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Arthur whined at the painful kick he felt from inside his stomach as he begun his lunch of canned baked beans on toast. The man jolted and audibly yelped slightly. Why must this always happen when he's just trying to enjoy a good solid english meal? He disappointedly rested his face in his hands at the uncomfortable feeling. Suddenly the food in front of him felt significantly less appetising...
"Angleterre? What is wrong?" Francis came up from behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder delicately, unsure of the reason for his husband's mood. Arthur looked up at him from his chair with an unamused expression on his face. He made an attempt to continue his breakfast but stopped with a yelp as he felt another kick. "Bloody hell, this kid is gonna be the death of me."
Francis chuckled lightheartedly. "Perhaps our child does not have such a bland dry taste for food as you? It makes sense, non?" The man looked smug at the thought and made an attempt to refrain from laughing when Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. "I'll have you know, you bloody frog, English food is incredibly tasteful."
Francis hummed in acknowledgment. Both knew this was a never-ending line of banter that would continue forever, so they left it for the moment.
"How about I prepare you something nicer, it'd be a waste for you to simply throw up your lunch after already missing breakfast," Francis suggested, kissing the crown of the other nation's head before moving to the kitchen where he was surely going to produce some exquisite culinary masterpiece. As always, Arthur would roll his eyes yet the food would be eaten with enthusiasm nonetheless.
Arthur moved to clear his plate with a suppressed sadness. What was going on? These are foods he's loved since he was a young child, there's simply no reason for anything to change...
The next time this happened, Arthur had been home and bored. Stubbornly, he had decided to make scones despite his lacklustre skills in the kitchen. Regardless, he was committed to recreating his mother's wonderful recipe. Queen Lizzy really knew how to make a bloody solid scone.
In the end, quite the mess was created yet he couldn't help but be chuffed about the results. They tasted quite good if you asked him. Francis, however, as a sensible person, could only pretend to like the criminally dry scone-rocks he was ashamed to say were made in his very own kitchen.
Soon, Arthur was reaching for a second scone... for a second rock, when to his horror, he felt a rapid succession of kicks attack him from the inside, forcing him to instinctually gag as stomach acid was forced up from his stomach. Moving to the bathroom as fast as he could, Arthur, yet again, found himself throwing up, unable to eat his own cooking. "Angleterre! What- Sacrebleu, allow me to help you, mon amour." With little grace, a shocked Francis positioned himself beside his husband over the toilet bowl to hold the longer part of his hair back as he hunched over.
"Haha, gosh I think you may have been right about our kid's horrendous taste in food." Arthur admitted breathlessly after his stomach contents had been thoroughly emptied multiple times. Francis felt a small smile etch its way onto his bearded face. The room immediately felt lighter. Arthur couldn't help the slight smirk that made its appearance on his own face at the light laughter from his husband. With a wipe of his mouth, he rose to standing and playfully shoved the french man's shoulder so that he fell from his crouching position on the floor, still fighting his laughter.
"Come on, just make me some food, save the 'I told you so's' for another time why don't you?"
"At least we can be sure our child will come out normal, non?" Francis expertly dodged the expected hand that came to slap the back of his head and moved to stand to the side of the other instead. "Shut up, won't you? you wanker." Arthur huffed angrily.