Francis smirked as he put a final touch on the "tea"—a dash of sugar to mask the taste of the spell he had dissolved in the liquid. After hundreds of years of loneliness and isolation, he had finally found someone who made life worth living since Jeanne, and he'd be damned if he let the man slip through his fingers.
The man in question was one Arthur Ignatius Kirkland, a fiery, hot-tempered Brit with elegantly huge eyebrows. However, he was attractive in his own right. High cheekbones, a perfect body, pale, shimmering skin, bright, spirited green eyes… in short, Arthur was perfect.
The only issue was that he hated Francis almost as much as he hated Alfred, the annoying American teenager who had somehow ended up living with him. But this spell would fix everything. In a few weeks, Arthur would be clinging to Francis like a five-year-old to his mother, and the Frenchman would enjoy every second of it. It had been so long since someone even looked at him twice, and that was both good and bad. It was a good thing because if someone realized he hadn't aged since the eighteenth century, bad things were sure to happen. But it got lonesome, after a while, avoiding everyone mortal so that he didn't have to go through that emotional hell as he watched his loved ones age and die while he stayed twenty two forever. There was a small population of the Wiccan community in the area—his best friends Antonio and Gilbert among them, but he felt somewhat isolated. Toni had his angsty Italian boyfriend, Lovino, and Gilbert had his quiet Matthew to keep him company for the rest of eternity. Francis had no one like that, but he wanted Arthur.
Thus the spell.
He picked up the still-steaming cup of the tea and took it out to where the man in sat, looking around the front room of Francis' small home. The Brit took the tea and grimaced a bit at the taste.
"What the bloody hell kind of tea is this, frog? It's disgusting!"
"It's a French brand, mon amour,"Francis lied smoothly, Arthur making a disgusted face and setting the cup down.
Francis grinned internally, knowing that even the small sip would be enough. In a week, Arthur would be head over heels for him.
He had been right. In a week, Arthur, blushing and stuttering and pretending not to be effected, confessed to Francis, who accepted it with a graceful smile and maybe a little bit of his own blush. Dates went by in a blur, months flying past in a haze of pure ecstasy. A year and a half later, they were saying their vows, Arthur feigning indifference when really everyone could see him crying. They lived happily for almost two years before the guilt of what he had done set in. Arthur seemed so damned happy, and Francis had to live with the fact that it was false, a façade set by him to fulfill his own selfishness without so much as a thought for the Brit's feelings. It weighed down on him, getting worse and worse day by day, until finally he snapped.
He sat Arthur down and sighed softly, running his hands through his hair in agitation. Arthur looked worried, and the words just fell out of his mouth of their own accord, so fast they meshed together into a jumbled mess.
"I'm sorry I put a spell on you I'm immortal you're not really in love with me please don't hate me."
Arthur blinked, staring at Francis, stunned, before he burst out laughing. It was his turn to stare; watching incredulously as the Brit laughed until there were tears in his eyes.
"Oh… oh, ow. Damn you, Francis, you bloody git. Now my ribs hurt." Arthur chuckled as his laughter died down, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.
At the shocked look that Francis gave him, Arthur rolled his eyes. "Oh, honestly. You think I couldn't tell that there was a spell in that damned tea? I'm not an idiot, love. That wouldn't have affected me, anyway. Spells don't work on other Wiccan, remember?"
Francis gaped and Arthur smirked. "I truly do love you, Francis. None of the last few years have been a lie."
Francis flung himself at his husband, both laughing. Francis knew that he'd never be alone again.