STORY!post
Title: I'd Pick You
Author/Artist: nastybillabong
Character(s) or Pairing(s): France, mentions of England. FrUK.
Rating: T for language.
Warnings: Drabble prompt thing. Human names used.
Summary: France planning his confession to Arthur, the night before Valentine's Day.
Francis wasn't sure how to say it properly. He was certain of the kind of reaction Arthur would give him if he'd say it wrong. Mocking, cruel laughter would definitely be an effect, he thought. If he repeated it, Arthur would give a scowl and give various reasons as to why someone like Francis could never want to love someone like him, and maybe walk off and never want to speak to Francis again, lest he take it back. Now, that would be a problem, seeing as something like that can't just be taken back. Nonetheless, Francis sat at his study, a glass of red wine in one hand, contemplative.
It would most definitely be hard to convince him - Arthur Kirkland is a very stubborn man after all, so he'd have to prove that what he felt wasn't just -
Wasn't just what? Just what exactly did he feel for Arthur in the first place? It could have been a fairly complicated excuse for physical lust, a yearning for attention - even if he was showered with it on a daily basis, - or it could have been the thrill of a chase, since Kirkland is very hard to go after. So, why him -Arthur Kirkland, of all people, - and why now?
The Frenchman took a sip of wine, noting that it wasn't as sweet as it should have been, before placing the glass on the desk and leaning back on his chair. He didn't think that there was supposed to be so much thought put into it - he just loved Arthur.
Arthur and his eyebrows, his awful cooking, his hatred for the French language, his hatred for the French in general, his drunken rants, his calloused hands, his green eyes, his body, his soul; the way he made Francis feel like he was just another dick-head instead of a god, the racist jokes they shared, the names they called each other, the petty arguments they would get in, and then, the bigger ones they could literally kill each other for. Every moment spent with Arthur was like a limbo - not exactly hell, not exactly heaven, - but Francis wouldn't have it any other way.
He would pick the Englishman, rain or shine, to fall in love with. He would pick him amongst all the beautiful ladies and handsome men he's been with. He'd rather sit in Arthur's kitchen, listening to him rant about how stupid his American cousin is, or about how he'd still much rather listen to the Beatles rather than whatever else the radio would play instead of some party with girls pretending to be drunk whoring and spilling their drinks over him.
With a sigh, Francis downed the rest of the wine. This was going to be a long evening.
-x-x-x-
A/N: I have not written FrUK in forever. So, for a change, here it is! :'D I feel kind of bad that I haven't been able to post icons or FST's lately - there hasn't been much to work with these days. Well, for me at least.
Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himayura
Author/Artist: nastybillabong
Character(s) or Pairing(s): France, mentions of England. FrUK.
Rating: T for language.
Warnings: Drabble prompt thing. Human names used.
Summary: France planning his confession to Arthur, the night before Valentine's Day.
Francis wasn't sure how to say it properly. He was certain of the kind of reaction Arthur would give him if he'd say it wrong. Mocking, cruel laughter would definitely be an effect, he thought. If he repeated it, Arthur would give a scowl and give various reasons as to why someone like Francis could never want to love someone like him, and maybe walk off and never want to speak to Francis again, lest he take it back. Now, that would be a problem, seeing as something like that can't just be taken back. Nonetheless, Francis sat at his study, a glass of red wine in one hand, contemplative.
It would most definitely be hard to convince him - Arthur Kirkland is a very stubborn man after all, so he'd have to prove that what he felt wasn't just -
Wasn't just what? Just what exactly did he feel for Arthur in the first place? It could have been a fairly complicated excuse for physical lust, a yearning for attention - even if he was showered with it on a daily basis, - or it could have been the thrill of a chase, since Kirkland is very hard to go after. So, why him -Arthur Kirkland, of all people, - and why now?
The Frenchman took a sip of wine, noting that it wasn't as sweet as it should have been, before placing the glass on the desk and leaning back on his chair. He didn't think that there was supposed to be so much thought put into it - he just loved Arthur.
Arthur and his eyebrows, his awful cooking, his hatred for the French language, his hatred for the French in general, his drunken rants, his calloused hands, his green eyes, his body, his soul; the way he made Francis feel like he was just another dick-head instead of a god, the racist jokes they shared, the names they called each other, the petty arguments they would get in, and then, the bigger ones they could literally kill each other for. Every moment spent with Arthur was like a limbo - not exactly hell, not exactly heaven, - but Francis wouldn't have it any other way.
He would pick the Englishman, rain or shine, to fall in love with. He would pick him amongst all the beautiful ladies and handsome men he's been with. He'd rather sit in Arthur's kitchen, listening to him rant about how stupid his American cousin is, or about how he'd still much rather listen to the Beatles rather than whatever else the radio would play instead of some party with girls pretending to be drunk whoring and spilling their drinks over him.
With a sigh, Francis downed the rest of the wine. This was going to be a long evening.
-x-x-x-
A/N: I have not written FrUK in forever. So, for a change, here it is! :'D I feel kind of bad that I haven't been able to post icons or FST's lately - there hasn't been much to work with these days. Well, for me at least.
Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himayura