A/N: Alright, FrUK this time~ This one was considerably harder to write, I really don't know why. Probably because I didn't really know where I wanted to go with it. Originally I wanted angst so that the AusHun one wouldn't stick out, but I just couldn't make this turn out like that one. Whoops. :P

France/Fem!England- Darling, I Love You

'She doesn't need music but she dances. Alice Kirkland, the United Kingdom but more specifically England, goes through the steps of an old routine. It is from the Elizabethan era, meant for large groups but still having partners. And hers is always the man that irritates her so. He's infuriating and insufferable and oh-so charming. She'll never admit it, but she loves him.

But denied feelings don't matter and she steps closer and then back again, her hand up as though she's touching his.'

She remembered all the kisses he'd stolen over the thousands of years they'd been alive, all the times he'd snuck up behind her and played with her hair. Her hand still tingled with all the light pecks he'd left there, her waist was still on fire from his touch. She remembered when they were close, before their relationship had twisted into arguments and... hatred. But she could never hate him, she only hated herself for falling for him.

She still had the last rose he'd given her before he'd started flirting and giving them to everyone. She still could see his tortured expression in her mind from when she'd... she'd... Alice couldn't even bring herself to think it.

All of the awful things she had done, they were all because he didn't, couldn't, love her. She missed sitting beside him in a grassy field for hours, a comfortable silence setting in. Then she had believed he felt something for her. But then things changed. She came along after their relationship was already broken, but she hadn't helped to mend it. Maybe Alice had acted out of jealousy‒ craving the adoring looks he gave that- that human. Looks he'd never give her.

'Bonjour, ma chérie~' He was such a damn flirt. Always coming on to anything that moved. Lord knows how many people he'd had in his bed. It would probably be quicker to count those who he hadn't.

"Thinking about me, Angleterre?"

She glared at him, her bushy eyebrows furrowing. Anyone else would've run for their lives, but he wasn't just anybody.

"No, you bloody frog. What do you want?" she spat at him.

"Can't I just visit you, ma chérie?"

"No. You can't."

He stepped in front of her and placed a (filthy) hand on her hip and one on her lower back, pulling her closer to him. She fought to stay away, but he was bigger and stronger than she was.

"Get the hell off me, frog!"

"Non. I like this position."

He pressed her against himself, much to her aggravation, and began lowering his hand...

"You goddamn pervert!"

She slapped him, hard, but he didn't let go of her.

"That hurts, ma cher. Kiss it better?"

"No."

France paid her no mind, leaning in and stealing a kiss for himself. He pulled away and jumped back before she could slap him again. Her face was red with rage (and possibly something else‒ was it just her or was it getting hotter?).

"Go sleep with some whore and leave me alone, frog," Alice huffed.

"Mais I don't want some common whore, chérie. Je te veux."

England, having learned French after getting sick of the endless frustration of never know what he said, shivered involuntarily. Francis approached her again, wrapping his arms around her slender waist from behind. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his hot breath making her stifle a small moan.

"G-get off-"

"You know that's not what you want, Angleterre."

"How would you-"

"I know you, chérie. You think that, after thousands of years, anyone could know you better than I?"

"You're so-"

"Shh..."

He placed a tender kiss on her collarbone, and then one on the top of her head. He let go and stepped back, holding out a single rose. She turned around and glared, but his expression stayed somber.

"Je t'aime, Alice."

She took the rose questioningly, opening her mouth to retort. But he was gone before she could, smiling in a way that made her know that he had meant it.

"I love you too, you bloody frog."