disclaimer: you guys are funny.
prompt: us/uk/france in a happy, polyamorous relationship.
notes1: i really don't usually do threesomes…usually.
notes2: why did I do it this time? not quite sure.
notes3: but probably to relieve stress from my upcoming auditions.
summary: They may not be so normal, but hey, you only live once. …Sort of.
pairing: us/uk/france.
They had an interesting relationship.
"…What on earth is this?"
That involved a lot of that.
"Uh, well, you see," Alfred stutters, trying to (not-so)-inconspicuously wipe flour off of his cheeks, "we were, um, trying to make breakfast for you!"
Francis stares, deadpanned at the two blondes, who both are absolutely covered in flour, strawberry syrup, and…batter? Alfred's just making a sheepish smile and slowly trying to stuff the evidence away, and Arthur's staring at the counter, blushing, trying to pretend he wasn't apart of this.
"What were you trying to make, that involved all of this?" he says as he rubs his temples. He can feel a migraine coming on already, and he just woke up!
"Crepes," Arthur mutters, still staring at the batter-covered countertop. "For your stupid birthday."
Francis blinks. "Is today my birthday?"
And a lot of that.
Both of the other men groan and plop to the floor.
"Yes, you stupid twit!"
"Are you kidding? All for fucking nothing, man."
Francis wants to chuckle to himself, but he would think he would get yelled at (some more) by his two favorite people in the world, so he slinks to the floor in between them, and kisses them both. He grins at them, and at their extremely confused expressions.
"Aww, vous êtes très gentils," he smiles at them. "Sorry for the trouble. Why don't you let me…make it up to you?"
He leaves those words hanging, and he can see the possibilities that they're thinking of as they go though their minds. But, they slowly turn toward each other, lock eyes, and smile.
The next thing Francis knows, he's being pushed up against the other side of cabinets, with both Alfred and Arthur sucking and licking and biting at his neck, and all he can think is that this is heaven.
"No way, José," Alfred grins, sneaking his big, warm, still sticky hands up his shirt.
"It's your birthday, after all" Arthur agrees, grabbing Francis' blonde-blonde hair with his sticky fingers, pulling his head back.
Francis decides this isn't the appropriate time to tell them they were using pancake batter.