[ Somewhere, a lantern is floating upward to join the rest of its strange family. France feels just as grounded, but he's always been notoriously fickle; distracted by a ceaseless string of consciousness. He isn't offended with the admission that their bickering had offered some solace in neutrality. Idle hands were the devil's playgrounds, but the same went for the mind. Immortality meant for unusual coping mechanisms. Bickering, when the reason to bicker had long-ceased to exist. Pettiness above politeness. It was simply a means and comfort. There's something that seizes inside of him at hearing his companion mention falling for him. Was it his stomach flipping anxiously or his breath? He doesn't know.
The wine keeps him planted to the bench, but it's what Austria offers next that pries a smile out of France. He remembers those years, trying to make sense of an alliance with another that had more often than not been fighting opposite of him. ] My men were just as confused, I promise you. [ The vast majority were. He had given credit to those he'd worked with closest in those days for seeing the situation for what it was. Knowing glances and courteous silence. ]
I never thought you a harlot...
[ It's a consolation prize if anything from one spoiled man to another. He's stuck watching Austria's expression shift in the evening light. It feels like he's back in the gardens, even if this park was a far cry from the manicured lawns and topiary. There's a difference, however; he isn't the one leading the charge. It's only after Austria closes in that he reacts, leaning in to eagerly kiss him in return. His fingers find the fabric of the brunet's jacket. He doesn't realize he'd needed air until the kiss is broken, leaving him to take a few deep breaths. He abandons the jacket to cradle the other's face, soaking in the sound of his voice from so close, adoring the quiet laugh.
He's always been an affectionate man, but it's different when actual emotions and attachments come into play. He doesn't think he can ever get close enough, and when Austria returns for another kiss he buries his fingers deep against the hair at his nape. Iris leaves his companion in a more vulnerable state, emotionally; something France has come to terms with. Even anticipated. He doesn't have the excuse of being a sympathetic crier, but he can feel the urge to let it get the better of him when the other pulls away just enough to speak.
He'd never anticipated those words coming from Austria, and most certainly not in regard to loving him, but from the way his arms wrap around the man's shoulders, it's well-received. He allows the kiss to continue, needing it to be an offering of his own returned feelings in lieu of speaking and ruining the nonverbal part of their exchange. He's just as scared to admit it. What if he did and the next day he woke up in his own bed back home again? It'd ruin him.
He does pull away eventually, lips tingling from the kiss. He feels unsteady but wonderful, and it's awful. ]
You must think me a fraud; needing a third party to tell someone that I love them...
[ He's admitting that he's no good at this, or not in the way he wants to be. The way he wanted being centuries ago. He'll take this moment though and hold it dear. ]He slips a hand from around Austria's shoulders to grab for one of his, bring it to his lips to kiss the knuckles. For a second they sit there, but France eventually offers up another idea. ]
This is no Versailles, but I've only just arrived. Perhaps you could walk with me and show me the sights?
[ We both know those sights are going to be a bush...]
shh i'm not awake
The wine keeps him planted to the bench, but it's what Austria offers next that pries a smile out of France. He remembers those years, trying to make sense of an alliance with another that had more often than not been fighting opposite of him. ] My men were just as confused, I promise you. [ The vast majority were. He had given credit to those he'd worked with closest in those days for seeing the situation for what it was. Knowing glances and courteous silence. ]
I never thought you a harlot...
[ It's a consolation prize if anything from one spoiled man to another. He's stuck watching Austria's expression shift in the evening light. It feels like he's back in the gardens, even if this park was a far cry from the manicured lawns and topiary. There's a difference, however; he isn't the one leading the charge. It's only after Austria closes in that he reacts, leaning in to eagerly kiss him in return. His fingers find the fabric of the brunet's jacket. He doesn't realize he'd needed air until the kiss is broken, leaving him to take a few deep breaths. He abandons the jacket to cradle the other's face, soaking in the sound of his voice from so close, adoring the quiet laugh.
He's always been an affectionate man, but it's different when actual emotions and attachments come into play. He doesn't think he can ever get close enough, and when Austria returns for another kiss he buries his fingers deep against the hair at his nape. Iris leaves his companion in a more vulnerable state, emotionally; something France has come to terms with. Even anticipated. He doesn't have the excuse of being a sympathetic crier, but he can feel the urge to let it get the better of him when the other pulls away just enough to speak.
He'd never anticipated those words coming from Austria, and most certainly not in regard to loving him, but from the way his arms wrap around the man's shoulders, it's well-received. He allows the kiss to continue, needing it to be an offering of his own returned feelings in lieu of speaking and ruining the nonverbal part of their exchange. He's just as scared to admit it. What if he did and the next day he woke up in his own bed back home again? It'd ruin him.
He does pull away eventually, lips tingling from the kiss. He feels unsteady but wonderful, and it's awful. ]
You must think me a fraud; needing a third party to tell someone that I love them...
[ He's admitting that he's no good at this, or not in the way he wants to be. The way he wanted being centuries ago. He'll take this moment though and hold it dear. ]He slips a hand from around Austria's shoulders to grab for one of his, bring it to his lips to kiss the knuckles. For a second they sit there, but France eventually offers up another idea. ]
This is no Versailles, but I've only just arrived. Perhaps you could walk with me and show me the sights?
[ We both know those sights are going to be a bush...]