Based off of an RP with a friend.

Oliver stuck his lip out and furrowed his eyebrows together in confusion. Francois had shown up at his house late in the evening, interrupting the Brit's MLP marathon by rambling on about something Oliver really did not care to understand. "Oh, sprinkle berries. What on earth are you going on about?" he asked after a while, clicking the television off.

Francois blinked and sighed in disappointment. The Brit hadn't been paying attention at all. "How was your day?" he asked for a change of subject, knowing that Oliver would rather talk about himself than other peoples' problems.

"I was watching ponies!" the pastel nation practically squealed, cheerful again.

"Of course you were," he said, earning a giggle from the Brit. The Frenchman closed his eyes in irritation.

"Oh," Oliver continued, "but I had an awful headache most of the day." He frowned, remembering the pain he'd been in previously.

"That's a shame," Francois said nonchalantly, not really caring.

"It is," Oliver whined.

Francois rolled his eyes as he lit a cigarette. "Let me guess...You had Allen here? He's a headache, no doubt."

"Goodness, how did you know?" the Brit chirped.

"We lived with him. For far too long, might I add."

Oliver giggled, pulling his legs up on the couch and hugging them as he peeked up at his friend. "I suppose you're right, poppet."

"Then again...you were there too," the Frenchman added tiredly, earning a gasp of shock from the tiny nation.

"Wot is thaaat supposed to meeeaannnnn?" Oliver whined.

"You've known me long enough to know damn well what it means," Francois humorlously laughed and took a long puff from his cigarette, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Oliver gasped loudly and hopped up from the couch, pointing a finger up at the Frenchman. "You watch your mouth!" he yelled. Francois simply rolled his eyes and ignored the scolding. "Now listen here," Oliver huffed in annoyance, puffing his cheeks out. "That kind of language is simply uncalled for."

"Why do you even fucking care?" he asked, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Well why wouldn't I?" the Brit mumbled, pouting. "I'm the one that has to hear your potty mouth, mind you."

"Block it out then," Francois told him with much irritation.

"Oh, poppet, you know I'm not too good at blocking things out."

"That's too damn bad then," Francois stated, then stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray that was kept on the table for his visits.

Oliver huffed his cheeks out angrily. "That is too bad," he agreed, glaring and promptly walked out of the room.

Francois sighed. "Oliver," he called lazily. "Oliver..." A moment later, the Brit popped his head back around the corner.

"What?"

"Don't be such a bitch."

"Why- Why you- you- That is just rude," Oliver scoffed.

"I know what you want to say," Francois taunted. "You want to call me an asshole. Don't you?"

Oliver looked horrified by the thought. "I would never use such crude language," he grumbled. "But ,you know...You are!" he yelled, crossing his arms childishly.

"I beg to differ," Francois continued. "And yes, I am. Say it."

"No!" Oliver argued.

"You know you want to..." the Frenchman taunted more.

"Nope!" Ollie denied. "Never in my life would I want to speak like that."

"You almost did. Come now...Tell me what you really think of me, Oliver."

"I did not!" the Brit yelled in defense, flailing his arms in the air. "And come now," he mocked, "do you honestly want me to tell you what I think?"

"Oui."

Frustrated, Oliver began to struggle for a response. "Well...well too bad!"

"Come on, Oliver," Francois continued to egg on.

"Nope. Not happening," he refused, crossing his arms again and turning away to snoot the other nation.

"Oliver..." Francois said quietly, leaning in over the Brit's shoulder. "You know you want to. And you know I can take it."

"I- I don't care!" Oliver cried. "I will not stoop to your level, Francois."

The Frenchman only leaned closer, a bit amused by how frustrated the Brit was becoming. "Come on, Oliver. Get some stress out of your system. Call me an asshole. Do what it takes," he said in a calming tone. But it did anything but comfort the Brit.

"Oh, would you quit this tomfoolery already?" Oliver scolded, hands on his hips. "I have had enough. Now if you'll excuse me," he said, turning on his heel, "I am going to fetch some tea." He was stopped from leaving, however, when Francois grabbed him by the wrists.

"W-wot are you doing?" Oliver panicked.

"You're stubborn, aren't you?" Francois smirked. Oliver huffed his cheeks out in childish anger. "Oui, you are," he concluded.

"Francois, let go. I want my tea."

"Say it first."

"Oh, butterscotch. You sure are persistent." Oliver stated flatly. "I won't say it, Francois."

"Just say what you honest-to-god think of me," the Frenchman sighed.

"Fine," Oliver said, still glaring. "You want me to tell you what I think?" he asked and didn't bother to wait for an answer. Instead, he took a large breath and held it longer than necessary, getting ready for his rant. Francois raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to start. "Francois...you are a no-good, rude, grumpy, unhealthy, grungy, smelly, potty-mouthed NITWIT!" the Brit yelled quickly, gasping for air as he finished. The room filled with a short silence, Francois just staring at him unfazed as he panted.

"Those weren't the words you wanted to say," he stated to break the silence.

"Of course they weeeerrreeeeee," Oliver whined, upset that his rant was not enough to get his friend to stop bugging him.

"You wanted to say meaner things," Francois grumbled, yanking Oliver closer. He bent down and stared into the Brit's blue eyes. "Did you not?" he finished in a calm yet harsh tone.

Oliver glared at him, pouting. "I told you what I thought, Francois. Now leave me to my tea," he said and tried to pull away. But the Frenchman made it clear that he was not going to let go so easily.

"Fuck," he swore, simply to piss him off.

"Francois," Oliver seethed through gritted teeth. "Let. Me. Go. This. Instant."

"Ass," he continued, still staring into Oliver's eyes and holding him in place.

"Francois. Stop." He glared harder, hoping it would work. "Release me. NOW."

"Damn," he continued again, not taking the threat seriously at all. "What are you going to do, hm?"

"France, I'm serious," Oliver practically growled, trying to yank away once again. But Francois didn't even falter.

"Are you, now?"

"YES!" the Brit screamed and began thrashing around, trying to break free of the grip. Unfortunately, his skills lie more in poison and swift attacks than in strength or power. His thrashing wasn't doing much. Having enough of the childish behavior, Francois pulled him in and wrapped his arms around the Brit. It may have looked like a hug, but they both knew it wasn't.

"Come now, Oliver. Don't be so dramatic," the Frenchman stated with a slight false whine to his voice. Oliver tensed up but didn't say anything. "Oliverrrr..." he egged on. "You get upset far too easily."

Oliver seethed. "Well I wouldn't if someone wouldn't upset me."

Francois raised an eyebrow, toying with the Brit. "Now who could that be?"

"Francois, you know what you are doing," Oliver scolded him in the parental tone he often used for Al and Matt.

"Oliver. I am older than you. Don't try scolding me."

"Well you're acting awfully childish," he responded, looking away snobbily.

"Says the one who's offended by cursing," Francois said, rolling his eyes. He then yanked Oliver onto the couch so that he was sitting on his lap. It was better than standing in that awkward hug.

Oliver squeaked at the sudden movement but held his ground once he was sitting. He stuck his bottom lip out. "Cursing is an awful habit!"

"It's not that fucking bad." Francois was starting to get a bit irritated. "YOU have much worse habits."

"I do not!" Oliver argued. "And it is bad, poppet! You can hurt peoples' feelings with your harsh words."

Again, Francois rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it doesn't hurt anyone's feelings when you poison them. Oh wait," he stopped, staring deadpan at Oliver. "It doesn't. They die."

"Well, see~!" Oliver giggled, grinning widely. "At least they don't have to live with it," he said, ignoring the fact that half his victims were nations.

Francois paused, blinking. "You're a special kind of fucked up, Oliver." He glared, squeezing the Brit's arms tightly, causing him to squeak in pain. "You know how easy it is to kill someone. Especially when they're defenseless."

"D-don't use that- ow! -langueage, Francois."

"Did that hurt?" the Frenchman asked and continued to squeeze harder, earning more pained squeaks from the pink-haired nation. "You know, you're a bit of trouble for such a small person."

"Gah-! Francois! Stop it!" Oliver squealed, scrunching his face in pain. "Don't be such a brute."

"Says the serial killer," he repied in irritation. "You know..." he continued in a curious tone, continuing to squeeze the Brit's small arms. "It's natural to want to squeeze cute things."

Oliver gasped. "Serial killer?" He was a bit taken back by the insult. "Well that's just rude!"

"The truth hurts," Francois stated with a shrug.

"And- Oh," Oliver paused, fluttering his eyelashes. "You think I'm cute? Well that's sweet of you," he smiled. Francois squeezed harder. Oliver squeaked.

"The affection part of the brain is very close to the aggression."

"Well- Really?" Oliver asked curiously, giggling. He always liked learning random things.

"Hm..." Francois hummed, staring down at Oliver in thought. "You remind me of my pinky toe," he stated. "You're small," he explained, "cute...and I'm probably going to bang you on the coffee table later."

"Ow, but really Francois. This is starting to hurt..." Oliver said, then his mind caught up to what the other nation had just said. "Now what on earth?!" he cried. "Stop it right now. You have gone too far. There will be no 'banging,' and it's a tea table, mind you."

"FIne," Francois agreed, rolling his eyes. "I'll bang you on the tea table. No difference."

"FRANCOIS!"

"Oui?" he answered boredly. Oliver squinted at him dangerously.

"I am really starting to get angry. And poppet, you won't like it when I'm angry."

Francois pulled him close, releasing his death grip so that he wasn't crushing the Brit as much. He spoke in a...false sweet voice. "Oh, Oliver...You're always so...innocent. It's adorable. I like when you're angry," he said, trying to look into Oliver's eyes. But Oliver gazed down heavily, his voice getting low and threatening.

"That's enough."

The Frenchman grinned deviously, finally starting to get what he wanted. "See?" he mocked. "Adorable."

Oliver shook his head, seething. "God damn it, Francois, I-" He froze, then looked up suddenly, wide eyes meeting the Frenchman's. Francois grinned darkly.

"S-w-e-a-r-J-a-r."

Oliver did not look away but instead bit down on his lip harshly. His eyes began to glisten with tears, but he was trying his best to glare in hatred. It was hard, though, when his lip started quivering, and the water in his eyes began to overflow.

Francois' grin disappeared, and he sighed, instantly feeling a little bad for making the Brit cry. "I promise not to tell Allen," he said, realising that Oliver would never hear the end of it if he had.

"T-That's not," Oliver sniffed. "That's not w-why-" he choked, tears now pouring down his face.

"Oliver...please don't cry over this. At least you didn't say 'fuck.'" He released his grip completely and instead tried to soothe his friend by awkwardly rubbing his small arms, which were now red and starting to bruise from being crushed.

"S-s-swear jar..." Oliver sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut as his body wracked from the sobs.

Francois sighed and used one hand to pull five euros out of his wallet, stuffing the money into Oliver's pocket. "Now stop. Please."

Oliver sniffed, lips still quivering and body still shaking. He wiped his eyes. "S-sorry..."

"It's fine," Francois breathed and pulled Oliver into a real hug. The Brit buried his face into Francois' chest, sniffling until he was finished crying. "Are you alright?" the Frenchman asked afterward.

"Yeah..."

"Good." He pushed Oliver away a bit and stared down at him in guilt, using his sleeve to wipe away whatever tears were left.

"G-Goodness...I...must look like a real fool, huh?" Oliver laughed humorlously, refusing to meet his friend's eyes.

"No, you're fine," Francois told him as he wiped away one last stray tear. "Better?" he asked.

Oliver nodded slowly. "Thank you, Francois," he said in a tiny voice.

"Don't thank me..."

"But you're being so nice..."

"I was mean to you before," the Frenchman stated.

"Well...yes, I suppose you were," Oliver said grimly but brightened up afterword. "And that was very rude of you, Franny Panny," he scolded with a poke to the Francois' nose. "But it's alright now," he grinned and chuckled childishly.

Francois sighed inwardly and sat there awkwardly for a moment. "You, uh...wanted tea?"

"Ah~!" Oliver squeaked at the thought, visually perking up. "Yes, tea! Tea would be very nice, poppet!"

"I'll get it," Francois said without hesition and lifted Oliver as if he were five pounds, setting him aside. He got up without another word and headed for the kitchen, leaving Oliver to himself.

"Oh," Oliver blinked. "Well that was kind of him," he said aloud to himself. He waited patiently, kicking his legs and humming cheerful tunes. A moment later, Francois returned with two steaming mugs of the Brit's favorite tea.

"Thank you, Francois!" Oliver chirped, taking the mug that was handed to him. He began sipping his tea, still kicking his legs like a child.

Francois sighed tiredly, shaking his head. "You are welcome," he said and began drinking his own. They sat there quietly for a while, just relaxing. It was the calm after the storm. That was, until Oliver set his mug down and suddenly glomped Francois, nearly spilling his tea.

"Gah! Oliver! What-" He stumbled over his words, more worried about saving his tea than completing his sentence.

"I'm sorry!" Oliver squealed, jumping back. "I didn't mean to!"

"Why...?" Francois asked, confused but really not that surprised. He was used to the Brit's sudden acts of joy.

"Why? Why, I nearly spilled your tea. Now that would have been horrid," he rambled.

Francois calmly set his tea down on the table, careful to avoid another attack, should it come. "It's fine," he said, and Oliver just stared at him, grinning and giggling. "You are such a pastry," Francois said, shaking his head.

"A pastry?" Oliver chirped curiously.

"Soft, colorful, and most likely bad for you," the Frenchman explained.

"Huh?" Oliver blinked, confused. He was never too good at solving riddles.

"Never mind," Francois smirked, ruffling his pink hair. "Why did you attack me like that?"

Oliver giggled. "Well, uh, I just wanted to hug you, poppet. Though I may have been a bit too excited. Hehe." He then started humming again, rocking back and forth in his seat.

"Alright then...It's fine." He watched Oliver's cheerful rocking for a moment, then sighed. "You're chipper again, I see."

"Of course~!" Oliver sang. Francois sighed, deciding to go back to his usual demeanor as well. "Hm?" the Brit asked, noticing the change. "Oh, Franny, don't frown like that. You'll get wrinkles."

"I'm not frowning," Francois argued tiredly. "And we're nations. We don't age or change."

"Yes your are. And, well...maybe not, but still. It's better to smile~!"

Leaning back against the couch, Francois lit up another cigarette and placed it in his mouth, inhaling and exhaling deeply before flicking some of it into the ash tray. "I have no reason to."

"Why noooottt?"

"I just don't," he stated.

"But. But! You've got to smile some time," Oliver whined. Francois only sighed and ignored him. "Smiiiilleeeee~"

"Non."

"Why nooootttt~?" Come on, poppet. It's not that hard."

"I know," Francois stated with finality. "I just choose not to."

"But...but why not?" Oliver continued, fluttering his eyelashes as if that would help him get an answer.

"I just don't wish to."

"But I want you tooooooo~!"

Francois was really starting to become irritated. "You can't always get what you want, Oliver."

"Just once," the Brit continued. "Pleeeasssseee?"

Francois sighed again, knowing he wouldn't stop. "Non."

"Preeeeettttyyyy pleaseeeeee?"

"Why?" Francois asked, fuming.

"Because you made me swear," Oliver said, crossing his arms. "So I should get to see you smile!"

Francois quickly finished a puff of his cigarette, stubbing it out fiercely. "I didn't make you do anything," he snapped. "You have free reign of your own voice."

"Do not snap at me! You were purposely making me angry so I would swear. And you were hurting me too," he pouted, looking down at the couch while rubbing one of his now sore and bruised arms.

The Frenchman stared at him for a moment, feeling bad but not showing it. "I don't have a reason to smile," he said, getting back on topic.

"But WHY don't you have a reason, Franny?" Oliver frowned. "You're friends with meeee!" he whined.

"Well, yes. I am. But I have no reason to be so...giddy," he confessed blankly. Oliver only grunted and tossed himself sideways dramatically, reaching up at Francois.

"Don't be such a dooowner~!"

Francois raised a brow, staring down at him. "What are you doing?"

"Annoying you until you smile," Oliver grinned and continued to touch the Frenchman's face.

"Oliver, really?" Francois asked, lightly grabbing Oliver's hands to keep them from touching him. The Brit only giggled and continued to mess with him. "Oliver, you are like a six year old," he said, shaking his head a bit.

"Well at least I smile~!" he grinned, sticking his tongue out while squinting his eyes shut. Francois grabbed his tongue with his forefinger and thumb.

"Now what, smart a- eh...alloc?"

Oliver blinked. "Did you just...avoid cursing, Francois" he mumbled, sounding weird because of his tongue being held.

Francois didn't let go yet. "You'd get upset again if I didn't."

"Awwww~! hehe You do caaaarreeee~!"

"Don't ruin it," Francois said, unintentionally smirking.

"AHA!" Oliver shouted, quickly pointing up at Francois' face.

"Huh," he said. "You got me." He released Oliver's tongue and wiped his fingers on the arm of the couch. Meanwhile, Oliver just lie there, flailing around in laughter and giggles. "Oliver," he said, trying to catch the Brit's attention. Oliver only continued to giggle, now gasping for breath. Francois raised a brow. "Oliver," he called again. Finally, the Brit managed to calm himself down from the laughing fit. Francois couldn't help himself then. He leaned down and kissed the Brit's forehead, blond hair falling everywhere. Oliver froze, shocked, and blushed at the action. Francois sat up again and looked down at him. "Calm?" Oliver quickly nodded, his face red. "You're red," Francois deadpanned.

"I know!" Oliver squealed in embarrassment and covered his face.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"N-No. Not at all," Oliver stuttered, trying in vain to regain his composure. Francois raised a brow at him, and Oliver removed his hands so that he could stare up at him.

"What?" Francois asked. "Do you want something?"

"Um...Francois?" Oliver asked, lifting himself into a sitting position.

"Oui?" he asked. Oliver quickly leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek before reeling back and covering his face again. "Hm?" Francois blinked and looked over at the pastel nation. "Oliver."

"Y-yeah?" he answered, shaking.

"Move your hands, would you?"

"N-no. I'd rather not," he said, burrowing his face ever further into his hands.

"Why not?" Francois asked, leaning in.

"'C-cos my face is red, and it's embarrassing..." He shook his head a bit, still shaking from his nerves.

"I've seen you get all red before," Francois said in an attempt to comfort him as he took the Brit's wrists and carefully pulled his hands away from his face. Oliver squeaked at the action, squeezing his eyes shut as if that'd stop the Frenchman from seeing his bright red face. He was shocked, though, when he felt Francois' lips on his own. Oliver's eyes snapped open at the feeling but slowly fluttered close again as he melted into it. After breaking the kiss, Francois pulled the Brit's arms under him and hugged him tightly. Oliver awkwardly hugged back, burying his face in Francois' chest. "Are you tired?" Francois asked a few minutes later. Without waiting for an answer, he lifted Oliver up and started walking to the bedroom, holding the small nation to his chest.

Oliver blushed. "W-wot are you doing, poppet?"

"Putting you in bed," Francois answered, scrunching his eyebrows together. "What did you think I was doing?"

"Oh. Nothing. That is exactly what I thought," he said, failing to sound convincing.

"Liar," Francois said and stopped in his tracks, not having gone very far.

Oliver bit the inside of his cheek and mumbled, "I am not a liar."

Francois raised a brow. "You thought I had alternative motives."

"No I didn't!" Oliver answered all too quickly. "Why on earth would I think that?"

"I'm not stupid," Francois stated, glancing over at the 'tea' table. "You thought something else. Something..." He smirked, raising both eyebrows flirtatiously with a lusty look in his eyes. "Fun," he finished. Following his gaze, Oliver shrunk in his grip, face going bright red all over again.

"F-fun?" he squeaked.

"Oui."

Oliver fidgeted, uncomfortable and embarrassed by the thought of...his friend 'banging' him against the table.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Francois asked, noticing the obvious discomfort. "I can set you down."

"A-ah...no...no...I'm fine..."

Francois lifted him closer. "Are you sure?" he asked, staring straight into Oliver's eyes.

"Yea," Oliver squeaked and shrunk away, hiding his face in Francois' chest as the Frenchman continued carrying him toward the bedroom.

"Tea tables aren't comfortable anyhow," he said as they left the room. Once in the bedroom, he set Oliver down on the bed, still leaning close.

"F-Francois?"

"Oui?"

Oliver laughed humourlessly. "You're, uh...You're awfully close."

"Is that a problem, mon cher?"

"W-well, yes. I mean, no...I-I don't know..."

Francois leaned closer still and kissed the Brit's forehead. "You should get dressed into comfortable clothes."

"You're...insisting 'no clothes,' correct...?" Oliver asked in a tiny voice, confused.

"I said 'comfortable.' If being naked is comfortable, then so be it." Francois straightened himself and began to unbutton his shirt. "I'm sleeping here tonight," he stated.

"O-oh. W-well alright," Oliver said and rolled off the bed, heading over to his colorful wardrobe to grab some pajamas. He changed into a long sleeved shirt and bottoms, both blue and covered in pink and yellow cupcakes. After changing, he promptly flopped down on the bed. After watching, Francois crawled under the covers beside him, wearing only boxer briefs now. His clothes were thrown down on the floor messily. Oliver snuggled up to him, having been a while since he last had someone in his bed. "Nighty night, Franny Panny~!" he giggled quietly.

Francois sighed, relaxing and pulled the Brit close against him. "Good night, mon cher."

Oliver smiled and buried his face into Francois' chest, calmly drifting off to sleep.