Author's Note:

This is a collaboration fanfiction I made with Japanese Butterfly who is another writer on this site. Being a role-play at its roots, I may add more details or development to this at a later time to make it more like a story, but I still think it's pretty cute. By the way, kudos to her for playing the roles of America and England. Enjoy. :)

America groaned. The hamburger he clutched in his hand had finger imprints on the bun and was cold compared to before, he noticed, as his eyes barely opened. What the hell? It wasn't like him to fall asleep mid-burger. It must be because of all the video games he was playing last night…

A soft sigh caught his attention and he looked to his side to see the blond locks of hair of another nation curled in his own seat. America smiled. Well at least he wasn't the only one. It was weird nobody woke them, but he'd just wake up France and see what would go from there. Throwing the cold half eaten burger he leaned across a chair and hit France's arm lightly.

"Dude, wake up. Meeting's over."

"Hm...?" The French's eyes opened slowly and he yawned and stretched before glancing around the room. "How rude..." he muttered, wiping his eyes before acknowledging the country to his side:

"Morning, Amérique!" He said with a smile. "Merci, thank you for waking me."

America rolled his eyes, "France, it's like 6 in the afternoon—totally not morning." He rose from his seat, stretching and cracking his back in the process. France cringed at the sound of his cracking joints, but kept a smile on his face still. "I wonder why the other nations wouldn't wake us, though. If I had slept any later we would have slept through dinner."

"You've made a good point!" France exclaimed standing from his own chair. "How would you like to go out to dinner with me~?" he asked, extending his hand.

Alfred grinned, nodding at the idea of food. He took France's hand and happily led him out of the meeting room. Turning to his companion as they went down the hall, he tilted his head, "Where do you wanna eat? I know you'll say no to Mickey D's so I guess I'll hafta let you pick…"

France had a momentarily puzzled look on his face from being asked that question by the one who led him out of the building in the first place. But that was just America. The two started walking.

"I know of a wonderful French restaurant nearby here! It's a little pricey, but the management likes me and, Alfred, I wouldn't even suggest such a place if it wasn't on me, cher," he winked. "What do you say?'

Alfred's eyes sparkled, holding Francis' hand tighter, "Seriously? Well if it's on you and that's good then totally, but one thing... You do remember I eat more than your typical euro dude's proportions. I wouldn't want to embarrass you or cost ya too much…" He gave a sheepish look, as his stomach lowly growled.

France stopped and placed another hand on top of Alfred's. "Pas de problème! I feel gratitude towards you and it has been a while since we have spent time together. We should catch up, Alfred!"

As they kept walking France saw when Alfred noticed the small building they were headed towards with showy doors that spun around.

Alfred's eyes widened. Extravagance he agreed was an important thing, but when it got to the point where America would feel out of place in his tan meeting uniform and bomber jacket he had to wonder if it was worth it. He bit the side of his lip, internally reminding himself of what France had said. And he was right, it wasn't every day they got to hang out together.

France walked through the doors and the man behind a podium there was obviously glad to see him. He noticed the hold that Francis had of America's hand to making it clear they were a party.

"Table for two?"

"Oui."

Alfred could hardly take everything in: the waiters in their stiff ironed outfits carrying wine that he knew France would greatly appreciate; the white tablecloth and the many utensils that Alfred vaguely remembered England teaching him their usage; the shining chandeliers and everyone wearing expensive outfits… Almost everyone who sat at the tables was European! Alfred could barely tell that he was in his own country with the foreign feel the atmosphere left in his stomach.

France noticed this discomfort as they were placed in a secluded booth across from each other. Once the waiter had left, Francis sat beside the American.
"Alfred, what is the matter?"

A light twinge of pink covered Alfred's cheeks. "It's nothing, dude." He wanted Francis to have a good time, and he did let him pick the restaurant. He gave a huge grin and grasped Francis' hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

The other stared at him a moment, caught off-guard by the feel of his muscular grip...
He laughed charmingly. "Oh, cher, you don't cease to surprise me... Don't fret, I ask to eat far from the humans to avoid attracting much attention! Just enjoy yourself, mon ami." Francis presented to his companion the most genuine smile and went back to his booth where they began making small-talk when a new waiter introduced himself and asked France if he wanted the "usual" drink then turned to Alfred to take his order.

"For you, sir?"

Alfred struggled to hold his blush back, "Um... I'll have Bordeaux, please." He fidgeted in his seat while the waiter nodded and turned. "You're ordering food for me and I have to agree with Iggy on the whole no snails thing."

"Alright then," France responded waving a hand as he looked through the menu.
The waiter returned with the drinks and a basket of bread.

"Would you like any appetizers?" He asked.

"Non, merci, but I am ready to order," Francis said, he was sure he found the perfect entree for the both of them.
The waiter left once more.

Alfred gave a sigh when his phone buzzed and he squirmed in his seat, trying his best to not look at his phone. Another buzz caught Francis' attention and he grabbed his phone, checking it to find two texts from Iggy:

Igs-man

-
I just found out you're not at the hotel, please say you & the frog aren't still asleep at the meeting Italy was supposed to wake you both

I swear Alfred Jones if you don't answer me this minute-

Alfred didn't even read the rest before pocketing his phone. "Sorry, dude. Artie texted me. Apparently Italy was supposed to wake us up."
"Oh? Well that's too bad—they shouldn't have left us in the first place, don't you agree?"
Alfred nodded and he tugged on his bomber jacket, "they're just not cool enough to hang with us, doesn't really bug me." He took a sip of his drink, and gave a mildly pleased hum.

Francis watched him. This was a lovely time so far, just he and America for once without a certain annoying Brit getting involved.
"So," he started, "if you're not too busy after this, Amèrique, perhaps we could do some other things before I depart to my own country tomorrow?"

Alfred's eyes lit up, "Dude, that would be totally cool! So… what did you order, man?"

Francis told him of a classic French dish and told him the parts of the dish and how wonderful it would taste. All the while he was observing the man sitting across from him. Alfred still seemed normal, well as normal as the handsome brunette could be... Francis smirked nonchalantly taking a sip of his drink.

Alfred gave another impatient sip of his drink, and glanced back at France. He secretly liked the older's looks, and France was nice to be with when he wasn't trying to get into his pants. He felt a bit warm in his face as Francis' mysterious eyes met his own. He liked the way they seemed always low-lidded and serene… maybe even a bit sexy.

"Afterwards, Alfred, I was thinking we could go for a walk and see what's around this city since I don't usually get to go sightseeing with company," Alfred gave an eager nod, he would love to show Francis New York City. It had been a while since he gave a tour for another nation and he loved to help him.

They kept talking like this for a while, Alfred going on about the famous New York and, to the delight of Francis, finally seemed to get comfortable. The waiter returned with their food and placed it in front of the two.

"Sir?" He was regarding Alfred.

"Uh, yes?" he asked nervously.

"Would you like a refill?"

'Oh.' Alfred nodded at the waiter watching the man refill his drink when he moved the bottle from his face, the American almost drooling at the food in front of him. The Frenchman's voice tore his attention away.

"You like what you see, oui?" he remarked.

Alfred blushed meekly, "Yeah, I mean, it looks really good, just like you described it!"
With a smile France almost turned back down to his meal, noticed the American struggling with his silverware-using etiquette. He stifled a laugh watching the cute country for a moment.

"Alfred," he called softly.

The brunette looked up at him and France waved the hand that was holding the correct type of fork.
Alfred blushed. Damn all those utensils, it'd been two centuries since Alfred had to even truly pay attention to any etiquette rules… He studied the fork in France's hand and grabbed an identical one on his side of the table, as he stared embarrassed at his food. "Sorry 'bout that..."

"I'm pleased to help..." Francis stated before taking a bite of his meal.

Alfred took a small bite as well (compared to how he normally ate) and closed his eyes, allowing for once his senses to take over and he truly savored the meal. Take that Iggy, he actually had working tastes buds!

As he took in the rest of his food, so too did France take in the pleasing sight of a content American among a place Francis truly liked. He was proud at himself for such a job well done!

"Are you having a nice time, mon ami?"

Alfred looked up. Gingerly, he reached across the table for France's hand, but he did a good job of keeping a confident expression in the other's midst, and squeezed it gently, "One of the best, Francis." Seeing the blond's eyes widen Alfred felt his stomach twist and his face heat. But to say France's human name seemed right, intimate, and as he got a bit used to the feeling his whole body became warm in a nice way… "And you?"

France smiled gently and changed roles by taking Alfred's hand and pressing it against his lips.
"As long as you're happy, I'm happy, Alfred," he winked.

His hand tingled where Francis' lips had touched it. He felt like Arthur with how easily he was blushing today. He glanced down at the table to see the empty plates. "You ready to go, then?" He almost used a cheesy Disney line, but he didn't think Francis had watched Aladdin.

"Well, we have to get the check first, Alfred," he said teasing.
Alfred blushed again.

France snapped his fingers catching the attention of one of the other waiters. "Monsieur, check please?"

Alfred watched as Francis smiled at the waiter who handed Francis his check, seeing the other sign his name fluidly was nothing but beautiful. He couldn't help the silent adoring sigh that escaped him.

Francis handed the checkbook back to the waiter and looked back at Alfred who was already rising from his chair, holding out his hand for Francis to take. "C'mon dude, we only have so long in New York and the city is big." He led the other past the other tables, practically skipping through the restaurant to the lit up outdoors. Alfred hesitated before putting on his leather gloves, deciding against hailing a cab. He took Francis' hand again, his other hand going into his pocket out of habit as he led him through the streets.

'The City That Never Sleeps' certainly was so. The people, the buildings, the cars—everything was lit up and very much awake... It reminded France a bit of his own Ville Lumiere. He inhaled the cool air and felt oddly serene among the ruckus. Alfred was bouncing as he led Francis, a gleam in his eyes as he thought of how he would surprise Francis at the place he was leading him to.

"Where are we going, Amèrique?"

Alfred grinned, there was so much to show him, he did wish that he didn't have to narrow it down to one place… but Alfred was confident in his choice. "Well you've already been to the city halls underground subway and we probably should avoid anything with importance in world history so we're going to the Rockefeller Center!"

France cocked his head a bit. The name was familiar but he had no idea what it was or what they could do there and the gleam in the brunette's eyes told him it was meant to be that way. He kept his mind from thinking on it too much so he could feel more of the effects of a surprise, and occupied himself by humming the rest of the walk.

They turned a couple blocks he quieted when he noticed his nation's flag among many others around a very tall building—well, in New York EACH of the buildings seemed tall, but there was a small crowd around this one. Could this be it?

Alfred grinned as a guy in a black suit approached him and shook his hand with vigor.

"Mr. America, it's a pleasure! We weren't expecting you so late, is there anything you need?"

Alfred nodded whispering into the man's ear and the man's eyes widened. "Of course, Mr. America. We'll take the both of you there right away."

Alfred grinned as the man led him through the crowds in the center, towards the staff only elevators. As both he and Francis entered he put a hand over Francis' eyes. "Sorry, it's only till we go all the way up."

France almost spoke to protest as he felt his own face heat slightly but calmed down. ...And did he really want to protest this? Alfred had taken such a dominating turn and Francis would be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to keep going with this...

He closed his eyes under the other's hand patiently waited with an appropriate amount of anxiousness to see whatever it was Amèrique wanted him to see.

"A monsieur like yourself has no need for apologies, Alfred."

Alfred chuckled, awkwardly pressing Francis closer to him as the elevator started to move. He rested his head on Francis' shoulder giving a sigh as the elevator stopped, but he refused to remove his hand.

Francis felt they were close when the air hit his face and the city noise greeting him once again. They were outside he knew, but how high they were, he did not. Alfred guided him forward.
He felt his heart flutter from the excitement. This dinner date was turning out to be exceeding its original purposes.

Alfred felt a rush of pride at the view of his city and the garden the center had on its roof. He stopped when he reached the edge of a fountain, (inwardly debating on pushing Francis in but facing the others wrath when the night was so perfect seemed wrong). He paused and turned fumbling a bit so Francis was facing him, but his eyes were still covered.

"Keep your eyes closed... just a bit longer." He carefully took his hand away from Francis' face, "Now open them," said Alfred backing away as Francis' eyes opened taking in the sights the city had to offer.

Francis' view around him took what breath he would have used to gasp. He turned, agape, glancing all around at the evening sky stretched above and beyond them into the landscape and on an invisible horizon. More noticeably, he realized, he was looking straight at the Statue of Liberty far off in the distance, and… he walked around, spotting a wooded area among the hundreds of buildings in his gaze: Central Park.

"Alfred... I never new New York was so..." He couldn't finish. He couldn't get his head together to describe it.

America started to turn a faint red when Francis gave his city a compliment, taking it personally. Basically Francis had just called him beautiful, and Alfred wasn't used to that coming from another nation. "Nah, it's nothing compared to the view we could get at the Empire State Building, but it's more secluded, at least, at this time…" He squeezed Francis' hand, his eyes sparkling in hope.
That made Francis nearly jump out of his skin, not because he was scared of Alfred though...
"J'adore!" he exclaimed to Alfred who blushed cutely. France blushed a little himself, such an alien feeling to him…

Francis took the American's other hand, his iris-colored eyes seemed to glimmer, softly smiling at him as he said:
"...Je t'aime, Alfred."

A small gasp left Alfred, he knew exactly what Francis had just said and the knowledge hit him with such a force he had to physically step back. He was filled with warmth at the statement, and before he gave Francis the wrong idea he wanted to do something (words were impossible at the moment). America hesitated to step forward and when he did, the couple of inches' distance between them swelled the twisting feeling in his gut and he bashfully looked another way. But the way the country before him spoke, "Alfred," in that sexy accent—almost something rugged yet breathy—coaxed his attention and Alfred looked up.

In a single, fluid movement the Frenchman had closed his eyes tilted his head and leaned in and pressed his lips to Alfred's softly. Feeling the other relax, France smirked into the kiss deepening it ever so slightly, guiding America's arms to his lower back and wrapping his own arms around the taller's shoulders. After a while of that their lips broke apart and each took a moment to look at the other to register that, 'Yes, I just kissed that handsome man in front of me and he kissed back.' Alfred released a meek laugh, otherwise he would have stood there gaping. Smirking impishly France remarked that Alfred's eyes were like 'sapphirs,' deciding to voice this thought just to see the blush break out on his face.

Alfred gave a small grin at Francis. He wished he wasn't so awkward, Francis had more experience than Alfred ever wanted to imagine, but at the same time Alfred just wanted time to stop so they could be in each other's arms forever, one of his hands warily trailed through Francis' hair. It was softer than the fluff on his jacket. Alfred gave a content sigh as he leaned slightly for another kiss.

"We should, like, probably get going, soon… but it depends on where you want to go after this, to see more sights or go to the hotel… I- I mean, it's getting late and we do have one last meeting tomorrow before everyone leaves."

France smiled; America was blushing again. "Would you escort me, monsieur? It has gotten late," he admitted, "we should return to the hotel before that Angleterre gets angry..."

Alfred nodded, shifting so that he was holding one of Francis' arms, he led them back towards the elevator, chuckling at Francis' statement "Yeah, Iggy always seems to have a stick up his ass, he really needs to loosen up."

France didn't have any response.

They passed by a very grand chandelier on their way down and soon enough the two were outside again in the cool nighttime air. The blond didn't feel any awkwardness in pulling Alfred closer to himself for warmth. While they chatted, walking down the sidewalk, Francis began thinking back to those days when he first met and fought alongside the independent American... He sighed in a dreamy way.

They managed to walk all the way to the hotel without too much of a problem, but America had been meaning to ask something...

"So, like... are we-" Alfred stopped short when they reached the the hotel entrance.

"Alfred Foster Jones where have you been, and where is your phone!" Oh look what the caterpillars dragged in. England stormed over towards where both he and Francis stood. "America what have you and the Frog been doing? It's nearly midnight and we have a meeting tomorrow! I can't believe-"

"Okay, mom," he interrupted breaking from Francis to cross his arms in a pout. "I don't need you watching my back all the time!"

The Brit's face reddened in anger.

"Temper, temper, Angleterre," France chided.

England took a bold step towards him putting both hands on his hips. "This sort of behavior is not acceptable."

"That's not your call, dude!" America said, frowning.

Just before England was about to say something back, France said,

"You should be pleased with him. Alfred has been quite a gentleman escorting me… Time goes by when you're having fun," he smiled derisively.

Alfred beamed at the compliment, he was glad Francis had enjoyed his evening. England, on the other hand, frowned, studying them.

"...Alfred's only nineteen, Frog. He shouldn't be doing anything in the city except attend the meetings, and he definitely shouldn't be doing anything with you." England grabbed Alfred's arm and tugged him away from Francis. "C'mon, boy." Alfred yanked his arm away, but the damage already seemed to be done. Arthur still only saw him as a kid, no matter how hard he tried to be Arthur's equal it ended at the same conclusion. America wouldn't look at the other.

Later that night the blond, France, still lay awake. America was over two-hundred years old technically and had a rather fast growing-up. As adulthood came greater age differences became less taboo to people, personifications included-look at Spain and Southern Italy!
Still... Arthur's words sat in the bottom of the Frenchman's stomach. In human years that was almost half a decade of difference and in the years from each one's first origins to now...

He sat up.

Well what right did England have to baby him? None. For over 200 years America had been independent and been through two World Wars, even! He was mature enough for Francis. The feeling now quelled, France lay back down on his bed for some rest…