hetaliasunshine | [Fic Fill] Six Second Intervals (Reply)

Title: Six Second Intervals
Author: ghostofthemotif
Recipient:bubbole
Characters/Pairings: France/Germany
Rating: PG-13
Summary: France and Germany were going to have a romantic night out, but economy-induced illness keeps them at home. Fortunately, snuggles work as a nice back-up plan.

Even the rise and fall of Germany’s chest was measured and precise. France could count the unchanging six-second intervals beneath his hand as his fingers clenched in the crisp white fabric above Germany’s ribs. It was something France put in the same category as Germany’s shirts all having ten buttons, keeping his hair cut to the same length for decades, and unconsciously turning his watch on his wrist a fraction of an inch at least once every hour; the category was not to be confused with a second one that included such idiosyncrasies as being unable to allow the chair that France moved closer and catty-cornered to Germany’s for dinner where it was, and inevitably set it back in a symmetrical one-chair-on-each-side-at-equal-distance pattern around the table.

France rested his head on Germany’s chest and sighed contentedly. It felt good to have a chance to relax rather than being run ragged all day, even if he knew the mayhem would just repeat itself in the morning. The dim blue light of early evening bled in through the windows and fell on white sheets and a snug green and blue comforter that Liechtenstein had made as a Christmas gift the previous year. The covers pooled around their waists and drew attention to the fact that the two of them had been too exhausted to change out of their business attire. France rather hated to think about the wrinkles he’d have to endure later.

“I’m sorry we were unable to go out tonight,” Germany spoke into the silence. There was a bit of guilt in the tone that had no reason to be there. France had a suspicion that Germany probably would have pretended to be fine and suffered in silence if France hadn’t admitted to being ill himself.

Running his hand reassuringly up Germany’s side before returning it to its original position, he smiled. “It’s not your fault we’re both sick. Let’s just enjoy a nice night in, shall we?”

“I’ll reschedule our dinner reservations for later in the month,” Germany pressed, seemingly determined. France didn’t need to see the worried little crease in his forehead to know it was there. “I know how long you were planning this…”

Their night hadn’t gone precisely as they’d envisioned. Ever since they’d first made the decision to pursue a relationship, they’d realized that the two of them were leading such busy, demanding, and hectic lives that they could go days without seeing each other. Often times they were reduced to putting one another on speaker phone as they did paperwork and attempting to hold a conversation that involved something more than numbers and politicians.

Because of this, they’d made a habit of setting aside the second Saturday of every month to make sure they got to spend at least one day together that consisted of more than phone calls and crashing into the same bed at night. Normally they’d make cooking dinner a joint effort, eat and talk at the dining room table, watch a movie that they could both critique from their entwined position on the couch, and take the rest of the night’s events upstairs.

Due to the recent economic troubles and the resulting flood of meetings, however, they’d had to cancel their past three Saturday retreats. Tonight was supposed to make up for it, but instead of the special date out on the town that they’d planned, they’d eaten a meal Italy had kindly wrapped and left in the fridge when neither of them were home and had skipped the movie altogether. There was nothing for it: they were simply too tired and unwell for much else. Economy-induced illness didn’t work wonders for social endeavors.

The pounding in France’s head had lessened to a dull thrum by the time he’d crawled in bed and Germany had pulled the covers over the two of them, but he could tell from the way that Germany’s hand kept rising to push at the sides of his head that the aspirin hadn’t done him the same service.

“Don’t worry, darling, we’ll get our romantic evening.” France pulled himself up to press a kiss to Germany’s temple. “Until then…” He curled in closer to Germany’s side. “I think we should savor the peace. No ringing phones, no hysterical shouting, no campaigns, no financial figures, no ink-stained hands and papercuts…” France ran the tips of two fingers down Germany’s chest and wished he was touching skin instead of cloth. “No interruptions…”

Rather than melting and stuttering like he had in the beginning days of their relationship, Germany gave a low hum of amusement. “As much as I would love to continue down that train of thought, I’m not sure either of us is up to it.”

France sighed, rolled until he was lying directly on top of Germany, crossed his arms over the other nation’s ribs, and rested his chin on them. Their eyes met, and France gave a smile at the expression on Germany’s face. Everything about him screamed ‘man who is trying to feign good health and is failing miserably at it’. Germany’s skin was at once pale and flushed, and the strands of hair that had slipped from their rightful, gelled place were stuck to his forehead in a thin sheen of sweat.

Reaching up to smooth the fallen bangs away from Germany’s face, France soothed, “As soon as we’re well enough, I’ll whisk us away to one of my villas. We won’t tell anyone. We can just leave, unhook the phones, and accidentally forget our cell chargers at home. Every day we’ll make a meal to eat out on the beach and stay with each other under the sun and stars.” He brought his hand back and used it to prop up his head, smiling. “How does that sound?”

Germany matched his smile; to a stranger’s eye it would have seemed small and not as bright, but anyone who was familiar with Germany knew that it was just as affectionate and meaningful as any grin. The other nation lifted his hand to cup the side of France’s face. “Perfect,” he replied. He ran a thumb over the curve of his cheekbone. “As long as we leave a note for Italy so he doesn’t panic, I can think of no possible argument against it.”

“Of course!” France laughed lightly, leaning into the touch. “A note and a plate of desserts for Italy, and a pile of unfinished paperwork for everyone else.” He turned his head and kissed the calloused palm. “And many, many enjoyable mornings, afternoons, and evenings for you…” His tongue darted out to leisurely lick across two of Germany’s fingers, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Germany shivered and his expression was reduced to the visual equivilant of ‘that’s not fair’.

With another laugh, France’s arms extended and he crawled forward until his forearms framed Germany’s face. He leaned down and kissed him, warm, smiling, and with an amused play for forgiveness. His hair fell to the side and brushed across Germany’s cheek, and Germany lifted a hand to trace through it. France really wished the hazy, hindering ache behind his eyes would fade so he could respond to Germany properly.

Before he’d even had a proper chance to savor the moment, he felt Germany go still and the enthusiasm was replaced with something distracted. France knew the posture immediately. He gave a small disparaging groan and rolled off him, fighting back the urge to laugh again. “What did you remember…?”

“Spain’s report,” Germany answered immediately, voice level, low, and serious again. “Did he ever send it? I was supposed to have gotten it this morning, but I never---”

France readjusted his position to lie on his side, head supported by a hand. “Darling, every time you mention work in the bedroom from here on out, I will institute a punishment. There are consequences, cher.” He walked a hand up the length of Germany’s arm before tapping him on the lips with the tip of one finger.

To Germany’s credit, he maintained the same somber expression. “As far as my memory serves, your bedroom punishments have never been particularly… discouraging.”

“They will be if your business talk makes me fall asleep.”

“Ah.” Germany shifted, casting around for something to say and looking a little uncomfortable. It came as no surprise when a few silent moments later, he continued with, “But… did Spain send his report?”

France couldn’t keep the laugh in and felt a fond familiarity well up in his chest. He was quick to move forward, maneuver the broader nation into his arms, and kiss just below the line of his hair. “To the best of my knowledge, yes. It will be there waiting for you on your desk.”

Germany eased into his embrace and raised a hand to rest on France’s arm.

“Please try to enjoy the calm,” France murmured against his skin. “I’d like to see you relax… You worry excessively.”

The anxious tension in Germany’s body slackened somewhat, and he buried his face in the crook of France’s neck. “Distract me. Let’s talk about something else.”

France pressed his lips to the top of Germany’s head before resting his chin there. “Such as…?”

As his arm wrapped around France’s waist and pulled him closer, Germany answered quietly, “Tell me about Versailles.” In any other situation it would have sounded like a child requesting a story; in Germany it spoke of the same genuine interest and curiosity with the solemn and reserved tones of an adult.

“Again?” France asked with a half-smile, and something warm lit beneath his ribs.

Germany nodded against him, his exhaustion abruptly becoming apparent to them both.

The interest Germany often showed in history, not just the subject itself but France’s account of it, the way he could be completely absorbed in any memory that France wanted to share, never failed to send him careening towards something tender and content. His throat was beginning to feel sore when he spoke, but it didn’t matter. “All right,” he acquiesced, mind casting around for something specific to latch onto. “After Louis the fourteenth found out who I was, he used to insist that we meet in the gardens at night to converse away from the eyes of his councilors. He’d never speak for long, and compared to his tendencies in court, he was nearly taciturn… He’d ask me questions and stay quiet while I answered. I never really grew accustomed to seeing the sun king in the moonlight. He seemed to take on a new character, just as the garden itself did…”

Barely a few minutes into his narrative, France became aware of the six-second intervals of Germany’s breathing becoming a little deeper and noticed how Germany’s body had sunken fully against his own. He smiled and cut the story short, closing his own eyes and following Germany into sleep. They’d have time with one another to finish the story later; France would make sure of it.