Okay, fucking oodles of thanks to france_b (lj) for being a perv with me and RPing smut almost as often as fluff. She basically co-wrote this. Also the reason I know have the urge to write Francis with a French accent orz;; so missing 'h's are purposeful my good readers~

Takes place before the epilogue but after the last chapter.

OKAY, SO IT'S SMUT. THIS CHAPTER HAS AN 'M' RATING. IF YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH IT, DON'T READ.

First

Arthur almost drops the ring.

This is the first thing he does on the first night out with Francis on their first official date of their first time together in Paris. It is not the first time Arthur blushes, or stutters or makes a fool of himself in front of the Frenchman, but it certainly stings as much as it did the first time. Perhaps, with time, he would one day enjoy the way his cheeks flushed a cheery red, but he suspects that it will only come with time.

He watches Francis bend over, pale hand extending from the sleeve of a black dress shirt, carefully picking up the golden band, blowing on it and rubbing it on his pants so that it that the dull gold gleams once again. The smile the Frenchman gives him it such a mixture of exasperation and pure joy that Arthur can't help but bow his head in shame and pleasure. "Per'aps we will try again, non?" He says, passing the ring to the Brit.

Arthur gets to his knees as Francis stands. By now a crowd has assembled watching with idle interest. Arthur wonders why the second time he proposes, people watch, as if they are going to judge him for performance, romantics and general clichéd-ness of asking someone to marry you in France.

"Francis Bonnefoy," He forces the stutter out of his voice staring at the blue eyes, trying to force himself not to drop the ring as he grabbed the Frenchman's hand, "Will you marry me?"

Still smiling, but sweeter and quieter, Francis beams at him. "For the second time in the last two minutes, oui." Arthur quickly gets to his feet, puts the ring on Francis' finger and kisses him in an attempt to hide his glowing face. It is short, but the Briton doesn't want to make a show in the slowly dispersing crowd.

As he tries to pull away, Francis' arms tighten around him, keeping them just close enough that Arthur can feel hot breath in his ears, carrying whispered words. "But you are not the only one with a surprise tonight Sourcils," A finger pokes his hip and he looks down to see a silver ring sitting in the Frenchman's palm. "We seemed to have had the same plans." The chuckle sends tingles down his entire body.

Getting to his knee, Francis took Arthur's hand, trailing kisses along each knuckle. "Arthur, mon cher, veux-tu m'epouser?" the Englishman wasn't sure if his toes were still working as all the blood in his body seemed to be in his face.

"But I might drop the ring." Arthur says quietly, eyeing the silver band. It is newer than the one he has given to Francis and shines bright at him and all he can see is it flying over the side of the bridge and sinking deep into the darkness of the Seine.

"Here." Francis grabs his hand and slipped the ring on, holding his hands tenderly "It's the only way you won't lose it." The Frenchman chides playfully, standing and kissing him, longer and more avidly than before.

When they pull back, they are both panting and their trip back to the hotel takes twice as long as it should, as at every darken alley they stop to use the darkness to their advantage. By the time they stumble into the lobby and managed to get themselves into the elevator, Arthur was glad he had worn a large, loose jacket.

The hotel room is nothing like the La Dolce Vita but Arthur doesn't care for anything but the way Francis touches him. How quick and practiced the fingers are as they pull at his clothes off, casting them aside. How warm and luscious the kisses are as Francis begins working on his own clothes. How wanting and harsh the voice is as it breathes hotly into his ear.

Arthur is thrown to the bed, gasping as he watches Francis struggle with his dress shoes swearing violently before crawling on top of the Englishman. "Oh Sourcils," He croons and Arthur turns his head at the soft tone, "How do you look so… 'shaggable' as you call it?"

By now, the Brit was desperate. This is the first time they've made it to the bed with the intention of going to whole way and the thought excites and frightens Arthur all at once. "Just shut up." He says, wrapping his arms around Francis' neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. Feeling the grin against his lips, Arthur barely has time to slip his tongue along the Frenchman's lip before he pulls back, trailing kisses down the Arthur's chest. "Bastard… You a-are despicable." He mutters, moaning as the hot mouth closes around his nipple, teasing it.

Francis stops his ministrations, glancing up at Arthur, his mouth agape and gasping slightly. "A-Arthur?" The voice trembles, unsure.

Groaning in frustration at being teased again, Arthur looks down at Francis. "What?" He demanded, unable to keep the snap from his voice. The Frenchman could be an utter mood-killer at the best of times.

Adam's apple bobbing, Francis' eyes fall from Arthur and the swollen lips close. "Je t'aime…" Again, the words are uncertain, barely audible.

The Englishman's heart skips a beat. Francis does not say that often, in fact, Arthur doesn't think he had said those words since their reunion in Rome. Unsure of how to react to the confession, Arthur lets his head fall back, running a hand through his hair. "I know you do Francis," He speaks to the ceiling, "I do know…" On reflection, he realizes that it is perhaps not the most compassionate of things to say.

Lower lip bitten in disappointment, Arthur watches as Francis continues to kiss his chest, but in a much more mechanical way, the thin hands exploring his body aimlessly. Immediately noticing the lack of passion they had less than a minute ago, Arthur tries to sit up, grabbing the Frenchman's shoulders. "Francis?"

"Oui?" Francis looks up curiously, as though Arthur hadn't said the least loving sentence ever uttered.

"I…" Shaking his head, Arthur wonders why, despite speaking the language for years he still manages to find himself without the proper words, "I do…like" -shit- "You Francis."

Blue eyes hurt and Francis pulls away, turning his back on Arthur. Hands reach back, lifting the blond hair so that it sits over one shoulder and Arthur swallows hard when the Frenchman speaks, "It's alright. I understand Sourcils." A weak chuckle that practically rips Arthur's soul, strangling it with guilt. "I was foolish to say anything."

Sliding off the bed, Arthur faces Francis, feeling the soft golden hair as he touches the high cheek, sliding his hand down the scruffed chin, and lifting it so that he can see into the hurt blue eyes. "It was hardly foolish…" He mutters, running his thumb fondly over Francis' cheek, "That was my fault, again."

A watery chuckle. "You are terrible at this romance thing mon Anglais."

"Perhaps we can fix that." Arthur slides onto the bed, gripping Francis' hips with his knees, straddling him. Using both hands, he holds Francis face, pushing their foreheads together. "I love you Francis Bonnefoy. Ever since you pulled me off that street and dragged me to Rome. It just took me some time to realize it."

Tears form at the corners of the blue eyes, arms wrap around his neck in a tender embrace and Arthur finds himself under Francis again. The Frenchman is gentler now, softly kissing him, pressing their chests together so that Arthur could feel the Frenchman's heart pounding furiously.

"You are wonderful." Francis whispers, pulling back to kiss the corner of the Brit's mouth before moving down the pale body, gently tending to his chest while beginning to slide off Arthur's pants and underwear. "Truly Sourcils." The kisses trail further down his abdomen - Arthur hands grip at Francis' shoulders - and his pants are soon on the ground, the Frenchman's hand on his length and warm lips on the inside of his thigh.

Moaning, Arthur closed his eyes as the mouth gently traced up his half-hard cock, planting a kiss on the head. "I k-know that." He shudders as Francis sucked gently at the tip, tongue swirling around the tip, slowly moving down his member. The Frenchman's fingers slowly massage his legs, just shy of his…vitals. "O-Oh God…" He thrusts up into Francis' warm mouth, eyes rolling into the back of his head. A year of no sex is finally getting to him.

Throat relaxing around Arthur, Francis taking half of him. "F-Francis…" the Brit moaned as Francis pulled back only to descend back, engulfing all of him. The Frenchman's tongue moved half-heartedly around the base. He was hard by now, letting go of Francis' shoulders and gripping at the sheet, twisting his head to the side, forcing his eyes shut.

Embarrassed, Arthur can already feel his edge coming quickly and he wished that he wasn't so easily turned on. Perhaps sending more time with Francis would remedy that. Before he could ponder his future with Francis, he saw the blue eyes glance up and take in the vision of the sweaty and bothered Englishman, grinning around Arthur, finally letting one of his hands press at the base of the hard member, tenderly stroking.

"F-Francis- I'm going to-" He shakes horribly, teeth gritting as the edges of his vision flashes white. Francis starts to move faster, sucking and humming, encouraging Arthur to finish. Eyes slamming shut, he moans the Frenchman's name as he comes into his mouth. "S-Shit! I-I'm sorry Francis! A-And our fi-first time too…" Sitting up, he runs a hand over his face in embarrassment.

Before the Englishman could react, Francis has pulled back, running a thumb along his cheek, licking the cum greedily. "Don't be sorry," Licking his lips, he grinned up at Arthur, gesturing vaguely at his erection, "But per'aps you will help me?" Moving his cum soaked hand towards Arthur's entrance.

Nodding dumbly, the Brit grabs Francis' shirt, pulling him onto the bed and pushing him against the headboard. "But I'll… top in a sense." He says sliding onto the Frenchman's legs, tossing the slacks aside.

"And 'ow do you plan on doing zat?" Francis asks, his hand nonchalantly pushing into Arthur's tight ring, just short of his prostate making Arthur's limp cock twitch slightly.

Leaning against Francis' shoulder, Arthur tries to keep his breathing steady. "Just sit." He whispers, nibbling the bottom of Francis' ear, lavishing kisses in the crook of his neck and along his jaw.

In response, the fingers in him curl, hitting his sweet spot, making him growl low in the back of his throat. He breathes deeply, willing himself to relax so that Francis pushes in another finger, gently stretching the tight entrance. Pulling himself off the Frenchman's shoulder, he stares at Francis, wonderful if his green eyes are as wanting as the blue ones.

"I love you." Arthur whispers.

"And these pants are getting rather tight." Francis responds wickedly, leaning forward and kissing Arthur, running his tongue along the swollen lips before slipping into Arthur's mouth so that the Brit can taste the faint remains of himself. Fingers fumbling with the pants for only a moment, Arthur lifting him so he can pull them off, casting the pants aside, still managing to keep his lips to Francis'.

Grabbing Francis' wrist, Arthur pulls the finger out of himself, shuddering slightly. "Let me." He whispers quietly against the Frenchman's lips, panting for breath before lowering himself onto Francis, trying to relax. Francis' groan travels straight to Arthur's ass and he pulls his mouth away, wrapping his arms so that he holds his lover close.

Francis quickly mirrors the move, holding Arthur close, giving him support while peppering the sweaty chest with light kisses. It takes the Englishman a moment to notice that each kiss is followed by a breathless 'je t'aime.' Closing his eyes, Arthur lifts himself before slumping back down, slowly adjusting to the rhythm.

Quickly losing themselves in a haze of lust, they move as one for the first time. Francis' hips are gently as they rolls against Francis and Arthur pants heavily, kissing the Frenchman fervently, only pulling back when Francis tries to speak, his blue eyes hidden behind messy golden hair. "Dieu…ngh, A-Arthur…"

"It's alright Francis." Arthur says, his voice oddly confident for someone in a position as compromising as his own. Taking the Englishman's mouth in a tender, but short kiss, Francis' head snaps back as with one last thrust he climaxes, filling Arthur and collapsing against him, hugging him close.

Shifting to pull himself off of the Frenchman, Arthur leans into the embrace savouring the warm body against his own, relishing the after-glow in the pit of his gut. A lazy kiss is place at his cheek as Francis guides them under the covers, cuddling the small man closely. "Not bad for our first time, mon cher." The compliment makes Arthur blush almost as much as the term of affection.

"I love you." The Brit mutters, rubbing his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted, finding he really can't find anything else to say, as his heart is too full with the confession. "Even though you're a French prick."

When Francis laughs, Arthur feels the chest tremble behind him and smiles. "Je vous aimerai pour toujours et toujours." A soft kiss and the relaxing sigh of the body and he feels the blue eyes close, eyelashes brushing the top of his back, barely there. Arthur feels himself drifting away and breathes in deeply.

It is the first time Arthur falls asleep beside someone he loves.

Author's Note

So there it is. Your poorly-written porn XD; Enjoy~~