work to do in his home country (which was now Germany instead of his now-slightly-useless name-sake) and could not stay.

Even as England stretched his legs, hearing the satisfying 'pop' of joints that had been stuck in one place for too long, he couldn't stop thinking about Canada's information. In fact, now that France and him were the only ones awake...

An hour and a few drinks later, England and France were laughing loudly in the living room.

The Brit was sprawled out sideways across an armchair with his feet kicked up on the side of it while Francis was in an office chair which seemed to be very intent on turning him around and around over and over again.

"You know, you are a very interesting person Angleterre," France purred, his hiccuping laughter far more accented than usual.

"Hardly," England took another sip of his whiskey, swearing as he spilled a bit of it on his vest due to the almost forty five degree angle he found himself sitting at in the armchair. France covered his mouth to hide a laugh, amused by the green-eyed blond's predicament.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the Frenchman, forceful wiping the drink off of his clothing and deliberately touching the back of the chair. France gasped, bringing a hand to his mouth and exclaiming, "Angleterre!" his eyebrows furrowed, "why would you wipe my precious drink on the chair? I could have drunk that stuff off of you!"

England nearly choked on the drink that he had just managed to get into his mouth without his hand shaking enough to spill more. Judging by his companion's confused expression France either didn't know the sexual implications of what he had just said (which was highly unlikely) or he had gotten better at pretending jokes weren't jokes. England shook his head, feeling a bit sick about the idea, "Francis, please don't ever say that again, it makes you sound like a pervert..."

France blinked, that looked of confusion clouding his eyes for just a moment longer before it seemed to suddenly hit. The recognition lit up his face before it was immediately brought back down again into a wide-eyed and shocked expression that he had let it slip by him. "I..." he stuttered, "I missed the chance to make a sex joke?!"

Burping and wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve (which was a very un-gentlemanly thing to do but he didn't care) England shrugged, "It sounded plenty like a sex joke from my perspective..."

"Forgive me Gilbert, I have failed you," France brought his hands together in a mock prayer, "I will never let the opportunity pass again,"

"Oh good lord..." England sighed and turned away from the dramatic reaction, kicking his feet aimlessly, heels tapping against the stitched side of the armchair. He didn't really want to know why France was apologizing to Prussia because he didn't take the opportunity to recognize a dirty joke but he had the general gist. Perhaps a bet of some sort?

England shook his head, furrowing his brow and squeezing his eyes shut as all the possibilities of jokes that France's close friend would enjoy came bombarding his mind. He really didn't want to think about it but yet here he was, nearly gagging at the idea of a joke centered around a common miss-pronuciation of Germany's name. Little fruit flies of intrusive thoughts, that's what these jokes were.