Wrote this for a friend of mine, based off the song "Wasn't Me" by Shaggy. FrUK/FrancexSpain
Knock, knock, knock
.
"Gilbert!" he growled, pounding his fist against the large door.
He glanced behind him, his perfect gold curls bouncing over his shoulder, as he looked around. For the time being, the coast was clear. There was no trace of those, now murderous, emerald eyes. Thankfully.
Of course, Francis loved Arthur; Francis loved everyone, but especially Arthur. His French charm had captured Arthur much like the perfect bait for the perfect fish. But l'Angleterre was much more perfect than any 'perfect' fish. Sure, he could be quite tempermental and vicious, but that only drew Francis closer to him.
Not only had Francis caught hold of Arthur, but Arthur had a hold on him. Perhaps it was some sort of "spell" or whatnot, but whatever it was, Francis truly did love him. Only, Francis did love everyone else, and couldn't help himself most of the time.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!
Sure enough if Gilbert didn't wake up, wouldn't Ludwig?!
The wait was getting far too long. Arthur was bound to have followed him, and would probably be there in a short time...
Glancing anxiously over his shoulder, Francis sighed in relief to find himself still alone. He had never liked being alone, which was why he never was alone. But that moment, he would take lonilness over whatever punishment Arthur had in store for him. (Unless it involved a whip or handcuffs~)
"God dammit, Gilbert!"
Knock, knock, kno
Taking notice that the door was no longer wooden, but fleshy, and the fact that he could see into the house, he concluded that his noise had received a response!
"What the fu-!"
The albino was cut off by Francis pushing past him and making himself at home in the living room. Of course, being awoken so early in the morning really ticked the albino off. Grumbling and cursing, he walked into the other room and glanced down at the blond on his sofa. Funny how the Frenchman looked scared and upset over something.
"Yo." yawned Gilbert, taking a seat in a plush armchair. Glancing him over again, he sighed. "Where the fuck are your clothes?"
"Gilbert..." said Francis, looking down, dismissing his friend's question. "Arthur caught me."
"No way!" For some twisted reason, Gilbert was grinning ear-to-ear. "With who."
"Antonio." It was unusual for Francis to look so distraught, so pleading. Unless he wanted something, and the pleads were only a teasing act.
-----
Earlier that evening in Paris, France, the sun was just setting. The sky was a beautiful mix or pinks and oranges, blending with purples and a dark indigo. In an elegant manor resided Francis Bonnefoy. Outside of the gorgeous home stood Arthur Kirkland, grumbling in annoyance (not unlike Francis would be doing hours later).
"Where the bloody hell is he?" the Brit thought out loud, leaning against the pillar that held the awning up, looking over the intricate detail of the door. "I called hours beforehand to announce my arrival."
Pulling out his cellular device, Arthur hit Speed Dial #2 and held the phone to his ear. The phone rang and rang and rang, until finally...
"Bonjour~"
"Where are you, frog? I've been standing out here fo-"
"How are you?"
"Annoyed. Don't hold that nonchalant tone with m-"
"Pardon moi for not reaching the phone on time. You know I must be busy, because I would most definitly stop as to answer iyour/i call."
Clenching his fist, Arthur groaned. He had reached the Frenchman's voicemail. Hanging up before he could finish the rest of the message, Arthur slipped the phone back in his pocket, his fingers gently brushing across a metallic object. Pulling it out, the Englishman then remembered Francis had given him a key to his house for "emergencies".
After placing the key in the keyhole, Arthur opened the door and strolled right in. He didn't smell anything delicious whipping up in the kitchen, nor did he hear a melodic French accent singing in the garden. No music played, no television. Nothing. Silence.
But no, not silence. An irritating thumping noise was buzzing in the Brit's ears. Frowning, Arthur shook his head and walked around Francis' beautiful home. He knew the other man had to be home.
"I swear, Francis, if you're playing another God damn game of Hide-and-Seek, I will skin you alive and-" Walking up the marble staircase, he let out another groan of aggrivation. He started hearing that noise again.
Continuing up the steps, Arthur headed towards the bedroom first-half expecting a trail of rose petals. Not as though that was what he wanted. He was merely coming to visit Francis after having been away with Alfred and Matthew for the week. Only the bloke didn't seem to be around.
Sighing he walked past the bathroom, stopping suddenly as he heard loud moans diluted by the sound of running water. Smirking slightly, Arthur got his phone out, shaking his head.
"Francis really had to resolute to this." he said a bit mockingly, rolling his eyes.
Throwing the door open, Arthur was not prepared to see the sight before him. In an entangled mess on the bathroom rug was Francis and Antonio-separated from their clothes. Arthur twitched, having the scene before him captured, not only through his eyes, but by the recorder on his phone.
"FRANCIS!"
"M-merde!" Francis looked up, eyes wide at the Englishman standing in the bathroom door. "A-aha, Angleterre, what brings you here this fine evening?:
Arthur's hand tightened into a fist and his teeth clenched; anger radiating from him. Without giving Antonio a second glance, Francis grabbed a towel and ran past the Brit and down the marble staircase.
Shit, was he in trouble.
-----
"So...what do I do?"
Crossing his legs, one over the other, Gilbert shrugged and grinned; he was entirely amused by his friend's situation. "Ore-sama thinks you should say it wasn't you."
Arthur Kirkland was anything but an idiot. After all, he caught him! He had Francis and Antonio on tape, and he walked in on the two of them intertwined on Francis' bathroom floor. Really, there was no reason for Arthur to even consider believing him, or consider doing anything to him that wasn't beating him to a pulp or brutally murdering him. But, for some reason, he decided to do what Gilbert said. He'd tell him that it wasn't him...