Author's Note: I'm a terrible person. I'm really proud of this, but at the same time I'm nervous because I don't really write in this style or genre or whatever it would be called. I usually do angst or fluff, this is a little darker than fluff and not as sad as angst so. Yeah, i'm nervous and rambling and sorry.

Warnings: Implied relations of the sexual type.

Disclaimer: If Hetalia were mine, I'd own the world, and instead of a circle, I'd have you draw a square. :)

England felt the hand run along his back as he buried his face deep into his arms on the table. Beside him lay an empty bottle of wine and two glasses long forgotten after the first few servings. He leaned into the touch, mentally reprimanding himself. He pushed the hand roughly away. There was a small little French sounding chuckle. He felt warm air tickling against his ear.

How had this started again? Who had started this?

"Come now Angleterre, do not act as though this is not what you wanted."

England stood up to yell at France to attack him, but he was pushed easily by the Frenchman into the wall. Arthur hissed in pain, and Francis couldn't help but smile at the wince on his face. Francis ran his hand into Arthur's hair gently at first, feeling the soft strands and then pulled at those soft locks exposing Arthur's neck more. Francis placed his lips on the sensitive skin and grinned at the shudder it caused the Englishman. He bit gently and was rewarded with a rough push.

Arthur growled and stormed upstairs, kicking stuff, and knocking things over.

France walked after him after he heard a resounding slam of a door.

He stood in front of the door smirking.

He knocked politely.

"How many times is this Arthur? 22-20? I'm in the lead if I recall correctly, and of course, I am never wrong."

"I thought we weren't keeping score anymore?"

"Arthur come on now. It's you and me; did you really think that either of us would stop keeping score? Sure, we'd stop announcing it like we used to but, it's us. We'd never let the other best us would we?"

"No I suppose not."

"Now let me in." Francis cooed

"Francis," the voice hesitated "W-we can't do this anymore." Arthur whispered.

"Why not?" Francis turned the doorknob and found it was open. The room was dark but a figure sat on the bed hunched over, apparently unaware the door had been opened

"Well for one, this is wrong, this is supposed to be soft, and warm, and sweet, this is supposed to be love, not sex," came the hoarse response. Arthur was sitting on the edge of the bed head in his hands.

Francis softly walked over. Arthur felt the extra weight of his lover on the bed. He felt hands go up to his hands and pull them away, he saw cobalt eyes stare deeply into his own emeralds. He felt soft lips against his own, sickly sweet, he felt arms protectively wind around his waist, he felt the back of his head hitting the bed, he felt the rough tickle of stubble along his jaws-line. His scent was intoxicating. It made him dizzy and made him want to let go of everything, and give up all over again.

So, England stopped thinking about it, he stopped thinking of the thousands of reasons flying through his mind telling him to push away Francis, to say no, to get the Frenchman off of him, to get the Frenchman to stop unbuttoning his shirt and later on to get Francis out of his pants.

"We shouldn't do this Francis." Arthur said before feeling his lips caught in another passionate kiss.

"Oh really mon cher?"

"Yes, Francis, we should stop." Arthur said before moaning for another kiss.

"I thought you said to stop Cherie?"

"Ngh-yes, stop right now." Arthur said as his hands flew up to undo the silk tie on francis's neck.

The Frenchman chuckled and helped Arthur remove his own shirt. Arthur ran his hands along Francis's bare chest, stating reasons why they should stop, all of which Francis laughed at.

"I don't want this Francis." Arthur said confidently before being reduced to whimpering desperately as Francis ceased the attack of kissing and nibbling on his neck.

"Arthur," Francis said in a sincere voice. It sounded almost afraid "I-if you do not want this, simply push me away, and I will stop." Francis said looking into Arthur's eyes with such sincerity, with such honesty. He was making a genuine offer.

And that is how Arthur found himself with both hands on Francis's chest, on the verge of pushing away before wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him closer than should've been possible.

"Okay, fine, the absolute last time." He said crossing his heart.

"You've said that too many times to count mon Cherie."

"I know but I'll only be with you this last time."

All too soon it was over, all too soon, it was gone. And Arthur was left lying under Francis, stuck with him like that unicorn tattoo on his left ankle.

Arthur sighed, feeling so stupid. He looked at the dozing Frenchman and couldn't believe how stupid he had been the night before. How could he have been so stupid as to have crawled back to the frog? He hated himself so much, hated himself for all his stupidity and weakness and being unable to push the man away.

He glanced once again at the man lying on top of him. He looked so beautiful in the just barely there sunlight, golden locks framing his face. Arthur bit his lip as he ran a hand through it.

Last night, had been different, it had been soft, and slow, and focused. It hadn't been a night to see who could cause the other more pain, it had been a night to see how much pleasure could be produced. And so Arthur felt, satisfied, happy. Well, content at the least.

Suddenly the Frenchman stirred. Arthur stopped his hand and watched.

"Bonjour Arthur," He purred before leaning up to kiss Arthur. Arthur winced at the touch, his lips still felt swollen.

"Hello Francis."

"So I believe the score is now 23-20 non?" the Frenchman said smirking at his latest conquest.

That was when Arthur realized, it was just another conquest, just another contest to see who would fall prey first. And he had lost. With that knowledge came a flood of hurt and pain. Those sweet nothings whispered last night of undying love were just that, nothings. Those soft kisses that caused bruised lips were just that, bruises. Everything was a lie, to bed him. And it had worked. Arthur felt like dying and heading straight for hell.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, that was the last time you bed me Francis Bonnefoy." Arthur growled.

"We'll see mon cher," Francis chuckled.

Author's Note: Did you like it? I hope so. Review if you have time.