[ He's sorely out of practice. France has had more than his fair share of people taking him aside and insisting that they were in love and every one of them had gotten the same gentle yet firm denial. It was never really them that was the problem; he was. There was little that he could actually give them and that certainly included his heart. Fickle thing. He's wanted Austria for centuries but only once had he even considered that desire was deeper than lust. And then he'd gone a little unwell for awhile, so that was the end of that.
Admitting to himself that he loved the other nation had been drawn out over the months they'd kindled whatever sort of relationship they had here. He may not have repeated in so many words that he loved the brunet, but he did what he could. There were worse ways to let a man know you cared and far worse scenarios. France will be content with a dimly lit park at night, even if they are far from home.
It's difficult to not feel dazed when Austria grabs his hand and helps him up from the bench. Part of the last ten minutes doesn't feel quite real but the fingers wrapped around his are warm and solid to the touch – and while he wouldn't have minded the split decision to straddle him and kiss him properly, he is happy to have that tour.
France lets him be the one that does the majority of the talking as they walk through the quiet park, smiling in acknowledgment to a few of the spots. The concert hall has a similar effect on France's train of thought and he has to bite his tongue. The night is cool but he feels a wave of heat crawl along his neck. He'd reeled from the aftermath of that evening for days and from the subtle spike in his pulse that appeal clearly hasn't outstayed its welcome. The charm of Austria attempting to clarify that he hadn't intended it to be sexual reels the blond's libido a bit and draws a grin from him. He chooses to momentarily go with that narrative, looking up. ]
Can you decipher which one of those lights above is ours?
[ His eyes go from the sky to Austria's profile, faintly curious. For the record, he didn't expect him to, but he's feeling exceptionally soft around the edges and the idea is sentimental enough to fit the mood. Curiosity gets to him when he notices that the other nation has slowed. France's fingers feel like they're being clung to rather than simply held and he squeezes back, pulling just enough to suggest they stop. They'd wandered far enough into the park that the few people had thinned out altogether. ]
Can you see anyone else around us? I'm afraid that I want to risk ruining the atmosphere.
[ France means with a kiss, but he's more than eager to endanger it by dragging him to somewhere a little more private, just as he'd done so long ago back home. He keeps his hand clasped in Austria's but his free one settles on the back of his neck. His lips quirk slightly. ]
I remember the first time we kissed here. You were so angry. [ And handsome. How far they've come though, that he's not in the least bit concerned about whether or not Austria will recoil when he leans in for a kiss here with no prying eyes. As there was nobody around (rhetorical questions be damned), he doesn't bother to pull away, instead doing just the opposite. ] Why don't you hide that basket, hm?
weeeelp
Admitting to himself that he loved the other nation had been drawn out over the months they'd kindled whatever sort of relationship they had here. He may not have repeated in so many words that he loved the brunet, but he did what he could. There were worse ways to let a man know you cared and far worse scenarios. France will be content with a dimly lit park at night, even if they are far from home.
It's difficult to not feel dazed when Austria grabs his hand and helps him up from the bench. Part of the last ten minutes doesn't feel quite real but the fingers wrapped around his are warm and solid to the touch – and while he wouldn't have minded the split decision to straddle him and kiss him properly, he is happy to have that tour.
France lets him be the one that does the majority of the talking as they walk through the quiet park, smiling in acknowledgment to a few of the spots. The concert hall has a similar effect on France's train of thought and he has to bite his tongue. The night is cool but he feels a wave of heat crawl along his neck. He'd reeled from the aftermath of that evening for days and from the subtle spike in his pulse that appeal clearly hasn't outstayed its welcome. The charm of Austria attempting to clarify that he hadn't intended it to be sexual reels the blond's libido a bit and draws a grin from him. He chooses to momentarily go with that narrative, looking up. ]
Can you decipher which one of those lights above is ours?
[ His eyes go from the sky to Austria's profile, faintly curious. For the record, he didn't expect him to, but he's feeling exceptionally soft around the edges and the idea is sentimental enough to fit the mood. Curiosity gets to him when he notices that the other nation has slowed. France's fingers feel like they're being clung to rather than simply held and he squeezes back, pulling just enough to suggest they stop. They'd wandered far enough into the park that the few people had thinned out altogether. ]
Can you see anyone else around us? I'm afraid that I want to risk ruining the atmosphere.
[ France means with a kiss, but he's more than eager to endanger it by dragging him to somewhere a little more private, just as he'd done so long ago back home. He keeps his hand clasped in Austria's but his free one settles on the back of his neck. His lips quirk slightly. ]
I remember the first time we kissed here. You were so angry. [ And handsome. How far they've come though, that he's not in the least bit concerned about whether or not Austria will recoil when he leans in for a kiss here with no prying eyes. As there was nobody around (rhetorical questions be damned), he doesn't bother to pull away, instead doing just the opposite. ] Why don't you hide that basket, hm?