The shrill ring is what woke the sleeping French-man. He groaned, rolling over in his bed to pick up the old fashioned phone.
"Bonjour, comment mai-je vous adier?"
"Ah! Francis! You answered!" The voice on the other line giggled, responding in Quebec-French. The French-man's heart dropped, eye flitting over to the blond-tuff in the bed next to him.
"Ah, Matthew. I'm glad you called. I, uh, can I help you?" He rolled over on his back sighing. He didn't want to deal with this. Not now, not here. A hand worked it's way up his chest, and Francis looked over to see green eyes smiling at him. He smiled back and answered in French back. "Ah, I can't talk right now. Maybe later?" The voice giggled and agreed, hanging up. Sighing, Francis hung up the phone and rolled on his side, facing Arthur. He propped his head up on his elbow and smiled. "Je t'aime bebe." He smirked, cupping the other's face in his hand. Arthur rolled his eyes, snorting.
"Oh shut up France. You're such a gitface." He laughed, standing up and picking up his boxers off the floor. "Ah~, I have no clean clothes." He frowned, jumping slightly when arms wrapped around his waist.
"Then stay here." He grinned, moving his hands up to tweak a nipple, earning a small moan. He smirked, pulling the naked country down onto the bed, caressing his torso.
"Ah~, F – France..." Arthur muttered, pushing at the other's shoulders lightly. "G – get off...I'm not in the mo – Ah!" He gasped as France grabbed his "vital regions", nibbling on the nape of his neck. England pushed France off, blushing as he grabbed his boxers off the floor, pulling them on.
"Ah, where did I throw..." He looked through the family room, picking up random articles of clothing trying to find his clothes. He picked up a piece of cloth and squinted. There was barely anything there!
He frowned, holding it up in front of his face. A blush spread across his face quickly and he felt rage inside him. There was an American flag on the front. Or, at least, what was left on the front. He threw it down, storming back into the bedroom, not caring that France was finishing the job without him.
"What the hell are these?!" He fumed, hand on his hip.
"My my, mon cherie, you're so cute when you're furious." He smirked, bringing his hands out from under the covers to lick them clean. "They're Alfred's," he answered, "as-a-matter-of-factly". This caused England to blush and cross his arms.
"Nandemo, I'm leaving." He turned, leaving out the door. He pulled his pants off the fake potted plant and pulled them on, getting into his very small car and leaving, drumming his fingers on the wall.