(Go: Sorry for the wait guys! We've been getting error messages on uploading this for a week and a half now :P We tried on a grand total of 8 different computers to try and get this up. Finally today I did a search on this error and found a trick and got it to work! So sorry for the wait)

Heehee hi guys! Guess who has a convention in a week. ME. Guess who still has to finish her Prussia uniform. HAHA. ME. Yeah. I'm sewing like crazy xD Derp derp. But you guys still get new chapters. Ain't I nice? So~ Hope you enjoy the latest chapter! Reviews loved as always! Oh and anyone else going to Megacon? ;D

Chapter Four: Cookie Dough and Ice Cream

How did someone reply to that? France was selfishly happy he wasn't alone in his misery. At the same time he wished dreadfully everything had worked out for King of Camelot. It was as if the fate of their love lives were linked.

FrenchCock: What happened?

KingofCamelot: I was an idiot, that's what happened.

KingofCamelot: He said he loved me.

KingofCamelot: And I just... Blew up.

That was eerie... France frowned and slowly replied.

FrenchCock: Dieu why would you do that?

KingofCamelot: Fuck if I know. I've been wanting to know how he feels. But when he said it it was so out of nowhere.

KingofCamelot: I didn't know what to do. I acted out of stupidity and ruined everything.

KingofCamelot: I hurt him.

FrenchCock: If you wanted to know so badly

FrenchCock: Why didn't you just ask and avoid the whole situation?

KingofCamelot: It would be wrong of me to put him on the spot like that.

France laughed wryly and shook his head. What type of reasoning was that? Christ...

FrenchCock: Well it would have been preferable over what happened

KingofCamelot: I know that now...

KingofCamelot: I can only hope my apology ebbs the effects on him somewhat. Though I doubt it will...

FrenchCock: You apologized and he hasn't responded?

KingofCamelot: I only sent it recently. It took a bit of time to make.

His reply was interrupted as the doorbell rang. France stared at his computer for several seconds before standing and crossing the house to open the door. There sat a package on the step, the delivery man driving off down the road. This was just a strange coincidence, right? The blond picked up the box and brought it to the kitchen, where he pulled out a knife cut the packaging tape. Inside was a stuffed lion plush. Lying on its stomach was a small piece of paper in England's sprawl, "Sorry."

What- How- France pulled the little lion out of the box and hugged it to his chest as he slid to the ground, pitiful laughter shaking his body. This couldn't be happening. England was sorry and sent him a silly plush? He was so stupid! Did he really think that was enough? Well it was, but for any normal person it wouldn't have been. He was such an-

Took a bit of time to make.

He wasn't sure what made him check. Perhaps it was the way King of Camelot seemed so familiar. Or the fact their love lives were on parallel paths. Or that England had been reaching out so much lately. He wouldn't do that just by himself... He would have needed assistance...

France held the lion closer to his eyes and inspected the stitching. It was expertly done, but there were the obvious slips here and there one would make while hand sewing the material together. England had made it. King of Camelot had made his Roses something. Surely this could just be one big coincidence... But there was no such thing as a coincidence this big.

He jumped to his feet and returned to the computer. He had to be sure. He had to know.

FrenchCock: Maybe you should try showing up at his house without warning

FrenchCock: I'm sure he's forgiven you after getting your apology

FrenchCock: You just need to show how much you love him

KingofCamelot: How in the world am I supposed to do that after what I've done?

FrenchCock: Perhaps you should make yourself vulnerable to him

FrenchCock: Go outside of your comfort zone to please him and show you want him to care

KingofCamelot: Bloody hell.

KingofCamelot: If you think it will work. It's the best I have

FrenchCock: Does he have any fetishes?

Long pause. KingofCamelot: I suppose he likes it when I'm more demanding. Rough.

FrenchCock: Any outfits?

A second pause. KingofCamelot: Something does come to mind.

FrenchCock: Oh? What?

KingofCamelot: Police officer uniform?

FrenchCock: Oh that's arousing

He was nothing close to aroused. His blood was cold. He felt dizzy. How could this be true?

KingofCamelot: I hope to God you're right

FrenchCock: You should go as soon as possible

KingofCamelot: Alright.

KingofCamelot: If this works, I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you.

And with that, King of Camelot logged off.

France closed his laptop and stared blankly at the wall. When had everything become so confusing? Could England possibly be King of Camelot? It would make so much sense. And there were too many eerie coincidences for there not to me a connection. How had he not seen it earlier?

King of Camelot had a cheerful idiotic friend dubbed Hamburgers and he had been unable to figure out if his feelings for him were platonic or not. He had a friend named Roses that was sexually driven and they were constantly fighting. France told King of Camelot to start reaching out to Roses and England started showing up more in his life. He suggested King of Camelot tell Roses to plan a date without sex. England had.

France hadn't had a reason to suspect anything. There was no reason to connect King of Camelot with England. The love sick fool in him was too elated to think someone was helping England. Who would have thought that someone was him?

The plush lion stared at him from the desk top. Those button eyes refused to look away. France sighed and picked it up to bury his head in the soft material, breathing in England's scent. His heart was racing with anticipation.

So maybe the lion had been pathetic of him. Yet it was all that had come to mind. Incredibly unoriginal as he was, England had gotten the idea from a popular French sitcom he'd watched in his days of self-loathing following the incident. When he'd messed up the main character mailed the heroine a handmade plush. Something about it being from the heart. What came more from England's heart than sending France his symbol as a representation of handing himself over to him?

But he hadn't called. He hadn't done anything, and he knew he would have gotten it in the mail soon. To further his hope for forgiveness he'd taken the given advice, leaving him now standing before the Frenchman's house in the uniform of an English police officer. Oh the looks he'd gotten on his way here. Taking a deep breath, England forced himself to block everything out. Everything consisting mostly of his utter embarrassment.

He had to show France he was willing to go to lengths he wouldn't normally go. That he would do so for him.

Letting out the breath, England rang the doorbell and waited.

The door opened instantly, a wide eyed and flushed France on the other side. He had obviously raced to the door as he gasped, "Arthur?"

Acting quickly, impulsively, but for once in his life not brashly, England took a hold of France's collar and brought him down to a deep kiss there in the doorway. It was a passionate kiss, but not in a furious sort of way as he was often given to. It was pleading. A desperate pleading that France immediately picked up on.

He pulled the Brit into the house and into him, caressing his tongue with his own. Giving a moan England leaned into him, hoping to God above this meant he was forgiven.

No. He had to stop hoping.

Parting their lips, England pushed France to sit in a chair set in his living room. For a moment he watched him.

He had to start saying and acting.

Climbing into his lap England kissed France's ear, shuddering shortly himself. In his head the siren was blaring. Not towards France but in response to himself. What was he doing? A part of him was playing on that roughness France so loved while another portion was slow and affectionate to try and show what was going on in his heart. The war simply would not ebb, even as he continued to kiss him. It was embarrassing as hell to be in this sort of state before France, so desperate and pitiful.

But damned if he wasn't going to bury that humiliation and speak his mind. No, not his mind. His heart.

When he leaned back to look at France England's brows were furrowed in earnest while his eyes shined in emotion. "If you don't take me back I want to bloody beat you in the head. But I can't do that. For once," he flushed in his own stupidity but continued on in a rush, "for once I want to be the good cop and give you an option, let you do what you want. Because I care. I care so damn much. Even if I know I'll be furious and even more depressed than I have been I want for it to be your choice because I don't want to screw you over more than I already have."

"Arthur," France stared up at the flushed Brit with hazy eyes. He slowly kissed the man in his lap with a shining smile. "You can screw me as much as you want as long as I can call you mine."

At that smile England felt his heart ache he was so happy. It was more than he wanted. It was so much better. Surely later he would think back on this and feel embarrassed and maybe even a little bit cautious, unable to take that sort of commitment again. But for now he was too happy and too in the moment to have any room for that. With his own bright smile he kissed France. "That sounds brilliant."

Chuckling, France squeezed England's ass and shared another kiss. Yes brilliant. He was in love with this idiot. He loved him back...

And England was King of Camelot.

"Alfred, if you don't give me that blasted cookie dough this instant-! You know I go between hungry and horny when I'm drunk!" The Englishman shouted to his fellow nation, not half as inebriated as he wanted to be, natural considering he'd had his beer swiped from him by the idiot younger blond. "Listen to your elders, dammit!"

"Haha, you're such a woman!" America came back to the living room with a tub of cookie dough in one arm and ice cream in the other. "You know, this is what women do in my tv shows."

"Says the one that used to take baths with me and ask when he'd get as big." Mixed emotions, England laughed at his own comeback when he'd grumbled it. "And there's nothing worth watching on your telly. All you have going for you are the bloody effects, no story or depth at all."

"Hey. Jersey Shore is deep." Snickering, America plopped down next to his drunk friend, shoving the cartons in his lap. He paused, then pushed them onto the couch so he could use England's lap as a pillow. "So what got you drunk this time?"

Glaring down at him, England flicked America's forehead as he blushed both in his usual angered drunkenness and in response to the git's actions. "Alcohol, what do you think?"

"You have reasons to drink the alcohol, dumbass!"

"Yeah, and they're called being an adult that enjoys his liquor from time to time," he huffed, plopping a spoon of cookie dough in his mouth and savouring it. But then, as it dissipated on his tongue, England grumbled and looked away. "Bloody Frog just pissed me off."

America grinned and reached up to pinch England's cheek. "What doesn't ever piss you off?"

Eyes widening, England nearly dropped the spoon from his lips before he bit the bowl and glared, giving his own grin as he tugged the brat's ear. "I can still discipline you, boy," he said once he'd pulled the spoon away with his free hand.

"Yeah you can try!" The energetic idiot jumped to his feet and pulled England into his arms, then brought them both to the ground, slamming on top of the smaller male. "I watch wrestling, bitch!"

Under the weight of the larger man England was completely winded and immobile for a full few seconds. Fucking-! When oxygen was again making itself home in his lungs our blond growled and squirmed beneath America, kicking and punching with all his might. "You oaf, you weigh more than an elephant!"

"Now that's just insulting!" America grinned and nuzzled the man struggling beneath him, unfazed. "I weigh more than whales with all this muscle!"

"Muscle my arse." Well damn. It was hard to fight back when he was so heavy and was being so affectionate. All the same England grumbled his words with a half-hearted glare and wiggle.

"Your ass definitely isn't muscled like mine." He jumped to his feet and posed, sticking his rear out for England to admire. "I have a dat ass that would make Dick Grayson jealous!"

Now he just rolled his eyes. They were on this now? And who was this Greyson he was talking about? "If the argument is that the one who uses it most has the more brawn, that horny Frog would therefore have the tightest arse."

"Haha what?" America dropped to the ground with a lopsided grin. "As if Francis uses he ass. He sure does use yours though." He winked and licked his lips teasingly.

A flush came upon England's face in a deep shade of red. "Shut it you twit!" Tackling him the island nation shouted, "I ought to wash your mouth out! Don't you dare talk about my sex life."

America just laughed and rolled them over to lie on top of England. "You're so old fashion Iggs!"

"And you're an ill-mannered boob. What are you, an animal?" How many times would he end up under America tonight? It was getting more annoying than embarrassing. "Get off."

That just brought even more laughter. "I'm a boob?"

"Fuck-It means you're an imbecile!"

"Boob! Boob! Booooobs!"

Damn he should have known not to use that word of his around this immature teenager. Rolling his eyes, England sighed and finally rolled the big lug off of him in favour of returning to the couch and his cookie dough.

Grinning like the fool he was, America jumped back onto the couch and flipped through the channels until he found a rerun of Young Justice. Satisfied, he made himself comfortable in England's lap again and winked. "So what did the Frog do that time?"

"Tried asking me on a date." Nibbling his spoon full of sugary sweet goodness England spoke lowly with a pink tinted face. "We're friends with benefits, that's all." With alcohol and comfort food he didn't care much about he said, contrasting his declaration to America not moments before.

"Well I suck with this shit!" America rolled off of England to sit up. "But you know I heard about this site from... Huh, someone, can't remember. But it's relationship advice and stuff!"

What the hell? One thick brow came up on his face as England stared at America incredulously. "Why would I need something like that?"

America laughed and rolled his eyes. "Oh please, Iggs. You're upset that he asked you on a date. If that doesn't say you're internally conflicted and need help, I don't know what does!"

"Don't go giving me advice, you brat," and he tugged his ear.

"Aaah don't tug my ear!" America squirmed and shoved England, then grinned. "I'm a hero!"

"Hero my arse." Hopping up, England headed to another part of the American house. "Now where did you hide my liquor?"

"Hey hey!" He ran right after him. Without a care, America picked up him and carried him back to the couch. "You're going to watch my hero cartoons with me, sober up, and then go home and contact Dr. Love!"

"Put me down bastard! I will do no such thing!"

America just grinned and snuggled the fuming Brit. "I'll email it to ya. You can pretend you never checked it out."

"… Shut up."

"Welcome home~"

A chorus of voices greeted England when he stepped inside his house the morning after he'd spent another night on America's couch. It was a bit of needling annoyance to him that even when it was very little any amount of alcohol always ended him in two places: France's bed or America's couch. This time it had been the latter, if only because he was currently refusing to see the face of the former.

"Good morning everyone."

Yawning, his response was blasé to say the least. Noncommittal. His stomach wasn't all too happy with him after… Well, after an ungodly amount of cookie dough. Even now as he moved in his kitchen and pulled out a kettle to boil some water for his tea his insides churned in rebellion against his large and frankly disgusting load. Damn he was such a masochist. Something made him mad and he drank, which was always mixed with either unhealthy overeating or unhealthy… Was over-sexing even a word? Surely there was one for it in French. Damn pansy language.

While the water heated he changed into his house clothes, planning to stay in for the rest of the day. To England house clothes translated to a loose tan sweater and gray slacks with a pair of slippers, ever given to his finer items even when he was relaxing. And in that way he drank his soothing peppermint tea not from some mug, but his set of china prescribed to daily use. Because honestly, what was the United Kingdom without his pride in manners? Yes, in contrasted greatly with his sailor's mouth, explosive temper, and various other personality flaws, but he still clung to the finer points of life! House always clean, hair properly washed, clothes proper at all times.

… But you know? Sometimes living like that got to him. It was the very upright and appropriate ways to which he lived his life that his more negative personality quirks came. In other areas he had to show his aggressions. Through various phases of his life they had come out in extremely violent ways, such as when he lived as a pirate. Always going through phases that varied in his attitude.

Sometimes he wondered where he stood truly as a person.

Growling to himself at such thoughts he downed his tea angrily, then pulled the cup away hurriedly. There he went, burning his tongue. That's what he deserved for thinking such petty thoughts. He was who he was. Every person went through phases, nations included. Hell, nations had it even worse, given to morph into whatever their people needed, were at any given time.

… But was he just further cementing his argument that he didn't know himself by sitting here and arguing with… Himself?

"Blast!" Fine, if he was going to sit there and subconsciously sabotage himself he might as well give in and check out this love advice website America had referred him to while he was in such an inward-looking mood.

Grudgingly the man moved to his office – with a new cup of tea of course – and booted up his computer to visit Dr. Love's homepage. Immediately he scowled. Naturally the whole thing would be hearts and roses and utter stupidity. "Brilliant work, Dr. Love, I'm already turned off."

"But you're still going to send something in, aren't you?" Came a small voice from his shoulder that, in his glance back, was found to be one of his fairy friends. Lily.

England huffed. "I see no purpose in doing so." Beneath her stare he took a guilty side glance. "Though… I suppose it could be entertaining. Just to see how he responds."

And so under the miniature woman's approving grin and watchful eyes he read through the page, finding that it was suggested anyone that wished to ask a question of this Dr. Love character make an email through a specific engine for this specific purpose so as to remain completely anonymous.

"So what's your username going to be for this one, Arthur?"

"… How does King of Camelot sound to you?"

End of Chapter Four

Yeah so it was obvious that KoC was England xD Blame all of this secrecy on Haya. She wanted it to remain in the shadows. (Haya: It makes it more fun!)

Oh well. It gave me a good excuse to launch into some deep character exploring. With more in store for you readers, naturally~