Summary: (Part 2 of the Warm Hearts series) Arthur loves Francis, and Francis loves Arthur. Why? Well, that's a good question...
--Link to part 1: http://hetalia.livejournal.com/11714217.html
He's bloody annoying.
Sometimes he just acts like a complete idiot. Always striping at the first chance he gets, and trying to get me naked in public. Always making fun of my food. Always ignoring me when I say I'm a gentleman and shouldn't do such-and-such thing. Usually, he just goes ahead with whatever he was trying to get me to do in the first place – which often involves sexual molestation of some kind. Just being an all around annoying prat.
But... I love him.
I can honestly say I don't know what's wrong with me. The man's an absolute nuisance. Maybe my head hit the deck a few too many times back in my sea days. Maybe Alfred's right and those scones are dangerous to my health. Either way, I love him.
Sure, he's been a thorn in my side for as long as I can remember. Sure, he has absolutely no sense of propriety. But he's an absolute sweetheart.
He's always there when I need him. When I'm sick, he's at my bedside with a cooling cloth in hand. When Alfred turned his back on me, even though his people had helped, he came to me and gave me a place to cry. During the Blitz, he held my convulsing body down and put his belt in my mouth as the others worked on shooting those bastards out of the sky.
Nowadays, he keeps me entertained at world meetings. He's always ready to spar with me, whether with words or weapons. I'm quite sure there are plenty of people who either think we hate each other or have some serious unresolved sexual tension.
We definitely don't. Trust me. That's just the way we work.
He always finds a way to make time when I need him. He carries Pierre around because he knows when I say, "you look stupid," I'm really saying, "he looks cute there." Even though he molests me at inappropriate times, I must admit it makes me feel like I'm attractive. Like I'm wanted. Even when I lost all my land, he didn't look at me any differently. He didn't look at me like I was worth less. He just kept attacking me like nothing had changed.
He's also a great cook, which I must admit is a relief. I would hate to be forced to cook every meal.
Oh, don't give me that look. Trust me, I know the man is impossible. I know he doesn't know what the word "no" means. But I also know that he knows the difference between flirting and cheating, and that he has never once in his life – even when drunk off his arse – crossed that line. I know that he protects what's his fiercely.
And I know he loves me back.
He's stuffy. And very stiff. And he can't cook.
He curses like it's the end of the world. He sees magical creatures and practices magic – even though he botches his spells most of the time. He doesn't appreciate fine champagne.
But he's mine.
He's fiery, and knows how to take down a man that's larger than him. Poor Antonio didn't even know what hit him. But he's also kind, and always willing to help out when asked. He can always spare a smile and a helping hand for the younger nations if they need it.
He's incredibly strong. Not physically – Alfred's got that in the bag – but in how he can pull himself together after a hard hit. I was terrified during the Blitz. He was convulsing and bleeding under me as I tried to keep him from hurting himself, but within a week he was back on the battle field, ready to kick that German right back to his homeland.
He's there for me before I even ask him. He holds me when I need someplace safe, and throws insults when I need to get back on my feet. Somehow he always knows which one I need.
I've seen the looks people give us. They wonder what kind of relationship we have: frenemies or a severe case of UST? It couldn't be a loving relationship after all. What kind of lovers throw insults the way we do?
But honestly, I don't know what I would do with myself if our relationship didn't have a little bit of fire in it. We fight all the time, it's our thing. He takes me down a peg or two, and I get him the next round. He curses me out the door, and I come back with flowers and another insult.
He claims that Pierre is a silly animal to keep, but I see the way his eyes light up when he pets the bird when he thinks no one's watching. And he knows I know. Still, our image is a fun thing to keep up.
He can be annoying, what with his stuck-up ways. Sometimes I wonder if the man really knows how to have fun. He doesn't appreciate fine cuisine, but I can honestly say that I don't blame him. If I had to eat those... things he calls food, I think my taste buds would have been irreparably damaged as well.
But he's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I sometimes wonder what I did to deserve him. His expressive green eyes, that messy hair that doesn't really listen to him. That kind heart he hides behind his aloof personality. Those eyebrows. Funny, but incredibly sexy.
… Don't ask me why. They just are.
And even though he riles me up, rubs me the wrong way sometimes, can't cook worth a damn, and can get sloshed enough to rival the Germans, I love him, and he loves me back just as much.
Plus, the sex is amazing.
Any comments are appreciated!