Lying on the floor with his feet propped against the wall, England groaned when he heard his front door click open, the familiar smell of wine and cheese immediately wafting through the air. "Oh Angleterre," a certain Frenchman called out. England remained silent, ignoring France's presence. France peeped into the room, chuckling when he saw the Brit on the floor.

"Go away." England mumbled, covering his face with his hands. France simply smiled. He got down on his knees and crawled to England, proceeding to also lie on his back with the soles of his feet on the wall.

"Bonjour, Angleterre." He said, flashing a flirty grin at him. England slowly turned to face him.

"What do you want, frog." He spoke the last word as if it were a disease. With a cocky grin on his face, France brought a hand up to England's cheek.

"You."

England's eyes widened, a faint blush creeping to his cheeks. France trailed his hand down his jawbone, the blush deepening. France's touch sent heat through England's body: a heat he did not enjoy. He smacked France's hand away, ignoring the pout that France had pursed his lips into. He quickly glanced in the other direction to avoid making the mistake of looking into France's eyes. "You're cute, Arthur…" England turned to him, immediately regretting it. He fell victim to France's gorgeous sky-colored eyes, and for a moment he almost wanted to just prop himself up, lean forward and…

No. England snapped out of these daydreams. "Belt up. Don't call me cute."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not." England huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and staring up at the ceiling from his position on the floor. France laughed again, this time pulling out his phone.

"Well, I have a few cute pictures of you…" England sat up momentarily, panicked, then snatched the phone from France's hands. He flung it to the other side of the living area. France stared at him in shock, resisting the urge to grin. "You're funny, Angleterre. Now the only way I can possibly get over there to my phone is by crawling over you," he said, slowly crossing one of his arms over England's chest and leaned over, as if about to crawl over him.

However, England quickly rolled over and grabbed the phone and shoved it into the back pocket of his trousers. He stood, grinning triumphantly. "Take that, Francis. You're never getting it back now." He crossed his arms over his chest. France smirked softly, also standing. He walked slowly to the British gentleman, wrapping his arms around England's slim waist. England felt his heart skip a beat.

"You think so." France moved his hands down England's backside, slipping them into each back pocket. England said not one word except a breathy, "Bloody hell…" France swiftly pulled the phone out, pocketed it, but then slid his hand back to where it was previously.

"Francis, stop touching my arse." England narrowed his eyes, pushing against France's chest. He pushed with so much force that he sent the Frenchman back against the light switch, the darkness covering them like a blanket of pitch blackness. For a moment, both of the men were silent.

"Onhonhonhon, Arthur." France said giddily. England couldn't see anything in the dark, so it came as quite a shock when his cotton sweater was lifted slightly as France ran his warm hands underneath. He pressed their bodies together, that same heat flooding through England once more, but this time it was worse.

"Fra-" He was cut off by a pair of lips being pressed to his. The taste of wine lingered on his own when France pulled away. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, smiling slightly. Because his eyes were adjusting to the dark, he could see the soft smile etched on France's expression.

"Arthur….je t'aime." He pressed his forehead to England's, and England gave a shaky smile, laughing nervously. If he doesn't pull away soon, the wanker's going to kill me, he thought, closing his green eyes.

"You're funny, Francis. Really." England opened his eyes, gazing up at France. His forced smile faded when he saw the look on France's face. He wasn't smiling, but looking deep into England's emerald orbs. "Y-you can't love me, you git…no one does." He glanced away, biting his lip. He couldn't stand looking into his eyes, seeing the look in them that clearly said, "I'm serious."

"While this is true," England shot him a glare, "I still love you." France pressed even closer to England, his slight smile illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the curtains. England turned back to look at France. He took a moment to take in the sight before him. He had always admired the way France's blonde hair flowed down his shoulders, always seeming light and soft. He wanted to run his hands through that hair. He wanted to put his hand to his cheek and feel the slight stubble he had grown not too long ago, scolding him to shave once and a while. His gaze drifted to his lips. Oh, how he wanted them to come closer, and kiss him again.

"Oh, blow me." England couldn't believe any of it. Surely France was playing with his. After all, he did have a knack for such the thing. France's smirk deepened.

"Well, if you insist…" At first, England didn't understand. However, once he thought hard enough about it, his face flushed furiously and he pulled away from France.

"Not that way, it's an expression…!" He put a hand over his mouth, glancing away. France slowly sat on the loveseat just a few feet away, crossing his legs. England, in turn, sat on the floor, leaning against the loveseat.

"Angleterre."

"What."

"Je t'aime."

"Whatever." France frowned. He just couldn't possibly win.

"I do! You just…don't seem to notice."

"I'm not blind, you prat. You're just…not my cup of tea." He began to stand to flip the switch, but France grabbed his wrist and pulled him down onto the couch, one arm wrapped around his midsection. He pressed England's wrists to the cushions, crawling on top of him.

"What do you not understand?"

"Why you're so intent on raping me! I bet you just want it up the arse, don't you? Want me to bang you?" England snapped, struggling under the weight of France. His face flushed deep red, heart racing a million miles an hour. After a moment, the weight lifted as France stood to his feet, falling into a nearby armchair.

"I waste my time, really. After all, you truly don't love me." He pulled out his phone. "Perhaps Gilbert understands…hm." He began typing, and England watched him suspiciously. "'Prussia, Angleterre doesn't love me.' Ah, good start." England stood, snatching the phone from his grasp.

"Don't send that, fool!"

"Why? Do you love me?" He held out a hand, raising his eyebrows. England paused, seriously considering saying that he did. Instead, he slapped the phone down into France's palm, and France smiled contently. "'It is tragic, oui. But I was wondering…'" France paused, glancing at a trembling England who had collapsed to his knees. "'How about you ditch Hungary, and you and me can get together?' Send."

England closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. "Stop."

"Why? You don't love moi, it's not like you'd care."

"I…do love you." England murmured. His breath caught in his throat as he looked up at France.

"Quoi, what was that?"

"I bloody love you…!" England said slightly louder, heart pounding against his ribcage. Something flashed in France's eyes, but he crossed his legs and turned away.

"What a shame. Oh, look! He replied!" England clenched his eyes shut. "'You kidding? I've been waiting for this my whole life! This is awesome!'" France chuckled to himself.

"F-fine…you know, I really do love you. I think about you all the time and…how much I want your arms around me a-and…and when they are, I never want you to let me go." England said shakily.

France ignored him. "'Oui, awesome. What about tomorrow night? Shall we have some fun?'" England stared at him like he was mad, the hot tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision.

"Y-you ninny! You know, it's not like I lie awake at night, just thinking about you. Your smile, your laugh, y-your eyes…your touch..." He raised a trembling hand to brush his messy locks out of his eyes, then brought it down to graze his lips with his fingers, the reminiscence of the kiss lingering on his lips.

"Oh, Prussia's so sweet. 'Cher, je t'aime! I love your smile as well. Even when you look at me, I melt inside." France smiled airily, tilting his head to one side.

England choked back tears. "Y-yes, I melt inside as well…"

"'I sometimes just want to kiss you, you know that?'"

England nodded slowly. "Y-yes…that too," He hadn't realized France joined him on the floor, inching closer and closer.

"Je t'aime…" France still typed, but he wasn't speaking what he typed. He was aiming his words towards England. The Brit didn't notice. Tear lines ran down his pale cheeks.

"You have no idea how much I really love you, Francis…" He brought his hands to his face, burying his face in his palms. France placed the phone on the ground. He took two fingers and placed them under England's chin, forcing him to look up at him. The tear streaks on Britain's face nearly broke France's heart to pieces.

"Arthur…how much of that did you mean?"

"A-all of it, you wanker…but it doesn't matter, because you have G-Gilbert…" England choked out.

"Arthur…I didn't send any of those messages." England paused, his tears coming to a sudden stop.

"W-what?"

"All I needed was to hear how much you really loved me." England flushed, gazing into France's eyes for the third time that night.

"…you git…" England grabbed France's cheeks, pulling him into a heated kiss. He crawled onto France's lap, straddling him. He pulled himself closer against the Frenchman, finally getting to run his hands through his silky hair. France leaned back against the armchair, tilting his head up in or to kiss England better. England pulled away, pressing his nose to France's, the still-foreign taste of wine present.

"I love you…so much."

"…je t'aime aussi, Arthur. Je t'aime aussi."

Oh my, I wrote this a lot time ago...it's almost a little OOC and stuff, but. ^^" I felt like I had to upload it. I kinda like it. Please review!