This Heart Held Tight
It had taken Francis a while to actually work up the courage to say anything. To even come to terms with the thought that...perhaps... perhaps he loved Arthur. Perhaps his greatest enemy was the one that he had always needed the most. The one who would save him. He couldn't face it. He needed to cultivate courage first, before he could ever tell Arthur.
That probably sounded ridiculous, coming from him. But where Arthur was concerned, he'd spent so long hiding his feelings, he didn't know how to handle Arthur any other way.
How was he supposed to tease him, mock him, laugh at him, when all he really wanted to do was hold him. Love him. Possibly confess all his secrets. How was he supposed to go about life like everything was normal when he kept noticing the way Arthur's lips quirked crookedly when he smiled? The way he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhausted after a long day. The way he was slowly becoming appealing. His enemy. Appealing.
Really, he wanted to be stubborn.
How could he love Arthur on top of everything? How could he love him on top of the scars he'd inflicted, deep and painfully and marks that Arthur had fully enjoyed engraving himself. How could he love him on top of wars, betrayals, treaties, distrust? All the blood and sweat and tears and hate. How could they even hope to love each other on top of the centuries of heart ache?
"Petit lapin." He tried not to smile as Arthur glared adorably at him, an expression he had always admired, long before his confusion.
"What now, frog? You've been acting strange enough lately." He spoke of all the other times Francis had tried to explain his feelings. Of all the other times he had walked up to him, tapped him on the shoulder. He had started out the same way. Calling out his name. Attempting to speak his mind. Grappling with words and feelings and doubts. Before clicking his mouth shut and walking away.
It had been going on for the better part of a month. But today. Today for sure. Today he had to spit it out.
"Petit lapin. There is something important that I must tell you." Francis took a deep breath. Gazing anywhere but in Arthur's eyes, green and sharp and like a fairy. So entrancing and stunning and beautiful that he couldn't find the words. Couldn't find the breath. He could recite poetry. He could use the words of Arthur's own Shakespeare. Get down on his knee and proclaim words that he hadn't written boldly. How had that one gone? Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
But then, he wouldn't be able to properly express. This. This feeling. This savage torrent that picked him up and whipped him around. This. This tempest that he had never felt before. This heart that Arthur didn't know he was holding.
Arthur frowned, slightly confused as he watched emotions flit across Francis's face, conflicting. The doubt, the anger, the worry, the adoration, the sly wit, and through it all, his desire. Hot and passionate and waiting. Waiting to be released by someone, anyone who could handle it all. Someone like him. "Well? Are you going to tell me?"
"This heart." Francis answered. He touched his chest, trying to sooth the storm that raged within the confines of his ribs. There was no other way he could explain it. He didn't even know what he was saying himself. "This heart of mine. Whether you think I've got it or not. It beats just for you."
Arthur huffed, crossing his arms and turning away. What exactly was Francis trying to do? What was he trying to say with such an earnest expression, his desires left unguarded? His face open and truthful. "Just for today then, frog? How long have we been sleeping together? And you feel like admitting these feelings now, when they've come out of nowhere?" He was skeptical. Feelings? Them? It wasn't as though he felt nothing for Francis. It was just...
He wanted to be number one. Everything. The other man's world and universe and god. The light of his eye and the reason that he existed. The reason the he woke or breathed. He wanted to be the one Francis dreamed of, wanted him to wake up at night cold and alone and aching for him. He didn't just want to be another of Francis's sluts, loved whenever Francis came around. Another idiot who was content to be second best, had fallen for his charms, his smile, his basic need and desire.
Francis shook his head, eyes pleading with him to understand. To believe. Yet not believe. To trust. Yet not trust. "Do you think someone else can compare to you? This heart is yours. It beats for you."
Scowling sourly at the wall, Arthur felt himself melt. As usual, Francis had torn down his defenses, voice dripping like honey and acid mixed together. A sweet poison. Francis drew closer, his breath warm against his flushed cheek, hand against his hip. His lips touching the sensitive place behind his ear. Francis had seduced him again, as usual. With words. With slow erotic touches.
"I want to believe you." Arthur said slowly, an arm wrapping around his trim waist to turn him, his embrace warm and solid. He drowned, looking up in blue eyes, finding honesty. His ear against Francis's chest, he realized something. Francis was as nervous as he was. His heart was beating rapidly, loud and a beautiful noise. A bird fluttering in a cage of bone. Soon to be gilded. "I want to believe you."
"You don't have to believe me. You just have to understand. This heart, it's in your fist. And it beats for you." If there was faith. It was shaky at best. But between them, they couldn't hope for
anything more.
Owari