Author's note: Because jealous!England is the best kind of England :D


Arthur sees the woman flaunting herself at Francis. He's not sure why he suddenly pictures smashing her head in with a sledgehammer. He sips from his cup of tea, watching the woman and Francis with narrow eyes.

She's pressing her chest against the Frenchman now and Arthur tenses up. He feels like something has just erupted inside him. Francis is charming as always, smiling and flirting and saying stupid French things to only entice the slut more.

Arthur pauses in his thought process. Since when is he in the habit of calling women "sluts"? He's a gentleman; that type of language was inappropriate. He continues eyeing them, imagining horrible things he could do to the woman. He really has no idea why he's feeling so violent towards her. But as she wraps a leg around Francis' and smiles and flips her hair and runs a hand up Francis' thigh, he feels something in him just snap and he slams his tea cup down on the table.

Several heads turn towards him but he ignores them and sets his eyes on the whore trying to flirt with Francis. Francis should be turning her down not getting her even more excited. Arthur stands up abruptly, deciding to make his way over to them.

The woman notices him first as he walks up behind Francis. He gives her a smirk and a wink before wrapping his arms around Francis' waist. The Frenchman nearly jumps at the contact and turns his head in momentary shock.

"Arthur...?"

Arthur waits for the woman to take the hint and leave but she doesn't seem to understand. With a sigh, he leans in and kisses Francis right on the mouth, silencing him and making the woman squeak.

"I'm so sorry!" she cries, blushing furiously. "I had no idea you were—I have to go!" She turns on her heel and runs out of the banquet hall.

Francis breaks the kiss with wide eyes. "W-Wait!" he calls after her. He turns back to pull out of Arthur's arms and glares at him. "What was that about, rosbif?"

Arthur shrugs. "She was a whore."

"She was a respectable musician, Angleterre."

"And you honestly wanted to sleep with her?"

"Well, I was building up to that but then you had to ruin things!"

"Fine," Arthur grumbles. "Go bring her back and fuck her to your heart's content."

Francis glares at him. "Non. You started something so you must finish it."

"What do you mean?"

He takes the Englishman into his arms suddenly, a playful grin on his lips. "I mean that I am craving someone's company in my bed tonight and since you scared away my previous choice and offered up yourself instead, I thought I would...treat you to a night with moi."

To his surprise, Arthur doesn't hit him or pull away. In fact, he grins back at him and purrs, "What are we waiting for then?"