A/N: Hello! This is my second fic (though I'm still working on my first...) and my first time writing this pairing. Franada really needs more love! Like, seriously. It's just so... *insert large arm gesture here*. This was an idea that popped into my head last night around...1-ish? Either way, this is more of a preview, prologue if you will, than a first chapter - I just would like to know if I should continue. This is an AU and I'll be using their human names. And now that my rambling is over here you go!
Oh, and I don't own Hetalia - I'm not awesome enough to be Prussia, let alone Himaruya-sensei.
A shrill beeping made (a now only half asleep) Matthew awaken just enough to reach out and slam down the snooze button. Positioning his hand directly above his alarm clock, like the Canadian had mastered over the years, Matthew forced his palm downwards – and was met with only air. Confused, he opened his eyes and was alarmed to see that his bedside table was missing. Matthew sat up abruptly – and immediately regret doing so when a stabbing pain seared its way through his skull, temple to temple, as if someone had dropped a flaming brick on his head.
Attempting to ignore the sudden throbbing, the small blond studied his surroundings to the best of his abilities and, after several minutes of careful observation, Matthew concluded that the room – and bed – that he was currently in couldn't possibly be his own. It was just too... disorganized? Play-boy-like? French? In any case, the Canadian was not at home and, now that he noticed it, lacked quite a bit of clothing.
His face flushed with embarrassment and what may have been innocence as he began scrambling around for his glasses. Matthew's flailing ceased, however, when his arm hit something warm and his hand was taken (by an unknown force) to something... wet? The boy slowly lowered his eyes to what had captured his appendage. Eyes widened in realization and the blush burned deeper onto his pale skin as he gazed upon (an equally unclothed) Francis Bonnefoy who was now planting soft kisses along the younger blond's knuckles. Their eyes locked briefly.
"Bonjour, mon cher."
This could not be happening.