#frukspa

“I wish he’d picked an earlier flight,” Francis rattles on, starting to slowly pace, two steps one way, two steps back. “You are sure you’re happy to drive back?”

“Of course,” Arthur replies. His eyes do not leave the exit from customs. “It’s not too far.”

“Only an hour and a half,” the other scoffs, and then sighs. “I hope he’s eaten something for dinner. La cuisine est fermée. It’s too late to cook him anything decent.”

“Good job I shoved some snacks into the car, then,” Arthur supposes, mustering up a smile. He looks at Francis, who has returned his gaze to the doors as another small flock of people start to emerge. Another wave of disembarked passengers. “He’ll be here soon,” he assures him. “I mean, he could be on the loo for all we kn—”

“Antoine!”

“Francis!”

“Arthur!” the same blond cheers quietly, as Antonio comes hurtling down the ‘departures only’ zone, and launches himself at Francis.

He’s used to such scenes. They have always been very hands-on in that way. Arthur prefers to do so in private. Though, even he has to admit, it does make him happy to see Antonio be swept off his feet for a rather dramatic spin, which makes him give a little surprised scream before demanding he be put down. The way he gives Francis’ arm a light smack for the move is rather entertaining.

“No picking me up, I’ve told you before,” Antonio finishes chiding Francis, although he is smiling, as is Francis (as is Arthur). And then he turns to the other. His smile grows. Arthur’s heart leaps and bounds. “Are we doing hugs, too?” he asks. “Or would you rather wait?”

Arthur is unsure at first. There are a lot of people around, a lot of eyes, a lot of noise. A hug sounds good. Frankly, given that he has just had to go two weeks without one from Antonio, a hug sounds great. Antonio has been away seeing family, and, even though he has had Francis and Francis is just as loving and doting, Antonio is—

“Hug it is!”

“O-Oh— Uh—” 

It seems, in the end, he has had no choice in the matter.

(But, secretly, that’s okay.)

“I’ve waited ages for this,” Antonio tells him as he practically swings from Arthur’s neck. He presses a hasty kiss—a big fat smooch—to the blond’s face, before he pops back off, pinches Arthur’s cheeks in greeting, and then says to them, “I’ve missed you. Both of you,” as he makes grabby hands towards both of them—a sign for them to each take a hand.

Dutiful as ever, both Francis and Arthur obey.

“So,” Francis says, as he takes Antonio’s luggage in his free hand and gestures for the three of them to head for the exit, “you survived your little family gathering?”

“Only just!” Antonio remarks with a soft snort of laughter. “I tell you what, I’m glad to be back. Which I didn’t expect to say, considering it’s absolutely heaving it down outside, but… well, you know what family’s like.”

Arthur hums. “Tolerable for five minutes, before they’re doing your head in?”

“Yeah. But,” Antonio then presses, tugging the pair of them closer to him as they pass through the building’s exit and out to the fresh (and wet) air, “I really am happy to be back home.” 

He looks between them both, and then gives Arthur the same kind of kiss on the cheek as before, before then giving Francis the same treatment. He breathes in England, embraces the cooler climate and shakes off that of his native Iberia, and, as though a switch has flicked in his brain, he suddenly asks:

“I don’t suppose you brought any food with you, did you? The coffee on the plane was awful, and I didn’t have time to grab anything at the airport before my flight…”

Arthur shares a look with Francis—one of amusement, one that says ‘I told you so,’ (which earns him rolling eyes, a lop-sided smile)—and he assures Antonio that, yes, there’s food in the car. 

“Oh, I love you!” Antonio proclaims in turn, squeezing both of their hands. “You have no idea how much that means to me!”

“Yes we do,” Arthur and Francis remark in unison, however; Antonio gives a laugh, suggests they head for the car before he takes his hunger out on them and gobbles them both up (affectionately, with kisses, because he loves them so, so much, he clarifies).

The car drive back is easy and pleasant, even in the rain. Arthur is kept happy by Antonio’s contagious enthusiasm, telling them both about his holiday in between snack breaks. Francis checks in on him every now and then, too (at one point, his hand comes to rest on Arthur’s as it sits on the gearstick, and a quick glance shows that Francis, too, is happy). 

And by the time the three of them get back, it’s dark, it’s cold, it’s miserable outside. But when they step back through the front door, all they feel is a restored warmth and comfort, knowing they are all finally home again.

"..." France was silent, and Spain held his breath.

Spain dared to look up and grimaced as he saw Francis frown, before getting a faraway look in his eyes and turning a bit red.

Then finally...

"Uh, no comment."

The Spaniard frowned and Francis spoke up again,

"But mon cher... What's the connection?" Francis finally asked.

Spain sighed, before admitting "I couldn't focus on what he was complaining about because all I wanted to do was shut him up."

Francis laughed and Spain smiled feeling the chest rumble underneath his head.

"Been there done that." the Frenchman finally said.

"Yeah?" Spain asked, interested.

"As in, I punched him." Francis nodded, proudly.

"Oh..." Spain said, sounding disappointed and Francis frowned.

"What is it, mon cher?" Francis murmured, looking down at him.

Spain said silent for a long time, before breathing in,

"So you never fucked?"

If France had been drinking something he would have spat it out, instead he just choked on the smoke he wrongly inhaled.

"Antoine, mon cher, please give me some context to all your strange questions?" He finally asked.

Spain looked awkward.

"It's embarrassing."

"Yes, I'm sure it is. We're talking about Angleterre here."

"Exactly, I hate his guts."

"Yet you seem to want to fuck them." France remarked with a snort.

"Mierda, Francis, don't say stuff like that!" Spain stared in front of him, face bright red.

"You wanted to shut him up with your mouth? Or perhaps... with something else?" France teased, moving so he was leaning over Spain who had his hands on his face embarrassed.

"¡Cállate!" Spain groaned. Shut up!

"Ohoho, No, I don't think I will," France smirked, as he leaned closer to the man's ear. "do you sometimes wish it was him that was fucking you?"

Spain moved his head away from the Frenchman, which was hard as the man was completely laying on top of him. So instead he turned back to look the man in the eyes.

"Stop it Francis, you're being mean." He glared.

"Mean? No, I'm just teasing my dear friend over his cute little crush on Angleterre."

"I wouldn't call it a crush." Spain mumbled.

"Oh well, an infatuation. You want to fuck him?" he paused, "or get fucked by him?"

"Stop." Spain groaned, ears bright red.

Francis laughed, and then laughed some more when he felt something harden against his stomach.

"Mon cher, your body betrays you, hmmm?" France grinned at him, blue eyes so bright.

"I want to die." Spain moaned, taking the cushion next to him and screaming into it.

Francis laughed some more before pulling back the cushion, "Anyway, if you must know, I have indeed had sexual relations with Angleterre."

Antonio let go of the cushion, "you have?"

"Yeah, it's a good way to relieve tension." France shrugged.

"Oh." was all Antonio managed to say.

"But unlike with you, I don't get to cuddle afterwards," France snuggled into the Spaniard's neck and nipped at it making Antonio laugh.

The laughter died out and Francis grinned at his dear friend laying next to him.

Suddenly Spain spoke up again,

"So you want to snuggle with Inglaterra?"

Now it was France's turn to become flustered, "non, of course not!" he huffed out.

Antonio's smile widened, unconvinced.

"You want him to hold you close afterwards? Tell you he loves you?"

"I do not." Francis was bright red.

Spain laughed, feeling like he had the upper hand again, "He would say it like 'Frog, I love your stupid face.'" Spain imitated.

Francis groaned into his neck, "Tais-toi" Shut up!

The Spaniard giggled, "come on, that was a pretty good imitation!” he coughed once, continuing “'I want you to make love to me right this very instant, and you better bloody hurry u-'”

France shut him up by kissing him, before pulling back and glaring at the man below him. "You're lucky I love you mon cher,"

"Love you too, Francis," Spain smiled, leaning back to kiss him.

-

An hour later the two were sated once more and Spain was laying on Francis' chest again, this time taking the cigarette out of his hand to also take a drag

"Anyway, I think we should have a threesome with Angleterre."

Spain coughed up the smoke he inhaled, turning towards the Frenchman with a raised eyebrow.

"Ok."

That’s how simple it was.

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Fin

Alright so I think France and Spain love each other deeply in this one and have a good and loving relationship but aren't monogamous at all. I don't think they'd be able to. It works quite well for them though!

As for England, I think both hate having the hots for him, and France has some deeper feelings he hates exploring.

England on the other hand is bad at expressing any feelings sexual or otherwise, but tends to give in to whatever move is made on him.