However, getting to sleep seemed more difficult than Arthur had first envisioned. Every time he closed his eyes he could imagine Francis' hands running up his chest, Francis' lips on his...
Arthur opened his eyes with a start, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes. He brought his knees up to his chest.
Why had Francis been so bothered about him talking to Alfred? Even more so, why did he think Alfred would have kissed him or anything ridiculous like that?
All these thoughts were making his head hurt.
It was raining outside, and there was the faint rumble of thunder. Arthur didn't mind thunder as long as it wasn't right above his head. He was always sure to count the distance between the light and sound.
He bit his lip, even the lightning reminded him of Francis.
Arthur clutched at his pillow trying to hide his fearful cry.
Since France and his Norman friends had arrived in the country Francis had insisted they live together in one of the stone built Norman castles.
The small boy let out another cry when the lightning shone momentarily through his bedroom window.
With one more rumble of thunder a moment later, he jumped out of bed and scurried with his pillow to France's room next door.
He hesitated before crawling into bed next to the older nation.
At first France continued to sleep, oblivious to the fact Arthur had now snuggled beside him.
Until more light filled the room, and Arthur began to cry.
"England, what are you doing here?" Francis mumbled, rolling over to see the smaller boy clinging to his nightshirt.
Arthur didn't reply, he didn't want the other nation to know he was scared of something as normal as thunder and lightning.
Arthur bit his lip and sniffed.
France smiled, but it wasn't in a mocking way. He kissed Arthur's forehead softly, "I'll tell you a secret Angleterre" he comforted, "if you count the seconds between the light and the noise you can tell how far away the lightning is."
Arthur found this hard to believe, "But it sounds like its here."
There was a crack of light, and Arthur buried under Francis' arm. But the French boy began to count. "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven..." Then came the sound. "There you are Angleterre, that means the storm is seven miles away, it won't get you."
That was where Arthur had gotten his habit of counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder from.
When he was a child he'd always been so amazed at how Francis didn't seem to be frightened of anything. The first time he'd ever seen Francis get frightened seemed to be so trivial that it had made him laugh.
"Stupid France makes me eat his weird food" Arthur told the faerie on his shoulder. He'd managed to sneak away from the castle for a few minuets. It was so demanding when France was around, he always wanted Arthur to be learning something or playing with him.
Arthur liked the time he had between just him and his faeries. They didn't like France's eccentric ways so often avoided him, meaning it was hard for Arthur to see them as often as he'd used to. He was afraid they'd leave if he didn't talk to them enough.
Arthur's ears pricked up, he could hear Francis calling his name. Well tough, he wasn't a dog. He wasn't going to come just because Francis was calling his name; he'd come home when he wanted to.
He resumed the conversation with his faery, and eventually France's calling died down.
Arthur enjoyed himself up until the point it began to get dark and his stomach began to rumble, and he decided that now he wanted to go home.
He was sure Francis would be angry at him, but it was Arthur's country and he had the right to do what ever he wanted here.
He wondered back into the castle, looking around for something to eat.
Suddenly out of nowhere France sweeped him up into his arms, holding him close.
"Oh, thank God your okay!" He sniffed, holding Arthur back to get a good look at him, checking his face for bruises, "what happened? Where were you?"
France looked like he'd been crying, and his eyes were wide and panicked.
"I was just out and about" Arthur shrugged, it didn't seem like anything to be worried about.
"Why didn't you tell me! I've been worrying none stop all day!" France hugged him again, "please tell me where you're going, or if your going out. I-I thought something had happened to you."
When Arthur had laughed at this, Francis had smacked him and sent him to bed without dinner, then brought him up some bread later and watched him eat it.
"One, two, three, four" Arthur counted, watching the light outside his window. Hopefully the storm would get further away rather than closer. It was a little near at the moment for Arthur's liking.
"One, two, three," he shivered, maybe he'd just counted to slowly.
"One, two," no it was getting closer.
Feeling like a child, and a little foolish in the light of what had just happened between them. Arthur got out of bed and snuck towards the door, then tiptoed down the hall.
He knocked as loudly as he dared on Francis' door, and it opened almost immediately. Francis must have had trouble getting to sleep as well.
"Arthur?" He sounded surprised, but nodded when he took notice of the thunder outside. The Lightning and Thunder were appearing almost in unison.
He stood aside to let Arthur in.
"Just don't think I'm bringing that bottle out again" he muttered.
Arthur flinched, he didn't like how cold Francis was being suddenly.
Sure they argued a lot, but they were never cold towards each other; at least not unless the other had done something serious to upset the other.
Francis closed the door, flicking on the switch, only to find it wasn't working.
Arthur heard him sigh.
But they didn't need the light to see. The hotel's rooms had large windows that even at night let plenty of light in.
"Scared are you?" Francis asked, moving over to his bed to fetch a pillow that he tossed down on the sofa, "I'll sleep here, you can use my bed."
"I'm not scared, and I'm not sleeping on your bed!" Arthur snapped, "who knows what you've been doing on it!"
Francis glared at him, "I can assure you I do all the solo stuff in the bathroom," with that he tossed himself down on the sofa turning his back to Arthur.
The Brit looked at him, surely Francis couldn't be asleep already.
Francis always slept shirtless, but at least tonight he'd had the decency to pull on a pair of pyjama trousers.
He felt a little hurt, had he done something wrong? As far as he knew he hadn't burnt any more of Francis' lovers, so what was the problem?
"What's wrong?" He asked, kicking the sofa with his bare foot, "your all sulky."
Francis sat up, shooting a nasty look at the Brit. "I said you could sleep in my bed, isn't that good enough!"
"I'm not staying if your just going to be nasty about it!" Arthur snapped, making to go.
He was stopped by a hand on the back of his shirt.
"Sorry" Francis muttered. He was on his feet now, his hand still tightened around the back of Arthur's pyjama shirt.
"It doesn't really matter," Arthur shook his head, waiting for Francis to slacken his grip on the back of his shirt.
When it didn't happen he had to give the Frenchman a prompt.
Francis released him.
Arthur turned to face him, finding that uncomfortable feeling he had whenever he was forced to register the fact that Francis was taller than him.
They had similar populations, similar GDPs, but it didn't change the fact that the country of France was geographically bigger than him whatever he did.
Biting his lip nervously, Arthur found himself wondering if Francis was bigger down there as well...
Where had all this come from so suddenly!
Arthur mentally slapped himself, he had to stop thinking about things like that.
If even the idea of someone thinking Arthur was in love with him had sent him into this state, Arthur didn't dare suggest that the thought might not have been all wrong after all.
"I-I'm sorry too" Arthur felt like he should apologise to, after all he must have done something wrong; Francis wasn't usually an unfair nation.
"You've got nothing to be sorry for" Francis smiled, bringing his hand up to brush a stray hair from Arthur's face.
"Y-Yes I have," Arthur knew he would never be able to get any sleep unless he said it now, "I'm sorry, I think I'm in love with you." He felt foolish when he said it, but at least it had taken a weight off his shoulders.
He should have thought properly when answering Alfred's question. Of course he was in love with Francis, he had been for years; he just hadn't recognised it until Alfred had put the idea in his head.
When at least two minuets had passed in silence, Arthur looked up at Francis' face, bracing himself for the disgusted look; but it wasn't there.
"You think?" Was all he had to say, though a bright hopeful look had snuck back into his eyes.
The change in his expression surprised Arthur, so he corrected himself, "I'm sorry, I am in love with you."
He was about to offer to go back to his own room when Francis pulled their mouths together, his hands snaking round into Arthur's messy blond hair. Arthur found his own hands trapped between their chests.
Oh God, he wanted this so much.
He didn't protest when Francis forced their tongues to meet; he even moaned softly when the Frenchman pulled him closer towards him.
Just when Arthur thought he was going to die from lack of oxygen, Francis let him pull back. During this time Arthur began to process what had just happened.
"I-I'm not sleeping with you just because you want a quick fuck" he murmured, touching his lips with his fingers; surprised to feel how bruised and swollen they felt beneath his fingers.
Francis pulled him back for another deep, but slightly shorter kiss, "I have to apologise too" he grinned, "I'm sorry, I think I'm in love with you too."
Arthur was taken aback, then he remembered it was Francis most common saying, so he crossed his arms and stepped back.
"There's no way that's true" he protested, "you hate me,"
"non, I don't," Francis tried to kiss him again, but the Brit dodged,
"Of course you do, people don't love people like me," Arthur turned away, contemplating making a run for it now.
But Francis swung him back to face him, "Arthur Je t'aime, l'amour pour Dieu croyez-moi" I love you, for the love of God believe me.
Arthur let Francis kiss him again, this time folding his own hands into the silky hair he'd always been so jealous of.
He felt Francis' arms hook underneath him, lifting him clean off his feet, before lying him down on the bed; more gently than he'd done earlier that night. He then climbed onto the bed over Arthur, pressing the Brit into the pillows with his next kiss.
Arthur closed his eyes, part of him believed he must be dreaming. This sort of stuff just didn't happen to him.
Francis' mouth was now trailing down his neck, his tongue swirling masterfully around the sensitive places that Arthur didn't even know he had.
It was like everything he'd been fantasising about in the meeting.
He felt a deep moan run up his throat.
Francis smirked, beginning to flick his fingers along Arthur's shirt buttons.
Arthur flushed, he hadn't quite planned out the scene where Francis saw how parenthetically weak he looked.
"You are thin, aren't you Cher" Francis grinned, moving his mouth lower over Arthur's now exposed chest.
Squirming, Arthur twitched his hands with agitation. He was growing harder by the moment and Francis wasn't doing anything about it.
"Francis..." He let out a small whine, hoping the French nation would understand what he meant; but Francis continued his previous business like Arthur hadn't even spoken.
So Arthur took hold of his hair with his hands and pulled.
"Ouch!" Francis howled, clutching at his hair, fixing the Brit with an irritated look, "Fine, fine" he agreed, pressing his hand over the material of Arthur's trousers.
Arthur tried to control his breathing as Francis' hand snaked down over his boxers where he groped the growing bulge.
"My, my Cher, you are hard tonight." In the next moment Francis' hand pulled his erection into the open, fixing his mouth on it; running his tongue along the side.
Arthur let out another sharp moan, feeling every part of his body react to the touch.
The Frenchman's tongue was now pressing against his tip. Unable to stop himself Arthur released a little pre-cum.
Francis raised his head for a moment, grinning and licking his lips; before running his hand along Arthur's member instead, speeding up with every stroke.
Arthur's mind was half travelling to the later part of his fantasies, would that be as good as he'd imagined it too?
He felt a wail slip through his lips, as with a jerk he cummed all over the bedsheets and Francis' hand, his member dripping and red from Francis' hurried movements.
Francis moved up to kiss him again, slipping his own trousers away.
Arthur gawked at the size of Francis' erection, would he even fit!
Unconsciously Arthur lifted his hand up and brushed his fingers against it, smiling with self-satisfaction when Francis shivered.
Arthur pulled him back for another kiss, while he braced himself for the pain of Francis' fingers.
The Frenchman pulled back from the kiss, reaching for the bedside table draw, and squirting a packet of lube over his fingers.
He hesitated, "are you sure you want to do this Arthur?"
The very fact that Francis had just called him Arthur, only made him all the more desperate to have that fat cock inside him.
"Just fuck me" he growled, clutching at the bedsheets.
Francis reached his slicked fingers down towards Arthur's entrance.
Arthur felt the first finger before it had even been pushed inside him. Tears spilled from his eyes, but he gritted his teeth. He knew this was necessary, even if it was painful.
The digit wriggled around inside him for a bit, then the second was added, scissoring out to make room for a third.
When Arthur let out an audible cry before he could stop himself, Francis kissed him, then began to whisper comforting words in his ear. The pain was too great to really understand what Francis was saying, but the sound of his voice just helped.
That was until the third and last finger was added.
Arthur choked back a sob, breathing in Francis' sent, and clinging to every half understood word.
Then Francis' fingers brushed against something.
Arthur gasped, his vision clouding. He could feel himself growing hard again.
"Better Cher?" Francis asked, wiping the tears away with his thumb, pressing his fingers against the same spot again, listening to Arthur's moans with delight that he was making his partner feel this way.
While Arthur was distracted, he spread his three fingers as wide as they would go.
The Brit cried out again, tensing.
Before Arthur ruined all his hard work, Francis spread his legs and entered him.
"Francis~!" The sound of his name coming from the Englishman beneath him only made his lower regions more excitable.
Arthur was amazed at the sounds he was making for the Frenchman, after all hadn't he hated him this morning? It seemed silly now...
He threw back his head, moaning with pleasure when Francis thrusted himself against that spot he'd found with his fingers.
But it was still painful. Cries were still mixed with the orgasmic sounds.
"Your so cute" Francis smiled, his eyes full of love, when he leant down to rest his hands either side of Arthur's head.
He did have to admit, having Francis' face closer to his did seem to minimize the pain somewhat.
"Don't call me cute" Arthur managed to mutter, "you make me sound like a girl."
Francis laughed, pressing their foreheads together.
He rose back up again, taking hold of Arthur's fresh erection to make up for their distance.
Every emotion was over spilling from inside the English nation. This felt so much better than he'd ever been able to imagine it would. Francis' gentle eyes and warm smile just made everything seem so much better.
"Together Angleterre?" Francis asked, thrusting a little faster, while pressing his thumb on the tip of the already pre-cum dripping member.
With a stiff nod, Arthur felt himself release at the same time that Francis filled him. He let out a loud cry, tears spilling from his eyes in even greater numbers.
After what felt like hours, his vision began to clear, and Francis pulled his dripping cock from his entrance.
Arthur could feel the cum dripping from inside him onto the sheets.
"Je t'aime" Francis breathed, shifting to lie beside him on the bed, pulling the blankets over them, "are these okay, or shall I wash them?"
Honestly, Arthur was too tired to care; he knew his hips would hurt in the morning, and they still had another meeting to go.
"They're okay" he murmured, absent-mindedly bringing one hand to touch the side of Francis' face, "I love you too git, but don't go telling everyone."
"Wouldn't dream of it Cher" Francis grinned.
And then he gave this adorable little cry, I wish I'd recorded it for you. -Francis
Wow, I wouldn't have believed England had it in him – Prussia
Don't look now Francis, but I think he knows what you're telling us – Spain
Francis glanced over at Arthur, who was cracking his fists under the table; fixing Francis with a dangerous smile.