![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Battles
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: PG-15
Genre: Gen
Pairing: France/England
Warnings: Not-really-graphic yaoi
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: They had a long history of fighting.
AN: A new fandom. Just what I need. Also, FrUK is not exactly what I had in mind for my first fic for this fandom; it just popped into my head and refused to let me write anything else, even though I prefer other pairings. Eh...
The first time, they were barely more than children. They had seen war before, and the trials of their nations showed on their skin. England’s was still blue with spiralling tattoos, and there was a thick ridge of scar tissue on one of his collar bones making up Hadrian’s Wall. France mapped it with his tongue, brushed his fingers over the marks left by Denmark and Rome, and England glared up at him the whole time. France had conquered, yes, but he wasn’t welcome.
Those of his people who had settled there after the invasion became English, and he lost them.
The second time was at Agincourt. After Agincourt, right there on the battle field with the ruins of his people and his nation around them. England was grinning – looking just as feral as he always had, though the tattoos were hidden now behind magic France refused to believe in – and he was violent. As they fucked in the mud, surrounded by the stench of death and the carnage of war, France began to realise why England might hate him so much.
He won the Hundred Years War, but barely, and the hatred lingered.
They fought in wars, but never had sex again until 1945. They’d been drunk – celebrating their win and mourning their losses and the tattered remains of what had been Europe. England had placed soft, open-mouthed kisses on the still-bloody gashes that were Caen and La Caine and Cherbourg. France had tried to hold him, but every time he did, he touched the scar of Blitzkrieg – a hideous thing that ran down England’s back parallel to his spine – and England hissed in pain.
It was the first time they’d slept side by side, and when France woke up England was still there.
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: PG-15
Genre: Gen
Pairing: France/England
Warnings: Not-really-graphic yaoi
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: They had a long history of fighting.
AN: A new fandom. Just what I need. Also, FrUK is not exactly what I had in mind for my first fic for this fandom; it just popped into my head and refused to let me write anything else, even though I prefer other pairings. Eh...
The first time, they were barely more than children. They had seen war before, and the trials of their nations showed on their skin. England’s was still blue with spiralling tattoos, and there was a thick ridge of scar tissue on one of his collar bones making up Hadrian’s Wall. France mapped it with his tongue, brushed his fingers over the marks left by Denmark and Rome, and England glared up at him the whole time. France had conquered, yes, but he wasn’t welcome.
Those of his people who had settled there after the invasion became English, and he lost them.
The second time was at Agincourt. After Agincourt, right there on the battle field with the ruins of his people and his nation around them. England was grinning – looking just as feral as he always had, though the tattoos were hidden now behind magic France refused to believe in – and he was violent. As they fucked in the mud, surrounded by the stench of death and the carnage of war, France began to realise why England might hate him so much.
He won the Hundred Years War, but barely, and the hatred lingered.
They fought in wars, but never had sex again until 1945. They’d been drunk – celebrating their win and mourning their losses and the tattered remains of what had been Europe. England had placed soft, open-mouthed kisses on the still-bloody gashes that were Caen and La Caine and Cherbourg. France had tried to hold him, but every time he did, he touched the scar of Blitzkrieg – a hideous thing that ran down England’s back parallel to his spine – and England hissed in pain.
It was the first time they’d slept side by side, and when France woke up England was still there.
