I suppose this is fairly similar to "Woo Me" but, well, I ran into some confusion regarding that. I'm...actually not sure of how to deal with it so...accept this in the meantime.

Warnings: OOCness, slash, language, stupidity, fail,

Pairing: UK/Can

Disclaimer: Be glad I don't own Hetalia.

"Blimey, you're so lovely." Arthur murmured, palms skimming sharp hipbones and resting just above pale thighs. Calloused fingertips pressed into smooth skin, unblemished and cool to the touch, and emerald eyes watched appreciatively as his partner laughed breathlessly, head tilted back making his neck look longer and Arthur wanted to drag his teeth down that alabaster column and streak it red.

With an airy moan, Matthew slid his hands up Arthur's chest, warm friction sparking under his skin as his palms caressed scarred skin. Their journey ended at the Englishman's shoulders and the Canadian, thighs flexing as he continued to ride the other, let himself drop onto the other's chest, his erection hot between their bodies. Tightening his grip on the younger nation, Arthur rolled them over, very aware of the exhaustion creeping onto Matthew and the way his muscles trembled under his hands.

Hooking one long leg over his shoulder and the other around his waist, he gave the blond a moment to get accustomed to the change. The man, golden hair mussed and smeared across the pristine white of the pillow, was flushed from the top of his chest to his cheeks, and his normally blue-violet eyes gleamed in the darkness of the room.

"Do I have something on my face?" Matthew asked, half-teasing, half-worried.

Years and years of this—whatever this was—and the boy was still self-conscious.

Though, Arthur supposed, it was part of the boy's inherent charm.

(And probably also a byproduct of being overlooked for so long that when a person actually looked at him for a moment too long, he tended to think the worst.)

"You're just…" And the Englishman couldn't help but curse at his inability to be poetic and eloquent with Matthew. "…so very wonderful." He leaned down, letting the other's leg slip off his shoulder, pressing kisses to red cheeks. "My sweet English rose."

Matthew snorted, bucking his hips and earning a groan from the other nation. He shook his head. "I don't know why you say these things." He murmured.

Arthur's brow furrowed, sharp nose bumping into the curve of the other's shoulder. He kneaded the other's sides. "Because they're true." He said quietly, gently pulling out and thrusting back in, smirking briefly when Matthew gasped as his prostrate was struck. "Because I like to say these things to you."

Matthew didn't respond, but turned his head and coaxed Arthur into a kiss.

Most likely because he didn't want to hear any more.

"Iggy never gives me valentines." Alfred pouted, draping himself over Matthew's shoulders and trying to grab the red and white card, but only managing to brush against the lace decorating its edges before his brother pulled it out of reach.

"Your fingers are sticky." Matthew scolded, rolling his shoulders and trying to dislodge the other. "Did you eat all the chocolate I gave you?"

"It was good." Alfred retorted defensively, before continuing. "Every year he makes you a handmade card, writes you a new poem, and hand delivers it. Even I have to admit that the old man has some game."

"Not every year." The Canadian corrected.

"Dude. Even during the war he scribbled a sonnet to you on a bar of rationed chocolate. Fuck, even Francis isn't on his level." The superpower snickered. "Can you imagine his face if we told him that Iggy out-romanced the self-proclaimed mack daddy of sex?"

"Sometimes I wish you wouldn't speak." Matthew lamented quietly, but Alfred ignored him and continued to speak.

"But, seriously, brometheus, I think Arthur is trying to tell you something."

"Which would be?"

Alfred gave his near twin a long look. Then he gave pulled him into a headlock and gave him a noogie.

It seemed like the best way to express himself.

"Do you think I'm being too subtle?" Arthur asked, carefully separating the roses and neatly snipping them, placing them at his side as he kneeled in his garden.

"Did you really have to tie me to this chair?" Francis asked casually, raising a pale eyebrow and giving a sidelong, longing glance at the glass of wine just out of reach.

"Yes." The Englishman said firmly. "Because the last time you invited yourself over, you attempted to mount me as I was gardening and ending up crushing my prize peonies."

"You threw me into them."

"You could've avoided them." Arthur said dismissively. "Now, back to my predicament with Matthew. He is playing hard to get."

"Perhaps he does not want you to get him." Francis tossed his head a bit proudly. "He is too good for you."

"He seems to like my company well enough." The green-eyed man continued blithely. "He quite enjoyed my company just this past weekend. He enjoyed it repeatedly. For hours. Matthew was quite vocal about it, in fact."

Francis gave him a dirty look that went ignored.

"But, truly, am I so beastly—"

"Yes."

"—that even Matthew does not want to be with me?" Arthur sighed. "I realize I am not a likeable fellow."

"No, not at all. In fact, you can be downright detestable."

"But I had thought that…with Matthew it was different." The sandy-haired nation looked almost wistful. "He has always been one of the dearest things in my life. In the beginning, it was just sex. He was willing…er, well, he never said no."

Francis wanted to face palm.

"But now, we're not quite exclusive but I…" He trailed off awkwardly.

"Ah." Francis said knowingly, as though everything suddenly became clear. Arthur gave him a suspicious look, but the Frenchman merely smiled magnanimously. "That explains your dislike towards Trudeau."

"He disrespected my Queen!"

"Oh yes, and it had nothing to do with the time you walked in on them, embracing—"

"Don't imply such filthy things about Matthew!"

"And why you ignore Cuba and Netherlands."

"Belt up."

"And why you cried like an infant when he finally gained independence. As well as that time you slapped Mathieu when he called artillery fire down on himself because you were terrified of his recklessness and hated yourself for turning him into—" The Frenchman swore loudly when a pair of garden shears suddenly pressed against his 'vital regions', nicking his designer trousers.

Arthur was grinning viciously, eye twitching just so. "Yes, yes, Matthew and I have a very interesting, complicated history that is most likely preventing him from committing to me, thank you for reminding me you wanker, prepare to die." His fingers tensed around the handles of the shears.

"These trousers are Dior, you boor." Francis sniffed haughtily. "And if you kill me, I shall never help you win over my darling Mathieu."

"As though you've actually been helpful." Arthur scoffed.

Francis smirked up at him. "You have been enamored with the boy for the sole reason he never quite submitted to you. He fought to keep every single part you didn't like and yet he was everything you want even while he was everything you disliked. He is not outstandingly beautiful like India, yet he's more untouchable. He does not keep you on your toes like some of your other colonies, yet you turn your back and he's managed to loosen the ropes with which you keep him close. He does not have Alfred's fire, but he is very good at not being burnt." Azure eyes closed and the European continued in an almost bittersweet tone. "You worry because he does not come around, but more so than anyone else, you've seen him for himself and nurtured him and even if you forget him, he is still yours."

Arthur was silent, moving away from the older nation and lowering the shears.

"You've lost your violets and petunias and asters, but even during the Blitz, did you not still have your English rose?"

"I also had lilies." Arthur grumbled, moving to untie the Frenchman. "Git."

"Now, you give him the carnations and ask him to have lunch with you."

"I feel as though the roses were better."

Francis sighed heavily. "I will beat you with your own roses if you continue to complain."

"I'd like to see you try." Arthur sneered before Francis gave him a hard glare. He immediately turned sheepish. "Right, not the point. Fight later. First too woo Matthew and—How dare that slag?" The Englishman snarled, grip on the scarlet carnations tightening when he saw Ukraine approach Matthew. "Her and her unseemly bosom."

"Oh, yes, its quite unseemly." Francis said obediently, gaze locked on said bosom, as his frenemy trembled in poorly restrained rage next to him.

"She's practically suffocating the poor lad!"

"I don't think Mattie is complaining." A familiar voice interrupted.

Both nations turned to see that Alfred had joined them in peering around the corner.

"So, why are we creeping on Matt?" He asked curiously, absently gnawing on the straw of his milkshake. Then he noticed the flowers and he smiled smugly. "I knew it. You wanna make an honest man out of Matthew."

"Its none of your business."

"Actually, I have a gun and so everything automatically becomes my business." Alfred chuckled, shrugging. "Its called hard power, bitches."

"You raised him." Francis said in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Not really." Arthur snapped. "The ungrateful brat decided to declare independence."

"Hey! You say that like it's a bad thing. And since we're on the subject, maybe, if you hadn't have been such a douche and listened to me—"

"You threw my tea in your harbor!"

"Because you weren't listening! Just like you're not listening now!"

"Oh so its my fault?"

"Yes!"

"Ladies, ladies, you're both pretty." A soft voice interrupted boredly. "Also, why are you three spying on me?"

"Because Iggy wants to declare his undying love." Alfred crowed.

"You bastard!"

"So you don't?" Matthew asked curiously.

"Mon Dieu." Francis muttered.

"Of course I do! But this twat ruined it! Just like he ruined my harbor by dumping tea in it!"

"It was my harbor and still is, you limey bastard!"

"That's it!" Arthur shoved the flowers at Matthew. "Hold your flowers while I beat him."

"Hah! I'd like to see you try, old man. Couldn't do it before, can't do it now."

"I'm going to get drunk." Matthew announced, turning on his heel.

"I'm coming too." Francis sighed, feeling a migraine burst between his eyes.

"He loves you." Francis said quietly, placing his hand on top of Matthew's before the younger nation could grab his drink. "He just can't come out and say it. You know how he is. British, emotionally stunted, an idiot and so on."

"I am fond of him, you know." Matthew replied sincerely. "But, I'm afraid he'll lose interest as soon as I give in. I'm not very interesting." He added off-handedly. "And for a man who owned half the world and has seen many wondrous things, you know I won't even brush against his standards."

"You do not give yourself enough credit, mon chaton." Francis comforted, petting the other's hand softly. "I know you don't believe me and I don't blame you." He smiled sadly. "But you smile and I don't see how you could ever think that you're anything less than wondrous."

Matthew removed his hand and downed his drink, wincing as the liquid stung his throat. He took a deep breath. "I like where we are. If he cannot accept that…then…" He trailed off, violet eyes flickering away.

Arthur likes the way Matthew's hair falls against his wrist as he cards his fingers through the soft waves, gold splashing against his ruddy skin. He likes the way Matthew tilts his cheek towards him, anticipating a kiss and persuading Arthur to oblige him with a dry, chaste peck high on his cheek bone. He likes the way Matthew stands to greet him and wrap his arms around his neck, his chapped lips pressing against one cheek and then the next. He likes the way Matthew giggles when he tries to capture his elusive lips in a sensual kiss and the way the boy finally pushes him away in mock propriety when his Boss clears his throat embarrassedly behind them because Matthew just now chooses to acknowledge the presence of the humans.

Arthur's own Prime Minister looks a bit bemused.

Matthew greets both men, not moving until the humans leave the room. Then he moves towards Arthur, pulling him into a kiss but Arthur grabs his wrists and gently pushes him back.

"Lunch first?" Arthur asks, perhaps a bit tentatively.

Matthew pauses, tilting his head and the vaguest hint of a frown on his visage. "Do you have a place in mind?" He asks cautiously.

"Anywhere you would like."

Matthew, perhaps a bit passive-aggressively, takes the older nation to French restaurant and ordering escargot. To his credit, Arthur grimaces only once when he notices that the menu is in French and doesn't even scowl when Matthew offers him a snail.

But, to Matthew's shock, the other man kisses him right outside the restaurant, slipping his tongue between lax lips and swiping across the other's tongue, before pulling away with a smirk.

"You underestimate me, love." Arthur murmurs a bit darkly before pulling away completely.

"I'm underestimating him?" Matthew raged, pacing furiously in Alfred's living room as the superpower half-dozed on the couch with Kumajirou in his arms. It was 3 am. "I'll show that hoser who's underestimating whom."

"Can't you just give the guy a chance?" Alfred yawned. "Instead of being a passive-aggressive bitch and undermining his every attempt to win you over?"

"You don't understand, Al." Matthew snapped. "It's a matter of principle."

"Oh, so now of all times you decide to stand up to him?"

"Shut. Up." The other blond grit out. "If he really wants me, he's going to have to work for me."

"So, if he wants to put a ring on it, he's…going to have to put a ring on it?" Alfred asked sleepily. "Dude, I don't get it."

"That's because you're stupid." The other countered. "I have to be sure he's serious."

"Bro, why would he buy the cow, if he can get the milk for free? You've basically been boinking for the past few decades. Why would he give that up if he wasn't serious?"

Matthew ignored him resolutely.

"I'll win you over yet, Matthew love." Arthur cackled, perhaps a bit maniacally.

"He is just afraid you will lose interest in him." Francis said tiredly, half-heartedly straining against the ropes that bound him to the chair. "I am starting to think you enjoy this, cher. I sincerely hope you do not treat Mathieu with such callousness."

"Why would that stupid boy think that?" Arthur asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I do not know, but I shall blame you as it seems to be the logical action. Perhaps you should—"

"Court him properly? I'd slay a dragon for him, but George killed the last one."

"I was about to say that you ought to speak with him." Francis rolled his eyes. "But apparently both of you are so stubborn that this entire situation will need to blow up in your respective faces before either of you stop acting like fools. And you criticize Alfred for the same thing." Francis was about to continue, but he realized that Arthur was too busy muttering to himself about a jousting tournament on ice so he decided not to waste his breath.

I know I have to update "Want You to Want Me", I'm just having writer's block. As for this story, I will update it. Probably faster if there's interest in seeing this continued.

Yes? No? Hell no?