Trench warfare; nasty business for a war. Men died all the time, around Francis, none the less, his own men. Damn the Germans. Granted, their Darwinist fabrications were never as great as the British creations, but still, they could do a little damage. The only problem was the Germans and Austrians though. They had their clankers; metal machines that were what seemed to be invincible. But to think this all boiled down for two reasons.
Serbians had attacked and assassinated the Austrian Archduke. And out of this retaliation, the Austro-Hungarian Empire had declared war on Serbia. Then Russia went on the offensive, declaring war on Austria-Hungary to protect their Slavic brethren. Which lead to the Germans and Prussians to side with their Germanic counterparts and declare war on Russia. That had lead to France taking up their alliance with Russia to declare war on everyone. And with that, Great Britain had to go and weasel their way in declaring war on Germany, Prussia, and Austria-Hungary. Out of about three to four days, a war of the world had been struck up. And now a year later, here Francis was with his soldiers, defending off Paris from the German forces.
True, they weren't doing the greatest of course; a fair amount of his men had lost their lives defending their home, their country from those bastards. And the conditions of the trenches only made it worse. It smelled of blood, sweat, and excrement. The stink of animals hung in the air, and the scent of rotting corpses could be picked through the air by any nose. Damnit, this was no way to fight.
There had been a lull from gunfire and cannon fodder for about an hour. And by now, Francis had lost his mind. He could release some of the Strafing Hawks to go and attack the men, before he and others would charge. The gleam in his eyes showed the Frenchman was utterly mad now.
The birds flew free, over the heads of the Germans, diving down and attacking. "Now!" Francis lifted himself out of the trench with his rifle before running at the opposing barbed wire and the startled men trying to shoot. The bullets seemed to whiz past his face, the Spandau machine guns on Stormwalkers making the "ratatat" firing noise towards his men. First one, then two, eventually were amounting to ten, twenty, fifty, everyone feel down dead or wounded and unable to move while Francis kept on. Damnit, he would charge right to Ludwig if he really had to, just to end all the fighting.
There was one shot that rung from the noise, a large boom coming from a land dreadnought. The shell seemed to land thirty yards away, shrapnel flying towards him and slicing through the Frenchman. Men looked over, as the haws flew back to their home trenches, before gunfire was now pinned at him only. Even the Spandau was shooting at him. Francis just kept running, ignoring the pain from the metal in him and the one, no two gunshot wounds to his body, falling back into the muddy no man's land.
But a large shadow fell over them all on the battlefield, before Fléchette bats began their dive bombs and dropping metal spikes on the enemy. And the large fabricated whale ship called the Leviathan loomed overhead. Ropes fell down, before one brave Englishman began swinging down to Francis. "I swear, if this man makes it down without dying, the British would earn this Frenchman's respect. But closer inspection brought worry to him. That didn't happen to be just any British officer or ship middies, it had to be Arthur. What was he even doing fighting? Not as if the Brits were actually into anything yet really.
"Francis! You bloody git! Get your arse over here so I can take you up!" All the blonde man could do was stare back at Arthur, before looking back at the German soldiers getting out of their trenches and charging, a few heading his way to check his body, two he certainly recognized and exactly didn't want to deal with at the moment, the bastards. Arthur untethered himself from the rope, running over to his counterpart's side and picking him before running back to the rope, tethering himself and pulling to signal he needed to be pulled back up. His weight was hard enough; dead weight by holding Francis made it even more of a challenge.
Two days later was when Francis woke up, stinging and slightly stupid out of pain medication. "What the?" he asked, sitting up before hands shoved him back into laying down. "You're in no shape to sit up Mister Francis. Please lay back down," a young middy was looking down with a face of horror. "We've pulled about all of the shrapnel from you, and the bullets. The doctor was shocked that you could live after all of that really. Then again Sir Arthur seems to have the same lucky stamina that you have sir." At the words of Arthur Francis quickly shot up, much to the upset of his caretaker. "I-I have to see Arthur…please. If it means getting up and finding him or whatever, I'll-"
"Shut up bloody frog, I'm right here. Now lay back down or you'll murder your muscles next, git."Well that was rather comforting. The Brit shooed the middy away from the room, promising to take care of him if needed before going and standing next to him. "You owe me for saving your bloody useless life Francis. Needless to say though, nobody has the right to kill you except for me really. I staked claims on your death centuries ago. Now how are you going to pay me back?" That gleam in his eyes, was rather uncomforting to France, with its predatory shine.
"What do you want from me exactly mon cher? Mmm?" But Arthur pushed him back down as the middy had, though with much more force that Francis winced in slight pain.
"I'm going to take you, here and now." England had clambered over France's small cot in the medic room, before attacking his neck with his lips and pulling off the basic hospital garments off. Francis helped pull of the uniform Arthur had on, until nothing was left on either one of the men.
Hands rubbed over the wounds, old and new of the Frenchman's body, some even Arthur knew he had inflicted on the other, while the new ones burned red and fresh. Lips clashed once more together, tongues battling and bodies pressing together. The Brits hips ground slightly into Francis, ushering a moan from him and causing Arthur to smirk. "You would like that now wouldn't you? But not just yet." Arthur shifted, pushing his member into the Francis' face. "Suck," he ordered, before laying a hand on the other's cheek, smirking all the while. A tentative lick was first before lightly sucking on the man's length. The Brit groaned, before eventually pulling away. "Enough…flip over." His hands helped the injured man onto his stomach before sliding into him.
"So…fucking…tight Francis. And you bloody swear you've taken it up the ass before?" Arthur was lightly stroking and pumping the other's member to match with his thrusts. The sweet sounds of the Frenchman's whimpers and moans were only working to turn him one further and further. His movements became rougher, bite marks littering that neck and body, while lips were bruised and bleeding. God England loved this far too much.
"A-Arthur…please…I'm going to come mon cher," Francis croaked between moans looking back to the grinning face of Arthur, who nodded in response with that look on his face of 'I have you, frog'. And so the Frenchman shuddered before climaxing, screaming out Arthur's name, before the Brit did the same to him and collapsing on top of him.
"Mmm…if only I could pay all my debts like this mon cher."
"Shut up frog. Just be happy I saved your life from the Germans."
"You know…I saw Ludwig and Gilbert coming at me. Most likely they'd let me live. Probably make me live with them or with Roderich."
The Brit frowned, before pulling away. "You don't want to be with me?" But Francis sighed, before grabbing Arthur by the waist and pulling him down next to him. "I do not believe I said that, right? Of course I would rather be with you, it's better than being with them." They kissed once more, before Arthur finally sat up, got dressed and left to go talk to the captain. Francis was to be brought back to England, and the King and Queen had been delighted enough with Arthur's service to allow him to stay with Francis for the next year.
And each weekend, Francis would work off his "debt".