Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Side Note: This is my first time writing Pirate!England, so I would appreciate your thoughts on the characterisation of him~

Enjoy!~ x

Chapter 1

The shimmering blue sea was calm as it gently lapped at the grand ship that disturbed the water, caressing the worn wood with love and familiarity as The Bloody Rose was no stranger to the glimmering body of water. Captain Arthur Kirkland stood at the helm of his beloved ship, his calloused hands gripping the huge steering wheel and with each movement the sun caught the jewels of his rings and made them glint.

Arthur was the most feared pirate to sail English waters, and by the smirk that donned his handsome features, he knew it. He was known to many as the Blood Captain, having earned the name through his ruthless pillage and slaughter of whoever stood in the way of his bounty. The mere sight of Arthur and his crew on the horizon would be enough to send the unfortunate port of interest into a flurry of panic. Men would be recruited or killed if they resisted, women would be ravaged by greedy, groping hands, and children would be left orphans in the wreckage that their town had become.

Yes, the Englishman had made quite the reputation for himself, and everyone could easily identify his small but fast ship and his own attire of a rich, scarlet coat and a large hat donned with a plush white feather. This attire was what Arthur preferred to wear, as not only was it recognisable, it made him look rather dashing. He smirked to himself, his thoughts drifting ahead to the evening, when they would reach the small port in Calais, France, and spend the evening drinking and bedding some whore or tavern wench – whoever was unfortunate enough to catch the eye of the ruthless Captain.

By his calculations, they were only an hour or so away from French waters, and Arthur licked his lower lip slightly in anticipation as he looked forward to having a pretty little wench in his bed. Being at sea can make one extremely lonely, you see. What was a pirate to do when he finally stepped foot on dry land?

Arthur grinned, shouting insults at his fearsome crew to get them to move faster, guiding his ship hurriedly towards France as the wind caught in the grimy sails and carried the ship through the calm waters.

XxX

Night had fallen by the time The Bloody Rose was securely docked in the small port, and Arthur wasted no time instructing a few crew members to guard his beloved vessel. The chosen men were disgruntled at not being able to have their pleasure for the night, but Arthur ignored their complaints, instead adjusting the large hat he wore. A mischievous sparkle glinted in his enticing emerald eyes, as he scanned the local area. Calais was quiet at this time of night, but Arthur's attention was captured by some loud, raucous laughter echoing down the hill. His gaze drifted upwards, spotting a small tavern with a few drunkards stumbling about outside – the cause of the noise. The tavern itself still seemed alive with people though, and Arthur grinned, beginning the short walk up the hill towards the small building.

XxX

Francis sighed in content to himself as he finally had a small break from serving drinks. The night had been busy, but due to the late hour people were slowly deciding it would be best to stagger home, still in high spirits. The blonde Frenchman smiled though as he loved the joyous atmosphere of his modest little tavern. He had moved to Calais with pretty much nothing, finding work in this same tavern when the owner was an old, gentle man. When he died a few years ago, he left the tavern to Francis, as he had taught the Frenchman everything about running the business. Francis had successfully taken over, and business was still booming every night for him. He was a pivotal figure in the small portside town and all the locals knew him. Francis was even considered a heartthrob to the innocent young ladies in the town, but Francis secretly did not hold much affection for any of them, but he partook in harmless flirting from time to time.

Still, Francis was very much a bachelor and spent too much time working in the tavern to really consider settling down with someone. But he was only twenty six years of age, and he had his whole life ahead of him to worry about that.

He smiled again, his cerulean eyes drifting over the people sitting drinking, laughing and conversing. Soon though, people began filtering out of the tavern and disappearing into the darkness outside, until it was only Francis and a serving girl left.

The Frenchman hummed in satisfaction, his full pockets and the empty tables tilting his decision towards closing for the night. Wiping down the bar, his attention was caught suddenly as the tavern door was kicked open roughly, the old wood slamming loudly against the carefully painted wall.

Francis jumped, his eyes widening as a bunch of huge, brutish men entered.

Pirates, Francis thought instantly, and his heart sped up slightly in fear. But pirates were still customers, and the Frenchman knew it was wiser to oblige them than kick them out.

The loud group flung themselves harshly down on the polished stools, and Francis winced at the thought of his furniture being treated so roughly. But he didn't have time to dwell on it as one of the more intimidating-looking pirates slammed his fist down on the table, demanding service.

Francis rushed over, his heart pounding as he was unsure whether he and his tavern would survive the night as he guessed these pirates planned on drinking themselves into oblivion before they budged from their table.

"Wench!" the pirate yelled, his words already slurred as pirates were almost never completely sober, and the crew had been drinking on board before coming to the tavern. In the pirate's state, he had mistaken Francis for a woman as the Frenchman had long, blonde hair and gentle features, as well as a slender, almost effeminate figure. But Francis dismissed this, knowing it would be wise not to contradict such a large and probably temperamental man.

Instead, he served the pirates anything and everything they demanded, from beer, to ales, to even the finest rum he had stocked. Francis was more than disheartened at their choice of rum, knowing he would not get much in the way of payment for all the alcohol, but he waited on them without complaint, enduring gropes and slaps to his ass from the now ridiculously drunk pirates.

"Oi – wench!" One of the pirates grabbed Francis by the waist as he was returning to the bar after delivering the latest round of drinks, and the Frenchman gasped in surprise as the pirate pulled him unceremoniously into his lap. Francis froze, so tense that he dared not struggle against the far-from-sober pirate. The pirate leered at him, and Francis could smell the strong alcohol on his breath. The other pirates were far too drunk to notice when the pirate held Francis in place with one strong arm, his free hand groping the Frenchman's inner thigh in a way that was far too intimate. Francis flinched, trying to pull back but he was held firmly in the pirate's lap.

Panic flooding his senses, Francis' instinct was screaming at him to escape. The pirate's face was inches from his own, and Francis could see the lust and clear intent in the man's eyes. His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he did not hear the tavern door open once more. When the pirate moved to kiss him, Francis wrenched himself free, shoving the pirate hard in the chest and making him topple over backwards, falling off the stool and onto the wooden floor. The other pirates laughed at the display, and Francis stepped back, ready to flee as the pirate struggled to get back up.

Francis' eyes widened as the pirate glared up at him from his position on the floor, and the Frenchman span around quickly to run, but instead he came face to face, and chest to chest, with eyes like emeralds, and an enticing smirk.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, having entered the tavern to see Francis' display of defiance, and he was more than amused by it. His crew were known for being rather forward, and he was no exception, but now the Frenchman had turned around Arthur could see what the attraction was. This man had eyes as blue as the sea, his long blonde hair framing his handsome features perfectly. He had a hint of stubble on his chin and a strong jawline, and Arthur couldn't help allowing his gaze to drift over the Frenchman's body, admiring him.

Francis blushed faintly at the unexpected proximity in which he encountered the green-eyed pirate, but his blush darkened as he felt the heat of his emerald gaze travelling over his body rather too invasively. The Frenchman, with a growing sense of danger and discomfort, tried to push past the pirate, but with ease Arthur caught him by the wrist; his grip strong and unyielding.

The English Captain smirked as Francis was forced to halt, and he hummed mockingly. "I should like a glass of your strongest rum, love."

His voice was like silk, a stark contrast to his intimidating appearance, but it just served to make the man more untrustworthy in Francis' eyes.

The Frenchman's cerulean gaze flitted towards the crew. "They have the bottle…" he tried to sound confident, but the tremor in his own voice betrayed him.

Arthur's smirk remained, his emerald eyes flashing at the tremor in Francis' response. "A whiskey, then. And a room, if you please."

When Francis nodded, Arthur let go of his wrist, and the Frenchman scurried back to the bar, searching for the prized whiskey he had hidden when the pirates entered. Arthur watched him, whetting his lips slightly with his tongue as he mused about whether the tavern owner was untouched or not.

Francis poured a glass of whiskey with trembling hands, the bottle clinking slightly against the rim of the glass as he did. He could still feel the gaze of the pirate on him, and it triggered unease to course through him, as if the pirate were holding a sword to his throat. When he looked up again, Arthur was standing directly in front of him, and Francis almost dropped the bottle in shock, having not heard the man move due to the raucous racket of his crew.

Arthur's undying smirk mocked Francis as he took the drink, downing it quickly before setting it in front of Francis. "Another."

The Frenchman filled the glass again, and Arthur took both the glass and the bottle out of Francis' hands smugly.

"Now then, a room?" the Captain prompted, downing the second glass and humming as he felt the fire of the alcohol burn his throat. It was a sensation he had grown to love.

Francis hesitated, before turning his back to the pirate to select a room key. Again, Arthur allowed his gaze to drift over the Frenchman, admiring his slim figure and imagining what it would be like to spend the night with him.

All too soon, Francis obscured Arthur's view of his behind by turning back to him, handing him a room key.

"I'll show you to the room, monsieur." Francis' accent was thick as he had very little use for English, but Arthur only seemed to find it more enticing.

With a gesture of one ring-adorned hand, Arthur encouraged Francis to lead the way, following behind him up the stairs. The staircase was dark and narrow, and in the close confines Arthur could smell the cheap but flowery perfume the Frenchman wore. He could tell the tavern owner was not wealthy by any means, but he still took pride in how he presented himself.

Arthur smirked as he allowed himself to wonder how Francis would look moaning and begging underneath him…

A/N: So this was the start of my first ever Pirate story~

Please review and let me know what you thought of the first chapter!

Love you all x