Hetalia One-Shots [REQUESTS OPEN]

Lost (pirate!EnglandXpirate!France)

The wind blew roughly, bringing up the salty smell of the deep sea. The pirate stood on the cliff, eyes closed, and breathed in the air. Along with the salt, there was smoke, blood and rum–a strong and heavy mix, making anyone drunk.

He loved it. The travelling, rum, women, even sometimes the tangy scent of blood. He owned many things here, but it was not his country or his home.

The scenery was just enough.

"Enjoying the view are you?"

"Of course I'm not." This laugh came easy for the both of them. The man who once faced the sea, turns and smiles at his friend. The two stare at each other for a moment, automatically knowing whatever is troubling the other. Because only such a long friendship as theirs could do.

"How are you, friend of mine?"

"As long as I have the ocean beneath me and rum in my hand," he raised an arm.

"You'll be alright!" they yelled in unison.

There was a bit more silence as the two stares at whatever lies behind the others shoulder. The blue-eyed blond strode up and grabbed his friend's chin, jerking it up so he could peer into his green eyes.

"Something is wrong." he said simply, backing away and frowning.

"Keep your hands off of me!"

"Arthur...." Francis continues to frown but does oblige. "What's happened these few months?"

"Nothing." Arthur turns away and crosses his arms, showing no further interest in the conversation. But his shoulders are stiff and he clenches his arms.

"Quit lying to me, mon cher, it's not fair."

"Nothing is fair anymore," There was a surprising conviction in his voice that was so strong it shook. They both know it's true but just to hear it aloud....

Without words, Francis pried Arthur's hands off of his arms and led him away from the cliff, afraid of what the Brit would do if he stayed there any longer. He knew he probably would think of throwing himself off just to end the pain–but wouldn't; there are more important things and better people who need him.

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"I need some rest." The jeweled man stood from the table, knowing well that the people at it didn't care.

Francis had dropped him off to his house but the Brit thought it would be better to come to the brotherl instead; just so he could try get whatever was bothering him off his mind, but if he knew one thing: drunk or not, you always remember what you wanted to forget.

Maybe he should go drinking with Scotland.

Arthur smirked and shook his head. Walking down the halls, he avoided walking into drunks and prostitutes, humming a song to himself. As a pirate, he was pretty familiar at brothels and bars, and most of them were the same anyways.

"Mister," a woman called, reaching for his arm.

Arthur snarled and pinned her to the wall. "Might want to keep that to yourself, darling." he said and smiled a charming yet scary smiled. The woman whimpered in fear and tried to slip under his arm. But he didn't allow that to happen; he took her chin, smirked and proceeded to kiss her. Of course, as she was, she immediately submitted but the kiss didn't last long.

Pulling away, Arthur wiped his mouth and walked away. Now, the rum was getting to him; he had drunk a lot–how many, he doesn't remember. But thank God for the French! Thank god for giving him such an insightful friend!

He began singing to himself again, walking out into the stuffy outside air. He pushed by the late workers and whoever else was out, not really caring where he ended up. Honestly, anywhere would be fine right now. Except jail. Hell no.

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"Your drunk. Go home England."

"I am not."

"Someone has already slipped something right into your drink. Right under your nose. How did that happen?"

Arthur stared at Francis with a serious look in his eye. "Maybe I let them."

Francis mumbled a few curses under his breath and opened the door wider door his friend. The British man barely stepped two feet in before he stumbled and nearly fell. Francis caught him, wondering briefly what would happen if he let Arthur fell; he lead him over to the small room he always had for someone who needed to spend the night and laid the drunk man on the bed.

Arthur clung to France's collar. His breath reeked of alcohol.

Reluctantly, Francis bent down so he could hear the slugged speech of the drunk before him. "Help me..." Arthur looked deep into those blue eyes, his green ones looking broken.

His eye patch was off, so Francis could see the rarely seen other eye. It is a bit strange–seeing both green eyes. But it is all the same beautiful. Their emerald shine, deep yet shimering brightly; the way they, even now, twinkled with that deep and unknown knowledge. He loved those emerald eyes.

The drunk Brit had fallen asleep, curled up into himself, eyes squeezed shut. Francis reached out and stroked his head. The two really didn't have any feeling for each other aside from the friendship they've had for years. But sometimes, like now, the Frenchman could not help but feel something flutter in his heart when England was like this. Vulnerable and adorable at the same time.

England's eyes fluttered opened, green eyes staring up at France. And France froze too, not sure what to say or do.

Without a word, England scooted over on the bed, allowing more room. It took a minute, but it was then that France realized that he was being offered a place right beside him. Smiling lightly, France took off his boots and hat (he was already undressing when England appeared on his doorstep) and laid beside Arthur.

"Quiet a surprise," Francis said, smiling as the blush deepened on his friends face. They were facing each other, Arthur still lying on his side, hands to his face; France had laid on his side also, arm propped up slightly so he could see Arthur better.

Earlier while Francis was laying Arthur down, he had insisted that no candle be lit–he wanted only the darkness. Francis complied reluctantly and henceforth the moon shining upon both of them. They stared at each other for some time, breathing softly in the night, trees brushing against each other and the sound of waves crashing the only other sound around them.

"Fra–" Arthur started, green eyes shining with startling clarity.

"Shut up." Francis leaned in and kissed Arthur lightly on the lips, not allowing it to last for he could not stand it. When the Frenchman pulled back, Arthur was redder than his own red coat in which he wore everyday. "Go to sleep," Francis turned over. "You have to go back home tomorrow, don't you?"

AN: I wrote this like five months ago....maybe six. It's about time I put it up :/