Oh dear, I have never had this feeling before. I'm actually falling for France and Prussia as I'm writing them... :3

Francis was sitting in a little village pub on Prussian territory with his two other bad friends, Antonio and Gilbert. The other two were conversing, but not about wine, roses, nor women. So, Francis hadn't bothered to join in for the past half hour. He had already finished a couple of tasteless German drinks, and he was done for the day. Alcohol sallowed one's complexion, or so he had heard.

After Tony's ultimate confession that he did indeed lust after little boys, and numerous rounds of Gil's obnoxious, headache-inducing laughter that ensued, Francis wondered why he had bothered to become friends with these damn wankers in the first place. Sure, they had a lot of fun together a few years back, but nowadays, not so much. The dust had settled, and everything in his life had become fixed into one mechanical, perpetuating routine- wine, roses, and women.

How troublesome.

Francis sighed, and took a sip of his wine. Resting his head gently upon his propped elbow, he cared to roll his eyes down the body of the person sitting next to him, which happened to be Gilbert.

Gilbert was a warrior. He smelt of bloodshed, wrought iron, and sweat. His bracing, stone-cut demeanor even intimidated Francis at times. He had a hawkish, almost maniacal glare, even when he was at the bar with his friends. Must he go about life with such intensity?

Now, Gilbert was gazing into the amber liquid in his shotglass, as his blood-red eyes narrowed like those of a predator. He raised it to his lips, threw his head back, and poured it down, letting small rivulets run down his chin. Shivering a bit from the bitterness on his tongue, he finally caught Francis staring.

"What?" He grunted.

Francis shrugged and looked away, pretending to lose interest, and Gilbert eventually went back to talking with Antonio.

Francis had seen the numerous scars that littered the albino man's chest and back, but the thought of getting close enough to count them one by one, excited him. Though, he couldn't help but wonder why Gilbert always kept his head of sun-bleached hair so messy, like it was begging for Francis to comb his fingers down his scalp. However, he wouldn't get to do that today, or ever. Gilbert could hold his liquor better than anyone, and would probably would punch him, or call him a sinner.

Gilbert didn't hate women as much as he pretended to, and Francis knew that.

"Tony, you hear that a wench got to be Austria's empress?"

"Yeah, I heard," Antonio replied, "Kinda weird, huh? A woman got that throne, after so many people wanted it."

"Women don't belong in politics," Gilbert scoffed, "Like they don't belong on the battlefield..." With that thought, he slammed his empty shot glass onto the table, barking at the bartender to fill it again.

Antonio frowned a bit at his rude comment. "Well, I suppose Liz lives with Roddy now, so she probably won't hang out with us again. What do you think of that, Gil?"

He chortled cynically. "I don't fucking care anymore, she can do whatever the hell she wants," he replied, as if trying to convince himself of the fact.

Antonio had already learned, the hard way, when to keep his mouth shut around Gilbert. He chose not to say anything back, and let the other man continue.

"What's is so good about him anyways?" Gilbert growled, suddenly throwing his arms into the air. "The only reason why that bitch is with him is because he is rich! I swear, that is the only reason."

Antonio shrugged neutrally.

Gilbert took another shot, and swallowed sourly.

A few seconds later, Antonio dared to ask, "Well, what do you think you're going to do now, Gil?"

He grunted. "Fuck all."

For some reason, Antonio didn't believe him.

"Yo, Francis!"

Francis was riding on a cloud, somewhere in Neverland.

"Francis!" Gilbert shook his shoulders, but received no response. Francis was staring at nothing in particular, smiling gleefully.

Gilbert growled and punched him in the arm.

Francis turned and gave a lazy nod, apparently not feeling any pain at all. "What is it, Gilbert?" He asked calmly.

"So, whaddya say? Wanna stir up some shit?" Gilbert tried again, flashing his trademark smirk.

"...Pardon me?"

Gilbert wondered what had gotten into Francis these past few years. Yes, he had always been the one in the trio who was afraid to break a nail. But nowadays, it seemed like he was a whole different person. He had gone even softer, too soft for Gilbert's liking.

"Goddamnit, France. Get yourself together!" He hollered, giving his friend a rough push, "Spain and I are gonna invade Austria. You joining us or not?"

France didn't see why not. It was about time the group got back together to sweep some trouble across Europe. Besides, was there a better way to spend their time?

"Of course."

Prussia nodded, satisfied, and gave him two pats on the shoulder. "Good man."

Francis bared his knuckle and gave the door three smart knocks.

The door swung open to reveal Arthur, at whom Francis gave his best Parisian smile. "May I come in?" He asked, raising a seductive eyebrow.

"No." Arthur replied curtly. There was no need for false courtesy, seeing that his guest was Francis, of all people.

"But I brought you roses!" He added hopefully, shoving the bouquet under his chin, which Arthur swat onto the ground. Grinning at Francis, he picked the bouquet up.

"You didn't give them to me. You misplaced them, and I found them."

Having gotten the last word, Arthur stepped aside and opened his door, ushering Francis into his home. He shut it with a click, and clapped his hands twice. His valet walked briskly into his sight, and Arthur ordered him to brew some tea. Extra dark, with no milk and sugar.

Francis set his cane aside and took a seat on the sofa, carefully straightening the tail of light blue his coat as he did. Arthur slipped the flowers into a vase, and walked over to sit in front of him.

They stared at each other in silence as they waited for their refreshments to arrive. Francis personally found it amusing how Arthur still attempted to look presentable, despite his unshaven jaw line and the five o' clock shadow lurking beneath his eyes. He must had had a rough night. No, many rough nights, ever since he brought Alfred back to England to meet their boss. Alfred didn't exactly inherit all of Arthur's best traits, if there were such a thing. He must had caused a lot of trouble within the court, and embarrassed Arthur beyond forgiveness...

The valet re-emerged with a silver tray containing a steaming pot of tea, pieces of china, and some scones. Arthur thanked him, and the man left at his behest.

Seeing that no one else was within earshot, Arthur pouted and grumbled, "What do you want now?"

"I have a proposition, my good friend!" Francis declared proudly, clapping his hands together.

Arthur crossed his legs and folded his arms, waiting to be amused.

"Well," he continued, "Since there hasn't been much happening on the continent for many years, Prussia, Spain and I decided to have some fun."

Arthur grimaced upon hearing of those wretched friends of his. Oh, so that's why Francis hadn't gotten the time to visit him, and he was left alone for all this time, stranded on this desolate little island.

"So, I do believe that you have heard of the troubles in the House of Hapsburg, ever since the empress' rise to the throne?"

Arthur nodded. He had heard his boss speaking of that a few days ago.

"Well, we thought it would be a perfect conversation starter for our swords." Francis continued in a weather-like tone, "Since, as you know, Roderich needs to be roughened up a bit. So, since we are nice people, we're going to... help him." He winked, at which Arthur bristled with insult. "Besides, Roderich has a lot of fertile land... Full of-"

Arthur cut in with a chuckle.

"Of course I'll fight against you, Francis," he replied, endearingly and sarcastically, "All you had to do was ask..."

Arthur reached over to give Francis a pat on the knee, and let his hand linger upon his lap for a little longer.

And, during that single moment, Arthur's face actually looked... lovely, and not like if he had a chronic migraine with a sore foot. His gaze softened, and his eyebrows finally relaxed, though Francis still thought they could use some grooming. Arthur was sitting next to him now, so close that his distinct, funny scent was beginning to poke into Francis' nostrils— bergamot cologne that he had bought him for his birthday, mixed with the scent of the burnt scones he had prepared this morning... Of course, Francis would not expect this precious moment to last forever. Most precious things didn't, and that was a universal fact.

So, Francis figured that he might as well ruin it, so he wouldn't have to end up the victim. Taking a deep breath, he let the lie, "I hate you," slip from his tongue.

"I hate you too." Arthur whispered, inching closer and closer to the lips of the other man.

A few seconds later, Francis found himself rolling on the ground in pain, as he clutched whatever was between his legs, into which Arthur had driven a hard fist.

"Don't play me for a fool, France." He sneered, thrusting his boot into the other's stomach one last time before walking off to make dinner.

Aww, poor guy... xD Getting beat up by everyone.

Notes:

- The Austrian Succession (1740-1748) happened after empress Maria Theresa's ascension onto the throne. France and Prussia didn't like the new ruler was a "she", and challenged her place, though it was more of an attempt to piss off Austria than anything.

- The British allied with Austria, just to piss off the French.