To be fair, Arthur didn't know why he was outside the opulent building of a day spa, surrounded by fountains and colorful decorative glass near blooming spring flowers. He didn't know why he had decided to come here, even if his idiotic coworker had insisted when he'd won their contest. Of course, now that he was here, the one thing he knew for sure was that he was probably going to regret this. Sighing, he pushed open the doors and walked in as the bell on the door jingled merrily at the prospect of another customer.
The other day….
Arthur was standing at the water-cooler, sipping his beverage out of a paper cone. Just as he was about to throw it away, his shoulder was tapped lightly and he jumped, turning around to scold whoever had scared him. A flirtatious Frenchman standing behind the Brit winked as he did, utterly infuriating the green-eyed businessman. Just as he was about to unleash a verbal tirade, Francis handed him a gift certificate.
"And what in the bloody hell is this for?" Arthur quipped, scowling. If this was a joke….
"Well, our contest, of course." The trickster replied smoothly.
"I don't bloody well remember registering in any one of your contests, Bonnefoy." He spat.
"Well, mon cher, you did and here I am. The grand prize…" He paused as if waiting for an invisible drumroll, "A trip to the spa!"
Arthur snorted. "Like I would ever use that. You can take your gift card and stuff it, you bloody frog."
Francis raised his eyebrows as if he was the main antagonist of a mystery film. "Oh, but I think you will. Our boss has already okay'ed your absence, as well as a promotion if you go."
"I know you must be kidding me now. He'd never-"
"Ah, but he did! Go ask him yourself. He told me, 'I would promote him if he learned to stop driving himself so hard.' and when I offered that you take a trip to the spa, he laughed and said, 'Of course!' So you have full approval." He winked. "Thank me now." It was common knowledge that Francis was a close friend of their boss, and the two, along with a worker from the PR department, were the progenitors of any major prank in the office that had occurred since their employment.
Arthur mentally face-palmed. It was just like Mr. Carriendo to do something like this. How someone like him had managed to rise to the top of their department was a mystery to the British gentleman. "I know this is all some sort of a trap to make me go, but seeing as I hardly have a choice, I suppose I must."
He instantly wanted to take back what he had said, because Francis smiled widely, chuckling lightly and holding out the card. "You won't regret it."
"I already do." Arthur took the card roughly, glancing at the name of his destination. "A Day's Respite Spa…oh god, I already hate it." It sounded like the sort of place an overworked stay-at-home mom would go for the weekend, not the place he'd ordinarily frequent.
Francis just chuckled again in a disturbing fashion. "Ohonhohohon. Well, Monsieur Kirkland, personally, I think you will quite like it."
So far, Francis's prediction had not come true, as Arthur walked into a rather lush waiting room, red-velvet chairs placed around tables with clean, white tablecloths, decadent floral arrangements bursting with blooms larger than dinner plates, standing as tall as five feet, swirling petals overflowing from their vases. He was right; he hated it immediately. Something about the overly feminine atmosphere unsettled him, and he began to wonder if they had set him up for a joke.
Trying to hide his disgust, the English gentlemen went up to the receptionist hidden behind a particularly thick bouquet of yellow roses. She had a pleasant face, framed by long, slightly curly brown hair with an orange flower behind her right ear. Her green eyes lit up when she saw Arthur and she rapidly greeted him.
"Hello, welcome to A Day's Respite. You must be the one we have a reservation for. Mr. Bonnefoy," Arthur could have sworn her tone turned dark, but it cheered back up, "told us you would be coming. We have a special treatment for you, Mr. Kirkland." The Brit decided he didn't like the ominous glint in her eye.
"Well, thank you, Ms..?"
"Héderváry. Eliza. Now, if you will take your seat, the massage therapist will meet with you in a moment. We like our guests to know who they'll be working with. Now, I suppose you would like some tea?" She smiled, but Arthur found himself slightly unnerved. Nonetheless, he replied.
"Oh, yes, of course. Earl Grey if you have it." He turned and sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs, feeling himself sink several inches deep into the fabric. As he looked around, only a few other customers were seated around there, most of them flirting with staff who Arthur suspected had been specifically hired for the job. This was exactly the kind of place Francis would want to send him. He sighed.
Back at the office….
A certain Frenchman was standing in his boss's office, talking on his cellphone while the Spaniard watched.
"So, Eliza, how is our man doing?" Francis said into the phone, smiling slyly.
"Oh, he's fine. I can't wait until he sees his therapist." She snickered. "He's in for a good time, that's for sure."
Mr. Carriendo snatched the phone from Francis, evoking a somewhat annoyed glance. "Well, Eliza, tell us how he gets on, yes?"
"Nothing would be more fun. Talk to you guys later." She hung up, leaving the friend's phone with a dial tone.
Francis sighed. "Do you think he realizes by now what we've planned?"
"I doubt it. He is as dense as he is a hard-worker. You know, I was going to give him a promotion anyways, but this is such a better way to do it!" The boss laughed in a carefree manner, reclining in his executive chair.
"I agree, Antonio. Do you think we should phone dear Gilbert down in PR to celebrate?" The Frenchman was ready to crack open some champagne.
"Oh, he'd just argue with Eliza the whole time. It still amazes me that they can stand each other. Still, they've managed to stay friends. So cute…" Antonio sighed dreamily, then glanced over a small photo on the wall of a young-looking man with a stubborn curl stuck off the left side of his head, a piercing scowl on his face. "How do you think they'll get along? Arthur is a bit..stern."
Francis grinned and sat down in a leather office chair. "We'll see, mon frère, we'll see."
Arthur had been sipping his Earl Grey tea with one sugar when a rather handsome young man sat down across from him at the table. Unlike some of the other hosts around, he was wearing more casual clothes, just a plain white shirt with the first two buttons down, showing off a tan, smooth chest and a pair of jeans. Framed by a slightly rumpled mop of wheat-blonde hair, his bright blue eyes sparkled through wire frame glasses when he sat down, looking across at the Brit and smiling genuinely.
"Hey, I'm Alfred. Nice to meet you. It's not often that Francis recommends a customer." He held out his hand, which Arthur reluctantly shook.
"I'm Arthur, and I don't intend to stay long." The Brit said irritably, he just wished this whole trip could be over with as soon as possible.
"Aw, really?" The business-like professional manner dropped, revealing a rather wobbly upper lip and a pair of puppy-dog eyes.
Rather…cute. Arthur thought before mentally slapping himself. "Yes. So if I could get whatever treatment I have and be on my way…"
Alfred sighed. "Yeah, sure. It's a pity ya don't want to stay longer. It's really nice here! We have a whole sauna, then the cool treatment room, y'know, cucumbers on the eyes and stuff, but it looks like…" He checked the screen of his phone, which conveniently displayed appointment details, "It looks like you have a massage. Well, I did wonder why they called me in."
The Brit loathed his French coworker more with every passing moment. "What kind of massage? Knowing Francis, it might be something particularly-"
Alfred waved his hands, as if to shoo off the notion. "Oh no, nothing like that. Standard massage, not much else. Well, you're lucky, because around these parts I'm known as," he struck a dramatic pose and Arthur had to stifle a laugh, "The Hero! Impressed?"
"Surely." Oh, what had he gotten himself into? "So could we just hurry up?"
"Gee, you're a picky one. Sure, follow me…" He got up from the chair, then gestured for the annoyed Brit to follow him down a hallway.
They arrived to a room decorated with the same flamboyant flowers as the lobby. The only difference was that it was smaller and had a small water feature trickling by next to a comfortable massage table. As far as places to spend a day, it wasn't exactly Arthur's taste.
The masseur gave his client a quick look up and down before grabbing a pair of gray sweatpants from a stack near the door. He handed it to a somewhat confused Brit.
"It's for the massage," he explained, "I can't exactly do anything if you're wearing fancy dress stuff, can I?" He winked, grabbing a few essential oils which he added to a diffuser. "There's a small changing room over there, behind the roses."
Arthur glanced at said floral arrangement, noticing the crack of a door behind them. Sighing tiredly, he went into the room, which was nothing more than a glorified closet. True, it did look like a high-end changing room despite its size, not to mention another ridiculous collection of flowers.
He managed to change quickly, looking at himself in the mirror. Not exactly the most dignified reflection. The person staring back looked like a yoga instructor who'd never learned how to brush their hair. Scowling, Arthur stepped back into the main room, which now had a hint of lavender floating through the air.
Alfred was assembling some supplies and positioning them strategically near the table. He noticed the waiting Brit and gave him another one-over and smiled slightly, making Arthur blush in irritation.
"Go ahead and set yourself up on the table. I'm just getting some stuff together."
Arthur considered this. A little awkwardly, he laid down on the table, stomach down and face poking through a conveniently placed hole. It was rather comfy, he'd admit that much.
Alfred wanted to make a little small talk while he was getting ready. "So, how do you know Francis?"
Arthur tried not to groan. "Oh, we work together."
A puzzled look appeared on the American's face. "What do you guys do? Excuse me being blunt, but I really can't see Francis in anything other than a prostitution hotline, and you do have a nice body, but-"
Britannian rage filled Arthur's voice. "Pardon? I'm just an accountant. But honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if that's what the bloody frog does on the side." He smirked, but then the other half of what Alfred had said hit him. A nice body? Is he hitting on me?
"Oh yeah. It's such a funny British curse word, bloody, I mean, 'cause it's just so... I don't know, funny! You are British, right? I mean, you do have the cool accent."
"Yes, I am. Born in London, after all." Wait, was he actually having a conversation with this man? He just wanted to get this over with! "Do you think you could start now?"
The American chuckled. "Seriously, slow down. A spa is for relaxing. Plus, if you're gonna be here, might as well enjoy it, 'k? But sure, I'll start."
"Okay, so relax your shoulders." Alfred said, deciding he'd start regularly.
Arthur lay still. "They are relaxed."
"Dude, you're as stiff as a piece of steel. Loosen up."
"I am loose." There was irritation in his voice.
"No you're not."
"Yes, I am."
"I went to school for years to learn how to tell whether you're loose or not, so take my word for it, you're not loose."
"Fine, you git." He tried rolling his shoulders a bit, but Alfred just clucked his tongue and gave it a shot himself. Arthur tensed a little when he felt the touch, but softened a little after the initial shock. The trained masseur kneaded the reluctant muscles for a while, creating a rather pleasant affect for the Brit. Not that he'd admit it.
After a few more minutes of soothing massage, Alfred wanted to give up. He'd never worked with someone so incredibly stiff before.
"Wow, what do you do every morning, carry encyclopedias on those shoulders?" The American let out a deep breath before attempting to continue. At the end of ten minutes, and after the application of nearly every technique "The Hero" knew, it seemed like the Brit was beginning to relax.
Arthur was relaxing a little. A bit. Not that he'd ever say it. The warm, strong movements of Alfred's hands on his back at worked into a gentle rhythm, sapping the resistance in his frame. He hadn't been this relaxed in…well, he couldn't remember when. Which says a lot about our British gentleman. The atmosphere in the room was helping, as the trickling of the indoor stream created a peaceful ambiance, accented by the aromatherapy of the lavender.
A/N: And so ends the chapter! I know next to nothing about massages so I just took a stab at it cause I liked the setting XD Anyone reading this a professional massage therapist? Please help me correct gross inaccuracies within my plot. And I know, therapist=the rapist but Arthur's too mature to think about that. Unlike me. And my headcanon says that Hungary has nicknames because her real name is long. Hence the Eliza, Liz, Lizzie I might use.
Review please! It makes me write faster! Plus I love hearing from you guys and gals! Y'all come back now, ya hear?
~Black Rose Heart~