Hello there. As much as I dislike writing smut, I enjoy when Arthur tops and sadly, there aren't too many fics with that. I know there are other people who like it as well so I decided to do something about it. The plot? Well, they fight before sex, they fight during sex, and they fight after sex.

"Anyone can be passionate but it takes real lovers to be silly" -Rose Franken

It always began early. As soon as they saw each other, it was on.

And it was always ruthless, that teasing, no matter which one was teasing and which one was being teased; they didn't have rules, and even if they had, they wouldn't have followed them. It wasn't just about teasing, annoying the other, or trying to push them to the edge of insanity; it was a war. A brutal, cruel, heartless war with no mercy that both were determined to win, no matter the price.

Today, Arthur made the move.

Instead of the usual cold death glare he specially used on Francis only, he spiced it up a little; a miniscule wink that would have gone unnoticed by any other than the Frenchman. But Francis noticed it; he always did. For a moment, his heart stopped beating, not only because he knew what was coming. Arthur was pissed today. Of course, the Briton was always, how you say, like he had a stick up his arse, irritated to the extreme and very easy to make explode and throw insults to others (saving the girls, Arthur claimed he was a gentleman). But today, he's step was so forceful you could hear him coming long before you could see him, and when he saw Gilbert he had instantly called him "a narcisistic shitbrain" and not even given the so-called Prussian a chance to say hello (in his own, less-friendly way). Pissed, yes. Definently pissed.

And that couldn't end well.

Correction: it couldn't end well for Francis' arse.

And a few unlucky students who got in their way.

First class was history; Francis had no idea what they were discussing there. Arthur who sat infront of him was too damn distracting. The Brit, that little shit, pretended to be tired and was stretching as he yawned, arching his back and subtly glancing over his shoulder as he did so, giving such looks to Francis that could've turned him, or rather his lower brain into a fucking stone statue; Arthur's eyes were verbal, so verbal, and the words they said were dirtier than anything the Brit could ever have said. The slightest hint of a smirk made matters only worse. It was like Arthur was telling him that he was going to win today and Francis would have to accept it or cry and accept it.

Of course, in these situations the only defense he had was to ignore Arthur. Because there was no way in hell Francis would give up that easily. He would not let himself fall in front of Arthur.

Sadly, this only encouraged the Brit more.

Next lesson, biology. This time Arthur was seated on the other side of the class, but that didn't mean he couldn't be a huge fucking shitheaded tease. As the rest of the class focused on what the teacher was saying, Francis's gaze drifted to see the wonderful, tortorous show Arthur put up for him. Not one person it the whole universe could have looked to innocent yet so devilish at the same time; a simple pen he had with him every day turned into an erotic weapon just to drive Francis crazy. Arthur played with the pen, sending Francis dirty looks, rubbing his thumb up and down with a smug smirk. Francis knew he shouldn't look at Arthur; it was a partial victory already. But how could he not when the usually prude Brit was toying with him like that?

Like that was not enough, Arthur put the pen casually between his lips. To any other student, it would've looked like a normal thing to do and they would propably assume Arthur was just lost in his thoughts and brush it of casually, but Arthur wasn't telling them things with his eyes. Francis felt his mouth go dry when a pink tongue appeared and licked the tip of the pen; he quicky fixated his eyes on the board and pretended Arthur wasn't there.

Arthur smirked in triumph.

Maths was the absolute worst. Arthur was seated next to him, in the fucking backrow in the dimmest corner (Thanks to Gilbert and his shoe, he had broken the lamp and it hadn't been changed). That prat began with a few insults, only to be given the same treatment from Francis' side, but before things could really heat up the teacher interrupted them. For a moment, everyone focused on the teaching; but only for a moment. Francis soon felt Arthur's foot brush against his ankle. He glanced over to the Brit, only to meet innocent, green eyes.

"May I ask what you think you are doing?" Francis whispered. Arthur chuckled.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"I'd like to hear it from your mouth, rosbif."

Arthur smiled, and leaned slightly towards Francis.

"I'm going to end you up with a hard-on", he murmured, and for a moment Francis stopped breathing; Arthur wasn't this bold usually. The Brit refrained from this kind of language in class always! It was Francis' department to talk like that.

But, when he looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to them, he found Feliciano infront; sleeping, and Ludwig next to the Italian, focusing on the teacher's sayings so hard he couldn't notice anything. The desk next to theirs was empty; there was no way in hell someone could have heard Arthur.

The Brit knew how to play this game.

"I don't think that is going to happen; as we all know, that would require me enjoying your moves, and I don't, rosbif", Francis answered, narrowing his eyes. Arthur responded to this with an evil smirk (and Francis swore he could see Satan himself in him).

"I see I just have to use raw force."

Before Francis could register what was happening, Arthur's hand was on his thigh, massaging the muscle. His eyes widened. Who was this person and what had he done to Arthur Kirkland? Never had Arthur done this before; usually when he teased Francis, he did it from far and with a shower of insults. Now he was bold, devilish and down-right sexy...

Actually, it reminded Francis of himself.

And suddenly he realised what Arthur was doing; giving him a taste of his own methods, showing him how people felt about his moves, using Francis's own work against himself.

For some reason, it was utterly sexy.

Someone had mentioned Francis had a narcisistic trait.

Oh wait, it was Arthur.

Arthur's hand dipped down to his inner thigh for a second, and Francis blushed (very uncharacteristic from him).

"You demon", he hissed. Arthur laughed under his breath.

"It's a revenge", Arthur whispered, and leaned closer. Their breath's mingled, and Francis knew it instantly; he was going to lose this battle.

And he had to wonder, why hadn't anyone noticed what was going on between them?

Arthur retreated, but not entirely. He licked his lips, and drew tantalizing patters on Francis' thigh, and then, like it was the most natural thing on Earth, placed his hand over the Frenchman's crotch, and lightly rubbed it. Francis' breath hitched.

"Want to take back your words from before, Frog?"

And for a moment, he wanted to say yes, to avoid the cruel fate of his own methods working against him, to avoid the humiliation infront of Arthur, but he couldn't bring himself to it; there was no way the humiliation would outshine the pleasure Arthur was going to give to him, and he managed to smirk.

"Non. Do what you can, mon anglais."

And that was how the worst and the best mathematics class of his life rolled. Arthur returned to his side of the desk, but he didn't stop; instead, he pretended he was working with his algebra assigment, just like everyone else in the class, but under the desk, hidden from the curious eyes, his foot was rubbing up and down Francis' thigh. Sometimes he nudged Francis' knee with his own, sometimes twined their ankles together; and for a moment, Francis wondered why Arthur used such fluff attacks. It didn't last too long though; "accidentally", Arthur dropped his pen under the desk, and crouched down to get it back. With the safe of the desk, he suddenly ran his hand up along Francis' leg, stopping dangerously close to his vital regions; and the innocent face he put on was plain torture. A squeeze, and Francis was ready to murder the Brit.

Arthur sat back on his chair, but this time his foot wasn't next to Francis'. As casually as ever, he placed it on the Frenchman's crotch, and gently pressed down. Francis managed not to gasp, but he could feel heat pooling down his stomach.

Arthur was a sick twisted bastard that deserved to burn in hell.

Not because of the teasing. Francis quite enjoyed this; it was because what happened afterwards. Tomorrow Arthur would be the same, groggy, annoyed, short-tempered prude he was most of the time.

A sick twisted bastard.

The bell finally rang; other students rushed out of the classroom towards cafeteria, teacher among them. They were left alone. Arthur smiled, a sweet, innocent smug grin on his face.

"You are a fucking shitheaded tease that should be castrated", Francis snarled. Arthur licked his bottom lip.

"Well, that might be a huge disadvantage to you, am I right, Francis?"

The Frenchman answered by smashing their lips together. Arthur yelped at the sudden action, but soon wrapped his arms aroung Francis' neck. The Briton sucked Francis' lower lip, and that made him groan softly. Arthur pulled away.

"You", he panted, "are wearing too much at the moment."

With that said, Arthur's hand was at the buckle of Francis' belt, and soon the thing was on the floor, and Francis chuckled.

"Well, your situation isn't much better-"

"Shut up, Frog. Get on the desk. On your back. Now."

With a scowl, Francis did what was told, and Arthur straddled him, sucking his neck softly. Francis' hands were wandering down towards Arthur's bottom, drawing painful circles as the progressed, and reaching their destination, squeezing softly. The Brit groaned, and bit the Frenchman's neck.

"Are you going to leave a mark?" Francis asked.

"Not this time", Arthur muttered against the flesh, planting soft kisses on Francis' skin. The Frenchman's other hand found it's way under Arthur's shirt, examining every bit it could of the milky pale skin. Much to Francis' dismay, Arthur retreated, a grumpy look on his face.

"Take your trousers off", he ordered him. Francis scowled, but did it nonetheless, tossing them on the floor. Arthur rubbed him through his boxers, making Francis moan. Arthur chuckled.

"You're such a whore. I wonder why I even bother to do this with you", he muttered, planting a kiss on Francis' inner thigh.

"Because you can't get anyone else and you wouldn't want to screw anyone but me, non?"

"Sod off."

Arthur removed Francis' boxers, and was greeted by a half-hard cock. He furrowed his brows. "This is an insult. I expected you to be on the edge by now"

"Maybe you're losing your touch", Francis suggested, a nasty tone in his voice. Arthur grabbed Francis' cock, giving it a few strokes.

"I will never lose my touch."

Francis groaned, bucking his hips to Arthur's touch. The Brit continued to stroke him, simultaneously opening his zipper to free his fly. Looking at Francis, panting, gasping on the desk, was a lovely sight; he knew the Frenchman put a little act in it, too, but that was his problem, nor Arthur's. It was a nice show, nice enough to make him hard (Arthur had kinks. Francis knew well what they were and he was eager to go with them, partially because he wanted to please Arthur and partially because he was a prick that wanted Arthur to suffer and what better way was to do that than get Arthur addicted to him?).

"Arthuur", Francis hissed, "condom and lube. In the pocket of my trousers."

The Brit fetched them, simultaneosly stripping his trousers and carefully putting the condom on, then ripping open the packet of lube and warming it up between his hands. Francis panted, fighting not to get too impatient because then Arthur would be cross and be too rough and Francis wanted to be able to sit the following week. He didn't have to wait long; soon he felt Arthur's finger probing at his entrance, massaging his ring. He gasped, grinning slightly.

"Your fingers are so crooked and boney", he muttered. Arthur shot him a glare. "Shut up or I will leave you like this."

The finger slipped in, crooking, making room for the second one. Francis hissed at the feeling, mumbling something about Arthur being too slow. The Brit took a notice and added the second finger, beginning to scissor the Frenchman. A moan escaped from his lips, making Arthur smile cockily. "You're such a whore."

"Takes one -ah- to know one", Francis responded, bucking against the touch. He felt empty, the fingers were far from enough. "Hurry up, will you", he whined, making Arthur roll his eyes. "Do you want to limp?"

"It hasn't been long since last time, I can handle it."

"Whatever", Arthur said and removed the fingers. He stroked himself a few times before settling at Francis' hole. The Frenchman sighed, and nodded, and Arthur pushed in. Francis' muscles clenched around his shaft and he let out an appreciative moan.

"You should see your face. You look stupid", Francis panted, and Arthur stuck his tongue out. "Shut up, you loose slut."

"If you had some self-control I wouldn't be a loose slut."

"Oh, which one of us is the one who is lacking self-control?"

"Whatever. Move", Francis ordered the Brit, who rolled his eyes. Arthur pulled out almost completely and then thrusted in, repeating the move in order to find a pleasurable rythm for both of them. When he hit Francis' prostate the blonde moaned loudly and chanted some French profanities. Arthur smirked, and aiming against that same spot he thrusted back in time after time until he couldn't even understand what Francis was trying to say apart from a breathy "Arthur". The Frenchman was close, he knew that, and the muscles around his cock worked on him, bringing him closer to the edge every second. Determined to not come first, he grabbed Francis' erection and pumped while fucking the writhing blonde on the desk.

"Arthur", Francis gasped, "you-"

"Shut up and come, frog."

The Frenchman tried to throw an insult back, but the pleasure was too overwhelming and it came out as gibberish when Arthur worked on him, finally driving Francis over the edge as he came in Arthur's hand. Not too long and Arthur finished too, Francis' muscles milking him through his orgasm. Both of the panting, Francis reached for a one last sloppy kiss, biting Arthur's lower lip lazily. The Brit frowned, yet returned the kiss with equal favour. For Francis' dismay Arthur broke the kiss too soon and pulled out, absent-mindedly looking for his trousers.

"I'm disappointed. You didn't last for long today", Francis spat, earning a mocking laugh from Arthur. "Oh really? Which one of us did climax first?"

"Which one of us had teased the other for hours before this, again?"

Arthur answered by sticking his tongue out before peeling off the condom and tossing it to the bin. Francis ran his hand through his hair, as if to check every strand was still there, and stood up, reaching for this trousers and pants. His muscles were pleasantly sore, and Arthur seemed very relaxed and more smug than usual. Francis knew exactly why.

Arthur may have won a battle, but the war was still on-going. Tomorrow was his turn.