"It seems that young Mathieu might be a tad nervous about the upcoming G-8 summit, non?" Francis Bonnefoy said lazily, bringing his feet up on the small coffee table. A rather large set of eyebrows with emerald green eyes shining under them appeared over the newspaper.

"Get out of my house, frog," said person muttered, returning to his paper. "I don't remember inviting you over."

"Ah but Angleterre, you never invite me over."

"That's the point."

"Mathieu is spending lots of money for security, yes? He seems to be worried about an attack of some sort," Francis continued as though nothing had happened, leaning back on the couch and surveying his surroundings with slight dislike. It wasn't his style, too Victorian for him.

Angleterre – or rather England – snorted. "I say the boy's being too paranoid. Whenever I host the G-8 summits I don't use so much money to protect us," he muttered, folding up his paper. There was no point trying to read with the frog in the room.

"But Arthur you forget – when you were Mathieu's age there was no such thing as the G-8 or the G-20. You're old enough to realize that you don't need so much security," Francis said, closing his eyes. The weather outside was mediocre – which was saying something since it was England. The sun shone behind the fluffy white clouds. It was a rather lazy day.

"You have a point," Arthur muttered. "We are rather old aren't we?" he said suddenly. Francis smirked at his comrade.

"Says you. J'ai l'énergie d'un jeune homme," Francis said, puffing out his chest proudly. Arthur chuckled.

"Sexual energy perhaps," he said with amusement as Francis glared at him [although his crystal blue eyes still shone with mirth].

"You are just jealous, Angleterre," Francis sniffed, pushing a loose strand of his blonde hair behind his ear. "We are not that old. Look at China."

"Touché," Arthur said, smirking as Francis scowled at his atrocious accent – it wasn't like he couldn't speak the language, he just preferred to annoy the crap outta Francis. "I wonder what it's like… being alive for so long. Witnessing the things he'd seen," Arthur said thoughtfully.

"Seeing the deaths of his friends," Francis continued quietly. The two men exchanged a look.

"Yao's an intelligent man. He learned from the mistakes his equals made… the mistakes that war brings to light…"

"The Hundred Years war," Francis murmured quietly, taking his feet off the table.

"The biggest mistake I ever made," Arthur said, looking away.

"It was not your fault. You didn't cause it," France said, looking at his fellow nation. Indeed, most of the time, even though the two nations bickered and fought constantly, majority [if not all] of the wars between them were caused by their leaders.

"But still… Joan…"

"Jeanne…" Francis murmured, looking away from his friend, into the distance.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault," Francis murmured, blinking and looking back at Arthur. "How did we even get on this topic?"

"We were talking about being old men," Arthur replied.

Francis grinned, standing up. "I'm going to go get something to drink – deep conversations make me thirsty. Would you like to accompany me to the wine cellar?" he asked.

"It's my wine cellar asshole – couldn't you at least ask before going and stealing my wine?" Arthur growled at him before standing up.

"Because I know you'd say no," Francis replied, flashing Arthur a bright smile. Arthur bit back a laugh. "Besides, I was not going to take your wine. I distinctly remember putting some of my wine in there after a certain overnight stay at your house…" he added wickedly as Arthur blushed.

"I was drunk," Arthur muttered.

"Of course you were, cher," Francis teased, placing a hand at his friend's lower back, laughing as Arthur jumped away, his face even redder than before. "How do you think Mathieu came to be?"

"E-excuse me? I won him from you in that battle fair and square! There was nothing that you're implying in play!" Arthur sputtered.

"Oh really?" Francis said, giving Arthur a seductive look.

"J-just get out of my house you frog!" Arthur yelled, pushing Francis to the door.

"What no wine?" Francis asked innocently as he was forced to the door.

"Just get out!" Arthur fumed, pushing Francis one last time before stomping away in another direction.

"See you tomorrow!" Francis called out as he left, laughing as he heard Arthur's 'harrumph' in reply.

The End.

A/N: A short drabble for Shinichi06 for guessing where 'ickle roddykins' came from Awesome Advice - she asked for a non-smutty [thank god cuz i can't write smut] FrUK oneshot that leaned more towards friendship than romance. Hope you like it! [because really, I fail at endings and couldn't figure out what to write about LOL]

Oh, and at the beginning Arthur and Francis are talking about how Canada's spending like 2 mil or more on security - it's insanity here in Canada. I live a half hour away from Toronto and they're like building this massive fence O_O

Oh and the Joan/Jeanne that they were talking about is of course Joan of Arc. I had to add her in because for my drama exam, I'm preforming a monologue from the play - where she tells the British men she'd rather be burned at stake than imprisoned for the rest of her life.

Reviews make Francis go to Arthur's house tomorrow.