[Fic fill] The Trio goes to the beach
Oct. 10th, 2009 12:51 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ghostofthemotif.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
hetaliasunshineAUTHOR/ARTIST:
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ghostofthemotifRECIPIENT:
insomnielCHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: France, Prussia, Spain
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: The trio takes a vacation at Spain's new beachfront villa. Includes cuddling, fail!surfing, dancing, and bromance.
France’s eyes focused on the uneven coat of paint on the ceiling above him and reflected that it didn’t matter where they fell asleep; by morning they were inevitably in the same bed, tangled together like a three-member litter of kittens. Today the feat was made rather impressive by the fact each of them had started out on a different story of Spain’s new beachfront villa. Gilbert had even insisted on having the top-floor master suite, complete with balcony and ocean view. Apparently the smaller, more practical room that France had chosen on the second floor was just as acceptable.
A deep breath lifted France’s chest beneath the weight of Gilbert’s head and arm. The ex-nation was sprawled diagonally across him and Spain, seemingly unbothered by the odd angle of his left leg folded between their bodies. Spain was lying on his stomach, face pressed near France’s shoulder, one leg linked with Gilbert’s right. France debated with himself. The bed and the close presence of his friends were warm and comforting, and the sound of the waves outside lulled him into a calm. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, and it was nearing sunrise.
With a sideways roll, France extricated himself from his two friends and then expertly maneuvered a pillow beneath Gilbert’s head before it could hit the mattress. He straightened, kicked his legs out from under the covers, and sat on the edge of the bed, mouth stretching in a yawn. Smiling, France turned to look back over his shoulder. Spain had readjusted his position and wrapped around Gilbert’s arm. The brunette’s face burrowed into the crook of the other man’s neck, and Gilbert turned towards him unconsciously in his sleep.
France chuckled and shook his head. He’d been considering waking up Gilbert to help him, but it would have been pointless now. Spain was impossible to wake up, and he had a vice-like grip even while sleeping. There was no way Gilbert was going to be able to move until Spain awoke of his own accord.
Running a hand through his hair, France suppressed another yawn and turned his attention to the clock. It was nearly eight. A grin cracked his face. It was time for him to christen the new kitchen. They’d only stocked it the previous afternoon, and he’d been wanting to put it to use from the moment he’d seen it. Cooking breakfast before Gilbert and Spain got out of bed was tradition, dating back to only a few decades after they first started associating with each other. France was more than happy to do it, and his cooking never failed to have a positive impact on Gilbert’s legendary early-morning temper.
He pushed himself off of the mattress and over to the chair where he’d thrown his suitcase the night before. After fumbling with the latch in the darkness, he rummaged through the clothes, settling on jeans and a red button-up shirt. The jeans were easy, but it was too early to try and deal with anything as frustrating as small buttons that were same color as the fabric, so France left the shirt open.
He made his way carefully towards the door and opened it. There was no creak, but the hall light was on, so he was quick about it. Shutting the door as silently as he could manage, he turned to the stairs and made his way down them, ignoring the sleepy prickling of protest in his legs.
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There was a weight on his arm that he knew was familiar, but he wasn’t awake enough to place it. The weight was warm, and he could tell it belonged to a living body; there was a pulse and the shift of fabric as a chest rose and fell. He curled closer and almost immediately recognized the subtle scent of earth and sugar that meant Spain. Gilbert shut his eyes tighter against the awareness that meant he was waking up. He didn’t want to wake up. He was on vacation. Vacation meant sleeping until an ungodly hour and then having so much fun the following night that you hated yourself come morning. The sunlight glaring from behind his eyelids meant it wasn’t anywhere near an acceptable lateness yet.
Then Gilbert noticed the smell of cooking coming from downstairs, and his eyes snapped open. Breakfast made by France totally justified breaking the sleep-all-day rule. The ex-nation tried to sit up, but he was yanked back downwards before he’d gotten halfway upright. “Dammit, Spain!” Gilbert groused, attempting to pull his arm from his friend’s grip.
A drowsy, contented smile curved Spain’s lips. The brunette gave a soft sigh and strengthened his hold, bangs slipping across his closed eyes.
Grumbling, Gilbert flopped back beside him. He flicked Spain in the forehead. “Spain… c’mon. I’m hungry.”
There was no response expect for curling closer into his chest.
Gilbert growled low in his throat, and Spain’s facial expression changed slightly at the vibration. It was as if he could sense the annoyance he was being, even in his sleep, and was trying to decide if it were worth it. If he’d been conscious, Gilbert would have told him that for his health’s sake, it wasn’t. “I swear to God, if you don’t wake up right now, I will sucker punch you.” There was no indication that he’d been heard. He waited a few more seconds. “I’ll do it.” Still no change. “Spain…”
Spain articulated a wordless sound somewhere between a whine and a hum. It would have been cute if Gilbert’s stomach hadn’t rumbled and reminded him what was at stake.
“Okay. Fine.” He sat up as much as he could, and hauled back one fist, aiming at the exposed stomach of his impromptu anchor.
“Gilbert, if you punch him, you can go out for breakfast.”
He slumped instantly and lay on his back so he could look at the doorway. Gilbert smiled the smile of someone who’d been caught. “He’s still asleep, and he won’t let go,” he said by way of justification.
France studied him reprimandingly and then smiled, brandishing a tray that had been sitting on a table in the hall. Three plates and three glasses were balanced on top. “I thought that might be the case. Breakfast in bed, mon ami?”
“Oh fuck yes!” Gilbert agreed, brightening considerably.
France laughed and crossed the creaking wooden floor until he could sit on the mattress and set the tray in Gilbert’s lap.
Gilbert beamed and tried to reach forward for the silverware, only to be reminded that he was short one hand. An expression that was almost a pout crossed his face, but he made due with just a fork. “So what’s the plan for today?” he asked as he stabbed at an egg.
France flicked his hair over his shoulder and shrugged. “I’m not sure about how to spend today specifically, but there promises to be quite a few bonfires on the beach tonight. I propose we pay the parties some notice, drink our way down the beach, and then drink our way back up it again.”
“Awesome,” the ex-nation replied approvingly through a mouthful of food. He swallowed and tried to think of something to add. Gilbert didn’t mind lazing around the house for the rest of the day, but it seemed a waste since he was already up. “Why don’t we try surfing again?”
“Because every time we try, Spain looks amazing, and you and I faceplant into the waves,” France winced, rubbing his ribs as if remembering some of his past wipeouts.
Gilbert looked disappointed in him. “Wuss,” he accused in mock heartbreak.
France pressed a hand to his chest. “Gilbert, you wound me. I gave you a reason why we shouldn’t. I didn’t say we wouldn’t do it anyway.”
“Wouldn’t do what…?” came a sleepy voice from the mattress. Spain sat up, still curled around Gilbert’s arm, the palm of one hand rubbing at his eyes.
“Surfing!” the ex-nation announced, previous irritation with the brunette apparently forgotten. “I know you’ve got our boards around here somewhere.”
Yawning, Spain reached for his plate of breakfast. “Uh-huh. I had them brought here with the furniture.” His hand missed the plate twice as his eyes fought to stay open. Finally his fingers found a fork.
Gilbert nodded firmly and clenched his free hand in a fist. “Excellent. I say we go down there as soon as we’re finished with breakfast.”
“But it’s not even ten yet…” Spain protested feebly, egg having made it halfway to his mouth.
“Which means fewer people to watch us fail miserably and unattractively,” France observed. “I agree with Gilbert. We’ll go after breakfast.”
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Spain thought that surfing would have been much easier for his friends if they’d just stand up. He didn’t see what was so hard about it, but maybe he was missing something. The Spaniard watched as Gilbert got to his feet on the board and almost managed to straighten before he lost his balance. To his credit, he managed to fold forward and turn his fall into a rather polished summersault. “That didn’t look like it hurt as bad!” Spain called out encouragingly.
Gilbert flashed a middle finger in his direction as he made it back onto his board and paddled towards him. “I’ve almost got it,” he said, jerking his head so his bangs slicked back from his eyes. “Stupid fucking wave moved too fast.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure you’re very close,” France said with a mocking little smile.
“Hey, I’m further along than you!” Gilbert snapped, but it was playful. He folded his arms under his chin. “You’ve been floating there for, what, a half hour? You gave up after your last bellyflop.”
“Ah, but now I am languishing here and drawing the eyes those beauties on shore.” France made a grand gesture to the numerous young men and women dotting the sand.
Spain didn’t have the heart to tell him that they were looking at him and not at France. He didn’t think it’d be good for his friend’s ego. Besides, Gilbert’s laugh was incredulity enough. “It’s time for lunch, don’t you think?” he asked by way of diversion.
“It was time for lunch an hour ago,” Gilbert spat through an accidental mouthful of saltwater.
He gave a warm smile. “Lo siento, Gilbert. Let me get one more wave and then we’ll go back, okay?”
“Because you so need to look sexier right now.” It was said dryly, but France was smirking and obviously paying attention.
Spain didn’t mind the lingering look. That was just France. He lied flat and dipped his hands into the water, pulling himself forward through the cool blue that was made slightly warmer by the sun overhead. When he was a suitable ways out from his friends, he turned and waited.
Lines of moisture slid down his tan chest and reflected the sunlight. The brunette watched them catch the blue of the water, the brown of his skin, and the red of the cloth over his legs. Spain smiled and turned his face to the sky, shielding his eyes with one hand. Then he felt the familiar swell that meant a wave was coming, and he lazed forward onto the board.
It came faster than most, slower than a few, but he was on his knees and then his feet as easily as always. Spain stood, one arm at his side, the other hand raking through his hair as he took a stance. It was too bad his friends couldn’t figure out how to stand. It was lot of fun.
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Eight hours later, France was staring into the mouth of a bottle, watching as red and orange light licked at the glass and the liquid inside. A permanent smile kept his lips parted and ready for another drink. On his drunkenness scale from one to ten, he ranked a seven; several past “losing” his shirt (Spain made him promise to keep the pants despite the fact many on the beach were nude), and one short of making out with Gilbert.
Said ex-nation was nearer to the flames than was wise, but France neglected to point this out. Gilbert was dancing with a blonde behind him and one in front, and it just seemed rude to interrupt him.
The last member of the trio was sitting across the fire from them, content and unconcerned with the pretty girls that kept trying to garner his attention. Spain was sweet that way; his relationship with Romano made him automatically blind to any come-ons except to excuse himself if they became too persistent. Those girls had absolutely no hope. France shook his head and chuckled as he tried to figure out where the brunette’s happy but vacant stare was focused: it was either on the stars or a bug moving somewhere over the flames. Spain caught the motion, snapping out of his reverie, grinning, and raising an eyebrow in question. France wove him off in amusement.
“You were making an ass of yourself a few minutes ago, so whatcha doing sitting down? It’s boring.” Gilbert was in front of him. The movement hadn’t been sudden, but the alcohol made it feel like he appeared out of nowhere, hands on his knees, looking petulant. “Come dance. Now,” he commanded.
France did a mock swoon. “Oh your manners are so charming, how could I not?”
“Yeah, exactly,” Gilbert affirmed with a bark of laughter. “So get up!” One hand took his bottle and settled it into the sand. The other gripped France’s wrist and hauled him to his feet.
Gilbert almost tumbled backwards when France moved more easily than he’d expected. He caught himself on the elder blonde’s shoulders, and they almost fell to the side instead. Shifting from one foot to the other in an attempt to gain their equilibrium, their eyes locked in a slightly accusatory fashion. Laughter broke from their mouths suddenly and jarringly in the way that only inebriated people who don’t fully understand their surroundings can laugh. France’s breath was close to the ex-nation’s face. “I think, cheri, that we should move a little slower… unless the fire looks comfortable?”
“Slow is boring. The fire’s over there. We’ve got room,” Gilbert grinned wolfishly. He yanked France forward as he began to walk backwards, lifting one arm to twirl him as they brushed against the other dancers.
France let himself be guided; Gilbert got cranky when he wasn’t leading. All France needed to concentrate on was not confusing up with sideways or down with a circle, and he’d be perfectly happy with whatever happened. He was naturally a good dancer, of course, so that part didn’t need his attention… which left just enough thought-space to focus on how Gilbert’s clothes were still wet from the ocean and how good his body felt beneath them. Being appreciative of his friends was something he could accomplish on many levels. Maybe he ranked eight on his drunk-scale after all.
Then Gilbert dipped him so low his hair brushed the sand, and they nearly fell again. France gave a surprised sound that wasn’t entirely a protest. When they straightened, he took Gilbert’s hands, pulled him close, and spun them both. It was clumsy and slow, and their arms got tangled. The two started laughing again, trying to figure out which direction was the right direction and throwing insults at each other’s incompetence. They turned in the sand, but their wrists still twisted the wrong way, and they kicked up dirt that clung to their moist skin. There was a pause before Gilbert gave up, let go, and threw his arms lazily around France’s neck, laughing into his still-damp hair.
France bowed his head slightly and wrapped his arms around his friend’s waist to support the drunken weight. “I told you we should take it slow,” he chided good-naturedly.
“Maybe it’d be easier if we were a triangle. You know. Support and all that shit.” Gilbert’s words were slurred and muffled, but he turned his head to the side on France’s shoulder so he could look across the fire. “Spain! Hey, Spain! Get over here and dance with your friends!”
The brunette had already been watching them with that same warm smile, and he was on his feet and moving towards them before Gilbert’s shout was finished.
They put their arms around each other’s shoulders, stayed away from twirling, and kept moving until the fire had died down and it was time to move on to the next one. All in all, they only fell twice, and only one of the times resulted in minor burns.
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Gilbert couldn’t sleep. The mattress was comfortable, the fan overhead gave a cool breeze that was near perfection, and he was sufficiently tired. But he couldn’t sleep. He turned on his side, growling with aggravation. He knew the reason, but he’d be damned if he was going to be the first one to move two nights in a row. They could come to him, goddammit. And they’d better do it quickly, because the tossing and turning was starting to get really annoying.
As if one of them had read his thoughts, the door to the master suite creaked open. Gilbert’s eyes fell close instantaneously as he pretended to be asleep.
The mattress groaned, and the sheets moved. A warm body pressed against his back, an arm slipping over his waist. He felt the breath at the back of his neck and smiled. Tall body, even breaths, thinner arms. France.
An hour passed before the door was opened even further and the mattress creaked again. This time it came from the foot of the bed as someone crawled forward and flopped down between them. Gilbert finally gave in and turned, both his arm and France’s arm now settling across Spain.
“Took you idiots long enough,” Gilbert grumbled.
“Go to sleep, Gilbert,” France sighed in the soft accent that left the ‘t’ silent, Gil-bear. He felt the smile against the skin the neck of his shirt didn’t cover.
Spain had something to add to the conversation, but it came out as sleepy nonsense that was impossible to understand. It made France cuddle closer in response to the adorable, and Gilbert pressed his face closer to his hair.
“G’night,” the ex-nation breathed and with the warm touch of his friends beside him, he fell asleep.
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no subject
Date: 2009-10-10 05:26 pm (UTC)Seriously, this whole thing was just a IMMENSE pleasure to read. I love how you perfectly manage to bounce their different temperaments off of each other, as well as their different ways of thinking and whatnot. France getting up early to make breakfast, Gilbo's morning temper, and Spain's utterly cute sleepy side were all just PERFECT &hearts (Yes, btw, sleepy!Spain has gotta be the cutest thing I've ever seen ~) Their drunken dancing was just so amusing and cute too. Also, being a Spamano supporter, that little tidbit about their relationship made my heart melt. Guess it's true what they say, the taken ones get hit on the most. |D
And of course, the ending was just adorable &hearts
You make the badtrio work amazingly, and they interact just how I imagine them to. Great writing ~ :DDD
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Date: 2009-10-11 04:08 pm (UTC)Omg, I could huggle sleepy!Spain for like, forever.
XD There is nothing more funny than watching drunk people try to twirl. They're all like "Wait. Wut. No. That way. Or... wait...um... -falls-"
Eeeee I just can't help throwing Spamano in wherever I can~
I'm glad you liked it! Thanks again!
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Date: 2009-10-10 05:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-11 04:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-10 06:23 pm (UTC)Excuse me for a moment while I lift my jaw off the floor and re-attach it properly.
THIS IS THE VERY BEST BAD FRIENDS TRIO FIC I HAVE EVER HAD THE PLEASURE OF READING. I think you've got it all, how their relationship is not romantic, per se, but how it's more than just friendship; it's like they're three parts of a whole. The way they sleep together, make all those cute inside jokes and know one another better than they know themselves, it's absolutely perfect.
The interactions here could not be better; if Gilbert read this, he would certainly stamp it AWESOME!!! <3
Gah, I'm such a nitpick, but there was one minor detail that was a bit off "and it was nearing sunrise", but it was "It was nearly eight". Generally speaking the sun is risen before 8 AM regardless of the time of the year, but especially in the summer, where it rises much, much earlier than 8. Nothing major, just something that cought my attentionThis is so brilliant~ <3
no subject
Date: 2009-10-11 04:22 pm (UTC)Thank you so much! I kinda envision the modern!Trio as platonic soulmates that just happen to have some sordid, drunken history together. Take it back a few centuries though, and I do ship them >.>
Lol the mental image of them all tangled up and cuddly was just toooooo D'aaw not to write.
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Date: 2009-10-11 04:39 pm (UTC)Platonic soulmates... I like that expression. I'm totally adding that to my personal lexicon now XD
And they are very shippable. <3
It was D'awwwwww. My mine overloaded. So cute!!!
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Date: 2009-10-10 06:31 pm (UTC)It's a rainy day here, so thanks again for the sunshine.
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Date: 2009-10-11 04:24 pm (UTC)I'm really happy you enjoyed it <3 Gah, this trade was fun.
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Date: 2009-10-10 07:11 pm (UTC)A beautiful fic for a beautiful day (where I am at least... FINALLY. XD). <3~
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Date: 2009-10-11 04:27 pm (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2009-10-12 03:48 am (UTC)Oh, I'm so late
Date: 2009-10-22 05:08 am (UTC)And Spain surfing is an amazing mental image. Just saying.