AN: I sometimes write for my friend who likes a bit o' FRussia, so have a lil thang with the two. PS I had to do some research, apologies if anything is wrong

DISCLAIMER: Hetalia is not mine

When the plane landed in Moscow, Francis sat up with a grin slowly spreading across his face. He practically skipped to baggage reclaim, and then hurried into the toilets - a four hour flight did terrible things to his hair. Once he had relieved himself, he set about making himself look gorgeous again. He ran a hand through his hair a few times and struck a pose at himself. "Mon Dieu, I am so hot," he thought to himself as he dug around in his carry on bag for his cologne. With a few sprays, he smelt and looked amazing once more and so glanced at his watch - oh dear. He'd spent almost 20 minutes in the toilets. With a small chuckle, he wrapped a hand around his case again and headed back out into the rest of the airport.

The crowd had thinned a fair amount by the time he was finished, so it didn't take long for him to scan the waiting mass and pick out the exceptionally tall Russian he was here to see. Ivan was standing, staring down at his phone looking somewhat concerned. His smile widening, France slid up to the Russian and gave his scarf a tug.

"Waiting for someone?" he asked and ivan looked up and smiled with surprise. "Francis! You're here - I was beginning to think you had not come," he said, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

"Excusez-moi, Francis Bonnefoy does not stand up his dates," he said with a smirk, sliding his arm through Ivan's. The man looked down at Francis and raised an eyebrow. "So this is a date?" Francis gave a laugh and a shrug

"It's whatever you want it to be, mon cher,"

Ivan was driving Francis' back to his house, but the journey was a few hours at the best of times, and when it was as it was soon to be, Ivan preferred to slow down. Though at first Francis had been happily chatting away about everything and anything - America had finally got England out on a date, and did Ivan know what Francis had caught Germany and Italy doing in the bathroom? - but the long day finally caught up with him and the French nation was out for the count.

At each stop along the way, Ivan would glance across at the sleeping nation, a small smile on his face as he muttered the occasional French word. The blonde looked so cute when he was sleeping, Ivan decided, much younger and more relaxed. Something warmed Ivan whenever he remembered that Francis had chosen to come here in his free time; to see him!

Much of the journey was spent in silence, but Ivan didn't mind. He was just happy that Francis was here with him. As the sun set, they entered Ivan's hometown, and it was only an hour or so later that they pulled up on his drive. Giving the still sleeping Frenchman a quick pat, Ivan unlocked the door and wheeled in his case first, not at all surprised by how much it weighed. Knowing Francis, he'd probably packed a whole wardrobe for this week long trip.

Once the bags were in the hall, Ivan returned to the car and carefully slid Francis' belt off of him, and lifted him out of the seat. As he nudged the car door shut, Francis nuzzled into him, burying himself from the breeze behind Ivan's scarf.

In a matter of minutes, Francis was settled on the sofa with a blanket as Ivan gently pulled off his shoes and placed them by his own at the door. He spared a glance at the fire, happy it was burning nicely, and another at the sleeping Frenchman. He smiled to himself and then spun on his heel, ready to prepare dinner.

When Francis finally rolled over, back in the land of the living, the fire was roaring, the TV was set to a film channel, and there was something warm by his feet. He blinked a few times, and the world came back into focus again.

"Good evening Francis," Ivan said from where he sat at the other end of the sofa, where Francis' feet were lying. Francis stretched and then smiled, sitting up so that he could crawl across to Ivan.

"Evening," he said, resting his head on the larger man's shoulders. Though Ivan looked big and scary sometimes, Francis knew very well, that the man was as sweet as a kitten if you got to know him, and likewise, he was not cold and hard to snuggled, rather he was like a giant teddy bear. To be honest, Ivan was Francis' favourite pillow.

"Did you sleep well?" Ivan asked, patting Francis' leg. Francis yawned and nodded. "Oui, but how long was I out, it feels like days," he asked. Ivan glanced over at the clock, which read 9:30. "Around four hours? Not very long at all, do you want to go to bed?"

Francis was about to say how they didn't have to be in bed to do that, when his stomach suddenly rumbled. He flushed a brilliant red, and Ivan laughed - a deep, long laugh. "What about dinner first?" he asked and Francis nodded hurriedly.

"Don't worry, I thought this might happen, I have something ready, let me go make sure it's hot enough," Ivan said, shaking his shoulder a little and moving Francis away. Francis sat up a little straighter so that the Russian could leave. While he was gone, he once again ran a hand through his hair and straightened out the blanket. Ivan caught him fiddling with his hair when he came back with two glasses in hand, both filled with wine of some description.

"Francis, you look fine," he said as he set both glasses on the coffee table. "I like your air all messy anyway," he added. Francis turned another shade of red and said "I just wanted to look good for dinner," he jibed, prompting another laugh from Ivan. Ivan left again for their dinner this time, and Francis lifted his glass and sipped. He was surprised to find it was one of his own French wines, and grinned to himself. Ivan seemed to like it too.

Francis was surprised again when Ivan returned with two steaming bowls of what looked to be casserole. Only, upon closer inspection, he found it to be -

"Coq au vin!" Ivan announced, in a butchered attempt at a french accent. Francis' jaw dropped a little as he took his bowl from Ivan, inhaling the amazing aroma of the chicken and the wine it had been cooked in.

"Ivan! What on - did you make this?" Francis asked, picking up his spoon. He hadn't realised just how hungry he had been (because there was no way on Earth he would eat that slop they call food on planes) and he was itching to start.

"Yes, I made it all myself - it is your favourite, yes?" Ivan asked, sitting down next to him with his own bowl. Francis nodded, his spoon already full.

"Oh, oui! And do you mind if I start now? It smells amazing," he said and Ivan nodded, filling his own spoon. "Of course, you must tell me, do you like it?"

Francis' eyes widened, and he all but groaned. "Ivan... oh, Ivan, you must cook this more often. Mon Dieu, I didn't know you cooked French food so... so well... Though," Francis said, pointing his spoon at the Russian. "I love your stroganov, you didn't have to make this. Even if it is amazing," he said, helping himself to another spoonful.

Ivan grinned as he ate his own dish. "Da, I know, but I thought that some food from home might be nice... it was a long flight, and this is a warm dish. I'm glad you like it," he added, looking back up at Francis, who had laid his bowl back down on the table.

"Francis, why aren't you eating?!" The Frenchman grinned wolfishly, and swung his legs up onto the sofa. "It's a bit hot right now... I think I'll have some Russian starters," he said, crawling closer to Ivan.

"Francis, you are going to spill mine everywhere," Ivan scolded, as Francis leaned in closer, practically sitting in his lap now. "You should put it down then," Francis answered back, holding out a hand for the bowl in question. So as to prevent spills, Ivan let Francis put the bowl next to his own, but then found himself being straddled by the Frenchman.

"Francis, a minute ago you were to tired to even sit up now you - oh!"

They ended up having to reheat dinner.