His lower back ached. His throat was dry. He sat up in the bed and saw his partner asleep, next to him. His face was so peaceful. If only it would remain like that when the man was awake. The Englishman looked content in his dream world. His hand was balled into a loose fist next to his mouth and his eyebrows knitted together every once in a while.
The Frenchman quietly got off of the memory foam mattress, as he tried not to wake his partner. He walked over to the bathroom to shower, forgetting to close the door in the process. Even if he did remember, it wouldn't have mattered, since they've seen each other naked on more than one occasion. He turned on the shower and quickly hopped into the tub, hoping that the loud squeaking of the knob didn't wake the sleeping Brit.
So many thoughts crossed the Frenchman's mind. Starting at the expensive French wine he had brought over to the end of the night. He tried to hide his laughter when he remembered the drunken waggle of the Brit's thick eyebrows. A loud laugh did eventually escape his lips, though, when he found that every time he'd close his eyes, he'd see the man's body hovering over him. He'd see, in detail, every curve, and every muscle on that man's lean body. He'd remember how the man's apple green eyes would pierce him, while they glowed in the darkness.
The Englishman woke up soon after he heard the laughter of the other man. 'What does he have to laugh about?' the man wondered, his head pounding. His eyes darted to the digital clock that read six in the morning. 'If he was going to get up this early to shower, the bloody git could've at least shut the door. The steam from the shower started to enter the bedroom in small clouds. The man slowly stood up, and slowly wandered toward the bathroom, where the French Anthem was being hummed. When the Frenchman called for him, asking if the man was awake, the calls were ignored.
He slowly peered around the door, silently cursing the green curtain for hiding his partner. All he could see was the man's silhouette. Which he had to admit, was sexy enough. He could only imagine what was on the other side of the curtain. A tall, somewhat muscular body. Shoulder length blonde hair. His ocean blue eyes. They seemed to be the man's krypotnite. Every time he looked into them, he'd get lost in a sea. Those eyes reminded him of his pirate days.
Being out on the open seas, for months on end. The Frenchman at his side as his personal cook. He missed those days, but he wasn't going to bring it up now. All of that was ancient history.
After washing the shampoo from his hair and opening his eyes, he noticed the silhouette of his partner's bedhead on the other side of the curtain. He popped his head out from behind the curtain and smiled at the tired Brit.
"Bonjour, mon ami." he said, his voice sounding like velvet, even with the dry throat. "How're you feeling?
"G-good morning." The Brit stuttered. "I'm fine, thank you for asking, Francis."
"That's good to hear." Francis grinned, moving a lock of his hair behind his ear. The stutter from the younger man was an adorable tune in his ears. He tried to let his eyes wander the Brit, but they were disappointed, because all he could see was the man's shoulder and up.
Thoughts of what was behind the curtain plagued the Brit's mind. He wanted to tangle his hands in the Frenchman's hair. Run his fingers down the man's wet body, his fingers memorizing every detail about the other man's body.
"Could you hand me the blue towel on the rack, Arthur?" Francis gave the Brit a dazzling man-eating smile.
A scowl formed on Arthur's face. Mainly because it got a dark blush out of him. "You've got two hands, get it yourself." he says arrogantly.
Taken back by the response, Francis sneered at his partner. "I bet you would've gotten it for Alfred." he ducks behind the curtain, trying to hide under the hot spray of water. He didn't realize, until it was too late, that his words were unintentionally laced with venom.
"Here." Arthur snatched the towel off of the rack and pushed it past the curtain, so that the Frenchman would see it. He didn't know why Alfred was dragged into this, or what was with Francis' sudden attitude. If he was jealous of Alfred... why didn't he just say so? "You wanted the bloody towel, so take it."
Choosing to ignore the offer, Francis started to wash the rest of his body, pretending to take interest in his calf. Arthur's hand got more persistent as he held his hand out more, willing the Frenchman to take it. He saw the towel begin to slip from the Brit's grip, but before Arthur had the chance to withdraw his hand, he was dragged into the tub.
The cold tub accompanied by the hot spray of water made the British man flinch. He was shocked by the serious look in the Frenchman's eyes. He had never seen his childhood friend this serious. A yelp escaped his lips as the water hit his legs. He knew that Francis liked his showers hot, but he didn't know that he liked them to the point that they were boiling.
"How do you feel about Alfred?" Francis asks. He wanted to know the answer, but he was also afraid to know.
The Brit was about to yell at him for dragging him into the tub, but that question stopped him in his tracks. How dare he! That was the one question that the Brit feared. He had hoped that neither of his lovers would ever ask him that, but Francis had to be the one to bring it up. He bit his bottom lip and looked up into the other blonde's ocean blue eyes.
"What would make you ask something like that? You know very well how I feel about him..." the Brit said confidently.
"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking, would I?" he asked, his voice unintentionally laced with venom. He still feared the answer, but he hated to see the Brit in pain. He tried to position his body so that he shielded the nation better from the hot water. He tilted the younger nation's chin so that he could stare into the man's apple green eyes. If he was going to talk, the Frenchman wanted him to speak to his face, not to the tub wall.
The green eyed Englishman didn't know what to say. Alfred had, and will always have, a special place in his heart, but so did Francis. He couldn't lie to himself about either of them. Both of them made him feel like he was floating on cloud nine, no matter what they did. Whether it was a simple date, to something more. He looked into the Frenchman's eyes, trying to sort his words out so that it didn't sound wrong.
"He doesn't compare to you." Arthur said, hoping his voice was sincere.
'He doesn't compare to me?' Francis thought bitterly. Arthur's voice sounded sincere, but a hidden emotion floated around in his eyes, one that Francis couldn't place. He knew that Arthur has relations with the American, just like he has with his precious Canadian or his friends. What was the underlying message in the Brit's eyes? Why couldn't he place it?
"Good." he smiled and let out a light and airy chuckle. "He better not."
"Are we done talking about this?" Arthur asked with a blush creeping on his cheeks. Now that the tension was out of the air, he felt like a fish out of water. His butt hurt from sitting on the hard porcelain, and he wanted to get out so that he could get ready for his day.
"Yeah." Francis helped him up. When he saw that Arthur made a move to leave, he gripped the man's arm tighter. Arthur looked to him questioningly, but his eyes quickly shut when Francis shoved his lips on his, in a protective manner. 'I'll make sure that I'm the only one he wants. That American can't compare to me. I'll teach him that.' he thought.
Arthur was tempted to pull away, he jolted in reaction, but his eyes closed at the pleasurable feeling of the older nation's lips on his. He felt the stubble of the man's beard, which made him inwardly smile. Francis felt the startled jump of the younger man and smiled into the kiss. Francis slowly dove into his mouth as Arthur's hands roamed his back. He felt every muscle and every faded scar. His hands had memorized almost every edge of the nation's body.
Their mouths worked as one, and it seemed like they were only meant for each other. Both of them knew that it wasn't true, but all thoughts of Alfred or their past lovers had faded through their mind. Even the thought of the thin wall that separated them from their neighbors, Feliciano and Ludwig, had slipped their minds. All they thought about was each other.
Francis' hands traced the younger nations abdomen slowly and teasingly as his back was pressed against the cool tile. The Brit was now under the full stream of the water, and it didn't look like he cared one bit. The water ran down his lean body, making the Frenchman smirk. He was worried that his friend would burn under the water, but when he tried to turn the cool water on, his hand was pinned to the wall. He looked into the Brit's eyes, which were half closed with lust, before Arthur darted down to place hurried kisses on his chest and shoulders. Francis wiggled his hand free and he held the Englishman's shoulders.
He was afraid that if he let the man go, that Arthur would fade like a dream, or go run into Alfred's strong arms.
Arthur didn't know what came over him, but his kisses became lighter and more teasing around the man's torso. His fingers trailed their way down to his hips. Maybe he wanted to prove that Francis meant a lot to him. Maybe he wanted to prove that he loved the Frenchman as much as he claimed. His senses were overwhelmed with the scent of the soap he'd used to wash himself. "God, you smell so good..." he trailed off mindlessly.
A light airy chuckle escaped the Frenchman's lips as shivers trailed down his spine at the feeling of the Brit's expert lips ghosting over his flesh. His fingers made goosebumps rise wherever they touched. His mouth teased a sensitive spot on Francis' collarbone, a place the Brit knew would drive him crazy. As much as the Frenchman wanted to moan, he smirked and kept his mouth shut, irritating the Brit. He was also somewhat afraid that the German next door would come pounding down the door in twenty minutes. "But I only washed my torso, mon cher." he hummed.
Ignoring the comment, Arthur continued to tease and abuse this neck. It wasn't only the body wash that made him smell so good. It was also, his natural scent, but he was never going to admit that. While his mouth was busy with his upper body, his fingers trailed down the older nation's abdomen, his nails gently scraping the skin. Sometimes they would drift a little lower, but never low enough to the place that he was sure the Frenchman wanted some relief.
Arthur's teasing mouth and hands drove Francis over the border of ecstasy. He hated that the Brit's hand would never go lower, so he bucked his hips a bit to try and see if the Arthur got the hint, but whether he did or didn't, Arthur never led on. Francis tangled his hands in Arthur's hair, slightly tugging at the wet roots. "You can do better than this, Kirkland." he whispered sensually.
Francis moaned rather loudly when Arthur roughly grasped him. "Don't test me, Bonnefoy." he smirked as he brought the older nation's head down in a rough but passionate kiss. His hand slowly and teasingly pumped the Frenchman. His eyes fluttered open and he saw Francis' eyebrows knitted in frustration. His partner's face was lewd and provoked him to do more, but the Englishman backed away. The Frenchman wasn't allowed to have all the fun, was he?
Ocean blue eyes flew open when he didn't feel the Englishman on him anymore. He saw a triumphant smirk planted on Arthur's face. He knew that his partner was cocky, but he'd never dream that Arthur would go this far for a little fun. He grabbed the bottle of shower gel and coated poured a generous amount into his hand. Since Arthur enjoyed this scent so much, he should be able to wear it proudly, yes? He backed the Brit to the opposite wall and nibbled on his earlobe as he gently stroked him. The Brit was much more compliant with the moans than Francis was. He didn't care about the neighbors, and he wanted to drive Francis even more over the edge.
Arthur wrapped his arms around Francis' neck and bucked into the other man's hand.
"Je vous aime, Arthur." Francis whispered into the younger nation's ear.
"I love you too, Francis." Arthur moaned.
"Hey Iggy, I'm here." Alfred walks into the house with a box of tea that Arthur had grown fond of. Francis lay on the couch, with Arthur snuggled up to him, sleeping soundly. Francis looked up to him with a challenging glare.
"You haven't won yet, you stupid American." he smirked.
"Hey Francis," Alfred sat on the coffee table. "I've been thinking. Instead of fighting over who gets him. Let's share him. It's less stress, and he won't have to decide. Do we have a deal?"
"We share him, but what about us?" Francis looks at the man skeptically.
"I've grown fond of you, Bonnefoy." Alfred shrugs. "Give me a chance?"
"You've got a deal, Jones." a devilish smirk spreads across Francis' features.
Little did they know that the Englishman heard the whole thing. A content smile grew on his face when he heard their deal. Now he can have both the men that he loved.