Hello, and welcome to this, Madame YaoiPervert69's first posted story! And of course it's a high school AU because I fucking wanted to, problem? Probably not the best way to introduce myself... Ah well, as they say, fuck it! Before we start, I just want to say that I LOVE FrUK. I ship the shit out of this pairing. Onto the story! Commence with it!

Warning : If I owned Hetalia, it would be rated a lot more then just MA... if you know what I mean. ;)

HetaWorld Academy was an amazing example of higher learning. A school for the artistically gifted, it was a sprawling estate with a lush, rich courtyard. Tables and chairs made of stone and marble decorated the courtyard in even, precise rows. The grass was a perfectly trimmed, bright, springtime green. Parallel hedges outlined a cobblestone path that led to the estate itself. It was an old, yet perfectly kept mansion with just the right touch of 1800's architecture. The mansion itself was huge, housing classrooms and dorms and art rooms and just about everything. Lucky students lived inside the mansion. Lucky or rich, that was. The unlucky students lived in small, one floor houses around the estate, and had to walk to school. Although, these so called 'unlucky' students homes away from home were beautifully furnished, and were just the right mix of modern and classic. The rooms inside were even more lavish, but really, no matter where you were, the only downside you might have was having to wake up earlier and walk to class. But to many students, artists, the walk was a pleasant one. Yes, HetaWorld Academy was quite the prestigious high school, and could only be described as perfect.

Francis Bonnefoy was an amazing example of male human. He was tall and lean, with slight muscles. His blue plaid pants seemed to hang off his hips perfectly. The white dress shirt with two buttons undone showed the skin of his collarbone and hung off while clinging to all the right places. The undone navy blue jacket just completed what could only be described as the look. His shoulder length, slightly wavy golden locks were pulled in an effortless, quick ponytail, some strands falling loose. And those eyes. He had stunning, gorgeous blue eyes that could only be compared to the pure, azure blue of the ocean. The rest of his features were just as stunning, down to his soft lips.

Slinging his guitar across his shoulder, Francis walked up the path leading to the academy, headphones slung around his neck. It only took him about five minutes to wind up completely and hopelessly lost. Leaning his forehead against a wall, he ran a hand through his hair, undoing even more of the loose ponytail and cursing the mansion silently. It was so damn cliché! First day of new school, lost. A tap on his shoulder followed by a deliberate cough pulled him out of his thoughts. Turning around, he found himself face to face with a shorter boy with messy blonde hair and stunning emerald eyes. And large, bushy eyebrows. A quite attractive messy haired, bushy eye browed, emerald eyed boy.

"Lost?" The teen had a clear British accent. Grinning, Francis didn't miss a beat before responding "Oui." At the French response, the British teen scowled, friendly half-smile disappearing. Nevertheless, the boy grabbed Francis arm and began to drag him. Startled, yet pleased despite himself, Francis followed the boy.

"Not that I mind a cute boy dragging me, may I ask why?" Said boy blushed an adorable (in Francis's opinion) pink, scowling deeper.

"Don't be such a git. I'm showing you to your next class." Francis's smile only grew, and he heard the Brit mumble something about not being bloody cute you frog.

"I can't help but think that was just an excuse to hold my hand, I didn't tell you my class." Almost immediately, the Brit released him, and turned a deeper red. Without turning to face him, he scowled deeper (at this point, was that even POSSIBLE?).

"Then where do you need to go, frog?"

"Art class 2B, west wing."

"THAT'S ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BLOODY SCHOOL YOU WANKER! CAN'T YOU TELL EAST FROM WEST?!" Francis's couldn't help but enjoy the way the Briton's face turned red from either anger or embarrassment or both. There was something so amusing and extreme about the other boy's actions that he just loved.

"Je desole, I must've gotten confused. And since you seem confused on what to call me, my name's Francis." He held out a hand, but the British boy merely swatted his hand away.

"As if I care what your bloody name is. Just follow me. It's on the way to my first class." With that Englishman (I really have to find out his name) briskly turned on his heel, not bothering to make sure that Francis was following, but attempting not so discreet looks behind him every once in a while. Francis followed along like an obedient (sexy) puppy, not quite minding following behind because it gave him a nice view of the other boy's ass, before getting bored. Slipping in his guitar off his shoulders, he leaned it against the wall before sliding up to the Englishman and discreetly slipping his hand through his, intertwining their fingers. The other teen immediately froze and blushed again (pity, he had just managed to get rid of his last one). Francis lowered his head to the other teens, lips just barely brushing his ear. The other boy shivered subconsciously, earning a smirk from Francis.

"I never did get your name, Angleterre."

"A-Arthur." The Bri- Arthur leaned back slightly, pushing his body closer to Francis. Francis's eyes widened, as did his smile. Wrapping an arm around Arthur he pulled the shorter teen as close to his body as possible. He had started this because he was bored and Arthur had a nice ass, but somehow, now, he just wanted him as close as possible. He wanted to feel Arthur, to touch him, he wanted to know Arthur. Maybe it was the way he was pressed up against him, but something about Arthur, and Arthur being this close, made him want Arthur.

"Merci." Arthur seemed to only half realize what was going on, and took a step back, eyes hazy. Francis followed, taking a step forward. They continued like this until Arthur was pressed with his back against the wall, Francis's arms on either side of his head, palms splayed flat on the wall. Without a word Francis pulled his body close, one arm snaking around Arthur's waist. Arthur's breath hitched, his eyes clouded over slightly. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as Francis lowered his head, his lips just hovering over Arthur's. Then time brutally snapped back into place as Arthur's eyes widened, the haze gone, and he pushed Francis away. Francis stumbled slightly before catching his balance. Arthur, who seemed to finally have control of his own actions, blushed the deepest red yet.

"Wh-what the bloody hell was that frog?" Arthur's voice came out softer than expected, but to be completely honest, Francis had no idea. Absolutely none. What HAD come over him?

"L'impulsion du moment?"

"I don't speak bloody frog! Find your own damn way to class." With that Arthur was about to turn on his heel, frown set in place, before Francis caught his arm.

"Merde! Je desole, I'm sorry! Just s'il vous plait help me find my class."

"Fine frog, but stay the bloody hell away from me."

"Merci et oui." Arthur mumbled something about bloody frogs and set off again, Francis following at an only slightly less than respectable distance.

Francis sat in class after Arthur dropped him off, trying to pay attention to the teacher but finding his mind circling back to one person. Arthur. What the hell had come over him? Now, Francis was used to wanting things, wanting people. Now, Francis was no stranger to his own sexuality, but he had just met the guy! Even HE knew that it was too soon to want him this bad. Because he wanted him bad. He wanted his lips, his body, him. But on another level he wanted to know him, to know the Brit who had screamed at him yet melted into his touch all within the space of a few minutes. He also wanted to know what happened to him. The question still rung in his mind, reverberating off the walls of his head, bouncing back and forth. It seemed like the minute the Brit leaned into him, responded to him, he was overcome by that same, all-consuming want. It was the only thing on his mind, everything else seeming so miniscule compared to the Brit in front of him, pressed against him.

This was so very typical of him. He had come to this school because he wanted to focus on his art and music, and had promised himself that this wouldn't happen. He had promised himself no more crushes, no more anything that could distract him from what he loved.

… Promises were made to be broken, non? Who said he couldn't multi-task.

What the bloody. fucking. hell. was that? Arthur couldn't concentrate on anything but the memory of what transpired mere minutes ago. What the hell was that Frenchman doing? It was obvious he was a Frenchy, but god, he was so bloody FRENCH! Now, maybe it was the fact that Arthur was a Brit through and through, but he didn't like the French. But for once, that was not the problem. How could he be so open with his sexuality?! Arthur had nothing against homosexuals, in fact, that would be quite hypocritical considering he himself was homosexual (he had known this for quite some time), but he didn't believe in flaunting it around for the entire world to see! He had decency! And… that still wasn't the problem. He wasn't as angry with Francis – okay, that was a lie, he was positively LIVID at Francis – as he was with himself. He had just stood there and allowed it to go on. He had even responded! He had let Francis control him! And he had wanted it. He had desperately wanted it.

And the almost kiss. The bane of every teenager's existence. That moment where Francis's lips had hovered over his, his breath ghosting over his lips, would haunt him. But he wasn't ready to admit to himself that that's what he wanted. He couldn't admit that he had wanted the Frenchman to kiss him, control him. He had more pride than that! And it was too bloody early! He had only been with him a few minutes and suddenly his mind was going in places he did not want to go. Absolutely not! And he was going to completely forget the fact that he had approached Francis in the first place because he had such a nice ass. Completely.

… And why the bloody hell was he thinking about the frog with his first name?

So how was it? Despite the above almost kiss, this story will NOT go fast. I'm taking my time with this one. :D Now, small things about the story!

1) This will be a teenage Love/Lust/Friendship story! I really want to focus on the friendship as well meaning... BAD TOUCH TRIO! FO' 'SHO! Because I .LOVE the BTT. (I also ship the shit out of that threesome)

2) That's all I have to say for now.

Would you mind leaving a review? Pretty please with a naked France on top? (you can probably tell, but I have a thing for France) :D

Much love from the other side, Madame Perv.

P.S - Interesting fact, with my friend, I happen to be France, and she's England! ^_^

P.S.S - OH! In case you were wondering, I'm female!

Last little note : WOW! Writing an AN is HARD! I hope I shall get used to it and loosen up the more I progress with my writing... AND YOU CAN HELP! All you have to do to help this poor writer/yaoi addict in need is leave a little review! So please press that lonely little button!

Much love from the other side (for real now), Madame Perv