It is Christmas evening, and the snow falls in gentle blankets all around him. It covers the earth he sprints across, his boots crunching under the pure white quilt as he stains it with footprints. The man's long golden hair flutters lightly against the freezing gusts of winter as he bounds toward his destination, all the while his hair flowing simultaneously with his plaid indigo scarf. Puffs of air come out as ragged gasps, painting the space in front of the man with light splotches that disappear almost as quickly as they came. A medium-sized bag is clutched to his heavily-coated torso, but no so tight as to crush the contents of it. Puffs of light blue tissue paper poke out of the bright green sack, tickling the man's chin as he runs.

A figure comes into sight, the light orange-yellow mix of the setting sun sending shadows to gather the figure's shape in a beautiful silhouette. The running man's ocean-colored eyes light up as he runs faster towards the shadow waiting for him in the distance.

The shadow begins to become more visible as sprinting legs and pounding boots come closer. This figure is of a man with choppy blonde hair that juts out in all different directions. His thin lips curve into a smile as he spots the blue-eyed man running towards him. The man who is running slows to a fast-paced walk as he approaches the one with shorter blonde hair than his own.

"Did... you wait... long... Arthur?" the man manages to say in between breaths. The one called Arthur scoffs at his friend.

"Bloody frog. Took you long enough," he replies with a playful smile and a hint of sarcasm. "No, Francis, I didn't," Arthur chuckles. Francis just chuckles with him and moves the bag in his arms to hold out to Arthur. Arthur looks very confused at this sudden gesture, but looks even more confused as Francis hands it to him with a grin on his face and excited eyes. The growing red shade of Arthur's face could be from the bitter temperature in the air, but Francis assumed it was embarrassment seeping through him and permeating over his well-rounded cheeks. Forest-colored eyes are staring at the green sack, lost in the tissue paper and curious as to what it is.

"Je t'aime," the French blonde lovingly states to his boyfriend, handing the other the formerly-clutched emerald-shaded bag. Arthur accepts with a grin and faint blush.

"Th-Thanks..." the Brit stammers. He carefully pulls out each and every shred of the blue tissue paper, tossing it into a nearby trashcan, to reveal the item inside. The French blonde watches with anticipation as his lover opens the gift. Arthur's eyes widen in shock at the contents of the bag; A large bouquet of assorted roses lays neatly amongst the remaining tissue paper near the bottom of the bag. The Brit slowly pulls out the bouquet, leaving the sack to rest on frozen grounds, marveling each intricate design on each individual petal. He lets out a soft gasp as his emerald-shaded irises search the gift. It wasn't an expensive gift, but one that was chosen from the heart. Arthur is very happy with the thought that was put into his gift.

"Francis... I love them..." he says breathlessly. The Brit delicately rubs one of the petals. Francis has bought many wonderful and unique gifts for him in the past, but this one was the most thoughtful present he had ever received.

The roses are in many different shades of red, pink, and the occasional green. The Frenchman smiles warmly, grateful his lover appreciates the Christmas gift. He moves closer to the mesmerized Brit holding the floral arrangement. Francis wraps his arms around Arthur affectionately, burying his face in Arthur's hand-knitted, pink-shaded scarf. Arthur leans in to the man holding him from behind with a contented sigh.

"Joyeux Noël, mon amour," he whispers. The Brit turns his head to an awkward angle to meet his partner's lips in a loving kiss. Francis meets him half-way to the kiss to ensure Arthur doesn't twist his head completely around. The two of them lock lips, savoring the moment of warmth in the cold, harsh air surrounding them. After a moment, Francis retreats from the embrace and walks around to face his lover. "À toi?" Francis asks with hopefulness while stroking his lover's hair.

Reality just bitch-slapped Arthur in the face. A Christmas present! He had been so wrapped up in his work and meeting Francis, the poor Brit forgot to buy a gift!

Arthur tenses up.

"W-Well, let's go sit down first," he stammers nervously. What is the Brit supposed to do now? He has no gift to give his French lover who was so kind to bring him a gift from the heart. He suddenly has an idea. Francis has mentioned a couple of times how Arthur never tries to be affectionate towards him because he's too busy being grumpy, but Francis hardly ever brought it up. So why not be affectionate towards him for once?

Arthur takes Francis' hand in his own and leads him to the nearby bench slicked in frost. Francis has a curious, yet amused look grazed across his perfectly sculpted features, wondering what his British lover could be planning. But nonetheless, he follows Arthur and sits next to his shaking form.

"Cold, amour?" Francis asks with concern filling his voice. The Brit just shakes his head, the prideful shell that encases him holding strong. Francis sighs and inches himself closer to the shivering Brit. He wraps his arms around Arthur and pulls him close. "Better?" that French accent coos. Arthur weakly nods confirmation, but pulls away. He may be shivering from the cold seeping through his clothes and nipping his skin, but the sheer shame of breaking disappointing news to his cheery French lover is enough to turn him into a nervously rattling Englishman scaring off every flying creature within a twelve-mile radius of him.

"Francis... I've been so wrapped up with work and haven't given much thought to the holidays until you told me to meet you, and then I didn't expect for you to give me the roses and..." Arthur's voice tails off to join the expanse of endless snow spread before them like a giant ballroom. With each word, Francis' face falls into disappointment but then transformed into one of understanding.

"Dommage..." he whispers under his visible breath. "Arthur, I never wanted anything from you. I'm so proud of you for working so hard and all I want of you is your love," Francis says gently. Francis' words give him an idea.

"I can prove it," he says mischievously. "You know, I can prove I love you to make up for not buying you a gift." A playful grin slides onto the stubble-lined face.

"Ooh, do tell," Francis says teasingly.

"Actions speak louder than words, love," he says smirking. Arthur then lovingly plants a gentle, yet passionate kiss to the Frenchman's cold, red cheek. Francis leans slightly into the feeling of Arthur's warmth pressing into his freezing cheek. When Arthur pulls away, Francis' face has one of love and pleasure plastered to it. "I have one more surprise, mon Anglais," Francis says, digging in his heavy coat pocket for something. Arthur looks confused as to what Francis means by "surprise". After a moment's time of rummaging, Francis' gloved hand pulls out a small green plant with berries hanging off of the limbs. He hangs the plant above their blonde hair. The evident grin on Francis' smug face hardly phases the usually-grumpy Brit with annoyance, but rather amuses him in the Frenchman's efforts to construct the final phase to a perfect Christmas.

Francis slowly leans in, all the while staring lovingly into his partner's eyes. Arthur leans in as well to close the gap spread between them and initiate the kiss, the dim light of the overhead street lamps illuminating the area around their sitting forms on the bench. Their lips fit perfectly together like the final piece to a jigsaw puzzle. Both pairs of eyes slip closed as the feeling of excitement churned their abdomens. After lowering the plant to lay on the cold bench, Francis slides his arms around his lover's waist to pull him close. At the same time, Arthur's arms maneuver around the Frenchman's neck, both actions pulling the two's kiss deeper, evolving it into a more heated one. They stood from the bench, pressing their bodies as close as was allowed.

Arthur unexpectedly nibbles on Francis' lower lip asking for entrance. And the prideful shell comes tumbling down in ruins. The Brit didn't care that Francis is probably going to tease him for acting so dominant, he needs Francis' love now. Francis gladly opens his mouth to let his younger lover slip his tongue into his mouth. The organs twist and dance together in a wild tango of the mouth, tongues running over teeth and tasting every inch of the others' cavern. After moments of passion, the two part, faces flushed a scarlet from the mixture of heat and cold, breaths coming out as ragged gasps. They look into each others' eyes before Francis pulls the shorter of the two close under the dim street lamp.

"Je t'aime," he breathes for the second time that evening.

"Merry Christmas, frog. And..." Arthur blushes again, snuggling his face into Francis' navy-colored scarf. "I love you, too."

I TOTALLY JUST COMPLETED TWO FANFICTIONS WITHIN A 24-HOUR RADIUS! FrUK YEAH! So, this one is a Christmas fanfic for the amazing StellarSophie! Now I have to work on a ScotEng as a final Christmas present for NuttyNerd, and then I can go back to my other fics!

I am taking requests! Any rating, any pair!(yes... I can do USUK...)