[ He almost expected the initial response as it mirrors what he also wouldn't mind in their current moment. Moment. Was this considered a Moment? The frown slips when he catches Austria's eyes and he gets confirmation that yes, this was probably a Moment.
France is good at superficial follies. He enjoyed the hunt. If Austria was wrong, if the lantern was a lie, he could try to detach and save both of them the hurt that would inevitably come from attachment. The entire time they'd slept together (but it wasn't just sex; they'd gone on dates, spent time together without all that much of agenda on occasion, hadn't they?), whatever feelings that were developing could be set aside. He hadn't been prepared for feeling loss when Austria back home hadn't recalled a single thing.
Austria sits beside him again and France is reminded that he'd contemplated trying again, back home, if only to get to the point where he could be companionably close without feeling like a burden. His words sink in, and for a second they validate his belief that at least on some level Austria had considered France's presence to be troublesome. That's not the point of why Austria is saying it, though, and he can appreciate that too. ]
As far as match-making went, at least she aimed high. [ While he didn't seem to be bragging about himself, there is enough ability to see where pride may be assumed and he continues, ] It wasn't her fault that she didn't know me to be the insufferable brat I was back then.
[ Is, now, sometimes. He likes to think that he's better now if age and the changing times have calmed him. That doesn't stop him from letting his hand stray, winding behind Austria, ever mindful of the feathers, to grasp the bottle of wine on the other side. Something in him keeps France from downing the rest of its contents, perhaps the faint surprise at the man ever feeling bitter that they'd never attempted a lasting relationship back home. ]
We do not have the pleasure of acting on our own accord back home. Any feelings I may have for someone does not void me of duty... I-- [ He trails off, distracted by the memories of every failed venture he'd actually been foolish enough to pursue despite what he was, and what that kept him from... and really, there is a reason he puts a stop to things before feelings are allowed to blossom for a reason. Wetting his lips, he shifts closer when Austria leans back. He hadn't anticipated being reminded of that night in particular. It could have been a painful reminder but instead, it makes him smile fondly and reach out, fingers stroking slowly over the man's clothed knee. It's not flirtation, but it certainly could double down on more than being a comforting gesture. ]
I was very fond of those gardens. Still am. [ When France had been younger, he'd been caught up in romanticizing alliances, and he and Austria had been so new to theirs that it really was inevitable. He'd taken to duty but he wanted to make it his. A trip to Versailles had ended up with France offering to take Austria out one evening for an impromptu tour of the gardens. In the present, France's attention strays to Austria's profile and lingers on how the moon lights his skin. For a few seconds, he's stuck reliving that night. ] It's funny, how even now, we gravitate to scenery such as this, on nights like these.
[ The battle to keep his hand from slowly creeping upward is barely won, but he'll be damned if he's the one that ruins the mood. It's so, so rare that he hears Austria speak so freely that he wouldn't let himself live it down. France exhales and leans into the other, looking up as well. If he focuses on the moon he doesn't have to focus on the terrible ache of longing and nostalgia building in him. It seems as if he is unknowingly rewarded for his self-control when Austria finally speaks again. ]
Hm. Having me? [ For a moment, France sounds playful. Coy, even, but it drops away. A tired act employed to hide the soft underbelly. ] I have been plagued for the entirety of my existence by people insisting they had me. I am a very, very desirable trophy you see. [ He motions with the bottle, a little toast to his bosses and every formal alliance he's had. To Austria, as well. As it was rude to toast without following it with a drink, he does as such. Contrary to the weight of his reminiscing, he doesn't appear bitter. Austria's words had levied some of that. ] I remember though, that night in particular clarity. I pined over the notion of you wanting me without being told to. [ It's not a shot fired. Truly. ] I am fairly sure you had me then. It's bittersweet that you are only aware of having me now.
[ France stops, unsure. ]
My liver could not tolerate you letting go, I think. It can barely tolerate this.
I DO NOT HAVE AN ICON SUITABLE FOR THIS
France is good at superficial follies. He enjoyed the hunt. If Austria was wrong, if the lantern was a lie, he could try to detach and save both of them the hurt that would inevitably come from attachment. The entire time they'd slept together (but it wasn't just sex; they'd gone on dates, spent time together without all that much of agenda on occasion, hadn't they?), whatever feelings that were developing could be set aside. He hadn't been prepared for feeling loss when Austria back home hadn't recalled a single thing.
Austria sits beside him again and France is reminded that he'd contemplated trying again, back home, if only to get to the point where he could be companionably close without feeling like a burden. His words sink in, and for a second they validate his belief that at least on some level Austria had considered France's presence to be troublesome. That's not the point of why Austria is saying it, though, and he can appreciate that too. ]
As far as match-making went, at least she aimed high. [ While he didn't seem to be bragging about himself, there is enough ability to see where pride may be assumed and he continues, ] It wasn't her fault that she didn't know me to be the insufferable brat I was back then.
[ Is, now, sometimes. He likes to think that he's better now if age and the changing times have calmed him. That doesn't stop him from letting his hand stray, winding behind Austria, ever mindful of the feathers, to grasp the bottle of wine on the other side. Something in him keeps France from downing the rest of its contents, perhaps the faint surprise at the man ever feeling bitter that they'd never attempted a lasting relationship back home. ]
We do not have the pleasure of acting on our own accord back home. Any feelings I may have for someone does not void me of duty... I-- [ He trails off, distracted by the memories of every failed venture he'd actually been foolish enough to pursue despite what he was, and what that kept him from... and really, there is a reason he puts a stop to things before feelings are allowed to blossom for a reason. Wetting his lips, he shifts closer when Austria leans back. He hadn't anticipated being reminded of that night in particular. It could have been a painful reminder but instead, it makes him smile fondly and reach out, fingers stroking slowly over the man's clothed knee. It's not flirtation, but it certainly could double down on more than being a comforting gesture. ]
I was very fond of those gardens. Still am. [ When France had been younger, he'd been caught up in romanticizing alliances, and he and Austria had been so new to theirs that it really was inevitable. He'd taken to duty but he wanted to make it his. A trip to Versailles had ended up with France offering to take Austria out one evening for an impromptu tour of the gardens. In the present, France's attention strays to Austria's profile and lingers on how the moon lights his skin. For a few seconds, he's stuck reliving that night. ] It's funny, how even now, we gravitate to scenery such as this, on nights like these.
[ The battle to keep his hand from slowly creeping upward is barely won, but he'll be damned if he's the one that ruins the mood. It's so, so rare that he hears Austria speak so freely that he wouldn't let himself live it down. France exhales and leans into the other, looking up as well. If he focuses on the moon he doesn't have to focus on the terrible ache of longing and nostalgia building in him. It seems as if he is unknowingly rewarded for his self-control when Austria finally speaks again. ]
Hm. Having me? [ For a moment, France sounds playful. Coy, even, but it drops away. A tired act employed to hide the soft underbelly. ] I have been plagued for the entirety of my existence by people insisting they had me. I am a very, very desirable trophy you see. [ He motions with the bottle, a little toast to his bosses and every formal alliance he's had. To Austria, as well. As it was rude to toast without following it with a drink, he does as such. Contrary to the weight of his reminiscing, he doesn't appear bitter. Austria's words had levied some of that. ] I remember though, that night in particular clarity. I pined over the notion of you wanting me without being told to. [ It's not a shot fired. Truly. ] I am fairly sure you had me then. It's bittersweet that you are only aware of having me now.
[ France stops, unsure. ]
My liver could not tolerate you letting go, I think. It can barely tolerate this.