Disclaimer: I don't own, and probably never will, Hetalia. *cries in emo corner*

This is my first fic, and it's pretty much fluff mixed with fluffiness and a little bit of fangirl on top. You have been warned.

Oh, yeah, and this is slash, for those who care :)

ooooo

The darkness enveloped the room, leaking into every corner. The figure on the bed breathed evenly, slowly in and out. He was curled up into a tight ball, blankets scrunched around him unevenly. The only light in the room was the small alarm clock, the blue numbers swallowed by the black.

The door creaked open a bit, letting a stripe of light from the hallway shine onto the wall. The sleeping man did not notice as the second figure crept inside. His hair was long and curly, a sharp contrast to the other's short, spiky hair.

He walked toward the bed, watching the sleeping man. Carefully he sat down on the edge of the mattress, smiling a little. He put his hand on the slowly rising and falling shoulder, slowly running his fingers up and down the man's forearm.

"England, wake up," he whispered.

"Nnn..." came the unconscious noncommittal grunt. England rolled over, pulling the blankets with him.

France leaned over to see the other man's face as he slept. It was almost peaceful compared to his perpetual sneer when awake, and the darkness hid his massive eyebrows. France thought they were cute, and he made sure to tell England that whenever he was awake enough to notice. Watching the Brit get angry was a favorite pastime of his.

"Come on, Arthur, rise and shine."

This time there was no response besides the even breathing. France shook his head, smiling. He leaned over farther, his lips brushing England's cheek. Then he slowly shifted his weight, moving his leg over Arthur's bent knees. He put his hands on either side of the sleeping man's head.

He softly tilted England's head up. Then he leaned in, leaning onto his elbows as he let his lips touch the Brit's.

Arthur's eyes blinked open, and for a moment he didn't realize what was happening. That, however, only lasted a moment.

"What the hell?" he yelled, pushing on France's chest. He tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down by a very smug Francis.

"Ah, love, you're awake."

Arthur gaped. "L-love? What the fuck are you doing in my room, molesting me?"

"Not yet."

England pushed again, sending France back onto his butt. The other man smiled, crawling back up. When Arthur tried to push him again, his wrists were caught.

"Don't fight l'amour," France said happily, slowly leaning toward the other man.

"Get off me, you git!"

France had England's wrists, so he couldn't fight back very much. He lost balance and fell backwards. France pinned his wrists above his head with one hand, smiling a terrifyingly perverted smile.

"Why would I do that?" he asked innocently.

England decided not to grace that unbelievably stupid question with an answer. He instead started kicking out, only to find that France was kneeling between his legs and he had no place to kick effectively.

France leaned in, his lips meeting England's. England turned his head to the side, hoping to deter Francis. It didn't work. The other man merely began kissing across England's cheek, and, to his horror, down his neck.

An involuntary shudder shook England's body, and he could feel France smiling. He shook his head to the side, knocking away France's lips.

"Get off of me!" he yelled again, kicking out. He tried wrestling his arms out of France's grip, only to find that the Frenchman was much stronger than he was.

France didn't answer, leaning in again. England turned his head side to side, refusing to give France any place to...he shuddered at the thought...kiss him.

The long-haired nation had other things on his mind.

England suddenly felt a touch on his stomach. He jumped, silently cursing himself. France slowly slid his fingers under England's shirt, the backs of his nails lightly gliding over the skin. England took in a sharp breath, hoping France didn't notice.

"Get the hell off me, frog!"

"Ah, that hurt," France said haughtily, smiling. England snarled at him, but it was muffled as their lips met.

With his free hand, France slowly began unbuttoning England's nightshirt. Arthur felt absolutely helpless. He couldn't use his arms, France had him pinned, and...he was...

No. He shook his head, breaking the kiss. He didn't like this. He hated this. But when France began to kiss down his neck, he couldn't help the goosebumps that rose on his body. France licked up England's collarbone, undoing the bottom button on England's shirt.

"Get off," England repeated halfheartedly. He was tired, it was late, and he had been asleep just a few seconds before...and why did France have to be so annoying? He was a stupid, annoying creeper.

"If I let go of your arms will you try to get away?" France asked, leaning next to England's ear.

"What kind of question is that?" Arthur asked, trying to wrestle his arms free. "Like I'd just sit here while you...ah..." he trailed off as France drew his fingers up his side. He tried to slide away, but he couldn't move very well.

"Very convincing," France whispered, his stupid hand finding England's back. He let his fingernails slide lightly over his spine. Arthur's back arched into France's body, and he sucked in a quick breath. Immediately he regretted it as France's arm snaked around his back.

"Damn it, you don't listen..." England said angrily, trying once again to get his arms free.

France's lips pressed against England's again. Arthur kept his lips tightly sealed, but that was destroyed as France ran his hand along his waistband. He gasped, and France took the chance to sneak his tongue into England's mouth.

And suddenly, Arthur didn't feel like fighting back any more. He relaxed, resigning to the fact that France was stronger and he just had to wait this out. France felt the relaxation, breaking the kiss.

"Do you agree with me now?" he asked, lightly trailing his tongue across England's jaw.

England didn't answer. He stared up at the dark ceiling. Maybe if he didn't react then France would get bored and leave.

And then, to Arthur's surprise, Francis let go of his hands. He immediately retracted them, putting them on France's shoulders. He was about to push, but France lifted his chin. He stared up at the other nation, surprised.

"What?"

France didn't say anything, choosing instead to look England straight in the eyes. He seemed to be searching in them for a moment.

"If you really don't like this I'll leave, mon cher."

England narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell would I like this, asshole?" he demanded, pushing hard on France's shoulders. The long-haired nation fell back.

England sat up, glaring at France angrily. Francis watched Arthur with wide eyes for a moment before nodding and getting up.

"I don't want to force you," France said quietly before turning and leaving.

Arthur watched France leave. "Come on, don't go trying to make me feel guilty! You're the one who bloody attacked me in my sleep!"

There was no answer. England sighed, buttoning up his shirt again. Then he proceeded to go slam his head against the wall. Dammit, why was he feeling sorry for that perverted bastard? What, was he going to break his resolve after a couple kisses?

"Damn good kisses..." he whispered almost unintelligibly. Wiping his mouth, he stared down at the blanket. Then his eyes widened.

No. Hell no. Was he saying that he had...liked that? That was sexual harassment, wasn't it? Still, he couldn't help but remember what Frances fingers had felt like on his skin...

He gulped. Was he...putting it bluntly...turning gay for the frog of all people? No, that couldn't be it. He had just reacted naturally...the same would have happened to anybody, right? If, say, America had been in his place, the result would have been the same, right?

Somehow, he was feeling sorry for France. He knew that he shouldn't, but he was feeling it all the same. The way that France had walked out of the room, looking like a dejected puppy...what was wrong with him? He had no right to be unhappy!

But still...Arthur slid off the bed and walked toward the door. That stupid frog hadn't closed it. Damn it, he just left and didn't even have the common courtesy to close the door after him...

England stepped out into the hallway, taking a deep breath before walking down toward the living room. That's where the light was coming from. As he stepped into the room, he saw France sitting in an armchair by the window.

He was staring out into the night, an unreadable expression on his face. As Arthur walked in, France sighed.

"What do you want?" he said quietly. Then he turned to the door. "Oh, Arthur. What?"

Arthur took a deep breath. "Um...you didn't close the door and..." France stared at him blankly. "And I wanted to say..." Here goes nothing. "...sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" France asked, looking back out the window. "I'm the one who 'attacked you in your sleep,' am I correct?"

Arthur bit his lip. France never acted this way when he was rejected. Sometimes he would even get punched or slapped, but he just laughed it off and went to the next person. Now he was acting all angsty and emo-ish. (Words Arthur had gotten from Poland.)

"Look, I acted a...little rash...and I didn't mean to get that cross at you..." England was having a hard time with this whole apology business.

"No, I shouldn't have just assumed...I suppose you can't have just anybody, right?" France said, looking back at Arthur.

His eyes were dark, the deep blue seeming to stare into Arthur's head, picking apart what he was thinking. It was scary to see France this serious.

"What's up with you?" England asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all."

"Bullshit. What's wrong?"

"I said it was nothing. Now, weren't you asleep?"

Arthur inwardly winced at the cold words. What the hell was up with France? He was overreacting. England couldn't help but feel guilty.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, walking toward the armchair France was sitting in. France watched him approach.

He stopped a few feet away. France sighed, standing. Then he walked past Arthur, headed for his bedroom. He didn't need this anymore.

England balled his hands into fists before reacting. Ah, hell with it. He couldn't lie to himself forever, right?

He reached for France's arm, grabbing him by the wrist. France whirled around, eyes wide. He stared at England in surprise.

"What?"

"Um..." England didn't know what to say. His eyes met France's. The two were about the same height, or was France taller? He couldn't tell.

"You're tired. Go to bed," France said, firmly, turning away again. England gritted his teeth and grabbed France's other shoulder. He pulled the other man around, and as he did their lips met.

France froze, eyes wide. He broke the kiss, grabbing England by the shoulders.

"You don't need to do this. It's fine."

England looked away. "I know. I..." he trailed off, unsure of how to justify his actions.

"You what?"

"I..." England made his voice as quiet as possible. "I wasn't just doing that for you, git."

France hesitantly lifted England's chin with his forefinger. He smiled a little, and for a second it looked like he was going to kiss him again. Instead, he wrapped Arthur in a hug, resting his chin on the other nation's shoulder. England forced himself not to freeze, hugging the other back.

"Are you serious?" France asked, unintentionally breathing on Arthur's ear. At least, he thought it was unintentional.

"...yeah," England said, smiling.

France pulled back, but Arthur had barely a second before their lips were pressed together. Francis pulled him closer, resting his forearm on the small of the other man's back.

England made the fateful decision then, squeezing his eyes shut as he began to kiss back. France smiled through the kiss, pulling Arthur closer.

In a second, Arthur found himself sitting on the loveseat, France pinning him down. His first instinct was to fight and get away, but somewhere in the back of his head told him that he...he was enjoying this. And he shouldn't fight things he enjoyed.

So he let France hold him there, tongue exploring his mouth, hands roaming all around his body. He didn't object when France pulled off his shirt, only responding by doing the same to France himself. Arthur didn't stop it when France's kisses strayed from his face, slowly going down his body. He let himself react to every touch, let himself smile, let himself enjoy it.

And, as the night went on, he realized that maybe he didn't just like the touch. That maybe he was more attracted to the person, the one who was now running his hands up and down his back and chest, the one who was whispering in his ear, the one who he was kissing and touching back. Maybe he was...in love with him.

But then he dismissed the thought. Pssh, love, he was worse than a schoolgirl. I mean, the two of them hated each other, didn't they?

ooooo

What do you think? Please review! Review and I'll love you. Just not in the creepy France way. Oh, and ignore my...attempts at French. I am sadly lacking in any education in the language :(

Oh, and if you find any typos you win a free puppy :3