"…Okay class, now remember, your homework over the weekend is pages 243-244 problems 1-30. I expect them all to be turned in right at the bell. I hope you all will have an awesome weekend," the teacher quickly dismissed the class when the last school bell rang.

Arthur rolled his eyes, bloody hell, could this class have possibly taken any longer? Quickly packing up all his belongings, Arthur knew he wanted to get of there as fast as possible. He knew that Francis would be sauntering up soon, as always, to make fun of whatever quality the frog felt Arthur had lacked then thereof. They had hated each other on the spot. Arthur had always felt the resentment of his country toward the French was something to be proud of and firmly held on to that belief. Naturally, Arthur did not appreciate the French man's jibes at him.

"Arthur? Will you please help me watch the classroom for awhile and wipe the whiteboard clean while you're at it? The hero needs his coffee break," the teacher chuckled at his own remarks before smiling and leaving the classroom and strutting down the hallway to his well deserved "coffee break." Mmm. Maybe he'll let me have it with maple syrup this time.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. Arthur raged in his mind as he grudgingly walked to the whiteboard running his fingers through his dirty blond hair in the process. The whiteboard looks like it hasn't been cleaned for awhile now. He sorely regretted volunteering to become the class representative. Damn that lazy American teacher. Can't he do anything himself or at least take care of his classroom? All of the students in the classroom had taken off upon hearing the bell leaving Arthur alone in the classroom. Alone with Francis and his scheming blue eyes.

Deciding his best option would be to ignore Francis by all means possible, Arthur began to pretend the other teenager was not there, leaning by the window with his arms crosses and a smirk across his mouth and tried to wipe the stains on the whiteboard that would not come off.

"Arthur," he purred. The British teenager immediately bristled at the sound of this name being spoken that that horrid accent, but responded only with trying to rub off a spot that refused to leave. Like that bloody wanker in the classroom right now. Why the fuck is he not leaving. Wait for it…Wait for it….

"Arthur," Francis chuckled, "you're not possibly trying to start a fire to burn off that stain? Or to possibly burn off that hideous caterpillar you call your eyebrows now are you?"

Arthur hesitated for a second, and then went back to scrubbing the whiteboard clean. There we go. His usual insult. Now he'll leave.

Francis, smiled at the hesitation and Arthur's new found fervor in scraping the whiteboard clean, stepped toward the Brit and placed his arms on the edge of the whiteboard around him. Close enough to see the sweat forming on the Brit's brow and his growing frown, but not touching him at the same time.

Go away. Go away. Go away.

"Arthur," Francis whispered into the increasingly red ear, "talk to me."

Go away. Go away. Arthur felt chills run down his back contrasting with the heat Francis seemed to be giving off. He knew the Parisan was forward, but he never did this before, at least to him. Fuck it. Why is Francis acting like this? Francis never seduced. Girls, and boys included, just seemed to flock him wherever he went just begging for him. Arthur's resolve tightened as he felt the other blond edging his hand closer and closer to his waist. Fuck. Damn it. Why am I blushing like a freaking school girl. Arthur could almost feel the smirk growing on Francis's face. Arthur heard a rustle and felt the tips of Francis's finely kept hair barely brush his skin before feeling a cloud of moist air being blown at his neck down his shirt.

"Arthur…Arthur…Arthur… Why won't you talk to peu seul moi." Witheach word Francis made sure to get as close to the shorter blond as possible without touching him.

Arthur's resolve to ignore the Parisian finally broke and he harshly turned around to tell him to stop. However, before he could get a single word out, Arthur noticed the proximity of their faces. With mere centimeters apart at most, Arthur feared he might touch those lips before actually forming a word, cowered a bit, and backed up as much as he could clinging onto the edge as if it would make him stop blushing, cursing himself in the process. Gentlemen don't cower.

Francis smirked even more at the British boy and looked his viridian green and fear-stricken eyes. He bent down to close the distance between the two blonds. Arthur felt the tension mount in the air and thicken with every second. He stared into the blue eyes and swore that there was a glint of something predatorial flash by. Francis opened his mouth and looked as if he was coming in for the kill, but instead, stopped right before the red lips of the British boy and whispered, "Arthur, you still have my calculator," before moving back, turning, and stepping away.

"I…I… don't have it you wanker," Arthur sputtered. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the bloody hell was that? I would never borrow that bastard's things. Fuck Francis. Fuck him to oblivion.

"Oh, I must have been mistaken then," Francis looked over his back and smirked again watching Arthur's emotions rage across his face. "Au reviour, Arthur, see you soon," Francis said flippantly as he strolled out of the classroom with a bag slung over his shoulder.

Once Francis left, Arthur felt himself slumping onto the floor, a raging blush coloring his whole face and screamed, "FUCK OFF WANKER. I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN." Why is my heart racing? He's fucking French. A frog. A perverted no good, wine loving bastard of a frog. Arthur sat there on the cold linoleum for a few minutes focusing on the number of dots on the floor instead of the events that just transpired before getting up and seeing…Oh crap. He took my book bag. That bloody bastard took my book bag. Forgetting his teacher's request, Arthur immediately set off running as fast as he could through the hallways to find him. No…No…He can't find out…