A/N: Part one of my posting frenzy today! I was gone over the weekend and got a ton of time to write, so voila! New fics galore! Although I must admit, I was writing so much smut and had my head in the gutter for so long there that I was starving for fluff - and hence, this was born. Based on a field trip that my school took at the end of the year, Gil's craziness and all! Enjoy!

"Shit!"

Arthur Kirkland yelped as he lost his balance yet again and went crashing to the floor. His already-bruised tailbone howled in protest, and he groaned. How could everyone else in the entire twelfth grade make skating look so effortlessly easy, while he was left losing his footing every ten seconds? They were on a field trip to give the exam-exhausted teachers a break from the obnoxious high schoolers, but Arthur seemed to be the only one who had a complete inability to skate. It just wasn't fair that some people should get all the talent, he grumbled inwardly as he climbed shakily to his feet and cautiously made his way back out of the rink—especially not that frog.

Francis Bonnefoy and his 'Bad Touch Trio' were the self-proclaimed rulers of their high school, unfortunately for Arthur. He seemed to be the only one who didn't like the bloody idiot and his two stupid minions, and even though he refused to admit to even himself, there was really nothing about any of them—particularly Francis—to be hated. The frog even went out of his way to be nice to Arthur.

It pissed him off.

Arthur sighed, flopping down at one of the tables outside the skating rink and wincing when a sudden pain shot through his bruised hips. Gingerly, he crossed his legs and shifted to one side so he wouldn't be sitting directly on his tailbone, wondering for the umpteenth time in the past hour why the bloody hell he'd agreed to come on this trip.

The skating rink was dimly lit, green and blue and red lights casting fuzzy shadows among all the other twelfth graders, laughing and talking happily over the loud music. Arthur wondered what it was like to really skate; it seemed fun. Or, at least, it looked fun.

Even though all of his grade was out there on the big rink, one boy stood out from all the others, weaving and sweeping through curves with seemingly effortless grace. Arthur watched with envy as the boy swerved on invisible wings, slipping into a fleeting spin and shooting forward even faster than before.

Francis Bonnefoy was a swan.

"Hey, Artie!"

An obnoxious voice jolted Arthur from his thoughts, and he looked up to see his friend Alfred grinning down at him like a maniac.

"Why aren't you skatin', dude?" Alfred exclaimed, dragging the protesting Arthur to his feet. He pulled Arthur haphazardly toward the edge of the rink once more, steering him by the wrist and completely ignoring the shorter boy's constant slipping and near-falls. Once they had neared the center of the white-painted concrete floor under the glowing lights, Alfred let go of Arthur's arm with a bright grin.

"Well, gotta run! See ya, Artie!"

And with that, he turned on his heel and skated away; Arthur was left stranded in the center of the rink.

He sighed, standing there for a moment and trying to decide what to do next. He didn't want to hurt his knees or tailbone any more than they were already, but it looked as if there was no choice. Arthur groaned and started very tentatively back toward the edge of the floor.

But just as he was about to relax a bit, Arthur felt his legs begin to slip out from under him and panicked yet again. Oh, no, his knees couldn't take another fall—

Suddenly a pair of warm arms grabbed him from behind, gently pulling him upward and placing him back on his feet just before he tumbled to the floor.

"Don't hurt yourself, cher," a kind voice murmured in his ear.

Arthur sighed as the person's hands carefully left him, one warm palm still hovering over his back just in case he fell again.

"Bit late for that," he snorted, trying to move forward and stumbling almost immediately. The person behind him caught him quickly, chuckling.

"So I see."

Arthur felt himself being gently pushed toward the edge of the rink, the other person's arms firm and warm around his waist to keep him up.

"Push your foot out, then use it to push off, like you're walking. That's it. Now do that with the other one. Non, you have to keep the wheels on the floor—"

Suddenly Arthur stopped dead, and would've spun around if he hadn't been concentrating more on not breaking his neck at the moment. That mix of French and English could only belong to one person he knew...

"Francis!" he snarled. "Get your hands off me, you bloody—"

Again, Arthur stumbled, and Francis caught him just in time to gently let him down on a bench. Arthur was dismayed to see the frog smiling.

"I was merely helping, petit lapin," Francis said mildly, straightening up and turning toward the concession stand. "I'll go get us some drinks."

Arthur immediately stood up again, miraculously managing to stay on his feet. "No," he said quickly.

Francis raised a questioning eyebrow, and Arthur immediately felt his face go pink, praying that the low lights would disguise it as he quickly looked down in embarrassment. "I-I mean, you don't have to do that."

God dammit, why was he being nice to him?

The eyebrow lowered again, and Francis chuckled, touching his shoulder gently and making Arthur bite his lip when his stomach did a giddy flip. "But I want to, cher," he said with a smile, fucking perfect blue eyes glistening under the lights. Arthur blushed even more, suddenly feeling like a total dork and wishing he could sink through the floor. Francis just shot him another smile and skated off for the concession stand, weaving between people and the dancing lights until he disappeared from view.

"Have you ever been skating before?"

Francis sat across from him, legs crossed and feet just brushing his own beneath the table as they sat together, talking and drinking their sodas. Arthur tried to keep on edge, but something about Francis was just so disarming that he actually found himself—God forbid—enjoying their conversation. He kept noticing all of the frog's annoying little habits, which was quite unsettling as well, from the tiny flip of his wavy blond hair to get it out of his face, to the nibbling at the end of his straw while he listened to Arthur talk. Francis was a good listener, and very curious.

Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes slightly, but all the same he just couldn't seem to throw these questions back in Francis's face. He finally settled on a small shrug, taking another sip of his soda. "Sure I have, you stupid frog," he said, though it came out with a fair bit less venom than he would've liked. It almost sounded... he winced at the thought. Friendly. "I'm just terrible at it is all."

Francis laughed, shaking his head, and again Arthur tried to ignore that little hair flip to get the bangs out of his face. His hair looked so soft... For one disturbing moment, Arthur almost found himself wanting to just reach out and touch it.

"Non; you're anything but terrible, Arthur," Francis said with a smile. "Just too tense. And..."

Arthur shot him a questioning look as he trailed off. Francis finally continued, his foot tapping lightly under the table again—another one of his habits.

"Where are you getting all this frog business, if you don't mind my asking?" He asked, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It interests me."

Arthur looked up, meeting his gaze, looking over the handsome face under the soft lights. A light array of freckles dusted his nose; his eyelashes were long and silvery, lips not too full, but not thin either. Perfect. He had a small scar—the remainder of a scratch, most likely—on the right side of his jaw. His skin was smooth and soft-looking, almost glowing with a slight, healthy tan. Francis was nothing like a frog. His brilliant blue eyes were clear and deep. Arthur felt a pang of guilt.

Finally he contented himself with a small shrug, tearing his eyes away and going back to looking at the table again, now twisting his hands uncomfortably.

"I-I don't really know," he mumbled. "It's sort of a nickname, I guess."

Francis laughed, and again Arthur could feel his face burning with embarrassment, and pressed his foot down on that bloody frog's perhaps a bit harder than was necessary to get him to stop tapping already. When Arthur finally dared look up, he saw Francis looking at him with unbearably kind, clear blue eyes that made him want to smack him and curl up in a hole with shame at the same time.

"Frogs aren't the most desirable creatures, but I can't say I really mind, mon cher," Francis smiled. "I've been called worse."

Arthur tried to keep the surprise off of his face, but it must've showed, even in the dim and flashing lights of the skate rink, because Francis reached across the table to brush his fingertips softly over Arthur's hand, smiling a little sadly.

"Oui, lapin; you are not the only one who has hated me, and I'm sure you won't be the last. But that is no excuse for me to hate you too, non?"

Arthur bit his lip. Suddenly he felt terrible for treating Francis the way he did.

Francis seemed to notice, and stood from his side of the table to offer Arthur his hand. "Ready to try again?"

Arthur eyed the hand apprehensively, and Francis gently brushed it over his shoulder, as though reading his thoughts—but that still didn't offer much comfort.

"But I'll fall," he said in a small voice, twisting his hands again. Francis chuckled, slipping his hand between Arthur's and gently locking their fingers to pull him to his feet. Arthur looked at him as he stood shakily, blushing a little and praying the sudden eruption of butterflies in his stomach had absolutely nothing to do with the simple touch, and feeling even more heat rush to his face when Francis gave his hand a little squeeze, not letting go once he was standing.

"I'll catch you," Francis whispered. Arthur's face flushed even more, if that was humanly possible, and he stared down at their feet as Francis gently began pulling the two of them back out onto the rink.

"Then I'll drag you down with me," Arthur muttered darkly, and Francis laughed again, picking up their pace a little, though he seemed to be sure he was keeping away from any other groups of students. It was less crowded now, with more people taking breaks and sitting down at the tables. Arthur finally looked up, his grip on Francis's hand tightening, and he tried to ignore the way those deep blue eyes sparkled and caught the light as the taller boy turned to him.

He looked just about to speak, when suddenly one extremely high Gilbert Beilschmidt came shooting past them, screeching at the top of his voice, hands in the air and autopilot steering mechanism apparently switched to Rampage. Arthur finally realized his screeching was actually singing along with the music—and managed to turn just in time to see the albino go rocketing into the rink wall at what must've been 90 miles an hour. He winced at the crash, watching in something akin to both horror and amazement as Gilbert simply backed up, dusted himself off, and went flying off in another direction, weaving haphazardly between the other skaters and resuming his screeching din. Arthur watched him go.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, laughing a little and shaking his head.

"I think that pretty much sums it up," Francis agreed.

Since then, Arthur and Francis had pretty much had the luxury of their own entertainment committee, right out there on the rink; Gilbert was a riot. People filtered in and out, skating and eating and chatting with friends, and even two hours later, Arthur was still holding tightly onto Francis's hand for balance—though his butterflies hadn't calmed one bit. Every time Francis gave his fingers a squeeze, his stomach flipped and his heart decided to leap up to join his esophagus.

He still hadn't decided if he liked this feeling yet.

It turned out that the cause of Gilbert's insanity was the caffeinated soda—and once Arthur had gotten used to the albino's craziness, it was, in a word, hilarious. There had been a few times when he and Francis had both collapsed from laughter, and had to wait a few minutes for it to die down again before they could climb back to their feet and expect to stay there for any significant amount of time. Of course, Arthur could never—unless Francis was there, helping him up, and letting the smaller boy hold his hand for support.

There had been one particular occasion where Arthur had gotten the pleasure of meeting a girl named Elizaveta Hedevary, apparently the founder of the Fangirl R. A. P. E. Association, and had abruptly decided he would give his utmost effort to never get on her bad side.

"Self-centered!"

"AWESOME!"

"Arrogant!"

"AWESOME!"

"Bigheaded!"

Apparently this was an argument that happened quite a lot; Elizaveta didn't seem to be convinced that Gilbert was 'awesome'—and that meant he must defend his awesomeness to the very end. Gil seemed to have absolutely no fear of the frying pan that she was now raising menacingly, her eyes flashing, and he yelled back anyway.

"AWESOME!"

"RETARDED!"

"AWESOME!"

Meanwhile, Francis and Arthur hung near them, watching the action and trying not to laugh.

"SNOOTY!"

"AWESOME!"

"CONCEITED!"

"AWESOME!"

"NO, I'M AWESOME!" Elizaveta shouted. The frying pan was raising higher...

Gilbert stopped screaming to look at her incredulously, seemingly totally thrown. He stared at her for a moment, then stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "No you're not, you're manly."

WHAM.

Arthur and Francis both cringed. "Egh... That's got to hurt," Arthur muttered, shivering as he glanced between where Gil was now out cold in the middle of the rink and Elizaveta's huffily retreating back.

"Oui," Francis shrugged, still wincing a bit but giving Arthur's hand one of those gentle squeezes that made his heart race and feel like it was going to pound its way out of his chest. "But then again, it happens a lot."

Arthur looked at him, but before he got a chance to reply the lights suddenly dimmed and the strobes lit up faster, all flashing colors now among the velvety darkness.

"Wait—what's going on?" Arthur muttered, shifting backward a little skittishly. Francis just smiled, shaking his head.

"Just changing the music, mon amour," he said quietly. He turned to Arthur, looking a little sheepish. "Er, Arthur—do you mind relaxing a little? You're crushing my hand."

"Oh! I, um..." Dammit dammit dammit, why did he always feel like such an idiot? "Yeah, sorry," he muttered, face burning as he let go of Francis's hand and stumbled again almost immediately. Francis chuckled, making him blush even more as warm arms slipped around his waist, because they felt oh god so much better than they should because wasn't Arthur supposed to hate this frog oh no it wasn't supposed to happen like this! Francis was starting to skate backward now, taking Arthur with him as the new song came on.

"The sun goes down

The stars come out

And all that counts is here and now

My universe will never be the same

I'm glad you came..."

Arthur nearly tripped again, but Francis caught him and gently held him closer than before, now rubbing tiny circles into his back that made his entire body tingle, and he bit his lip, trying to convince himself that the stupid butterflies really didn't feel good, even though now he was sure they did.

"You can hold onto me if you want," Francis murmured as Arthur stumbled again, but he shook his head, feeling a little dizzy with all this closeness.

"C-can we just go sit back down?" he asked, voice coming out a lot smaller than he'd intended, but Francis seemed to get the message; he nodded, carefully letting go of Arthur's waist to take his hand and lead him back out of the rink.

As it turned out, their table had been taken by Elizaveta and her R. A. P. E. association, and Arthur and Francis only had to exchange glances to know that there was no way in hell either one of them was sitting near that insanity. So Arthur let Francis lead him to a corner that was shadowed from all the brilliantly flashing lights, where no one could interrupt their conversation.

They sat there for a moment in silence, listening to the music and leaning back against the wall, before Arthur felt Francis take his hand again and looked up to find those blue eyes staring into his.

"Arthur, I know you don't like me, and I know you'll probably never speak to me again for this, but..."

As Francis spoke he leaned in closer, and Arthur froze, knowing what was coming, part of him wanting to just close that distance and snog Francis within an inch of his life, and another part of him wanting to shove him away and get the hell outta there.

Their breaths were mingling, Francis's ghosting over his face softly as he paused, eyes flickering upward to meet Arthur's for a moment, before they fell shut and that perfect pair of lips locked over his. Arthur gasped, and a second later Francis's hand was behind his neck, and he was tasting cinnamon and sugar and warm, sweet vanilla as a hot tongue gently slipped into his mouth.

Before he knew what he was doing, Arthur's eyes had fallen shut.

And he was kissing back.

Francis seemed pleasantly surprised, running his tongue along the inside of Arthur's teeth gently, and Arthur sighed before he could stop himself, pressing closer, hands sliding over his chest, moving upward so he could slide his arms around Francis's neck. Suddenly it felt like all his nerves were in overload, as he moaned softly and pulled himself into Francis's lap, laughing slightly as he felt the other boy smile against his mouth, feeling him pull away a little to kiss over the corner of his mouth and over his jaw, then move back to his lips for one final kiss before pulling away. His eyes locked with Arthur's; beautiful and deep, gold laced around the pupil, silver shading the outside, and Arthur smiled, leaning down to rest his head on the strong shoulder. Francis hugged him close.

"Je t'aime, mon petit lapin," he whispered. "I've been looking forward to this field trip for ages."

"Why?" Arthur whispered back.

"Because of you. You're so cute when you're embarrassed."

"Oh, shut up," Arthur mumbled into Francis's shoulder, feeling a deep rumble beneath his ear when Francis laughed.

"Alfred told me you were sitting this trip out," he murmured, rubbing Arthur's back in warm circles and holding his hand as they sat there in their corner, safely out of sight. "I'm glad you came."

Arthur laughed quietly, feeling Francis press a trail of warm, soft kisses over his jaw. "I'm going to feel like a truck ran me over tomorrow from all these bruises—but I am too."