"Where are we headed, frog?" Arthur was sitting on the passenger's seat of his Aston Martin, Francis driving it down the highway at a warm mid-summer's eve. The Sun was low, casting golden and orange shadows everywhere, coating everything with mellow warmth. The Brit hadn't been too keen on his lover of two months ambushing him the way he did, not telling where they were going on a Wednesday's evening. Arthur always enjoyed being on top of things, knowing everything about everything, not having to worry, but this time he was uneasy, questioningly glancing between the scenery and Francis. All the Frenchman had told him was not to worry; as if something like that would ease the Brit.
"You'll see soon," Francis answered, smiling - content and sure of himself like he always was - as the soft glowing light warmed his face. After a while Arthur suddenly sat up as he finally understood where they were headed by the scenery. "Why on Earth are we going to Dover Beach?" he practically screamed, the feeling of unease substituted by panic and nervousness. "I remember you never wanted to go swimming with us and when I questioned you about it, you - through the reddest cheeks I have ever seen - said that you can't swim. What better time to learn than now, when summer is heading towards its climax and you know I would love to go to the beach with you?" Francis smiled at him, not yet knowing how hideous his plan seemed to Arthur. A moment later, the Frenchman seemed to understand that too, wiping his smile off from his face, intimidated by the Brit's furrowed brows and flushed cheeks. "I don't even have my swimming trunks," he muttered, folding his arms, knowing Francis wasn't going to turn the car around. "Not to worry, I already packed everything we'll need." "It's already so late, do you really plan on driving back to London from Dover at night?" "I took some cash along, we can easily book a room in some seaside motel," Francis grinned, feeling Arthur's irritation grow with every easy answer he gave.
A little later they parked beneath a big tree next to an abandoned gumbo stand, nice cool air brushing their hair after having gotten out of the car. The two walked down a small path between the thorny bushes until they finally reached the shining white sands of the shores of Dover. "Hey, you can see France," Francis said and pointed across the grayish blue waters towards the green mainland. "Fascinating," Arthur drawled and sat down on the cold pebbles, not being warmed by the Sun which was falling to the hills behind them. "At least there's no one here besides us," he thought to himself when Francis threw him a pair of trunks. After quickly changing, he stood at the coastline, shivering in the wind. "Go on, it's warm," Francis chuckled and pushed him along to the water. Due to the cold temperature outside, the sea felt as if a mildly heated soup. "Disgusting," Arthur said, thinking how weird it was for a sea to be so warm. They were in up to their waists when Francis stopped. "That'll do," he smiled and gained momentum in order to lash himself to the water. Arthur watched him disappear under the clear water and make a few long strokes before rising back up, laughing and shaking the water out of his hair. "You done? Can we go now?" Arthur asked and turned around just as Francis grabbed him from his waist and pulled him under water. After having kneed the Frenchman to the stomach, he stood up, gasping for air from the surprise attack. "Idiot!" he gritted his teeth as he watched Francis advance towards him one more time. "You're not getting out, Angleterre, come on, let me help you," he tried to sweet-talk Arthur, but to no avail. "No, I'm too embarrassed," Arthur shouted, cheeks red and body shaking from the nipping cold outside of the water. "But there's no one here besides us, Arthur!" "I'm ashamed in front of you, you annoying idiot!" Francis looked at his lover, wryly smiling at the fact how independent and able Arthur wanted to seem even now, after everything they've been through. "It's okay, Arthur," Francis purred, gently throwing his arms around the Brit. "You know I won't laugh." "Or let me drown?" "Or let you drown."
"I fucking hate you," Arthur reminded Francis when they were both resting on a towel behind a rock acting as a shield from the wind. "I didn't laugh at you, I just chuckled at how adorable you were when frightened," Francis apologetically said, scooting himself closer to the Brit. "Sure," Arthur drawled and threw his arms around his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible. "I love and hate the sea," he said after a while, resting his head on Francis' shoulder. "How come?" the Frenchman asked, sighing in relief that the Brit didn't seem to be mad anymore. "I like being near it, looking at it and sailing it, because it's so beautiful. I really do think that the sea is beautiful, but at the same time it is so treacherous. Beasts, giant waves, storms... call me over exaggerated, but I fear swimming because of the mercilessness of the oceans. That's why I never got around to learning how to swim. And never will," he ended his words with a harsh tone, telling Francis to stop trying. "I'll be satisfied with you just sitting beside me in the water and on the sand, Arthur," Francis smiled and kissed his cheek. "Francis... you know I don't actually hate you, right?" the Brit asked wryly to which Francis laughed. "You love me more than everything, I know that, cher." "And I know you love me just as much, frog."