"Bloody hell!"

Arthur began coughing violently, waving his hands in a desperate attempt to clear the air as he backed away from his car. The open hood was unseen behind the large clouds of dark, foul smelling smoke billowing from an undoubtedly overheated engine. He was on the shoulder of a long road way out in the British countryside, nothing out for miles but rolling hills and the occasional sheep. His drive, which he had expected to go on without any trouble, was ruined when his automobile had begun to make some incredibly worrying, strangled groans similar to that of a dying man. After pulling over to check the problem, he discovered that the engine was on fire. And to top it off, the Brit's once immaculate appearance was ruined by the mess, giving him the appearance of a coal miner or the chimney sweeps his country was famous for.

"Wonderful!" he spat between coughs, glaring at the smoking car as if it were somehow the inanimate object's fault for breaking down when he needed it most. "This is exactly what I needed."

Unsurprisingly, not even complete and total sarcasm could lighten his mood.

He was already exhausted; America had visited last night and stayed much too late and forced him to drink far too much. Actually, he had planned to sleep off his hangover today and do nothing but lay around his house and read, or perhaps work on some embroidery… But at 5 AM in the bloody morning he was woken from the most wonderful dream to a bellowing Scotsman. He was so disoriented that all he retained from the strange call was the offering of alcohol, an order to be at the other's house by nightfall, and something about sheep… When the Englishman was finally conscious, he shuddered at the mention of the animal. His eldest brother's famous (or rather, infamous) love of sheep was honestly quite… Disturbing.

But there was no way he could refuse a request from the Scot.

Yes, somewhere deep down inside of him, he loved his brother and knew that the red headed giant of a man felt the same, but that was masked by a much stronger emotion…

Fear.

Although Arthur was now much more powerful (military wise) than Liam, he still retained a good deal of childhood fear from the man. Years of being bullied as a child tended to stick for an awfully long time, mind you. He shuddered at the very thought of confronting his brother, with an excuse for why he was late…

"So, that's your excuse, eh Artie?"

The Scotsman's voice would be quiet, dangerous as he loomed over the small body of his little brother.

"Um… Y-yes, I'm really quite sorry, brother. It won't happen again, I pro-"

"Aye, and next time I want tae see my wee, precious little brother, he'll be sick? Or down with a girl, or too busy with work, or something of the like, aye?"

"N-no! That isn't it at all, I just-"

"What, and now you're lying tae me?"

Then Liam would roughly push the Englishman, bending the other over a table and handcuffing his hands to the legs as the smaller man struggled to regain his balance. He would back up as if to admire his handiwork as Arthur squirmed, desperately trying to free himself.

"Br-brother? Wh-what in the bloody world are you doing?"

"It seems I have tae teach my ungrateful wee twerp of a brother some manners, dan't I?"

"Wh-what! No! D-don't be so unreasonable, chap, I'm sure we can work something out, can't-"

As he craned his head, he would just be able to see his brother pull out a thick wooden paddle with the most insane grin on his face.

"This'll teach yah, eh Artie?"

"WAIT! NO! NO!"

"NOOOOOOO!"

Arthur's eyes widened at the thought, heart suddenly picking up speed.

No, he couldn't let that happen!

Last time he couldn't sit right for weeks!

So, although he was a complete novice on the subject of cars and the parts therein, as soon as the smoke had dissipated to a reasonable amount he cautiously crept forward to inspect the engine. Eyes as green as the clover of his homeland inspected the twisting tubes, the engine shining dully in the rare sunlight, the space where the last traces of smoke trickled away…

After ten long, silent minutes, he gave up.

"Stupid automobile!" he shouted, kicking an innocent tire with his foot. Damn it all; he really should've learned more about the infernal things from Alfred while he had the chance! At times like this, he really missed the beautiful simplicity of a horse drawn carriage… He sighed in part annoyance and part nostalgia, slowly retrieving a cell phone from his trouser pocket. He supposed there was nothing he could do but call the annoying American himself. After all, his little brother was quite obsessed with the damned invention of cars. He'd tell him how to fix it, and then the Englishman could be on his merry way.

For several moments he stared at the blank screen.

"Wait a tick… Why isn't it-?"

Suddenly, it occurred to him.

He hadn't charged it last night.

"FOR THE LOVE OF-!"

A truck roaring from the road behind him drowned out the rest of his expletive.

It took five minutes of cursing for the Englishman to finally calm down (and let's just say he was very lucky there was no one around; he had learned quite a few vulgar words from his days as a pirate.)

"God damn it…" he trailed off with an annoyed mutter, running a hand through his hair. One by one, Arthur mentally checked off the aspects of his situation.

He was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a dead cell phone and a smoking car.

There was nothing around for miles but hills, sheep, and the tiny dirt road he had arrived on.

And there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he would be late for whatever Liam had in plan for him.

He was (in the words of the new generation) screwed.

"Dammit."

Arthur closed the hood of his small, English-made car, taking a seat on the front of the black automobile as he drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket. As he cleaned the smoky residue from his face, his mind searched for the most logical solution.

Walking would take far too long in either direction; if he tried, he wouldn't make it to either he or Liam's house until after nightfall.

He didn't posses a car charger for his phone, and as far as he knew, there were no houses or buildings of some sort where he could search for a way to call for help.

So that left him with only one option.

He slid off the car with an angry huff, tucking his handkerchief back where he had found it. Gaze turning to the dusty road ahead, his frown intensified as he stuck his thumb out in the unmistakable sign of a hitchhiker.

Damn that Scotsman, reducing him to this…

But there was nothing he could do now but sit and wait for someone to come to his rescue.

He just hoped that whoever it was would come soon...

oOo

Five Hours Later

oOo

"Please stop, I just really-"

Arthur was cut off by the automobile rushing by him, the machine making no signs of stopping as it raced down the abandoned road.

"Yeah, well damn you too! I hope you have fun burning in hell alongside the Yanks!"

He leaned against his car with a tired groan, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve. There weren't many cars that came across this tiny back road, and the ones who did contained drivers too inconsiderate to pick up their fellow man off the side of the road, or at least offer him a phone call. Plus, the sun was inching closer to closer to the horizon, each moment filling the Englishman with indescribable dread. There was no way he was going to make it to Liam's house in time, no way. Scenes of the Scotsman beating him to a bloody pulp replayed over and over in his mind, each new edition more gruesome than the one before. God… Why him…?

The Briton perked up when he saw another car emerge in his range of vision, but his hopes plummeted as it drew near. It was a sports car of some sort, painted in the most vivid shade of red. There was no way someone driving such an expensive looking machine would stop for some person stuck on the side of the road… Hell, he wouldn't even stop if he saw someone in need of a ride. So he merely sighed and leaned against his own car instead of flailing his arms around in the most ridiculous gesture possible to warrant attention as he had been doing, eyes beginning to droop.

He was more than surprised when the automobile slid to a smooth stop before him.

Arthur stared disbelievingly at it, as if the chance he had waited for was just another wayward figment of his imagination. He swore, if this was some sort of hallucination, someone was going to die in the next five minutes… But he smiled nonetheless, straightening up and dusting off his coat.

"Thank you, thank you so much, you have no idea how much this means-"

Just as he was thanking his savior, the heavily tinted driver's side window rolled down and a man grinned as he leaned his head out of the car, lowering his sunglasses so he could look at the Englishman.

"The pleasure's all mine, mon ange~"

Arthur simply stared at Francis Bonnefoy, eyes growing unbelievably wide.

God. Damn. It.

"You bloody cheese eating surrender monkey! What the hell are you doing here!" England hissed, backing away from the Frenchman as if he carried the plague. Rather than be offended by the less than polite greeting, Francis faked a pout, folding up his sunglasses to fully meet the furious gaze of his rival.

"Is that any way to greet your ride? You don't want to keep Liam waiting, do you? He's quite furious."

Arthur, who had so far been preparing a snappy comeback of some sort, faltered.

"He… He is?"

Francis nodded seriously, giving the Briton a seemingly sympathetic frown.

"Oui. He mentioned something about you, handcuffs… A paddle. I dunno mon cherie, but it sounds awfully kinky to me."

Arthur glared at the other for his, the Frenchman's ever present need to be completely and totally perverted grating against his nerves, just like it always did.

"Wait, how do you know about my meeting with Liam?" he asked suspiciously, watching his greatest rival through narrowed eyes. Again, Francis seemed completely immune to the venom in his voice or his overwhelming suspicion, which only further annoyed the Brit.

"He invited me to go drinking with you two."

Actually, the answer didn't seem too farfetched. Arthur was well aware of the older countries' friendship with one another, although he honestly didn't understand it.

"So, what? You saw me by the road and decided to just give me a ride?" he spat, voice dripping with sarcasm. The older nation merely nodded at the accusing tone, shooting him an all too innocent smile.

"Am I not allowed to help my fellow county? Now come, we better hurry before Liam completely loses his temper~"

The threat reached Arthur despite the sing song tone, and he couldn't help but shudder. As much as he hated Francis (and he hated him so, so much), his utter and absolute loathing for the French was overcome by his fear of large, possibly drunken Scotsmen.

So there was nothing left for him to do but cross over the other side of the car with a sigh and open the passenger door.

…That is, if it would actually open.

After a few unsuccessful tries, he glared at Francis as the man rolled down the other window, more than a little annoyed at the hold up.

"What the hell France? I thought you said you were going to give me a ride!"

"Oui, I did."

"Well than unlock the bloody door!"

"Oh, mon cherie, I said I would give you a ride to Liam's. I never said it was free."

Arthur's shocked, slightly devastated expression was in stark contrast to the smirk on Francis' face.

"Wh-what in the world do you want?" he finally hissed, although the look in his eyes made it clear that he knew all too well what the Frenchman wanted. After knowing his greatest rival for so, so long, he knew very well what Francis' less than pure intentions were…

"I'll take my usual price, Arthur~ Strip."

The Englishman immediately backed off, walking back to sit on the hood of his car.

"I'd never do something so improper! Forget it, I'll take my chances."

Francis pouted at the refusal, not too attached to the idea of losing a potential victim.

"You don't want to be late to Liam's place, do you?

Arthur stayed quiet, crossing his arms and looking away as if the Frenchman didn't exist.

"He said something about paddles… And handcuffs."

No reaction.

Well, no visible reaction: On the inside Arthur was fretting and imagining wild scenarios involving his hulking brother, but he refused to let it show.

"Don't you wish to avoid the pain?"

"I'd feel more pain at being naked in front of you, Frog."

The Frenchman's frown deepened at that, and he leaned back into his seat with a huff.

"It's not like I haven't seen you naked before…"

Arthur's face flushed a deep shade of red at that, because (however much he loathed to admit it) there was a last time, and a time before that and a time before that…

All times when he had, to put it simply, 'become one' with the Frenchman he despised.

"I prefer to keep moments like that to a minimum. Just because you enjoy walking around like a bloody nudist doesn't mean everyone else has to."

"Oui, but you enjoyed being naked with me last month. I mean really mon cherie, the sounds you were making were oh so lovely~"

Arthur suddenly paled, then blushed furiously, the sudden change of color amusing Francis to no end.

"WH-WHAT?" he sputtered as the Parisian began to laugh.

"Hoh hoh hoh hoh hoh… What? You don't remember? You were lying on my bed without a stitch of clothing, staring up at me with those big eyes and begging, 'Francis, oh Francis, inva-'"

"Fine! If it'll shut your froggy mouth." Arthur interrupted, expression a cross between flustered and annoyed as he slid off of the roof of his car. Francis' usual pleased smile returned, and he adjusted himself in the seat so he could rest his elbows on the car door, his face cradled in his hands as if he were a child. The motion somehow made the Englishman blush deepen, and he glanced around to make sure no one else was looking. Oh God, what would he do if someone was watching him getting naked for the bloody Frenchman? He'd never get over the embarresment, no matter how long he lived…

But the road (and the fields surrounding it) were empty.

Arthur heaved a resigned sigh, shrugging off his jacket and placing it neatly on his car. God, he couldn't believe he was doing this, he couldn't believe it…! His face flushed crimson as he slowly began to unbutton his crisp white shirt. Meanwhile, Francis was just smiling as if he was having the best time of his bloody life. Arthur was sure to shoot a glare at him, but it was offset by a shiver as the cool air met his bare chest.

"Mm, Angeleterre, have you been working out?" Francis teased, eliciting another scowl from the Brit.

"You're just jealous that I'm in top shape, frog." He scoffed, kneeling down and untying both of his shoes.

"What do you mean by that? I exercise all the time."

Arthur rolled his eyes at that, stuffing his socks into his loafers and laying them along his jacket.

"I would hardly consider chasing girls exercise."

Francis raised his eyebrows, giving Arthur a seemingly innocent look at the accusation.

"What? Non, not chasing girls, Angeleterre… I was referring to sex."

The Frenchman laughed as he got a thick, military jacket thrown in his face, the material blocking the view of Arthur's ruddy cheeks.

"SH-SHUT IT! God, do you ever shut that froggy mouth?" Arthur shot, glaring as Francis pulled the jacket off of his face.

"I could make a comment on how much you enjoy my 'froggy mouth' but you're forgetting something~" Francis sang, smirking over at the Briton. Arthur blushed again, glancing down at his trousers.

"H-hush up. I was just getting to that…"

Honestly, he had hoped (very foolishly) that Francis would just settle for him without a shirt.

But he knew the Frenchman much, much better than that…

He undid the first button on his trousers, face burning with heat. Maybe if he did it quickly and just got it over with, it wouldn't be so embarrassing… Yeah, just do it quickly, like ripping off a Band Aid…

So he quickly kicked off the pants, steadfastly ignoring the Frenchman's wolf whistles at the sight of his Union Jack boxers. God, he just needed to let it be done with, just wanted it to be over… Taking a deep breath, internally shouting at himself for what he was about to do, he pulled down his boxers.

For several long, antagonizing moments, he stood there, stark naked, as the Frenchman looked him over, that perverse smile never leaving his idiotic face.

"A-are you finished?" he snapped, leaning down to pull up his underwear.

"Mm, not quite." Francis hummed, taking out a sleek digital camera. "Just stay still for a moment…"

"WHAT? NO!"

The Frenchman gave a cry of pain as he received a crushing blow to the face, the camera being snatched from his hand and launched out to the surrounding fields with the strength of a nation.

"Awww…" He pouted at the sight of the broken remains of his camera as Arthur pulled his clothes back on, gingerly rubbing his aching cheek. "I had some good pictures of Roderich on there… One of him sleeping and one of him playing the piano and even a delicious one of him in the shower…"

Arthur finally slid into the passenger seat with a huff, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh, just shut your mouth. Let's get going before Liam decides to kill the both of us." He grumbled, putting his seatbelt on as if nothing just happened. A slight smile came to Francis' lips at that, and he nodded, putting on his own seatbelt as he started the car.

"Oui, wouldn't want to make him angry~"

As he began to drive in the direction of the Scotsman's house, he dug into his pocket and tossed Arthur his cell phone.

"Here, you should call a tow truck to pick up that scrap of junk metal you consider a car."

"It's ecologically friendly, Frog! And it's just the right size for me, as I don't need to pick up every bloody harlot on the side of the road." The Englishman snapped in return, catching the phone.

He was just about to dial the nearest car shop when an alert flashed across the screen.

Message from Alfred Jones

Ignore or Open?

Alfred? Why would he be messaging France…? He knew he had no business in the affairs of his little brother and his rival, he couldn't help but be curious. Glancing at the Frenchman to be sure he wasn't looking, Arthur opened the text.

Lol, np Frenchie! Messing with Artie's car was easy. Take some nekkid pics of him 4 me! :D Lmao!

It took the old fashioned Brit a few moments to decipher the lingo.

He suddenly glared over at the Frenchman, absolute fury filling him up as his rival cast him a confused look.

"Well? Aren't you going t-"

"YOU BASTARD!"

Francis soon realized that it was very, very hard to drive while someone was choking you.

oOo

OoO

oOo

OoO

First off, apologies/excuses: Sorry this is a week (and a day) late… Last week, a girl named Irene stormed good old VA and my power was out for a while. That, and I was busy the rest of the time spending time with friends I haven't seen in a while.

Second is general news: I head back to school tomorrow. I don't think this should mess with updates too much, because I usually update on Sundays, so… Just a warning, I guess.

Third is thoughts about the chapter: Yeah, this was a lot harder than I thought it would be… Not because I had to make up Liam, but because the strip scene was very annoying to write… The ending's a bit rushed too, sorry about that. If you get that I based Liam's accent off of the Wee Free Men from the Terry Pratchett novels, you win.

I do not own Hetalia or any trademarked thing mentioned.