First attempt at FrUk.

Happy March 14th! Happy Birthday! You're my favorite! Here's you're FROOK.

Please try to enjoy.

Francis Bonnefoy sat on a park bench just outside of Paris, staring with dull eyes at his beautiful capitol. Soon, it would be on fire, because he would never give it to the Germans. Never. He would go through with the Scorched-Earth Policy like Russia had, and like America had during his civil war.

A soft wind blew through that shoulder length blonde hair. Gun powder and the faint smell of blood was carried on the wind, harassing the Frenchman's nose. Crinkling his nose, it reminded Francis of why he was not on the battle field with his countrymen.

Francis was a coward, not a fighter, disguised as a lover.

His body hurt from the brutality tearing up his territory and killing his men. Yet, he couldn't go out on the battlefield. Most other countries were on the frontline, and once upon a time so had he. Something changed inside of him when someone helped him realize that Francis was as not happy as he thought he was.

"Oh, Angleterre," The name fell from his lips in whisper. That boy who had been so helpless and so abused under the Frenchman's watch was now giving all he could to help save him. But why? Francis' slumped a bit into the back of the cold, hard bench. He knew that England had never forgiven him, and France had no right to ask for forgiveness, but the things Arthur was doing so contradicted the way the boy acted around the perverted country.

It made his heart flutter wildly in his chest. There was a small light of hope that maybe, maybe, that beautiful boy had forgiven him. Or at least liked him a little bit.

Francis could not make up for his past mistakes, but he could try to ease whatever Arthur felt by doing what he could in the present and future.

Boom!

A sharp pang near his hear made him hunch over in pain, clutching a hand to his chest. They were close… So close to his Paris…

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop that one," A quiet voice said from nearby. Francis immediately recognized the voice and felt a wave of relief flood over his pained heart. Green eyes avoided blue ones. "We're holding them back for now. Neither side is advancing." Arthur walked to the bench, a slight limp in his walk. He sat a good distance away from the Frenchman.

Francis made a soft hum indicating that he had heard. Arthur looked like an absolute angel in his military uniform. His blonde hair and pale skin contrasted with the dark fabric, making him look like he was almost glowing.

Quickly looking down at the ground, Francis reprimanded himself. How ridiculous.

Any other day, Francis would have made a perverted, aggravating comment to England to make the boy blush with embarrassment or anger. But today was not the day for that. Both of them were battered and bruised.

"Why are you here, mon ami?" Francis asked just as quietly as Arthur spoke earlier. They had, during the first World War, gotten to the agreement that France could consider England as an ally. In Francis' book, that meant that they were some sort of friends… and Arthur didn't complain anymore about being France's friend…

"It's my duty to keep my alliance strong with you," Arthur recited as if he had practiced for hours.

"Non, why are you here?" Francis meant sitting next to him instead of out on the battlefield. Arthur was brave, he fought with his men. Arthur was almost like a knight in shining armor…

Arthur was silent for a moment while he pondered the question. Why was he here? Something had just pulled him over to this park bench… "I-I…" The younger boy swallowed. Actually he knew why he was sitting there.

Arthur didn't know how much time either of them had left… If Germany overtook Paris, then they were both on a hit list; most likely the top two. He wanted his last moments of freedom to be with this man who had so long ago, taken Arthur's freedom.

"You're terrible. Picking on an injured and exhausted soldier like that." Arthur avoided answering by moving on.

Francis looked at Arthur sharply. How injured was the boy? Anger flowed through the Frenchman's veins as he thought of someone injuring such a fragile being. It was like taking a knife and shredding apart a work of art. Arthur was the canvas, and his soul was the art.

"How hurt are you, amoureux (sweetheart)?" France scooted closer to England, taking the younger countries hand in his. Arthur avoided looking in Francis' eyes once again.

"And why do you never look me in the eyes?" The second question was said at the same time that England mumbled, "Not too bad, all things considered." to the first inquiry.

Those emerald green eyes widened as they looked at his hands. Arthur didn't want to tell this embarrassing secret, but he may not get another chance to tell the cocky Frenchman this answer again.

"I-it's because… your eyes are the same color as the sea that separates us." The words were whispered out as a bright red blush painted that canvas. His soul was stroking those smooth cheeks of his, making its presence known.

Francis was not expecting that answer, but he didn't hesitate as he brought his other hand to cup Arthur's chin. Gently, he turned the younger man's head to face his. "Look at me, mon ange (my angel)." His voice was soft and pleading. After a moment, those forest green eyes met with those blue ones. At that moment it was like the earth and the sea collided as Arthur's heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. A warm feeling crept its way up to blanket his heart as those eyes seemed to be nothing but loving and friendly.

"So long ago, those blue eyes… they were different…" They gave Arthur reason to fear. Now, they seem to bring another emotion to surface. Never in Arthur's long life had one set of eyes make such different emotions pump through England's very core. The warm feeling seemed to bloom even more as a little voice in his head told him that the Allied Forces were pushing Hitler's forces back. Renewed morale seemed to flow through every soldier on the field as Arthur stared into those heartbreaking eyes.

"But, mon amour, they have changed because of you," Francis' lips were mere inches from Arthurs now. "For you… You taught me this… this love when you left me. I had never felt such heartbreak before and since." The pain… the pain was gone. France was in the heat of battle, and yet, Francis felt no pain. He only felt deep and desirable emotions swirl through his body.

Arthur unconsciously licked his lips as his breath quickened. The boy wanted to be closer… so much closer… Hesitantly, Arthur slowly scooted even closer so their bodies were touching. Electric shocks seemed to flash across his skin from such little contact. If there was more contact… with less fabric in the way…

A smile found its way to Francis' lips as he closed the distance between their faces.

The kiss was gentle and coaxing. Arthur's hand tightened in fear around Francis' for a moment. Frightening images flashed across Arthur's mind from so long ago… but this was nothing like then. This was so… tender. It was like it was asking permission. Yes. That was his answer. Yes.

Arthur, slowly, let go of Francis' hand and wrapped his arms around the Frenchman's neck. Francis snaked his free hand to Arthur's thin and girlish waist, lightly settling there.

Their lips moved together in a way that neither knew was possible. They both had kissed other people before, but none of them were as compatible as these two seemed to be. Both countries had an understanding for each other, and that helped enrich and bond the two together.

The kiss turned from chaise to passionate, with much guiding from Francis.

Neither one of them wanted to come up for air again, but it was Arthur who broke the heated kiss first. His eyes were slightly clouded over from want as he panted heavily. Instead of going back in for another kiss, like Francis very much wanted, the boy rested his head on the Frenchman's shoulder. A tiny smile was on Francis' lips as he settled for the Englishman's cuddle; resting his head on top of Arthur's.

"I did it…" Arthur whispered, his breath tickling France's neck. "I saved you…"

Francis' heart swelled with happiness, pride, and deep feelings for this boy. It was almost too much for him to take as tears of happiness streaked down his face and into the blonde hair he was resting his cheek on.

And so, the princess kissed the frog and found his Prince Charming.