[Fic Fill] Spain, Prussia, meet France...

[mizumimi.livejournal.com]

TITLE: Spain, Prussia, meet France...
AUTHOR/ARTIST: mizumimi
RECIPIENT: erinilliana
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Spain, Prussia, France
RATING: PG-13
Summary: Young Prussia and Spain mistake France for a girl and vie for 'her' affection
NOTE:  Sorry for format troubles. Hopesfully it's fixed now.

 

Spain was not the most attentive or people; even he had enough self-awareness to realise that it had taken him half a century to notice Prussia’s eyes were red. Or reddish-purple. Mauve, if you would, though Prussia hated that word. It sounded disgusting. Mauve.

 

But he did notice some things. From time to time. For example, he noticed when it was time to start harvesting tomatoes; he knew when the sun went down earlier, and when the stirring tension would break into war.

 

He also noticed that France was a very pretty girl.

 

Did he say very? He meant very, very, very pretty girl.

 

They had met on the day of the summer solstice; a boiling day in a country that melted the powder from the faces of the senoras and stole the energy from the limbs of even the most nimble of dancers.

 

The sun reflected on the marble stones in blinding beams of light, baking his hand as he used the pillars of Aljaferia as guide to lead him to the courtyard. Good food and fine wine flowed as freely as water, distributed under the watchful eye of the King’s attendants.

 

Spain cheerfully agreed to the gaudy spectacle, the banners of red and gold strung from the windows, the flags flying their full colours from the parapet; bright things brought happiness and there was nothing better than to be happy. 

 

It was on that glorious day that he met a young girl watching the dancers with something akin to awe in her eyes. It took all of five seconds for his gaze to skim over the shoulder-length blonde hair falling to her shoulders in a tumble of perfumed tresses, the verdant ribbon in her hair matching the long dress and ruffled silk bell sleeves dropping to her waist.

 

She dressed like the daughter of a nobleman of medium standing but they knew their kind on instinct and Spain had been told beforehand to expect France’s arrival.

 

Of course, he had heard about France before. He had even fought with her – or rather her country – a few times before, though they had never the pleasure of meeting on the battlefield.

 

During those times he had always imagined France to be a shrewd, cunning young man – or a rather naïve, foolish young one after Spain had a brilliant victory – but never the delicate young flower – yes, he was willing to stoop to the clichés of a troubadour for her – who sat on the stone steps before him. 

 

Noticing his stare, France turned away from the dancers t smile at him.

 

 

And Spain saw heaven.

 

And then Spain was afraid the new inquisition would burn him for blasphemy.

 

And that was how he met France.

 

Oh yes, and Prussia had been there too.  He had not quite realised that his friend had accompanied him by his side until the other let made on loud, obscene wolf whistle that made all the nearby ladies stare in outrage.

 

Without the least apprehension, Prussia confidently strolled towards France, offering his hand in dance with all the mock chivalry the Teutonic order had taught him.

 

Though it was not unusual for his friend to dance with ladies, either out of boredom, arrogance, or the hope that a dance in the courtyard would lead to a dance in bed - he had yet to succeed in this area for all the noble ladies of age preferred their lords to the cocky smiles of an adolescent knight – Spain’s cheerfulness seemed to decrease the longer he watched them spin.

 

He was not the most observant of people, but he wondered if maybe…

 

And then Prussia managed to steal a kiss on France’s cheek and even with blazing pink signs and writing in the sky and the holy finger of His most Almighty pointing out of the clouds could not keep what Spain now knew as obvious from him. 

 

Prussia liked France. Even after five seconds of meeting her, he had liked her.

 

Prussia was interested in her

 

Spain liked France.

 

Spain was (perhaps slightly) interested as well

 

France was catholic. (In fact, they all were now that he thought about it, the Almighty forgive him for having to think about it; he was not ready for the rack.)

 

Catholics were great believers in monogamy.

 

He went over it again just to make sure that he had not left anything out.

 

Prussia liked France. Prussia was interested in her.

 

Spain liked France. Spain was interested in her.

 

And at some point, he put two and two together and realised that there might be a bit of a problem between them in the future.

 

Only a slight one though.

 

Maybe.

 

Perhaps.

 

Probably.

 

Actually, after mulling over it some more, Spain realised that this probably meant war.

 

Maybe.

 

Perhaps.

 

Probably.                                                                                                                                                                 

 

…Definitely.

 

Prussia, whose observation skills were a great deal better than Spain’s, soon came to a likewise conclusion – though his method of reach it was more like;

 

Girly feeling in chest when France is around = I like France. Spain disapproves = Spain likes France. SpainxFrancexPrussia = Burning for bigamy by the church. Solution: Prussia – Spain = FrancexPrussia = Good! Yes, good! Very good!  

 

Since the feeling was mutual, it was decided that this should be settled in the most manly and violent way for men; through a duel, in fact. Men of honour had duels, right?

 

This brilliant and fool-proof plan – organised by Prussia, of course – had one tiny flaw; it was not France-proof.

 

“Are you playing war? May I join in?”

 

Before either of them could answer France had already picked up a small branch and was giving it a few test swings.

 

After a moment’s confusion, a wide grin spread across Prussia’s face. Though Spain should perhaps have been worried at the thought of the ferocious Prussia pitched against France, he entertained the secret hope that Prussia would get carried away (as always) and do something that would scare France away from him.

 

Which was....not exactly what happened, but Spain was not picky with the outcome as long as it had a desired effect.

 

What did happen was much more amusing than Spain could possibly have imagined.

 

It began with the famous Prussian front, which basically involved Prussia charging head on, shouting very, very loudly.

 

And the next thing either of them knew, Prussia was on his back, dazed, France was on top and Spain was wondering if he should slide in the middle to make it the beast with three backs.

 

“You’re strong...for a girl...I guess,” Prussia grudgingly clambered to his feet while France beamed at him.

 

France stared at him, in what Spain supposed was indignation.

 

“You’re dirty. Mon ami, are you not going to wash?” she laughed, pointing to a nearby lake.

Muttering their agreement they headed towards the lake, where the clear waters had been tempered by the sun to a tolerably warm temperature.

 

Spain did not actually realise that France had accompanied them until Prussia asked; “Are you going to join us?” winking lewdly at the poor maiden.

 

Spain was about to voice his objections when France shrugged. “I do not see why not,” she said.

 Prussia began to laugh loudly, slapping his hand against his thigh in glee. Perhaps, Spain thought dryly, he could finally boast that at least he had seen a girl naked.  (And knowing Prussia seeing a girl naked would soon be exaggerated to touching a girl naked to sleeping with a girl naked.)

 

His laughter died when France actually began to pull of her blouse.

 

She was as flat as the Guinea archipelago. Well, Spain thought, France was not exactly famous for its...tracts of land.

 

There was not really anything odd about this; girls at that age were flat anyway, though personally Spain hoped that France would develop into a lovely, buxom woman like the diary maids he had seen in the fields outside Paris.

 

But then skirt just had to come down next, and in what Spain supposed might have been typical French fashion, there was no underwear underneath.

 

And then there was no disputing those facts.

And maybe Spain was just a little traumatised.

 

Maybe

 

Perhaps

 

Probably

 

...Definitely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

[tanya-tsuki.livejournal.com]

Oh Spain xD
I chuckled. Nice fic :D

[erinilliana.livejournal.com]

This was a gem. I really like the style you wrote it in! Simple and yet thorough, and the humor there is just too cute. Personally, "She was as flat as the Guinea archipelago" was my most favorite line.

Thank you very much for the fill, I enjoyed this greatly! ♥

[insomniel.livejournal.com]

Oh, this was precious. I love how you described Spain's thoughts versus Prussia's thoughts. And France being France, so hilarious.