Arthur grumbled as he stood on a parisian street corner gloomily. He sagged against a black iron lamp post as he glared at his watch for the seventh time and steadly ignored the giggling of the frenchwomen behind him that were sitting at the outdoor tables of a cafe.
"Where is that lazy, good for nothing bugger?" Arthur mumbled under his breath and glared some more when he heard the giggles increase along with a smattering of whispered french. His ears perked when he heard the scrapping of metal against concrete and decidedly did not turn around when he heard the clicking of heels coming towards him.
"Excuse me, monsieur," a sugary voice purred from behind him. "But if you are not too busy, perhaps you would like to join me and my friend for a drink?"
Arthur sighed quietly, glared at his watch one last time, and turned to look behind him. The woman, a petite brunette with dark eyes, was looking at him expectantly, promise in her eyes as she gestured towards the table where her friend, a curvy blonde, who was giving him a coy little wave, Arthur felt himself blush a little and damned the french for being so shameless.
"Er, no, pardon me, madame, but I'm waiting for a friend you see-"
"A friend who is late, no?" she said with a smile. "We'll be right here, why don't you wait with us?"
Arthur cursed himself for being a gentleman and opened his mouth again to politely refuse when he felt a sudden weight fall onto his shoulder. Next, instead of looking at the young girl, he was staring at the dark silk lapel of a stylish, and rather expensive, suit.
"Pardon me, Madame, I am the one who is late," a voice from above him said smoothly. Arthur rose onto his toes to look at the girl who was now blushing deep red and stammering apologies while retreating to her friend. The blonde friend was giggling so hard she had to smother her laughs with her napkin and the brunette hissed something at her and smacked her with purse.
"I'm sorry, cher, were you waiting very long?" the blasted Frenchman asked, his voice as silky soft as his impractically expensive clothing.
Arthur glared up at him and ignored the arm that was slowly wrapping itself around his waist and the first arm which slid down until the hand was curled around the nape of his neck.
"Long? Try three fucking hours, you-"
The sounds from Arthurs mouth were suddenly muffled by Francis' own mouth as he decided it wouldn't be best for his dear friend's health if he let him get worked up about this. After all, he had learned from Alfred's dreadful romantic comedies that this was the best way to quiet someone if they were about the fly off into a tantrum. And if he slipped in some tongue, who would care, really?
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Francis pouted in sorrow as he rubbed himself against the irritable man whose blush had spread to his ears. A good sign in this case. "Let me make it up to you? I have a place not far from here."
"I-I-I-"
The stuttering was music to his ears as he dragged the protesting (but not too protesting) England in the direction of his quaint loft. The blushes he received by giving his wink of victory as he passed the two ladies from before made everything all the more sweeter.