A/N: At last, chapter two! Thanks again, HalfDemonZahara. Without you this wouldn't be nearly as good. Also thanks to iflipfordolphins, who's encouragement is almost always needed. In the first chapter alone this fanfiction received seven favorites. I'm very pleased, and as soon as I finish this one I think I'll have to start another Hetalia fanfiction. Thanks to everyone who gives their support in favorites, reviews, etc.
Chapter Two
"The bathroom is right over here," said the longer haired nation as he lead Arthur into his home. He pointed as he named all the places. "The shower is there and the towels are behind that door, there. The hairdryer is under the sink, top drawer. I believe it's the only thing in there."
"Er," Arthur said, shifting his weight awkwardly as he stepped into Francis' bathroom. "Thanks, I suppose,"
"No problem. It's my pleasure to be a host sometimes," Francis said with a smile as the British Empire began to eye the shower. They nodded to each other and France turned away to start cooking supper while Arthur dried himself properly.
Arthur pressed his ear to the door to make sure the other nation was leaving, then jiggled the handle to make sure that the door was locked. Hoping that the blond country didn't have a master skeleton key or something, Arthur quickly stripped himself of his wet clothes. He felt much freer without them, glad that they were not able to hold him down anymore. He drew the shower curtain as quietly as he could before turning the water on, immediately glad of the change from damp cold to steamy heat. It was warm and easing on his skin, and he was glad that he had accepted the other nation's offer.
"Angleterre, do you want some food?"
"What?" Arthur asked, immediately horror struck as he heard the other's voice through the still closed door. He was running the hot water through his hair, which was clinging to the shape of the country's skull. For a while now it would be flat.
"Food. Do you want some?" Francis sounded almost disappointed.
Arthur, to defend what little honor he had left, knew he had to claim that he knew what food actually was. "I'm in the shower, you bloody git!"
"But if I cook it now, it will be ready for you when you are dry. That is," the blond's voice trailed a little. "Unless you are one of those people who takes forever in the shower, no, Angleterre?"
Arthur had nothing to say to that, so he just stuttered, "Uh, sure, France. ..."
He finished his cleansing as quickly as he could and snatched a towel to run it through his hair. He dried quickly, too, eventually wrapping the cloth around his middle as he ran fingers through his hair. Arthur couldn't help but to look at his reflection in the mirror with slight dismay. His hair always took a long time to dry, and he had only used a blow dryer once before. The nation's hair had been spiky for weeks on end. The nation reached for his clothes, quickly remembering all to well how soaked they were.
The British Empire slowly, shyly opened the door a crack. "Francis? Where's you room?"
He was in the kitchen, doing God only knows what in there. His voice betrayed his confusion as he peered around to the corner to look at the other. "Oh, right, you're clothes were wet, too, no? It's just down the hall, I go get some for you."
Arthur shifted as he waited in the room, loosing the comforting steam quickly. The room was much cooler by the time the other nation finally returned with a bag. "Here you are, Angleterre."
The other nation didn't dare take his eyes of the nation. The last time they were here together he had tried to force Arthur into a marriage, and he certainly wasn't going to let that happen again. He cautiously took the bag from France, not moving until he saw his grip lessen on the bag before totally letting go. Arthur waited patiently, as if a bomb were to go off before Francis cracked a wicked and knowing smile. "You can shut the door now, Angleterre."
The bathroom door immediately swung shut, and France laughed to himself as he walked back to the kitchen. He heard the door lock again as he strode away from it.
Britain tested the door again, but it didn't budge. With a slight sigh of relief, Arthur looked in the bag to see what stupid things the nation had brought him. To his surprise, the clothes were actually something Arthur wouldn't mind wearing. The pants were extra long and baggy, a black color that was intentionally faded in some random patches. There were many pockets, one of which Arther slipped his phone easily into. The shirt was tighter, riding up just a slight as it clearly displayed the name of a British rock band. The base was a red color, with gray and black patches.
"First my panties, now my bands... What's next?" Honestly, Arthur didn't want to know the answer, nor where France had gotten the clothes. Once dressed, he ran his fingers through his still wet hair and opened the door, making a bee line for the kitchen to see what his host was doing in there.
"Oh, Angleterre!" Francis proclaimed as the smaller nation entered the kitchen. "Just sit down, supper will be ready in but a moment or two,"
Arthur shifted a little awkwardly, seeing how elaborate and fantastic Francis' kitchen was. "Er... Is there anything you'd like me to do?"
The other country chuckled in his classic French way as if to cover up the fear in his voice. "Oh, ho, no, no, no... Angleterre, you don't have to worry about a thing here. Just go sit down, okay? Okay." Arthur opened his mouth to protest the order, but Francis quickly countered with a simple, "It's okay, Angleterre. I'm the host, after all."
To this, Arthur had no protest and sat down a little reluctantly at the large dinning room table in the next room over. Glancing over at the kitchen, he realized that there was an open bar and he could see some of what the chef was doing. The nation fidgeted and got a little more comfortable.
After a few short moments, Francis emerged from the kitchen, one forefinger extended. "Here, Angleterre," the blond said, offering the other nation his finger. It was coated in a bright cheese nearly down to the first segment. Upon seeing the United Kingdom's reluctance, France pushed a little further. "Common, try it!"
The smaller nation snarled at the jest and let out a little swear, wondering what the other was trying to do. When, after a brief moment, the older nation's stance dropped in disappointment, Arthur opened his mouth and closed it around the other's finger. The cheese was divine to the taste, celestial even, and Arthur found himself licking off the appendage in a search for more. After he'd swished his tongue around couple of times, he released his grip on a very stunned and very pleased France.
Francis smiled and asked the nation if it tasted fine, which provoked a quick and embarrassed nod. The chef returned to the kitchen, a delighted smile across his face. Neither nation said a word about it and neither of them cared to admit how much they each enjoyed the incident.
After a long silence that seemed to have drug on longer than it should have, Arthur stood slowly and walked into the kitchen. Not wanting to get in the cook's way while still observing his methods, the nation hoisted himself onto the counter and watched as Francis chopped up a mushroom. Arthur grabbed one of the pieces and examined it. "What is this?"
Francis smiled, rather quite amused. "That is a mushroom, Angleterre. You eat it."
Arthur blushed a slight so that pink lightly colored his cheeks. "Oh... I thought fungi were poisonous..."
"No," said Francis simply, as if educating a small child about advanced physics or something equally as complicated. "Only very few of them are bad for your health. Those," he gestured to the small piece in the kingdom's hand. "Those are harmless and you can bu them at a supermarket."
Arthur's tone betrayed his wonder. "Really?"
"Do you not trust me, Angleterre? That hurts me." There was silence, which worked fine for the chef. (He pretended not to notice Arthur toss the piece of mushroom lazily into the pot where it comrades had gone.) Arthur could blush and be quiet while Francis retrieved a bottle of wine, opened the bottle with care, and poured some in the pot with ease. After a short moment, he brought the bottle up and observed his dish. He glanced at the pot's continence, then back at the bottle and shrugged before adding more.
"What are you doing?" Arthur said as he eyed Francis close the bottle again. "Why add wine to the mix when we're going to drink it with the meal?"
The other nation almost laughed at Arthur's naive question. "This wine," he said, putting the bottle back into a cabinet. "Is for cooking. There are cooking wines and there are drinking ones. That one is for cooking."
Arthur blinked once, twice. "What?" He received only a sigh in response, so the nation decided to clarify his question a little. "What's the difference between them? Shouldn't they all be the same?"
This time Francis did laugh. He held up a finger and gestured it to the Arthur, motioning for him to wait. He threw a quick glance at the pot before bounding to the other side of the kitchen and opened what Arthur had thought had been a pantry door. As it turned out, it had actually held wine bottles upon wine bottles upon wine bottles with very few empty spaces. Arthur had a nagging suspicion that there was a method to what little madness he saw, but said nothing.
After a second or two, France returned with a smile on his face and a bottle in his hand. He put a finger on the cork, tested it, and with a force and practice that Arthur had never seen before, Francis simply pulled the cork out. The wine was upset at this, but did not fizz over nor bubble like other alcoholic drinks.
"No," the nation said at last in response to the last question. "Wine for cooking is crappy; you should never drink it. This," Francis said, holding up the bottle like a trophy. "This here is drinking wine!" He crossed the room with ease, flipping blond hair easily over a shoulder as he offered the bottle. He thought it safest to caution Arthur. "Don't have much; It's strong and we all know how bad you are at holding down your liquor."
France had never actually seen Arthur drunk, but didn't at all want to find out. Between seeing him hungover during the occasional world meeting and having heard the drinking stories from Alfred, Kiku and once even Ludwig, Francis wasn't anxious to join the numbers that saw the great British Empire drunk off his ass.
Arthur, however, just seemed a little more determined and took a sip of the wine after taking the entire bottle from Francis. The other nation smiled at this, so Arthur took another swig at the bottle before France snatched it away again. This time he took out a pair of large glasses expertly with one hand. The motion was so fluid that the kingdom shifted, feeling like Francis had done this too many times before.
Francis poured some of the drink into one glass, then filled the other practically to the brim. With his other hand he set the wine bottle down and quickly re-corked it as fast as his fingers would allow. Separating the glasses with a finger, he handed Arthur the one with considerably less substance in it. Arthur frowned and took a sip, but said nothing.
After a few moments, France spoke again. "Sit down, Angleterre. I'll serve you in just a minute."
Arthur bluntly ignored (and was oblivious to) the innuendo the other nation was implying, oblivious to it. Instead he scavenged the kitchen cabinets for plates and silverware. Once he'd found two complete sets, the nation took it upon himself to setting the table for the meal. Besides, it hurt to just sit around and do nothing. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. As Francis had said, he returned in just a few moments with the large pot in his hand, some sort of big spooning-thing that Arthur could not identify in the other.
Regardless, the pair ate. Francis seemed at ease, as if this was just another meal to him. Arthur, on the other hand, stood upon the first bite. He held the spoon in his mouth, sucking it dry so that it was spotlessly clean when he took the silverware out of his mouth.
"Is... something wrong, Angleterre?" Francis said, going ridged a little as he saw the other's face.
The other nation just stared in wonder, then furrowed his eyebrows and pointed accusingly at Francis. Under his gaze, Arthur could feel the other nation squirming now and then as if he were very uncomfortable. "You." Arthur said in a determined voice. He was stern and very serious. "You will now cook for me. Every. Day."
Francis sighed and laughed with relief before gesturing for Arthur to regain his seat. The kingdom did not protest and instead savored every bite.
A/N: There. Chapter two. Don't worry, chapter three is well in progress. *Taps forehead knowingly.* Please review. The purpose of writing fanfiction in to become a better writer. Thanks to everybody again.
