Capturing the Flag with Hetalia! ~ France

As the sound of America's (rather obnoxious) air horn, you took off, making sure to keep low to the ground.

You approached hostile territory and glanced around. There was no one in sight.

There was no one anywhere.

You smiled smugly, congratulating yourself on sneaking passed everyone. After tip-toeing silently across the enemy line, a nearby rustle sent your heart racing as you immediately dove into some bushes.

"What was that noise?" You strained your ears, trying to determine what the sound was, or if it would come again.

Birds chirped brightly, but nothing unusual greeted your ears.

You peeked out from in between the branches. Just an empty forest…

“I must have been imagining things...” You thought.

You continued on, but moved a little slower, still cautious of the phantom sound.

Darting along the path, you tried searching for the flag, but your vision was heavily restricted by the thick foliage you were creeping through.

“I’m sure it's safe by now. This area seems totally deserted anyway.”

You hopped out of the bushes and brushed yourself off. The trail to the left looked promising, so you heade-

"Ah! Got you now!"

You felt yourself dropping to the ground as an over-enthusiastic Arthur pounced on you.

"You know, I've been following you since you crossed the boarder! Never in the proper place to tag, though. You're clever, I'll give you that!"

He staggered to his feet and brushed himself off, grinning like mad. Clearly, competitive sports brought out the spirited side of the Brit.

"You didn't have to knock me over..." You mumbled from the dirt.

He chuckled, "Sorry, love. Here," He offered you a hand and helped you up.

He pulled you up to your feet, slipping his arm through yours. "Dreadfully sorry, (Name), but I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you to jail."

You gave a dramatic sigh, "If you must. Will you give me an escort, officer?"

He cracked a grin. "Of course, Miss."

Your voices rang with laughter as you strolled through the bright forest, crunching over crisp autumn leaves. He led you to a small clear area among the trees. A small, rusting shack slumped on the grounds, and next to it was a mane of gold hair reclining in an old folding chair.

"Hey, Frog."  Arthur scoffed, "Get up; I've brought you an inmate."

The figure stirred sleepily, uncrossing it's arms and stretching out it's back.

"Ah, Briton! You actually managed to catch someone. I am surprized. Your government iz normally incompetent, non?"

Arthur's blood boiled red. "Listen here you wanker! At lease my government takes initiative instead of waiting for someone else to do the work for them!"

France chucked as steam practically poured from Arthur's ears. The fuming Englishman turned to you and whispered under his breath, "Sorry, love, but I have to leave you with this git."

"All right, I'm going back into the fray, because I'm a respectable player who doesn't sit on his arse all day! Don't try anything with her, Francis." And with that he stomped off, pushing away leaves as he bushed past the branches.

France turned to you, a satisfied smirk playing across his lips. "Well, according to America, all of our 'prizoners of war' are suppose' to be kept in zat shack-thing."

You spun around to take in the "shack-thing". It was short and crowed: dirt covered instruments littered the inside and you were half sure you got tetanus just by looking at it.

"No way." You shook your head resolutely, "I'm not setting foot in that thing."

Francis leaned forward in his chair, a smirk plastered on his face. "Well, if you do not go willingly, I will 'ave no choice but to force you."

You gulped involuntarily, trying to mentally calculate if you could take him on. He seemed pretty buff, he could probably take you down really quickly...

France stood up and you took a step back. "P-please don't make me go in there." (It wasn't like you were scared or anything! It's just...that shed was really gross, ok?)

"Aw, well, since you said please, pigeon. 'Owever..." He growled, slowly moving towards you, "you will still 'ave to be detained."

"Wait! Wha-" Swift hands encircled your waist and pulled you against a hard chest. You could feel the soft laughter reverberate through the fabric of his shirt.

"Ah! Zis iz much better, non? Now," He only held you tighter as you wriggled, trying to push away from him, "I 'ave to ask you somezhing. Are you in a relationship with zat idiot? Why were you walking arm in arm with ‘im?

"What?" you spluttered, "No! I mean-Arthur’s great and all-but we're not together or anything."

"Zen why were acting so...giggly around 'im? And why was he 'olding your 'and?"

"We-we were not holding hands! And he was escorting me here because he is a gentleman!" You pounded your fists against his chest. He laughed.

"Ay! No need to be upset, mon cher. I was only asking a question. Besides, it makes zis less complicated."

Before you could protest, Francis lifted you up, pressing his lips up against you.

You froze, shocked by the suddenness of the kiss.

"Hmm." he purred, "should I take that as permission to continue?"

He dipped back down, his soft hair falling over your face. You felt almost claustrophobic under the golden curtain that covered you. Cool fingertips traced your neck, leaving a tingling trail against your hot skin.

You gasped for air when he finally pulled away. "Wh-what was that?!"

"I was doing you a favor. You just got five years off your time for good behavior." He smirked darkly. "Care to shorten your sentence more? I could get you on parole in an ‘our..."

Everyone wondered why Francis had a red handprint on his cheek, but, due to the look on your face, they thought it better not to ask.