Author's Note: Okay, so this is my first Franada story~ Hopefully it turns out okay. Rated Mature for a reason, just so you know. Currently the only warnings are of male-male relationships, cross-dressing, and mild fetishes (only mentioned).

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story, but I /do/ own the plot. Please give me credit for that much. I make no money from this at all, trust me.

"What the hell, Jack?" Matt blushed, beginning to look like a tomato.

"What do you mean what the hell?" Jack (Australia) smirked slightly.

"Why the hell would I wear a miniskirt?"

"Because you'd look hot," his smirk grew and Matt's blush grew even more prominent as he slowly shook his head. "And more people will notice you."

"N-non (No)! I would not!" He stammered, crossing his arms and pouting. "I'm a guy, guys don't wear skirts, dang it!"

"I wear skirts," Feliks walked up, hearing Matt's comment, causing him to falter slightly.

"A-and you look very good in them," he said quickly. "But wearing skirts just isn't for me…"

"You never know if you don't try it!"

"How do you know I haven't?" he countered stubbornly.

"Have you?" Feliks said, poking him.

"It's none of your business!"

"That's a no!" Jack snickered.

"Well then!" Feliks clapped his hands with delight. "You are, like, definitely coming with me!" Ignoring Matthew's protests, he grabbed the other's wrist and began pulling him from the conference room. He looked back at Jack with pleading eyes, only to be confronted with the mischievous glint in his eye, making him worry even more.

Francis noticed Matt trying to speak throughout the meetings, only to be spoken over every time. Eventually, he had given up and settled for taking notes, making Francis feel sympathetic. He had wanted to invite the Canadian to dinner that evening, but was intercepted by Gilbert and Antonio. He tried to excuse himself politely, but saw Matthieu speaking with Australia and Poland. He was looking rather embarrassed, blushing and shaking his head, arguing profusely. Francis couldn't help but be curious about what they were talking about that could fluster him so. He watched as Feliks clapped, looking delighted, and grabbed a red and spluttering Matthieu, pulling her out of the room with Jack following.

Francis finally separated himself from his friends, stating he was tired, and slipped from the meeting room, catching a glimpse of the trio turning a corner. He stayed far enough back so it didn't seem like he was following them (which he was). They soon entered a room, and when he peeked in it was obviously Feliks's. Staying outside, Francis listened carefully to the commotion going on inside.

When the three made it into Feliks's room, Matthew had given up fighting and was refusing to cooperate in the slightest. The Pole had pulled out a multitude of miniskirts, going through them one by one. Trying to find "just the right one" he said. Jack was standing in front of the door, to keep him from running. Matthew just stood by the window, glaring at his two allies.

"This one is perfect!" Feliks exclaimed, holding out a red miniskirt to the Canadian expectantly.

"We may be working on improving relations," he said bluntly. "But no way in hell am I putting that on."

"Come on!" Feliks pouted. "You would, like, totally look awesome!"

"Nope," he shook his head roughly. "Not happening." Jack and Feliks exchanged glances, then together they grabbed him, Jack sitting on the larger nation to hold him down, while Feliks began stripping his pants off. Matthew thrashed around angrily, shouting a string of curses in French. Feliks laughed suddenly.

"You have maple leaf boxers?" Jack asked with a snicker.

"Nobody was supposed to see them!" he growled.

"You should always dress as if your lover will see you," Jack said, pinching the Canadian's behind, earning a startled yelp.

I don't have a lover, Matt thought with a grimace, but didn't voice it aloud. Feliks soon had the skirt in place, and they let him up, but Jack quickly restrained his arms behind his back.

"In my jacket is a camera," he said, completely ignoring the squirming male. "Get a few pictures for me~."

"What? Non (no)! No, please don't take pictures!" He continued his struggles as Feliks snapped a few photos, quickly putting the camera away. Jack released Matthew, claiming his jacket and camera. "Delete them!"

"Say please~," Jack smirked—the pictures implied quite a bit more than what was going on in reality.

"S'il vous plait! (Please)" he begged. "Please!"

"Oh, alright," Jack, with a bit of dexterity, slipped the memory card from the device, pretending to delete the photographs. "All gone!" he handed to device to the Canadian, who began inspecting it for incriminating photos, and found none. He hesitantly handed the camera back, relieved, but suspicious.

"Merci beaucoup…(thanks a lot)" he whispered.

"You know, Mattie," Jack leered. "You really do look awful sexy like that~ Maybe you should wear it for Francis sometime~." He promptly got smacked upside the head by a blushing blonde.

"N-non (no)!" he changed rapidly into his pants, much to the other countries' disappointment. "He…he thinks of me like a son, nothing more…" he said sadly.

"Nope."

"What do you mean, 'nope'?"

"I mean," he pulled a sucker out of nowhere, popping it in his mouth. "That he doesn't think of you as a son~."

"So, I'm not even that much to hi—"

"Are you kidding me?" Feliks chuckled. "You mean to like, tell me, that you haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"That the Frenchie totally digs you!" they said in unison.

"Wha—?" Matthew blushed again, feeling his jaw go slack. "N-no….t-that couldn't be… Are you… Are you sure?"

"Definitely!" The Pole grinned. "Have you, like, not seen how he looks at you?" Matthew slowly shook his head.

"No…I thought I was always the one looking…" he turned his back to them, going to look out the window. "Every time we did make eye contact though, there was always this look in his eyes…but I thought it was just my imagination. He's always kind to me, but I never thought he might…you know…" Matt blushed again, realizing he sounded like a lovesick teenage girl, and laughed nervously. "I'm going to get packed. My flight leaves soon." While not being a total lie, he didn't need to pack, but his plane would be leaving soon, whether he was on it or not.

Francis's eyes lit up when he heard Matthew's confession, but quickly moved to the other end of the hall, and began walking towards the now opening door.

Matthew emerged from the room and began making his way to his room quickly, keeping his eyes on the ground and consequently, walking right into somebody.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking…" he blushed when he realized who he had run into. "B-bonjour, m-monsieur Bonnefoy…(hello, Mr.)" he stammered quietly.

"Bonjour, mon cher, (Hello, my dear)" Francis kissed the other's cheeks. "How many times must I tell you to call me Francis?"

"Désolé, (Sorry)" Matt mumbled, looking at his feet.

"Why are you apologizing?" he chuckled slightly. "Just remember next time."

"O-oui mons—Francis, (Yes, mist—)" he corrected himself quickly, making the Frenchman beam. "I'm sorry to say this," he mumbled, and he truly was sorry. "But, my flight home will be leaving soon, so I must gather my things and be off."

"Oh," Francis's face fell. He hadn't even gotten to invite him for dinner. "If that is the case, perhaps you would allow me to escort you to the airport…?" He wanted to as much time with the blonde as much as possible.

"I-if you want to…" Matthew flushed, but smiled nonetheless. "Are you sure you want to? I don't mind if you're just saying that…"

"Oui, mon petit Matthieu~ (Yes, my little Matthew)," Francis took the younger male's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Nothing would make me happier than to spend time with you."

"Well, then, um…" Matthew blushed, not expecting the show of affection from the man, but smiled, truly happy for the first time in a long time. "I-I just need to run by my room and grab my things…"

"Of course!" Francis allowed the other to take the lead, but did not release his hand. When they reached the room, Francis held open the door for him, making the Canadian blush and smile. He loved making him blush, he just looked so adorable when flustered. How was it that nobody noticed this beautiful boy? He was the epitome of perfection: flawless skin, soft as velvet; silky golden locks that framed large, violet eyes; and a small plump mouth, curved always into a smile—a smile, Francis knew, that hid many things—pain, sadness, fear, hate, love. There was nothing dissatisfying about this perfect angel.

"Kuma!" Matthew frowned, and Francis wanted nothing more than to smooth the lines marring his beauty. "What are you doing?" There was no anger in his voice, just amusement. The polar bear had opened one of the suitcases, turning the once neatly folded and organized clothing into a nest for the bear.

"Looks like he was sleepy~" Francis chortled as the Canadian scooped the bear up and laid him on the bed where it immediately went back to sleep. Francis knelt down, beginning to refold the clothing and placing it neatly into the suitcase.

"Francis!" The Canadian quickly tried to stop him, blushing as he picked up his boxers. "Stop!"

"Non (no)," Francis laughed. "These are adorable~" he held out a pair of boxers that were covered in frogs, which Matthew promptly snatched away blushing.

"Stop that!"

"Non~"

"Why?" he said, exasperated.

"Because you need help, oui (yes)? I thought your plane left soon."

"It does, but—"

"But nothing," Francis said firmly. "I don't want you to miss your flight." Actually, he wouldn't mind it, because then he could spend more time with the young Canadian.

Matthew remained silent, pouting, but did not protest anymore, and they finished repacking his things quickly.

Author's Note: I just wished to inform you that I did not pull these three into a friendship because I could. All three of these countries have very good relations with each other, which is why they are all friends.