I don't own Hetalia or its characters, but I guess you guys can figure that out by yourself right.

Francis Bonnefoy had only just arrived at the – kind of massive – party, and he was enjoying himself already. It wasn't often that he saw the other nations in such a state, and is was absolutely wonderful.

The thing was, this was quite a special party. Alfred and Kiku had decided to throw an enormous, cosplay-themed one. The rules?

'Dress up like something/someone that has something to do with you history or culture as a nation.'

Now that was interesting.

Francis himself had had to think about it for a while though. He was of course known as the country of love, but, besides showing up naked, he couldn't come up with much related to that – and even he realised that would not be the best plan to execute. Besides, he acted like the country of love on a daily basis, and showing up like your normal self on an event like this simply wouldn't do.

Thus, he'd settled with something else the French were famous for: Their cooking, and everything in that direction. He had considered the chef's outfit, but it was so plain, so dull and so not-appealing, he'd settled with the French waiter – and no, not the dress, the normal, man's version: bow tie, low apron, hair tied back, a neat combination of black and white. He had to say, it suited him very, very well - then again, almost everything suited him well.

However, the fact that he looked great wasn't the only reason he was enjoying himself, if it was a reason at all. No, the main reason why, was the presence of the other nations. It was incredible to look at.

Francis smiled. They had really put a lot of work into this. He looked around the huge ballroom. He saw Kiku, dressed up like a Samurai warrior, Antonio as a matador, the Italy brothers were Roman soldiers. Yao looked like one of the Chinese emperors of old, all the Nordics being Vikings...

It was too cramped too see much more of the other's costumes, but Francis didn't mind. There was only one more person he wanted to see however, but of course he was just one of those who are ever unable to find at parties, thus Francis began to force his way through the crowd and hoped that he'd more or less bump into him.

'Ah, mon cher, why are you so hard to find? Francis muttered to himself, while gently pushing away a girl in a white dress – Belgium, he noticed.

As if the heavens had heard his words, suddenly a couple of countries moved aside, and left Francis with a full view on his target.

Francis froze, and gasped.

There, in a crimson, long coat, stood Arthur Kirkland. Wearing his pirate outfit, complete with hat, boots and earrings.

And good Lord did he look gorgeous.

Francis couldn't help but stare at him. It had been years, centuries, since he'd last seen Arthur like this, and back then, he'd looked like a teenager.

And certain feelings had not been completely there yet.

But now...

Francis couldn't help but think Arthur was sexy. Bloody sexy, as the Englishman himself would say.

After he'd gathered himself together again he walked up to the Briton, who had been talking to a very tall blond man, but now stood alone looking around. As soon as he noticed the Frenchman, his brow furrowed and he looked rather grumpy.

Francis wasn't impressed – he would have been worried if nothing similar would have occurred.

'Bonsoir, mon petit lapin,' he said with a sing-sang voice and a big smile on his face once he stood before Arthur.

'Quit the nicknames, frog,' the smaller male replied rather irritated, 'and good evening to you too I guess.'

Francis chuckled. Ever the gentleman.

'What?' Arthur spoke out almost angrily.

'Ohonhonhon, you are grouchy as ever, mon Angleterre.'

'Of course I am, you are here,' the Briton shot back, scowling at the Frenchman. 'And didn't I tell you to quit the nicknames?'

'Oui, I believe you did,' Francis teased, 'but I'll never stop using them, mon lapin. Also, why should I stop, if you are permitted to call me a grenouille?'

'You are quite persistent, are you not?'

'Oui. Especially when mon Angeleterre is looking so good as he is at this particular moment,' Francis said with a wink.

Arthur's cheeks were suddenly tinted slightly pink, and he took half a step back. 'Shut it, you wanker!'

'Oh, mais mon chou, you are très beau like this, why shouldn't I say so?' Francis continued while coming closer to the Englishman. Before Arthur could move away again he lay his hands on the other man's waist.

'Get the fuck off me!' Arthur demanded loudly while trying to get out of Francis' grip, earning some looks from surrounding people, but the Frenchman was stronger and wouldn't let him go.

Before Arthur could say anything else, Francis suddenly leaned forward and whispered something in his ear.

'Mais, mon Angleterre, pourquoi tu n'écoutes pas la musique?'

A shiver ran down Arthur's spine, and how much he hated to admit it, it was not a shiver of fear or disgust. Not even close.

'What the bloody hell are you talking about, bloody frog?' he spoke, face flushed completely red because of various things – like the shiver, the warm breath on his ear, the hands on his waist, the Frenchman being so damn close-

'Well, mon petit lapin, I mean I want to dance with you!' Francis smiled, and he tightened his grip on the Englishman for he knew what was coming.

And indeed - 'What!? Over my dead body!' Arthur screeched as he fought furiously to remove himself from the other's arms, but still with no success.

'S'il te plait?' Francis pleaded.

Arthur looked at him, then sighed. 'You're not going to let me go before I do dance with you, isn't it, you French bastard?'

Said French bastard smiled in response.

It stayed silent for a couple of moments, Arthur apparently deep in thoughts while Francis waited patiently.

'...Fine then...' The Briton mumbled eventually.

Francis chuckled. 'You'll enjoy it, mon lapin, you'll see.' Arthur merely glared at him, his bushy eyebrows in a frown.

'But we did miss the first few songs thanks to your English behaviour,' Francis added grinning.

'I am not – '

'Shh, Angleterre... Now this is a nice song.'

'But – '

'Shh!'

They switched to dancing position – Francis would be leading – and finally, Arthur took his time to listen. It was a rather slow song, but a waltz nonetheless.

'A waltz?' He hissed, 'we're going to waltz?'

Francis just hummed in reply.

People were now moving to the sides to give those who were dancing some space, and soon they were one of the not-so-many couples in the middle of the ballroom. Arthur could feel his face heating up – dancing with Francis, of all people, and in front of such a crowd! – while Francis only looked down at the Briton, who in turn effectively avoided looking into his eyes.

That did not stop Francis to take in as much of Arthur as he could, being so close now. He truly did love the man before his eyes, now pressed softly against him, and he thought, despite the fights they had, he'd showed him whenever he could. Really, it must have been over a hundred years since he first noticed his strong affections towards the Briton. But how was he supposed to tell the stubborn, scowling, cursing gentleman? Sure, he was the nation of love, sure he knew how to flirt, how to help people, how to get them into his bed if that's what he desired. He had mastered all of it.

Being in love made things rather difficult though.

Francis let out a sigh, letting his mind roam free as he danced – quite dreamily – with the man that caused his worry.

'What's wrong, frog?' Caterpillar eyebrows slightly raised.

'Nothing, mon Angleterre,' Francis responded, pushing his thoughts away. 'I'm just glad I finally get to dance with you again. It is not often that you comply.'

'And for good reason,' Arthur grumbled. 'You bloody know I cannot – and do not want to – dance at all.'

'I beg to differ, mon lapin,' Francis mused leaning in a bit closer, making Arthur's face go a wonderful shade of crimson. 'Your ballroom dancing is as graceful as no other. Well, except maybe me,' he added after a couple of seconds.

'Sure...'

They continued dancing in silence, but soon the music stopped and something way more upbeat started to play. Immediately, Arthur let go of Francis.

'Well, that was what you wanted, right, git?' Arthur said, his tone annoyed, but his cheeks still slightly pink.

'Ah, oui, it is, it is...' Francis wasn't really ready to talk yet, still staring at Arthur's face while wondrous things including the Briton crossed his mind.

'What is it you're staring at, frog?'

Francis snapped back to reality. 'That would be you, mon Angleterre,' he smirked, 'I believe I have pointed how beautiful you are tonight? Or has that slipped your mind already?'

'Of course it hasn't!' Arthur spat back, before realizing his mistake, and his eyes averted in shock. 'Er, I mean... That's not...'

'Don't be shy about the truth, mon lapin,' Francis smiled seductively, after which Arthur sent him an angry glare.

'Don't say things like that with such a face, bloody frog!'

'Mmm, but do you like the words, Angleterre?' Francis voice sounded slightly mocking, seductiveness still not quite gone, and the corners of his mouth turned upwards.

Arthur's scowl deepened even further. 'What the hell do you think! Ye-NO! No of course!'

Francis' raised his eyebrows in utter surprise. Did he hear that just now or?...

'Arthur...' Francis stepped a bit closer to the Briton, looking straight into his green eyes.

Arthur looked down at the ground, stuttering. 'I did not – I mean, no I... Things are just not – Just go away you git!' He yelled the last part right into Francis' face, which made the latter step back a little.

'Angleterre, please – '

'Heya! Is everything alright here?' Francis was interrupted by a very loud voice and suddenly felt a weight on his shoulder. He looked to his right to see Alfred F. Jones, annoying American, leaning on his shoulder with one arm.

Something was wrong. It took Francis less than a second to see.

'Non...' He managed to bring out, eyes glued to the American.

Now it wasn't Alfred that shocked Francis – although he was annoying for always being too close to Arthur for Francis to tolerate - , no, it was what he was wearing.

The uniform.

The blue, all too well-known uniform.

The Revolutionary War one.

Arthur.

'Imbécile!' He roughly pushed Alfred aside, earning a confused look, and whirled around to see Arthur. Too late; he had gone. He should have known.

Immediately Francis went searching for him, trying to clear a way for himself through the crowd in a very non-gentle manner, but it was no use. It was too cramped, and most of all, he had no idea where to go. Francis almost yelled in frustration. How was he to find the Englishman before he would have vanished and drink himself into oblivion in some shabby pub?

Ah, but that was it of course. Francis knew Arthur well, and as far as he knew, the Briton would never stay somewhere this busy when in a state as he probably was in now – near depressed, crying. He was too proud for that.

Francis nodded to himself. From here it shouldn't be that hard. 'Please let me find you, mon amour,' he whispered.

It did indeed not take Francis long after that to find Arthur, even though the gardens surrounding the mansion were huge. He'd gone straight towards the perks of roses, and that's where he found his lovelyEnglishman, shattered on the grass.

'Shh, mon Angleterre,' Francis said softly while scooping the Briton up into his arms, who did, for once, not protest, shoulders still shocking heavily.

'It's going to be all right, mon amour.' The endearment slipped out before he could think about it, and he held his breath, but it seemed to have gone unnoticed by Arthur, who had stopped shaking by now, but still sobbed silently. Francis could see the tears glistening in his emerald eyes, and slowly raised his hand to touch a cheek.

'Why,' Arthur suddenly rasped.

Francis looked back at him with a questioning face. 'Why what, mon lapin?'

'Why did h-he have to wear it? D-does he really h-hate me that much?' Arthur sniffed. A single tear escaped from his eyes, and Francis softly wiped it away with his thumb. Arthur did nothing to stop him, to Francis surprise. Instead, the slightly smaller male buried his head in the crook of Francis' neck. The latter averted his eyes in disbelieve, but didn't say anything, afraid to ruin it all. They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, embracing each other tightly, until the sobbing too finally died out.

'Did that idiot try to rub it in? Because if he did, it has worked quite well...' Arthur mumbled against Francis' skin. Francis smiled – he already sounded a lot more like the pretty peevish Briton he knew so well. Still his voice was soft and calming as he spoke.

'Non, mon lapin. I think – non, I know – he did not want to hurt anyone, especially not you. He would never do that, you are very important to him.'

Arthur grumbled something among the lines of 'He has a very nice way of showing that,' face still hidden in Francis' hair.

Francis chuckled. 'Ah, he may be a bit thoughtless, oui. But you know that what I'm saying is true. He's just very proud of his independence. I suppose he only wanted to show that, mon lapin, and nothing more than that, although I myself find it rather foolish. It's a touchy subject, he should have known better.'

Francis skilfully avoided saying that it could possibly have its effects on a certain Englishman, but this certain Englishman saw right through him and lifted his head to look him in the eye, eyebrow sceptically raised.

'You mean he should have known better than to cause an old man cry his eyes out?'

'Mmm, if you would put it like that, oui,' Francis laughed, tilting his head slightly backwards.

Arthur grinned. 'No fooling me, frog.'

'Of course not, mon Angleterre, of course not...' Francis responded softly.

Both did not know what to say next, and they stood there for a couple of moments in complete silence, neither of them noticing they were slowly bringing their faces closer to each other while staring in each other's eyes.

When their lips where only inches apart however, Arthur's head suddenly shot back, completely red, and he detached himself from Francis' arms.

'Er, well, eh...' He looked at Francis, face burning, and found he was at war with himself. Part of him wanted to slap the Frenchman in the face for being so bloody close – that was the proud part, the part of him he usually showed to the outside world. Yet another part of him wanted to embrace Francis like he'd done before, and press his own lips against the soft French ones. And while he stood there, completely flustered and trying to make up his mind, he felt a gentle hand cupping his chin, turning his head to look up.

Francis looked down at Arthur with a knowing though very hopeful and happy expression.

'Mon Angleterre... Mon amour,' he murmured, and with that he closed the distance between their faces and brushed his lips against Arthur's.

And Arthur knew the romantic part of his being had won over the proud part when he noticed he was kissing back.

It was a very short kiss, but so sweet and loving it felt like so much more than that. Like a promise.

When they pulled away, the two were completely thunderstruck for a while, just staring at each other as they had done before.

'Mon... Mon amour?' Arhtur eventually asked after a couple of minutes, 'You really mean?...'

'I do believe I just kissed you, did I not?' Francis gave a chortle, and took his – yes, now it really was his – Englishman in his arms once again.

'Je t'aime, Arthur.'

It stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, and then Arthur jerked up a bit and muttered: 'Er... I- I guess I love you too, frog...'

Francis ran his fingers through Arthur's hair – he had lost the hat somewhere – before letting him go, taking him by the hand instead.

'C'est formidable à entendre, mon cher,' he whispered as they began to walk. Arthur grumbled something in response, though leaned a bit more against Francis as well.

The gardens were truly beautiful, but Francis was more focused on the handsome man to his side. He noticed the excited expression the Briton was trying so hard to hide. Francis grinned. If there was anything Arthur loved next to tea and his books – and Francis – it would be gardening.

'Oh! Francis, there!' Arthur suddenly exclaimed, pointing at something in the distance.

When Francis looked at what he was pointing at, he saw a perk of white roses a bit separated from the others, complete with a curly rose arc and surrounded by magnolias. It was pure romantic.

A glance to his side showed Francis a flustered Arthur, not knowing what to do. 'I, eh, those are beautiful roses, right?' He spoke softly. 'Let's move on.'

Francis smiled. 'They sure are, mon cher, but wouldn't you like to go there?'

'With you?' Of course not!' Arthur tried to look dismissive, but failed miserably – Francis could see the hopeful twinkle in his eyes.

'Oh, mon amour, I know you want to, but it's très mignon when you try to hide how much you love me,' Francis teased jokingly as he pulled the other with him until they stood under the arc.

His smile widened when he saw Arthur's blush as he opened his mouth to no doubt throw a curse into Francis' face, but he quickly put a finger over the parted lips to silence him.

'Don't deny it, mon Angleterre. Tu es très mignon, et intelligent et beau et tout simplement magnifique, je t'adore... And I know you love me too, my little gentleman.'

With that he kissed the Briton again, pulling him flush against his own body. He felt Arthur's hands finding their way into his hair to untie and gently comb the golden locks, and now he couldn't resist anymore; He softly began to chew on the other's lower lip, asking for entrance. Arthur gasped in surprise, and Francis slipped his tongue inside. He began to trace skilled patterns, exploring as much as he could of this new but oh-so-wonderful part of Arthur. It didn't take Arthur too long to hesistantly brush his own wet muscle against Francis' though, and soon the kiss became a whole lot wetter than Francis had originally intended – not that he was complaining.

Finally, they broke apart, panting heavily, a string of saliva still connecting their mouths. Francis rested his forehead against Arthur's.

'Mon Dieu, you are an incredibly good kisser, Angleterre...' he stated as Arthur wiped off his mouth, breaking the saliva connection. 'Where did you learn that?'

'That's none of your business, you bloody frog!' Arthur shot Francis an annoyed glare and tried to get away from him. Francis laughed and let him go, but not before giving Arthur's ass a nice squeeze.

'You bloody pervert! Hands to yourself!' Arthur yelled angrily, face completely red once again.

'Of course, mon cher, of course. Mais, your butt is just too attracting,' France hastily dodged the fist that came his way.

'Shut the hell up. Not funny,' Arthur growled, punching for a second time, now hitting the Frenchman right in the face.

'Ouch! But it's the truth, mon Angleterre!' Francis caught the third fist that was coming his way, and held it tightly.

'Tch,' Arthur raised his other hand to try slap the taller male with it, but Francis was quicker and caught his wrist.

'Please, mon cher, I really do mean it... It's just as attractive as the rest of you. Let's not start fighting over this now, shall we?' Francis quickly kissed the Briton's nose.

Arthur glared at him, but eventually, his gaze softened.

'...Git...'

'Je t'aime aussi, mon amour.'

Captain Fluffiness reporting for duty!

Anyway, my first fanfic about my adorable OTP, good Lord these two are perfect... Hope you guys like it! Also, my French is pretty basic, so I'd like to thank Yuu Kirkland on here for correcting some things!