I had some fun writing this chapter. It also took me around 4 months of procrastinating to get it done, but hey, Spring Break finally rolled around so I got to finish it!

DISCLAIMER: I do noootttt own Hetalia. And apparently it's England's birthday today so happy birthday England!

Arthur stared at the man in front of him. "Is the Madame in?"

"Mi amor, I am the Madame you speak of, only I am Maître."

"But yer a man," the genius American deduced.

"Oui, I am a man." As he looked his guests up and down, his mouth and eyes moved ever so slightly to reveal that he was pleased with his next customers.

"Unfortunately, I don't think you can afford me," he frowned, alluding to Arthur's height.

The Englishman took personal offense to this. "I could buy all your whores off you any day, Frenchman," he spat.

"You look like you couldn't even afford to buy yourself enough to eat, much less one of my nymphes du prairie." He glanced away and in a few moments, a girl came over and placed a lit cigar in his hand.

"We're not here to get damned to hell, even though it feels like I'm already there just by speaking to you," Arthur countered. The other man puffed out a large cloud of smoke and let it disappear before responding.

The man tsked. "Then what are you wasting my time for?"

Before Arthur could go in for a good swing, Alfred grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. "We're tryna' find someone," he said. "Elizaveta. She was one of yer girls."

The room tensed and was silent. The man stared hard at his two guests, this time without even a hint of the lust he had before.

"Was," he reiterated with a bitter edge.

Alfred ventured closer to the man. "What exactly happened mister…?"

"Francis Bonnefoy," he said. He turned to the servant in his room. "Charlotte," he said, more like a soft command than just simply addressing her.

"Yes, Maître," she curtseyed to the guests before exiting the room.

Francis looked back at his guests. "She left to go find her amour. She took a good portion of my girls with her." The irritation on his face was as plain as day.

"But," he said with a slight sigh, "I guess I cannot stop love, non?"

"So she left to be with Roderich?" Alfred asked.

Francis furrowed his brows and looked at him in confusion. "Roderich? He ran out of money and stopped coming a long time ago." A look of disdain made it to the Frenchman's face. "He really was a pretty one. It was a shame that he turned down to be one of my nymphes du prairie. But no, not him. Gilbert."

Alfred and Arthur turned to each other.

Gilbert?

"Are you going to pay me or not?" Francis was getting impatient and bored.

The men spent several minutes clarifying that it was Gilbert- not Roderich – that Elizaveta was going after. Francis didn't know much about Gilbert. All he really knew, gathering from the chats with his girls, that he was cocky and abnormally pale. His eyes often frightened the other prostitutes, but Elizaveta was undeterred. Nobody knew where he came from or where he was headed.

"What? Pay you for talking to us?" Arthur replied sarcastically. "I don't think that's how whorehouses work."

"I do not run a whorehouse, mon cher, I run a little city of fun, a little city of love-"

"A little city of sin," Arthur cut him off and rolled his eyes.

"Ain't nothing wrong with some fun," Alfred chimed.

The Briton looked at him with a mixed expression of disgust and disbelief.

"There is something wrong with it! Our Heavenly Father gave us the gift of pleasure to share with our partners in marriage! I don't know what sort of environment you were raised in, but it is-"

"S'il vous plaît, Englishman, hush. You're much cuter when you're not yelling."

"Really?" Alfred said, "I think he's cuter when he is."

Arthur gawked at the two. "T-this is completely inappropriate!" he fumed, despite the fact that his face was turning bright red. "Alfred! We're going! We'll leave this madman to his devices and go search for this mysterious Gilbert and his unpredictable lover." He stuck out his elbow for Alfred to grab onto out of habit. "Let's go, chap," he said while motioning toward the door with his head.

Francis cleared his throat. "My payment?"

"Bloody blazes," Arthur gave in, "How much do you want?"

The Frenchman's face darkened. "Both of you."

"Sorry, bud, but I dunno how much money I'm worth," Alfred shrugged.

"Stupide américain…" Francis mumbled.

"Alfred!" Arthur whispered loudly, "He doesn't want our money. He wants to sin with us!"

"Sin? Pa taught me that a sin was when ya kill someone or steal his food when he ain't lookin' or-"

Arthur palmed his forehead. "No, you git, he wants to lay with us!"

"Well I don't see any harm in that," Alfred said.

Arthur gasped. "What do you mean 'no harm'? An eternal life in hell is not considered 'harm' to you?"

"There's enough room fer both of us on that fancy couch of his. I don't see what yer problem is."

"My problem is that I don't want to be damned and I don't want you to be, either!" Arthur pulled Alfred toward the door.

"I don't see nothing that can damn us here. How 'bout ya sit this one out?" the American suggested. "Looks like Arthur doesn't wanna do any layin' so I guess Imma lay enough for the two of us," he told Francis.

The man tsked and inhaled smoke from his cigar.

"Ya sure, pal? Looks like a pretty comfy couch," Alfred offered one last time. Arthur's eyes widened as he shook his head vigorously and backed up against the wall. He couldn't believe Alfred was going to go through with it.

The American shrugged and plopped onto the couch. He lay down and rested his hands on his stomach.

"See? It's not so bad and I don't see nobody damning me or anything," he said while looking up at the ceiling. "So are ya gonna tell me a story or something?" he asked while nudging Francis in the thigh with the top of his head.

Francis tossed him a questioning look. "What are you doing?"

"Layin' like ya wanted us to."

Then it all made sense to Arthur. Alfred thought he meant 'lay' as in 'lay on the couch' not 'fornication'. Alfred misinterpreted everything that Arthur had said. Alfred was a complete and utter idiot.

"Oh dear," he groaned.

Francis was not so enlightened as to know what the hell Alfred was doing. "Mon amour, I've seen many ways that had started love, but not one like yours. Here, sit up," he said while pushing the American into an upright position. Arthur covered his eyes.

Alfred pouted. "Well now I can't lay!"

Francis shushed him. "We'll get to that," he said before closing the space in between them. Alfred was caught by surprise. He broke the kiss and stared wide-eyed at Francis. "This ain't- ohhhh shit." He finally processed what was going on.

Francis didn't wait for anybody, and he certainly wasn't going to wait for the idiot cowboy who was now beneath him. He picked up where he left off and Alfred couldn't help but obey. Francis was just so good. The all too familiar taste of alcohol and tobacco was pushed into Alfred's tongue as his body responded to the intruded pleasure.

Arthur, on the other hand, was rapidly reciting prayers to himself.

"Hail Mary, full of grace!"

Alfred's calloused hands grabbed at Francis' soft, blonde hair.

"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus!"

Francis blindly searched for the buttons on Alfred's shirt and undid them slowly.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, PRAY FOR US SINNERS!" Despite his chants, Arthur couldn't help but peek through his fingers.

"Oh God," he breathed, pulling at his collar and unknowingly grabbing at his groin. He bit his lip and watched the two men, unable to control his hardening cock. Lord Almighty, it was getting hot. It was the flames of Jesse, he could feel it.

"Blazes," he moaned. Alfred and Francis were still concentrated on each other, though. Francis pulled away to examine the perfection of his current customer's face. His smooth skin and the longing in his blue eyes for more arousal were almost too much. If only he could have the even lovelier gentleman huddled in the corner then it'd be perfect. "Come here, amour. There's plenty of love for everyone," Francis coaxed.

"Blazes!" Arthur yelled.

Francis cocked a brow. He was just touching himself a moment ago. Why did he look so terrified?

"There's nothing wrong with some fun. It will just be between us."

"No! Actual blazes! There's a bloody fire behind you!" Arthur pointed at the growing flames on the table.

Francis jumped and searched for a liquid to put it out with. Alfred had already pulled his pants down to quickly solve the problem, but discovered that he was still hard.

Should he try to do it anyway? Or will he just end up peeing on his face?

While Alfred was contemplating his dilemma, Arthur grabbed a nearby vase and poured its contents onto the fire. There wasn't nearly enough water, however, and the fire continued to burn.

Alfred's dick had finally gone soft, so he pulled it out and started to put the fire out himself.

"Alfred! Watch out!" Arthur yelled.

"Huh?" the American questioned as he whipped around to face Arthur, cock in hand and still relieving himself. This, of course, led to Arthur screaming as he was being doused by Alfred. What he told Alfred to watch out for, though, was still incoming as Francis heaved a bucket of ice water onto Alfred and the fire.

Well, at least the fire was out now.

The three men stood in a stunned silence, two of them dripping with liquids.

"Please," Francis said quietly, "go out and wait in the holding room. Tell Charlotte to come back here."

Arthur and Alfred did as they were told. When they walked out the large wooden doors, everyone was silent and staring at them.

"He, er, would like to see Miss Charlotte," Arthur said meekly.

Charlotte hurried into the room and everyone resumed their laughing and seducing. Alfred shivered as he stood next to the foul-smelling Englishman. They didn't speak for a while, and just stood there watching everyone as if they were at a show.

"So, uh," Alfred croaked.

Arthur gave him an icy glare, which made Alfred shut up instantly.

Arthur was furious at Alfred for urinating on him, of course, but his need for silence wasn't solely because of his soiled clothing. What happened behind those closed doors was what bothered him the most. The overwhelming desire to… to…

'Fornicate, you bloody fool,' Arthur chastised himself. He closed his eyes and thought back to what he was doing, the sins he was committing from just being in the building. He wasn't raised to be like this. He wasn't a sinner like these wild Americans, and he wasn't going to start being one. His eyes broke from his concentration and stole a glance at the wild American next to him. It was too easy to fall into Satan's trap around him, no doubt, but why? Arthur had been around plenty of immoral young people back home, but none of them had affected him as much as the energetic cowboy had. Alfred turned to meet Arthur's eyes, and Arthur turned away and blushed when he realized that he was staring.

"Sir," Charlotte called behind them.

Arthur jumped at the sudden break in concentration. "Y-yes?"

"Maître would like to see you."

They walked in, Charlotte leaving once again and closing the door behind them.

"So," Francis sighed, "about Elizaveta."

Ah, yes, Arthur had almost completely forgotten why they were there.

He cleared his throat. "Where can we find her?"

"I have no idea."

"Well then why in Jesse's name are we here!" Arthur demanded.

"You are the one who stayed," Francis retaliated calmly.

The fuming-and smelly-Englishman grabbed Francis by the collar and hoisted him up. "Listen, whoremonger, you nearly sent me to hell once and now you're about to do it again after I'm done with y-"

"Whoa, bud! Calm down!" Alfred intervened. He separated the two men who were nearly tearing each other's throats out. "Let's just get this goin', alright?" He then turned to speak to Francis. "Do ya know anything about Gilbert? Anything we could use to find him?"

"I know nothing about Gilbert Beilschmidt besides his name, mon cher."

Alfred's face perked up at this. "Beilschmidt… Beilschmidt… Beilschmidt…" he murmured to himself. Francis and Arthur merely looked at each other in confusion.

"That famous boxer!" he announced, "Ludwig! Ludwig Beilschmidt!"

The two non-Americans were still confused.

Alfred paced around the room, highly animated. "I've heard people talkin' about 'em! Ludwig is Gilbert's brother and they go around boxin' people from all over!"

"Do you know where they're headed next?" Arthur asked.

"No, but we can probably find out!" he said excitedly.

"How'd you oversee that someone famous was using your whorehouse?" Arthur questioned Francis.

"Mon cher, it is not a whorehouse. And, to answer your question, nobody in my love palace cares about such rough sports like boxing."

"But you are all interested in the devil's game, aren't you?" Arthur sassed.

Francis lunged at Arthur, and Arthur fought back.

"Quit it!" Alfred said as he pulled the two apart yet again. "We gotta find Elizaveta, remember?"

Arthur huffed, crossing his arms and tossing dirty looks at Francis who was doing the same. "Yes, so let's start now. I cannot wait to separate myself from such trash like this - this frog over here."

"What did you just address me by?" Francis was back at Arthur again.

Arthur didn't back down. "By your respective species. Why, are you offended?"

"Not as much as your face must have offended your mother when you came out of the womb!"

Alfred gave up and started to wander around the room as the two fought, looking at expensive wines with weird names he couldn't even sound out. Oh, hey, a box of cigars. He took a few for the road. Are those grapes? He hadn't had one in years! Francis wouldn't mind if he ate one, or a whole bunch.

"When I first saw your hair, I mistook you for a woman!" Arthur spat.

"Oh, but mon petit, when I first saw your hair I mistook you for a mongrel. Well, I guess I was not too far off the mark," Francis taunted.

Alfred looked at the paintings and tapestries. Half of them were of Francis himself, but the others were of pretty women and people he presumed were Francis's family. There were a few maps of places Alfred didn't know and fancy wine glasses with, to Alfred's disappointment, no wine. He soon grew bored of shuffling about the room, so he spoke up.

"How much do we gotta pay ya, Francis?"

The Frenchman looked up, his fingers pulling at Arthur's face. "Well, seeing that your companion makes you completely useless as a sex partner, I want some new ones to replace Elizaveta and her crew."

Arthur pried off Francis's grip. "We're not going to recruit sinners for you," he growled.

"Then I guess it can't be helped," Francis said dramatically, "I'll have to go with you two to make sure I get my payment, one way or another." He grinned darkly and slid his hand down to Arthur's inner thigh.

The Englishman scrambled back and shouted, "There is no conceivable way that you are accompanying us!"

"Then I have no choice," he pouted slightly, "Jacques!" he cried out while ringing a bell on the side-table.

Jacques burst into the room and cast a shadow over all three men. He was huge and looked like he could take down a bear single-handedly. "Oui."

Arthur gulped. Alfred merely widened his eyes in amazement and continued to eat his grapes.

"H-how about we pay you?" Arthur offered, eyeing Jacques.

"Ah, I have enough money as it is."

"F-fine. You can come," Arthur gave in.

Alfred burst into the saloon doors, looking around for Roderich. Arthur and Francis were too busy fighting outside, as they had been for the entire trip back.

"Alfred!" a familiar voice cried. Roderich nearly tackled him on his way to greet him.

"What's going on, pal? Ya look like ya saw a ghost."

"Aren't you supposed to be in-" Roderich looked around and quieted his voice down to a whisper, "Aren't you supposed to be in prison?"

"Prison?" Alfred cocked his head to the side.

"Shh!" the other man commanded, "Your face was in the paper! Arrested for killing several people and upsetting a whole town! Don't tell me you've escaped before your hanging?"

The American furrowed his brows. His heart was racing. "Lemme see the paper."

Roderich left and came back, a newspaper in his trembling hands. "I thought you'd never come back! I was worried that I had sent you out to get caught!"

Alfred took the paper and examined it. He could read his name and Arthur's. He looked below the headline to look at this picture. The drawing looked exactly like him, but...

"What does it say?" his voice rose in panic.

The Austrian took the paper. "Alfred F. Jones finally captured after weeks of pursuit. He claims that he is the wrong person. Sentenced to hang on Tuesday of next week for the killing of several people and causing an uproar in a small town, along with several other misdemeanors. His partner, Arthur Kirkland, is still on the loose and a reward stands on his head, dead or alive," he read aloud.

Alfred felt as if all the air had left his lungs.

Wrong person

Hang on Tuesday

"Mattie."

A/N: I'm still crying over Alfie's peeing scene like omg

nymphes du prairie: Prairie nymphs. Euphemism for prostitutes

Jesse: hell

**Back then, height would be an indication of how rich you were. Wealthier people were better-fed and therefore taller.