Disclaimer: Nope~
A/N: Lolrandomoneshot. These're all I seem to be doing now...damn xDDD
Well, my thought process here was that Bioshock is amazing, so I should write a crossover.
GAY SPLICER FRANCE AND GAY SPLICER ENGLAND AND LITTLE SISTER SEYCHELLES BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNOW WHO ELSE TO USE HERE. AND RANDOM PLACES I MADE UP BECAUSE YEAH.
HOPE YOU ENJOY BROSKIS
Eden
Athena's Garden is the best place to stay - filled to bursting with other Splicers and the tin daddies and, best of all, more little ones than there are busted pipes in Rapture - and probably the cleanest, but that doesn't mean that Arthur likes it. As always, he's on his stomach, sprawled over the filthy hallway floor with a half-smoked cigarette in one hand and his light hair pushed out of his eyes by the butterfly mask he shoved up over his forehead so he could see through the scope of his sniper rifle. From his perch on one of the pleasure garden's uppermost balconies, Arthur can watch practically everything below. "I don't understand the point of this," he says sourly, squeezing the trigger and spraying some hapless fool's brains all over the grimy walls. "I mean, couldn't that frog just teleport around and grab the Sister and teleport back? Useless bastard."
"Oh, mon ange, you wound me so!" proclaims another voice, silky and smooth and very obviously French. Arthur shrieks and jerks up, hurling his cigarette off to the side where it singes a hole into a creeping vine, and throws a fistful of fire at the intruder. With a burst of red and a sickening squelch, Francis departs and reforms a few meters away, brushing silky hair out of his face and frowning slightly. "See, now that was completely uncalled for."
"Are there any reasons you insist on startling me?" Arthur grinds out, once-perfect pink lips twisted into an eternal grimace from one too many ADAM injections. He's not that bad off, really (especially in comparison to some of the other bastards stuck down in this hellhole), but his mouth looks like that one Italian guy's, the Fort Frolic singer with the painter of a brother. Francis looks untouched, as though the ADAM didn't affect his handsome face at all. It's why he wears no mask, even though Arthur's doesn't cover his misshaped mouth.
"I just like hearing you scream so, ah, loudly," smirks the other, blue eyes twinkling lewdly. Arthur colors and threatens to burn the other's beard off; Francis takes it in stride and nods complacently, probing around in the bag at his side before throwing a can at Arthur's head. "Heat that up, won't you?" He pauses. "Actually, set a stick or such on fire and allow me to do it. You'll manage to blow the can up."
"You -" sputters Arthur, scrambling to his feet and lunging forward. Francis grins and explodes again, and Arthur runs headfirst into the wall; dazed, he steps backwards and reaches up to touch his throbbing head even as he feels long arms wrap around his waist and warm lips press against his neck. "'mnot that bad of a cook..."
"Mais non."
This time, Arthur really does try to burn the beard off. Francis leans back, hooking a leg around Arthur's hips and pulling him onto the ground with a loud thump before rolling over, shimmying between Arthur's legs and smiling down at him. Frowning a bit more, Arthur reaches up and twines his hands into Francis' hair, and Francis leans forward a bit.
They're about to kiss when lumbering steps, metallic and slow, echo through the otherwise empty halls.
Both sit up, and Arthur rolls his eyes at the forlorn expression on Francis' face. "Why are you so horny?" he grumbles, crawling over to the rifle because he's too lazy to get up.
"Because it's you," smirks Francis, and Arthur feels almost flattered.
"Shut up. Go clear downstairs and I'll take care of the Daddy." Arthur stretches out over the floor, and props his head up on his palm as he waits for Francis to depart. He reaches for the pack of cigarettes as soon as the other man vanishes.
Within minutes, the childish singing is clearly audible. Arthur grins and takes the cigarette from his mouth, holding it off to the side with one hand so he can peer through the scope. The little one is smaller than most of the others, with sallow skin and dark hair parted around her neck in twin ponytails, both of which are tied with bits of red ribbon. Her raggedy, bloodstained dress was probably once a nice sea blue, and the syringe she holds has seen better days, but the glow in her eyes and her sunless skin make it apparent that the kid's full to bursting with ADAM.
Licking his lips, Arthur aims at the Bouncer behind her and replaces the cartridge of his rifle with frag bullets. He fires. The bullets explode on the helmet of the monster below, and with a snap of his fingers, Arthur sets the oil slick alight.
The cackles and scrapes of pipe on marble corridors bring a scowl to Arthur's lips as he sits up, discrepancy traded in for effectiveness and a shotgun. Couldn't Francis handle something as tiny as - oh. The other splicers rushing towards the scene silence abruptly, and Arthur grudgingly remembers that Francis was the one who saved his ass from being drilled into mush two years ago. Bah.
The Big Daddy is still alive, and the girl's hiding in a corner somewhere. Her shouts of support for her guardian sound close. Arthur scowls and pauses to reload, but in the time he takes the Daddy dashes away. "Fuck!" he shouts, standing and glancing around frantically. "Where the hell did -" Thumping steps and enraged bellows alert the blonde of decreasing proximity, and Arthur manages to flip himself over the balcony and onto one of the trees before the Daddy runs a hole clean through his stomach.
He jumps down and lands with a groan, lying there for a second before scrambling up and sprinting off. He turns and shoots frantically. A high whistling signifies that the scuba suit's been punctured, and Arthur sets the next round aflame as it hits the other. Unfazed, the Daddy hurtles into him and Arthur screams bloody murder, practically catapulted into the murky pond. Sputtering and blinded by the filthy water dripping into his eyes, he rolls onto all fours and gasps for breath, slicking his soaked hair off his face and reaching for the rounds that flew out of his shotgun on impact. Only one left.
Well, fuck.
Arthur grabs the revolver tucked carelessly into the pocket of his slacks, and shoots haphazardly in the general direction of the tin daddy.
Then the bellows cease, fading into a low groaning before stopping completely. Arthur turns towards the light, rhythmic footsteps and soft humming, and reaches out blindly for Francis, who pulls him to his feet and offers him a handkerchief to wipe his eyes. "Sorry about that tumble," says the Frenchman, and Arthur scoffs. "You'll dry off faster if you strip and - ow!" He grabs Arthur's wrists to prevent another uppercut. "Just stating a fact, dear one. Have my jacket, anyway."
"Bah," grumbles Arthur, though he accepts the black suit jacket and wraps it around his shoulders. They'll have to raid one of the department stores later, but that's fine. "Thanks, frog."
"De rien," Francis replies. "We should go. I heard the sœur crying somewhere."
They find her curled up next to her dead protector, crying into her hands. "Mr. Bubbles! You have to wake up, you do!" She has a slight accent under the demonic voice.
Francis and Arthur share a hungry grin, and Francis grabs her by her collar, dragging her over to a spindly tea table. She screams and Arthur whacks her in the face with the butt of his revolver.
"Shut up, you," he says, hitting her a few more times. Her bones crack as they reform, and Francis plucks the knife from his boot. "Do you want me to do it?"
For some reason, Arthur was a surgeon (and one of the best, as he still likes to remind people) before the civil war. He can cut into other human beings perfectly, but as soon as he tries to cut a chicken it catches fire or something. It's the topic of much discussion between the two.
But Francis shrugs. "If you'd like to, you're more than welcome."
Arthur politely declines and takes the girl's arms, holding her in place. His grin spreads as Francis sinks the knife into the girl's stomach, red spewing everywhere and dripping loudly onto the floor. Her screams crescendo, but by the time Francis has sliced through her abdomen and revealed the glowing green sea slug, she's almost unconscious from pain. When Arthur leans over and wrenches the creature out, she wails again before her eyes fade and her heart stops. After all, without a steady supply of ADAM, she doesn't regenerate lost cells.
The slug in Arthur's hand pulses and squirms, and he coos in delight before lifting it to his mouth and biting. ADAM runs down his throat and the side of his face, and he moans at the taste. Francis shoves the Little Sister off the table and reaches for Arthur; the Briton gasps, almost choking on his mouthful of ADAM as Francis yanks him over the bloodstained table.
"Come now, Arthur," growls Francis, blue eyes blazing hungrily as he grips said terrified blonde's face tightly enough to bruise. "Share." Arthur whines, but immediately opens his mouth and Francis smashes their lips together, tipping the other's head forward and drinking the blue goop greedily.
Licking the ADAM off Arthur's chin, Francis kisses him again, pushing him down and grinding him, more or less, into the table - which breaks, because it was meant for bone china plates and teacups, not for two grown men to dryhump on.
The two sit there, rather dazed for a second, before Arthur notices that the veritable ocean of blood from the little one is leaking through his pants. The idea of blood on his dick isn't very appealing, and he grabs Francis' broad shoulders, using them as leverage so he can climb to his feet. Francis stands as soon as Arthur's up, and glares at the table, as though it's the table's fault for having been crafted to hold only bone china and not grown men.
Then the two bicker a bit about how Francis got too much ADAM and how Arthur's catapult into the pond was so totally worth ten points and how both their clothes are ruined, so they should drop them and make like rabbits before doing anything else. Arthur flushes, as though he'd rather die than bend over for Francis ("But you do it every day!"), and Francis teleports out of the line of fire and back behind Arthur, where he can kiss that one spot on the Briton's collarbone that makes him melt into a puddle of horny goo, and then they really do drop their clothes and make like rabbits amidst the corpses and broken tables. And a good part of an hour later, as Francis picks Arthur's trembly body up (because his ass hurts like hell) and they head to the nearest clothing store, a whine and coy smirk from Arthur means more crazy rabbit-simulating in said nearest clothing store before they finally choose their clothes, dress, and walk (or limp, in Arthur's case) off in search of something to eat, fingers entwined lovingly even as Arthur threatens to shove various objects down Francis' throat.
They stop a few minutes later to kiss some more against the wall, and a certain tall man in a blood-splattered cream sweater and black slacks lowers his crossbow, backs out of the corridor (lest he startle the two...companions) and decides to never again visit Athena's Garden.
A/N: Yaaaaaaaaaaay 8D;;;
WhatisthisIjustwroteohmylord-
Notes:
French
- mon ange = my angel
- mais non = but no (sarcastic :D)
- de rien = no problem/it's nothing
- soeur = sister (as in Little Sister)