"No! There's no way I'm going to work with that… that arrogant frog!"

Ludwig stared at the Brit coldly, resting his elbows against the table. "Mr. Kirkland, I am not asking your opinion about this. The play is bilingual, and you will be directing it with Mr. Bonnefoy."

"But..! Can't someone else do it! The frog knows English well enough to do it all by himself!" Arthur kept protesting, his huge eyebrows furrowed as he tried to match the German's scary glare.

"Mr. Kirkland, to put it simple; you'll be fired if you won't do it."

"B-But…!"

"I'm not going to change my mind."

"Stupid Mr. Beilschmidt… Stupid art school… Stupid act… Stupid Frenchman…," Arthur muttered as he walked through the school hallways. Just because he was an English teacher in an art school didn't mean he had to direct a play, right? Well, apparently it did mean. If it would have been anyone else than the frog -even the annoyingly cheery Spaniard or the too serious and calm Japanese! But no, of course, Ludwig thought he was smart when he decided to make Arthur work with the self-centered, stupid, idiotic Frenchie!

Sighing, he continued his way towards the hall of the school. He stopped at the door, already hearing the chatter of the students coming from inside. And there was the voice he loathed with all of his heart; that totally hideous French voice with the most terrible French accent!

After cursing all the swear words he knew, Arthur grabbed the door handle and opened the door, stepping inside. To his surprise, there wasn't a chaos inside. Francis wasn't raping the students against the walls and he hadn't let the students do anything stupid. They were sitting nicely on the floor and Francis was talking about the play; who would be in witch scene and such.

Then, those cerulean eyes found the Brit who was awkwardly standing at the doorway, not knowing whether he should interrupt or not (it was the frog so it wouldn't really matter, but if he'd interrupt, the students might maybe start a chaos…). "Oh, Arthur! It's nice to see you! Come here, I told the students about you being the other director!"

Oh how nice. Just why couldn't that idiotic frog get it; it was pronounced Arthur, not Arzur with those French r:s that he hated so much. Though it did sound pretty nice- AWFUL. It sounded awful.

"Yes, yes, whatever," was the British man's answer as he closed the door behind him, heading to where the Frenchman was standing.

"So umm… Most of you already know me. I'm Arthur Kirkland and I'll be directing this play with the fro- Ahem. I mean Francis," Arthur muttered, slight pink color spreading all over his cheeks at the almost slipped nickname.

"Great. So now we can begin!"

It actually went on pretty well. They bickered a few times, but they didn't get into huge fights like usually. There were no harsh insults, only something small and harmless. They didn't attack each other with their fists and teeth; they actually managed to stay away from each other's throats. It was a great achievement -at least for them.

Arthur got only now the script for the play, and at the first glance, he hated it. Such a soppy story. Boy and girl falling in love, the girl's parents don't accept it etc. But for once the Englishman, who at least claimed that he was a gentleman, decided to let it be. He could complain about it some other time, but now everything was going well; there was no real reason to start a bicker over the play.

Two hours were soon gone and the students were allowed to get home, as well as the two teachers.

"Mon ami, I was surprised to see it going so well!"

Arthur cursed under his breath. He had tried to escape without Francis noticing it, but of course, the French had to be faster than me. "Yes, well, I suppose so. See you tomorrow, frog."

Two weeks. They had actually managed to go on with the play for two weeks without fighting too much. They had managed not to swear in front of the students, or not to shout at them. Everything was going well. But of course, something had to happen.

"Non, non, non! That's not how you do it! You cannot hold her like a sack of potatoes! And that kiss, it's just… terrible! Come on, we've been training this for two weeks, you can do better!"

The students sighed and started the scene from the beginning, only to be interrupted by the French teacher again. Sighing, he walked on the stage, shaking his head a bit. "I guess I'll just have to show you," he muttered, turning to look at the Brit. "Arthur, could you come over here?"

Arthur had been lost in his thoughts (totally thinking about the book he was reading, not Francis), and so he had no idea what was going on the stage. "Ah, um… Sure, why not," he muttered, getting up from his seat and walking on the stage. A few students were already giggling and smiling, apparently guessing what was going to happen.

The Englishman was completely unaware of what was happening, and so he yelped a bit in surprise when he suddenly feel two arms around him, just above his waist.

"See? This is wrong with your hold. Move your arms lower," Francis said, moving his arms so they were around Arthur's waist, pulling the other one just a tad closer to him. "In this way, you are much closer to each other, with makes the whole scene more believable."

Arthur knew this was only for the students to learn, but he couldn't help but blush furiously, feeling his heart beat in his chest so fast it almost hurt.

"And the kiss. You kiss her like this," the French said, leaning in so his lips were barely brushing against Arthur's. "You can still talk without your words being muffled when you kiss like this. You have to do it deeper."

Arthur couldn't help it; when those talented lips captured his owns into a passionate, deep kiss, his arms found their way around Francis' neck. He most definitely hadn't been planning on letting the Frenchman kiss him, let alone returning the kiss. But he just couldn't help but melt into the gentle kiss, feeling so incredibly good in Francis' arms.

It felt like the kiss had lasted only for like ten seconds, but they had actually been lip-locked for almost two minutes. Francis pulled away from the kiss, leaving the Brit panting and blushing into his arms.

"But in the play, the kiss doesn't have to be near this long. Or this deep. But you got the idea. Now, you are allowed to leave. The last one locks the door!" Francis said kind of hastily.

Only a mere second after that, the two teachers were all over each other; lips overlapping, tongues swirling, hands roaming.

After half of an hour, the two of them laid panting on the floor, their clothes scattered around.

"Ugh… Just how did you get me into this…?" Arthur growled, feeling too lazy to get up from the Frenchman's tight, protective embrace.

Francis smirked, burying his nose into Arthur's tea-scented, messy hair.

"It's the art of acting."