USUK/UKUS One Shots

France (Angst, Revolutionary War, Kind of FrUs)

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content 

Summary: Post-battle triumph, America and France get together. When his spy reports back, England isn't enthused.

Word count: 1,051

Estimated read time: 5 minutes 30 seconds

A/N: This is... yep, you guessed it! Another scene from the fanfic I'm working on. Enjoy. And you should read that when it comes out. If you want it early, I'm still taking beta readers and likely will continue to do so until I post the fic so you should message me if you're interested ;)

 "I can hardly believe it," Alfred said aloud, more to himself than to Francis. "I think we have a real shot at winning."

Francis smiled. "Of course we do."

"I don't want to think about what will happen if we don't."

"Then don't think about that." Francis uncrossed his legs and set his cup down on the table so that he could fully focus on Alfred. "Think about something else. Think about the day we win. Because we will. Win, that is."

He nodded, also setting down his drink. "I can't thank you enough for helping me, France. Without you, I wouldn't have a shot."

"I'm always happy to help you. I'm just sorry it couldn't be sooner. I mean, I sent the Marquis over last year, but overall, I still feel guilty. You know I didn't want to postpone an alliance."

"Don't be sorry. You're here now, and that's what matters," Alfred told him earnestly. "You've given me hope, above all. And I'm eternally grateful for that."

Francis smiled, but there was a touch of melancholy in it. "You're welcome."

They fell silent for a moment as Alfred took another swig from his drink.

"I wish I were here sooner. Not just to help with the war, but to be with you," Francis confessed quietly.

Alfred paused. "What do you mean?"

"That you're important to me and I'm glad that we're together."

He set his drink down, scooting a bit closer. "I'm glad we're together, too."

Francis' eyes flickered across Alfred's face, stopping on his lips before meeting his gaze. "Amerique?"

The question was clear. Alfred's voice came out quiet, almost a whisper. "Yes."

Slowly, Francis leaned in, breath warm before his lips brushed Alfred's and connected gently as they tested the waters. Alfred shifted to be even closer and smiled into the kiss when he felt Francis' fingers take his and intwine them.

Pulling back and touching foreheads, blue eyes meeting blue, Francis couldn't hold back a smile. "I've wanted to do that for a while now."

Alfred kissed him once again in response, giving his hand a squeeze and sinking deeper into him. 

***

Arthur wasn't expecting much when his spies came back. They weren't as skilled as he had hoped and hiring new ones was on his to-do list.

There was one spy that he always waited on to return. A spy he had specifically assigned to keep a close eye on Alfred. The things he came back with tended to be meaningless, but Arthur was comforted by trivial updates: Alfred had gotten a new book, Alfred had burned his dinner, Alfred had fallen asleep while working, and so on. He could imagine each happening and it made him feel less disconnected from him.

That night, when his special spy returned, he said he had news. Normally, he would apologize for not knowing much useful information and Arthur would have to assure him that he always awaited his check-ins eagerly.

"I have information that may be relevant, sir."

Arthur leaned against his desk, examining the loyalist in a blue coat. "Information?"

"Yes. A weakness."

Well, Arthur already knew most of those. Alfred was scared of being alone, Ellis, Matthew dying, losing the war, being the cause of his mother's death, and, he suspected, losing Arthur. But he supposed that he had already lost that.

"What kind of weakness?"

"One of your fellow nations, sir. France."

He wanted to laugh out loud. Sure, Alfred had allied with Francis and they were friends, but he could hardly imagine Francis being a way to get to Alfred. "Why would France be a weakness for America?"

"Their relationship has evolved from friendship to, well, more."

Arthur's stomach dropped. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I saw them last night, sir, around ten pm. They are lovers now."

He felt like some kind of weight was pressing in on him, cracking his ribs and forcing the air from his lungs. "But it's just sex- isn't it? America is only with him to blow off steam, right?"

The spy shifted nervously. "Erm, perhaps. But it didn't appear that way I saw them kiss. On America's couch. They were there for a long time, but went to sleep together without... engaging in any sexual activities."

It drove Arthur mad with jealousy and rage to think of Francis with his lips on Alfred's or his hands on Alfred's skin or his eyes being allowed to see every inch of his  Alfred. And to think of Alfred breathing heavily, gasping and coming undone for Francis, of all people- it was sickening.

But worse was the idea of Alfred sleeping softly beside him, kissing him in the mornings, telling him he loved him, holding his hand, and being in his arms while reading a book or letter, smiling in contentment. Because if it was just sex, this was fixable. If it was just sex, that only meant that he had pent up energy since leaving Arthur that he needed an outlet for- any outlet.

Arthur wasn't sure it was fixable if Alfred cared about Francis the way he once cared about him. That would mean that he was moving on and it wasn't just about finding someone for a good fuck. It was about more.

"We have to win this war," Arthur said quietly, torn between the urge to punch something and the urge to cry. He couldn't give Francis time to make Alfred fall for him. No, that just wasn't a possibility. To truly and completely lose Alfred- it would kill him.

"Would you like me to return to my post now, sir?" The spy asked.

"Yes."

"And would you still like to be kept informed about America?"
"Yes."

"Should I let you know what happens between him and France, or shall I omit that from my reports from here on?"

He didn't want to know. The last thing he wanted was to hear anything about Alfred and Francis. At the same time, he needed to know. How could he not? If he wasn't told what happened, that would mean he'd be constantly wondering, fearing the worst without cause.

"Yes."

The spy nodded, giving a curt bow, before exiting the tent, leaving Arthur to sink down onto his bed, eyes filling with tears and hatred.

For this, he'd kill Francis.