A/N: More FrUK. Yeah, it's my current yaoi OTP. This is a tad more serious than the other stories, but really not that much. There is one part in the story where Arthur is referring to Francis's hair and it sounds like he (Arthur) is talking about his own hair. Just bear with me on it. I didn't want to specify because it would sound awkward, albeit grammatically correct (my English teacher this year is turning me into a HUGE grammar Nazi). This was fairly fun to write. I don't own Hetalia, and I will post the beta-read version later. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for bed. I've got a four-hour long orchestra practice tomorrow that starts at nine in the morning and it's currrently eleven at night where I live. You do the math on what the time will be when I get out.

Please excuse my rambling "orz


"Francis, I really wish you didn't smoke those awful things."

Arthur was leaning on the railing on the balcony of a very elegant French apartment. The view from the balcony was amazing. It looked directly toward the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the Parisian skyline.

Francis glanced toward Arthur and took another drag of the cigarette in his hand.

"This is my home, and I'm allowed to do whatever I wish to in here," he replied while blowing the smoke directly into the Englishman's face.

Arthur coughed and waved the smoke. "Can you at least not blow the shit right into my face?" Arthur asked, frowning.

France opened his mouth to reply, but dissolved into a fit of coughing. Arthur patted the Frenchman's back and sighed. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You'll hack up a lung eventually," he said.

Francis straightened and cleared his throat. He took another puff and acted as if nothing had happened.

"We all have our addictions, Arthur," Francis murmured, tapping the ashes out. "I have my cigarettes, and you have your alcohol."

Arthur blushed furiously. "I-I'm not addicted!" he sputtered angrily.

Francis raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Oh really? I seem to recall that just last night you were tearing my kitchen up looking for a drop of whiskey," he said dryly. He returned his gaze back to the buildings and took a smoke of his precious nicotine stick.

Arthur attempted to stutter out a retort, but he knew it was futile. He slid closer to his Francis and interlaced his fingers with his.

Francis turned and smiled. He leaned down and kissed Arthur lovingly.

Arthur lingered slightly on the smoke-laced lips as Francis pulled away, wanting more. He looked down and muttered, "I hate it when you wear those damned boots." He gestured toward the pair of leather boots that Francis was wearing. They made the older man about two inches taller.

Francis kissed Arthur's forehead and grinned. "I enjoy being taller than you and you know it," he said.

Arthur glared up at Francis heatedly. With a strong smack, he knocked the cigarette out of his boyfriend's hand and watched it tumble to the pavement far bellow.

Francis followed the cigarette's fall without much expression on his face.

"Must you do that?" he asked with only a hint of annoyance.

"Of course," Arthur said. "You'll get lung cancer if you smoke, and you'll have to get chemotherapy and eventually lose your precious hair." Arthur knew how much Francis adored his precious, silky blonde hair.

If he was even a little shocked, Francis didn't show it. He simply smiled and wrapped an arm around the younger blonde's shoulders.

"So you're showing actual concern for me?" He said softly into the other's ear, a cocky grin settling on his face. "The end of the world must be here."

Arthur pouted and turned away. Francis chuckled and kissed his lover's cheek playfully.

"I'm going to pick up more cigarettes since you so rudely ruined my last one," he murmured. "Care to join me?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Arthur frowned.

"Because I'm going to get you some alcohol afterwards and I might get the wrong kind," Francis replied, grinning slyly.

Arthur turned around quickly and placed his hands on Francis's chest. He looked up and glared into those deep blue eyes again.

"You wouldn't," Arthur narrowed his bright green ones dangerously.

"I may, or I may not," Francis smirked.

The pair continued to stare each other down before Arthur sighed and gently punched Francis on the arm.

"You're so manipulative," Arthur said.

"It's my undeniable charm, non?" Francis chuckled.

"Shove it, frog," Arthur scoffed as he pushed past Francis and grabbed his coat off of the couch inside. "You're so clingy. You can't even go to the store without dragging me along."

France grinned and joined Arthur inside. He picked his coat off of the rack near the door and slid it on. Francis searched through the pockets and pulled his keys out.

"Ready to go?" Francis asked as he opened the door and looked toward Arthur.

"Yes," Arthur said as he walked out the door.

"Ladies first," Francis grinned as he closed and locked the door behind him.

Arthur shoved Francis playfully and headed past him. Francis laughed and jogged back to him.

"You know you're going to regret saying that tonight," Arthur said as he glanced at Francis.

"I'm prepared to take the risk," Francis smiled and wrapped an arm around Arthur's waist, pulling him close.

"I worry for your mental health," Arthur sighed.

A thought briefly crossed Francis's mind. "You have certainly been sighing a lot today, mon amour," he said as he poked Arthur's cheek.

"Because you stress me out so much," Arthur grumbled as he brushed the hand away. He began to pout again.

Francis smiled. Arthur was so cute when he was pouting. "I do not," Francis replied.

"You do!" Arthur exclaimed.

Francis chuckled and kissed Arthur on the head. Arthur continued to pout before reaching up and capturing Francis into a passionate kiss.

Francis's eyes went wide, but they closed and the shock settled. He deepened the kiss and earned a soft moan of approval from Arthur.

Arthur pulled away and panted softly. "I can still taste the fag your lips," he breathed.

"Does it taste good?" Francis grinned.

Arthur nodded and smiled. "It's addictive."


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