Something to write home about.

Hetalia Kink Meme de-anon. I wanted to try something humorous, so here is my attempt at my first fill. The prompt was "You know how there's these 'fun' family competitions at some touristic locations where you have to canoo and throw water baloons at each other and this sorts of stuff? I want to see the FACE family and the Habsburg family being old rivals (but mostly it's England and Spain who both really really don't want to lose to each other..) " so I did what I could.

"They are at it again," he grunted, ringing the dish rag in his hands and snapping it loudly against the counter before hanging it once more from the oven's pull. "The whole lot is out there, making a muck."

Francis didn't even raise a brow, eyes carefully trained on his magazine as he flicked a page right to left. He just dropped his jaw to made a silent inquiry, his husband needing no prompting to continue his tirade.

"I make a good effort keeping the yard clean and formidable –" he over turned a pot, pressing it into the soapy water and holding down as the trapped air came rushing back up, "- and they sit there and allow fallows to form on their lawn and have that atrocious swing set, I mean by god's name, their first son is older than ours-"

"Mon cher, you're drowning the dishes-"

"Nothing good ever comes about from that house!" Arthur finished, glancing downward as he allowed the pot to surface again and float in the water. Cheap material and for all that the French man made working editorial, you would think he would have enough appreciation to buy something sturdy and not be afraid of disposing it as he was never that bad of a cook. "Roderich and I used to have civil conversations all the time over tea, but now he just lets the boys ruin it all."

Francis turned another page, humming this time as if the sound could possibly soothe the other man. Honestly, he had heard this speech so many times he could mouth the rest of the words in perfect time about how much the Brit absolutely couldn't stand the couple that lived behind them, and there had been enough window peeking over the years and privacy invading late night binocular watching that he was positive they thought them to be a couple of nosey snoods, too.

Not that they'd ever actually done anything to be considered snoods themselves – he rather liked the Carriedo's. It was him who had the issue, and constrained with a glimmering wedding band, Francis couldn't object lest spend another night on the couch.

The kids would never let him forget that.

So he kept silent, reading his magazine with the glimmering stars and thin waisted bimbos as Arthur marched around, pulling supper from the oven as he screeched for the boys – dear lord, he was in a mood now – to come and eat supper before it went into the trash. "Francis, do something!"

"What? That is not my family over there, no? What do you intend I do?" He closed the cover casually and set it in the rack beside the various other home making titles they subscribed to and straightened his shirt, toeing around the kitchen as number one, then number two came barreling down the hallway. "Slow, mon chers-"

Arthur caught the lapel of his shirt and tugged, pulling them face to face. They kissed bitterly for a moment – he hated when his moods transposed over into their relationship – before the blond hissed sharply, the words touching and feeling against his bottom lip. "Figure it out or you are not getting anything for a week."

He blinked. "Wait- Arthur!"

"No." The blond had the hot pad in his hand, and it waved dangerously close to the hot stove top as he articulated every word. "I am sick of this! You do something about it or you are out of bed for a week!"

While Alfred gagged and Matthew blushed over within shades of being a rose, all Francis could process was 'Dear god, no.'

"Boys, we are going camping, go pack your bags!" He stated it almost triumphantly as oh, he had a plan, and with his luck it only had taken a shower to contemplate over it. Francis already had his night bag packed, the small cooler stashed with enough finger foods that they would never need to go through the dangerous task of starting a fire, and the world would spin again, completely right on its axis and his sex life intact. He quite liked it the way it was.

He paused, waited for the world to lurch as it got moving again, for the TV to turn off and he would watch them march off to gather their things with sparkling eyes-

Any moment now, scoot-

"You know, the last time you tried to take Dad out somewhere new to have your wicked way with him, it didn't really work right?" The eldest raised a brow, inquired, still thumbing away at his video game as the screen reflected across his glasses. Alfred snorted as the level changed over and used the moment to spare his father a look he was so positive was channeled from Arthur himself.

"Sorry Papa, but what Al says is true…" the other backed up, swaddled in the couch blanket up to his neck, a book held open on his thigh. Francis rubbed between his eyes, and sighed heavily. When Matthew even gave up on him, that was never a good sign. "We got that horrible rash and had to sleep-"

"Enough! Alright, I get your point," he raised his hands in surrender, disturbing each their heads in turn with a sad little pat. Alfred shied away in hopes in continue his game in peace, and Francis attempted to look enthused with whatever was happening in screen. The French man watched it carefully as if the mass murder of zombie civilians would give him some insight to save himself in this predicament.

The last thing he wanted to do was actually march next door and have to fess he married a nut case, and he was positive there was an option in the world that would stall his prickly Brit long enough for him to forget all about their lively neighbors for Winter to come by and house them all up again until Spring. Cuddling in the cold was always his favorite, and it as his mission to have his life back to operational conditions by then.

He slid his head sideways when Matthew shifted and clasped his wrist.

"Papa, why don't we just go on a vacation instead?" he asked hopefully, scooting a little further into his blanket as if it would help him get through this madness. "Dad has just been cranky lately, that's all. We should just go to like a water park or something, or get a cabin. Dad likes to be away from the city, doesn't he? And it's better than camping…"

The French man pondered for a moment and stroked his chin in delight. He leaned over and pressed a kiss into child's hair and laughed heartily, "There is a reason why you are my favorite."

The eldest boy watched from the doorway, his back to the cool spring breeze that was rolling in with the night sky. Lovino folded his arms pointedly, sliding his foot in the grooved track for the sliding pane. "Feliciano got his stupid Frisbee up on the roof again. Go get it."

Well, he had thought it was apparent he was on a mission, but in the eyes of others, it didn't seem so. Antonio shook his head, patting down his knees as he crawled a little further around the edge of the desk, sliding his hand through all the dirt and grime that had collected under there (didn't he tell Feliciano to sweep the other day?). It had to be around here somewhere, he knew it, maybe it just fell off the back of the table...

"Dad," he started once more, stomping his foot this time. The auburn boy jerked his thumb far behind him as he father continued to ignore him in favor of crawling around on the floor, quickly fed up with the situation. His parental figure was sometimes eccentric, yes, but this was a new low much. "The neighbors are spying on us again too, dammit."

He gave up, he honestly did. He was sure he'd put it with the rest of the mail, the colorful brochure that invited them on vacation to the lake side cabin resort. Well, not so much resort, he had taken the kids once when they were younger with their mother and it was a bit shabby, but as soon as he saw the flyer on the inside of the mailbox, he had been desperate to return. "One moment, Lovino…"

"He has the ladder out now. I'm not driving him to the hospital," the eldest continued annotating dryly, peaking around the corner. Behind him he could almost hear the curtains rustling from their neighbor's house and he sighed dramatically when his voice failed to draw attention.

The Spaniard had set it out for the intentions of calling and making reservations once Roderich was out of the house again, as a free lance musician, conductor, whatever he honestly was (Antonio cared, but his husband multi-tasked so much it was hard to draw the line some days), he spent a good amount of time in the house occupying rooms. He had personally thought he was clever sending him out running for supper, but if he didn't find it in time, all of his plans were ruined. Dread set in in large, sadly invisible, clouds.

"Fuck, shit- Dad! He actually made it up there!"

He swore the angels were singing as he tugged the folded pamphlet out from under the fridge, an old set of bills and torn magazine pages coming out along with his prize. Antonio slapped it down on the table, rubbing out a patch of black grit he'd stirred up on the table cloth with his thumb before pulling the phone off of the hook. He had screwed up the digit string the first time, but on the second try a female voice automatically put him through.

"Hello! Hi, I am so thankful I got a hold of you," he jabbered loosely, running his calloused hands through his hair. Somewhere beyond him outside the kitchen door, he was oblivious to his two sons clamoring about the roof. Actually, he didn't bother to yield them notice again until the reservations had been set and a small star had been placed on the calendar. "Lovi, why are you grabbing an ice pack?"

"He made it off the damn roof okay, but then fucking smacked himself in the face with his own fist trying to lob it across the yard!"

Somewhere in the pit of his heart, Antonio knew he had made an ill decision.

While he had though himself clever and romantic, an extended cabin weekend getaway to a small lake, the dream relaxation for an aristocratic domestic partner, Antonio had clearly forgotten the whole middle portion between getting there and back.

To his surprise Roderich actually had zero objections – it was the packing and the moving and the god forsaken 'finding a babysitter for the home' idea. Honestly, while their home may have been the brunet's prized possession, a (slightly messy) home decked with random antiques and collectables, Antonio saw no need for the bouncy girl standing in his kitchen who was eying his sons with a glimmer. Thank god they were coming with them. Her name was Belle - pretty blonde thing with emerald eyes he would admit, but really, the necessity?

Roderich tugged at the cuff of his shirt, long sleeved and formal despite the shifting weather. "All of our numbers are on the wall - the phone only does local so no chit catting with anyone while in our house is encouraged. If something drastic happens, the Kirklands behind us would be able to assist you, I have all their names also on the paper provided."

He glanced out the back window to said residence, clearing his throat. "They peek sometimes, but they have have not done that with in the last two nights, so please, do not feel violated at all by them."

"Come on, lets go~" the younger of the two children called and Roderich turned, pressing his glasses into place. The girl was paying him absolutely no heed by now, her head already gone into the fridge. He sighed, tempted to call another more qualified person, but Antonio's hand pressing against his hip caught him off guard, pushing him out the door.

"Do not worry about love, the house will be okay," he reassured haphazardly, grabbing the car door once they stumbled out and down the steps, "I will personally buy all of your items back off of eBay if it comes down to it."

Roderich was choking - he hadn't even thought of that! - but with the car already into motion, nothing could be done. He swallowed hard and folded his arms, shaking his head. This vacation better be worth the risk, that china was precious.

"Bloody hell, been way too long."

Well, how long had he already been preaching that, hmm? Francis growled, something close to coy as he ran his hands up Arthur's front, snagging buttons and the alike on his way up. He had booked them in two days ago and had already fallen back into that touchy feely pace they used to have before the boys were around without almost any effort on his behalf.

In hindsight, he could of saved himself the cash by just getting rid of the two little devils in the first place but he be damned if he wasn't back on working, interacting, deeply intimate terms with his husband before they left in six days.

He twisted the wedding band on the Englishman's finger, smiling wickedly as Arthur's hand undid his belt. Oh, practiced fingers, didn't even have to look-

"What was that?" the other murmured suddenly, Arthur's motions stopping as he shied away from Francis' movements. His emerald eyes narrowed carefully, his breath stopping in his throat.

Desperate, the leading male placed a thick kiss to his neck. "Nothing, nothing, just the trees. An animal, you are in the woods, mon cher. Fish in the lake getting more action than me, maybe."

Arthur growled, slapping the prying hands away as he moved out from under the blond, ducking beneath his arms and scooting his shirt shut in one giant, flustered act. "Those blasted boys better not be playing with the car again, Francis, where did you leave your keys? They bloody well wouldn't of gotten a hold of mine!"

He sighed, swinging his legs back over the edge of the bed as the tirade started. The sound of an engine had just ruined his chances?

'Whatever have I done for God to hate me?'

Arthur was leaning from the window, still ridged as the black car rolled up the path. He was positive they had been told no house keepers would be coming by while they were there, and to his surprise, their two children were staring at the approaching car from the deck.

"Neighbors. They are pulling up at the other cabin. Great. They better not bloody think they can use anything we have rented." He closed the window, fixing his shirt again and adjusting his pants as he moved for the stairs. Reaching, Francis sighed and reluctantly followed.

Alfred was smiling. How suspicious. Arthur dropped a demanding face, challenging the look without any words. "If it's a group of girls, boy, your glasses will be in my possession for the rest of the week and you may look like the charmer you are when you can't see a damned thing unless 4 inches from your face."

Scowling, the eldest folded his arms as Matthew chortled from somewhere beyond him with knowledge beyond his father's for the moment.

"No, actually, you won't believe It," he swallowed, almost dishearten at the idea he could have had cute, summer girls instead, "it's the Carriedos!"

He wasn't sure what to make of the turn of events, or rather how to describe the proceedings from then till now, but all Francis knew was that he wouldn't be getting anything any time soon.

Bonus:

Smiling something wicked, Alfred held his prize high, the soft glow of the laptop's illuminated icons filling the shared room. Coughing in order to gain the attention he deserved for his feat, he ignored the sounds of protest as he crossed the room and dived head first into the bottom bunk, computer safe in his arms.

"Al, you shouldn't have that!" Matthew hissed sourly, leaning between the railings from the bunk above. "Dad said no laptop while we were here, there's plenty to do outside! Where did you even get that from?"

"Oh, sush already. Papa brought it along when Dad wasn't looking. It was in their bedroom. Not that hard to get if you're stealthy like me."

The bed shifted as his brothers weight was added, curiously plopping down from his high perch. "I don't approve," the violet eyed twin murmured, hovering over Alfred's shoulder regardless as he opened the screen.

Addicted to the pixels, they both stared with intent as the internet reloaded from the computer's sleeping state. Something was already open, and Matthew groped for his glasses in the dark.

"… ow," Alfred breathed, tilting his head as the other scooted up beside him. He was actually pulling up his own glasses, the lens high above his forehead. "… Do you really think Papa used this guide to do this to Dad?"

In silence, Matthew took his brothers hand and guided the window closed.