❝i had to give it away, i had to give you away❞
vulnerable hearts | axis powers hetalia | 1500 words | prussia ; spain ; france (genderbent) | pg13 |
in which girl friends prove to be less steadfast than their male counterparts.
written for chromatic_coma's birthday.
vulnerable hearts;
She’s all soft skin and silky hair, the only sharp thing about her being her tongue. It’s biting enough to make up for the rest, all told. A single line from her lips can put any man in his place, as her kings learn time and time again. Françoise is not the type of woman one should mess with.
“And yet you keep doing it,” Gisela says sardonically, leaning back so that her head is resting against Antonia’s shoulder. “Stupid move, if you ask me.”
“Querida, did I ask?” Antonia returns softly. She hasn’t said anything, since she arrived at Gisela’s rooms earlier that evening. And Gisela didn’t ask, merely brought out a bottle of hard liquor and invited Antonia to join her on the couch so ironically called a love seat. But the other woman’s eyes are red-rimmed, and her voice is weak with the threat of cracking. Gisela notices, but doesn’t comment.
“Of course you didn’t,” Gisela says, her pointed features twisting into a scowl. “The kingdom of Spain, she’d never even think of imposing on anyone, would she? ‘Cept her best friend, whose door she knocks on every night when she gets kicked out of France’s bed.”
“I wasn’t kicked out-!” Antonia begins to protest, but Gisela reaches up and clamps one hand roughly over her lips.
“Just shut up, will you, Tonia? It’s getting old.” Gisela is visibly irritated, now, so Antonia merely sighs, and pushes the hand away while rolling her eyes.
“I’m grateful, you know,” she says after a moment. “That you’re always here for me.”
“Come on, Tonia,” Gisela mutters. “Don’t put that on me-I’m not cut out for this mushy stuff, you know that. I really couldn’t care less. I’m not the kinda girl who fucks for emotional support, got it?”
“Got it,” Antonia replies with a soft smile. She reaches out and wraps both arms around Gisela’s slim frame, holding the other woman close. They are almost of one height, but Antonia is round and curved in the way her dancing always makes so apparent. Gisela is straight and narrow, her minimal curves incongruous with the rest of her frame.
“Cut it out,” Gisela grumbles, but she doesn’t pull out of the embrace.
“You know, Gisa, for someone who’s so against emotional support, you sure do offer a lot of it.”
“You take as you want to.” Gisela’s cheeks are red, and she is stiff in Antonia’s arms. “I’m not here to comfort you, stupid.”
“Then why let me in, querida?”
“Francie’s not the only one who likes to sleep next to a warm body.” And with that, she pushes Antonia down on the couch and scrunches up against her. Antonia laughs, but doesn’t move away, and, after a moment, lets the alcohol take them where they’ve been headed.
❣
The next morning, Antonia is walking calmly through the mystical halls of Versailles, a sway in her step that wasn’t there the previous day. Dark, rich hair pulled into a knot atop her head and green eyes flashing mischievously, she is not the same woman she was yesterday. And of course, Françoise notices.
“You know, Tonia, I’m not sure whether I should feel insulted or not,” the other woman mutters slowly as she steps into view. The few loose strands of blonde hair that curl around her cheeks and neck look as though they’ve casually fallen loose of her ponytail, but Antonia knows they were carefully placed there, intentional. Much of Françoise is that way, a careful façade built to look more natural than it is.
“Insulted? Why would you be?” Antonia asks, flashing a wide smile. The two fall in step as they walk together, and Françoise laughs devilishly.
“You never came back last night,” she murmurs, pouting.
“As I recall, bella, you forced me out into the hallway in only my underthings when a certain girl came knocking on your door.” The inflection of her voice doesn’t change, but heat rises to Antonia’s cheeks, caused either by anger or embarrassment.
“Well, that’s why you should have come back,” Françoise chides, rolling her deep blue eyes. “At least to get your gown, if nothing else.” She licks her full lips as she finishes speaking, her eyes cast down to accentuate her thick lashes.
“You know, I was planning on doing so,” Antonia says, sounding quite genuine. “But then I decided it could wait until the morning.”
“And why would you decide that, Tonia?”
“Because,” the other woman replies with a laugh, “I found something better to do with my time than to wait all night for Elizabeth to leave your rooms.”
Françoise isn’t very easily shamed, and so her cheeks don’t turn any redder than can be hidden by her rouge. Instead, she pauses slightly and crosses her arms over her chest, regarding Antonia carefully.
“We’re opportunists, ma chére. Haven’t we always said so?”
“I wasn’t denying that fact,” Antonia replies ruefully. “We’re kingdoms of the best and worst kind; we take what we want from one another under the assumption that we can just pass it off as politics. And most of the time, that works.”
“Most of the time…?”
“Sometimes,” Antonia admits, “it doesn’t work.”
“You think it was more than politics that made me kick you out? Spain and France are steady allies; England and France not as much. Maybe I was just helping my kingdom along.”
“Or maybe I warmed you blood just enough for it to set fire when you lay eyes on her.”
“So it’s pride, then? Scared I’ll let everyone know your Spanish fire isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”
Antonia lets out a laugh and shakes her head slowly. “Bella, you are so good at playing head games that you’ve lost yourself within them. This is hardly about Spain and France; it is about Antonia and Françoise. Or do you not know the difference anymore?”
“There is not difference,” Françoise hisses. “You’re nursing wounded pride now, but you’ll be back soon enough. You need me---who else listens to your worries?”
“One other person, actually.”
❣
“We are not made to be constant creatures.”
Gisela looks up from her spot sprawling on the love seat and sees Françoise standing over her. “Oh, yeah?” She asks the question roughly, massaging her temples as she does so.
“Yes,” Françoise continues, pacing back and forth. “We act not as one person but as many. So we can love many people, no?”
The silk of her skirts makes swishing noises against the floor as she goes back and forth. Of the three of them, Gisela is the only one who wears trousers on a daily basis. Now she eyes Françoise’s skirts with renewed distaste. She shifts into a seated position and holds out one hand.
“You’re giving me a headache, Francie, and I’m already hung over. So calm the fuck down and tell me what you mean.”
“No one wants to play my word games today, do they?” Françoise asks bitterly. She lets out a huffy sigh and plops herself down on the couch next to Gisela. “Tonia is vexed with me.”
“Well, obviously,” Gisela mutters.
“But we’ve done this same thing over and over! When we’re lonely we go to one another, and then when Romana and England stop acting so prissy we go to them. We have always been each other’s second choice!”
“You act so proud of that fact.”
“I’m only being realistic,” Françoise snaps. “Gisa, you know that’s how it’s always been. Always.”
“Well,” Gisela suggests, “maybe Tonia just got bored.”
“Bored? Of me?”
“Of your relationship, stupid.” Gisela punches Françoise in the arm to underscore the point.
“You’re so insightful today, Gisa,” she returns, sounding genuinely surprised. She pauses for a moment and then regards her friend shrewdly. “So who’d you get drunk with, chére? Surely Louise was not up for this.”
“My sister’s always up for a drink,” Gisela replies with a touch of pride. “But it wasn’t her.”
“…Antonia came here last night?”
Gisela barks out a laugh. “Where else?”
“She comes often?”
“Every time you kick her out.”
Françoise purses her lips. “I see. So you enjoy being third choice, is it?”
“You act like we slept together or something. Can’t we just be two friends, drinking?”
“You and I both know things hardly ever turn out that way.”
“Your stupid excuse,” Gisela returns. “Tonia comes here nursing a broken heart, you come here nursing wounded pride. I’m the only one of us who doesn’t get caught up in stupid crap.”
“Oh? And your heart, Gisa, is never vulnerable?”
“Never,” she replies promptly. “Who wants to deal with all the shit you two do? It’s bad enough getting it second hand from you.”
“Then you’re denying you slept together?” Françoise asks suspiciously.
“Didn’t say that, either.”
Françoise looks up, triumphant, but Gisela holds out one hand again to stop her.
“Girl’s boobs make one hell of a pillow.”
Françoise stares at the pale-haired kingdom for one long moment, then two. Then she bursts out laughing.
“Ah, Gisa,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes. “Our chaste, drunk little saint.”
And Gisela laughs as well, and more so when Antonia joins them-three friends forgetting the problems between them. She laughs loudest, because it is the easiest way to hide a vulnerable heart.
in which girl friends prove to be less steadfast than their male counterparts.
written for chromatic_coma's birthday.
vulnerable hearts;
She’s all soft skin and silky hair, the only sharp thing about her being her tongue. It’s biting enough to make up for the rest, all told. A single line from her lips can put any man in his place, as her kings learn time and time again. Françoise is not the type of woman one should mess with.
“And yet you keep doing it,” Gisela says sardonically, leaning back so that her head is resting against Antonia’s shoulder. “Stupid move, if you ask me.”
“Querida, did I ask?” Antonia returns softly. She hasn’t said anything, since she arrived at Gisela’s rooms earlier that evening. And Gisela didn’t ask, merely brought out a bottle of hard liquor and invited Antonia to join her on the couch so ironically called a love seat. But the other woman’s eyes are red-rimmed, and her voice is weak with the threat of cracking. Gisela notices, but doesn’t comment.
“Of course you didn’t,” Gisela says, her pointed features twisting into a scowl. “The kingdom of Spain, she’d never even think of imposing on anyone, would she? ‘Cept her best friend, whose door she knocks on every night when she gets kicked out of France’s bed.”
“I wasn’t kicked out-!” Antonia begins to protest, but Gisela reaches up and clamps one hand roughly over her lips.
“Just shut up, will you, Tonia? It’s getting old.” Gisela is visibly irritated, now, so Antonia merely sighs, and pushes the hand away while rolling her eyes.
“I’m grateful, you know,” she says after a moment. “That you’re always here for me.”
“Come on, Tonia,” Gisela mutters. “Don’t put that on me-I’m not cut out for this mushy stuff, you know that. I really couldn’t care less. I’m not the kinda girl who fucks for emotional support, got it?”
“Got it,” Antonia replies with a soft smile. She reaches out and wraps both arms around Gisela’s slim frame, holding the other woman close. They are almost of one height, but Antonia is round and curved in the way her dancing always makes so apparent. Gisela is straight and narrow, her minimal curves incongruous with the rest of her frame.
“Cut it out,” Gisela grumbles, but she doesn’t pull out of the embrace.
“You know, Gisa, for someone who’s so against emotional support, you sure do offer a lot of it.”
“You take as you want to.” Gisela’s cheeks are red, and she is stiff in Antonia’s arms. “I’m not here to comfort you, stupid.”
“Then why let me in, querida?”
“Francie’s not the only one who likes to sleep next to a warm body.” And with that, she pushes Antonia down on the couch and scrunches up against her. Antonia laughs, but doesn’t move away, and, after a moment, lets the alcohol take them where they’ve been headed.
❣
The next morning, Antonia is walking calmly through the mystical halls of Versailles, a sway in her step that wasn’t there the previous day. Dark, rich hair pulled into a knot atop her head and green eyes flashing mischievously, she is not the same woman she was yesterday. And of course, Françoise notices.
“You know, Tonia, I’m not sure whether I should feel insulted or not,” the other woman mutters slowly as she steps into view. The few loose strands of blonde hair that curl around her cheeks and neck look as though they’ve casually fallen loose of her ponytail, but Antonia knows they were carefully placed there, intentional. Much of Françoise is that way, a careful façade built to look more natural than it is.
“Insulted? Why would you be?” Antonia asks, flashing a wide smile. The two fall in step as they walk together, and Françoise laughs devilishly.
“You never came back last night,” she murmurs, pouting.
“As I recall, bella, you forced me out into the hallway in only my underthings when a certain girl came knocking on your door.” The inflection of her voice doesn’t change, but heat rises to Antonia’s cheeks, caused either by anger or embarrassment.
“Well, that’s why you should have come back,” Françoise chides, rolling her deep blue eyes. “At least to get your gown, if nothing else.” She licks her full lips as she finishes speaking, her eyes cast down to accentuate her thick lashes.
“You know, I was planning on doing so,” Antonia says, sounding quite genuine. “But then I decided it could wait until the morning.”
“And why would you decide that, Tonia?”
“Because,” the other woman replies with a laugh, “I found something better to do with my time than to wait all night for Elizabeth to leave your rooms.”
Françoise isn’t very easily shamed, and so her cheeks don’t turn any redder than can be hidden by her rouge. Instead, she pauses slightly and crosses her arms over her chest, regarding Antonia carefully.
“We’re opportunists, ma chére. Haven’t we always said so?”
“I wasn’t denying that fact,” Antonia replies ruefully. “We’re kingdoms of the best and worst kind; we take what we want from one another under the assumption that we can just pass it off as politics. And most of the time, that works.”
“Most of the time…?”
“Sometimes,” Antonia admits, “it doesn’t work.”
“You think it was more than politics that made me kick you out? Spain and France are steady allies; England and France not as much. Maybe I was just helping my kingdom along.”
“Or maybe I warmed you blood just enough for it to set fire when you lay eyes on her.”
“So it’s pride, then? Scared I’ll let everyone know your Spanish fire isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”
Antonia lets out a laugh and shakes her head slowly. “Bella, you are so good at playing head games that you’ve lost yourself within them. This is hardly about Spain and France; it is about Antonia and Françoise. Or do you not know the difference anymore?”
“There is not difference,” Françoise hisses. “You’re nursing wounded pride now, but you’ll be back soon enough. You need me---who else listens to your worries?”
“One other person, actually.”
❣
“We are not made to be constant creatures.”
Gisela looks up from her spot sprawling on the love seat and sees Françoise standing over her. “Oh, yeah?” She asks the question roughly, massaging her temples as she does so.
“Yes,” Françoise continues, pacing back and forth. “We act not as one person but as many. So we can love many people, no?”
The silk of her skirts makes swishing noises against the floor as she goes back and forth. Of the three of them, Gisela is the only one who wears trousers on a daily basis. Now she eyes Françoise’s skirts with renewed distaste. She shifts into a seated position and holds out one hand.
“You’re giving me a headache, Francie, and I’m already hung over. So calm the fuck down and tell me what you mean.”
“No one wants to play my word games today, do they?” Françoise asks bitterly. She lets out a huffy sigh and plops herself down on the couch next to Gisela. “Tonia is vexed with me.”
“Well, obviously,” Gisela mutters.
“But we’ve done this same thing over and over! When we’re lonely we go to one another, and then when Romana and England stop acting so prissy we go to them. We have always been each other’s second choice!”
“You act so proud of that fact.”
“I’m only being realistic,” Françoise snaps. “Gisa, you know that’s how it’s always been. Always.”
“Well,” Gisela suggests, “maybe Tonia just got bored.”
“Bored? Of me?”
“Of your relationship, stupid.” Gisela punches Françoise in the arm to underscore the point.
“You’re so insightful today, Gisa,” she returns, sounding genuinely surprised. She pauses for a moment and then regards her friend shrewdly. “So who’d you get drunk with, chére? Surely Louise was not up for this.”
“My sister’s always up for a drink,” Gisela replies with a touch of pride. “But it wasn’t her.”
“…Antonia came here last night?”
Gisela barks out a laugh. “Where else?”
“She comes often?”
“Every time you kick her out.”
Françoise purses her lips. “I see. So you enjoy being third choice, is it?”
“You act like we slept together or something. Can’t we just be two friends, drinking?”
“You and I both know things hardly ever turn out that way.”
“Your stupid excuse,” Gisela returns. “Tonia comes here nursing a broken heart, you come here nursing wounded pride. I’m the only one of us who doesn’t get caught up in stupid crap.”
“Oh? And your heart, Gisa, is never vulnerable?”
“Never,” she replies promptly. “Who wants to deal with all the shit you two do? It’s bad enough getting it second hand from you.”
“Then you’re denying you slept together?” Françoise asks suspiciously.
“Didn’t say that, either.”
Françoise looks up, triumphant, but Gisela holds out one hand again to stop her.
“Girl’s boobs make one hell of a pillow.”
Françoise stares at the pale-haired kingdom for one long moment, then two. Then she bursts out laughing.
“Ah, Gisa,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes. “Our chaste, drunk little saint.”
And Gisela laughs as well, and more so when Antonia joins them-three friends forgetting the problems between them. She laughs loudest, because it is the easiest way to hide a vulnerable heart.