It wasn't the first time, to be honest. Actually, Francis found his mind wandering more often than not lately. Every time his mind wandered when around Arthur, a certain someone always seemed to appear. Someone with a heavy voice and heavy scratchy clothing to match. A man with a sharp jaw dotted with gentle freckles, piercing eyes and soft facial hair. Someone so different and yet so alike Arthur.
Alistair. It was like Francis was born to say that name. Alistair, Alistair, Alistair. Something about it intoxicated him, made his blood turn hot and his head spin. It made him want to yell it on the rooftops. That name made him want to whisper it softly in the morning as he woke up alongside the owner of it. Francis wanted to laugh that name as they joked and flirted just like they did back then. Back then.
Things were different back then. If you had a problem with someone, you invaded their land and killed anyone who got in your way. But Alistair was different. Alistair sat on the stone wall with him and talked about the way the sun set on fire in the evening and burned weakly in the morning. They spoke of big dreams and simple pleasures. Nowadays they never spoke at all, and if they did it was through Arthur.
"Are you even listening to me? You always zone out when I talk, it's like you're ignoring me on purpose you ass."
Francis sighed. Of course he wasn't ignoring Arthur. "My apologies, Arthur." He said simply. What else was there to say to the man you were dating? What else is there to say to the brother of the love of your life?
"Oh sure, but you never zone out when talking to your friends, now, do you? Antonio and Gilbert always have your full attention and what am I?"
"A whiny bitch." Oops. Maybe Francis shouldn't have said that.
Arthur of course went off on a tangent; yelling and angrily sorting the papers that were on the desk in front of him. He kept pointing a finger accusingly at Francis. A gloved finger.
A similar gloved finger used to run itself through Francis's hair as they sat under shady trees in the warm Britannian summers. Those gloved hands would paint pictures in the sky along with vivid stories of great adventures, with dragons and damsels and knights. Alistair always loved talking about fairytales. Mother Britannia told those same stories to her children, but they were never the same. Even Rome couldn't tell a tale like Alistair could. Alistair had a way of making you feel things that nobody else could with his stories. They made you think.
Francis was thinking.
"PAY ATTENTION TO ME YOU CUNT I'M SITTING HERE BERATING YOU AND YOU WON'T EVEN LOOK AT ME."
He sighed. Arthur was still mad. Looks like this fuse wasn't going to burn itself out today.
"If I tell you you're pretty will you forgive me?" Francis joked halfheartedly. "Usually that works with PMS'ing bitches."
Arthur was fuming. Perhaps today wasn't a very good day for making these sorts of jokes, especially when his like-minded friends weren't there to share his humour.
"I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU FRANCIS YOU KNOW YOU'RE THE PROBLEM IN THIS RELATIONSHIP YOU'RE SO IMMATURE-"
Francis couldn't help but smile at that. Immaturity. If only Arthur knew.
The whole Auld Alliance was because of immaturity. Britannia was busy dealing with the fall of Rome and rise of the Holy Roman Empire whilst her children were yelling about not wanting to be related. He remembered Scotland coming to him that day.
"Oi, Normand." Alistair huffed as, plopping himself down onto the ground next to the young Roman empire.
"Well met, Lord Scot! Sit you down and have a laugh?" France replied, setting down his flower wreath to cuddle up to Alistair.
"Neigh, Normand. I sit beside you not bearing laughs nor Adam's ale."
Francis had to giggle at that. "Lord Scot, nay you be the gundygut drunkard thou oft speak of thyself, but thou bringeth cheer e'rywhere thou set foot! I bid you, forswear me no longer Sir."
Alistair sighed and began playing with Francis's hair. "Sharp eyes you have, Sir Normand." Francis practically purred and returned the gesture by gently toying with Alistair's shirt collar.
"I tell ye truth when I speak: my brothers art bluttering fonkin."
Francis snorted a laugh this time, Alistair returning the laughter.
"Apologies. Wherefore thou have reason for such nithe speech?"
Alistair seemed to tense and pause. Francis knew the tension and rubbed Alistair's shoulder lovingly. Britannia was too harsh on him.
"Speak only when thou art ready."
It happened to be a while before Alistair was ready to talk about his troubles.
"Though, I have no need for speak of blob-tale, I will speak that I wish independence from Britannia. Her reign wrecks havoc on min friends. Pray, might we keep our rendezvous only for sloomy days of welkin heavens under the gaze of God? No longer will thy tears fall or min anger by rixle of sorrow." To that, Francis hummed and nodded. Yes, this was their sacred place, one not to be soiled with sibling hatred and political rivalry. This was a place of love and sanctity. A place of love-
"-AND FURTHERMORE YOU NEVER EVEN GENUINELY COMPLIMENT ME ANYMORE, WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME WE HAD A SUCCESSFUL DATE TOGETHER?"
Oh yeah, Arthur was still yelling.
"FUCKING LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU, TWIT."
Francis slowly and tiredly looked up at Arthur. Looked at that… sharp jawline and piercing eyes… those soft freckles… Sure, they weren't as plentiful as Alistair but…
He leant forward in his chair and pulled Arthur into a tender kiss. It must have been a romantic gesture in Arthur's eyes, as he didn't hit or scream or fight, but rather kissed back with passion. Arthur's lips… were soft. Too soft. Not chapped and rugged. No facial scruff brushed Francis's chin and no calloused hands grabbed his thighs or laced into his hair. Instead, thin arms wrapped around his neck and a slender waist slid into his lap. "Look, I'm sorry for yelling at you so much. I know I'm harsh on you a lot, but would it kill to show your boyfriend a little love sometimes?" Arthur said with a scowl, playing with Francis's hair. It just wasn't the same.
Francis replied with a smile and a hum.
"Of course, I'm sorry I've been so airheaded lately, Mon chou." He replied, resting his head on Arthur's shoulder.
"I love you Francis."
He had to bite his tongue at that. Arthur was too emotional for his own good.
"Francis."
He knew the longer he kept these things hidden from him the worse it would get.
"Do you love me back?"
The facade quickly found itself to France's face.
"Of course I do, lapin. I love you."
"Oi, France."
"Good to see you Scot! Sit and chat with me."
"No, France. Today I don't have jokes or beer ((Adam's ale is a more humorous term))"
"Lord Scot, you're not the drunk pig you think you are, but you do make everyone laugh wherever you go! I ask you to not lie to me any more."
"You're smart for your age."
"I'm not lying when I say; my brothers are whiny assholes."
"Sorry. Why do you say that?"
"You don't have to tell me."
"Though, I'm not really into gossip, I will say that I want independence from Britannia. She's too harsh on my friends. Please, can we just keep these meet ups solely for the cloudy skies and tired days? We don't have to deal with our hardships anymore here."