Right, sorry for taking a while to reply again! But, I hope I have made up for this – because here, m'dears, is one huge update.

Don't have much to comment on right now, so I'll let you get on!

If you find any mistakes, then blame it on the fact that I am shattered (it's only half seven o'clock, what the hell?) and the fact that this is self-beta'd. My girlfriend does it normally, but she doesn't follow the story, orz. I don't want to jab her into it... poor girl is busy enough... (Love you, by the way).

Also... from the very beginning, this fic has been both USUK and FrUK. I will be glorifying and criticising both, so please if you want to bring up a debate about how you were astonished there was FrUK in here too, then I will personally flog you :P. As if the prequel to this was not a warning to that...


The first instinctive thing that Arthur did was to grip at the wall, still breathing huskily from his euphoric high - though now, his blood was curdling for a very different reason. His fingers slowly clenched, scrapping the nails against the bathroom tiles as his body and mind both struggled to find their bearings. Behind him, the man nuzzled at his neck; giving short, teasing bites to the exposed flesh available to him. Had he been questioned, Arthur would have had no answer to why he did not shove Francis away from the get-go. His head must have been foggy from the steam and the recently quenched arousal, though now a very different sort of urgency was rushing through him.

"Francis-What are you...?" Arthur let the sound finally beat out from his throat, question in his mind finally becoming aired after what must have been two or three minutes of silence. He quivered forwards a few inches, pressed against the tiled wall, as Francis's goatee tickled the roughly sensitive skin at his neck. Eyes squeezed close in confusion and denial, he stayed still and hoped that the other would let go of his body soon.

"I want to talk to you." Francis told him, honestly, chuckling slightly at Arthur's conduct. The Englishman squirmed, trying to buck himself away from the hand squeezing his bottom without guilt. "Although, I was not expecting to see such a lovely display. Who exactly were you thinking about, mon petit lapin?"

Arthur yelped as the Frenchman's hand went too far for him to ignore; fingertips actually managing to dip into the beginning of the cleft, before he jumped forwards and whipped his arm around to smack the blasted Frenchie with all the strength he could muster - which, when your legs felt like jelly, was much less than the Briton would usually give.

"W-What the hell do you think you are doing?" Arthur shouted at him, and Francis quickly responded with actions. When his wrist was grabbed by the Frenchman, his green orbs opened wide. Startled, he tried to pull back, tugging against the grip and frantically backing away - although the still running shower water made the bath slippery enough to lubricate his feet into losing their balance. He fell backwards, falling out of the side of the bath through the shower curtain; legs spread eagle hanging while his back and head hit the floor with a bang. The Brit groaned loudly, and he would have nursed where he had bumped himself - had he not been watched.

Francis smirked, getting rather a good eyeful of the Briton's body as he peered over the side of the bath down at him and his fully naked and available form. His long, distinct fingers brushed against the bottom of Arthur's foot, and the Brit immediately snatched them away protectively. The concentrated blush on his face could not have been missed - fuelled by his earlier orgasm and the embarrassment holding him now.

"Mm. You know, Angleterre, you do not half give me a fantastic view." He told Arthur appreciatively, blue eyes raking over the Englishman's rather bare torso. Arthur responded quickly by squeezing his legs up to his chest to protect his vitals' dignity, while his hands snapped up to obscure his alluringly pink nipples. A slightly feminine display on that respect, but anything to rip Francis's eyes off of important bodily bits - not that nipples were important to him - was a good thing.

"Leave off it!" The Briton shouted, glaring up at the Frenchman with practically the intent to kill. However, within seconds his glance had softened - purely because of the sight he found before him. Arthur swallowed thickly, realising that Francis had snuck into the shower with all of his clothes on. So much for being an exhibitionist - but then, Arthur did not need to leave things to his imagination.

The white shirt was very well chosen, in Arthur's private opinion; clinging tightly to Francis's skin with crinkles in only the most abundant of places. He could see the lines of muscular structure dangerously clearly - dangerous, because dear Lord the Frenchman's figure was dynamite - and especially the soft peach skin tone was portrayed perfectly. As for Francis's jeans... well, it would be an understatement to say that Arthur could see why women liked him so much. That said, the tightness at the Frenchman's crotch area could be attributed to other things rather than just the wet nature of the shower water.

Coming to think of the shower, and Francis's presence, Arthur snapped a glance over at the doorway. How exactly was he here? There was no disturbance of the lock at all, and he stared at it with dubious suspicion. As far as Arthur could see, the damned thing was still locked. Apart from the opened cupboards surrounded by bottles strewn about from last night that Arthur still refused to clear up, the Briton saw no way for the Frenchman to come in. The theory that he came in from some estranged route that Arthur did not know, at least in that respect, was quickly ignored. The final option was the window, but, from the bath/shower the beginning of the window was in perfect view, along with the blind over it to protect his bollock-naked figure from the peeping outside world. It had not been disturbed, as far as Arthur could see.

"That... That makes no sense." Arthur said, verbally adding his thoughts. The Frenchman quirked his eyebrow, though smiled as if he knew exactly what Arthur was referring to regardless.

"Whatever does not make sense, mm?" He prompted, amused and interested. While Arthur shifted to his feet and shot over to the towel rack to cover himself, the Frenchman expressed a slight sigh of disappointment and turned the shower off at the dials attached to the bath.

Wrapping a rather intriguing yellow and fluffy bath towel around his entire figure - including his chest; you could never be too safe when a frog was around, Arthur reminded himself. Despite this, his provocative legs were still more or less on show, where the fabric ran out. That was a bother.Heck! If he could, Arthur would have worn an entire burqa of chastity to keep from Francis's prying eyes.

Arthur went to the lock and rattled it just in case, trying to figure out whatever the meaning of this was. It looked undisturbed, or so his eyes told him. Surely if the lock was picked, then there was supposed to be a dent at the very least? Many nations would confirm that Francis was good with his hands - oh yes - but Arthur did not attribute him to be a lock picker extraordinaire.

When Francis finally opened his mouth, Arthur turned around - wet hair flicking water about - and asked him the 'million-pound-question'. "How, in the name of all that is both Holy and hideously wrong with the world; did you get inside this room?" Arthur growled at him. "Do you watch Jonathan Creek in your spare time or something? Might I remind that that is a investigational drama - not resource for ideas!"

The Frenchman scoffed and climbed out of the bath, making his way towards Arthur. Straight away, Arthur picked up one of the bottles from the floor and chucked it in the other blond's direction, 'self-protective intent'. Francis dodged, the shampoo practically exploded on the wall behind, shooting his hands up defensively in the universal gesture of peace. Arthur growled in annoyance. Could he not do the decent thing and take his comeuppance?

"See! See what you did? Now do not come a single step closer!" Arthur grumbled at him, pointing drastically at the sticky shampoo mess. Francis halted as commanded, and opened his mouth to speak about how he was not the one that threw the bottle. But, the Englishman classically and hastily interjected to cut him off. "What are you doing here?"

A hefty sigh followed from Francis, of whom deflated his shoulders and rubbed at his forehead. "Mon dieu... Do I really have to spell it out for you? It is not that difficult to figure out." He begun, stating it in monotone, like he had been asked the same question many times before in his life, or found it so elementary. Fuck, Arthur would not have been surprised about that. "...A lot of bathrooms - including this one - have a safety lock, which allows people to open the door from the outside in case of emergency without breaking it down. I merely turned it, and here we are. Do you want me to go through the exact procedure, or would that explanation suffice, Arthur? ...Oh, and do not worry. I doubt that Alfred would be able to figure out that little trick."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and picked up another bottle, arching his arm back to threaten throwing the second while his other hand struggled to hold the towel closed. He could not believe he missed such an obvious explanation; but his thoughts had already strayed elsewhere, to more important matters. "Yes, yes - thank you for that very helpful enlightenment. Now allow me to push the question first and foremost on my mind."

Francis let a small smirk form on his lips.

"First, you come into my house - God knows how - and do what I am only inclined to say was 'rape' me. Yes, rape, because by jove! I would not sleep with either you or Alfred if I was not in some way forced! Second, you linger here without reason. And thirdly, you come into my bathroom while I shower, you sneak up on me and start touching me, and now you have the sheer audacity to act like not a single fucking thing is wrong!" Arthur scathed at him, throwing his hands in the air with both aggravation and upset. "So, tell me, Francis. What the hell are you doing here?"

The Frenchman allowed his so far bemused expression drop - finally something got him to break that hideous smile of his, Arthur internally exclaimed - and he watched the corresponding nation with a look that could not truly be placed. That was the annoying thing about Francis; you could never quite figure out what he was thinking. Even if he gave a clue for one thing, it would probably be the other. Unpredictability must have been his middle name.

It was a problem that a lot of younger nations did not seem to grasp; how easy was it for someone with his sexual stimulus to be confused with pure, unthinking genophilia? All the others seemed to think that Francis was just a perverted ambassador, someone who just wanted to sleep with everyone almost mindlessly and be done with it - and Heavens, Arthur did his best to promote that image, if not just to annoy the Frenchman in front of him. Honestly, most of that was just for vengeance. But, unlike the others, Arthur saw something.

There was a reason that Arthur found himself falling in love with Francis, alongside the realistic infatuation that the Englishman found for Alfred. As much as the two of them had been known to hate each other for many, many years, the Brit and the Frog had harboured a secretive yet mutual respect for one another. Maybe it could go one step further than that. A 'fascination' if you will. They conquered one another, fought with and against one another - and even now, their relations were a source of constant yet sarcastic debate. Much as the British joked about the French - their frogs legs, baguettes, twirly moustaches and cheese, with a tendency to being 'surrender-monkeys' - and the French joked about the British; it could not be denied that they took notice of each other. They recognised the other's potential, and in a way admired it.

To him, Francis was the most complex minds he had ever had the pleasure, or displeasure, to have met. Unpredictable, sometimes unreliable and irrational - but Lord, if he was dedicated to a cause, then he would fight for it. If he and his people were dying, he would hold on and linger for his dear life. France, as a nation, was intimately whole. That never ceased to amaze him. Arthur, bless his soul, could not resist the heart of a man determined to have a resolve for life even if there was no reason for living. Truthfully, in that way, he and Francis were like two peas in a pod.

"In answer to your question; I am here, Arthur, because there is something that I wish to fight for." Francis replied stoically, and inside the Englishman's chest there is life. His heart aches at the sentiment, enthused to hear justification to what he knew all along - Francis would battle for dear life. Though there was anger in him, and perhaps for the intrusion it would certainly remain for quite a long time, the Brit had quite instantly found his harmful words swallowed in his throat.

"...Francis..." Arthur finds himself speaking without thought, but a small smile from the other blond nation makes his lips seal once more. The smile itself felt detached - as if Francis was only showing it out of internal obligation. He only became aware that the Frenchman had moved forwards when the nation was backed up against the porcelain sink behind him; Francis barely a few inches in front. The Frenchman reached forwards and cupped his cheek, and Arthur was immediately aware of just how hot his face felt in comparison. An entirely sensible part of him was shouting that he should slap away that hand as soon as it touched him. But, for some reason he would not be able to explain, he did not.

They lingered there for a moment, with their unusual intimacy, as Francis rubbed his thumb along the jut of the Briton's cheekbone.

"It is not a sin for a person to want to act on their desires - or at least, when their true desires are something pure." He continued, while Arthur was uncharacteristically all-ears. Within himself, he blamed the conduct by which Francis was taking to be the reason why he faltered now. "Alike Alfred; I, too, have loved you."

Arthur tried to shake his head, and immediately the most resounding word in his head became voiced. "No. Look, that cannot..."

"There you are again, denying things that are just too obvious." Francis said, with a soft and sullen laugh. It takes Arthur's breath away. How, on Earth, could the Frenchman hold himself so neatly while uttering these things - when both Arthur and Alfred had previously waned?

Unlike with Alfred, Arthur had no basis to call bluff. It was so easy to accuse a man that had left him once in their lives to do so again. The 'trust' card was an easy card for him to play, and it worked so well in unison with Arthur's own insecurities. For Francis, however, he could not immediately deny it. Because whatever the Englishman brought up, it could be countered with his own feelings; say he told Francis that the man would not be in love with him because the two of them were enemies - Francis could very well reply asking why it was possible that Arthur felt that way, and Francis was not allowed to feel the same. It was an impossible puzzle to crack.

"What about Alfred?" Arthur said quietly, and Francis withdrew his offending hand. It was clear on the French nation's face that he had once again anticipated the question, but this time he greeted it with more enthusiasm.

"That boy is young and naive, and short-sighted at the very best of times. But, despite being childish he does have qualities that are very hard to ignore and forget. From the beginning, ever since his little eyes set sight on us, he has always been true. Annoying and blunt, or as charming as that may be." He replied, while Arthur found himself hanging onto every word. "He knows exactly what he wants, Arthur. Which is exactly why I gave him the opportunity to have you. When he came to me for help to capture your heart, there was... there was just no way that I could turn him away."

The air is filled with a pregnant pause, and the Englishman's eyes immediately flock to the door; regretting leaving the American so suddenly. Especially without voicing his own opinion, and the feeling of adoration he harboured for that bright, young spark. His chin was suddenly seized and manoeuvred so his vision settled on Francis, and Francis alone. The other let go of his jaw, only to slide the hand away to settle against his hip. Instinctively, Arthur backed up again only to be reminded of the proximity of the sink now pinning him against that wet shirt and chest.

"Because, mon amour, in that way - he is just like me. He is pure. Likewise, I know precisely what I wish to have; and I will do all I can to make you accept that fact, Arthur. We both know that you love me too. I will not allow you to revoke that privileged happiness of mine."

"This is not making any sense..." Arthur complained. "Why are you doing this now?"

"Is that not obvious?" Francis replied, tilting his head to the side in a way that seemed a little childish and vulgar to a grown man, but it did indeed tug of Arthur's heartstrings as intended. "Until last night, for Alfred and I, our infatuation for you was just an impossible dream. There was no evidence that you would want to have either of us at all - although, instinctively I suppose I have always known. But; would you act on a loving impulse, if you had no idea if the other side felt the same? You are no risk strategist, mon cher. Neither am I."

Oddly enough, Arthur was flabbergasted into understanding exactly what the Frenchman was talking about. It was so annoying when he talked sense. Once again, he proved Francis's point with his own situation quite clearly. Just how long had he held feelings for the two of them? Even now, he had not said a thing to either Francis or Alfred about his insistent longing to snuggle up in either of their arms; to nestle in the warmth the other gave off, as he stroked his hand upon their chest, and they kissed his forehead with a darling sense of commitment and love surrounding. His fantasies were not solely dependent on sexual frustrations, need that fact be reminded. If anything, it was the sense of belonging that he craved the very most.

That probably was the problem with all of this; and also why Francis, along with Alfred, was so hard to trust. Alfred left him before - that concern was highly obvious and one that Arthur sincerely did not want to further address. While Francis was potentially a liability. Yes, he was not just a genophilic pervert, and Heavens he knew full well that the Frenchman could make one hell of a wondrous lover if he stayed committed to it. However, therein laid a different problem. It was strange that Arthur seemed to find himself going fervent for two people with the same damned faults. Both of those two were unpredictable with where their loyalty lied, and they both had what could only be described as 'short-term attention span'. For Alfred, it was probably because the American's head was high in the blooming clouds. But for Francis, it manifested in the form of lovers.

How many times had he heard that Francis had been with somebody else, another new person, or started a new relationship? With men and women, humans and nations, both? To Arthur, it was clear that the Frenchman was in a way impatient. He could not settle down, no matter who the person was or how they acted. Even if they were absolutely compatible in personality and taste, there always seemed to be something wrong. Not wrong with the poor person Francis left, of course. The Frenchman was always the first to compliment his ex-lovers. But, instead - and this was pure observation on Arthur's part talking - the problem laid on Francis's shoulders. He never did find what he was looking for. You would think that a person would be able to settle after about eleven hundred years of life; especially when humans thought that they can find theirs in a matter of one or two years, and it was not as if Francis did not look.

That said, Arthur was just the same.

Whatever meant that Francis would stay? He could walk away the very second that Arthur could not bring him what he wanted. Maybe, with Alfred hanging on the line as well, that was a good thing; but it was not that simple. There was the chance that Arthur could end up with Alfred but pine after Francis for the rest of his days. Nobody wanted that.

Surely the Frenchman could not be suggesting that he could not have gotten settled, because he did not have him?

"But, Arthur..." Francis must have noticed the stunned and confused pause, and very appropriately popped the bubble of tension. The Brit finally realised that he was still absolutely rigid, and that a small part of Francis's voice was wavering. It was subtle, but just enough to hear. It had been a long time since Arthur had said a thing to him, and longer since his face had been filled with anything other than pure, white shock. "...just like Alfred and myself, you must know what you want as well. Deep down, though you may object - I can tell that you desire for the two of us in a romantic sense, if not far more than physical."

Francis somehow managed to seize Arthur's hand, and the Englishman only just had the head on his shoulders to realise that it had been that way for a while. The warmth in his palm did not feel like anything new. But then, maybe the hand clutching his had only just appeared - but the connection felt like they had held it for a very, very long time. That seemed far more likely.

"Mon amour. I need you to understand this - and you, of all people, should be able to recognise that I am not lying." He added firmly. "I love you. Not because of lust or out of a desire to currently rip off that towel of yours and spread open those lovely thighs of yours - though, and I told you that I will not lie, that certainly does help. But instead, it is because... you are something special to me. I want you to be mine."

With that, Francis leant in. For a heart stopping second, Arthur was petrified that he was going for his lips, but instead the corresponding pair gave him a soft peck on the cheek. Then the other side and back again - how very French of him, Arthur inwardly commented. The Briton breathed sharply, air getting caught on nothing in his throat as silence continued to grip him. Their fingers begun to entwine; linking together and holding on tight.

"What about our history? All of the battles. The hate and the taunts and-We've always been in dispute... we-" Arthur queried, finding that he was increasingly breathless. Francis smirked, and moved until their foreheads were pressed plush against one another's. Their lips were only inches away from touching, and Arthur could feel it. It was so damned close.

"-If you can bypass that as well, Arthur, than so may I." Francis replied, cool as a cucumber in vocal tone, but inside he was almost in pieces. The only way Arthur could tell was that his fingertips were quaking ever so slightly - just like Alfred's had, but less obviously. Trust; no matter how one tried to hide inner feelings, it always became noticed in the end. It may have felt slightly uncharacteristic to even Arthur himself - but damn it all, there was a gigantic part of him that wanted this. Francis was so close - so close - and all he wanted to do was be encircled by those dripping wet arms and have his living daylights sucked out of him with kisses. Whatever was stopping him?

Perhaps one thing, and one thing only...

"...Alfred is..." Arthur asked, and Francis made a soft humming noise in immediate reply.

"The two of us want you, and it is up to you to decide who you choose in the end, mon cher." Came the belated response which Arthur expected and feared. A lump forced its way into his throat, and the Englishman found a sense of dread boil in both his chest and stomach. It looked like Francis could tell, because as soon as that happened the Frenchman's hand splayed onto his towel-clothed stomach as if attempting to quench it - to harness the dubiousness and negativity in him and discard it.

"But... we do not expect you to choose now. Neither of us would be that cruel. So fret not, mon petit lapin. We have come to the conclusion that we can accept the other's presence, for the mean time. Just, do not let us hang on for too long, non?" Francis added gently, slowly massaging the Brit's abdomen to calm his spirits. "We have been waiting for this chance for a very long time."

"You think I will be able to make an important decision like that?" Arthur mumbled, pulling back slightly, pressing right up against the sink with literally not one millimetre left between them.

"You must." Francis said, quite seriously. "Eventually, Arthur, your choice will become clear to you. Though that is a worry for another time."

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. He was not sure whether it was out of disbelief, or whether he just felt like denying it completely. To think, two brilliant things could happen in one day. But, combined together it might turn out to be a disaster. At the end of this, he would have to eventually break one of their hearts. What sort of person would find any sort of comfort in that?

This - this was driving him absolutely mental.

"How... how could you know so much about all of this? Love, or 'amour' or whatnot? You seem to know fucking everything - what the hell is your secret supposed to be? I don't... get it..." The Englishman asked abruptly, dropping his glance so it stared anywhere else other than those eyes. The deep azures bore down at him as if they were staring straight into his soul. Why did Francis always know so much? Fuck, he knew everything.

He spotted Francis's smile from the apex of his vision. It just could not have been missed. Had he ever seen Francis smile that widely before?

"I don't exactly know everything. Don't you know why I understand where everyone else is coming from, Arthur...? It's because I've been feeling this for you for hundreds of years. When I see other people suffering because of that little thing called 'love' - I have to help. It is just an obligation for me. Like Alfred's own situation, need I remind you. Because I do not want them to go through what I have. Don't you see Arthur? ...You've made me who I am by just breathing."

Arthur looked up, stunned expression on his face. Truth, satisfaction and something unsaid and deep was littered there before him. That was when the two of them finally met eye to eye, sincerely.

That was, too, the very moment that they could no longer help themselves. They simultaneously pressed forwards, locking lips with no sense of fierce urgency, and no stubborn and ruthless mashing. Because they had had hundreds upon hundreds of years to wait - why would they throw away all of that for sudden and heartless clash of teeth and tongues? Slowly, Arthur melted into him and Francis could only smile with the hugest sense of relief into the lips below.


And there we are for now :'). Enjoy the fluffiness.

Next update will contain, hopefully, one hell of a lot of drama. I'm looking forward to it.

It might come in the Christmas holiday, but, I have life-defining exams this January. Hopefully I'll be able to find the spare time for it~!

Thank you very much!

By the way, on that... now we've seen them both, what does everyone think?
Also - should a definitive person be chosen by the end of the fill for who Arthur chooses - or would you like it open ended? Right now, I could do it either way.