Midnight Lessons

Arthur Kirland, among various things, was twenty-three years old, blond, green eyed, male, waiter, honorable, and the list goes on and on. Also, there was the little fact that when he wasn't working at a cafe or the like, he was a criminal and a thief, emphasis on the latter, but still honorable all the same. He suppressed a wicked grin as he pleasantly set a mug of hot, steaming espresso on a table. What would his fangirls think?

"Here's your order, miss." The young girl smiled shyly, cheeks blooming. Her glasses slipped down her nose as she squeaked her thanks. The corners of his mouth twitched as he fought the urge to slam the order of chicken sandwich on the pink tablecloth.

"It's no problem," he answered smoothly, upping the level of his charm to their highest levels. If the girl squinted, then she would've been able to see starts sparkling around his face, but she nearly swooned instead. "It's my pleasure to serve such a pretty lady."

"Th-thank you," but the waiter was already gone.

Yes, the hearts of dozens of girls would be shattered if they found out about his rather... questionable identity at night. His boss, for example, was one. (Arthur was sure the only reason he was hired was because he was the "gentlemen type", whatever that meant.) His image of being their knight in shining armor, sweeping them off their tiny slippered feet into the sunset, would be crushed.

Another thing that he kept secret from everyone at work was the fact that he was gay, very so, but that wasn't important.

"I'm done for today," he called out to one of the five other men staffed at the Hora Hora Cafe. "I'll see you on Monday." The cook laughed and waved a large spoon at him in mock anger.

"Gone so soon? And here I thought I could keep you trapped here forever in my kitchen!" Arthur chuckled as he shrugged his coat on.

"Sorry, not today. Maybe I'll see what Hell's Kitchen is like some other time." The man only threw something at the waiter in response and shooed him out of the warm environment. The blond shivered as he stepped out into the fresh, cool autumn air, and then set out for home, munching on a spectacularly made muffin all the while.

Coffee waiter by day and thief by night, an unassuming passerby would never connect the soft-spoken and polite gentlemen with the brash and daring criminal Arthur Kirkland really was.

It brought him excitement to see a police officer stroll into the coffee bar. His heart raced at the thought of being so close to capture and escaping again and again. (The local law enforcement seemed enamored with some of the girls that worked at Hora Hora.) The police had no idea who was really serving them neatly cut sandwiches and fresh brewed coffee or tea. The thrill was addicting.

That was what brought him to a forest on the edge of town, racing through the trees like a dark wraith. He had heard about a foreign man that just moved in. As a wealthy man, the stranger was bound to have some exotic pieces ripe for the taking. It was perfect. The house was secluded, full of expensive and dainty things. The newly moved man was bound to be unsettled in his new surroundings. Arthur's twitched at the thought of what would be find. Would there be leopard skin rugs and leather couches as the rumors claimed? Nobody would really know, until he broke in.

Mentally, he went over the information he obtained through the information network called gossip.

Francis Bonnefoy, was the man's name. He was twenty-six, blond, blue eyed, French, single, and, he added with a leer in mind, supposedly very handsome. It would be treat, because he had not laid sight on a French man in a long time. Then, he shook his head, chastising his wayward thoughts.

"Don't get attracted to your target. It'll save you trouble and grief in the end." he scolded himself. "You are stealing from him, after all." He nodded twice to cement the words into his mind, tugging his black gloves on.

The house was looming in front of him, getting closer and closer. Arthur could see lamp lights pouring from the large windows, casting the forest into a dim and comforting glow. The man smirked. Could it get any better?

Actually, it could, and would, because under his nimble fingers, the windows clicked softly open and swung on new hinges. The only sign of his entrance was a small thump on the carpet when he swung over the windowsill. There was no resistance from his initial break in and he chuckled under his breath. The Frenchman had made a sore mistake by not locking his windows, not that would stop Arthur anyways, but it was the thought the counted, right?

Like a cat, he slunk over further into the house and his gaze fixed upon a breathing, motionless figure lying on a black leather couch. He took a moment to run his bare fingers of the expensive material, whistling. So the rumors had some semblance of truth, after all. Then, his attention was caught by the half-full flute of red wine on top. Arthur couldn't resist and reached over to the ornate glass. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and he licked his lips.

Francis Bonnefoy, he had to admit, had good taste. It was a little sweeter than what he usually had, but he could still tell it was of high quality. He brought the empty vessel close to his eye and hummed in appreciation, turning it this way and that. Not only was the drink excellent, but so was the glass. Setting it back down, he noted to come back and collect it.

Decision made, he set off to find things to plunder, smirking as he went.

Funnily enough, just as soon as Arthur moved to swipe an ancient-looking tapestry off the wall, Francis Bonnefoy groaned and shifted on the couch. The thief's fingers froze mere millimeters from his target. His eyes widened and snapped to the Frenchman in surprise. Quick as a mouse, he scurried into another room and melted into the shadows. There, he stood and waited.

Francis Bonnefoy seemed only half aware of his surroundings, perhaps intoxicated, by the looks of the nearly drained bottle on the side table. The thief checked what valuables he had in his bag and muffled a sigh. It wasn't as much as he normally got, but would have to do.

He watched as the unsuspecting man sat up and stretched sluggishly. He couldn't help but be drawn to the lightly stubbled neck and pair of thin lips as Francis Bonnefoy yawned. Blushing, he looked away, cursing his pale skin (and lack of recent indulgence of his desires), and was glad he was hiding in the dark. He mentally slapped himself when he saw the direction his thoughts were turning and then stared at the Frenchman again, faking over the others lean and toned body. It wasn't his fault there was an entirely delectable body right in front of him. He jumped when Francis Bonnefoy opened his mouth.

"Monsier Vouleur, would you like to come out and talk to moi?" With a jolt, Arthur realized he was the being addressed and sighed in irritation. It seemed like tonight would be full of police and loud sirens. He stepped into the warm lamplight, not hiding his scowl. The other man's lips curled into a smile as he slowly and obviously examined the specimen in front of him. The British man fought the urge to fidget under such scrutiny. "Come closer, I want to have a better look at you. I won't call the police. Not yet."

Unwillingly, Arthur edged forwards until he was only three steps away. He coughed, bringing the Frenchman's attention to his face.

"Francis Bonnefoy," he started, but was interrupted.

"I would prefer if you called moi Francis, monsieur. Oui?" He gave the sitting man an irritated glance, but complied.

"Alright, Francis, he stressed, receiving a bright smile. "I would like to make one thing clear. I'm..." The drunk man suddenly closed the distance between them and leaned close. "What the bloody..."

"Shh..." Francis said quietly. "Listen." He grasped Arthur's limp hand and put it against his chest. The madly blushing gentleman's eyes nearly popped out of his eyes and he tried to move back, but the Frenchman's grip was firm.

"Do you feel that?" Francis asked breathlessly. Arthur watched as his eyes closed, eyelashes casting fluttery shadows on soft cheeks. The British gentleman felt a pulse under his fingertips and his face dusted pink at their close proximity, but it was until Francis started to lean close was ther any major reaction.

"W-what are you doing to me?" he exclaimed, wrenching his hand back. He protectively held it close to his chest, backing away. "I'm not some virgin girl, you know!"

"Ah, but mon Angleterre," Francis purred, stalking forward. His eyes seemed to glow and pin Arthur down, freezing the young man in his place. The Frenchman traced a long finger across the edge of the younger man's face and trailed down to skim the collarbones. "There are no limits on beauty, male or female. And you," he said. "Are simply gorgeous." Then, in a violent movement, he tore the thief's bandana off, exposing Arthur's upper face.

Arthur hissed angrily, quite like a ruffled cat, and made a choked noise from the back of this throat. His arm rose to hide his identity.

"What are you..." The rest of his words were swallowed by the foreign man's as Francis pushed his arm out of the way and sealed his mouth with a kiss. All that could be heard after were muffled groans and half-sensible words as the British tried to push the other away. He was only pulled closer. The older man leaned back after a while with a smug expression, pleased at Arthur's shocked face.

"That is what you Englishmen call a kiss of France, non? So," he licked his lips. "How was it?"

Arthur regained his senses after the sentence and rubbed his mouth furiously with a sleeve, glowering. Taking a few steps back, he pointed an accusing finger at the other man.

"What the bloody hell was that supposed to be?" The Frenchman crossed his arms, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"I already told you, a French kiss, or do you some assistance in the arts of amour?" He leered at the darkly clad body and strode forward, swaying his hips. He snaked a hand around Arthur's waist and brought their bodies so they were flush against each other. The Frenchman whispered into the heavily crimson man's ear. His breath tickled the others neck, raising goose flesh. Arthur could feel his blush intensifying, if such a thing was possible, down to his collarbones that Francis seemed fond of, if the knuckles brushing them were any indication. "If you want," he rolled his hips, earning a groan. "I could be your.. professeur..." With a reluctant expression, Arthur removed himself from the sensual hold.

"It's... quite alright," the thief said, pushing Francis away, not meeting a curious gaze. He coughed into his hand. "It's not proper for two men, even more so for gentlemen, to be together," but the the other clucked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head. Francis grabbed a hold of Arthur's hand, leading him to the couch.

"Non, non, non, you are wrong. Like beauty, love is not limited women. Here," he explained, pouring the bemused gentlemen a drink. "Take this and I will tell." Francis crossed his legs and gazed at Arthur seriously. "I would have thought you already knew this, but obviously, you're very ignorant in the matters of amour to think that men can only go after women and woman after men.

"Like I said, love is like beauty: without limitations. Women can be beautiful and men can be beautiful, just like how women can be loved and how men can be loved. There is no different because love is just that. Love." He motioned toward himself, leaning forward. "Moi, pour example, I love anything that is beautiful. I love pretty women. I love pretty men. Is that wrong? Say non."

"Non," Arthur said, quite dazedly, still in shock at the abrupt turn of things. He didn't notice Francis shifting closer to him. "I mean, no, not really."

"Good," the Frenchman laughed, laying a hand on the others knee. "Then maybe I've managed to educate your empty English brain a bit." Arthur straightened at this comment and brushed a wandering hand away.

"Oi, I take offense to that comment," he exclaimed, national pride flaring "English people are not idiots!"

"Of course not," Francis said, with a teasing grin, and added in undertone, "Silly British people." The gentlemen stood up, clenching his glass with white fingers.

"What was that, you bloody frog? What did you just say?" The Frenchman sniffed, turning up his nose.

"You either heard me or you didn't," he said enunciating all the hard sounds, as if he was talking to a young child. He waved a dismissive hand. "You can't even kiss me properly. What an inept romantic fool." Arthur's anger burned at that comment and he snarled, moving towards the mocking expression.

"I'll show you an inept romantic fool!" And with that, a wine glass splashed to the floor and Francis found himself pulled forward roughly by the collar of his shirk into a clumsy kiss. When the two drew back for air, he ran a finger along his mouth, tongue flicking out for a lingering taste. The British man found himself transfixed to the pink organ and unconsciously liked his own lips.

"Not bad," the Frenchman said. Arthur didn't know why, but the comment sent a warn feeling coursing through his body, tingling at this fingertips and toes. Suddenly, Francis swung a leg over ans straddled the shocked gentleman's lap. "However," he said, voice husky. "Let me teach you to really love," and before Arthur could protest, his mouth was plundered by an eager tongue. "The first thing you need," the Frenchman said, "is to get your amour involved." Skillfully, he coaxed the gentleman's tongue from the back of the throat to play.

Not one to lose easily, Arthur fought with a vengeance, furiously battling with the other. However, his downfall was his inexperience and he pulled his head back, admitting defeat, and gasped for air. Francis tipped his head to the side and gazed at the sight before him. Flushed pink from the oral battle, Arthur's cheeks nearly glowed and his chest heaved, somehow unbuttoned and covered with a thin layer of sweat. The man's lips were swollen from being crushed and were slightly parted. And his eyes... His eyes sent shivers through the Frenchman's body. The green orbs were dark and full of a murky heat that Francis recognized all too well.

Lust.

The thought of the enticing British gentlemen desiring him excited him and he shuddered at the hot feeling. Arthur noticed this and quirked an eyebrow.

"What?" he taunted, running his fingers lightly up Francis's arm. "Could you be... scared of me?"

"Of course not," the Frenchman ground their hips together, eliciting a moan tearing from both of their throats. "I was just thinking of how hot you will look without all of your clothes." He licked the pale neck under him and buried his head into the crook, inhaling deeply. "I can't wait to take them off." Suddenly, in an unexpected movement, Arthur brought his hands up onto the others shoulders and bucked his hips.

"Mon Dieu, this is rather... unexpected." Francis breathed, looking up with shining eyes. Their positions were reversed. He couldn't resist butting his head into the others chin teasingly. "Do you really think you can handle moi?" Arthur chuckled deep in his throat and pressed their lips together.

"We won't know until I try, hmm?" he smiled against Francis's forehead as hands tangled into his fair locks, pulling his mouth down. "But knowing me, the question should be: can you handle me?" he asked boldly. Francis laughed uproariously, throwing his head back and Arthur had to admit, it was a very pleasing sound.

"Silly British boy," he breathed with a dangerous edge and predatory grin. "Compared to moi, you are but a virgin. I am, after all..." In a blink of an eye, he was on top, nose to nose with Arthur."The master of this art." His eyes darkened as his smile grew wider. "Don't underestimate me, pretty boy." The other smirked, but relaxed in his position. He tossed a challenging look and the Frenchman went in for the kill.

"I'm a banana! I'm a banana! I'm a banana! LOOK AT ME..." The ring tone was silenced before it could blare the last word out, but the damage was done. The Englishman dug it out of his pocket and groaned when he saw the prompt, swearing.

"The tart changed my ring tone again," he complained as he checked the called ID. Giving an apologetic look towards Francis, he punched the redial button. "Sorry, I've got to take this." He waited a few moments impatiently for the person on the other side of the line to pick.

"Arth..."

"Do you know ho early it is, you idiot?" Arthur roared and the Frenchman winced, taking his estranged hand back. Perhaps teasing wasn't such a good idea? A bright voice chirped through the receiver, loud enough for both to hear.

"Good morning, Arthur! It's time for our breakfast date, you know? I was thinking about going to that new diner next to the Chinese take-out place. I heard it was pretty good. And actually, it's not that early, you know?"

"Alfred," the Englishman sighed. "It's three-thirty in the goddamn morning. Don't you think that's a bit too early to be making calls? What troll has possessed all your common sense?"

"But Arthur..." he could hear the pout in his friend's voice. "There's an early bird's special at the waffle house for an all-you-can-eat waffle cake!" The gentleman could feel a tic develop under his eyebrow.

"And you called me, three-thirty in the morning, for a waffle cake buffet?" Arthur wanted to bang his head against the wall, crying, at the unfairness of it all. Here he was, making out with a hot and sexy man, when he gets called out to breakfast.

"But you love waffles! You made me drag my boyfriend, on my date might I add, halfway across town because you left your wallet at home to pay for your waffles!" Alfred huffed. "If you say no to me right now, then I'm never talking to you ever again!"

"Your boyfriend was a jerk anyways, and didn't you break up with him three weeks ago? And you know you never can never keep your silence around me." Arthur pointed out dryly, eyebrow raised, not that Alfred could see. Francis got off his lap with a grin. In curiosity, the Englishman followed him with his eyes until Francis disappeared into another room.

"Yes, yes. Fine." Alfred said in exasperation. "But that's not the point. You've never said no to waffles. And besides, you have something far more important at risk here. We need to have a talk.

"Talk? About what?"

"We need to have an honest, man to man, talk about your boyfriend!"

"Alfred," Arthur groaned, rubbing his temples, feeling a headache coming. "I don't have a boyfriend. I haven't had one for over a year."

"Exactly!" was shouted through the phone and the man winced, taking the device away from his ear. "You need to find a boyfriend fast! You're going to get old before you know it and die single and alone in a house full of cats!"

"I'm still young. I'm only twenty-three. I have lots of fangirls. I'm fine." The British man said firmly. "I don't need you to set me up on another blind-date. The last one was terrible."

"I know, I know. I thought he was a nice guy, but who knew he was an escapee from the insane asylum?" the American was morose for a moment. "I'm just worried for you, you know?" The gentleman rolled his eyes. It was more like the other way around.

"Next time, don't pick a random person off the street, especially if they have a straight jacket on and look slightly off their rocker, alright?"

"Right-o! But I thought it was sort of cute, how he was hopping around the block. I just felt bad for him and untied his legs. But we're getting off topic. Waffle house. Next to Yao's place. You're coming with me for that waffle cake, okay?"

"Okay," Arthur affirmed. "Then I'll see you..." His words were cut off and he sharply gasped.

"Arthur? Arthur! What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" the British man said, a little too quickly. His voice was also higher than what it usually was. "Nothing at all!" He turned around and glared at a mischievous Frenchman. His hand flew to his wet and cold neck. "Francis..." he hissed in a low voice.

"Francis? Who's Francis?" When there was no answer, the American began to panic. "Arthur, what's going on?"

"Nothing's wrong, Alfred. Just a minor complication, that's all." Arthur said in a relatively normal tone. "I'll meet with you at the waffle house in three hours. Bye."

"Wait! Tell me who's Francis! What are..." The gentleman closed his phone with a decisive snap and turned around.

"Alfred's probably going to kill me later for this but I'll deal with that later. So," he said dangerously, narrowing his eyes. "What were going thinking about with those ice cubes?" Francis only laughed, popping a block of ice into his mouth.

"has anyone told you how irresistibly beautiful you look when you're angry?" he asked between chews. "I believe you Brits refer to it as being 'hot and sexy', non?"

"What are you blabbering on about now, you bloody frog?" The Frenchman laughed, leaning against a wall behind him. He cradled a bucket in his hand. The ice cubes rustled nosily as he moved.

"I was joking, joking, but still," he added cheekily. "You do look gorgeous when you're mad." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Arthur's face bloomed crimson and he grabbed a handful of ice cubes quite literally under his nose.

"Bloody frog!" he howled, chucking the pieces at the laughing man. "I'll get you back for that comment!" Francis ran into the other room, laughter echoing through the halls. Arthur gave chase, snatching entire bucket away. "Come back here! You're just dying to have ice cubes stuffed down your shirt, aren't you?" The Frenchman grinned in interest.

"You never told me you were the kinky kind, Arthur!" the surprised Englishman paused for a moment. They had somehow made their way back to the room they were originally in.

"How did you know my name?"

"Thank you friend, Alfred," Francis popped up next to him, a vulpine grin on his features. "He was the one who told me." The British man growled and mad a mental note to be extra grumpy to the American later, but in the meantime...

Francis yelped in the most undignified manner as ice cubes were stuffed under the back of his shirt. Arthur crossed his arms with a satisfied smirk, but then reconsidered and proceeded to shove a few more down the front just for the sake of it. Francis squealed at the cold sensation and he shivered, shaking himself free of the chilly ice.

"And that's for the kinky comment," the British man said, but gulped as Francis turned a heated gaze towards him. In a fluid movement, he tore off his shirt.

"Mon cheri," he said, licking his lips. "I may be still shivering, but that..." Leaping so they crashed back onto the couch, Francis pressed their bodies together and gyrated his hips forcefully. "Was beautiful. Now," he purred, lips close to a panting mouth. He hand began trailing down Arthur's chest and going lower and lower. "Where were we again?"

Arthur gulped.

This just might be the longest thing I've written in one sitting. Wow, who knew some pencil, paper, and editing could do so much? XD

To all French or English readers, I mean no offense for anything you might find offending. Just taking a little author's liberty here...

And so this is what I've been doing while camping for two weeks! I've got another one squirreled away for Hetalia. (I'll get that typed up as soon as I can. Then, I'll go back to Rising and TMS.) I find it sort of funny how I'm writing a fanfic for an anime I've only watch three episodes for, which totals up to about... fifteen minutes worth of content? I had to consult the Hetalia wiki a bit for info and fish around for pictures, so I hope I've done alright with keeping the characters honest to their canon personalities, but enough babble here and onto the important stuff.

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY LILYROSE225!

I hope you'll find this a good present, since I can't send you much else. I've got no scanner for drawings... XD

Oh yeah, so... this may or may not be a one-shot depending on how much and what feedback I get. I've got some inkling of a plan for any future continuations, like Alfred and Francis at a coffee bar, or Arthur coming through a conveniently opened window as Francis is taking a shower, or maybe a short omake (never done that before) of Francis vs. The Fangirls (with a capital 'T' and 'F' just so you know they're Arthur's fangirls.) Is anything interesting anyone?

Thank you to Arumajiro for looking this over and helping with Hetalia stuff in general, especially the Nordics for my other fic. Hint hint. XD

Thanks to all who have read this and have an awesome day/night wherever you are.

Reviews make Francis happy.

Love,

Shini