Hey guys~

Ok, so the way I set these chapters up are kind of weird. Some chapters are dedicated to a specific pairing and then some are all three couples together. I'm going to try to post fast so that each couple gets equal exposure.

Please review, they make me happy XD

And I love to hear what you guys think!

Well, I'll let you get to the story now. Enjoy!

Francis x Arthur:

The psychiatrist sat cross legged in a chair facing the couch, examining the two men looking at her. They sat on the loveseat but they couldn't look any further from being in love. But as Dr. Elizaveta Héderváry knew all too well, looks could be deceiving.

"So, I'm sensing some tension," she began.

"No shit, Sherlock," the Brit immediately quipped as he rolled his eyes. His French partner raised an eyebrow and looked at the psychiatrist for sympathy.

"Do you see what I have to deal with?" he sighed. As the doctor nodded contemplatively, the Englishman gave her a dirty look.

"We've only been here two minutes and you're already taking his side? This is fucking ridiculous!"

"Oh, that's nice. Curse out the pretty lady before she even knows our names. I guess we're those people now," the Frenchman sighed.

"So you think she's pretty?"

"Oui, I think she's pretty gorgeous," he replied, winking. The psychiatrist looked cautiously between the couple. Even though she was truly flattered, she tried her best to refrain from blushing. Something told her it would only set the Englishman off further.

"Why do you always fucking do this to me, you bloody frog?"

"So my name's Francis Bonnefoy," smiled the Frenchman, ignoring the Briton's question. "And my boyfriend here, is called Arthur Kirkland."

"I won't be your boyfriend for long if you keep acting like such a bloody idiot!"

"Well let's see," Francis appeared to theorize. "If you break up with me now, we'd have been together for a whole week."

"Wait you guys have only been together for a week? The 'Honeymoon' phase usually lasts a couple days," Elizaveta noted. Francis nodded.

"Yes usually, but Arthur wanted to skip all that and get right to the fighting," he remarked sarcastically.

"And you wanted to skip all that and get right to the fucking!" Arthur snapped back.

"At least that's fun."

"Hey, don't blame me! We're here because of you!"

"You should be thanking me!"

"Ha! For what?"

"For caring, abruti!" (Idiot)

"What did I say about speaking in that bloody language of yours!?"

"Just because you don't get it, doesn't mean I shouldn't speak it. I'm sorry if I have culture," Francis asserted coolly.

"You can be such a prat sometimes!"

"And you make fun of me for not speaking English? What the hell does 'prat' even mean?"

"It means you're an ass!"

"Okay!" Elizaveta yelled to get their attention. This screaming match was counterproductive. These bastards needed to be happy already, she thought. They were so damn cute together; it hurt her that they were arguing. Arthur and Francis turned to look at her, surprised that such a voice could come from such a demure woman. "You guys like each other, right?"

"What?" Arthur asked. "What kind of bloody question is that?"

"A simple one, hopefully," remarked the Frenchman.

"Arthur, do you love Francis?" Elizaveta asked calmly.

"What-I-it's not-who is. There are people out there that-it's-you," Arthur stuttered as he felt his face grow warmer. "I didn't come here to be interrogated!"

"You came to couple's counseling and thought I wasn't going to ask you a single question about your relationship?"

"When you say it like that it sounds ridiculous!"

"How would it not sound ridiculous?" After a minute, Arthur simply glared at his therapist and Elizaveta raised an eyebrow. She turned to Francis.

"Do you love this man?" She asked, gesturing at Arthur. The Frenchman crossed his legs and thought for a moment-a long moment. Arthur looked at him as if he wanted to be mad but wasn't sure if he should be yet.

"You see, that's an interesting question," Francis began. "The way you phrased it suggested that Arthur was a man and not 51% eyebrows."

Elizaveta attempted to suppress a giggle as the Englishman turned to his partner in fury, his eyebrows furrowing so deeply they looked like one giant caterpillar.

"Mon cher, be careful. If you get those eyebrows too close together, they could start a fire," the Frenchman remarked before his lover could say anything.

"You're just jealous, you bloody frog," Arthur snapped. Francis pushed some of his hair away from his face and raised an eyebrow at this English boyfriend.

"Jealous of what exactly? Honestly, what is it that you have, that I would want?"

"For one, I'm intelligent."

"Perhaps, but that depends on how you judge intelligence. For instance, I'm more knowledgeable in the ways that matter, like philosophy, sex, cuisine, sex, languages, sex, art..." he rattled on. "All you know is how to properly place a comma."

"The oxford comma is extremely important!"

"Did you hear that?" Francis placed his hand behind his ear and gestured it towards the window. "That was the sound of bullies all over the world trying to punch you."

"You're hilarious."

"And that's without the aid of comically enhanced eyebrows."

"Why is it that you always make fun of my eyebrows? Am I so perfect that you have to focus on my one flaw?"

"You have many flaws. There's your arrogance, stubbornness, pride, pretentiousness, the list goes on."

"Really?"

"There's your height, strength, cooking abilities, counting skill-"

"You skip about ten numbers one time, and all the sudden you can't count!"

"I asked you if we had enough, and what did you say?"

"It doesn't matter! Everything turned out fine!"

"Because I made it turn out fine! It could've been a disaster! I save the day and what thanks do I get? 'I guess you're not as useless as I thought'. Does that even qualify as a compliment?"

"Well what kind of thanks did you want?"

"Sex."

"That's all you ever want! You'd think one day you'd get sick of it!"

"I say we test out that theory. You should just keep having sex with me and if I get bored, you were right."

"Maybe I will!"

"Good! Teach me a lesson!"

"I will indeed. We'll have sex un- NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! Nice try, I'm not falling for it!"

"One can dream," Francis smiled whimsically. Elizaveta stared at the two Europeans with the most content expression. She had already decided that these two belonged together, no one else would tolerate this kind of insanity.

"That was a complete waste of time," groaned Arthur as he laid on their bed in the hotel room. He knew that this retreat was going to be a bad idea -especially when he heard that the Frog's friends were going to be here. Just what he needed. To be surrounded by two more morons, but he guessed it wasn't too bad, when he thought about it. They only had to see the shrink for an hour and then they were free to do whatever they want, but Arthur was already sick of it. Why the fuck did he even agree to this shit? He could have sworn he was completely against it when they had been deciding whether they were coming or not. That sneaky Frenchman always gets what he wants, it isn't fair. If I looked like that, I'd be able to do whatever I wanted to... Francis walked out of the bathroom in his swim trunks and stopped the Brit's thoughts cold. Arthur sat up on the bed to examine the man that was gathering his stuff to go out.

"It wasn't that bad mon cher, you need to calm down," Francis suggested.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do! I'm a grown man."

"Believe me, I know," the Frenchman smirked. "But you don't have to get so upset all the time." Is that what he thought? That I'm some kid throwing tantrums? Well fuck him! Who needs him! I can do whatever the Hell I want!

"I wouldn't be upset if you would stop being such a jack-off!"

"I doubt it, you act like an imbecile no matter what I do," sighed the Frenchman. He reached into his bag and grabbed the sunscreen, applying it on his abs and then his back. Arthur was trying not to stare. The bloody idiot thinks he's sooooooo sexy! Well he isn't. He's so damn hot, that's what he is! Sexy, please? I only want him most of the time... I suppose he is hot... Like fire. Give me what you got, oh this thing's loaded, give me what- now is not the time to sing random songs. What was I thinking about again? Oh right, with brilliant blue eyes and shoulders you can hang your dreams on. Who wants that anyway? Hmmmm? Bloody git.

"Aren't you going to get ready?" asked Francis.

"What?" Arthur asked, coming out of his thoughts.

"Not that I don't adore you staring," smirked the Frenchman. "But you can do that anytime, and hopefully, later you'll do more than just stare. However, our friends are waiting and we don't want to be late." Is he serious? Me? Stare? At him? And he's trying to blame me for us being late? He's the one over there applying enough sunscreen to protect a bloody elephant! Who the hell wears that much sunscreen anyway? It's unnecessary! You'd think the bloody tosser was going to the sun itself!

"What are you talking about? I've been ready to go for hours, you're the one taking forever," Arthur quipped.

"You're ready?"

"Isn't that what just I said? God, what's wrong with you? It's like you don't even try to listen. What? Did you put croissants in your ears?"

"Firstly, that be a terrible place to store them," he said coolly as the Englishman scoffed. "Secondly," the Frenchman began slowly. "You're going to the beach in, that?" Arthur looked down at himself to see what Francis was talking about. Oh, bloody hell! I didn't change out of my clothes yet. Arthur could feel his boyfriend smirking as he realized his mistake. The git thinks he's so clever, I'll show him!

"This is how I always go to the beach."

"You're wearing like three sweater vests! Why is that? Instead of packing you thought you could just wear all your clothes?"

"These are just my beach clothes."

"What did you plan on doing once you got there? Drown?"

"That's my business."

"I'm your boyfriend!"

"So obviously, you won't let me drown, problem solved."

"If you go swimming in that, not only will I let you drown, I'll personally stop the lifeguard from saving you. Then, I'll record it, so I can laugh every time I see it. All because you were too fucking proud to admit that you spent all your time checking me out, and not changing!"

"I could admit it, that is, if it were true! You're just too fucking conceited to think that people aren't checking you out all the time!"

"Come on, at least one sweater vest. I really don't see what the big deal is; I know you're wearing your trunks under that outfit. All you really have to do is take off clothes."

"You know what? I was going to, but now I won't! Stop trying to control my life!" Arthur spat. Francis took a deep breath and pondered for a moment. He calmly walked over to his English boyfriend.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "You're right." Arthur was wary for a moment, before grinning triumphantly. Of course I'm right! I'm always right and it's about time you appreciate it, you bloody-his thoughts were cut off by the sudden sensation of Francis' lips on his. At first, he was a little tense, even trying to remove himself but he couldn't maintain the charade for long and when he reciprocated the kiss, the Frenchman took it as a green light. Arthur felt Francis' hands explore his body, removing his vests and then his shirts. The Brit pressed his now bare chest against the strong blonde's body and soon he felt his buckle become undone. Within a few moments, he ended up standing in nothing save for his swim trunks, but as he tried to deepen the kiss, Francis pulled back. Arthur stood there, confused as the man tossed him the sunscreen.

"Alright, you're ready. Let's go," Francis noted seriously as he grabbed the bag and headed out the door.