When Francis first saw Arthur sporting a toga, halo and magic wand, he decided that two-and-a-half bottles of wine were probably enough for him. The stubby little wings flapped furiously as England hovered before him, face aberrantly blissful. He was even tittering happily, which only added to the nation's growing sense of unease.
"Uh, bonjour." France said, raising a hand in greeting, "What exactly are you doing here Angleterre?"
The giggles increased, making France doubt Arthur's sanity even more. He was a crazy Englishman usually but this was bizarre, even for him. "I'm here because you've been naughty," Arthur said, smiling idyllically, "And I'm going to have to punish you." England may have sounded completely insane but, despite himself, Francis couldn't help feeling turned on.
"Punish me?" He purred, "Oh Angleterre, do tell."
Arthur's lips covered his and Francis leaned back, tiny knees settling on his hips, squeezing lightly. He tried to sit up, wanting the angel in his lap, his to devour, but a hand found his chest, pushing him down. Arthur sat back, ass so close to Francis' crotch, and winked at him, "Don't fight," Arthur breathed, shifting on top of France's waist, sending the blood south, "Just sit."
Wondering just how drunk he was going to have to get Arthur back in this state, Francis nodded silently. Deft fingers traced down his chest, teased the flushed skin. Arthur reached into the folds of his robe, pulling out the wand he had been carrying earlier. France watched with hungry eyes as England's tongue flicked out catching the point of the star. He let out a moan of want, bucking his hips.
Arthur head tilted to the side as he gave Francis the sweetest smile. "Idiot," he said innocently and brought the wand down on France's forehead, knocking him unconscious.
While France's boss had said that the nation was feeling under the weather and wasn't up for seeing anyone, Arthur didn't believe him one bit. Which is why he had managed to sneak past the security - he was a former spy after all so it was all old hat - and clambered in through the window of Francis' parlour. Getting to his feet and dusting off his pants, he noticed the maid staring at him, mouth slightly open.
"Uh, est-ce-que je peux voir France, s'il-vous-plaît?" He said, barely able to form the sentence. While he loathed using the language, especially when France was around, he did try when conversing with other people -Blame his boss' new 'open arms' policy towards the bloody EU, next thing you'll know he'll be baking snitzel with Germany, or leaning how to cook with the air headed Italian and his perpetually angry brother.
The woman nodded and hurried out of the room. A few moments later, Francis' head of staff, a bastard old butler whom he and Arthur shared a mutual dislike for each other, appeared, adjusting his white gloves with a deliberate slowness and gazing at Arthur with a haughtiness and disgust one could only associate it with Anglophobia.
"I'm here to see France." England said, not bothering to even try French, the last thing he wanted was to be a mocked by a crotchety old frog.
The butler's wiry moustache twitched. "Monsieur Bonnefoy is indisposed and is not seeing anyone. My deepest apologies," he gave a shallow bow, "Can I escort you out, or perhaps you know the way?"
Folding his arms, Arthur plopped down in the nearest armchair. "I'm staying right here until that lazy ass comes to see me. I know he's hiding up in his room." He snorted and the manservant flinched, "What happened this time? Some pretty little brunette break his heart? They didn't have his favourite wine? Figured out that he's French?"
Turning smartly on his heel, the old man lifted his hand and placed it beside his mouth. "Bonnefoy!" He yelled, making the seated nation jump, "You have an angry Englishman that wants to see you in the parlour!" and with that - and perhaps a smirk of victory - he left.
His heartbeat returning to normal, England settled further into his seat. There was a thundering from outside the living room and Arthur looked round just in time to see a small something launch itself at him. It hit him full on the chest and he let out a small yelp, closing his eyes, thinking it was a dwarf come to settle a bet with him. Only once he realized the small thing had no beard and wasn't trying to rip his face off, did he open his eyes.
A tiny Francis sat in his lap, blond hair held back by a large, floppy, crimson bow, while giant blue eyes blinked up at him. "F-france?!" He stuttered, pushing the child off his chest and placing him on his legs. The once long and elegant face was small and slightly chubby, silky fuzz in place of the ragged scruff.
"Bonjour Angleterre!" he said, apple red cheeks bright as he smiled toothily, "How good to see you!" Tiny arms crawled around England's neck, yanking him down as Francis clung to him.
Trying to loosen the child from his shoulders - how was he so strong? - while at the same time trying to protect his vital regions from the flailing feet, Arthur managed to choke out, "W-what's happened to you?"
Hands scrabbled at his back, clutching painfully at his skin. "Your wings are gone!" Relaxing his arms, France plopped down onto Arthur's lap, frowning up at him as the nation wheezed for air, "Not to mention your halo! Quel type d'ange êtes-vous?"
Due to the lack of oxygen in Arthur's brain, it took him a moment to realize exactly what the young Frenchman was saying, "Wings? Halo?" He pursed his lips, "Oh damn. This didn't happen last week, did it?"
"Oui." Turning in Arthur's lap, France let his short legs hang off Arthur's knees, arching his back and staring at him upside-down.
Usually about once a year, twice if he was feeling very lonely and bitter, Arthur made moonshine, infusing it with a little of his own magic. Knowing that he does tend to get a little balmy when he drank it (indeed most of his supposed sex scandals happened after he consumed the concoction) he generally would go into the forest and live with the mystic folk until he regained his usual frame of mind. But sometimes he didn't go into the wood and would end up causing mass pandemonium. This was obviously one of those times.
"F-france," He cleared his throat awkwardly. He could tell the nation that it was all his fault and face the constant ridicule and possibly never have the episode forgotten until the day he croaked. Take that by the fact that France had already been mocking him for over thousand years and he was only twenty-three so that would leave exactly 2,478.26 years of ridicule ahead.
Or he could lie. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Well that is unfortunate Angleterre. I was so sure it was you. Perhaps it was the wine just playing tricks on me, oui?" Francis smiled cheekily at him, hopping forward and sliding off Arthur's legs. "Well, thank you for coming to visit… Perhaps I will see you again."
"Just wait a second… Is there anything I can do to help?"
"There is, perhaps, one thing you can do for me Arthur," registered use of his human name, "But, I don't know if you'd be up for it."
Arthur's pride quirked slightly at the dare in Francis' voice. "Tell me what it is. I'll do anything." He said, rather foolishly, he would realize later.
Smiling innocently and holding out a small pinkie finger, Francis blinked up at him. "Anything?"
Arthur nodded, taking his pinkie in his. Laughing, Francis scrambled onto his lap and placed his lips right next to England's ear whispering it in. When he pulled back, Arthur was staring at him, head shaking.
"But Arthur, you said!" Francis plopped down on his lap, tiny hands forming fists and Arthur could almost see the tantrum building in the blue eyes, "You promised! My boss is very angry with me! He's going to kick me out! He said I am only a child and until I grow up, I am no use to him."
Growling, England picked up the child, placing him on the couch, not keen on getting one of those fists in his crotch. "This is different." He said calmly, "You can't expect me to agree to that France." He folded his arms over his chest, huffily staring away from Francis.
Determined not to look at Francis, he broke the moment he heard a small sniffle. Cursing himself for being so soft, he looked over and immediately felt his heart wrench. Francis was sitting with his hands on his knees, trembling and when Arthur stared at him, he looked up. The brilliant eyes, a perfect mix of cerulean and violet stared up at him, shiney due to the tear welling in them.
"M-mais vous avez promis!" Francis sniffed quietly, reaching up a small hand and rubbing his eye while Arthur resisted the urge to cuddle the small nation.
"No." The Englishman choked up, flushing slightly and turning away from Francis again, forcing his eyes closed.
That was, until a small hand wound it's way into his hair, pulling down forcefully. "If you don't agree, I'll tell everyone it was you who did this to me." Francis hissed at him, the cherubim gone, replaced with a very angry toddler. "I may look like I child Angleterre, but that doesn't mean I think like one."
Wincing and nodding violently, Arthur waved his hands trying to pull Francis away. "Fine! We have a deal."
The small hand released him. "Parfait!" Francis chirupped, slipping off the couch, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, "Then I will be seeing you tomorrow." With that and a small wink, the young Frenchman skipped off, leaving a very ruffled England.
Sighing and trying to calm his hair, Arthur shook his head as he got to his feet. He stared after Francis, putting a hand on his hip. "How do I get myself into these things…" Muttering to himself, he wandered back over to the window, heaving himself out.
Yes, back at the fruk~ First multichapter with them as nations! We'll see how it goes.