A/N Whoo, spicy there other chapter! Now you have to focus on England again! Sorry not sorry~ ...and now a chapter I actually planned before writing!
Warnings include a little bit of flirtiness (it's a FrUK chapter in this fanfic what do you expect) and drinking of whiskey, but not enough to be unsafe. A/N over.
"I think you're right,"
The words were still echoing in England's mind as he laid on his back in the soft but ever-so-lumpy hotel bed. Canada had called him at eight in the morning, which was surprisingly late for how panicked he seemed to be. (It was more of an excited panic really, but the two weren't very differentiable over the phone.) Sure, eight in the morning in Britain was three in the morning in Canada, which made Arthur worry that Canada didn't get any rest, but it was still odd to hear a half asleep, angry, Canadian cursing at him for sleeping too much. (It was especially odd since he had already been awake for a few hours by the time the blond hockey player called him.)
But all of the initial doubt was washed away as Canada rushed through an explanation of why he was calling.
"Cuba thinks you're right Arthur,"
That sentence had been completely without context, and had definitely taken the Brit off-guard at first, even after Canada began to explain what he acutely meant. Apparently, Cuba, without knowing that they were discussing an idea related to what he was about to say, had gotten into the topic of magic and brought up potions. At first, England hadn't gotten what the big deal was.
After all, they already knew there were potions, it wasn't exactly new information. England's mother had worked for years documenting transformation spells, though nothing as weakening or partial as the one they were searching for at the moment. She usually liked full-scale transformations, things like turning into animals or plants, disguising oneself as parts of nature for an upper hand in battle. (The only partial change England could think of was an early spell that she had apparently never finished, something to do with bird wings.)
Canada had quickly explained, however, that this was important because Cuba had no idea that anyone was interested in anything like this and yet he brought it up. It didn't matter that he didn't identify specifics, apparently, it was just important that he generally thought such a process was within-reason. England had almost rolled his eyes at this, of course it was within reason, just as much as any other transformation spell.
Nonetheless, it was quite exciting.
Right then it was far past noon, more than a few hours having passed since their very energetic and sleep-deprived phone call. That call had taken place as he was driving down to the ferry terminal, as he had to get to France within the hour. Many of the European nations were having a meeting, not because their bosses need it or even because they- God forbid- wanted to see each other but instead because they were (again) working out the aftermath of the Cold War.
It had been a while, years in fact, since that war but things were still quite chaotic. Things were getting better, for the most part, but there were still personal and general things that needed to be worked out. Not everyone was there, mostly because no one really wanted to show up but also because too many nations in the same room at the same time wasn't really a fantastic idea. So here he was, lying on his back in the bed he had so kindly referred to as a 'lumpy hotel bed'.
It wasn't really a lumpy hotel bed.
It was lumpy as all hell (or at least he was going to pretend it was, just to be rude) but it wasn't a hotel bed. Yes, that's right, France had decided that a few of the Europeans could stay at his house instead of going directly home, as it was a long drive for many, and others were simply too lazy to get on a plane or even book a hotel room when some they knew was right there.
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.
"You look like you have thought up a good one," France smirked, his right hand was absentmindedly swirling his glass around in circles, "may I hear it perhaps?"
"No," England blushed, a bombardment of jokes surrounding France hitting him as he tried to deny the existence of such things in his mind, "It's horrible,"
"Horrible as in not amusing or gross?" France smiled brightly as if this was a normal conversation for buzzed half-friends to carry, "Because I can definitely deal with gross,"
A thousand other possibilities entered England's mind at that statement but he shook his head firmly, "It's both a terrible joke and disgusting, I'd prefer not to mention anything to you of all people,"
"Oh come on!" France groaned with a roll of his eyes, "I'm no worse of a person to share lewd jokes with than America!"
England bristled, "I don't share lewd jokes with America!"
"Really?" France looked genuinely surprised, "You are missing out! He has some absolutely hysterical ones, he could go on for hours about the state of Alabama, I'm telling you!"
Gritting his teeth and feeling an urge to gag, England shook his head, "I bet Alabama feels absolutely fantastic about that doesn't he..."
Laughing, France shook his head, "Not really,"
Before England could even mutter a 'it was sarcasm dumb-ass' he was suddenly hit with another thought. He knew exactly how to move this conversation away from jokes that made him uncomfortable.
"Hey France," he started, catching the other blonde's attention immediately, "I have some interesting news Canada's really been wanting me to tell you,"
Blinking, France sat up, "I'm sure it doesn't have to do with sex jokes, right?"
England cringed at the forwardness, "Well, no, but I'm sure plenty could be created from it..."
France's triumphant laugh sounded like a scoff, "Well, in that case, go ahead and tell me! No time like the present to make my allies and enemies alike intensely uncomfortable!"
"Some more than others," England muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" France teased, "I don't think I heard you mon amour, can you maybe repeat that~?"
"Only if you stop calling me 'love', dearie, because I am not that," England sneered, kicking his legs up higher and letting their weight pull him back up to a regular sitting position as he turned to face forward again.
"What is the difference between you calling me 'dearie' and all sorts of English words and me calling you love in my much better language?" France started to protest.
England smirked and threw back his head, raising his glass to his lips and downing the remaining bit of his drink in one gulp. When he was done he lowered his gaze and wiped his mouth again, though the smirk stayed present. "The difference is that i'm using mine as an insult and you are being flirtatious and all sorts of unwelcome things," England smiled broadly as France took a moment to think about this, "so, clearly, using 'love' as an insult is a much better choice than meaning it literally~"
"Oh I could use love as an insult plenty," France purred, walking his fingers up his own leg, before glancing up at the Brit on the other side of the coffee table, "and you would probably enjoy it..." England bristled, a short 'well I never!' being all that had time to slip out before France pressed on, "but, you first, what were you saying?"
Seeing that there was no point in arguing, Arthur sighed, "Canada just wanted to tell you that Cuba thinks the general topic associated with forcing male pregnancy is possible,"
France blinked, "Mathew told him about this?"
"No," England hurriedly assured him, "he just brought up potions and mentioned changing body systems, I'm not sure why they were talking about magic though..."
"Hm," France mussed, "Prussia once told me that Germany thinks Cuba can teleport, might that be part of it?"
England blinked, "Wha... he... what?"
"Cuba might be able to teleport," France shrugged with the same casualness as before, almost as if this was a normal thing to say, "if he can that would explain why they were talking about magic, teleportation counts, correct?"
"I... I suppose," England stuttered, he hadn't really thought about Cuba as a viable option for magical powers but now that he was confronted with it the entire idea made sense. It just... he didn't know. it just kind of suited him. A short silence wasn't much, in fact, England didn't even notice that it was in place until France coughed, breaking his focus on the terrifying yet intriguing image of Cuba teleporting to meetings halfway across the globe instead of using a plane like average people.
"So," he started, staring across the coffee table at his still spinning companion, "do you have any-"
Before he could even finish the sentence France interrupted, and the fact that he stood up suddenly at the same time made England jump. "Is it still possible?"
England had no idea what the stubble-bearded man was thinking about (or planning) so he blinked in suppressed surprise, having recovered only slightly from the jump scare. He crossed his legs and forced a professional shrug (if there was such a thing), "It's always been a bad idea, I'm not sure why- if he did do this- why Yao would-"
"But is it possible?"
England chewed on the inside of his cheek, "If it was at some point it still should be now, and if you are worried about ingredients there are probably ways around that, like converting it into a spell, though I doubt that that would fully work. It would probably be way more painful and-"
"So..." France sat back slowly again, "it's still possible..." even from across the room in his slightly buzzed mindset England could see that the French representation was thinking hard.
"Francis," he cautioned, "I say it's dangerous because I mean it,"
In response France waved his hand dismissively as he was clearly still thinking hard (though he caused England to quietly and indignantly curse at him due to the rude nature of the gesture.)
This time, the pause was heavy and riddled with uncertainty. France sat very still, tapping his finger rythmatical on his knee with one hand and stroking the stubble on his chin with the other. In the armchair nearby England nervously bopped his foot, bouncing his calf on his other knee and wondering what the hell France could be thinking about.
Finally, France spoke again, but it wasn't exactly the most promising of phrases. "Do you think..." he started, "do you think you could make it?"
Even though it was exactly what he was expecting, if England had still had any whiskey left he would have done a spit-take. "I- I, well, that is..." even though it didn't have anything to do with him in an insulting way he still felt himself blushing, "It's... it's, I... huh," He moistened his lips, trying hard to think of something to say, though eventually all he could come up with was still pitiful. Voice a little small, England stared down at the carpet, eyes half closed, "It's... it's dangerous France, and since I've never made it I wouldn't..."
He trailed off and looked up, confusion apparent in his now fully open eyes, "W-why me though?"
"Why you what?" France asked incredulously.
"Why would I- ugg," He sighed, trying to contain his now logical embarrassment, "Why would you ask me to make the potion?"
France thought about it for a moment before carefully starting, "...mostly because if China has made this before and I asked him he'd probably either cry or beat my ass-"
"Probably both," England interjected.
"-and I feel like Norway would be annoyed by this spell," France continued.
"Probably," England agreed.
France swallowed, not quite used to being interrupted so much, even when it was only because England was embarrassed and engaged in the conversation, "...and..." he started hesitantly, checking to see if England was about to interrupt. When satisfied with the silence he continued, "and Romania does cards, Moldova's a child, and apparently if Cuba has magic it only has to do with teleportation and that doesn't seem useful,"
Nodding, Arthur showed his agreement without words at first.
"But you know who I bet could make it?" France smiled, the expression both mischievous and loving.
England cocked an eyebrow, "Oh yeah? Who?"
Frances smirk was clear even from their distance, "you."
A/N So, uh, you may notice that these have been pretty Canada heavy recently, and, *aha ha ha*, that would be because he is pretty important and I *may have* forgotten to mention that. ~𝓸𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓮𝓼~ A/N over.