It was a beautiful balancing act, the one that Francis performed perfectly. On the edge of his blade, he took one graceful step at a time enduring the sharp pains and cuts of his feet as he trudged on the sharpened end of the masterfully created blade. It was made to tear him to pieces. The blade was made to slice the skin and meat right off his foot if he so much as faltered in his step, but Francis never did. No, he was a wonderful act to watch as he treaded on the blade of the sword and his raw feet didn't so much bleed as they endured everything that the blade gave them. Pain, numbness, a dull ache. He thought this was worth it though for a beautiful performance.
(O0*o-_-o0O)
"Francis, I despise you." His beautifully crafted sword spoke.
"Oui, I know." He balanced on the blade nevertheless. It threw many obstacles, but he never so much as batted an eye at this. It wasn't worth his time to stop and think about these things that could make him trip. Francis knew the blade would soon grow shorter for him.
"If you know why do you do this?"
"Because you love it, Angleterre." He did a flip, landing with a perfect dismount. He could see the tip of the sword now, something that he always loved and longed to see. It was one of the reasons he loved to perform. Because of the magical applause that followed after a great show. He almost always was asked for a second demonstration.
"I do not, bloody frog."
"Then why do you let me continue, mon cher?"
"Because… Because it's intoxicating. Love has nothing to do with this. Don't fool yourself." He didn't let his blade trip him up, no this was a normal rebuttal. He kept on doing his tricks. Each one was a little different and that much more spectacular than the last. He was a professional after all, and he had been with this blade so long it didn't matter how masterfully the sword had been made against him. Blades would always wear with time. Each show got easier and easier on his feet, just as it wore harder and eroded his blade.
"But you're admitting you're addicted, non?" The air grew thick as a back flip was done-would he land perfectly just as before?
Of course he would, Francis knew his blade better than anything else.
"Don't say it like that." Francis smirked to his one man audience as his toes hit the tip of the weapon's hilt.
"Je t'aime, mon belle épée."
"Why do you call me your sword you bugger, I'm not 'your' anything!" But it was too late, he already had his sword applauding him as he did his final dismount off it's hilt and turned to bow. He was met with the blushing face of his 'sword'. His plus que parfait Arthur.
"But you don't say anything about me loving you?"
"I'm used to that by now, I know it's all just a trick." That was a stab-but Francis was immune, he merely chuckled at the man. Tricks were his specialty with the sword after all. It was almost like a compliment, only more bitter.
"Sometimes true talent is confused as a trick, non?" To love a blade made purposely to cut one's feet was a talent indeed, but one that came naturally to Francis as he looked over Arthur.
"What are you blathering about now frog? Get into bed before I change my mind…" The way the other male blushed meant he was telling a horrible bluff. The performance had him entranced, and he wouldn't be changing his mind at all.
"Of course, mon amour."
So this was written last summer for my journal I was supposed to keep for my honors English teacher. I only actually wrote about myself and my own life in the thing once, most of the time I was making things up or writing fanfiction. Very rarely did I account on my own life-this was probably one of my favorite pieces. I used a lot of symbolism and personification so that the sex and seduction was tasteful enough to submit to the teacher. He loved it, and so I'm finally getting around to posting it.