Well. So. My first fic published on this channel. Er, website, whatever. No, no smut. Maybe some suggestiveness, but it's all in good fun, really.
Also, I do not own Hetalia. Regretably.
It's a fine day for insanity, don't you think? I mean, I'd have to be insane to be going over to my worst enemy/slight crush's home for dinner.
Wait…did I say crush? I meant…I meant lust. Maybe infatuation. Because grown men do not 'crush.' Especially on other grown men. And most definitely not on grown men who hate you. But, it's perfectly acceptable for to lust after such a fine, picturesque, beautiful form…right?
"Yo, Arthur-dude!"
Arthur winced, hurriedly tucking his journal into the top drawer of his desk, snatching up a random book. He opened it just as Alfred shoved open his study door.
"How may I help you?" Arthur asked, glaring at him out of the corner of his eye.
"Are you as so totally psyched up about tonight as I am?" Alfred asked eagerly, practically dancing from foot to foot.
"Of course not," Arthur deadpanned. "Why should I be looking forward to going to that bloody frog's house? Who in their right mind would be?"
"Me!" Alfred grinned, eager to see the adorable little Canadian that lived with Francis.
"You're not in your right mind," Arthur sniffed. "You're a love-struck young fool."
"Got that right!" Alfred smirked. "Come on, bro, you know you're gonna have a blast!"
"As if," Arthur scoffed, lowering his eyes to his book.
Alfred snickered.
"What?" Alfred scowled at his younger brother.
"Dude," Alfred was really laughing now, "have you not realized that your book is upside-down?"
Arthur blinked, then blushed. He scowled, glaring at his upside-down book like this was all it's fault. "It…it's just the book cover."
"Right," Alfred snorted. He turned to the door, calling back over his shoulder, "Don't forget, Arthur, or Francey-Pants will never let you forget it."
"Yo don't think I know that?" Arthur all but yelled. "Now leave me in peace, you bloody git!"
Alfred just grinned mischievously, closing the door behind him. He, of course, knew the real reason that Arthur didn't want to go.
He'd once managed to coax a confession from an incredibly drunk Arthur, many, many years ago, that the Englishman might possibly have a slight, infinitesimal really, fondness towards the swarthy Frenchman.
Arthur, of course, had consumed so much alcohol that he didn't remember any of that interrogation, and was secure in the false knowledge that his squishy secret was safe.
Arthur fiddled with his shirt cuffs nervously, annoyed at himself with being nervous.
"Calm down, man," Arthur laughed, patting Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur was about to start strangling the younger man when the front door opened, shedding a bright, warm light on them.
"Ah, mon chers, Arthur, Alfred!" Francis smiled happily, ushering them inside.
"I'm not anyone's 'dear', Frog," Arthur grumbled, allowing himself to be stripped of his coat.
"And I am not a frog," Francis replied, hanging up their coats and showing them through to the seating area.
"You are what you eat," Arthur replied weakly, awestruck at Francis's new home. It was a very open floor plan, with only two walls in the entire living room: the one separating the guest room from the rest, and the round one around the bathroom. There was a set of stairs in one corner, leading up to Francis's and Mathew's bedrooms.
"Then that must make you horrible," Francis smirked.
"My cooking isn't that bad!" Arthur scowled at him. "Alright, so scones aren't my forte. So what?"
"Nothing, nothing, my dear Arthur," Francis smiled indulgently, patting the much shorter man's head.
"Don't patronize me," Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms.
"It's hard not to when you look like such as sweet little child," Francis cooed, bending down in front of him.
Mathew and Alfred watched this escapade with matching smirks.
"He does look like a little kid," Mathew said quietly.
"Uh-huh," Alfred nodded. "Hey, if you are what you eat, does that make me McDonald?"
Mathew giggled. "No, cause you're not old."
"Thank goodness!" Alfred chuckled, swiping a hand across his forehead in mock relief. "I was almost worried there for a second! But I'm the hero, so I'm never worried!"
Mathew just giggled.
Arthur glared at Francis, huffing. "You're annoying."
"And you're a twat, but I don't say anything," Francis smirked.
Arthur prepared to respond, had a good comeback all ready and everything, when a flash of lighting lit up the sky outside, shining through the skylight above them.
Mathew's eyes grew wide, and he edged closer to Alfred for comfort.
"Don't worry, Mattie," Alfred said, kissing Mathew's forehead. "It's only lightning."
Arthur smiled happily. He loved thunderstorms with a passion!
Francis cocked an eyebrow at Arthur's slightly unusual behavior, but shook it off, saying nothing of it. "Well, I invited you over to eat, so, why don't we eat?"
"Sounds good to me!" Alfred grinned.
Mathew rolled his eyes, allowing himself to be led over to the dining table in the center of the huge room.
Arthur leaned against the back railing of Francis's porch, watching the storm clouds boil across the sky. He sipped at some of Francis's best wine.
"Someone looks insanely happy," Francis chuckled, making Arthur jump.
"Ah…" Arthur stumbled for words. "I…just really like lightning…"
"I can tell, mon cher," Francis chuckled, joining him at the rail that looked out over the normally placid pond. "I do not think I've seen you this happy in…a very long time."
Arthur shrugged, turning to look out at the storm clouds. "I haven't really had reason too." The two were silent. "Where are Alfred and Mathew?"
"Upstairs," Francis said simply.
Arthur groaned. "Ugh…I take it I'm going to be borrowing your guest bedroom again?"
"Most probably," Francis nodded, chuckling lightly.
Arthur hung his head. "Oh…joy…"
"Don't worry, cher," Francis said brightly. "At least the guest bedroom is under my room, not Mathew's."
"I hate to admit it, but you have a very valid point there," Arthur admitted, glancing over and up at the Frenchman. Green eyes met blue, and Arthur felt his heart jump. He blushed faintly, glancing down.
"Amour, don't I always?" Francis laughed.
"I don't speak French," Arthur scowled at his wine glass. "Amour?"
Francis smiled, a little sadly, at Arthur. "It is nothing, Arthur."
Arthur cocked his head to the side, about to ask what was wrong, when a large bolt of lighting arced across the surface of the pond, and the wind picked up dramatically, so it was practically raining sideways.
"I think it's time to head inside," Francis said, opening the large double doors and ushering Arthur in.
"But it's so pretty outside…" Arthur complained, glancing back regretfully as Francis closed the glass door, halving the sound.
"And it's cold and wet," Francis retorted.
"So?" Arthur shrugged. "Have you ever been in a galleon in a storm at sea? Much worse than that."
"You'll have to show me sometime," Francis said, removing his wet shirt. "Meanwhile, I am going to go change into something dry. You should do the same."
Arthur blinked at him, dripping onto the floor. "But…I didn't bring any extra clothes…"
"I suppose you can borrow some of mine," Francis sighed, turning away. "Follow me."
Arthur followed Francis up the stairs to the second floor. Francis pushed open the door to the left, and led them into a warmly lit room decorated in reds and gold.
"This is your room?" Arthur asked, looking around. It was very…oddly shaped, wrapping around the skylight from the first floor.
"Oui," Francis nodded, digging through a large, ornate dresser. "Why?"
"No need to sound so defensive," Arthur said easily. "I like it. It's rather nice, actually."
Francis turned to Arthur doubtfully, but nothing but truthfulness shone in Arthur's eyes.
"What?" Arthur asked innocently, clasping his hands in front of him.
"…You're dripping on my floor," Francis finally said, for lack of anything better.
"Oh…" Arthur blinked, grinning faintly when another rumble of thunder shook the house, and the lights flickered. "Sorry, Francis."
"Now I know there's something wrong with you," Francis said worriedly, peering at the Englishman.
"No there's not," Arthur shook his head. "I'm perfectly normal, Francy."
"No…" Francis shook his head, circling the man. "You're not normally this complacent. It's slightly worrying."
"Oh! You mean that!" Arthur laughed, starting to strip off his shirt. "I'm always like this during thunderstorms."
Francis cocked an eyebrow. "Oh really now?"
"Uh-huh," Arthur nodded, standing there, wet shirt thrown over his shoulder. "It's either this or I get really feisty and whatnot."
"You're a bit of a firecracker anyway," Francis snorted.
"Am I really?" Arthur mused. "Hm. I always thought I was a boring old fuddy-duddy."
Francis snorted. "Fuddy-duddy? Who uses that anymore?" He wondered if he could get Arthur riled up.
"I do, that's who," Arthur snipped, crossing his arms. "Hey, I rhymed!" He'd instantly slipped back into his…slow…behavior.
Francis smirked. This could be a fun night indeed… He threw a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt at Arthur, making him drop his wet shirt on the floor. "The bathroom is right that way, monsieur," Francis pointed around the corner.
"Right," Arthur nodded, walking that way.
Francis, grinning wickedly, smacked Arthur's butt, making him jump and squeak.
"What the bloody hell was that for?" Arthur exclaimed, whirling on Francis, scowling.
"I just want to see how riled up I can get you," Francis smirked.
Arthur blinked, paling slightly, heart pounding. "Ah…uh…why?"
"Because I like it," Francis grinned seductively, walking towards the slightly stunned Englishman.
Said Englishman gulped, turned, and dashed away, locking the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against it, heart pounding, blushing like mad. He changed quickly, splashed some water on his face, and eased open the bathroom door.
"I see my clothing doesn't fit you very well," Francis chuckled, leaning against the wall, wearing clothing much the same as Arthur's.
"It's not my fault I'm a bloody twig," Arthur scowled, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. Francis's clothing was a few sizes too big, and draped over Arthur's petite form like sackcloth, whereas on Francis they looked incredibly sexy and casual.
"I would prefer the term petite," Francis said, walking over, thinking, or, just the right size.
Arthur blinked up at him. "Why do you get to be so damn tall?"
"Can't fight genetics, cher," Francis said brightly, taking Arthur's hand and leading him downstairs.
Arthur rolled his eyes, nearly tripping down the stairs because of his too-long pants hem. "Your pants want me to die, Francis," Arthur grumbled, catching himself on the railing.
Francis said nothing, just hefted Arthur into his arms, carrying him the rest of the way. Arthur blushed bright red. Francis set him down, and knelt to roll up his pant cuffs. Arthur blushed an even deeper shade of red.
"There," Francis said, stroking down the inside of Arthur's leg, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Much better, non?"
"Much," Arthur nodded, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
Francis chuckled, pulling himself up. He kissed Arthur's cheek, "Anytime, mon amour."
"I still don't speak French," Arthur replied automatically. "I wish I did… it's such a pretty language."
"Merci," Francis smiled, bowing. Thunder crashed outside, and the lights flickered. Once…twice…out.
"Oh dear…" Arthur said, staring around in the dark.
"No worries, cher," Francis said, groping along the floor for the wall. He followed the wall into the kitchen, opened the first drawer, and fished around for the flashlight he knew would be there.
Finally finding it, he flipped it on using the weak beam to illuminate his search for candles and matches. And maybe some oil, too…
"What are you looking for?" Arthur asked, looking out the window intently.
"Candles," Francis said, humming appreciatively when he finally found his store of candles and matches. The oil for the hurricane lamps, however, was no where to be seen.
Francis lit a match, touched it to the wick of a fat white candle, and it sparked to life, illuminating things much better than the half-dead flashlight.
"How many candles do you have?" Arthur asked, watching him light and place candles around the room.
"Very, very many," Francis said simply. "I like candles. They provide a much better light than electric light!"
"Yes, definitely," Arthur nodded.
Francis set a few candles on a silver platter, along with a book of matches, and started up the stairs.
"Candles for Mathew and Alfred, whenever they decide that they're done?" Arthur asked.
"Of course," Francis nodded, rolling his eyes. "Alfred may say he's not scared, but everyone prefers light."
Arthur nodded, and Francis continued up the stairs. He set them on a low, hip-height semi-circle table on the top landing, leaving the lit one behind, and started back down.
Arthur was lying on his back directly under the skylight, watching the lighting flash across the sky and the rain pound against the glass.
Francis silently took a seat next to him, and they watched the sky rain its fury down upon the earth.
"Lovely, isn't it?" Arthur asked languidly, making Francis jump. He'd been so caught up in the activity of the storm, he'd forgotten anyone else was there.
"Eh?" Francis blinked. "Oh! Yes, beautiful."
After a moment, Arthur rolled over onto his stomach, facing Francis. "Do you hate me?"
Francis stared at him confusedly. "Hate you? No, I don't hate you."
"It seems like it a lot," Arthur said, looking down.
"Oh, no, Arthur, mon amour, I could never hate you," Francis said earnestly.
"I wouldn't blame you if you did," Arthur sighed, rolling back onto his back.
"No, Arthur, I cannot hate you," Francis said again. He gently touched Arthur's face, brushing his hair away. "Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi[1]."
"I don't speak French," Arthur said, glancing up at him.
"Sorry," Francis apologized, smiling crookedly. "Arthur…what would you say if I told you I loved you?"
"I'd…" Arthur blinked. "Well…I'd ask if your head was on straight."
"And If I said it was?" Francis continued.
"I'd say…" Arthur blushed faintly. "I'd say I love you too."
Francis grinned happily. "I love you, Arthur."
"I…love you too…Francis…" Arthur said, blushing, glancing up at Francis.
Francis smiled back, bright as the sun. He pressed a gentle kiss to Arthur's lips. " Je t'aime, plus que la lune et le soleil, même les étoiles elles-mêmes[2]."
"I still don't speak French," Arthur growled, nipping Francis's lip harshly.
"I know," Francis grinned at him upside-down.
Arthur say up, turning to face his annoying Frenchman. "Think we could try that again in English?"
"Perhaps…not yet," Francis smiled devilishly, diving in for another kiss.
Arthur moaned under the onslaught, hands fisting in Francis's shirt.
Arthur's eyes popped open, and he glanced around. Somehow, through… everything… he and Francis had managed to make it back to his bedroom. Also, he was pretty sure that they'd even remembered to blow out most of the candles downstairs.
"Mmm…" Francis rumbled, pulling Arthur closer to his chest. "I see you're awake, mon amour."
"A little," Arthur yawned, and a dull pain shot up his spine. "Ow…"
Francis chuckled lightly, brushing Arthur's hair back from his eyes. "Good morning, my love. Mon amour."
"My love…" Arthur smiled. "I think I like the sound of that." He wrapped his arms tighter around Francis, nestling himself against the warm flesh, and sighed happily. "Good morning…"
Francis smiled, running his fingers through Arthur's hair. "This… is definitely my best morning-after."
"Well that's reassuring," Arthur chuckled, smiling, pressing a little, innocent kiss to Francis's collarbone.
"Je t'aime," Francis said happily.
"I love you too…" Arthur replied.
It is most definitely a fine day for insanity. I've been living with dear Francis for over a month now, and he continues to surprise me with how sweet he is. Mathew has moved in with Alfred in our home, and what sweet little love-birds they make.
Francis has been working with me on my French, and I'm a little better, but still not as good as him.
Anyway, Francis is taking me out tonight, and he won't tell me where. Goodnight.
Er, actually, Restez forts, vivre longtemps, amour dure, mourir sans regrets[3]!
Translation, for Those Too Lazy to Find Google Translate.
1: French: Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi.
Translation: I cannot live without you.
2: French: Je t'aime, plus que la lune et le soleil, même les étoiles elles-mêmes.
Trnslatn: I love you more than the moon and the sun, even the stars themselves.
3: French: Restez forts, vivre longtemps, amour dure, mourir sans regrets!
Translation: Stay strong, live long, love hard, and die with no regrets!
Ugh…that just turned into pure and utter squish at the end…I swore I wouldn't do that, too…Damn… Oh well. It is cute though, I must admit that.
Well, anyway, whatever. Review. Flame, if you've got nothing better to do. At least it means you read the story, oui?
Restez forts!